#My Journey to seclusion | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mel-the-pirate-writeblr · 1 year

Text

Meeting of the Minds (M(T)PJ: Ditto Defect)

My (Twisted) Pokémon Journey Masterlist

3.3k words

☙ ❦ ❧

(ending lines from a nonexistent prior chapter for set-up)

Crystal couldn’t sleep with the beautiful night around her. She sat, staring into the infinite inky sky, with the countless stars. The trees framed it, and Crystal remembered the feeling of travelling – always seeing new places, new Pokémon, new people. She felt almost normal again, like a normal Trainer who had gone to a foreign region for a Pokémon journey, collecting badges and making new friends.

She heard the nighttime sounds of nocturnal Pokémon, and went to see if she could find the source of the natural melody. Everyone else was sound asleep, and they were hidden well within Pinwheel Forest – she wouldn’t go too far. Even if she did, Crystal could follow their auras back.

This could almost be Viridian Forest, she thought. These are different trees, but very much the same. The Pokémon are all different, but their lives are the same. She half-expected Mt. Moon to loom in the north-eastern distance, or even Mt. Silver out to the distant west.

An urge wormed its way into her – an urge to use Transform. As if to remind her that the nostalgia was an illusion and no longer true. The urge grew, and something about it startled her – This isn’t right. Alarm shot through her as the pain followed, and this time she didn’t summon it – some other will other than her own started changing her body. And it terrified her.

☙ ❦ ❧

☙ ❦ ❧

Crystal’s body shifted, horribly, incompletely, unnaturally. She just had to keep this to herself, figure out what to do—

She locked eyes with something. No, someone. A human. This late at night?

He froze. Then he started approaching, slowly. “Are you okay?” he asked softly. He held no fear in his eyes. Just concern.

His bushy, light-colored hair was long, and some fell over his shoulder. It might’ve been in a Ponyta-tail. He wore some kind of baseball cap, and nondescript clothing that could have had more color than just white and grey, but her current grey-scale night-vision couldn’t pick it out.

Crystal noticed, as she bared her teeth at him, that she made the threat with a small snout – a Vulpix’s snout, she realized. She didn’t growl, not yet, her fangs were the first warning. He stopped. The concern never wavered.

“I want to help you,” he said. “Can I help you?”

She let out a quiet growl, just for a moment. No. Go away. I can’t be more clear.

He took another step forward. “Please, I know someone who might be able to help. Who did this to you?”

Who did this? I did this to myself. I don’t need your help.

“Can you tell me?”

I'm a Pokémon, as far as you know. Of course I can't.

The fur along her spine bristled and rose threateningly. Will-o-Wisp fires appeared around her on some uncontrollable instinct.

“You’re a long way from home,” he said. “Vulpix are from Kanto. Who brought you here?”

She took a threatening step forward, growling again. The Wisps moved forward, too. He stopped again.

“I know seeing a human must be scary. But I understand you, can you tell me what happened?”

She just continued to growl.

He sat down, on the forest floor, and glanced up at the starry sky. “You have no reason to trust me,” he said, not looking at her. “But, I promise, I want to help. You’re hurt, you’re wrong. Someone did that to you. You’re not how you should be. It must be scary, and you don’t have to be scared and alone.” He sighed. “How about I tell you about my childhood. About the Pokémon that I helped, and met, and lived with.”

He reached out a hand, and a Sewaddle came out of a bush and nudged against his hand. The Pokémon here know him.

“I grew up with a lot of hurt Pokémon,” he began. “I spent time soothing them, helping them, playing with them. Growing up with them led to me understanding Pokéspeak...”

☙ ❦ ❧

And, for nearly an hour, he talked to Crystal. He poured his heart out, he stayed where he was, as Crystal listened intently. During this time, she reached out with her psychic sense – and she found that he meant what he said. His intentions, his history.

His stories helped her calm down from her initial alarm of her ability malfunctioning, of him finding her in such a state. Maybe that person he said could help might be a good idea. If I can return to human, and find them myself. I have to stay hidden, secret. It’s dangerous that he even sees me. But he doesn’t suspect that I'm human...

The sharp snap of twigs made her whirl around, fire at the ready. The Wisps, which had faded while the guy had talked, whooshed to life as she searched for the source of the sound.

This human was clearly an adult. His hair was nearly shaved right to his head, and had light-colored hair, aside from a darker swish of hair that went around his head, resisting gravity, like it was one of Saturn’s rings.

“Go on, Beheeyem,” the man said softly, not addressing Crystal or the other guy.

Unlike her meeting with the first guy, this human brought a Pokémon with him – something odd, a Pokémon Crystal hadn’t seen before. It had light-colored skin – if it could be called skin, its form had a look of stone – and strange markings on its head. If anything, its strange body reminded her of a Gardevoir’s gown, minus the large and strange head. Its three-pronged hands reminded her of the old, grainy pictures of Mewtwo that circulated in newspapers and on the news. She reached out with her psychic-sense, but couldn’t get a read on it – instead, something pushed back.

“Stop it,” she barked in alarm, stepping back. The presence pushed further, steadily and unhindered. “Get back!” Her fur bristled again, trying to put up a resistance – but this wasn’t like anything she had encountered before. The Wisps surrounded her, but she knew they wouldn't do much.

“It talks?” the man asked.

“It understood me,” the other guy said, “but never responded.”

“That’s not a Unovan accent.”

“It’s a Vulpix, it’s probably from Kanto.”

Come along, a thought said. It pushed its way into Crystal’s mind.

No! She took another step backward.

Come along, it repeated. Its hands started lighting up, off-white flashes.

What is that? she wondered, warily.

Come along.

It wasn’t hurting her. It wasn’t even attacking. In fact, it wasn’t moving, at all, aside from the lights on its hands. Just watching her, as she watched it, the lights flickering. She took a hesitant step forward. She didn’t want to, yet she very much wanted to.

Come along. The thought had become a mantra inside Crystal's mind. Come along. She couldn’t define where it came from – the presence, or herself. It didn't matter to her to figure that out, either. Come along.

Crystal had to follow this Pokémon – she couldn’t not. She felt compelled to go. Her hostility melted away, replaced by a welcome calmness. All of the worries she’d harbored had left. Come along.

A gentle hand touched her back, flattening the bristled fur around her neck. The hand was warm to the touch. “We’ll help you and get you back home.”

The small prick in her neck snapped her focus away from the hypnotizing control, the liquid he injected— But she couldn’t move, anyway – she noticed an energy holding her in place. The same way her Kadabra would sometimes use Psychic outside of battle. Kadabra would often pull berries out of trees with ease, move small boulders, and even the time he caught her PokéDex while traversing Victory Road, where it would have gone over a cliff. Once or twice, he used Psychic to hold a Pokémon in place long enough for her to make a new entry in her PokéDex, before it ran away.

Arceus, no, please, no. She felt the adrenaline rush, in that moment, but it was only a matter of time until that couldn’t help her, she knew. Her panic would only hurry the sedative through her veins. Can I use Teleport to get far enough away before it takes effect?

Fear overwrote her concentration - too many what-if scenarios flew through her mind, pressing against her skull. Her pulse hammered in her head, in her heart, as she stood frozen in place, time ticking by. Stop it. Use your power to get away. Then the sedative won’t matter.

She had to focus – harder thought than done, she realized, as her thoughts scattered away from her and as darkness enticed her to relax – on the clearing where her Pokémon were sleeping, oblivious to her situation. The smallest thread in her mind let her put focus and energy into Teleport, but she quickly reached her limit and couldn’t put anything else into it. This has to work. It has to!

The incorporeal grip vanished as she used Teleport – but it was only a handful of feet away. Without Psychic to hold her up, her legs nearly buckled beneath her as she landed on the ground. So much energy wasted on a few feet! She took a step, but vertigo pulled her to the forest floor.

She heard the humans’ exclamations of surprise, but her exhaustion turned her focus inward – her body was slowing down as whatever sedative they gave her took hold. I have to go, she frantically, sluggishly, thought.

“I’ll take it to my lab for observation,” the man said. “This isn’t a normal Vulpix.”

“Let me know if you need help with it.” The guy looked over at Crystal, pity in his eyes. “Poor thing. I can help transport it home, if that ever becomes possible.”

“I will. Thank you, N.”

Crystal tried to pull herself forward; she could sense Lucario dimly. He’s awake. Lucario, help! A hand scooped her up, and she hung limply in the man’s hands. She had enough awareness to wonder about her abnormally long tails, and that there were only three of them, instead of a Vulpix’s usual six.

“I wonder how you got this way? Let’s go and see what you're made of.”

The darkness swallowed her up.

☙ ❦ ❧

Beheeyem, the Cerebral Pokémon. It has strong psychic powers that it can use to confuse or control its opponents’ minds. Apparently, it communicates by flashing its three fingers, but those patterns haven’t been decoded.

☙ ❦ ❧

Crystal woke up in a strange place. The blurry surroundings gave way to strange, off-white walls and tile floors. Did I mess up so badly that I’m in Professor Juniper’s lab? She pushed herself up, saw her Vulpix-like paws, and remembered what had happened. Pinwheel Forest. The humans. The dread, accompanied by, I lost control of my body.

Panic filled her chest, she could feel herself shaking and the adrenaline that followed the realization that she had always feared this.

Teleport, Teleport, Teleport! she urged herself, shutting her eyes tight and forcing the energy through her terror. She pictured the clearing, pictured Charizard curled up, Luxray and Persian sleeping back-to-back, Serperior draped over Venusaur as they both seem to root themselves in place; and then imagined Lucario, frantically searching for her aura, everyone starting from their peaceful sleep at his urgency.

Teleport.

She opened her eyes to the same white walls. She finally noticed the strange, translucent tube around her, and the adrenaline only made everything worse.

Crystal instinctively curled her three tails around herself. What do I do? What can I do?

Carrying a clipboard, the man from the forest strolled into the room – the main room of whatever lab she was trapped in.

“Ah, you’re awake. For what it’s worth, I”m sorry for the tricks,” he said, trying for a smile. “But you’re just too intriguing to let be.” He walked over to the computer setup next to the tube. “Oh my, the heart-rate monitor— please, I don’t mean you harm. I’ve dealt with strange Pokémon before. If I can get you back to however you’re supposed to be, then I’ll make arrangements to send you back to Kanto. I know that your accent isn’t Unovan. But I want to record as much data as I can before that eventuality. I hope you won’t mind."

His demeanor hadn’t really changed much from that when the other, younger guy was present – but it did change. Crystal couldn’t read him or his intentions, but she had the instinct that he was less concerned, and more curious, than he had acted with the other guy with his genuine feelings on his sleeve.

“ My friend said that you seemed to understand human speech. You can speak, there isn’t any reason to hide that, now, so how about we have a conversation?" the man said. "How about we get you back to your original form, hm?"

Let me go, Crystal telepathically demanded, growling.

“Telepathy,” the man said, smiling and writing something down. “Why don’t you want to return to your original form?”

Put me back, she hissed into his mind, baring her fangs. Where am I?

“Opelucid City,” the man said. “In a lab that I run.”

I don’t like labs.

“Have you been in multiple?”

Crystal didn't answer. She just glared at him.

“Do you have a name?”

Crystal thought for a moment, wondering to herself, What is your end-game here? But she found herself answering, “Yes,” aloud. She had to hold back her name – she almost let it slip.

“Ah, you found your voice. Good. What were you, originally?”

Crystal held the answer, even as it eagerly sat on her tongue. Doesn’t matter to you, she spat mentally instead.

“It does if you want help getting back to your original form.”

I don’t need your help. I did this to myself. I can undo it on my own.

“I can do it just as easily myself,” the man said, his finger hovering over a button.

Crystal's eyed widened in alarm. “Don't you dare,” she hissed out.

“Fine, fine,” he said, putting his hands up in a calming gesture. “Especially when you ask verbally. Another test I want to do is to find out what Pokémon you are. You’re clearly a Vulpix, but also just as clearly not only a Vulpix. Unless you’d like to shed any light on this strange fusion of yours?”

Crystal looked away, staring at her three tails. I don’t know. I noticed my three tails instead of a Vulpix’s typical six. She turned her head sharply to glare at him again, and growled, continuing, Right before your sedative took full effect.

“Then let’s find out, shall we?”

Crystal jumped in surprise as he started powering up the tube that she was in, a whir building in the air around her. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

“I’m finding the answer to what you currently are. Aren’t you curious?”

“No! I’m not!” She couldn’t do anything about it. She watched, helplessly, as the machine kept whirring, as the man, hunched over, watched the monitors and computers with an intense, maybe even obsessive, focus. Occasionally, he wrote something down.

She waited for something to happen. Something to change in the tube.

Nothing.

He stood up and straightened his glasses. He regarded her in awe. “It says that your other half... registers as Mew, even though it’s not very certain about that. There is precious little Mew DNA available for study, especially after what happened with the Mewtwo Project in Kanto. But I’m sure you’re plenty familiar with that, aren’t you?”

“I’m not– what? Don’t tell me you think I’m a Mew.” Arceus, why?

“They say that Mew is the ancestor of all Pokémon, and that Ditto came from cloning attempts that weren’t overly successful. Maybe that’s where your origins lie.”

“Mew is the ancestor of all life in those legends!” Crystal pointed out. “I know those legends, I was—” she cut herself off. If he suspects I’m human, he’ll be even more curious. Instead, she continued, “Mew can’t speak human languages!”

“Then how are you, a random Vulpix, speaking with both telepathy and vocally? It seems there are some significant Mew influences in you, and I would like to see a Mew in person, if you wouldn’t mind,” he said eagerly, ignoring her protests. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!”

She ran up to the side of the tube. “I’m not a Mew!” Crystal insisted.

The man shrugged. “You’re certainly not a Vulpix. I can just make you revert to your original form, and we can have the answer.”

“I have never seen a Mew, as much as I looked!” Crystal said, desperately. “I’m not a Mew, I promise! Just let me go. Let me go. Please!”

“Oh, don’t worry, I plan to,” the man said. "But I want to see a Mew first, or whatever you were, and get some valuable data.”

“Please, I'm not a Mew!”

The man just turned back to his computers, and started hitting buttons, like before. The machine started up again. “You’re just as interesting as a Mew, even if you aren’t one. But I’d still like the data.”

I can’t let him know! Crystal, in her panic, tried to start Self-Destruct – anything to stop anyone from knowing – but it wouldn’t hold. The energy she put into it dissipated immediately, and faster than she could replenish it.

“You won’t be able to use any moves in there,” the man said in an offhanded manner. “It’s specifically for studying Pokémon, especially ones that could get scared into doing something drastic.”

“I’m about to do something drastic, alright,” Crystal promised darkly.

“You can try.”

Her next attempt was Earthquake – but that dissolved as well. Can I overload whatever is draining my energy?

She wracked her brain for a powerful move – All those Legendary encounters, and I can’t think of anything!

Then her body started to change. The bones started shifting, her tendons stretching, her muscles adjusting. Her tails vanishing, the bone cells finding new purposes elsewhere.

“Stop!” she grunted, unprepared for the sudden pain of Transform. But she knew, even if he somehow stopped the devices, her body would have completed it, anyway. “No!”

The pain stopped, faster than she expected, leaving its burning absence in the wake of Transform. She laid on the floor of her tube, thankful that it was over quickly.

“Hm, not what I expected. That seemed quite painful.”

“I told you, I’m not a Mew!” Crystal hissed, trying to breathe through the pain, seeing her human hands. She slowly pushed herself up as her strength returned. “And of course it’s painful. Imagine every bone in your body breaking, deconstructing, every tendon and muscle overstretching. All at once.”

“Evidently. My mistake, Miss. But don’t worry, I have a way to fix everything.” The man made a gesture toward a strange statue, sitting off to the side.

The strange statue Pokémon from before levitated over to her as the tube lifted. Now, she could see the pale brown color of its body, and the red-yellow-green lights on its hands.

“You,” Crystal growled out, glaring at the man. “Get it away from me.”

“Now, now, this is my Beheeyem.” Than man walked over to stand near it. “He’s going to fix this whole mess right up.”

“How can he possibly do that?” she asked, suspicious.

“Beheeyem, erase her memories then prepare Teleport back to Pinwheel Forest. We’re dropping her back off where we found her.”

Before Crystal could say anything, the Beheeyem arrested her mind, and the memories of the last couple of hours started dissolving like those in a dream.

“I hope we meet again,” the strange man said.

One thing, however, stuck with her: her body began shifting again.

4 notes · View notes

sincerelyyuu · 9 days

Text

"in the end, it's still you." p3. • gojo satoru & geto suguru

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ synopsis: after you made your decision to leave your jujutsu sorcerer life behind, you find yourself longing for what once was and risking more than what you bargained for. ➼ pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader, geto suguru x fem!reader ➼ content/warnings: sfw, endless amounts of angst, sprinkles of fluff, heavy jujutsu kaisen 0 film spoilers, heartbreak, regret, unrequited love, death, blood, pet names, sorcerer!reader ➼ wc: 5.4K words ➼ a/n: this is the final part of this little angst series of mine. thank you so much to everyone for the amount of love you've given these three. as always, likes and reblogs are appreciated ♡ ➼ part one, part two, part three

Today was the day. Suguru had coined it as the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons where he intended on releasing thousands of curses across Japan, focusing the epicenters of the attack in Shinjuku and Kyoto.

To say that your life had drastically changed over the last few years would be an understatement. Finding refuge in a grand temple located far away from the eyes of Tokyo, Suguru built himself a cult following. He spent his days collecting money from his loyal followers while also exorcising curses from non-sorcerers who sought him out, deeming him as a god for his “cleansing” talents.

Within this time, your days were simpler. Instead of waking up to the dread of having to fight curse after curse, you spent your time focusing on the little things that brought you joy. You started a little garden that was lush with a variety of flowers and greenery. Thanks to the seclusion of your new home, it made stargazing look something straight out of a fantasy, the night sky always twinkling with millions of stars. With all the extra time, you had many opportunities to curl up with a good book without having to worry about another mission.

Since that fateful night in the village, Nanako and Mimiko became attached to your hip. You became the mother figure they’ve always dreamt of. You loved the girls like your own, spending the majority of your time nurturing them from toddlerhood into the beautiful teens they were now. You were living the simple life you envisioned back in your teen years.

You knew when you left your old life behind that life would be different. Change was inevitable. You just didn’t expect for it to manifest in the man you ran away with.

Suguru took care of you exceptionally well. He made sure you were well fed and gifted you with the prettiest clothes, occasionally leaving small tokens of appreciation for you for embarking on this journey with him. Whatever you heart desired, it was in your hands no sooner than you can think of it. More importantly, no matter how busy he was, he always found time to keep you company. You, as well as the twins, remained his main priority. His beautiful girls.

You watched Suguru slowly become consumed with the idea of jujutsu sorcerers being the superior race. On the outside, he put up an amiable persona in front of normal humans who came to him for guidance in order to collect their curses. On the inside, he loathed their very existence, finding their presence alone to be unbearable and swearing they filled the air surrounding him with a disgusting stench.

Monkeys, he would call them. You hated the term.

He had come to you in the kitchen one day with the biggest grin on his face. It was the happiest you’ve ever seen him in your entire time of knowing him. Pouring yourself a glass of water from the faucet, you leaned your back against the edge of the sink in interest.

“The time has finally come!” he proclaimed as he walked up to you, hands behind his head in a relaxed manner.

“Oh?” you raised an eyebrow at him in curiosity. “And what time may that be?”

“My sources tell me that there is an interesting first year student by the name of Okkotsu Yuta at Tokyo High. He is cursed by a special grade spirit by the name of Orimoto Rika,” Suguru goes on to explain.

You felt an unsettling feeling in your stomach, not liking where this conversation was going. You hummed in response and raised the glass to your lips which he took as his cue to go on.

“I plan on retrieving her. The power she holds is the exact thing we need to put an end to every non-sorcerer in existence,” he sighed happily at what he believed was the light at the end of the tunnel.

Frowning, you replied, “...And how exactly do you plan to do that, Sugu?”

“By killing anyone that gets in my way starting with Tokyo Jujutsu High.”

The glass of water immediately slipped from your hands, seconds away from shattering onto the floor if not for Suguru’s incredible reflexes. Placing the still full cup on the counter, he observed the immense shock displayed in your eyes at his declaration. You wished that he was just pulling your leg and that he wasn’t really considering taking on such a risky and incredibly dangerous task. But a man of his word, you knew better than anyone that when Suguru said anything, he truly meant it.

“Geto Suguru,” his name leaving your lips in a slow drawl, “What in the actual fuck are you talking about?”

Leaning against the counter next to you, he crossed his arms and closed his eyes in thought. “It’s simple really. I will unleash the thousands of curses that I’ve meticulously collected over this past decade into the city. Two cities, in fact. While they send their forces to try and save as many pathetic monkeys as they can, I’ll go after the Okkotsu boy. If he decides not to join our side, that’s fine. I’ll just kill him for Rika instead.”

The more you listened to him explain in detail his plan, the more you found yourself looking at a complete stranger. This couldn’t possibly be the kind Suguru that you’ve known throughout your teens and entire twenties.

Had you really known him at all?

The incredulous look of concern and flash of fear across your face must have been hard to take in because Suguru’s demeanor immediately took on a more serious stance.

“(y/n),” he started to say your name and reached for your hand. This time, it was his turn to be shocked when you immediately yanked your hand away from his as if his touch burned you.

“Don’t,” you demand, taking a step away from him as you felt your blood begin to boil. “What the hell, Suguru?”

The man sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose at your hostile reaction, “I had a feeling you’d react like this.”

You scoffed at his reply, “Did you honestly expect for me to just be peachy about this idea? You’re talking about murdering millions of people! This isn’t what I agreed to when I decided to go on the run with you.”

“I was very upfront with you about my goals. I don’t know why you’re acting like this is something new,” Suguru argued, not liking the tone of your voice. “You made the big girl decision to come with me. Don’t tell me you’re regretting it now?”

You clenched your jaw at his audacity. “You didn’t give me a choice! I’m not the one who decided to go on a murderous killing spree at seventeen on a mission we were both assigned to,” you retorted in exasperation.

“But I stayed with you because I care about you, Suguru. If I didn’t, why would I leave my entire life behind to be here with you now?” you asked, feeling the anger in your veins shift to deep hurt. “You forget that I sacrificed a lot, too. Excuse me if I don’t agree with every choice you make along the way, especially this one.”

Running his hand through his dark locks, Suguru exhaled deeply. He rarely fought with you and he hated every minute you were anything less than happy with him. He angled his body to face you once more and placed his strong hands on your shoulders. When you didn’t instantly pull away from him, he tugged you closer to him and wrapped his arms around your shoulders.

“I’m sorry. I didn't forget how much you’ve sacrificed to be with me and I’m eternally grateful every day I see your face. I know this situation hasn’t been completely fair for you and I only have myself to blame for that,” he apologized sincerely.

“That being said, I’ve made my final decision. I won’t ask you to fight on the front lines nor do I expect you to do anything you don’t want to. You can stay here without needing to get involved or lift a finger. The decision is yours.”

Back to the present, you couldn’t shake the premonition that something really bad was going to happen. Your anxiety in your heart refused to dissipate with the uncertainty of what's to come looming over you. You hated this. You hated how this is what it all came down to.

You made it clear to Suguru that you weren’t going to take any innocent lives. However, you refused to sit still and play the waiting game while everyone was out fighting for their lives. Naturally, you set your heart on protecting your girls.

“Nanako, Mimiko,” you said to your phone via video chat, “Are you girls doing okay?”

“Everything is good so far, (y/n)-sama,” Nanako replied back and adjusted her phone so that she and her sister fit into one frame. “Where are you? Geto-sama said you’d be here.”

You responded, “I’m here. Just standing out of sight but still keeping an eye on you.”

Standing atop of some miscellaneous office building, you observed the large curse that housed the twins safely inside its mouth. You focused on manipulating your cursed energy to lower it to extreme minute levels in order to hide your presence, blending it with the large amount of cursed energy permeating in the air. Doing so made it difficult to pinpoint your exact location.

“How come you aren’t here directly with us?” Mimiko questioned, feeling slightly anxious but relieved to see your face even if it was through a screen.

You paused, taking a few seconds to think before answering carefully, “It’s complicated.”

How do you exactly tell them that the reason you were hiding to begin with was because you were hiding from the man of the hour?

Gojo Satoru.

You would be lying if you said a part of you didn’t long to see him. You did everything in your power to cut all ties with the strongest sorcerer a decade ago, although it hurt more than anything. You didn’t know if you could ever face him again, especially not now considering the circumstances with Suguru’s plot.

Did he even want to see you?

A pair of sweet voices called out to you and snapped you out of your thoughts. Looking back at your phone, you saw the looks of anticipation on the twins’ faces.

“Sorry, what did you girls say?” you sheepishly asked.

Nanako pouted adorably, repeating their question, “We asked if we could go to that crepe shop on Takeshita Street with you. Geto-sama promised he’d take us last time but it was closed by the time we got there.”

Chuckling, you nodded to their request. “Of course. When this is all over, we’ll take a girls trip together.”

“Promise?” they said in unison, holding their pinkies up to the screen.

You held your own pinky up and lightly tapped it against your phone. “I promise.”

On the other end, you heard Nanako’s notification sound go off. “They said they’re stepping up the plan and telling us to engage,” she informed you.

Biting your lip in apprehension, you sighed. “Please be careful, you two. Do not hesitate to call me immediately if something happens. Do you understand? I'll catch up with you in a few.”

The pair nodded, holding up their pinkies for emphasis promising you of their safety. Just as you were about to hang up the call, their soft voices caught your ears.

“(y/n)-sama?”

“Yes, my loves?” you answered with concern in your eyes watching them fidget nervously.

“I love you.”

You felt your heart squeeze at the declaration, warmth spreading in your chest as you smiled fondly at the two. They looked at you shyly with pink cheeks looking slightly embarrassed after voicing their affection together. When did they grow up so fast from the little five year olds they once were when you first met them?

“I love you, too. Both of you. See you soon,” you reciprocated, blowing a kiss to the camera.

The twins mirrored the gesture before hanging up. Focusing your eyes back to the curse they were inside, its mouth opened to reveal your precious girls. You waved goodbye to them despite them not being able to see you. Just as you were about to trail them, that unsettling feeling increased tenfold in your stomach. Something was wrong.

Suguru.

You dialed his number on your phone, pressing it to your ear only for the call to go straight to voicemail. This only made your anxiety worse. He never missed a call from you. Wracking your brain on where he could be, his previous words echoed in your mind.

“I’ll go after the Okkotsu boy. If he decides not to join our side, that’s fine. I’ll just kill him for Rika instead.”

Cursing under your breath, your legs began moving on their own.

Run faster.

You repeated the two words in your head like a mantra as you weaved through alleyways and every shortcut you could remember. Your lungs burned with the intensity of it demanding oxygen, but you refused to slow down the pace of your sprint. You were determined to make it back to Tokyo Jujutsu High.

You had to make it to Suguru.

Scanning the black veil that you knew Suguru had casted over the school, you managed to locate a hole that was made by something, or rather someone, else. Slipping through the opening, you finally stepped foot onto the grounds that you once called your home. You hurriedly followed the trails of blood and wreckage of what looked to be the after effects of a lethal fight.

You nearly collapsed as you felt the ground quake beneath your feet, the force of it catching you off guard. The air felt electrified with the sheer amount of cursed energy surrounding you. It terrified you. Despite your fear, you steeled yourself and ran towards where you felt the cursed energy was strongest.

Careening around another corner, you were relieved to see the backside of the man you were searching for. However, your relief was short-lived when you looked just beyond his figure down the path to see a young teenage boy.

There was no mistaking him as Okkotsu Yuta with his special grade curse Rika suspended beside him protectively and looking every bit as deadly as you heard. He was exchanging words with her that you couldn’t hear from where you stood. You saw the way Yuta intimately held her monstrous frame close to his face. The interaction was so full of tenderness and devotion, the kind that would risk it all in the name of love.

But that’s when you realized what was happening. He was sacrificing himself to Rika to release the limit on her cursed energy.

Hearing Rika passionately declare her love for Yuta, you looked in horror as she began gathering all of her raw cursed energy in full force. Flashes of purple and pink coalesced into one massive deadly black orb, a symbol of Rika’s eternal love for him.

And it was aimed directly at Suguru.

“SUGURU!”

You didn’t even hear yourself scream for him, your voice coming out in terror-stricken screech. It was like your body went into overdrive. In your moment of panic, you didn’t have time to think or feel, only running towards him with your heart beating loudly in your ears.

For Suguru, it all happened so quickly.

The moment he heard your voice, he whipped his head to you with eyes widened in alarm. You weren’t supposed to be here. He needed to figure out a way to get you as far away as possible from Rika.

Time almost stopped for the next few seconds.

There was a flash and a strong hand that shoved Suguru’s body back from where he was positioned. A waft of a familiar perfume. The feeling of soft tresses tickling his cheek. A blinding blue glow. He realized too late that it was you moving at an supersonic speed to stand in front of him, safeguarding him as you channeled all of your cursed energy to brace and harden your body for impact.

Then, Rika charged.

Destruction. Suguru’s curses were no match to the power of Rika’s concentrated cursed energy beam. Her attack left devastation in its wake, buildings blown down to their bare infrastructures, dust and debris clouding the pinkened sky, and a deep crater of the battlefield permanently indented into the ground.

For a moment, all you felt was searing pain enveloping your body. You didn’t even register the way Suguru seized you by the waist, jerking you away as he made a narrow escape with you just a second away from death’s door. Your vision faded to black as you closed your eyes.

When you next opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was the back of Suguru’s head. He was carrying you on his back, your arms around his neck and your body swaying in small jerky motions as he limped down the pathway with growing difficulty.

Good. He had made it, you thought to yourself in ease.

‘Made it’ was an understatement. The man was officially missing his entire right arm, the same arm he used to safely pull you away from Rika. Long black hair haphazardly let down, black yukata torn in half to reveal his bare toned torso, right eye swollen shut. He was lucky to have gotten away with just this.

He was only this lucky because of you. You had taken Rika’s attack head on. Even with you using your cursed energy as a shield, it wasn’t enough to stop the negative repercussions. Your injuries were severe. The strength of Rika’s blow left a gaping hole in the center of your chest a hair’s away from your heart, feeling sharp pains with every shallow breath you took. You could feel yourself bleeding out onto Suguru’s back, soaking his robe with crimson. Unable to feel any sensations in your legs, you suspected you were paralyzed from the waist down.

“Suguru,” your raspy voice croaked out.

“You finally opened those eyes, pretty girl. You had me worried for a moment there,” Suguru chuckled quietly.

The two of you fell into a calm silence, only the sounds of Suguru’s footsteps and your ragged breathing to be heard. You wanted to ask him so many questions. Where did Yuta and Rika go? What happens now? No matter how hard you tried to focus on moving your mouth you simply couldn’t, not having the strength to do so. Suguru was the first to break the silence.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said tiredly. His haggard face looked absolutely spent with his voice coming out no louder than a murmur. Only loud enough just for you to hear the regret and guilt in his speech.

You chuckled weakly, “Can you really say you were surprised?”

Suguru sighed in defeat, “I suppose not. Although I would have preferred if you had stayed with our girls. Now look at you.”

“That’s not very ‘Thank you for saving my life’ of you, Sugu,” you huffed, gently pinching his cheek in retaliation causing him to laugh lightly.

You felt your heart swell seeing Suguru smile and banter with you so freely. It reminded you of your earlier days back in high school when it was just you, him, and Satoru.

Satoru.

As you leaned your head on Suguru’s good shoulder, your mind drifted to the snowy haired man. It always did. You often wondered if he had changed much since you last saw him. Was he still that confident man that would give his all for the world? The same man that would have burned the world for you? What would your life be like if you had decided to go back to him that day in Shinjuku? So many questions that you would never have answers for. You knew that when you left Satoru that day, you had left your heart with him too.

If only you had the chance to tell him you loved him in person.

Feeling something rise in your chest, you were only able to squeeze Suguru’s shoulder in warning before you leaned to the side to vomit blood, the bodily fluid coming out in a viscous consistency. By the time you were done, you felt extremely weak. Your head felt fuzzy and the severe pain in your chest was beginning to subside the more you bled out.

“I’m dying, Suguru.”

Suguru’s grip on you faltered for a quick second before hoisting you upright on his back once more. He already knew it. He knew you were dying by the faraway look in your eyes and the way you could barely keep them open. You were losing too much blood too quickly. He had exhausted his cursed energy supply on Rika, only having the physical energy to carry you through pure willpower.

“Do you regret running away with me now?” he asks solemnly, slowing his pace down to not rock you too much.

You shook your head, “I don’t. I promised you that I would be there for you until the end.”

“Thank you for keeping your promise,” he expressed genuinely.

When you didn’t say anything else, he turned his head slightly to see you with your eyes closed. He momentarily panicked before he was consoled by the rise and fall of your back that indicated you were still here.

“(y/n)?” he calls, looking straight ahead and walking with no real destination in mind. You hummed in response to let him know you were listening.

“I love you.”

Despite living the last ten years of his life with you, this was the first time he had verbally expressed those three words to you, opting to show his affections for you through actions. But in your dying moments, he needed you to hear just how much he loved you, even if he knew you would never say them back the same way he meant it.

“I know. I always knew,” You smiled guiltily. “I do love you, Suguru. You’re always going to be my best friend. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t reciprocate your feelings no matter how hard I tried.”

Suguru nudged his head against yours in a comforting manner. He whispered, “It’s okay. I still love you regardless.”

Feeling exhaustion settle in your bones, you could barely fight the growing heaviness of your eye lids and a sense of calm lulling your senses. Resting your chin on Suguru’s shoulder, he felt your faint breath fan against his neck.

“Sugu,” the nickname sounding so painfully loving on your lips, “I’m sleepy.”

Suguru couldn’t bring himself to watch you die, staring straight ahead so you wouldn’t see the tears pooling in his eyes.

“Sleep, baby. I got you.”

With that, your eyes closed as you took your last breath, your arms around his neck slipping to fall at his sides.

Trudging down the narrow alleyway, Suguru shifted your frame to his front in order to rest your head against his hard chest. Your body was still warm as Suguru held you tighter against him, albeit a bit awkwardly considering the effects of the battle left him with only one arm. You looked so peaceful. If anyone didn’t know any better, they would have assumed you were just in a deep sleep. Only, you were forever in a dream that you would never wake up from.

Suguru felt like a failure. Despite his elaborate plan, he was unsuccessful in securing the special grade curse Rika from Okkotsu Yuta. Experiencing her power first hand, she was truly extraordinary. If he had gotten her, there would be no need to sneak around swallowing curses. He would have had the power to change the world like he wanted.

You wouldn’t have had to die for him.

If only he had a little more time. Hearing footsteps approaching him, Suguru smiled at the familiar presence. With great effort, Suguru carefully lowered you and himself against the wall and held you close.

“You’re late, Satoru,” he announced, his words devoid of any real malice. “To think you’d be the one here at my end. Is my family safe?

“Every last one of them managed to escape,” the special grade sorcerer replied in monotone.

Except you. Satoru took in your lifeless form that was brutally beaten and bloodied by what he assumed was the aftermath of Rika. Your hair was longer than when he last saw you in Shinjuku ten years ago. Your delicate hands that used to hold onto his so dearly were now battered. Bruises adorned your face, crimson from your wounds beginning to dry against your skin. Even after all these years of not seeing you, even in this state, you were still beautiful to him.

“Unlike you, I’m a kind man. You sent those two assuming I’d defeat them, didn’t you? To set Okkotsu off?” Suguru questioned the male, referring to the panda and cursed speech user.

Satoru answered, “I trusted that a man as principled as you wouldn’t kill off young sorcerers without a reason.”

Suguru tiredly smiled at his words. “Trust, huh? I didn’t think I still had any of that left.”

Gaze hardening, Satoru coldly responded, “I also trusted you to keep her safe.”

He knew he was being hypocritical. He spent years trying to seek you out and to bring you home. Once he did, he even considered quitting the sorcerer life to give you the normal life you wanted. Yet you didn’t want to be found and made it incredibly difficult to track you (and naturally Suguru.) The fact you survived this far to begin with was with Suguru’s help, which is more than what he had done. At least Suguru was able to give you some form of happiness. Although he never gave up looking for you, Satoru knew he should have done more to protect you.

And now he has to live with the fact that he couldn’t bring you back home anymore.

“It was always you, you know that?”

Tearing his eyes away from your lifeless form, Satoru wordlessly looked at his best friend who had a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“All of these years away, there wasn’t a day that she didn’t think about you. No matter how hard I tried to get her to reciprocate my love, to open her heart to me, her heart was always set on you,” Suguru admitted bittersweetly.

Satoru could only stand there stunned at the revelation. If Suguru was telling the truth, had you always loved him the way he loved you? Flashbacks of you played back in his mind like an old movie.

The way you would tenderly treat his wounds after he went a little too hard after a mission…

“I swear to god, Toru, you better not come back looking like this again,” you sighed, lightly dabbing the soaked cotton ball of antibiotic on the small gash on his forehead.

“You mean looking this good~?” he smirks, flexing his bicep proudly. Only for his bottom lip to jut out into a pout at the way you playfully roll your eyes at him, not exactly denying his words but also not wanting to feed that big ego of his.

Turning around to grab a clean bandage for his wound, he misses the way a light pink hue blooms across your cheeks.

…making him a bento box of his favorite foods after scolding him for skipping meals…

“Oh?” Satoru chirps, “What do we have here?”

He watched you unravel the prettily wrapped package to reveal the lunch you had prepared for him. Based on the smell alone, he knew you had made his favorite. “A little birdie told me you skipped breakfast this morning,” you sighed.

“Did this birdie happen to be a six foot three tall man with a man bun? What a snitch,” he sighed dramatically.

Tsking, you pushed the bento closer to him. “Don’t be mean. Eat before the food gets cold or else the last hour and a half of me cooking would go to waste.”

Didn’t you just come back from a mission this morning? The thought crossed his mind as he considered how tired you must be but still mustered the energy to cook for him. The delusional side of him imagined if this was what it would be like if you were his pretty little wife.

Grinning, he takes a bite of the food and savors the delicious flavor that hits his taste buds. “Thank you, sweets.”

…and leaving little cute messages in his notebooks to read during class.

Hearing his sensei drone on about something related to cursed energy, Satoru leaned back in his chair with his head tilted back in a silent groan. He swore this boring class had a higher chance of killing him than dealing with a special grade curse. Feeling someone kick his shoe from under his desk, Satoru looked over next to him to see Suguru giving him a disapproving look, gesturing with a nod to the sensei to pay attention. Satoru merely stuck his tongue out at him causing his best friend to roll his eyes. To be fair, he was equally as bored but someone had to pay attention to take notes, right?

Leaning on his hand, he aimlessly flicked through the pages of his notebook, the pages mostly bare since he rarely took notes. Satoru’s interest quirked when his eyes landed on an adorable doodle of a kitty cat wearing black round glasses much like the ones he wore. Beside it was a little speech bubble written in your handwriting that said, “You got this, Toru! I’ll always be here to support you ^o^.”

Chuckling, Satoru turned his head to find you sitting a few desks away from him. Unlike him, you were completely engrossed in the lesson and taking notes like the good student you were. You had your hair tucked behind your ear as you gnawed on your lower lip in concentration. All Satoru could think was… ‘pretty.’

Feeling eyes on the back of your head, you scanned your surroundings before making direct eye contact with Satoru. Despite being caught red handed staring at you, Satoru shot you a flirty wink, snickering at the way you gaped at him in shock. He made a gesture of him pretending to be on the verge of falling asleep, feeling his heart palpitate at the way you couldn’t help but giggle at him.

The next class, he found another doodle in his notebook of that same little Gojo kitty along with the words, “All eyes up front instead of me, Mr. Gojo >.<.”

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. How could he have been so blind?

Or, maybe, he did see all of the signs. Perhaps he chose to actively ignore them because he knew getting involved with you would only put you in danger. He was okay with admiring you from a distance if it meant keeping you safe.

But if he knew things would end up this way, he wished he spent all this time telling you he loved you instead.

“Do you have any last words?” Satoru offered, feeling his heart aching at what was next to come.

Looking to the sky in resignation, a peaceful look graced Suguru’s face. “I never held any hatred for those in Jujutsu High. I just couldn’t wear a heartfelt smile in this world.”

“But she made it worthwhile,” he continued, his voice lowering in remorse as he studied your tranquil face, ingraining every little detail that he loved about you in his mind. “I don’t regret taking her with me. My only regret is not being able to give her the life she deserved.”

Suguru cradled your face in his hand and leaned down to kiss your forehead tenderly, his lips lingering on your skin for the last time. He didn’t react when he heard heavy footsteps draw near.

Satoru brought himself closer to the two people he cherished most in his life. Crouching down so that he was eye level, he reached out to brush the hair away from your lids, wishing so desperately for you to open them so that he could look into those eyes that he first fell in love with. Just as Suguru did, he pressed his lips to your temple, feeling a tear slip from his eye.

Goodbye, my sweet girl. To the only girl I will ever love.

🏷️: @urcutetozier @sad-darksoul @alisoncdariel @paprikaquinn @jjk174 divider credit: @/saradika-graphics

331 notes · View notes

lansplaining · 6 months

Note

It would be so funny for the MDZS characters to participate in the AITA posts.

AITA for going on my honeymoon instead of spending time with my brother

After 16 years, the love of my life unexpectedly returned from a situation it is perhaps too complicated to explain. More than that, it transpired that despite my belief to the contrary, he in fact returned my romantic and powerfully sexual feelings for him. He confessed this, and shortly thereafter we found ourselves free for the first time in several weeks to act upon our desires rather than pursuing various work-related crises. We also had technically been married in his foster family's shrine the day before. We decided to leave for a journey together (with his donkey), whereupon we consummated (repeatedly) our marriage.

My only potential reservation is that during the series of events that led to his confession, my brother accidentally murdered his long time life partner. It was a very complicated situation, but it was plain my brother was quite distressed. However, my family maintains a strict set of traditions when it comes to mourning the loss of our life partners, and given no one adheres to our sect's standards more rigorously than my brother, it seemed clear to me that he would be retreating into seclusion to ruminate endlessly on his grief and guilt in complete isolation as our ancestors before us have always done, and as I myself once did. I cannot see why this should have factored into my own choices. However, my husband thought it would be funny if I inquired, and this was the only potential circumstance that came to mind.

#DISCLAIMER I LOVE WANGJI #HE IS MY FAVORITE BELOVED SON #ask answered

463 notes · View notes

howtofightwrite · 6 months

Note

I'm writing a scene where a cultivater (chinese martial artists who fights ghosts) falls in a forest and I'm trying to figure out how someone who fights on rough terrain would train to fall. I tried looking at martial art/parkour/stunt man tutorials, but I feel like a lot of the basic techniques (rolling, and slapping the ground to distribute weight) wouldn't work well on uneven ground. I also tried looking at hiking advice but they just say to fall on your pack. Any insight?

Chinese cultivators don’t fall, they choose to reacquaint themselves with the ground.

That sounds like a joke, but the best way to understand Chinese cultivators and Chinese fantasy media is to realize that martial arts are the gateway drug to magic. And that will get you into a lot of trouble if you follow that all the way into Martial Arts Give You Superpowers, which is both the outgrowth of the western understanding of Chinese culture and a trope rife with orientalism. Cultivation seems simple on the surface when you’re watching Chinese media, but it’s more than martial arts, it’s more than religion, it’s more than mythology, (though it is all of those too) it’s a genuine transition into metaphysics that reorients how we understand and interact with the world around us. The concepts we see in cultivation come from real martial arts philosophy that you find in Tai Chi, Shaolin, and most other Chinese martial arts. They come from real religions including Daoism, Buddhism, a healthy dose of Confucianism, general mythology and mysticism from a wide range of subcultures, and, to an extent, Animism. If you aren’t doing your reading with the Eight Immortals, Journey to the West, The Legend of the White Snake, and others then you should dig in. I also really suggest watching the live action C-Dramas whether they’re true Wuxia or more Xianxia idol dramas (and in this case the idol dramas are better because the action is slower) so you can acquaint yourself with the stylized martial arts portrayals, a wide variety of choreography, character archetypes essential to motif based storytelling, and the most important aspect of all—wire work.

Understanding and conceptualizing stunt action done on wires is essential when you’re trying to visualize and create action scenes in any East Asian genre. Your first instinct might be to dismiss the stylized movement as unrealistic (it is) but remember that it’s also genre essential. Hong Kong action cinema has a very specific feel to it that’s very different from the way Western cinema structures and films their fight scenes. Even when you’re writing, you’ll want to find ways to imitate it through your visual imagery on the page.

Probably the best way to contextualize cultivators is that they’re wizards who do martial arts. They’ve learned to transcend the limitations in our understanding of reality through knowledge and study to perform superhuman feats. How superhuman? Well, it gets wild. They can be anywhere from Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon/Who Rules the World fly through the trees levels to Shang Tsung’s “I’m going to slam my hell reality into your normal reality because commuting to work is too much of an inconvenience.”

Which is to say, they don’t always fight ghosts. Sometimes they fight other martial artists, sometimes they fight other cultivators, sometimes they fight demons, sometimes they fight gods, and sometimes they fight incredibly overpowered monkeys. They’re often monks living in seclusion on a mountaintop, but not always. Cultivation is more of a state of mind. Anyone can do it if they learn how to absorb spiritual energy from the world around them through meditation and breathing exercises. Gods cultivate. Humans cultivate. Animals cultivate. Remember, the demons and the ghosts cultivate too. Sometimes, your master gets reincarnated as a demon. Sometimes, you do. The amount of wacky spellcasting you can do is dependent on how much energy you’ve cultivated, which is dependent on how old you are and how good at cultivation you are. Using the power means you need to cultivate more energy, the greater the spell or difficult the battle then the more energy is lost.

This is important to the question of: how does a cultivator fall?

Metaphorically? Existentially? Physically?

When we’re talking physically, wire work becomes very important. Think of your cultivator as being on wires. If they have the knowledge and understanding to do it, they can slow their own fall through the air to land harmlessly on the ground or twist over like a cat and launch themselves back off the ground to fly at their opponent in a counter attack. If they have the knowledge and understanding, they can teleport. If they lack the knowledge and understanding or want to trick their opponent, they can hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. If they’re relying on basics, they can also smack the ground to counter and spread out the impact then use the momentum from that fall to roll back onto their feet. They’ll do it no matter what terrain they’re on because it’s a basic technique that’s trained into their foundation to the point it’s a reflexive action. Any force distributed away from, and reducing impact on, important body parts like your spine is better than nothing. It’s better to sacrifice your arm than be paralyzed. At its heart, that’s the point of the technique. If you’re able to walk away with a functioning spine, it’s done its job. Your shoulder hurts? That’s normal. Your arm is sprained or broken? Sucks, but that’s better than the alternative that is paralysis and death. For reference, learning to fall was the first lesson my Wushu instructor ever taught me. It is that basic.

A lot of the time when portraying cultivators in media, the goal is to show them as being beyond the limitations of standard martial artists. How vast the gap is between the cultivator and the average human is dependent on both the setting and the cultivator. So, the average martial artist who possesses superhuman talents but hasn’t dedicated themselves to a life of cultivation and cultivators who are new to the path are going to be on the rung below and more likely to be knocked on their ass. Cultivators in the mid-range are more likely to have crafted or trained in solutions to being knocked on their ass which put them in a less vulnerable position while recovering and empowered/enhanced their martial arts. Cultivators in the top tier are usually straight up masters at spellcasting, if they deign to fight at all. Gravity need not apply. Rember, the time it takes you to hit the ground and roll to your feet is time your opponent has to launch a counter attack or move to a better position. Also, it means you’ve taken your eyes off your opponent. This is bad enough against a normal human opponent. Against another mostly immortal or ancient magic user this risks a terrible outcome.

Cunning and strategy are both as important as skill. Wisdom, knowledge, and hard work outweigh talent and raw potential. You’ll have to decide how esoteric you want to be and what limits you want to set. I really urge you to do this because the danger of power creep is real and especially prominent here. A character’s growth in power is often linked to their growth in character or their arc, as they gain a greater understanding of themselves and the world around them their skill increases. The self-discovery/self-reflection/self-interrogation/intense suffering to reach enlightenment portion is just as important and intrinsic to the martial arts portion of Martial Arts Give You Superpowers. It’s easy to focus on the Superpowers or the Martial Arts parts of the equation and miss the genre necessity of character growth. This growth often happens through heaps of steadily increasing trauma. Or, failing to undergo that by being too powerful and thus unable to progress is the joke like it is in Qi Refining for 3000 Years. (Go to hell, Bai Qiuran, you hilariously overpowered monstrosity.)

The irony is that the trajectory in character growth is the same trajectory the average student experiences when practicing martial arts. The only difference is that the power arc is inflated. This includes overcoming ingrained truths that you believe about yourself, about your own abilities, what you believe yourself to be capable of (both good and bad,) about your biases toward yourself and other people, your biases about reality in general, your understanding of good and evil, the potential upending of right and wrong, and facing the greater complexity found in the world at large. The stripping away of these illusions, coming to terms with uncomfortable realizations in a more complicated world, and the gaining of new understanding and confidence are vital to that growth.

Skill isn’t just represented in the power creep, it’s also found in a character’s sophistication and complexity in their approach to combat and life in general. Their awareness both of themselves and of other people, their ability to read intentions, their predictive abilities, their complexity in initiating their own strategy and tactics while also recognizing and countering the plans of others. It’s their insight into human nature and their cunning. It’s not enough to be powerful. The world is full of powerful people and not so powerful people who have the capacity to be just as dangerous. This isn’t Goku and Freeza slamming into each other while the planet explodes in nine minutes. You also need to be smart. It’s also not about being a better person. It’s about being a self-aware person. A person who is self-actualized. Monkey’s growth is in his awareness of the world around him through his experiences and in approaching problems differently rather than becoming less of a little shit. If you grow up in the West, one of the issues you’re going to face is thinking of these hurdles as materialistic rather than emotional or intellectual.

A lot of Western media misinterprets the concepts of “giving up” as physical sacrifice. One of the popular examples is physically sacrificing the person we love. In order to have enlightenment, we must be separated from them. We can’t physically be with them anymore. Whereas under a Buddhist structure, what we are actually sacrificing is our own ignorance, our own preconceptions, and beliefs that keep the world comfortable. Under this structure, we’re sacrificing our preconceived notions of who our loved one is. The person that we invented when we first met and we must force ourselves to come to terms with who they really are. The outcome of this isn’t necessarily going to be bad, but it’s still painful. The person we think we love could be perfectly wonderful. However, they’re not who we imagined. If we choose to hold onto the illusion we created, to ignore the realization that the illusion is the person that we love, we’ll only end up causing ourselves and our loved one more pain. We must fall in love with them all over again. Coming to terms with that is painful. All pain comes from ignorance. In sacrificing, letting go of, or overcoming our ignorance, we grow.

These are the emotional, intellectual, and spiritual challenges necessary for a cultivator because they allow the cultivator to level up. Yes, level up. Whether this is coming from the influx of gaming culture into media at large or because the concept synergizes with the Buddhist goal of progressing through the Six Realms toward nirvana, leveling up is how a cultivator’s increasing power is often depicted. Of course, once we reach the next level we can’t go back except by falling or failing and are no longer the person we once were. This then gets mixed in with Daoist principles of finding divine understanding by living in harmony with the universe. The more understanding we gain of the world, the more energy we can absorb as a result, but our original goals may be lost or changed in the process. If a character begins their journey on the path of revenge, their newfound contextualization of the situation that caused them immense pain may force them to give that revenge up or find they don’t want revenge anymore.

Failure is also an option and often a common part of the story. These stories usually follow characters through multiple lives and rebirths over hundreds and even thousands of years, especially if they’re also gods. This is the existential fall. The fall to the Dark Side. All our heroes are going to go through it at least once. This is also why a lot of Chinese media ends in tragedy with hope for the next round.

-Michi

This blog is supported through Patreon. Patrons get access to new posts three days early, and direct access to us through Discord. If you’re already a Patron, thank you. If you’d like to support us, please consider becoming a Patron.

#writing reference #writing advice #writing tips #michi answers #how to fight write #martial arts

447 notes · View notes

inkofthebrain · 3 months

Text

Of The Trees (1)

Mizu x masc!foreign!swordswoman!reader

Tags: first-person, follows canon(ish), classic Edo era xenophobia, slight violence, blood (literally once), mentions of captivity, They/He/She pronouns for Mizu (progresses through story just trust)

Word count: 1,050

AN: I got a few requests that had similar vibes so I just combined them. Felt like doing first-person for funzies? Let’s see how it goes… I was giggiling and kicking my feet thinking about this.

——————

Hidden deep in the trees away from the buzz of civilization there were rumors among the locals of a wakizashi*-weiilding demon. A foreigner living high in the trees, attacking unexpexting travelers. Those brave enough would attempt to kill the horrid thing, yet none ever returned from the depths of trees. Tales of its brutality merged into the existence of life and death.

In that transition I find myself, laying on the thick bark. My journey thus far has been nothing but cruel. Stolen off the streets to be kept as entertainment for a benevolent smuggler known as Fowler. Years spent studying his warriors, earning his trust, sneaking into his office to look at maps. Plotting. Plotting my escape. Years spent traversing the harsh uninhabited nature, far from people. Time spent hunting animals and robbing men who were sent after me for weapons and clothes. I know what the locals think of me, I know they want me dead. A life of seclusion has been the only option.

Sitting close to the trail, waiting for a carriage of supplies to pass hoping to swipe the essentials, my chest slowly rises and falls as I find a moment of relaxation in the harsh Japanese winter. The snap of a branch pulls me into focus as I sit up, hand on my blade, looking into the path. I see a figure, staring up past the branches and into my eyes. Stabilizing myself on the trunk I stand up, jumping to a neighboring tree. The figures gaze follows, switching to the hand gripping the hilt at my side. Examining every detail, every movement. Suddenly they move their hand to unsheathe their blade and I spring forward, tackling them. Subsequently this knocks off their glasses and wide brimmed hat.

As our bodies hit the frozen ground, my blade pinning them to the slush by their neck, a small gasp leaves my body as our eyes meet. Piercing blue eyes look back at me in an almost unnerving way. Holding no emotion, just waiting. Watching. For the first time they blink. The moment has been interrupted, the stare broken for a brief moment. They don’t move at all, they don’t even try to fight you.

They stare down at the blade pressed against their neck and simply takes a breath. The next couple of seconds are spent in complete silence, just eyes looking into eyes. Fear, anger, confusion. All running through my body, burning with adrenaline. The silence is soon broken by a velvety smooth voice.

“You know how to use that sword” They mutter. This comments pulls me back into reality as I kick their katana out for reach and press my blade slightly harder into their neck, scowling at them.

“Then I assume you have killed before?” They speak again, still looking into my eyes.

“I’ll do it again” I say, my voice hoarse from silence.

“I believe that much” They state.

“Who sent you? The Fangs? Shindo?” I demand, bending down closer to their face, slightly applying more pressure to my blade, a thin trail of blood comes from where blade meets skin. The stranger pauses, still staring intently into my eyes as a quick flash of confusion crosses their face.

“I was sent by no one. I am simply passing through, now may I ask you a question?”

I glare at them in response. Staying silent, I glande down at my blade pondering if I’d be better off just killing them now.

“I asked you a question” The voice comes again, sending shocks down your spine. Its smoothness juxtaposing the harsh air. “You did not answer it, let me ask again: May I ask you something?”

I let out a scoff of annoyance, aggravated by their formality.

“Yes but then you must leave and tell no one of me” I say blandly.

They finally has an expression: a slight almost imperceptible frown. It disappears just as fast and the figure simply shrugs their shoulders and nods at me.

“Very well then. I do not care about anyone else enough to speak of this.” She pauses, her eyes have me transfixed, such a beautiful blue. “May you please pull your blade away, this situation is quite uncomfortable.”

I let out a groan as I come to my feet, keeping my blade pointed at their figure.

“Ask your damn question” I snarl, annoyance lacing every letter.

They finally shows a small bit of emotion, but it is nothing more than a small smirk, voice becoming slightly more sarcastic and teasing.

"Such language.” They sigh, “It does not suit you."

“Leave now or I will kill you” I say, tightening my grip on my blade. This time her smirk completely fades into cold apathy and her voice becomes cold and emotionless again.

“You would have done so already, I’ve heard about you. The devil in the trees. Lurking, seeking its revenge on those who brought it to Japan.” She says slowly, inspecting my reaction. My face is still, yet internally my mind is on fire. Questioning how this stranger knew this, how they found me,

“What do you want” I say.

They let out a small hum before speaking, “Information. That of which I know you have” They start.

“Why should I help you?” I question angrily.

“Madam Kaji told me of you, of Fowler. I must find him.” They state. My lips pull into a line at the mention of the brothel owner. We talked countless times while she serviced Fowler, showing me great compassion as I told her of my life under his control. She had helped me plan my escape, providing a safe landing place as long as I was never seen my customers. My eyes leave their gaze as I glance at the ground, taking a breath.

“Why are you looking for Fowler” I ask, shocked at her statement.

“I’m going to kill him.” They say in an emotionless tone, the voice of one that has killed before. My arm falls to my side, lowering my blade. I meet their blue eyes once more.

“Fine.” I pause. A look of approval flashes across their face. “On my terms only.” I say

“And what are those?” The stranger asks, slightly cocking their head to the side.

“I get to help”

——

| Wakizashi (a short sword)

——————

AN: IM SORRYYY, I’m splitting it up into two (maybe more, might make it a series…) parts! Hope you guys enjoyed. Smooches and love.

#bes mizu #blue eye samurai #mizu #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu x reader #bes fanfic #bes x reader #mizu x you #mizu x y/n #mizu my love #mizu fanfic

107 notes · View notes

marvelmusing · 1 year

Text

A Courtship of Shadows

Pairing: Fae King!Aleksander x Fem!Reader

Summary: After centuries of seclusion, Aleksander is ready to form an alliance with the humans of West Ravka. The human king will be easy enough to manipulate, though his royal advisor appears to be more than Aleksander anticipated.

Word Count: 1.6K

My Masterlist

“She is infuriating.”

Ivan watches his king pace back and forth beside the fireplace in the royal study, firelight dancing over his features as his brows draw together. As the king’s most trusted advisor, Ivan knows to remain quiet as his ruler vents his frustrations. Especially since he knows exactly who has him so riled up.

For centuries, East Ravka has been a safe haven for the Fae-folk, protected by the wall of shadow that shielded them from the rest of the world. Humans from Fjerda, Shu Han, and West Ravka often ventured into the darkness, only to be driven out by the volcra – fierce creatures that would only answer to their master.

Just over a year ago, the Fae king had decided it was time to witness for himself how humanity had changed, parting the Fold and creating a small path for his travelling party to journey into West Ravka safely.

When the volcra and the shadow barrier had been created, Fae were hunted for their gifts, held captive to be tortured, killed, or enslaved. The Fae king had wanted to see if they had changed.

The Fae kingdom was thriving with freedoms never allowed before, but there is always opportunity for improvement. If there is one thing the Fae king cares about above all else, it is the people he has ruled over ever since the creation of the Shadow Fold.

Ivan finds the human king rather unremarkable, and he’s certain his king feels the same. The humans don’t suffer for it, but the man lacks any sort of drive or ambition. After one conversation with him, Ivan had thought his king would abandon his thoughts of an alliance with the humans.

Then he had met you.

A royal advisor that possesses everything the king lacks. Even Ivan will admit that you are intelligent and quick witted, you clearly care for your people, and you had never looked down upon the Fae. Though it is evident you don’t trust them. Fedoyr, ever the optimist, had argued that you didn’t seem to trust anyone.

Ivan knows that his king isn’t above manipulation to get what he wants. From what they have seen of your influence at Court, to have you in his debt would be to own the human king himself. Though it appears you are not as easy to trap as the Fae king had initially hoped.

“She doesn’t accept gifts until she knows they are given freely.”

He runs a hand through his hair before he stops at the small table beside his armchair. There’s the clink of glass as he removes the stopper on the decanter of wine, then the dark liquid flows into a short crystal glass.

“She won’t eat or drink anything I offer.”

The king swallows down a mouthful of liquid, nose wrinkling at the strength. He looks down into the glass, sighing as he sits down.

“Almost every human I’ve ever met responds with thanks after a compliment, but of course she doesn’t.” He scoffs lightly, taking another drink.

For a moment, Ivan thinks he hears amusement in his king’s voice, though he pushes that thought away quickly.

“She never accepts my invitation to dance. Even at a human function, where the music holds no power over her.”

The king runs a hand over his face, smoothing across his neatly trimmed facial hair.

“She never lies to me, though I can hear the way her truths bend into clever little remarks to distract me.”

The corner of his mouth twitches slightly as he stares down at the rug beneath his feet.

“She gives me a new name to call her by every time we meet, with this teasing smile, as if this is all just a game to her.” That prompts Ivan into speaking up,

“You think she suspects something of you?”

“Perhaps,” the king muses distantly.

Then he appears to realise that Ivan is still standing by the desk where they had been discussing plans for a trade route, until the topic of conversation had somehow shifted to the king’s opinion of you. He nods towards his advisor, saying quietly,

“I think that will be all for tonight, Ivan.”

»»---------------------►

Aleksander is so very tired. Being away from the Fae kingdom always drains him but the company, particularly at these balls, has him longing to lie alone in a field until the sky grows dark and the stars reveal themselves.

He stifles a yawn, briefly wondering when the last time was that he had a relaxed morning where he could remain in bed until whenever he wished to rise.

A group of young men and women flock around him, unable to resist the allure of the unknown and fantastical. He captivates them all easily enough, securing an almost unending chorus of ‘thank you, your highness’ in a coy response to his charms.

Humans really should teach their children about the dangers of the Fae. He isn’t intending on invoking any of these young nobles into his service, but he could, with the power they all hand to him unknowingly.

Politely, he excuses himself from them and makes his way around the room, noticing that the Kaelish ambassador had finally found another poor soul to listen to his ramblings, meaning that you are alone.

He appears beside you, stepping closer as he reaches behind you to pick up a goblet of wine. You bow lightly, inclining your head as you greet him. His own words are spoken into the crook of your neck.

“What name have you selected to offer me tonight, my lady?”

Momentarily, your eyes meet.

“You may call me Blossom.”

“Feeling inspired by the turning of the season?”

A small smile flickers at the corner of your lips.

“Spring has always been one of my favourite times of the year.”

As you watch people gathering to the centre of the ballroom, glittering dresses twirling as princesses and noble ladies are swept up by doting suitors, you don’t notice his gaze as he admires you.

“Might I say you look rather lovely this evening.”

“That’s kind of you to say, your highness.”

Whilst your knowledge of Fae-folk might be vexing at times, and detrimental towards his plan for the human throne, Aleksander finds it refreshing. His smirk widens as you turn to meet his gaze, no doubt curious as to why he hasn’t provided a response like usual.

As his lips part to give you a retort, there’s the sound of a small commotion at the side of the ballroom. The two of you watch as people gather around to get a glimpse of whatever has happened.

When Aleksander sees you roll your eyes lightly he frowns, and you duck your head down, tilting it towards his to inform him.

“It appears a lady has swooned rather tactically into Prince Rudolph’s arms.”

The corner of his mouth twitches in distaste. This isn’t the first swoon Aleksander has observed in the human court though he is no more impressed than the first time. The Fae Court, for all its rules and laws, is infamously brutal. A display of weakness, and dishonesty, such as swooning would gain a lady nothing but indifference.

“If someone were to swoon in my court there would be very few that would consider them a suitable partner.”

“That’s my sister.”

Aleksander’s eyes widen as they bounce between you and the woman currently being fanned down by the Prince.

“I meant no offense. I-”

The soft sound of your laughter stops him from fumbling through any more of his apology. As you look over towards your sister, your smile fades.

“Mother will be pleased. At least one of us turned out how she wanted.”

Aleksander has never known you to mention your family before. Of course, he knows of each and every member and their position in the human court. That your father was a viscount before a riding accident left your mother a widow when you and your sister were young. He knows you have a cousin that will inherit your father’s title when he comes of age.

“She thinks I was a changeling child.”

He tilts his head towards you at your admission. The idea of changelings is rather outdated, something humans of the past had used to scaremonger their peers, because the Fae were considered evil creatures that would kidnap society’s most vulnerable and innocent.

“We don’t actually do that.”

The corner of your mouth twists as you remark teasingly,

“What? Steal children?”

He nods with a tiny smile as he observes the glimmer of disappointment in your eyes. Had you hoped to be a changeling? Did you want to be like him? Aleksander has a feeling that you would thrive in the Fae kingdom.

“It’s just a fable,” he says softly.

Looking down, you nod in resignation.

“I thought so.” Then amusement sparkles in your eyes as you look back up at him. “After all, there’s only one person who can cross the Fold safely, and I can’t imagine you smuggling armfuls of babies in your leisure time.”

Aleksander laughs. The sound turns a few heads and you look rather bashful at the realisation that you had made the fearsome Fae king - the infamous Darkling - laugh.

“I actually use a cart pulled by volcra.”

As the jest leaves his lips, you gape at him with amusement and surprised delight dancing in your eyes. Then you bite down on your lip momentarily, before succumbing to your own bout of laughter. Aleksander loves hearing you laugh. When your laughter fades and the two of you go quiet he decides to add,

“Kaminsky’s parents were human.” When you frown he elaborates, “My second in command, his parents were both mortal humans. His brothers were human too.”

He can see you holding your breath as you look at him, eyes wide with longing and hope and fear. Your voice wavers as you whisper,

“What are you trying to say to me?”

“That you do not have to be born of the Fae to be one of us.”

»»---------------------►

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur @ilikefictionmen @budugu @watersquirtpewpewboomm @mysweetlittledesire

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211 @wooya1224

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia @weallhaveadestiny @two-unbeatable-beaters

»»---------------------►

#aleksander morozova #fae!aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova x reader #the darkling au #the darkling x reader #shadow and bone au #shadow and bone x reader #fae au

597 notes · View notes

twstowo · 4 months

Text

Chapter 1-1 [Sorceress!Yuu x OB!Characters]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗SYNOPSIS: You escape a tower where you had been kept for years.

♡︎ This is the continuation from my other post.

♡︎To everyone that liked my previous post I just want to say that I love all of you and I hope the stars, planets and universe aligns so that your 2024 is the best ever <3

「 ✦ PREVIOUS ✦ 」「 ✦ NEXT ✦ 」

Amidst the empty, snow-covered landscape of a long-forgotten winter, a figure draped in somber black attire crossed the fields. His stride cut through the pristine white expanse, his flowing locks of snow-white hair blending seamlessly with the wintry hues around him. The biting cold seemed inconsequential to this man, hardened by relentless training to serve as a guard in the court of the future king of Briar Valley. Yet, despite his noble purpose, he found himself far away from his liege, drawn back to rescue a friend lost in time.

A letter had reached him from the parents of Y/N, a childhood friend trapped within the confines of a tower nestled within the lands owned by the rich couple. Silver had always harbored reservations about the idea of a tower, but he understood his lack of power amidst the chaos that had consumed their younger years. When the plea arrived, urging him to free his friend, he couldn't bear to remain idle. He felt an undeniable pull, a yearning to reunite with a long-lost friend and perhaps seek forgiveness for the lost time that had passed between them.

With determination etched upon his face, he embarked on this solitary journey, fueled by the desire to not only free Y/N from captivity but also to rekindle the bonds of friendship and make amends for the years that had slipped away. Following the map enclosed in the letter, he ventured into an eerie, desolate forest marked by lifeless trees stretching endlessly. Encountering peculiar creatures and treacherous assailants along the way, he pressed on, unfazed by the perils that beset his path. His determination was unwavering; he had journeyed from afar, yearning for this moment since their last meeting.

With each cautious step, he navigated the labyrinthine forest, drawing closer to the rumored tower guarded by a mystical creature claimed to exhale azure flames, capable of reducing a person to ash in moments. Upon breaching the tower's threshold, he discovered an absence of both the fabled beast and his long-lost friend. The room that was purported to house them stood vacant, shattering his expectations and leaving him at a loss.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

You strode along a peculiar path strolling through the dreary expanse of the forest your parents had confined you to. Your memories were a fog, obscuring the reasons for your seclusion within the tower's confines. A nagging feeling warned against unraveling the mystery, urging you to steer clear of seeking answers. Lost in this unfamiliar realm, unexplored before now, you wandered alongside your feline companion, Grim.

"And where are we going?" Grim's fur bristled with frustration. It wasn't solely your desire to escape the tower that wearied Grim; the feline had grown attached to you and relished your notions of venturing beyond to explore the world. Yet, despite days of wandering, the two of you had found no exit from this enigmatic forest.

"Maybe we have been walking in circles?" Your words were hushed, uncertain whether this revelation would soothe Grim. After all, gazing out from the lone window in your tower room, the forest appeared endless, stretching far beyond the eye could see.

Traversing through the forest, you held onto the hope that eventually, some sign would emerge—a new path, a person, perhaps even an entire city. Your resolve remained unwavering; there was no turning back. The tower, a distant memory now, would never hold you captive again. Yet, a chill wind swept through the woods, prompting you to shiver uncontrollably. Your attire, comprised of aged white clothes salvaged from the tower's closet, and a weathered black cloak with a concealing hood, provided little protection against the elements. Grim, your mystical companion, often perched on your shoulders, found comfort in the cloak's embrace.

"If only there were another way to travel," you murmured, casting a glance at your magical feline, who rolled their eyes in exasperation.

"The great Grim isn’t going to carry you on his back!" His retort echoed through the trees, irked by the suggestion. Though capable of transforming into a formidable creature—once the guardian of the tower's confines—he seemingly preferred his diminutive feline form, much to your appreciation of his adorable appearance.

"Well, do you want to keep on walking forever? Because this forest doesn’t seem to ever end." you countered, feeling the strain in your feet from the prolonged confinement within the tower. Your pace had slowed considerably, akin to a sloth's lazy pace. Years of captivity had taken a toll on your body, and each step felt more arduous than the last.

Grim shot you a final glance, resolute in his refusal to transform into a means of transportation. However, he was not without alternative solutions, wielding his magical abilities to devise an unconventional plan. "Pick up that branch," he commanded, prompting your confusion regarding how a mere branch could aid your predicament. "Come on! The great Grim can't do everything alone!" His arms folded in impatience, urging you to comply. Reluctantly, you retrieved the branch as instructed.

Then, with an incantation from Grim, the ordinary branch underwent a peculiar transformation, morphing into a broom-like contraption. Its tips danced with vibrant, colorful blue flames reminiscent of Grim's ears.

"Holy Seven!" You gasped, seizing the strange broom with fascination, astounded by Grim's unexpected prowess. "This is incredible, Grim!" A wide smile graced your face. "But what on earth do we need a broom for?"

Observing your confusion, Grim sighed and facepalmed—acknowledging that your extended seclusion in the tower had left you unaware of certain common knowledge. Brooms, in many circles, were used for flying.

"This is our way out," Grim declared with a mischievous grin, while your eyes widened in apprehension at the revelation.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

Flying on the broom turned out to be an ordeal far worse than sore feet. Each moment aloft sent shivers coursing through you, surpassing even the biting cold of the forest below. Gripping the broom with all your might, you clung to it for dear life, terror seizing your senses as Grim navigated the skies with what felt like reckless abandon. Refusing to glance downward, “Anything new?” you shouted for any updates, determined to keep your focus forward.

"New? Why not see for yourself?" Grim's laughter mingled with the rush of the wind as you struggled to maintain an upright position on the broom. Finally, compelled by curiosity, you dared to steal a glimpse below.

And there it was—a sprawling city sprawled beneath you. Its architecture, a symphony of white and red-hued houses, stood amidst fields of vibrant greenery. Everything appeared serene and harmonious, a stark contrast to the unfamiliar world you had known within the confines of the tower.

As Grim skillfully guided the broom downward, relief flooded over you as your feet finally met solid ground. The sensation of touching the earth after so long brought a rush of happiness, drawing curious gazes from the city dwellers around you.

"After my magnificent assistance, I think I deserve a reward!" Grim proclaimed, his smile wide with expectation. You anticipated the request that would follow. "The illustrious Grim demands a taste of tuna!" His expression held a note of insistence, and you recalled the gold objects you'd brought along from the tower, potential assets for earning some much-needed money.

As you and Grim strolled through the bustling town, you couldn't help but notice the vibrant attire donned by the locals—mostly shades of red. The surroundings were adorned with bushes filled with crimson roses, and the air carried the sweet aroma of baked goods. Selling your possessions yielded the necessary funds for sustenance, and you studied the shops in search of canned tuna. Yet, an enchanting sight halted your quest—a bakery showcasing tantalizing red cakes, their appearance strangely delightful.

Upon entering, a bell chimed, alerting the man at the counter to your presence. He was handsome, with short green hair and a welcoming smile that eased your nerves. Engaging with another person after such isolation felt foreign, leaving you momentarily speechless until he prompted a response.

“Anything you want?”

"Ah! I'd like to try one of those red cakes!" You pointed at the tempting treats, a blush creeping onto your cheeks as he chuckled at your reaction.

"You mean the strawberry tarts?" He retrieved one and continued, noting your apparent unfamiliarity with the locale. "You seem like you're from far away." Your attire betrayed your outsider status amidst the city's vibrant energy.

"I've come from afar." You approached the counter as he carefully packaged the tart. Tendering the money, you hesitated, feeling the weight of conversation hovering awkwardly between you. "This place looks... really lovely..." Social interactions were a challenge after your prolonged seclusion. How did people engage in conversation, anyway? But before you could melt into the floor you heard the sound of the bell again.

The atmosphere in the bakery shifted with the arrival of the hooded figure, their face concealed. While the kind baker engaged them in conversation, you found yourself growing anxious about Grim's whereabouts. Scanning the shop, your worry escalated until an odd noise drew your attention upward. To your shock, Grim perched atop the ceiling boards.

"Get down, Grim," you urged in a hushed tone, attempting to coax him back without drawing attention. But Grim, seemingly preoccupied with exploring, paid no heed to your plea. As he wandered, his paw accidentally struck a weak spot, causing him to tumble down.

Time seemed to slow as you witnessed the unfolding scene—a cinematic sequence unfolding before you. With a horrified scream, you watched as Grim fell down, ultimately landing on top the hooded figure, sending both crashing to the floor. The hooded stranger, now revealed his face in a dark shade of red, while his widened mad eyes looked at you. You tried to reach for his hand to help him get up but he slapped it away.

"You—" His voice quivered with rage. He scrambled to his feet, his fury evident as Grim sought refuge in your arms, fur bristling. "How... How dare you! OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!!" You watched as a strange collar appeard on your neck, and the red headed turned to the baker. Riddle's anger seethed as he addressed Trey, his voice tinged with frustration. "What type of customers are these, Trey? You really can't just let everyone enter inside here."

Trey, clearly unsettled by Riddle's outburst, attempted to placate the situation. "I'm sorry, Riddle. They seemed lost, and I thought—"

But Riddle, with a dismissive gesture, cut him off, his demeanor unyielding. "Don't make excuses. Just ensure this doesn't happen again." With an abrupt departure and a reproach directed at Trey, he left the bakery without sparing another glance in your direction.

Concern etched on his face, Trey emerged from behind the counter and approached you, “I’m sorry, Riddle tends to be a litle explosive”.

Grim, perched atop the counter, chimed in, expressing his outrage at Riddle's threatening demeanor. "A little?! It almost looked like he wanted to kill my Human!" Grim exclaimed, hands on his hips, clearly displeased with the understatement.

"Well, I suppose you could interpret it that way..." Trey's response was sheepish, scratching the back of his head. "This isn't an ideal introduction to the Queendom of Roses for you." He stated while eyeing the conspicuous collar around your neck,

“How do I remove this?” you inquired, only to be met with an unexpected revelation from Trey.

"Only Riddle can remove it."

"No way! He didn't even let me get a word in!" Your frustration was palpable, rejecting the notion that Riddle, the irate stranger, held the magic to removing the collar. “Does this mean I will have to live forever like this?”

“I propose we off this Riddle’s head ourselfs!” As Grim enthusiastically proposed taking matters into their own hands, suggesting an extreme solution, Trey visibly grimaced, swiftly dismissing the idea. Your irritation at Riddle's unreasonable behavior grew, feeling unjustly targeted for no reason.

“If you really want I can tell you were the collared people hide?” There was a questioned expression on Trey’s face, not knowing if that would lead you anywhere.

"Wait, there are more people collared by this guy?" The notion of indiscriminate collaring struck you as incredibly unjust. Despite your seclusion in the tower, the concept of such tyranny was abhorrent. "And no one opposes him?"

"That's because he's the future king of the Queendom," Trey revealed, stunning you with the revelation of Riddle's immense power. The gravity of the situation dawned on you—the consequences of opposing someone of Riddle's stature could be dire.

"Where can I find these collared people?" Your desperation for a solution became palpable, realizing that these individuals might hold the key to breaking the spell.

Trey hesitated, scratching his head, hinting at potential complications in locating them. “Well-”

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

By now, you found yourself aligning closely with Grim's idea. Approaching the other side of town, a large group of collared individuals welcomed you. What upset you most was the maltreatment endured by those with collars—those exempt from Riddle's special treatment mocked the collared ones openly. You, too, had been subject to their derisive stares upon exiting Trey's bakery.

Joining the group, you inquired about their experiences with the collars, growing increasingly dismayed at the absurdity of each story you heard.

"He's nothing but a spoiled brat!" shouted a man, his eyes ablaze with defiant confidence. "We ought to band together and overthrow him!"

"See? Even this human has good ideas," Grim chimed in, nestled on your shoulders. "We should support him." Before you could intervene, Grim walked towards the outspoken man.

"Look! A cat with blue ears!" The group stepped back, intrigued by the peculiar feline.

"A cat?! I am Grim the Great! The most powerful and magnificent—" Grim began, boasting about his grandeur until you scooped him up, silencing his self-praise.

"Is that so? If you're as remarkable as you claim, then I'm sure you'll assist us in dealing with Riddle," another voice chimed in. A man with dark blue hair approached, extending a warm welcome. "I'm Deuce. And you?" he asked, his smile inviting and soft-spoken.

"I’m Y/N, and this is Grim,” You pointed at your cute companion who rolled his eyes at Deuce. “we're here seeking any knowledge on how to remove my collar," you explained, only to be met with laughter from the surrounding group, leaving you wide-eyed with embarrassment.

"Don't mean to dash your hopes, but unless you find Riddle in an exceptionally good mood—" His expression conveyed the unlikelihood of such an occurrence. "There's no way to rid of the collar..." The sentiment elicited audible sighs from some listeners, conveying a sense of resignation.

Cursed be the day I left that tower. At least there, you wouldn't have been collared by some random tyrant. “So what is the plan?” Turning to Deuce, you inquired, prompting a shift in his expression, a broad smirk forming.

"Glad you asked. Follow me!" Deuce's demeanor took on a newfound enthusiasm as you trailed after him. Wandering through the streets led you to a peculiar forest, distinctly different from the lush greenery you'd seen while flying on the broom with Grim. This new place felt darker, stranger, and oddly familiar. After a brief walk, you arrived at a large table, adorned with teacups and scattered cake platters, as if a tea party were in progress. A man in purple attire with cat ears sipped tea while a red-headed individual seemed on the verge of pulling his hair out.

"Looks like we've got someone eager to join the party," Deuce announced, drawing the attention of the other two men toward you.

"Great, and what can they do? Unless that cat can shoot lasers from his eyes, I'm not interested in this recruiting thing anymore!" the red-headed man retorted, appearing ready to storm off.

"Relax, Ace," Deuce replied calmly, though his words seemed to only enrage Ace further, prompting him to hurl a cupcake at Deuce. "That's it, I'm tired of this—" Deuce rolled up his sleeves and advanced toward Ace, who stood up, poised for a confrontation.

"You're not from around here, nya~" The sudden, peculiar voice startled you so much that you jumped and let out a startled scream. Your heart raced, proving not quite resilient enough for these unexpected encounters. The owner of the voice chuckled at your reaction, appearing as nothing more than a floating head to your wide-eyed gaze. "Sorry, sorry. Why don't you join our tea party?" A phantom hand rested on your shoulder, though nothing visible was there.

"What... What's happening...?" Your voice quivered with uncertainty as the enigmatic cat-man guided you toward the table. Nearby, Ace and Deuce tumbled on the ground, their faces smeared with cake. "An invisible cat, two guys throwing cake at each other... What else will I see today? A caterpillar smoking?"

"Perhaps it'll show up later," the cat guy replied with a cryptic air, leaving you unsure if he was joking or being serious. "Now, tell me about yourself~"

As you recounted your tale, the tea grew cold, and Ace and Deuce, their attire adorned with grass and cake stains, eventually joined the tea party. You detailed your tower confinement, your encounter with Riddle, and your awareness of the collared individuals. Che'nya listened intently, hanging on every detail.

"And why were you locked inside that tower?" he inquired, his grin teasingly cheeky.

"That's a good question," you admitted, realizing it had been so long that you couldn't recall the reason. Vague memories of your parents bidding farewell as a man escorted you into a carriage, destined for the tower, flickered in your mind. Struggling to piece together the specifics, your memories remained frustratingly elusive. Sensing your silence, Che'nya spoke up.

"Are you familiar with a story about a sorceress locked inside a tower?" he inquired. The tale was unfamiliar to you; however, you felt his penetrating gaze, probing for any hint of recognition. "I suppose not, but it's curious how closely your story aligns with hers."

"What do you mean?" you inquired, puzzled by Che'nya's fascination with this fairy tale.

"You see, this sorceress was so powerful, surely her magic could break Riddle's," he explained. Glancing around, you noticed Ace and Deuce attentively absorbing Che'nya's words as if they were the most profound.

"So, you think I'm the sorceress?" you ventured, feeling a surge of uncertainty.

"No, that's impossible, nya~" He swiftly dismissed your suggestion, chuckling as if you'd said something ludicrous. "But what if she is listening to our conversation?" In an instant, his demeanor shifted to one of seriousness, eliciting audible gulps from Ace and Deuce, their expressions now reflecting horror at the possibility of an unknown presence among them.

"If she's here, why would she help me?" you pondered aloud.

"In the story, this sorceress is cursed to live forever inside a mirror. Only someone from outside can help her escape—someone she could trust. But she only trusts herself..." Che'nya paused, savoring the suspense, taking a sip of tea. "And the two of you seem to be the same person, just in different universes."

"This is the most absurd thing you've ever said, Che'nya," Ace scoffed, rising from the table. "If that were true, why does Y/N still have the collar?"

"Because she didn't try to remove it," Che'nya promptly replied, exuding confidence. His gaze flickered to you, almost challenging you to prove him right.

Your hand reached for the collar, not anticipating any change as you attempted to concentrate on the thought of it disappearing. With closed eyes, you visualized being alone, solely you and the collar. Yet, there was an intrusion, a presence beyond Che'nya's invisible touch—a touch woven of magic, immaterial yet undeniably real. When you opened your eyes, Ace and Deuce stared wide-eyed as the collar slipped from your neck and clattered to the ground.

“No way…” Deuce’s voice came as a whisper, frozen in place as he stared at the collar on the floor.

“That's great, now take mine off!” Ace dashed to you, seizing your hands and pressing them against his collar, a wide grin spread across his face. “C’mon! I have things I want to do!” Despite his selfishness, you complied, attempting the same method as before. You closed your eyes, focusing solely on the collar, anticipating the peculiar presence, but it never opened. “Why is it not working?”

“I don’t know…?” You were equally perplexed. Che’nya disregarded Ace’s complaints, briskly approaching you.

“Well, this is perfect! Now we just need to get you inside the palace!” Deuce stepped closer, expressing his surprise.

“Wait, Y/N will do that? I thought you wanted someone familiar with the layout and stuff!”

“No, Y/N is perfect for the job.” Che’nya's innocent smile transformed into a sly grin, leaving you bewildered at the sudden turn of events.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

♡︎Thank you for reading!

「 ✦ PREVIOUS ✦ 」「 ✦ NEXT ✦ 」

96 notes · View notes

eschercaine · 2 years

Text

Nevermore characters based from Edgar Allan Poe’s works

Lenore (from the poem “The Raven”)

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December; And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly, I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore— For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore— Nameless here for evermore.

Annabel Lee (from the poem “Annabel Lee”)

It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me.

Morella (from the gothic horror short story “Morella”)

With a feeling of deep yet most singular affection I regarded my friend Morella. Thrown by accident into her society many years ago, my soul, from our first meeting, burned with fires it had never known. But the fires were not of Eros—and bitter and tormenting to my eager spirit was the gradual conviction that I could in no manner define their unusual meaning, or regulate their vague intensity. Yet we met, and Fate bound us together at the altar, and I never spoke of love, or dreamed of passion. She, however, shunned society and attaching herself to me alone rendered me happy. It is a happiness to wonder. It is a happiness to think.

Duke (from the humorous short story “The Duc de L’Omelette”)

A golden cage bore the luxurious little wanderer, enamoured, melting, indolent, to the Chaussee D’Antin, from its home in far Peru. From its queenly possessor La Bellissima, to the Duc de L’Omelette, six peers of the empire conveyed the happy bird. It was ‘All for Love.’

Ada (from the poem “Tamerlane”)

One noon of a bright summer’s day I pass’d from out the matted bow’r Where in a deep, still slumber lay My Ada. In that peaceful hour, A silent gaze was my farewell. I had no other solace—then T’awake her, and a falsehood tell Of a feign’d journey, were again To trust the weakness of my heart To her soft thrilling voice: To part Thus, haply, while in sleep she dream’d Of long delight, nor yet had deem’d Awake, that I had held a thought Of parting, were with madness fraught; I knew not woman’s heart, alas! Tho’ lov’d, and loving—let it pass.—

Prospero (from the short story “The Masque of the Red Death”)

The “Red Death” had long devastated the country. No pestilence had been ever so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was its Avator and its seal — the redness and the horror of blood. There were sharp pains, and sudden dizziness, and then profuse bleedings at the pores, with dissolution. The scarlet stains upon the body and especially upon the face of the victim, were the pest-ban which shut him out from the aid and from the sympathy of his fellow-men. And the whole seizure, progress and termination of the disease were the incidents of half an hour. But the Prince Prospero was happy and dauntless, and sagacious. When his dominions were half depopulated, he summoned to his presence a thousand hale and light-hearted friends from among the knights and dames of his court, and with these retired to the deep seclusion of one of his castellated abbeys. This was an extensive and magnificent structure, the creation of the prince’s own eccentric yet august taste. A strong and lofty wall girdled it in. This wall had gates of iron. The courtiers, having entered, brought furnaces and massy hammers and welded the bolts. They resolved to leave means neither of ingress or egress to the sudden impulses of despair from without or of frenzy from within. The abbey was amply provisioned. With such precautions the courtiers might bid defiance to contagion. The external world could take care of itself. In the meantime it was folly to grieve, or to think. The prince had provided all the appliances of pleasure. There were buffoons, there were improvisatori, there were ballêt-dancers, there were musicians, there were cards, there was Beauty, there was wine. All these and security were within. Without was the “Red Death.”

Pluto (from the short story “The Black Cat”)

Pluto—this was the cat’s name—was my favorite pet and playmate. I alone fed him, and he attended me wherever I went about the house. It was even in difficulty that I could prevent him from following me through the streets.

1K notes · View notes

vosh-rakh · 3 months

Text

3e634, chapter 1

"I'm sorry, the Temple of Dibella is closed,” the priestess said. “You can receive your blessing, if you wish, but the other sisters are in seclusion."

Malekaiah frowned. She looked around anxiously at the alien masonry of the temple’s interior. The four statues of nude Dibella resting against the pillars kept their gazes resolutely forward, ignoring Malekaiah’s plight. She pressed her fingertip hard against the point of her tusk, a bad anxious habit she’d long ago acquired. The tusk was too dull to draw blood, but one could hope.

Finally, her eyes alighted on the shrine against the wall, its points rising like flower petals towards a central space, and she was given the courage to look back at the priestess. “Are you sure?” she asked, her voice quavering, but somehow she pushed on. “I’ve been an acolyte of Dibella all my life. I’m on an important mission to spread her love to those who have never known it.”

“I’m sorry, sister.” The priestess offered a small smile as compensation. “The sisters cannot be disturbed.”

Malekaiah looked up at the brass chandelier on the ceiling, and closed her eyes briefly. “Okay,” she said, nodding, but avoided the priestess’s pitying gaze.

The priestess nodded, and returned to her cleaning.

Malekaiah approached the shrine to Dibella. She gently placed a hand on one of its dull red wings, trying to feel for Dibella’s energies. Then she knelt, clasped her hands, bowed her head, and prayed.

Please, sweet Dibella, I beseech thee: grant me the power and wisdom to see thy love and beauty in every facet of this world, so that I may spread the knowing to those who know only sorrow and ugliness. Let thy kiss become my kiss, lips sweet enough to embrace the world.

Malekaiah couldn’t remember how the prayer was supposed to end, so awkwardly she cut it short there. Unclasping her hands, she rubbed her face, trying to bring some heat to her cheeks, and rub some wakefulness into her eyes. It was so cold here, in Skyrim, and she had barely slept on the long carriage ride from Anvil to Markarth. She had a long journey ahead of her, and she needed to be prepared.

Almost on instinct she quickly felt for the short steel hiding under her ochre robes. Yes, Da’s dagger was still there. Even in this foreign place, it brought her a strange sense of safety.

Malekaiah rose and walked out the temple door. She was immediately faced with the western mountain enclosing the city, waterfalls cascading down the cliff with a deafening roar, flowing into the waterways that ran down the city’s streets. Behind those falls stood proud and ancient the bizarre stone-and-brass architecture of the dwarves, yet as ordinary to the people here as timber and brick.

After a moment of awe, Malekaiah drifted left along the stone walkway, skirting south around the pillar which the temple of Dibella crowned. Down a level of the city, straddling one of the rivulets, was a small smithy, jarringly built of wood. Over the roar of the waterfalls rang out the sharp clang of hammer on metal, and a woman shouting at her apprentice with very colorful language. Turning her head to the left, Malekaiah saw the distant silver mines, crawling with hard-at-work miners, seeming from this far away like ants carrying their burdens of ore.

Malekaiah descended the stairs, making her way down from the temple. They led her closer to the smithy, where she caught a glimpse of the smith. She was an Orc, which stopped Malekaiah in her tracks. There were very few Orcs in Anvil; most had left for bustling Orsinium about a decade or two ago. Despite going to their homeland to proselytize, she didn’t know much about her race. She had read as much as she could about them and their history and ways before leaving, but most of the sources she was able to get her hands on were outdated and often very bigoted.

The smith must have felt Malekaiah’s gaze, and she looked up at her with a scowl. She waved her off with a hand holding an unfinished sword.

Malekaiah quickly turned to continue on her way, but in so doing she ran straight into one of the city guards. He reached for the sword on his hip. “Watch where you’re going, outsider!” he shouted.

“Sorry,” Malekaiah quickly mumbled. The guard, seemingly dissatisfied but uninterested in an actual confrontation, pushed Malekaiah aside and continued on his way.

Malekaiah rubbed her shoulder where the guard had pushed her and looked again at the smith, who had apparently seen the whole thing. She shook her head at Malekaiah and went back to her work.

A bit shaken, Malekaiah continued descending the stairs, following one of the rivulets. She reached for the talismans around her neck. First, the amulet of Dibella: she rubbed the violet stone in the center of the metal flower. It was cold, but it gave her some comfort, anyway. Her hand roamed across her neck to the other talisman, the strange icon left in her swaddling cloth when her parents abandoned her in Cyrodiil. She could feel its rageful face, teeth and tusks bared, and a fuming heat flooded her face. She let go, shook her head, and tried to forget about the encounter with the guard.

Malekaiah continued along the stone path through the city, hoping to find an inn where she could stay the night. Instead, she found herself at the front gate again, faced with the small market situated there.

The square was bustling with activity, a dense crowd - surely half the city - swarming from stall to stall, gawking at and haggling for the goods on display. The few children who could pry themselves from their mothers’ watchful eyes ran through the forest of legs, squealing like pigs.

Something caught Malekaiah’s eye. A gleam of silver, or steel. Her vision snapped to the stall on the far end of the market, selling jewelry. A woman was trying on a prospective purchase.

But there was something else, a man pushing through the crowd, the sun shining in his hand.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. The woman removed the necklace. The man grabbed her mouth from behind. He raised his shining hand and jerked it across her neck, right where the necklace was a moment ago. Blood sprayed on the silver on the stall’s counter. The woman behind it, her face also spattered with red, covered her mouth and screamed.

Just as the crowd began to react to the shriek, the assassin turned around, still holding up the now-mute and struggling woman by her chin. Her head was nearly severed, so vicious and deep was the spurting gash.

“The Reach belongs to the Forsworn!”

The throng devolved into chaos, women and children screaming, men shouting and shoving to escape. There was only one guard nearby, somehow, and he was slow to react, ineffectually trying to push his way through the crowd.

Malekaiah was frozen, staring at the gore of the wound. The man dropped the woman after she stopped moving, and turned back to the stall. The jeweler had fallen to the ground in shock. The assassin vaulted the counter, sending rings and necklaces and torcs to the ground with a tinkling sound that Malekaiah shouldn’t have been able to hear over the din, but could have sworn she did.

He advanced upon the jeweler, dagger in hand, blade under fist. She extended an arm to protect herself, and the assassin’s blade pierced her hand, stabbing all the way through. Her pained scream pierced the sky. The assassin inverted his grip, blade over fist, and began slashing. The jeweler took a cut to the stomach before raising her arms to defend again. The steel tore through the sleeves of her dress as well as the flesh of her forearms.

A fire ignited in Malekaiah’s throat, melting her freeze and compelling her move. She hiked up her robes and withdrew her dagger from the sheath fastened around her thigh, and she advanced through the dissipating crowd. She vaulted over the counter, knocking off yet more jewelry, and approached the assassin’s back.

Firmly gripping the dagger’s hilt, in one simple motion, she thrust the blade deep into his back, sliding effortlessly between two ribs.

Poppies bloomed around the wound, soaking into his shirt.

The assassin exhaled sharply as his lung collapsed, and stopped attacking the jeweler. His weapon clattered to the ground, and he slowly turned to face Malekaiah. With shaky breath, and through bloody coughs, he mustered, “I die for my people,” and then collapsed, dead.

Slowly, shakily, Malekaiah bent down to pull the dagger from the assassin’s back. Once the blade was free of his flesh, there was an upwelling of blood, painting his tunic a deeper black.

She looked across at the jeweler, who stared at her, frightened, tears streaking down her face. Malekaiah took a step forward, causing the jeweler to squirm backwards with a squeal.

“P-please…don’t…” mumbled the jeweler.

Malekaiah glanced at the bloody blade in her hand. Some portions were untouched, clean steel, and she could see her reflection clearly in it. But in the bloody bits, the wet gore reflected a demented distortion of her face. She screamed, too, and tried to wipe the blood from the blade with her cuff. But all she accomplished was staining her sleeve.

Malekaiah returned the dagger to its sheath on her thigh, struggling to keep her hand steady. She tried to approach the jeweler again, with open hands. “I won’t hurt you,” she assured. “I’m a healer.”

The jeweler hesitated, but nodded, letting Malekaiah come forward. Malekaiah knelt next to her and channeled Dibella’s grace to her hands, which glowed with a golden light. She began to hover them over the jeweler’s wounds, slowly bidding them close.

Suddenly, something cold and sharp lifted Malekaiah’s head by the chin. Forcibly she looked up to see one of Markarth’s guards pointing a sword at her throat.

“What are you doing, murderer?” the guard spat from beneath his helmet.

“I…” Malekaiah quavered, blinking rapidly.

“You idiot,” shouted the jeweler at the guard. “She saved my life!”

The guard seemed to finally take full stock of the situation, seeing the woman’s slit-throat corpse, the assassin’s face-down body, and his bloody blade discarded at his side.

In the meanwhile, Malekaiah continued healing the jeweler, starting with the slashes on her arms and the thankfully superficial cut on her abdomen. Malekaiah looked at the stab-wound through the jeweler’s hand with dismay. “I can’t heal this on my own,” she told the jeweler, who had mostly calmed down.

Malekaiah turned to the corpse and dagger behind her. She wiped as much blood from the blade as she could, and used it as a tool to cut a relatively clean strip of the assassin’s tunic. She turned back to the jeweler and apologized. “This will hurt.” The jeweler nodded and offered her injured hand. Malekaiah delicately wrapped the strip of cloth around her palm, tying it tightly. The jeweler groaned at the final tug but otherwise didn’t complain.

“She needs a more experienced healer for her hand,” Malekaiah said, looking up at the guard, who had withdrawn his sword to its sheath.

“I’ll take her to the temple,” the guard growled. Taking her unhurt hand, he helped the jeweler stand. As they began to walk off, he turned his head and said, “Keep your nose clean, orc.”

Malekaiah knelt there numbly for a moment. But eventually her close proximity to two corpses and so much blood became too much, and she forced herself to stand. She examined her robes, and found them surprisingly spared, save for the cuff she used to wipe the blades clean.

The market was almost completely empty now, save for a few late-arriving guards come to gather the bodies. But there was another man, fast approaching Malekaiah. His smile did nothing to disarm her anxiety after the preceding harrowing events, and she reached instinctively for the dagger through her robes.

“Easy there, friend,” said the stranger. “I’m not here to hurt you.” He glanced at the dead woman being carried off by a couple of guards. “Gods. A woman attacked, right in the streets.” He seemed to notice the blood on Malekaiah’s cuffs, and asked, “Are you alright? Did you see what happened?”

“I was right there,” Malekaiah answered. She ran her hand across her bare scalp and looked away. “He killed that woman, and then…tried to kill the jeweler.” Her words felt like lead dropping from her tongue, seeming to almost hang from her lips, not wishing to be said. Her voice didn’t feel her own. “So I…I…I killed him.” She covered her face so the stranger wouldn’t see the unbidden tears welling up in her eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” the stranger said. “I hope the Nine give you more peace in the future.” Malekaiah lowered her hands to look at him, just as his expression suddenly changed. He quickly reached out his hand, shoving something into Malekaiah’s. “Oh, by the way, I think you dropped this.”

Malekaiah jumped at the sudden movement, but calmed a bit when she realized it was just a piece of folded paper. “Is this…yours?” she asked, confused.

“Mine? No, yours. Must have fallen out of your pocket in the commotion.” He offered a little wave and then turned to leave.

Malekaiah was positive she didn’t have any parchment on her before this man gave her this note. She unfolded and read the brief note scrawled in an uneven hand: “Meet me at the Shrine of Talos.”

Malekaiah looked back up at the man, who was now halfway across the square. “Shrine of Talos?” she hollered. “Where’s that?”

He stopped in his tracks and half turned towards her. “Huh?” He scratched his chin. “Not sure. I don’t worship Talos, myself. I think I heard someone mention it was underneath the Temple of Dibella, in the big crag in the center of the city.” Then he turned and walked away.

Malekaiah’s eyes followed him until he was out of sight. Then she glanced at the note again, and sighed. She folded the paper back up and slipped it into a pocket in her robes.

She looked up toward the center of town, at the crag where she had just come from the Temple. It truly was an enormous feature, dominating the city’s skyline.

She checked for her dagger again, and against her better judgment, she made her way towards the Shrine of Talos.

-----

It took some walking around the crag to find the correct path to the shrine, as well as walking past its unmarked doors on accident several times. The doors were large and notable: huge brass double doors twice her height, surrounded by ornate ancient masonry. But there was no indication they belonged to the shrine of a Cyrodiilic war god.

Malekaiah pushed open the heavy doors with some effort, and stepped into the dark corridor, faintly candlelit and sloping downwards. She narrowed her eyes in the darkness, but her Orcish vision quickly acclimated. At the bottom of the slope she could make out two figures: one, surely a statue of Tiber Septim, stoically leaning on a sword; the other, a man kneeling before the altar, head bowed.

Malekaiah slowly descended the corridor towards the shrine’s sanctum. She tried to be quiet so as not to disturb the man’s prayer, but despite her best efforts he still somehow noticed her approach as she neared the end of the ramp.

The stranger from the market quickly stood and turned to face Malekaiah. “You came,” he whispered. “Thank you. I’m sorry to drag you into Markarth’s problems, but after that attack in the market, I’m running out of time.”

Malekaiah blinked rapidly. “What?”

Breathlessly, the stranger continued, “You want answers? Well, so do I. So does everyone in the city. A man goes crazy in the market. Everyone knows he’s a Forsworn agent. Guards do nothing. Nothing but clean up the mess.”

Unbidden, images flash into Malekaiah’s mind: a torn open throat, poppies, and a demon staring back at her in the bloody blade.

It was as if her head detached from her neck, and began to float away. She responded numbly to the stranger in an automatic process seemingly devoid of any conscious intention. Her conscious attention was no longer in the room.

The entire conversation grazed past her like a breeze. She may have agreed to something, but the memory of precisely what was slippery. She was vaguely aware that at some point, the man - suddenly she remembered he called himself Eltrys - left the shrine. But she remained, standing before the altar, invisible to herself.

Malekaiah returned to her body, and found herself kneeling at the altar, hands clasped, muttering an unintelligible half-prayer to - presumably - Talos. She stopped herself. She had never worshiped Talos; it struck her as odd that Skyrim had shrines at all, as he was chiefly a Cyrod’s god. She felt nothing stirring in her heart from the attempt. Oddly enough, though, she felt something stirring in her gut.

Oh. She was hungry. She stood, dusted off her knees, and left the shrine.

———

Not even the warmth of the inn could take the chill from Malekaiah’s bones. She shuffled into the threshold, and suddenly all of the many eyes of the crowded tavern were on her. Whispers accompanied them:

“Is that…”

“Did she really…”

“She really is a…”

Malekaiah pressed her thumb into her tusk hard as she shambled towards the bar. She vaguely recognized that she was falling into her old bad habit, but it seemed to keep her head screwed onto her neck, so she allowed it this time.

She clambered onto a stool at the far end of the bar. She knew she needed to order dinner, and rent a room for the night, but she was an immobile statue, unable to speak. So she folded her arms on the counter and buried her face in them.

After a moment, a gentle male voice reverberated, “Hey, lass.”

Malekaiah lifted her head to see the barkeep looking at her.

“You’re the Orc who killed Weylin, right? Saved Kerah’s life?” He didn’t look angry, but it felt like an accusation to Malekaiah nonetheless.

Without speaking, Malekaiah nodded slowly.

The barkeep reached underneath his side of the counter and placed something on top of it. Malekaiah recoiled immediately, but her alarm softened as she saw what it was: a tray filled with food. A bowl of steaming potato cabbage soup; a thick rye-bread trencher, topped with a hefty slice of goat cheese and an entire roasted goat shank; on the side, some kind of dark-berried pie, and a large mug of what smelled like mead.

“You did good, lass,” said the barkeep with a smile. “Food’s on the house. Bed too, if you need one for the night.”

A holler went up through the room, all the whispering mouths turned to joyous raucous. A nearby Nord reached over with his mug. It took a moment, but Malekaiah realized she needed to lift her own and clank it against his. Both cups overflowed, and the coolness of the splashed mead felt good on Malekaiah’s hand.

Malekaiah was afraid to eat at first, not sure her appetite would be up to the massive challenge. But she didn’t miss a bite. She even drank the whole mug of mead, despite never having had alcohol in her life. The barkeep, whose name was Kleppr, led her to her room after the festivities became too much for her. It wasn’t long after her head hit the pillow that she fell into a deep sleep.

-----

It was early morning, and the sun was yet to peek through the window into their home. All that lit the room was a small candle on the table between them. Its flame flickered across her father’s dark face, dancing across his features: his round spectacles and the dull brown eyes behind; his large, bulbous nose, a mountain dividing his face into two separate landmasses; and underneath, the thick mustache covering his upper lip completely, a dense dark broom of hair. His clean-shaven scalp even caught the light, casting vague orange smears across his head.

She admired his looks. He looked like a father ought, she thought. She pitied her childhood friends and their imperfectly paternal fathers.

Sometimes, at night when she couldn’t sleep, she tried to imagine what her “true” father looked like. Would he measure up at all? Surely he was greener, and with prominent tusks, but what of the mustache? The spectacles? It was usually at this stage that she began to feel intensely ashamed for considering it at all. Da was her father, and that was that…

Da slapped her hand away from her mouth – she had been pressing her fingertip into her tusk again. “Stop that,” he muttered sternly.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “Lost in thought, again.”

Da huffed. “Don’t think so much.” Pivoting quickly, he said, “Don’t be afraid.” From the satchel leaning against the legs of his chair he pulled out two items. She squinted to make them out in the darkness: one seemed to be metal, gleaming in the candlelight; the other was some loose assemblage of leather strips.

“A parting gift?” she asked, incredulous.

“No, Kaiah.” (She loved it when he called her that.) “Nine forbid you ever need to use this.” He delicately handed her the objects; as the metal one passed nearer to the flame, she recognized it as a dagger.

“What is this?” she asked, startled.

“I said don’t be afraid,” he rebuked. “It��s protection. You go alone into dangerous lands. Nine forbid you ever need it, but…just in case.”

She slowly reached for the blade’s grip, her hand shaking ever so slightly. As her fingers wrapped around the hilt, Da let go. She was surprised by the lightness of it; she had expected heavier.

“And this,” Da said, holding up the tied leather strips, “is your sheath. It will tie around your thigh. Keep it concealed beneath your robes.”

She nodded numbly as he gave her the sheath. The leather was soft under her fingertips.

“How will I know when to use it?” she asked.

“You’re a grown woman now, Kaiah,” answered Da. He began to rise from his chair. “I trust your judgment.”

She began to rise as well, expecting an embrace. But he turned his back to her, and approached the smoldering ashes of last night’s fire in the furnace. There he stood, quiet, hands clasped behind his back.

She wanted to hug Da, for him to tell her she was doing the right thing, that she would be okay. She started to slowly shuffle up behind him –

But the dagger was still in her hand, and her fingers tightened around it. She surged forward, blade first.

His lungs deflated with a sudden gasp, and poppies welled around the wound in his back, piercing right between his ribs.

She cried out, “Da!” She let go of the dagger and tried to back away from this murder.

But his hands unclasped themselves, and reached up to grab her arms – joints popped and bones cracked from the unnatural extension required. He began to turn his head back, further and further, vertebrae shattering as it swiveled to face her. But it wasn’t his face.

The candle on the table behind her seemed to roar into a conflagration, fully illuminating his hideous visage, a demented ashen demon, teeth glistening with gore, lips spread wide with malice and rage. It shouted, “Killer! Killer! Killer! Killer! Killer!”

-----

She woke up screaming, “I’m sorry!”

She grabbed the burning hot talisman hanging from her throat and, through her tears, saw Da’s twisted, angry face in the icon. She ripped it from her neck and threw it across the rented room, and wept.

-----

Blessedly, the ancient stone walls of the inn seemed to be thick enough to stifle her screaming and sobbing. At least, no one came knocking on her door to get her to shut up.

Malekaiah knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep; she was too afraid of further nightmares. She decided to get dressed and go for a walk.

Before she left the room, she glanced back at its dark corner. A faint gleam caught her eye; the demon talisman from her swaddling cloth. She approached it and retrieved it; it was still slightly warm. She reasoned she couldn’t blame it entirely for the dream, and after all, it could prove useful in Wrothgar - it could open some doors. She tied it back around her neck.

Malekaiah quietly left her room and passed through the stone corridor into the inn’s main chamber. Although packed and active last night, in these early hours before dawn it was dead. Everyone had retired to their beds, except for a single drunkard passed out in the corner.

In the lingering light from the fires, she caught a glimpse of the bloodstains on her cuffs. She decided on where her walk would take her.

The air outside was near freezing. Malekaiah wished she’d packed a pair of gloves. She pulled up the hood on her robes in an effort to protect her cheeks from the chill.

It seemed the guards of Markarth kept the streets lit overnight; she saw one a ways down who was tending to a brazier with her torch. Malekaiah considered asking the guard if she had a torch to spare, but she wasn’t brave enough. So she carried on by the occasional light of braziers, hoping she remembered her way back to her destination.

After some searching, Malekaiah arrived: the small stream by the blacksmith’s. (The old Orc woman didn’t seem to be there yet.) She wasted no time undoing the red sash around her waist, and then pulling her ochre robes off and over her head. All that remained was her woolen underclothes, but they still covered her neck-to-ankle.

“Pretty wiry for an Orc, aren’t you?”

Malekaiah jumped and dropped her robes into the stream. She tried to snatch them out, but the flow was too strong. She turned to try to make out who had addressed her in the dark.

“Sorry,” the voice said. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Just wanted to make sure you knew you weren’t alone, so you didn’t strip all the way down.”

Malekaiah strained to focus her eyes. The woman a ways down the stream had a crate of objects that glimmered in the moonslight, and a bandage wrapped around her waving hand.

“Oh,” Malekaiah said. “You’re…”

“My name’s Kerah,” answered the woman in the darkness. “I figure the least I owe you for saving my life is my name.” She waved her hand again. “Can I have yours?”

“Malekaiah.”

“That’s a pretty name,” Kerah said. She reached out with her uninjured hand and grabbed Malekaiah’s robes as they passed by her in the stream. “Come here, Malekaiah. You might want these.”

Malekaiah slowly obliged, drawing closer to Kerah. As she did, she noticed the box was filled with blood-spattered silver jewelry.

“Cleaning the merchandise before we open,” smiled Kerah as she handed Malekaiah the robes. “It needs to be presentable, of course.

Malekaiah knelt beside Kerah and furrowed her brow. “Are you okay?”

Kerah tilted her head slightly. “Oh, it doesn’t hurt anymore,” she said with a light wave of her bandaged hand.

“No,” Malekaiah said, “I mean…” She gestured vaguely at her own shaved head.

Kerah’s face hardened a bit. “It’s fine. Such is life in Skyrim. Especially the Reach.” She pointed at the bloodstains on Malekaiah’s robes. “Not the first time blood’s been shed in this city, and it won’t be the last.”

“Oh,” Malekaiah said. Attention having been drawn to the bloodstains, she began to scrub futilely at them in the stream.

Kerah idly watched Malekaiah’s attempts to clean her robes while fiddling with a necklace from her crate. Finally she said, “That’s not going to work. Here.” She reached beside her and offered Malekaiah a small round object.

Malekaiah took it gently, and her fingers brushed against Kerah’s. She had expected them to be soft, but the tips were rough and calloused. Malekaiah realized Kerah wasn’t just a jeweler - she was a silversmith. The sensation sent a shiver down her spine.

It took a moment for Malekaiah to return to her senses. She examined the smooth object in her hand. It was yellowish-white, with darker flecks throughout. “What is -”

“Soap,” Kerah interjected. “Goat tallow, potash, and a little lavender imported from Whiterun for the scent.” She waved towards the robes. “Give it a try.”

Malekaiah gave the bar of soap a sniff - it did smell faintly of lavender. She began to scrub at the blood stains with it, and gradually they began to fade until all that was left were patches of slightly darker ochre.

“Thank you,” Malekaiah whispered when she was done. She tried to hand back the soap, but Kerah pushed it away.

“No, keep it,” Kerah said. “I have plenty. Margret taught me how to make it a while back.”

“Margret?” Malekaiah asked.

Kerah winced. “She is…was…a customer of mine. She was…the one at my stall this morning. When you were there.”

It took Malekaiah a moment to piece it together. Then the image of the woman’s bleeding throat flashed before her eyes, and she quickly shut them tight. But it didn’t help.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered.

Kerah wiped a moonslit tear from her eye. “It’s okay.” She sighed, her entire body shuddering. “I don’t know about where you’re from, but in Skyrim, we celebrate our dead. Even when they’re taken from us.”

“Anvil,” whispered Malekaiah.

“Hm?” replied Kerah, tilting her head.

“I’m from Anvil. In Cyrodiil.”

“Oh. So was Margret. From Cyrodiil, I mean. Not Anvil.” Kerah smiled. “She was here to buy a pendant for her sister in the Imperial City. Have you ever been there?”

Malekaiah shook her head. “Never left Anvil county. Not until I came here.”

Kerah reached out her hands. Malekaiah accepted the offer with some hesitation, placing her hands in Kerah’s. They certainly weren’t the pampered hands of a merchant; this woman worked a forge. And judging by the quality of her wares, she was good at it.

“So what brings you to Markarth, Malekaiah?” asked Kerah.

“I’m an acolyte of Dibella,” Malekaiah answered. “I’m on my way to Orsinium to proselytize.”

“Hm,” Kerah said. “That must be a tough crowd.” Malekaiah’s face fell a bit, so Kerah added, “But maybe they’ll listen to you, since you’re an Orc and all.”

Malekaiah smiled slightly. “Maybe.”

The sun was beginning to rise now, Kerah’s crate of silver dazzling in the early dawn light. “Damn,” she blurted, pulling her hands away from Malekaiah’s and burying them in the assorted jewelry. “Sorry, I really need to finish this and get ready to open.” She smiled again, wide and sparkling in the sun’s golden glow. “It was lovely getting to know you, Malekaiah. Be safe in your travels, and good luck.”

Without the warmth of Kerah’s hands, Malekaiah’s fingers felt lonely in the cold Skyrim air. “Thank you for the soap,” Malekaiah said as she gathered her wet robes and began to stand.

“You saved my life,” Kerah said as she scraped hard blood from a sapphire. “It’s the least I can do.”

Malekaiah waved awkwardly with the hand holding the soap, but Kerah was now fully engrossed in cleaning her merchandise. Malekaiah nodded and walked away.

The robes tucked under Malekaiah’s arm were dripping wet. Looking up the stream, she saw the blacksmith’s forge again, situated on an island in the center of the flow. She squinted at it in the dull morning light, and could just make out a couple of aprons hanging from a line strung between two of the hut’s posts. She still didn’t see the Orc there, so she approached.

Malekaiah had to ascend a level of the tiered city to find the stone bridge crossing the stream. At the smithy, she glanced around. On a table near the anvil she found a pair of small iron clamps. She took them and used them to hang up her robes on the line with the aprons.

Exhausted from her short sleep that night, she sat at the stool by the table. She pulled her hands in her sleeves to keep them warm, and laid down her head on the table…

-----

Malekaiah was pulled awake by a firm hand wrapping around the back of her neck and yanking up her head. She yelped and reached up her hands, but her assailant slapped them down.

“What are you doing in my workshop, whelp?”

Malekaiah was just barely able to turn her head to see the fuming Orc smith gripping her nape. “I…I…I…” Malekaiah’s sudden rip from sleep kept her from forming a sentence.

“Not thieving, I hope?” continued the Orc woman. “You know what we do to thieves in the strongholds? We take their hands, whelp.” Suddenly, Malekaiah noticed a flash of light on the steel axe in the woman’s other hand.

“Uh, Ghorza?” It was a man’s voice, albeit a timid one, coming from behind the furious woman.

“Not the time, Tacitus,” growled the woman, presumably Ghorza.

“Look,” Tacitus continued anyway. He must have pointed, because Ghorza turned. She moved her whole body to look, letting Malekaiah see Tacitus was gesturing at her hanging robes. “She’s just drying her clothes,” Tacitus laughed.

Ghorza dropped Malekaiah and moved over to the robes. Malekaiah scurried into the corner.

Ghorza plucked the clamps from the line, causing the mostly-dry robes to fall to the floor. “These aren’t clothespins, girl,” she growled. “I’ll have your hide if these rust.”

Tacitus, a soot-faced young Cyrod, bent down to look at Malekaiah - he seemed to take notice of the sheath on her thigh. “Wait, Ghorza. I know this one! She was the one at the market yesterday, who killed the Forsworn!”

Ghorza huffed wordlessly. “Stand up and let me have a look at you, girl.”

Malekaiah felt heat rush to her cheeks as she slowly obeyed, keeping a hand hovering near the sheath just in case. Ghorza towered over her, but Tacitus in the corner was about Malekaiah’s height. Malekaiah began to wonder if she was short for an Orc.

Ghorza placed her rough smith’s hands on Malekaiah’s shoulders, squeezing as she moved down to feel her biceps. “Pretty scrawny,” she said before grabbing Malekaiah’s chin and tilting her head this way and that. “And maybe not so bright - no common sense, at least - but you know how to kill. A decent sign.” She let go and turned around. She pulled something from a rack and turned back to brandish it before Malekaiah. “Here. See how this feels.”

It was a sword - Malekaiah guessed it was made of iron. She took it by the offered handle from Ghorza and waggled it around a bit. It was lighter than it looked.

Ghorza stepped back. “Give it a few swings.”

Malekaiah looked up at Ghorza’s eyes, anxious. But she did as she was told, and swung at the air a few times. They were clumsy swipes, and the sword nearly fell from her hand at the end of the last.

“Stop,” ordered Ghorza. “No training. Shouldn’t be surprised.”

Malekaiah laid the blade across both hands and inspected it. The metal was dull, without the sharp gleam of her Da’s dagger. She asked, “Is this…a gift?”

“No. It wasn’t going to be free, at least.” Ghorza retrieved the sword from Malekaiah with a delicate touch that betrayed a great respect for the iron. “But it wouldn’t do you any good without any skill. Swinging it wildly is ineffective, at best. Get you killed, at worst.” She pointed the sword at Malekaiah’s sheathed dagger. “Better off with something smaller. And staying out of trouble in the first place.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Malekaiah as she watched Ghorza return the sword to its rack. She took the opportunity to retrieve her robes from the floor.

Ghorza turned back and looked Malekaiah up and down for a moment, arms crossed. Finally she said, “You did good in the market yesterday. Take care of yourself.”

“Thank you,” Malekaiah said.

“Get out of my sight.”

“Yes m-” Malekaiah began, but Ghorza’s eyes flared up, and so she hurried away, nearly tripping over her dangling robes in the process.

-----

Unlike in Anvil, the sun in Skyrim never seemed to rise very high in the sky, even by midday. But Malekaiah knew she’d be mostly keeping to this same northerly latitude for her journey, so she figured she’d have to get used to it.

Malekaiah had stocked up on food and supplies this morning, spending almost all of her remaining gold, before leaving the city about an hour ago. She followed the main road west as it faded from paved to dirt to cleared to tracks to footprints to complete obscurity. Now she and Magnus faced the same direction, the latter sure of his path over the mountains, but Malekaiah much less so. She knelt in the dirt and puzzled.

When overwhelmed, Da always taught her to take things one step at a time. She scanned the jagged horizon of slate-gray peaks, and looked for low passages between the rising slopes and cliffs. She followed a trail of them closer and closer until a nearby path emerged.

She stood and dusted off her knees. She was ready to keep walking, but then she heard footsteps behind her. She turned back to see a woman there she hadn’t noticed before. She was a dark elf, a Dunmer, wearing shiny brass armor and a deep black cloak with red trim. Her hood shrouded her face in darkness, but two locks of white hair spilled out from underneath onto her shoulders.

“Muthsera?” croaked the Dunmer, betraying what Malekaiah understood as the accent natural to residents of the volcanic island of Vvardenfell, in the Ebonheart Pact.

Tentatively, Malekaiah responded, “Yes? How can I help you?”

The dark elf said, “I’m lost. Which way to Solstheim?”

“Oh, I’m not from here,” Malekaiah said with an apologetic smile. But she wracked her brain for memories from her geography lessons. “Solstheim…that’s an island, isn’t it? In the Sea of Ghosts?” She pointed east, behind the Dunmer.

The dark elf didn’t so much as turn her head to acknowledge the gesture. “Oh,” she said, staring exclusively at Malekaiah. “Thank you.” She broke eye contact briefly to glance up at the skies as she asked, “Seen any dragons lately?”

“Sorry? Malekaiah said, looking up where the dark elf did. She didn’t see anything, so she looked back down. “Dragons aren’t real, are they?”

The Dunmer’s lips spread open wide, revealing two rows of yellow, viciously sharp teeth in a wicked grin. “Oh, yes,” she said, her teeth not separating as she spoke, “Of course they’re real.” Her red-nailed fingers wrapped around the corners of her hood and peeled it from her face, the shadows receding to reveal her eyes, blood-red and wide, and the third, tattooed on her forehead, crimson ink glowing brightly. “You’ve just met one.” She rushed forward, grabbing Malekaiah by the face and pressing her thumb into her forehead.

“Praan.”

And nothing but thick blackness remained.

#tes #tesblr #my writing #skyrim #dibella #talos #oc: malekaiah #oc: dagoth valer #markarth #dunmer #orc #orsimer #nord #breton #forsworn #imperial #cyrod #cyrodiil #redguard

41 notes · View notes

pagesfromthevoid · 2 months

Text

Enchanted | g.d. | 1

Gale Dekarios x fem!Tav

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: None

Author’s Note: I have the entire series written and I am NOT sorry.

Talk to Me! | Series Masterlist

My undying love, now I hold it like a grudge,

And I hear your voice every time I think I’m not enough…

The first time Gale heard her voice, it was the very start of his isolation and seclusion in his tower.

At the time, it was a distant sound –something that sat in the background of his tower when the balcony doors were opened and he had half a mind to pay attention. Most of the day, he had been too absorbed in his self-loathing and hatred, thinking about everything that had gone wrong and led him to losing not only his title of Chosen, but losing what he considered the love of his life.

The circus had been in town all month at that point, but he had little interest in it even when he wasn’t a recluse. The bouts of magic and entertainment were too on the nose for him, and he had little interest in the acts that were geared towards the more easily distracted. But something about her voice that first evening caught his attention as he sat on his balcony, watching the ships leave the harbor.

The first time Gale heard her voice, he peered over to the circus, where a small crowd had gathered around a bard. He assumed she was a bard, at least –she had a lute, and she was singing. Not many people were around –certainly more interested in what was going on elsewhere in the circus –but she was still performing like it was her lifeline. The lights that surrounded her made it hard to make out any distinguishable features, though he supposed it didn’t matter what she looked like if he could hear her voice clear as day.

The arguments that I have won against you in my head,

In the shower, in the yard, and in the mirror before bed –

I’m so tough when I’m alone and I make you feel so guilty…

Much like him, it seemed, she was heartbroken over a love lost. It struck Gale as almost uncanny how closely the lyrics resonated with his own inner turmoil. He found himself wiping his eyes, moved by the poignant melody that seemed to mirror the depths of his own anguish. As he listened, the weight of his current struggles pressed heavily upon him – the pulsating presence of the Netherese orb beneath his skin, the sting of rejection from the one person who had once understood him better than anyone else. It puzzled him how this bard, a stranger to his own personal hells, could capture the essence of his emotions with such accuracy.

Gale couldn’t listen to her very long before he slammed shut the doors of his balcony and retreated into the darkness of his tower once more.

*****

The next time Gale heard her voice, it was when the circus returned the following year.

A whole year had passed since Mystra cast him from her favor; a whole year had passed since he was implanted with a ticking bomb in his chest; a whole year had passed since he last heard the bard in the circus, singing about her own heartbreak that felt so much like his that he sometimes thought back to her words and reminded himself that he did not need to hold a grudge.

The next time Gale heard her voice, he noticed that the crowd gathered around her was still just as modest as before, perhaps even smaller. The ambient lights continued to cast a glow over her, creating an aura that blurred her figure around the edges, resembling distant stars. Despite the dwindling audience, her voice carried a seasoned richness, hinting at a depth of experience and emotion that had matured since the last time he had heard her sing. Gale briefly wondered why she insisted on performing songs that failed to attract large crowds, yet simultaneously wondered if such trivial matters even registered on her radar. It struck him that perhaps, for her, the act of sharing her music was a personal journey rather than a quest for recognition or fame.

Looking back, I think the magic all along was me,

Cause I can’t help but look for the best in you.

But I can’t be in love with the things I just hope you do…

He wondered, once again, how she managed to reach into the depths of his very soul and tear out the feelings he also held. It was unlikely she was heartbroken over a god, but whatever had happened to cause her to write and sing about what she did –Gale was thankful that someone could put it into words, even if that someone was a bard whose name he didn’t even know.

Tonight, he did not slam the doors of his balcony when it got overwhelming. Instead, he sat and he listened, committing each word she sang to heart. He allowed the feelings to wash over him, to cry as he recalled the stupidity of his actions, to curse the folly of his own doing.

I can’t be in love with potential,

I can’t say it’s all circumstantial…

Maybe I should go away,

It’s your choice if you wanna change…

As the nights progressed –he started to keep track of what nights she was there and what nights she was not –Gale noticed a subtle shift within himself. At first, it was merely a passing interest, but gradually it grew into something more. With each performance by the bard, whose voice seemed to be laced with the Weave itself, he found himself captivated. He discovered a new sense of resonance with her music, each note laced with emotions he hadn't explored before. And it wasn't just the music that drew him; it was the sincerity in her voice, the passion in her lyrics, and the way she poured her soul into every performance.

Soon, Gale's evenings became synonymous with her songs, and he found comfort in her voice drifting up to his balcony. As he reflected on his feelings, he began to question the depth of his devotion to Mystra, realizing that perhaps his connection with the goddess wasn't as balanced as he once believed. Perhaps he was better off without Mystra to impress –even if the orb pulsed within him and demanded control.

*****

Showed you all of my hiding spots,

I was dancing when the music stopped…

And in the disbelief, I can’t face reinvention

I haven’t met the new me yet.

“Mr. Dekarios,” Tara announced one evening, having gone to retrieve something with a substantial amount of magic within it for him.

“Hello, Tara,” he greeted with a soft smile, sitting on his balcony with his eyes shut. The bard’s voice was drifting over him, and for the first time since he started paying attention, this song wasn’t nearly as bitter or sad.

“You seem almost…content,” the tressym commented, hopping up on the seat next to him. Gale opened his eyes, meeting her gaze as she scrutinized him. “I do hope that means you’ll leave this tower soon.”

“Perhaps,” he hummed, looking over his balcony and down towards where the crowd was gathering once more. Maybe he would join the crowd tomorrow, before she started. Finally put a face to the voice that he had listened to every night for the last three weeks.

Tara followed his gaze, hopping up now on the bannister of the balcony. She cocked her head to the side, eying the lights and people. “Have you been listening to her all night, Mr. Dekarios?”

He nodded once, standing up to join her on the balcony. Resting his arms on the ledge, Gale leaned over and watched as more people gathered around his bard –well, not his bard, but the bard –and he couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy that they got to see her up close. But at the same time, he was happy for her; she was getting the attention she deserved.

There’ll be happiness after you

But there was happiness because of you.

Both of these things can be true…

“I’ve been listening to her every night, actually,” he admitted with a soft chuckle, feeling his ears burn with mild embarrassment. “I…She’s a lovely singer, that’s all.”

Tara simply eyed him for a moment before returning her attention to the bard below. “She talks to herself quite a bit when she’s not singing.”

Gale’s attention snapped back to Tara, brow furrowing. “How do you know that?”

“She feeds the strays –who am I to pass up a free meal, Mr. Dekarios?”

“Tara,” he scolded, rolling his eyes. “You are not a stray; more importantly, you’ve met her?”

“Poor thing thinks I’m just a cat with wings, but yes, I have spent time with her. Very polite, a bit sad. I suppose I could introduce you –,”

“Please,” he quickly interrupted, standing up straight. “Tomorrow, we’ll go tomorrow.”

Tara seemed surprised by his sudden want to leave the tower, however there would be no complaining from her. Gale leaned over the bannister once more, looking down at the crowd that finally settled in to listen to her sing.

No one teaches you what to do

When a good man hurts you,

And you know you hurt him too…

*****

Stepping out of his tower for the first time in a year, Gale had to pause in the doorway to brace himself for it. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to leave; actually, on the contrary –for the first time in a year, he felt confident enough to step outside and not blow anyone up. But he was overwhelmed by the familiar sights and smells of his beloved Waterdeep and it took him a moment to get his bearings again. Tara strolled beside him, however, reminding him that it was okay.

He was more thankful for that than she would ever know.

It wasn’t a long walk to where the circus had set up for the month, but he took his time, enjoying the sun and the salty breeze that tousled his hair. It had been too long, and if he was going to go confess to the mysterious bard that was below his balcony that he was enchanted by her, then he needed to take his time and get a little more confident in himself.

With Tara leading the way, Gale smiled and waved at neighbors who greeted him happily. It was a nice reminder that perhaps he wasn’t all that alone, even if he was destined to be consumed. He hummed one of her songs to himself, unable to help the smile that was spreading over his face as they finally stood at the gates of the –

Empty circus grounds.

The wizard and tressym stopped short, staring at the torn down tents and remaining pieces of equipment that were being loaded up into a cart. It was a handful of stage hands that were left –it seemed the main performers had taken their leave already.

“No, no, no,” Gale panicked, pushing through the gates and hurrying up to a kobold that was packing up his inventory. “Where is everyone? I thought –the circus –,”

The kobold looked up at him with shifty eyes, pointing around in random directions. “Circus is gone, I is packing up my treatos and getting on road. You want treato? I has lots, treatos make you feel better!”

“What? No, I don’t want –the bard –the girl, who sings. Is she still here?”

“Lots of bards, lots of singing –I is not knowing which one.”

Gale groaned, raking his hand through his hair in frustration. Tara huffed in annoyance, interrupting. “The one that feeds the strays, Popper.”

“Oh!” Popper –apparently –exclaimed. “Favorite human. Very nice. She leave this morning, with bendy friend.”

For a moment, he simply stared down at the kobold with unseeing eyes.

The circus was gone and so were his chances of finally laying eyes on his bard.

“Can you…will you pass along a message to her, Popper?” He finally asked, looking around the mess of the kobold’s shop before finding relatively clean parchment and a quill. He scribbled out something quickly, then waved his hand to ensure the ink dried. With a couple pieces of gold and the parchment, he held it out to Popper, who snatched both up with a frantic nod.

*****

“Oh hello, Popper,” she greeted with a small smile when they made it to their next city.

Popper was setting up a series of very clearly stolen –and slightly bloody –weapons he must have knicked off some bodies on the way. He spun around with a hop, throwing his arms up in excitement.

“Tayve! I has treato for you!”

“Is that so?” She raised a brow and knelt in front of him, smiling softly. “And it’s Tav, Popper. You’ll get it one day.”

Popper waved off her correction, yanking out a wrinkled piece of parchment and shoving it into her hands. “From man in last town. Gave me lots of gold to deliver.”

Tav’s brow furrowed a bit as she uncrumpled the note, looking it over for a moment. It was a poem, she thought, as she read it over. But no name was signed.

The lingering question kept me up

2 AM, who do you love?

I wondered till I'm wide awake

Now I'm pacing back and forth,

wishing you were at my door

I'd open up and you would say

It was enchanting to meet you.

Your singing saved me. I wish I could have told you in person.

#gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #gale dekarios x reader #gale of waterdeep x reader #gale x tav #gale dekarios x tav #gale of waterdeep x tav

37 notes · View notes

bananadrinkxxx · 7 months

Text

THE BLOOD CROWN (23)

[Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character ! I fem!reader]

[Dark Romance / Enemies to Lovers / Revenge]

Content for adults. 18+

[warnings: smut, sex content, dark romance, angst, fights, domination, murder]

[description: Aemond Targaryen meets his niece under a different name and falls in love with her without knowing that she is supposed to be his enemy.]

Masterlist - click here for all available parts

K I N G S L A N D I N G

When Daeron Targaryen returned to King's Landing, he had expected many things.

His brother Aemond with the conqueror's crown on his head was not one of them. As he stepped down from his dragon, he looked dumbfounded at his mother, who welcomed him, dressed as always in green. She smiled, but her smile did not reach her eyes.

Aemond stood a little further off, with Ser Criston Cole and his grandsire Otto beside him, who seemed to be discussing something. As Daeron came closer, they suddenly fell silent and the young prince drew his eyebrows together.

"Daeron, my boy," Otto greeted him, but Daeron had his gaze fixed on Aemond.

"What has happened? Is my brother Aegon dead?" he asked in a weak voice, and Alicent put a hand on his shoulder reassuringly.

"Do not be alarmed, Daeron. Aegon is being cared for by the best maesters in the realm."

"What is his condition?"

"Concerning but he has improved."

"Can I see him?"

He had never had much connection with his brothers or his sister, but he loved them nonetheless. He loved each and every one of his family so much that he would die for them.

His mother shook his head. "He won't see anyone but me." Her voice was bitter. She seemed changed. The war was leaving its mark on her.

Daeron looked to Aemond, to be more precise at his crown, who commented on his look with a raised eyebrow.

"Do you have something to say, brother?" Aemond's tone was challenging.

Come on, say it, lay in it, but Daeron was not one who liked to pick fights. He preferred to be silent, to not let his thoughts bubble out.

"Are you king now?"

Aemond opened his mouth to reply, but it was Otto who stepped in.

"He is prince regent. Until Aegon recovers," Otto said. "Come my boy, you must be hungry. Tell us about your journey."

Arriving in his mother's room, they took a seat to dine together. Ser Criston kept watch with two other men, always expecting the attack of the blacks. It was only his brother, his mother, Otto and he, and for the first time Daeron felt how much this war had already torn his family apart. Helaena lived in seclusion, not wanting to see or be seen by anyone, Aegon was badly wounded and no one knew if he would survive his wounds and Aemond, Aemond seemed colder and more distant.

The meal was silent. No one spoke, no one listened. They were all caught up in their own worlds and when their stomachs were full and their hearts still heavy, Alicent and Otto withdrew to speak with Ser Criston while Aemond played with the knife in front of him and Daeron watched him.

"Wine, Your Royal Highness?" Daeron watched as an unknown woman poured wine for his brother as he communicated permission with a brief nod. She smiled and Daeron watched as she didn't take her eyes off his brother for a second. He furrowed his eyebrows. Where was Rose? She reported directly to his brother and should have been here. He tilted his head slightly to the side, but except for another unknown servant, they were alone.

"Where is Rose?" asked Daeron bluntly, and Aemond's eye straightened.

His mouth became a thin line.

"Gone."

"Gone?"

Aemond snorted at his repetition.

"What happened?"

"Is it relevant?"

"Of course!"

"Why?"

"Why?" asked Daeron, irritated.

"Why does it matter to you whether she is here or not?"

Anger arose in Daeron. He was normally a man who could control himself, but his brother's arrogance made him angry.

"Because she's my friend," Daeron said as if Aemond were stupid. "What did you say to her?"

Now it was Aemond who became angry.

"What?" spat Aemond, looking sharply at Daeron.

"What you said to her, I want to know. Rose would never leave without saying goodbye. Or did you do something to her?"

He saw the anger in Aemond's gaze, but what frightened him most was the coldness with which his brother regarded him. Aemond clenched his fist and slammed it down on the table. Their mother and Otto's attention was drawn to them.

"Aemond?," he heard her ask, but her son ignored her, his focus on his younger brother. His look almost murderous.

"I am now Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm. You will respect me as that, if you already find it difficult to respect me as your elder brother, Daeron."

Daeron snorted snidely.

"I could respect you more if you had also been Rose's protector. You know how much she meant to me as a friend."

"Did you? I don't remember you being there for her."

Daeron's legs made themselves go, and before he knew what he was doing he stepped up to his brother, who was eyeing him with a raised eyebrow. Daeron could feel the anger making him tremble.

"Daeron," he heard his mother ask irritably, and heard her light footsteps as she walked briskly toward him. She reached for his arm, but Daeron still had some things to say.

"That's not fair."

Aemond hissed disparagingly. He stood up as well. He was a head taller than Daeron and looked down on him from above.

"What's not fair, Daeron?" asked Aemond. "That you want to put blame on me? She left me, not I her. I don't owe anyone an account."

Daeron sensed the bitterness in Aemond's words. He was hurt, he realized. When Aemond had revealed to him that Rose meant nothing to him, back in the secrecy of his own chambers, he had believed him. He had accepted it, just as he accepted everything his family did, but this time he could not remain silent. His time with Lord Hightower had often been lonely, it had filled him with sadness that his mother had not loved him enough to want to keep him with her, and Rose had always stood by him, never judging him for his feelings. For that he found more pleasure in men than in women. With her, he could be himself.

But now she was gone, and it was his brother's fault.

D R A G O N S T O N E

When Rose opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was Rhaenyra Targaryen. The black queen looked down at her, looking worried and studying her face. Her throat scratched and when she coughed, Rhaenyra reached for the cup of water and held it out to her.

Rose looked at her suspiciously and looked down at the cup.

Rhaenyra watched her, dressed completely in black. She lived up to her name.

"Don't worry, I don't want to poison you."

Rose raised an eyebrow.

"But you were going to execute me, right?"

Rhaenyra looked at her apologetically. "That was up for discussion but I would have chosen not to."

Rose watched Rhaenyra. In her face and in her eyes she saw only honesty.

Rose didn't know why, but she believed the princess who called herself Queen. At the Red Keep, she had been portrayed as the evil one. As a cruel woman who wanted to steal the crown from Aegon, but Rose wondered how much truth there was in it.

She decided to drink and Rhaenyra smiled as if proud of her.

"You escaped with my daughter's dragon," Rhaenyra began.

"My apologies, royal highness," Rose said but when she was honest she had no guilty feeling. She had tried to kill them, hadn't she? She had no idea whether she could believe the words of this woman. The last weeks and days had taught her better. Everything in her screamed to believe her, but her head contradicted.

"I did not mean to steal your dragon. I only feared for my life."

Rhaenyra shook her head. "A dragon cannot be stolen. They have a mind of their own. He was trying to help you. He sensed your fear and decided to protect you."

Rose frowned. "But why?"

The princess smiled gently and took the cup from her hand. She was amazed that she was so kind and courteous to her. Usually, women of her standing were the ones who expected such service. She reminded her of Helaena.

"I can't answer that for you. A dragon does what it wants. It is an illusion that we control the dragons." Rose tried to sit up slightly. Her whole body ached.

"Have you ever had contact with a dragon?"

A memory flashed through her mind. Strong arms wrapped around her as she flew on the largest and oldest dragon in the world. She shook her head and decided to lie. It would not be a good idea to tell her about Aemond.

Rhaenyra nodded. "Then Daemon must have been mistaken when he saw you on Vhagar?"

Shit. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to think a moment longer.

Rose looked at them apologetically. "Forgive me. I was just being cautious."

Rhaenyra nodded and played with her fingers. She looked a little nervous. It was a strange conversation and it was getting stranger.

"Careful?"

"I'm trapped here, aren't I? And I'm on the side of the Greens."

"Are you?"

She had to admit, she didn't know anymore. She had thought she was on Aemond's side, she had been willing to choose his side because she loved him, but she meant nothing to him, did she? She knew that Rhaenyra had been the heiress. King Viserys I had never withdrawn his decision, but now it was Aegon who sat on the iron throne and Rose accepted it as it was. Who was she to doubt his claim?

She was further from the iron throne than anyone else.

It wasn't like she would ever sit on it, so what did she care which family claimed the iron throne. She was just a bastard.

A bastard, without property, without family.

She was silent and Rhaenyra seemed to understand.

"Do you believe in Aegon's coronation?" Rhaenyra didn't look angry. She turned her head slightly to the side and smiled gently at her. Why was she being so nice to her?

Rose lifted her shoulders.

"He was crowned by the eyes of the people. There's not much to believe in that. It's a fact."

"You are right. They hid the death of my father, their king, and did not inform me. They wanted to present me with a fait accompli, but I am the chosen heir."

"Not according to the Greens." Rose felt that her fall must have driven her crazy. Arguing with the princess about legitimacy was tired of life. But then, maybe she was. Tired of life.

Why was she defending the Hightowers at all? In their presence, she had experienced nothing but loss and pain.

But she had had good moments, too, hadn't she?

"What exactly do you want from me?" she knew she was overstepping her bounds, but the last few days had made her bitter. "I will not betray the Greens. I don't care who sits on the throne, but my loyalty lies with Aemond."

"Aemond?"

Rose winced. She cursed her mouth. How stupid and naive.

She shook her head. She didn't want to talk about Aemond. He didn't want her and no matter how much she wished he would love her, he had made up his mind.

"Forgive me, royal highness. I mean no offense or disrespect. I do not know you. I am of the common people and have served your family and their kin since I was a little girl."

"Served my family?," she sounded irritated when she repeated her words. Why did it surprise her that she had served them? "Where did you live Rose?" Rose turned her head slightly to the side. Why was the princess so interested in her?

"At Lord Hightower's, the Reach."

Suddenly something flitted across Rhaenyra's face. She looked almost as if she was possessed by an evil spirit, her eyes bulged out, her skin suddenly looked sickly pale and she breathed in loudly. Rose looked at her in surprise. Was her hatred for the Hightowers so high that the mere mention of them made the princess seethe with rage?

"Lord Hightower?"

"Yes, I was employed there as a servant. "

Suddenly, Rhaenyra jumped up and her chair flew backwards from the force. The chair hit the floor so hard that she winced.

Rose straightened up, startled, and watched as the princess ran across the room, utterly distraught and gasping for breath. She turned her back on her and went to the closed window. She didn't know what to do, she tried to get up to rush to Rhaenyra's aid, but then the door was pulled open and she saw a young man step inside. His eyes locked on Rhaenyra and he ran toward her.

"Mother, what happened?"

Rhaenyra grabbed his arm as if she could not stand on her own. She leaned on her son. She suddenly seemed weak. Not like before. So graceful and so royal. "It's all right, Jace," Rhaenyra assured him.

"What did you say to her?," her son suddenly feinted at Rose and she winced at his hostility. His look was almost hateful, as if he despised Rose's very existence.

She did not know the prince, she did not understand his hatred towards her. He looked at her as if he hated no one more than her.

Rose shook her head, but not a word passed her lips.

"She didn't do anything," Rhaenyra defended her. She still had her back turned to her.

"But you-"

"That's enough, Jace. I'm just overtired. Help me out of this. I need rest."

Rhaenyra avoided Rose's gaze, and while Jace gave her a warning look, the princess and she no longer crossed eyes. Her son helped her out of the room and slammed the door behind her.

Rose stayed behind, confused. She stared at the door from which the princess had been led out by her son. She no longer understood the world. Why had she been here? Why had she questioned Rose? She was a nobody to someone who wanted everything. Had she felt sorry for her? Had Lucerys persuaded her to let her live? No matter what possibilities she ran through her head, Rose had no idea why Rhaenyra Targaryen suddenly had this uvious interest in her.

. . . . .

"She was with them," Rhaenyra screamed and hurled a vase against the wall. It shattered into a thousand pieces. "She served the Hightowers. The whole time. She was their servant! Their servant! A princess. Can you imagine that?"

She shook with rage. She was shaking so much she felt like the ground was shaking with her. Daemon reached for her hand, but she avoided him. She could not bear his touch at that moment.

"Did they take my Aemma to hurt me and then keep her as their slave? A Princess of this fucking Realm. My Realm."

The thought rushed at her like a dragon in a rage. "Did they try to turn my own child against me?"

Aemma or Rose, she didn't even know what to call her own child, hadn't told her how she ended up there, but that couldn't be a coincidence. Her daughter disappeared and ended up with the Hightowers? Not even the gods could be that cruel.

And then something struck her. Suddenly everything was so clear. How could she have been so blind? Aemma had disappeared when Aemond lost his eye. That couldn't be a coincidence, could it? Someone had stolen Aemma from her, torn her away from her family, and suddenly Rhaenyra remembered Alicent's words.

"If the King will not seek justice, the Queen will."

Had Alicent taken her daughter from her? And had she intended to continue with Lucerys until there was no child left?

She had no idea why it had been Aemma and not Lucerys, but maybe they had wanted to draw attention away from them?

"Daemon," she said, looking to her husband. He said nothing, but she saw in his gaze, the clear reproach he had always given her.

I told you so.

Yes, he had always told her that the Hightowers could not be trusted. Starting with Otto, continuing with Alicent.

She didn't know if Daemon had wanted this war, sometimes she had that feeling, but he thirsted for Otto's blood, for the blood of the Hightowers and finally Rhaenyra understood his bloodlust.

She had not wanted to believe that Alicent was capable of cold-blooded murder. But now she believed it. Too much had happened. Harwin, her father, Visenya, Aemma. Even Luke had almost paid with his life.

She had no proof of that, Rhaenyra knew. So she would find out the truth. She would find out if Alicent had taken her beloved child from her, and if she was, if she was guilty, then she would do everything she could to take from Alicent what she had taken from her.

"I tried to protect her, Daemon. But Alicent's heart is full of hate and resentment. I cannot rule this realm if House Hightower is still with us."

They had trampled on her feelings for years, humiliated and degraded her.

That would come to an end now.

She would destroy anyone who came for her family.

"What do you want from me, Rhaenyra?"

Daemon looked at her promptly. She saw what he wanted to hear from her and she wanted to give it to him.

"I want you to burn them all. Protect your family."

"If I do what you ask, I won't be able to let Alicent live. No one. Not her, or any of her children."

Rhaenyra nodded. For a brief moment she felt sadness, but then she looked at the door. Her room was directly across from Rose's.

"Do what you have to do. Kill our enemies. Anyone who's a threat to us. I want Alicent to know what it's like to see your child suffer like this."

Check out the last chapter. Little hint - it's the end. Any parallels, hmm?

Taglist

@watercolorskyy @marvelescvpe @ammo23 @helaenaluvr @toodlesxcuddles @malfoytargaryen

59 notes · View notes

mynamesaplant · 9 months

Text

Comfort for Weirdos

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dawn gets a new babysitter and she is not a fan.

Another PLA Mer AU! This one's been sitting in my Works in Progress for a little while, so I'm just posting it to be done with it. Thanks to Monsoon-of-Art for all the inspiration!

Don't like reading on Tumblr? Read it here on AO3.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dawn occupied herself while Ingo was engaged in quiet conversation with Palina, staying tucked behind Ingo’s fin and puffing out warm air only for it to turn into little clouds and drift away. Palina was nice, if a tiny bit overbearing. She was always so concerned about what she was eating. Dawn always made sure she had a belly full of something from Jubilife before she set out on her journeys.

Although Ingo had her tied up in discussion, Dawn felt the mer’s gaze on her – silently fretting about what she could possibly be eating when Ingo was notoriously picky and bad atrocious at hunting. The surveyor pretended not to notice Ingo shifting his weight slightly to glance down at her, trying to be absorbed in a new task (grooming her snowy tail) while the adults spoke in muffled tones overhead. She was obviously the topic of conversation, and she was relieved when Ingo told Palina he would join her in less than an hour, shepherding Dawn away.

“Bye, Dawn!”

Palina called after her, waving before they rounded the corner and Dawn waving back with a sheepish smile on her face. She really did like Palina… Now if only the warden tried giving her something cooked.

“Where are we headed today?”

Dawn asked, wriggling across the ice and finding it frustrating that she was so slow. Her claws were so blunt and useless in these ice caverns. Ingo didn’t immediately reply, nudging her towards a hole to the underwater entrance to the main settlement.

This cavern was just one of the many. Little hidey holes for seclusion and storage. The cavern they were leaving was dedicated to food stores which desperately needed replenishment, but Dawn was hoping that she was finally going to see where Ingo spent his time when in the settlement before they headed out to “hunt.”

Ingo’s version of hunting was setting up clever traps. Ingo was big and Ingo could be fast, but he just did not have the natural knack for hunting that she had seen any of the other mers display. Even the young wardens like Lian and Sabi had the skills for catching small fish.

All the clan members utilized traps in some way, but Ingo was the only one who seemed to have trouble actively hunting. On one of the few occasions that she had seen Gaeric and Calaba interacting, they both readily agreed that Ingo probably had issues because he was used to hunting in a pod, just like regular orcas, so hunting solo was harder for him to grasp.

“I must make a small detour before departure with Palina.”

Dawn was a little too excited by the prospect of seeing somewhere new to realize Ingo’s choice of words. He told her to take a deep breath, guided her through the tight tunnels with a hand on her back, nudging her forward. She trusted him completely to get her safely to their next destination, despite her poor vision and swimming ability, he always took it upon himself to keep her safe.

She had asked him the first time he brought her to the settlement about barely seeming to fit in the tunnels and he blushed, tugging the brim of his cap low and sinking into the collar of his jacket. He had mumbled something about them not being designed to his specifications, before diverting her attention, but it slowly dawned on her why the more and more she got to interact with the other clan members.

Although Ingo had never outright stated that he wasn’t originally from Pearl Clan, it was obvious that many of his idiosyncrasies made his relationship with the clan quite strained. His odd eating habits. His withdrawn behavior. His out-of-place dark clothes. Ingo was no outcast, but he did stick out like a sore thumb, just like she did.

Maybe that’s why they got along so well. Pearl clan’s bewildered acceptance of “Ingo’s pup” was proof enough to the girl that they trusted him implicitly, even if they wound their warden a little peculiar.

“Almost there.”

Ingo assured her, nudging her ahead as he wiggled through a particularly narrow passage, before arriving to their destination – which seemed familiar to Dawn, although she didn’t immediately know why. She clambered out of the water, Ingo pulling himself up and taking up most of the space, unable to climb out with so little space. The surveyor swiveled her head around the space, they must have been pretty deep considering how dense the ice looked down here, although there were a lot of tunnels off this…

“Hey, wait a second…”

Now she remembered where she was and scrambling back toward Ingo when he scooped her up. He looked sheepish but still maneuvered her over to the hole she had fallen down once before. She wrapped her arms around Ingo’s hand, holding on for dear life as he apologized.

“You cannot join me on this adventure, Miss Dawn. Those tracks are too dangerous for an additional car.”

“I’ll stay in the forest! I promise! Please, don’t send me down there.”

He looked mournful at her for a moment, ears drooping at the fearful tint to her voice, but carefully started to pry her fingers loose.

“He’s expecting you.” “He’s going to bite my head off!”

Ingo frowned, pausing, which only gave her more time to sink her short, blunt claws into skin. He thought that she might be a little more forgiving after their last encounter with the story about Gaeric. The other warden had a gruff exterior, but he was a good man, and on occasion a good friend. Ingo knew how all of Pearl clan felt about Dawn, mostly confused and very concerned, but they did what they always did and protected a pup. To the clan, she was a pup, and that meant she had to join the rest of the pups with their designated guardian. Today, it was Gaeric’s job.

Ingo’s hope was this time around that, with other pups around, Dawn would see another side to Gaeric and warm up to him some, and the warden in return would warm up to her. He did not realize just how frightened Dawn still was of him – even with the buffer of other interactions, albeit with other clan members within proximity, she seemed to find any one-on-one time without Ingo’s presence to be very distressing.

“Gaeric doesn’t hurt pups. He will not hurt you. Please, even if you do not trust Gaeric, trust me.”

He knew from the word go this wasn’t going to go well, but he still pried Dawn loose and sent her down the chute, nails screeching for the entire descent.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

This time down the chute was a lot shorter than the first time. Dawn was cursing and trying to get on the slick ice to stop herself because she did not want to go down there. She could bear to be around Gaeric when other adults were around, but the sense of dread and anxiety she felt from being remotely alone with him made her stomach churn uncomfortably.

The incline grew steeper, and she was in Gaeric’s lair, sliding across the ice on her front until she knocked into the warden’s flank. This time, he was awake.

“About time.”

He grumbled and reached down, whether to pick her up or just touch her in general, Dawn was not interested. To her own surprise, she hissed and managed to coordinate her limbs well enough to send her skittering back along the ice. Not that she got far. With a twitch of his tail, she was sailing back in his general direction, this time greeted by a few familiar faces.

“Sabi?”

Dawn said, Gaeric releasing an exasperated sigh when the young Diamond clan warden waved and clambered over to her, Lian not too far behind her. Both looked extremely excited to see her.

“We were worried that Ingo forgot.”

Lian had taken her hand and was trying to pull Dawn back over toward the bigger mer, but she resisted. She was a little surprised how strong Lian was, but she was quick to distract him with a question.

“Why are you guys down here? Why are you down here Sabi?”

“Oh, Mr. Gaeric and I play a lot. He doesn’t know how to get rid of me.”

Beyond them, Gaeric rolled over onto his back and snorted derisively, he clearly had other thoughts on the matter and chose not to voice them. Lian answered her first question while he still tried to pull on her arm.

“It’s Gaeric’s turn to watch us. Gaeric’s the best! He usually lets us do whatever we want until we get tired.”

Dawn couldn’t help but notice the man in question puff up with pride at Lian’s words. With a quick yank, she freed herself and was looking over at Gaeric with slit eyes. She didn’t trust him further than she could throw him. She wanted to get out of here ASAP… The problem was that she didn’t know this place well enough.

Sure, there were a lot of little tunnels, but they were probably like the chute she had come down which made them too icy and steep to climb or just lead to nowhere. The only surefire way she knew out of here was the large hole in the floor that was filled with sea water, the issue there was that Dawn was a miserable swimmer and, knowing how deep they were, she wasn’t going to have enough air to navigate the underwater passages in pitch blackness and make it out into the open water.

She needed a reasonable way of getting out of here. She could do it while Gaeric was dozing, but she would need help from Lian and Sabi – neither of whom seemed keen to let her go. They wanted to play. They loved to play with her, and she loved to play with them, just not here. Gaeric made her way too anxious to want to do anything but leave immediately. Lian was still talking, chattering up a storm about some game they could play, but Sabi was watching her expression closely, noticing the surveyor had no interest in games.

“Hey, I have an idea for a game.”

Dawn said, keeping her voice lowered and clapping her hands together. Lian perked up and Sabi tilted her head, a hint of mischief in her sea green eyes that wouldn’t have been noticed unless you knew to look for it. Gaeric would have recognized it.

“You guys are really good at swimming, but who do you think is better at climbing?”

“Me, I have more limbs.”

Sabi replied matter-of-factly, already getting wind of Dawn’s “game”, and finding it extremely amusing. It was fun to annoy Gaeric and this would annoy him to no end. He didn’t mind playfighting or even pups clambering all over him, but he did not tolerate escape attempts. Sabi knew this would be fruitless, but it would still be funny to watch how events unfolded.

“Yeah, you’re right, Sabi. You must be faster than me or Lian.”

Lian puffed up indignantly at the quick acceptance on Dawn’s part, clacking his claws on the ice with a distinctive tink-tink-tink.

“No way! I have claws.”

He was quite aware that his claws were not long, but he had his whole life to get used to the ice and snowscape surrounding him. Sabi was still new to his home territory and often got assistance from Lord Braviary to get from place to place, he was positive that he could beat Sabi in a climbing competition and impress Dawn.

“You think so?”

Dawn asked, raising an eyebrow, and glancing skeptically at the sharp slopes that lead into Gaeric’s lair, some exposed in parts and others not. She was trying to be smart about this. It would probably be better to pick a chute that wasn’t exposed so Gaeric couldn’t stop her once her little competition was under way. A suitable one was the one she had fallen down, but that had also been a long way up…

“Well, let’s give it a try. It’ll be a like a race, so we should pick a shorter tunnel to climb up.”

“Oh, I know the perfect one.”

Dawn could tell that Sabi was indulging in her little game. The small mer was a little strange like that, but the surveyor was not going to question it. She gestured for them to follow and took them to the base of larger tunnel that Dawn could see the top of faintly and didn’t look too steep compared to the other chutes. Perfect.

“This’ll be easy.”

Lian proclaimed confidently, adjusting his hat on his head and cracking his knuckles just to emphasis his point. He had actually pulled his hat a little lower to cover up the light sweat accumulating on his brow.

He already knew that Sabi had quite the advantage over him better multiple limbs and how well she was able to coordinate them. Lian took a deep breath, taking a quick peek at the tunnel and flexing his hands, preparing for the climb. He wasn’t going to let the Diamond clan warden intimidate him. He was going to prove Pearl clan’s superiority and win over Dawn’s favor in one fell swoop.

Sabi was also looking at the tunnel, wondering if her limbs would even be long enough to reach the other side, but she wasn’t in this for the competition. She was mostly wondering how Dawn, with her blunt nails, was going to finagle her way up there without directly asking for their help and without alerting Gaeric.

The large warden appeared to be sleeping not too far away, but she was certain that he was moving incrementally, aware of Dawn’s half-baked plot, and only pretending to sleep to see how and when he would need to intervene.

Dawn’s plan was a little convoluted. She knew she couldn’t climb up the chute, so she would see who the better climber was and then try to convince them that sliding down the chute like a slide would be fun. They could make a new game out of it to see who could go further.

Once Lian and Sabi had helped her up and had slid away, she would make her escape.

“Okay, who wants to go first?”

Dawn barely got the words out when Lian took off his hat to let it drape across his back and got onto his belly. He pushed himself back aways and narrowed his eyes, attempting to determine his trajectory with his tongue caught between his teeth in thought.

His claws dug into the ice and, in a flash, rocketed forward on the slick ice. His aim was perfect, Sabi and Dawn jumping forward to watch his progress as he maybe got halfway up the chute on momentum alone. The boy let out a little growl and crunched into the side walls, clinging there and dangling for a moment, before he began to work his way up.

His tail flopped and the sound of heavy breathing filled the space, little droplets of sweat showered on them like rain, but he made it to the top and peered back down with a toothy grin.

The Diamond warden seemed to be lost in thought, running a gloved hand over the ice and the palm came away damp. She frowned, casting a surreptitious glance to her limbs while Dawn called up her congratulations. Lian was always going to go first, he had more to prove, and thought he had a slight advantage over Sabi because he was used to the terrain – which was undoubtedly true, but Sabi was used to ice and snow now.

Sabi already knew what Dawn hoped to gain from this so-called game, she wanted them to assist her to get to the top of the tunnel because she knew she wouldn’t be able to do it herself. Lian would be quick to step up and help her as the winner of the race, Sabi’s suckers wouldn’t be able to get the proper suction needed on the slick walls. Nevertheless, she attempted it anyway, encountering the exact problem she foresaw, but still managing to get to the top to look down at Dawn who was beaming up at them.

“Lian won! Sabi had a disadvantage going second… Man, it’ll be fun to slide down those. It was fun the first time.” “Weren’t you screaming the whole way down?”

Sabi called down and Dawn’s features broadened into a forced smile. It actually sort of hurt. She was hoping that hadn’t been noticed, but apparently loud screaming wasn’t subtle. She didn’t want to upset either of them, so she didn’t say anything, but she did double down on her suggestion of sliding down and how fun that could be.

Lian’s tail thumping against the ice overhead, his eyes lighting up and ears perking with excitement, he would take any opportunity to play more with Dawn. She was very fun. Sabi could be fun too, but she could also be a stick in the mud because she knew the outcome of all their games. If she wanted to slide, Lian would slide with her. Heck, he would even help her up.

He joined her at the bottom of the chute, frowning at her blunt claws and wondering how on earth she survived on her own being so small and having no real way of defending herself. Dawn wasn’t much bigger than him, but he had had his own troubles getting up to the top. Luckily, Lian didn’t have to think too hard about the logistics, because, as he tried to nudge Dawn in front of him to give her a boost, she was grabbed by her tail and dragged backward.

The motion was not as delicate as it should have been, but Gaeric was a little aggravated. Ingo’s pup was trying to rope the others into an escape attempt. Although his irritation was mostly extended to Dawn, he reserved a little of it too for Lian and more of it for Sabi. Lian should have known better and Sabi would have been the cause for the problem had Dawn not been there. He held back a low warning growl as he dangled Dawn before him, his face turning stern while she wriggled and writhed.

“Nice try, pipsqueak. Find something else to do with them.”

He set her down a lot more gently than she was picked up, instinctively grabbing her tail to rub where his fingers had applied pressure. Another small, defiant hiss escaped her, which made the warden roll his eyes impatiently, but he laid back down, watching her and the two young wardens through narrowed eyes.

Gaeric didn’t know how to feel about Ingo’s pup. She was just a little too peculiar. She was like Ingo in that way, which was why Ingo probably felt so strongly about protecting and guiding her, but Gaeric couldn’t get over the little warning bells in his mind. His gut told him that she was a threat. A little stunted, malnourished pup… What in Sinnoh’s name was wrong with him?

Dawn remained still until his eyes closed before rejoined Sabi and Lian, both of whom looked a little dejected that their fun had been interrupted. She was brewing a new plot in her mind, but all the possibilities were coming up short. There were very few avenues for escape. The tunnels being one. The hole in the ice that Gaeric used to get in and out of his lair seemed looming and dangerous, but it was the only other glaring possibility.

Swallowing thickly, Dawn pushed some panic back down below her ribcage where it sat heavy and churning in her stomach. She really wanted to get out of there. Ingo told her to trust Gaeric – she couldn’t do it. Their first interaction was just plain bad, she was utterly convinced that he would just snatch her and gobble her up. It had actually brought her to tears with how frightening it had been. It also seemed like Gaeric just didn’t trust her, not an ounce, when she had given him no real reason not to trust her.

Sabi and Lian watched her cast her eyes over to the hole, the cold, dark water beckoning to her. Sabi, not one to squelch an opportunity to swim, caught up to Dawn, even when Lian called after them that maybe they should pick something else to do. They could play tag or make some snowballs to toss around in a game of keep away. Neither of them seemed to be listening to him, so he hesitantly trailed after them.

The surveyor stared into the water, murky and emanating a freezing chill even without touching it. It was not remotely inviting, but Dawn’s distrust of Gaeric and Ingo’s betrayal at leaving her there with him like she was some useless, flopping baby was making her just want to go back to land and mope until she was scheduled to return to the village. Over her shoulder, Lian was cautioning her, trying to dissuade her from entering the water. It was a bad idea.

“We could play some other game.”

Lian suggested weakly, staring daggers at Sabi who blinked back at him. He gestured to Dawn’s back wildly, eyes huge and a small snarl curling his lips, the Diamond warden tipped her head and her horizontal pupils darting over to Dawn. She knew the outcome of this too. It would be hard to sway Dawn from her path but that could be a game in and of itself. It would save everyone a lot of trouble if she intervened, so she did.

“I think we should play a bit of hide and seek in some of the tunnels. Remember when you and some of others found some tunnels that lead to different caves?”

Lian’s face pinched like he was really debating on whether he wanted to tackle Sabi for bringing it up, but it had the benefit of immediately getting Dawn’s attention and her dark eyes were gleaming with interest.

“Tunnels? Caves? That sounds like so much fun! You found them Lian?”

Lian’s eyes grew even wider as she leapt forward, a dazzling smile on her face. He felt his cheeks grow a little warm, rubbing his chin in thought even as his ears and tail gave him away, the former being perked up, almost wiggling with the attention, and the latter slapping lightly against the ice.

“Well, I can’t take all the credit…”

If he was trying to sound modest, he wasn’t doing a very good job, but neither Dawn nor Sabi said anything. The smaller mers took Dawn by the hand and dragged her over to some of the smaller tunnels, all of them were just small enough to fit, which was claustrophobic, but perfect for evading Gaeric. The tunnel wasn’t particularly long, shimmying along far too slowly behind the more cautious Lian and Sabi crowding behind her.

“Are there more tunnels in these other caves? “A few but we didn’t get to explore a lot of them.” “Why not?”

Lian made to the cavern, pausing to check the ice, and already spotting an obvious problem. Dawn squirmed past him, trying to get a better look and to get some space, but Lian grabbed her arm and held her back, the ice beneath her groaning in protest.

The cavern was big and almost looked as though it was formed by bubbles, the ceiling was made up of half circles that caught what little light filtered in and refracted it around the space. That light was emanating from the floor, a soft orange glow. The cavern would have been quite dark without these odd features and Dawn squinted into the gloom as Lian pointed towards the center.

“That’s why.”

He replied, nodding toward the ground. Dawn squinted.

“I don’t… What am I supposed to be looking at?”

Lian looked at her with a level of disbelief that made Dawn cringe. How anyone fell for her and Ingo’s web of lies about her origin she did not know.

“The ice is thin. See the puddles? It’s like this every so often. We think there are heat vents or something below the ice-” “I think its magma. I don’t think heat vents glow.”

Sabi interjected, Lian closing his eyes to prevent anyone from seeing them roll in his skull. Lian had never seen a deep-sea heat vent before, but he knew what the ones closer to the settlement looked like, and although those ones didn’t glow, he found the idea of magma in the icelands a bit farfetched.

“Anyway, when the ice is solid, we can play in here. It’s not safe right now.”

Dawn wanted to counter that they were all capable swimmers, but she feared that if she opened her mouth and said anything else, she would make herself out to be even more of a fraud than she already felt. Lian felt a wash of guilt as that light in her eye vanished and her ears drooped. She was disappointed.

“We should go back is what you’re saying?”

She asked morosely, spotting the aforementioned tunnels across the room and looking at them longingly. Oddly enough, there were huge chunks of ice encrusted rock jutting through the floor, so she had to wonder if these were natural caves that lead into rocky crevasses in the earth. Maybe Sabi’s theory wasn’t too far off.

If that were the case, she definitely didn’t want to go down there in her current mer form, the rock would feel unpleasant against her skin. Even as a human, she wasn’t sure she would want to go down there. Although she loved exploration and discovery, she felt as though that discovery could be made by someone else, and she would be just fine with that.

“We should go back.”

Sabi had said unexpectedly, clinging to the walls and dangling down between the two of them upside down. She hoped now that Dawn would stop having funny ideas and just go play with them back in the other cavern. There was nothing else of significance she could foresee, so now she just wanted to get to the fun stuff. Gaeric would yell at them when they got back, being a little harder on Dawn specifically for causing such a ruckus with her mere presence, but they all would inevitably end up asleep as they usually did.

Dawn was the caboose on their journey back. Dragging her feet, so to speak. She already got the impression that Gaeric was going to yell at her for persuading the two wardens into exploring the tunnels, which he had told her to not do. She was attempting to delay the inevitable. She hated to be berated. Captain Cyllene had been very disappointed in her last few reports, calling them fanciful tall-tales and that she needed to remain “grounded in reality” if she wanted to continue working in the survey corp.

They weren’t tales! The mers were right in front of her! All her captain could see was her making up stories instead of looking at pedantic sea stars and mussels in tidal pools. She was doing her job! Laventon had had to take her aside and gently explain that, while the information and drawings (all from memory, by the way!) of the merpeople in the waters around their settlement would be of particular interest to children, Cyllene would have very little patience for it.

Dawn stopped writing about them and returned to her sea stars and mussels - enjoying the world that she had inadvertently discovered, and still somehow finding ways to disappoint all the adults.

Gaeric was waiting for them, his whiskers bristling, and eyes narrowed when the two wardens slunk out of the cave, a growl reserved for Dawn in particular, making the space rumble. She flinched when he addressed her.

“When I said finding something else to do, small fry, I assumed I was being loud and clear. Stay where I can see you and stop causing trouble, got it?”

Although he was saying it to Dawn, Gaeric stared daggers at Lian and Sabi, affecting the former much more than the latter, Lian pulling his hat down tighter over his eyes much in the same way Ingo did to avoid eye contact. They should have known better, but Dawn should have listened to him, she had deliberately disobeyed. He didn’t know how Ingo managed her, he really didn’t. The pup was a handful and a half.

She was fussing with the sleeve of her tunic, dark eyes cast down as if she was waiting for more yelling and the large warden stopped midway through a tirade that he had been planning since he saw them disappear into the cave system. This was a little unfair of him, wasn’t it? Dawn wasn’t from here. She didn’t know how to act appropriately with the clan and their hierarchy, and on top of that, Gaeric hadn’t really given a reason to trust him. Especially after their disastrous first encounter.

It was a mutual distrust, but he recognized that she was out of her element and didn’t receive as much guidance from him as he should have provided as her temporary caretaker.

She heard a sigh overhead and a big hand at her back, scooting her along. Dawn squirmed, clearly uncomfortable being touched by someone who wasn’t Ingo and Gaeric moved his hand away.

“Come on.”

Dawn didn’t move and he was tempted to say something, demand that she follow him, but he was reminded of a young Irida in this moment and just how stubborn she could be when there was something she just didn’t want to do. He left her, figuring she would come over of her own accord. Trusting her to stop misbehaving. Although not a pup but the strictest of definitions, she was no doubt tired, and she would come rest sooner or later.

It took less than ten minutes for Gaeric to regret his decision, most of the pups all curled up and nestled on top of one another near his side, sleeping and quiet. He was about halfway to join them when he heard a loud splash and a shriek.

“Cold! F-F-F-Freezing!”

Gaeric lunged forward instinctually, shoving Sabi and Lian out of the way and scooping Dawn out of the water. Both of them, but especially Sabi, looked shocked that she had gone into the water. They both knew how shocking it would be to their systems. They knew acclimation was necessary for such cold water.

“What is wrong with you?”

He snarled, looking at her sodden coat and listening to her chattering teeth. Although she squirmed and wriggled, Gaeric pressed her against his chest with one hand and unknotted his parka with the other. Her pristine coat could hold up in relatively cold water, but the water down here would still be shocking to the uninitiated. Dawn should know that.

There were a lot of things that Dawn should know. It wasn’t a lack of Ingo teaching her, his fellow warden was diligent and patient in all that he taught her about their clan, but she had no concept of the fundamentals and that just seemed so suspect to him.

Gaeric tried swaddling her in his parka, it would help dry her and keep her warm, but being sopping wet and just being so damn wiggly, she slipped out of his grip and was quick to try and drag herself away.

"Alright, I've had just about enough."

Before she even knew what was happening, she felt a light pressure at the back of her neck. Although she thrashed and squirmed, she had been a little too slow to prevent Gaeric from getting a good grip on her this time. She was scruffed. Dawn reached over her head and tried to pry his fingers loose to no avail, dripping water, trying to stop her teeth from chattering, and wailing to be let go all at the same time.

Gaeric huffed and cast a glance down at the content pile of pups left undisturbed by her shenanigans, then to Sabi and Lian, looking up at her unapologetically, cringing when the older warden jerked his head over to the other pups. They went without argument. Playtime was over.

"W-Wait!"

She squeaked when Gaeric swung around, bundling her up in his parka and effectively pinning her arms at her side as he did so. He lowered himself to the ice by the pups once more and set her down, Dawn trying to wriggle free with very little success. In the blink of an eye, she was surrounded on all sides by flesh. Dawn was effectively trapped in an arm prison. He moved himself accordingly to cut off points of escape and sighing when she kept trying to free herself, too much fabric and wrapped very tight.

"You've got to chill out, kid. Ingo will be back later."

Gaeric wasn't an idiot. The pup was frightened. She only really seemed to trust Ingo and they hadn't really gotten off on the right fin, so to speak. Although he was trying to be stern with the best of intentions, she found him terrifying and she now had no avenues of escape, which only made her more anxious. The little keening noises of fear making Gaeric reconsider his choice to isolate her to keep her out of trouble.

"Oi! Lian, Sabi - get up here."

He couldn't allow her to keep roaming around, but she might calm down in the presence of others. He knew the young wardens were awake – having just moved to the pile of pups a moment ago themselves so as to not inflict his ire, but, when they didn't move, Gaeric grumbled.

With a surprisingly quick movement, he pinned Dawn with one hand and reached down with the other, scooping up the pups with one massive hand. Pups felt safer in groups. He deposited them all on top of her before he lowered himself down, resting his head on his arms. There would be a bit of fussing, but he knew they'd settle down and sleep. It was hard to resist considering how comfortable and warm and safe the piles felt.

"Please, just sleep, Dawn."

Gaeric almost begged, slowly sensing the pups returning to sleep as Dawn emerged, having managed to free herself (probably with the help of Sabi or Lian), looking up at their babysitter and the mer eyed her back, almost daring her to do something.

"You called me by my name..."

So, he had. There was a beat of silence, and, to his immense relief, she was settling down in the crook of his arm, idly drawing patterns on his skin. She must have realized that this was not a punishment as much as it was a silent plea for her to calm down and relax a little.

Flipped over on her back, but she didn't close her eyes, just stared up at the ceiling of the cavern for a long time. He watched her impassively, feeling his eyes start to droop. His irritation, however, would not allow him to fall asleep. Something nagged him persistently in the back of his head, his gut instinct that something was not right about her making the large warden narrow his eyes and grumbled out a question.

"Why won't you sleep?" "’m not tired."

She replied stubbornly, her form tensing against his arm as he asked more questions. It wasn’t an opportunity to be missed. She was never away from Ingo long enough to get a straight answer out of her.

"Pups are supposed to sleep. Helps you grow. Maybe that's why you're so tiny." "I'm not a pup."

Her lower lip quivering a little, her dark eyes fixed on the ceiling above and refusing to meet Gaeric’s gaze because she knew she would succumb in the same way she crumbled under any adults’ eyes. She would spill all the beans just so she would stop receiving that look. Arms folded tightly over her slim chest, she tried to feel braver than she felt in this moment.

Gaeric already made her nervous - why was he bringing this up again? No answer either she or Ingo provided ever satisfied him and their answers never changed. So, why ask again and again? Was he trying to catch her off-guard? Catch her in a lie? If he kept pressuring her, Dawn might just snap.

She felt like she was trying to shrink back against his arm, trying to avoid his notice the same way that she would try to avoid the captain’s scrutinizing gaze. She knew what was coming what she saw his brow furrow. She had seen the commander’s face with the exact same expression many times before.

“You say that, but you certainly act like a pup. You should know better than to jump into unfamiliar water. You’re as finicky as Ingo... You never eat. You don’t sleep. You wander off on your own. You can barely even swim. You’re both so… weird.”

He watched her turn her head away, bringing her hands to her face and Gaeric could see they were coming away wet. He quickly bit his tongue. That was too far, his mouth was ahead of his brain. What was left unsaid was that Gaeric thought they were a perfect set. Ingo seemed so normal in comparison to Dawn. Everyone knew it and was too kind to say it, especially to the pup. Not him. He had to make himself look like more of a jerk.

"Why does it matter?"

The words quivered with held back emotions and Gaeric internally berated himself. She’s a kid. She’s just a kid. She never asked for this. In his head, he was trying to form an adequate apology, but in the meantime, his mouth kept moving.

"Because you should be twice as big at your age, and you shouldn't have this coat. It should be getting all patchy and you should be getting some spots."

He replied, trying to keep his tone even as he adjusted his arm, indicating her pearly white coat that stuck out like such a sore thumb. Maybe by pointing out the oddities, she could see why he thought it was so strange that she looked the way she did. It did nothing of the sort. She sank lower and lower, rubbing her eyes and trying to hide the fact that she was sniffling. Oh Sinnoh, Ingo was going to kill him for making her cry.

“Kid… Listen, that came out wrong.”

Dawn didn’t even try to stop him when he shifted his arm to nudge her back into sight. She was scrunching herself up into a ball, her sniffling becoming more pronounced as she wrapped her arms around her tail. Gaeric squeezed his eyes shut. Lord Avalugg, grant him the wisdom to know when to shut up.

He heard Lian’s small voice trying to rouse Dawn and not sounding very successful. She was going to wake up the other pups. He adjusted his bulk one last time, scooping Dawn and Lian up, Sabi grabbing onto his fingers with her arms, suckering into place so the large warden didn’t try to shake her loose, and deposited the trio onto his flank.

Gaeric had every intention to apologize to her later because, even if he didn’t understand her and her situation, nobody deserved to be treated as he just treated Dawn.

“Please, just sleep, you three.”

He placed a hand over them, enshrouding them in darkness, and only moving it away when they were still. They were finally sleeping and Gaeric sighed, folding one arm beneath his head and the other protectively around the remaining pups, before drifting off to sleep himself.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The scene he stumbled in on was certainly a more serene one than he anticipated. Ingo appeared from the hole in the floor, peering around before clambering up to gather his young ward, and he found everyone sleeping peacefully. He shifted closer, softly calling her name with no result.

“Dawn?”

He tried again and that’s when Gaeric grabbed a fist full of his parka and dragged him down onto the ice with less of a resounding crash than expected. Although he had never felt so inclined towards aggression, a deep, throaty growl resonated through the cavern and Gaeric glared at him and pressed a finger to his lips before gesturing over at a few sleeping pups on his side. Dawn was among them, nestled into his Gaeric’s fur beside Lian and Sabi (of all pups), which only sent a little twinge of jealousy through the bigger mer, but Ingo got the picture.

After what had probably been a long day of trying to wrangle Dawn and the young wardens, Gaeric had finally managed to get them to sleep, and he would do anything to keep them that way.

Ingo stifled a sigh as he was dragged closer, Gaeric’s grip loosening while sleep began to reclaim him, but not relinquishing his hold entirely. In a few hours, he would be completely awake and ready to start his nighttime patrol, but he was content to return to sleep. Ingo being added to the sleeping pile whether he wanted to or not.

He carefully worked Gaeric’s fingers loose, but settled down beside him, using one of his soft fins as a pillow and closing his eyes. Ingo listened to the soft breathing of the pups and the light rumble of the other warden’s snores felt soothing in a way he couldn’t quite describe. Ingo pulled his cap a little lower over his eyes and allowed himself to relax. This cavern was the most comforting and safest place in the world as of this moment.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gaeric woke up before the pups or Ingo, remaining still for as long as he could afford to. He had never seen Ingo or Dawn look so relaxed, the pup’s small hands fussing with his spotted fur as she slept, Sabi and Lian half on top of her like they had been holding her down… Or maybe hugging her. Gaeric didn’t need a closer examination to know he had upset the pup; he could still see the tear tracks.

He needed to be careful about the things he said about her and her caretaker. He turned his gaze toward Ingo, his frown softened in sleep and his arm half thrown around him. Both of them were so weird about doing group activities. Ingo had every excuse in the book to avoid communal grooming, meals, and rests, and Dawn was just the same. It’s like they fought every instinct that would make them less out of place.

Ingo was a good mer. He cared so deeply for the clan, and it ran deeper than the debt he felt he owed them. Gaeric respected him – he had even said so, although he wasn’t sure if Ingo took his word for it.

His pup was… weird, but she was doing everything in her power to help them (and the Diamond Clan). She was weird, like extraordinarily weird, but he had to give credit where credit is due. Even if she was weird, she was Ingo’s pup. Even if she was weird, she had a good heart.

“Weirdos…”

Gaeric said, but he meant it with affection.

#pla #legends of arceus #pokemon legends arceus #pokemon: legends arceus #pokemon legends: arceus #p:la #pl:a #pokemon #warden ingo #warden gaeric #warden sabi #warden lian #pokemon akari #pokemon dawn #fanfic #fan fic #fanfiction #fan fiction #mer au

87 notes · View notes

caeliajournal · 2 months

Text

A journey through my moodboards

This is an analysis of all the moodboards I've created since I started journaling, from 2021 up to now

Searching for my golden hour

January, 2021

aestetic: golden hour

This phase of my life is defined by the significance of sunsets as a metaphor for what I was looking for: the magical and ephemeral moment that, despite its daily recurrence, never fails to captivate us.

Each of the images represented a goal:

The girl on the path symbolized the need for self-discovery and forging one's identity.

Roses embodied the past and roots, viewed through a lens of positivity and nostalgia.

We can also appreciate a collection of indoor plants, which would have a different meaning if they were wild plants. In this particular case, it represents caring for those who are home.

The bookshelf served as a gentle nudge to keep enriching my life with stories that leave enduring imprints.

Intertwined hands spoke of romantic connection.

Quotes:

❝Seek magic everyday❞

❝I am learning to find joy right here in the mess of things❞ — Morgan Harper Nichols. ❝Grow through what you go through❞ ❝feel what you need to feel and then let it go. do not let it consume you.❞ - Dhiman [...]

Homemade

September, 2021

aestetic: cottage core

The primary distinction I notice in this moodboard compared to the previous one is that nearly all the scenes take place indoors and are linked to artistic expression. It's akin to the seclusion of an artist, one might say.

Numerous activities are depicted, such as reading, writing, cooking, or drawing. The golden mirror symbolizes a distorted self-perception and the urgent need to gaze into it once more for self-recognition. Additionally, there are recurring elements from the previous board, like intertwined hands and a cat.

Unlike the previous aesthetic, this one features colors reminiscent of nature: muted browns and greens.

Quotes:

❝Real generosity toward the future lies in giving all to the present.❞ — Albert Camus, The Rebel, 1951.

❝Never regret your past. Rather, embrace it as the teacher it is.❞ — Robin Sharma

❝You have absolute control over just one thing, your thoughts.❞ — Napoleon Hill

[...]

Eternal dilemma: air or earth

Somewhere in 2023

aestetic: cottage core

The colors in this moodboard are much brighter compared to the previous ones, with green and purple being the main tones. There's a portrayal of a sunrise sky, although it's not golden anymore; rather, it has pastel colors, much softer and calmer.

The symbol of the mirror makes a comeback, along with elements that have disappeared and others that have emerged, like daisies, representing innocence and childhood. Themes such as books and art resurface, though this time there's a greater sense of solitude than in the previous boards.

Quotes:

❝part of her mystery is how she is calm in the storm and anxious in the quiet.❞ — JmStorm

❝He was earthly; she was aerial. He was made of clay and iron; she was made of fire and dreaming❞ — Graham Joyce, Some Kind of Fairy Tale

❝Book collecting is an obsession, an occupation, a disease, an addiction, a fascination, a fate. It is not a hobby.❞

[...]

The manuscript

March, 2024

aestetic: light academia

This moodboard boasts a distinct aesthetic, characterized by neutral tones, and it's centered around the writing process.

There's a contrast of ideas at play. On one side, there's handwriting alongside digital writing; on the other, tea versus coffee. It's safe to say I'm undecided.

There are fewer scenes depicted compared to the previous boards, making it simpler in design.

Quotes:

❝When it comes to art, it's important not to hide the madness.❞ — Atticus

❝The first draft is just you telling yourself the story.❞

#moodboard #cottagecore #cottage aesthetic #aesthetic #light academia #dark academia #light aesthetic #inspiration #photography #inspirational quotes #quotes #A little break from writing

21 notes · View notes

reallygroovyninja · 5 months

Text

Under the Mistletoe

In the seclusion of her office, Lexa sat with her fingers steepled, staring at the softly glowing screen of her computer. The city outside was draped in festive lights, but her mind was far from festive. She was grappling with a surge of nerves, the kind that fluttered and twisted in her stomach. The company's Christmas party was approaching, a grand affair that, this year, held a significance far beyond corporate celebration.

Lexa and Clarke had come a long way from their initial arrangement. Over the past three months, what had started as a convenient façade had blossomed into something much deeper. They had acknowledged their feelings, stepping into the uncharted waters of a true relationship. Yet, despite this new understanding, Lexa found herself hesitating.

Asking Clarke to the party as her alpha, openly and without the safety net of their previous pretense, felt daunting. It was a public acknowledgement of their relationship, a declaration to her colleagues and the world. Lexa feared the scrutiny and the whispered judgments, but more than that, she feared what it might mean for Clarke.

Taking a deep breath, she reached for her phone. Her heart pounded in her ears as she dialed Clarke's number, each ring amplifying her anxiety.

"Hey, Lexa," Clarke's voice came through, strong and reassuring.

"Clarke, hi," Lexa's voice wavered slightly. "I was wondering if you… if you'd be my date for the company Christmas party. As my alpha," she added quickly, wanting to make her intentions clear.

There was a pause, and Lexa's heart sank a little. Had she been too forward? Had she misread their situation?

"Lexa," Clarke finally spoke, her voice calm and steady. "I'd love to. But are you sure? This is a big step for us."

Lexa exhaled, a wave of relief washing over her. "I am sure. I just… I'm nervous, Clarke. This will be the first time everyone will see us together, really together. And I'm worried about how it will be for you."

Clarke's chuckle came through the phone, warm and affectionate. "Lexa, being with you, openly, as your alpha, is exactly what I want. Don't worry about me. We'll face whatever comes together."

The tight knot of anxiety in Lexa's chest began to unravel. "Thank you, Clarke. That means everything to me. Having you there, not as a facade but as you… as us, it's more than I could ask for."

They talked a little more, finalizing the details, but Lexa's heart felt lighter with each word. As they ended the call, she leaned back in her chair, allowing herself a small smile. The party would be a turning point, the first of many, she hoped, where they could be themselves, an alpha and omega embarking on a journey together. The nerves were still there, but so was the excitement of a future with Clarke.

The evening air was filled with a crisp winter chill, but inside Lexa's apartment, a warm anticipation hung in the air. She stood, a figure of elegance in her cocktail dress, the soft fabric hugging her curves in all the right places. Her hair fell in gentle waves around her shoulders, and her makeup was done with impeccable taste, enhancing her natural beauty.

As Lexa opened the door, her breath caught in her throat. Clarke stood there, exuding a quiet confidence in a sleek, well-tailored tuxedo. The contrast of the dark suit against her strong frame and the gentle glint in her eyes made Lexa's heart race. Clarke was strikingly handsome, and in that moment, Lexa felt a surge of attraction stronger than she had ever experienced.

"Wow, Clarke… you look amazing," Lexa breathed out, her eyes wide with admiration.

A soft, knowing smile played on Clarke's lips as she stepped inside. "You're absolutely breathtaking, Lexa," she replied, her gaze lingering appreciatively.

For a moment, they stood in the doorway, the tension between them a palpable thing. Then, Clarke stepped closer, her eyes locked onto Lexa's. Gently, she cupped Lexa's cheek with her hand, leaning in. Lexa's heart pounded in her chest as Clarke's lips met hers in a kiss that was both tender and filled with unspoken passion.

The kiss was a spark that ignited a warmth in Lexa, chasing away any lingering nervousness. It felt like a confirmation of their connection, a seal on the new chapter they were beginning together. Lexa responded instinctively, her hands finding their way to Clarke's shoulders, pulling her closer.

As they parted, Lexa's eyes fluttered open to meet Clarke's, now sparkling with affection and a hint of playful mischief. "Ready to make our debut?" Clarke asked, her voice low and inviting.

Lexa nodded, a smile spreading across her face. "More than ready."

The night was alive with the spirit of the holidays as Clarke smoothly navigated her red sports car through the city streets. The car's engine hummed a low, steady rhythm, a counterpoint to the festive lights and decorations that adorned the city. Lexa sat beside her, the warmth and comfort of the car's interior providing a stark contrast to the bustling, chilly evening outside.

As they wove through the traffic, Lexa couldn't help but admire Clarke's effortless driving. Clarke's hands were steady on the wheel, each turn and maneuver executed with precision and confidence. The car seemed like an extension of herself, a testament to her control and poise.

Lexa glanced out the window, watching the blur of holiday lights and decorations that lined the streets. There was something inherently exciting about riding in Clarke's sports car. It wasn't just the luxury or the speed; it was the feeling of being in a space that was distinctly Clarke's. The interior of the car, from the sleek dashboard to the comfortable leather seats, seemed to reflect Clarke's personality – elegant, sophisticated, and just a bit daring.

Turning her gaze back to Clarke, Lexa found herself caught in the allure of the moment. Clarke's profile was illuminated by the soft glow of the dashboard lights, highlighting her strong jawline and the determined set of her eyes. Lexa's heart fluttered at the sight, and she felt a deep sense of contentment wash over her.

As they continued their drive, the city gradually gave way to the more open roads leading to the country club. The traffic thinned, and Clarke took the opportunity to gently accelerate, the car responding instantly to her touch. The smooth surge of speed brought a thrill that made Lexa's pulse quicken.

"You handle this car like a pro," Lexa commented, a note of admiration in her voice.

Clarke glanced at her with a grin. "I love driving it. It's not just about getting from point A to point B; it's about enjoying the ride."

Lexa smiled, feeling the truth of Clarke's words. The journey to the country club in Clarke's sports car was indeed an experience to savor. The sense of motion, the purr of the engine, and Clarke's confident presence beside her – it was exhilarating.

As they approached the country club, the elegant facade of the building came into view, its windows glowing warmly against the night sky. Clarke eased the car into the parking area, finding a spot with ease.

The engine fell silent, and for a moment, they remained seated, the quietness of the car enveloping them. Lexa looked over at Clarke, her heart full.

"I could definitely get used to this," Lexa said softly, "riding in this car with you."

Clarke reached over, taking Lexa's hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I hope you do," she replied, her voice tender.

Together, they exited the car, stepping into the crisp night air. The excitement of the evening lay ahead, but for Lexa, the journey there with Clarke had already made the night special. The car, the drive, Clarke's presence – it was a perfect beginning to what promised to be an unforgettable night.

The grandeur of the country club's interior, adorned with festive decorations and the soft melody of holiday music, provided a splendid backdrop as Lexa and Clarke made their entrance. Lexa, exuding elegance in her cocktail dress, felt a mix of excitement and nerves. Clarke, embodying the poised confidence of an alpha, was an anchor of strength beside her.

Their first encounter was with a group of division presidents, influential figures within the company. As Lexa approached, she felt their eyes on them, appraising and curious. She could sense their surprise at seeing her accompanied, a stark contrast to her usual solitary presence at such events.

"Good evening," Lexa greeted, her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach. Clarke's hand resting lightly on the small of her back was a reassuring presence.

"Lexa, we didn't expect you to bring someone," one of the presidents remarked, his attempt to mask his surprise only partially successful.

Lexa smiled, a touch of defiance in her eyes. "This is Clarke Griffin, my alpha," she introduced confidently. Clarke extended her hand, her demeanor both respectful and assertive.

"It's a pleasure to meet you all," Clarke said, her voice carrying an undercurrent of confidence. Her handshake was firm, the grip of an alpha that spoke of strength and assurance.

The presidents exchanged brief looks, their surprise giving way to polite acceptance. The conversation quickly shifted to business, a terrain Lexa navigated with her usual acumen. Clarke listened attentively, chiming in occasionally with insightful comments that displayed her understanding of the industry.

Lexa noted with satisfaction the way Clarke's contributions were received – with nods of acknowledgment and interested follow-up questions. Clarke wasn't just her alpha; she was earning respect in her own right.

Amidst the glittering ambiance of the country club, Lexa and Clarke gracefully approached a group where the corporate echelon, including several board members and CEO Thelonious Jaha, stood conversing. The air around these influential figures was heavy with a mix of business and subtle power plays, the kind of atmosphere where every word and gesture mattered.

As they neared, Lexa’s demeanor was one of calm assurance, bolstered by Clarke’s steady alpha presence beside her. Clarke, familiar with the group from previous encounters, exuded a composed confidence.

"Mr. Jaha, good evening," Lexa greeted, offering a nod to the CEO and the other board members. "I hope you've been well."

Thelonious Jaha, a figure of both respect and authority, turned with a welcoming smile. "Lexa, always a pleasure. And Clarke," he extended his greeting, his familiarity evident, "how’s the practice? Keeping you busy, I imagine?"

Clarke responded with a respectful nod and a warm smile. "Indeed, Mr. Jaha. It's thriving, and there's never a dull moment. It’s challenging but rewarding work."

Jaha nodded, his expression showing genuine interest. "That’s excellent to hear. It's important to have a pursuit that drives you. Keeps you grounded."

The conversation gently meandered from Clarke’s medical practice to more general topics, including recent advancements in healthcare. Clarke’s contributions were insightful, reflecting her deep understanding and passion for her work. The board members, some meeting Clarke in this context for the first time, listened intently, visibly impressed by her expertise and the eloquence with which she shared her views.

Lexa, observing the interactions, felt a deep sense of pride and admiration. Clarke, her partner, was shining in her element, effortlessly engaging with some of the most influential individuals in her professional world. The respect she commanded as an alpha, combined with her intellectual prowess, made her an undeniable presence in the room.

As the discussion eventually shifted back to company matters, Lexa seamlessly re-engaged with the conversation, her insights and leadership abilities coming to the forefront. Throughout their interaction, the partnership between Lexa and Clarke was evident – they were a team in every sense, complementing each other’s strengths and standing united in their personal and professional lives.

After some time, as they politely excused themselves to continue mingling, Jaha’s parting remark carried a tone of respect and acknowledgment. "Always good to see both of you. Lexa, your leadership continues to impress us, and Clarke, your accomplishments are commendable. You make a remarkable team."

Moving away from the group, Lexa felt a comforting sense of validation. The evening was not just an opportunity to socialize; it was a reaffirmation of her and Clarke's growing partnership. Together, they were more than just an alpha and an omega; they were a dynamic duo, respected and recognized for their individual strengths and their synergistic relationship.

As the evening wore on, the festive spirit of the Christmas party seemed to fill every corner of the country club. The soft sound of laughter and music mingled with the clinking of glasses, creating a warm and convivial atmosphere. Lexa and Clarke, having navigated the evening’s interactions with grace and poise, found themselves momentarily at the edge of the lively crowd, enjoying a brief respite.

They stood close to each other, engaged in a light-hearted conversation, when Anya approached with a playful grin on her face. "Well, well, look where you two have ended up," she said, her eyes glinting with amusement.

Lexa and Clarke followed Anya’s gaze upwards and found themselves standing under a sprig of mistletoe, its green leaves and red berries hanging innocuously from the ceiling. The realization brought a flush to Lexa's cheeks and a sparkle to Clarke’s eyes.

"Looks like tradition calls for some action," Anya teased, her smile widening as she observed their reaction.

Clarke, with a mischievous look in her eye, turned to Lexa. “What do you say? Shall we honor the tradition?” Her voice was low, tinged with a playful yet tender note.

Lexa, caught in the moment and the warmth of Clarke’s gaze, nodded shyly. The room around them seemed to blur into the background, the noise fading away as Clarke leaned in closer.

With a gentleness that contrasted with the mischief in her eyes, Clarke’s lips met Lexa’s in a sweet, tender kiss. It was a soft, affectionate gesture, yet it held within it the depth of their feelings for each other. The world around them seemed to stand still, the kiss a delicate seal on their bond.

As they parted, Lexa’s eyes fluttered open to meet Clarke’s, now soft with affection. A gentle blush colored her cheeks, a mix of joy and the slight embarrassment of the public display.

Anya, watching the scene, let out a delighted laugh. "That’s the spirit," she exclaimed, her tone warm with approval. "You two are absolutely adorable together."

Lexa smiled, her heart still racing from the kiss. Clarke’s arm slipped around her waist, a gesture of comfort and closeness. “Thank you, Anya,” Lexa replied, her voice steady but still tinged with the remnants of the moment’s magic.

The evening continued, with the partygoers moving around them, but for Lexa and Clarke, that brief moment under the mistletoe felt like a poignant affirmation of their relationship. They were more than just colleagues or friends; they were partners, united by a bond that was both tender and strong.

As they rejoined the festivities, hand in hand, Lexa couldn’t help but feel a sense of completeness. With Clarke by her side, she felt ready to face whatever challenges and joys the future might bring. The kiss under the mistletoe was a symbol of their love, a promise of all the days to come.

#this was meant to be a one shot #but it f'd my timeline so #call it a sneak peek at part of the sequel #blurred lines #zero edits #so its very rough #clexmas 23

32 notes · View notes