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avengerscompound · 6 months

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The Interview - Chapter 2

The Interview - A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Rating: E

Warnings: Drinking, sexual innuendo

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Melody Danes

Word Count: 1947

Summary: Melody Danes gets the break of a lifetime when as a lowly intern, she’s assigned to write a profile piece on Captain America. Steve Rogers is a hard man not to fall for and as she and Melody get closer and Melody’s career takes off, jealousy leads to sabotage, and the potential to bring her whole world crashing down.

Chapter 2

“Bobbi! Bobbi, are you home?”

Melody was buzzing when she got home. The preliminary interview with Captain Steve Rogers had gone so well, and she currently felt this swirling mixture of excitement, relief, pride, and euphoria inside her. It left her feeling slightly high, and her hands trembled every time she tried to use them. Now, she wanted nothing more than to metaphorically vomit out everything that had happened to her cousin.

“I’m in here!” Bobbi called back from her bedroom.

She tossed her handbag onto the table and went straight to Bobbi’s room. Her cousin was sitting behind her vanity applying makeup, already dressed in a black sequined romper that flattered her figure, and a pair of lace-up thigh-high boots.

“So tell me,” Bobbi said, gazing back at Melody through the reflection in her mirror. “How was your first big celebrity interview?”

Melody flopped onto Bobbi’s bed with a squeal and kicked her legs. “Oh my god, it was so good! He was so open! I didn’t expect him to be so open! He talked about all the health issues he had when he was a kid!” She sat up suddenly and clapped her hands together. Bobbi!” she said. “We spoke about circumcision! I spoke about circumcision with Captain freaking America!” She fell back on the bed and kicked her legs again.

“And was he pro or against?” Bobbi asked as she finished off the wings of her eyeliner.

“Against. He doesn’t understand why society has changed so much that it’s now as common as it is. Back when he was young it was just for medical or religious reasons.”

Bobbi uncapped her lip gloss and hummed. “So Captain America is uncut. That’s interesting. I wonder if that friend of his is too.”

“James Barnes? I mean most likely. I don’t think he’s Jewish. Although, I guess he could be,” she mused and sat up again. “He’s so fucking handsome, Bobbi. I mean his skin is flawless. And I know we always see him with the cowl on so he just looks like this square-jawed jock, but he has such soft features. They’re quite feminine actually. And his eyes… fuck… Seriously. They are so blue, and his eyelashes are so goddamn long. He’s really beautiful.”

Bobbi blotted her lips on a Kleenex. They were now a dark red with a slight glitter to them, making them stand out against the warm copper of her complexion. She turned to face her and crossed her legs. “Oh my god,” she said. “You have a crush on Captain America!”

“No, I don’t,” Melody argued, huffing and folding her arms over her chest. The pouting didn’t last long though. It was hard to argue that she didn’t feel some attraction to Steve considering how kind and good-looking he was. “Okay - so maybe I do. Me and a few billion other people I’m sure. He’s hot as hell and really kind. I’m only human.”

“I’m more into the friend,” she said. “But I did always go for the dark and brooding types.” She gave a dismissive wave above her head and looked back at Melody. “Be careful, chica. You need to stay impartial and if you want this article to be good you have to be able to ask the hard questions. That’s not easy when you’re trying to impress someone.”

“I know,” Melody said. “I will be. I am aware of how big of a break this is. Besides, it’s not a hard-hitting exposé. I’m just writing a profile piece. I’m not trying to break the poor guy.”

“Alright. I believe in you. If anyone can get the Pulitzer and the guy, it’s you.” She stood up and clapped her hands together. “We should celebrate. Come to work with me. I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Where are you working tonight?” Melody asked.

“Stonewall,” she said.

Melody quickly jumped up. “Oh, fuck yeah! If I have to sit through vampire dinner theater again, I would have to shoot myself.”

“Rude!” she said and gave Melody’s ass a playful smack. “You love Dracula’s dinner show. Now go get dressed. You are not going to Stonewall dressed like a banker.”

Melody yelped and ran from the room, hurrying to her little nook to change. She hung up the clothes that Bobbi’s friends had loaned her and changed into something more appropriate for a nightclub. She opted for a pair of colorful trainers over heels for comfort. The thought of being on them all night after spending the day in the ill-fitting pair she borrowed was too much to bear.

Bobbi clicked her tongue impatiently when Melody was ready to go, and they hurried out to catch the A train down to Greenwich Village. The adrenaline high kept Melody babbling away happily all the way down to the bar. They spoke about the interview, Bobbi’s upcoming auditions, and where they would move when they both made it big.

“I’m just saying that I am sure there would be a really nice place here in SoHo that we could share and it wouldn’t at all be weird that we were still sharing a home when we both are successful and have our own families,” Melody said as she followed Bobbi up to the bar.

“Fine. We’ll pool out money and buy a huge mansion and you can have the east wing and I’ll have the west wing,” Bobbi relented. She stepped behind the bar as Melody took a seat, and went out the back to put her things in her locker and punch in. It was still early so there wasn’t a huge crowd, but it was still busy, with people milling around nursing beers as they talked, or taking photos with some of the historical items on display.

When Bobbi returned, she grabbed a bottle from the top shelf and brought it over to Melody. Melody watched as she pulled out a tiny goblet-shaped glass, a filigree spoon, and a sugar cube. She placed the empty glass in front of Melody and balanced the spoon on top of it. She then put the sugar cube onto the spoon and poured a shot of the green liquid over it.

“Okay,” she said, setting the cube alight. It began to drip flaming globs of sugar into the glass. “When you’re ready just pour some water on top and stir the sugar into the glass.”

She put a small glass of water next to the glass.

“We’re doing Absinthe? Are we celebrating or grieving?”

Matthew, a tall, lithe man, with wiry muscles, and a deep umber complexion, stepped over from the other end of the bar. Melody knew him well, he often shared shifts with Bobbi, as they tended to work on singing bartender nights - his voice was deep and rich and he attracted a crowd whenever he worked. He and Bobbi had become close friends, and he had been to their apartment for most of the small gatherings she held.

“It’s a celebration,” Bobbi said. “Our little girl just did her first interview for a proper magazine article. Not a small one either. A three-page spread.”

“Wow,” Matthew said, leaning back on the bench behind him. “That is worth celebrating. Who are you interviewing?”

“It’s kind of a secret,” Melody said. It was a lie, but she wanted to tease him with the information. “Come here, and I’ll whisper it.”

He laughed and came close, leaning over the bar toward her. “This better be good.”

“It’s Captain America,” she whispered loudly.

He pulled back and held his hand over his heart. “Damn... Girl! You did not just drop that on me.”

“Pretty good, huh?” she said.

“Your first interview? You are going far! Do not fuck this up!” Matthew said. “He’s fine… though I prefer his friend. You know, the one with the metal arm.”

“James Barnes,” she said, trying not to laugh. Matthew and Bobbi had very similar tastes in men.

“Is he as good-looking in person as he is on TV?” Matthew asked.

“Better,” she said.

“Damn…” Matthew cursed.

He was called down the bar by a customer, and Melody focused back on her drink, pouring some water on it and extinguishing the flame. “I thought it was illegal to sell absinthe?” Melody said as she stirred in the sugar.

“It’s fine if it doesn’t have the wormwood in it. But don’t think that without it you won’t get fucked up. It’s over 60% proof. Be careful,” Bobbi said.

“You’re the one that served it to me!” Melody yelped.

“Yeah, because you said one drink. There’s your drink,” she said, pointing to the small glass of green liquid.

She picked it up and sipped it. The water and sugar had cut through the strong burn of the alcohol and the aniseed and herbal flavor, but only a little. She threw the rest back in one go.

It went straight to her head, and that one drink became two, and then three. Then it was dancing with strangers and joining in singing anytime the waiters broke out into song. Then it was making out with a woman in the line for the bathroom. She completely gave in to the adrenaline of the night. Everything seemed like a good idea, and on top of the fact that she hadn’t eaten since lunch with Steve, she was very drunk after not very long.

The night didn’t end until the bar closed at four, and Melody ended up singing on the subway with Bobbi on the way home at half past four in the morning. She wasn’t home until five and she simply collapsed down into bed, still fully dressed, and passed out.

When the alarm went off two hours later, she felt like cooled-over death. Her head throbbed and her mouth was tacky. Thoughts came to her, sluggish and foggy, like everything was soaking in treacle. It took far too long for her to remember that she had to go interview Steve in Brooklyn today. When it finally sunk into her brain, she stumbled out of bed. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she cursed, making a beeline to the shower.

She spent way too long in the shower and then had to just pull on the first things she could find, which happened to be jeans and a T-shirt. Thankfully, her jacket dressed it up a little. She quickly did her hair and makeup to try and make herself at least look human, and then rushed out the door with her bag, not having time to even make herself a coffee.

Luckily there was a food truck on the corner of her street right outside the subway stop that not only sold coffee but also had breakfast croissants and doughnuts. Extra luckily there was no line when she reached it and she was able to grab an egg and cheese croissant and a coffee before jogging down to the train and getting on the first one that would take her to Brooklyn Heights.

The car only had a few people in it when she got on, so she took a seat, put on her sunglasses, and began to slowly sip the bitter black liquid hoping it would revive her before she had to see Steve Rogers. She hadn’t even been on the train for ten minutes when it stopped at the port authority bus terminal. People flooded onto the train and she focused on her coffee and the last remnants of her croissant. She didn’t even think twice about the person who was now standing directly in front of her.

“Rough night?” an all too familiar voice asked.

She looked up to see Steve Rogers smiling at her.

// NEXT

#marvel #avengers #marvel fanfic #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfic #captain america #captain america fanfic #steve rogers x oc #fanfic #fanfiction #ofc #smut #the interview

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midnightsun-if · 3 months

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What sort of history does our grandmother have? 👀

Can you give us a snippet or some more tidbits about her? When will we be able to meet her in game?

You’ll meet Elizabeth later on, probably when the rest of the family arrives in Aurelian, but you’ll probably be able to write to her before then if you’d like to do so.

As for her history? Well, I suppose I can write something from an event that happened a while back.

Theodore Greer, resident of a small town just outside London, jerks awake, hazel eyes blearily blinking open as he tries to see through the blood encrusting the left one. Heavy shackles bind him to the floor, a rickety stool being the only thing keeping him from the dirty surface, and the air stank with various different odors— none of them pleasant— but it was the overwhelming undertone of metallic copper that made him want to hurl up what he had eaten that morning.

Was it this morning that he had eaten with his wife? He couldn’t remember. Squeezing his eyes shut, while trying to ignore the dull throbbing of his skull, he tried to recall anything that could help him piece together what had happened. He recalled eating with his wife— slightly burnt toast with eggs— and going off to work— after he had kissed his wife on the cheek— with the intent to see Isobel that night; as he hadn’t been able to visit her for the last fortnight due to his wife’s growing suspicions.

But what happened after he left work? From the point he had stepped out of the building he called his job to now? Everything was just complete darkness— as if it had been erased entirely from his mind.

“Watching humans try to piece things together is always fun to observe.” A light voice whispers out from the shadows of the room, causing Theodore to jerk back in surprise. The husky chuckle, intermixed with a dark undertone, that rumbles out, almost like a growl, due to the action, raises all the hairs on the back of his neck. “It’s quite adorable the way your childlike brains try to grasp the greater world around you.”

Theodore finally catches sight of the figure leaning against the wall, shrouded by darkness. How long had she been standing there? Had she been there this entire time? Is she stuck here too?

Even as the last thought crossed his mind, Theodore knew it couldn’t be further from the truth. Knew that this woman could never be the prey of anything— that she was a born hunter— and that he had unwittingly become her target.

“W—” He clears his throat, trying to sound more assertive than he felt. “Who the hell are you? Why am I here?”

Another chuckle rings across the room, the woman finally stepping into the light the lanterns casted off. A long gown, of the richest maroon, hugs her body, the corset accentuating the fullness of her chest, as delicate ringlets of the softest gold cascades across her shoulders, her fair complexion seemingly glowing because of it. The sight of such a beautiful woman would normally bring some semblance of enjoyment, but looking into the woman’s eyes— that were the color of the purest ruby— he knew that it was a front to the monster that lurked beneath the surface, a gorgeous facade hiding a dark truth.

“I’ve been observing you for a while, Theodore.” Full lips tick up into a smile, none of the emotion reaching the sharpness of her gaze. “Watching as you gallivant around in your pathetic excuse of a life.” The woman stoops to be at eye level with him. “It was almost charming in a way. Seeing you walk around town like you were biggest name there, but you’ve been a bad boy, haven’t you Theodore?”

He shakes his head, a lead weight settling within his gut. “N-No!”

“Really?” She tilts her head. “Would your darling wife agree to that? Such a sweet woman, I truly don’t see what she sees in you. Although she could definitely learn how to make a proper cup of tea—” A delicate wrinkle of distaste appears between an elegant brow. “—Hers tasted a bit weak.”

“What did you do to her?” Surging forward, despite his chains, Theodore almost spits out his next words. “What the hell did you to my wife?”

“Nothing, you insipid little man. Not that you’d know about doing anything to her.” Gripping his cheeks, talon-like nails dig into Theodore’s cheeks, a grip that forces his head back. The ease in which the woman is able to mold his body how she wishes causes another bolt of fear to surge through him. “I tend to not indulge myself with humans, you’re gone within the blink of an eye regardless, why should I care how you decide to destroy one another? No—” She tilts her head, strands of gold falling in a dazzling curtain. “My business with you goes a bit deeper than that. You’ve been dealing with a new partner, haven’t you? One that’s been given you just a bit more money every week to offer specific supplies.”

The lead weight becomes an unbearable mess that he’d never be able to move from— impending doom looming over him with every second.

“My how pallid your face has become, I expect you know exactly what I’m talking about. You see—” She jerks his head further up, displaying more of his neck. “That partner of yours hasn’t been the happiest with you. As you’ve left him quite empty-handed the last couple of times you’ve seen him. Something that’s caused more issues with a group of individuals that decided, instead of waiting for a reliable transaction, they’d take their own approach to the issue. I assume you know about that little town massacre a few hours from here?”

“What?” Theodore shakes his head, straining his body against her iron-clad hold. “No. No. I didn’t help cause that.”

“You didn’t help prevent it either.” Letting go of his cheeks, Theodore is almost surprised at the blood now falling from the incisions her nails had left behind. “I was tasked with handling that little incident, as well as the ones that caused it, which has left me a bit hungry and in need of a solution that’ll solve my problems down the road. Do you know what I’ve come to the conclusion of?”

He gulps. “W-What?”

Leaning forward the woman tilts her head and gently licks the trail of blood rolling down his left cheek, a sound rumbling from deep within her chest at the taste.

“I’m going to get rid of you, find an actually reliable mule, and have some dinner after the day I’ve had.” She pulls back, crimson-red now staining her lips. “And I’m so looking forward to hearing you scream.”

He’s not able to react, or respond, before the hand that had been steadily creeping up his back grips the back of his neck, fully exposing his neck, and she lunges forward.

#midnight sun #asks #sc: elizabeth #midsun: snippets

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lorei-writes · 3 days

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Peculiar 'I love you'

Chevalier x OC (OC Chart: Esther) Fluff ~2.2k

A few moments of quiet, daily affection shared between Esther and Chevalier. <3 (I am too giddy.)

Content Warnings: food mention

Esther sat up. Her eyes narrowed as she stared her lover down, sizing up every last tired wrinkle of his. Fully aware her voice would not get through to him now that Chevalier resolved to finish the “good scene”, she hugged his arm, put her chin on his shoulder before nuzzling into his neck, careful for her breath to tickle his skin.

Esther glanced around the kitchen. Not a soul in sight; between the copper pots and pans, whisks, wooden rolling pins, a sharp assortment of knives, and precisely eight aprons hanging on the rack by the entryway, the lack of any recent human activity indicated she must have been there by herself. Curious yet cautious, she snapped her head from side to side… to then pounce at the chip basket, wholly unsuspecting that it was, indeed, a trap.

Chevalier cleared his throat.

Esther did not react.

“Deaf” as she was at the moment, she plucked a single raspberry from the mountain of its kind. Utterly enchanted by its amaranthine spell, Esther brought it to her lips. It’s ripe sweetness did not engulf her senses, however, the fruit freezing before trespassing into her mouth. And she turned to face him. Of course, she had.

Chevalier rolled his eyes. You shouldn’t have those.

Esther scrunched up her nose. One won’t hurt me.

He sighed. Do as you please.

Pleased she was, yet hardly satisfied. Esther reached for another raspberry.

Chevalier cleared his throat. Do I seem to enjoy repeating myself?

Esther pouted. Fine, fine… Her eyes sparkled. But you —

He stepped forward and her hand raised by itself; indeed, the fruit had ripened properly that year. It was hardly as sweet as Esther’s reaction when his tongue slid against the pad of her finger, however, her wrist twitching in his grip. Chevalier smirked – she too must have matured properly, for her complexion was hardly different from the berries still sitting on the countertop.

***

It was warm, but all too angular, and Esther could not understand why.

Barely awoken, held back somewhere at the hazy border between being aware and not yet fully conscious, Esther patted the world around in search of the still undefined disturbance. Her brow furrowed and she mumbled under her breath, crawling out further from the mud of slumberous shallows. Night still shrouded the room, then seemingly constricted to the bed alone.

A candlelight-lighthouse flickered at the horizon.

“Chevka…?” Esther rubbed her eyes. She squirmed a little, a caterpillar wrapped in a duvet-cocoon by some ominous force. Her arms were freed… eventually. “You’re still…?”

A page turned, followed by another one, the fine print resembling more so lice and fleas rather than letters. Esther pushed herself up on her elbow.

“How long have you…?” she asked in disbelief. “For goodness’ sake, it’s too dark to —”

A large hand fell over her head, further ruffling the already dishevelled hair, his affection being just a little too forceful this time. Esther grabbed Chevalier by the wrist, linked her fingers with his, brought them to her chest… And his eyes remained set firmly on the book.

“Chevalier…” Esther murmured into his ear, her lips just short of brushing against its shell. “Please, rest a bit.”

The answer came in a silent negative; she kissed it away, starting at his temple, through the corner of his jaw, to his cheek. Feverish in her affection, the glint in his eyes evaded her completely. Chevalier turned his head, stole her lips, stole her breath… And a new crease emerged between his brows, Esther looking up at him from her place among the sheets, still determined to thaw his resolve. The book dropped into her extended hand.

“Page four hundred sixty eight, second paragraph,” Chevalier yawned.

His head resting over her chest, Esther read out the reminder of the chapter and not a word more. Chevalier had fallen a prey to dreams before she’d even reached it just regardless.

***

Chevalier turned the page to a new chapter. Knitting needles met next to him with a soft “tap”; regardless of whether it was purposeful or not, Esther dictated the rhythm of his reading a stitch at a time. The corners of his lips twitched into a smile – he didn’t mind it, not in the slightest. Not when she kept him the company. His private library hadn’t felt desolate for a while.

Passing chapters became titles, another position disappearing from the pile to his left. Utterly occupied with the next volume of the saga, Chevalier disregarded the diminishing sunlight, or the few steps that sprung against the floorboards. He did not need to look away from the words to see and understand – the lit up lamp was enough a proof, as was the prolonged quiet. It broke eventually, however. Fortunately. That silence was rather jarring.

Slide, tap, knit, tap, knit…

Knit, tap, knit, tap, knit, slide…

Slide…

The needles had stopped at last, their steady rhythm giving way to a few frantic steps. Esther bustled around, the heels of her shoes striking the floor in the far corner of the library to then come close again. Sharp edges of hard covers thudded against the wooden shelves. Her clothing rustled, rather abruptly, and in the corner of his eye he could see her standing on her very tiptoes… for her to then hurry away again, back to another yet to be unloaded crate. Chevalier could question it, and he likely would have – his eyes drifted from the text and towards Esther, but she waved at his concerns. He could only oblige, urged further into selfish indulgence.

Thud, thud…

Step and tap, push…

… Shriek, of wood against wood, and then another thud. All quietly, as if attempting not to disturb him, as if lacking awareness that he had already been disturbed.

Chevalier snuck a glance at the corner his love occupied. Esther shoved the crate towards the door; however, feeling his gaze on her, she gave up on the task. He could read again and read he did, even as her steps neared him and her skirt appeared just beside him.

The book ceased to suffice. Esther laid down on the sofa, rested her head in his lap. Her eyes closed, clearly quite tired. A bed, a bed would be preferable. But Chevalier wasn’t a kind man nor would he ever consider describing himself as one; he shifted in his place rather awkwardly, unwilling to stand up even if it’d make the task at hand easier. Regardless, he did free himself of his cloak eventually, the book lying forgotten as he draped the garment over Esther’s form. She nuzzled into the fur collar… and then, then he could read on.

***

Windowpanes trembled under heavy rain, a splash of white spilling over the black skies to fade away in a blink of an eye. The world rumbled lowly under the deluge, as if pushed further into the entrails of whatever creature that was digesting it, raging streams pouring from above seemingly aiming to vanquish any solid ground. Chills rippled the plaster. Howling winds churned turbulent clouds, a mixture boiling over in a cauldron and gales breaking their necks against palace walls.

Esther paced around the room. She glanced from the windows, to the door, to the tiled heater, to then repeat the cycle. Window, door, heater, window door heater, window, door… A log was added to the fire, a poker somehow finding itself in her hand, absent-minded and absent-mindedly poking at the still burning embers.

Something clicked.

Esther jumped to her feet.

In this weather… Could he… Would he…?

The doorknob turned.

He did.

The moment of her inattention was when the door struck, presenting Esther with the most dreaded, yet also anticipated, not-surprise. Chevalier entered the room, the thinnest rill flowing alongside the edge of his cloak, swept-back hair just barely resisting the desire to fall into his face. A drop slid down his temple. Esther watched as it flowed down his profile, clung to the sharp edge of his jaw to take a leap of faith, to fall over his neck where it spilled, splashed, reconnected with more of its kind. His skin glistened under the warm light streaming from the chandelier, so pale the royal blue of his veins near surfaced, barely concealed under the thin layer of residual warmth. Chevalier closed his eyes with a sigh. Esther let go of the poker.

“Oh Lord,” she couldn’t help gasping. It did not warrant a reply; Chevalier took another step, out of a puddle or for a new one to emerge. Without even a word, he peeled his gloves off and set them on top of a dresser, deft fingers undoing the clasps holding his cloak in place. It fluttered to the floor, settled over the pristine granite in a wet heap, martyred in its drenched state. Esther rushed towards him. Chevalier smirked.

First, it was just a button of his jacket, followed shortly by another one. And another… Another, until the garment all but hung loose. Esther’s fingers grew as white as the towel she was clutching. Chevalier undid the first button of his shirt. Black linen clung to his body, soaked-through fabric moulding under the heat evaporating off his skin, the veil covertly unveiling the firmness of his muscles, their slightest curves, every sculpted edge… A drop dripped off his hair, lost itself somewhere over the plains at his nape, to then rush down the harsh slopes of his neck, pool by his clavicle and descent only further, carefully followed by a pair of eyes as dark as starless sky. Chevalier stifled a laugh, her gaze boring into his abdomen where it was still obscured by the fabric.

A towel – the towel – fell over his head. Chevalier pursed his lips, the list of his failed attempts extending by that evening. Furious in her haste, Esther dried off his hair, treating him with little more gentleness than a big, wet dog.

“Why are you taking so long?” Stormy frown settled over her face as her fingertips brushed against his ear. “Lord, out of those clothes, now. You’re so cold… I’ll draw you a bath.”

“That did not seem to be of relevance a moment ago.”

“You’ll end up with pneumonia!” Esther backed away and hurried towards the bathroom door, the now wet towel leaving his hair a ruffled nest. “You’re impossible, I swear!”

She might have said as much, but the point stood: her face was beetroot red.

***

The inn buzzed, waiters and waitresses rushing out of the kitchen with armloads of plates, air swaying heavily under the overpowering scent of exported spice and herbs. Weighted down by roasts smothered in sauce and plenty a pint of beer, the tables in the dining room bent their spines, barely hardy enough to avoid being snapped. Wood shivered, waves of cold foam rushing over it after each toast. Shouts rose, menus dropped – at all but one table, of course.

Esther hung her head low, few wayward locks falling from behind her ear to obscure her face. One needn’t have seen it to notice her resignation, however. Chevalier lifted his eyes from the menu.

“I’ll just eat tomorrow,” she murmured.

“Ridiculous.”

Esther shook her head, her shoulders slumping further. “I don’t think I can handle anything they serve. I’ll go to sleep and you have supper, it’s fine.”

Chevalier poked her forehead from across the table. He stood up from his seat and took the menu off her hands, a weak smile twisting Esther’s lips as she too attempted to get up. His hand on her shoulder, Chevalier forced her to stay where she was.

“Tea or water?”

“Really, I’ll —”

“Must I repeat myself?”

“Tea, please,” Esther gave in with a sigh.

The meal that arrived was not listed among the available options. Fried eggs, bread, a dollop of cream cheese? No, no, that was nothing like the fried cutlets and oily soups. Yet there, there were two plates of it. Chevalier reached for the cutlery.

“But… You didn’t have to —”

“Eating plainly for a day or a few is a non-issue.”

“You could —”

“And have you endure?” Chevalier snorted. “Stop making unnecessary sacrifices and eat instead.”

There was no room for disagreement. Esther took up a fork, a silent “thank you” fluttering in her chest.

***

Tea shook in the tea cup as the saucer made landing over the desk.

“No milk or sugar.”

“I’ll have it later.”

“No, you’ll have it now.” Esther corked the ink bottle and set it aside. She stole the documents occupying the desk, or much rather, was allowed to steal them away. “We’ve only just returned. I won’t be able to wake you up tomorrow if you’re too tired.”

“Too tired?” Chevalier snorted, but sipped on the tea regardless. “Your self-awareness is lacking.”

Esther settled over the sofa, her usually mellow eyes sharpening as she skimmed over the topmost paper. “Remind me, which of us needs somebody else to push them out of the bed?”

Soon, two piles were formed over the coffee table – one for her, and one for him to handle. She never intended to let him work alone.

Various Works: Esther x Chevalier

You've seen a typo? Let me know!

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weixuldo · 2 years

Text

Enigma// Ch 1

Modern!Anakin x Reader

(A/N: this is the prompt abt 30s anakin and college student reader lol. it’s set in modern time and anakin is kind of antisocial…(more on that later) yes sounds like unconditionally but going a v diff route)

Stressed and upset, you go to a local dive bar to try to take your mind off of things…

warnings: alcohol, depression?, antisocial behavior

__________________________________________

“Thank you, have a nice weekend” is what your professor said at 2:30 Friday afternoon. You were finally free for the weekend, and boy did you need it. This week had been particularly rough for no apparent reason. You walked out of the lecture hall and down to the dining hall.

It wasn’t terribly busy at the moment so you grabbed some food and went to look for a table. Once you set your food down you went to get a drink, sadly there was only one spout on the drink machine that produced regular water, and it was rather slow today.

You awkwardly stood there as the glass slowly filled. One of the popular student athletes was standing behind you. You didn’t know her name, but she had a beautiful complexion, not a pimple in sight. Her hair was done in braids with blue and white coloring.

You felt bad about “hogging” the water so you just gave up at half a glass and excused yourself so she could fill her water bottle. You finished your late lunch in silence as you planned your night.

You got back to the dorm and your roommate was in there with her boyfriend…great. You told her you were going to the bar tonight and not to expect you back. Basically giving her the green light to have the boyfriend stay over. She thanked you, with a little too much enthusiasm and you left the two of them to get ready elsewhere.

You did your make up and put on a black dress that wasn't the most modest thing you had. I mean, you were looking to forget about the week after all. You grabbed the rest of your things and called an uber. You were definitely not planning to go back to campus tonight.

You reached the shitty dive bar that all the college kids and ‘trendy” locals went to. Once you stepped out of the car, your heels sunk into gravel. You thanked your driver and continued into the smoke infested bar.

The college kids with fakes tended to congregate around the front of the building, away from the actual bar, maybe out of fear of being caught. But you were of age so you sat yourself down on a barstool and leaned on the counter.

“Would you like the regular Darlin'” the bartender, who now considered you a regular, asked.

You nodded and the man began to prepare you a Moscow mule. He slid hte copper mug towards you and you thanked him. You sipped on the refreshing drink as you scanned the bar.

Too old, too young, too loud, asshole, asshole, creep, too old

You almost gave up until you saw a handsome man leaning against the bar. He was wearing black pants, a dark long sleeve, and … gloves? He was basically dressed for winter…it was the middle of August.

You studied him a bit more before choosing to interact. He had a head of nice sandy brown hair and striking blue eyes. He had a sharp jawline and a beautiful side profile. You finished your drink for courage and then went on your way.

“Nice outfit” you said, a flirty tone to your voice.

He turned to you slowly, “mhm” before sipping more of his drink.

Sheesh. Tough crowd.

“You don't look particularly happy to be here” you observed with a small smile.

He looked at you once more before placing his glass on the bar.

“Correct, I’m not”.

“Why not?” you asked.

He nodded his head towards a bearded guy and a girl with braids. “We’re celebrating.”

“You don’t seem very celebratory”

“I don’t like bars”

You hummed in response, “I don’t really like bars either”.

“Then why are you here?” he asked, kind of accusatory.

“Because I’m fucking miserable” you giggled, which triggered a hiccup.

He glanced at you and a small smirk tugged at his lips, “Me too”.

You smiled at him and ordered another round of drinks. Once you had enough alcohol in your system to be officially counted as inebriated, you became bolder.

“What’s with the gloves?”

“It’s cold,” he responded shortly.

“It’s August”

To that he looked down at his glass. You moved to place your hand on one of his, but he snatched it away before you could. Before you could say anything the guy and girl he pointed at came up.

Once they were in the light you recognized the girl from your school. She was the athlete who was behind you at lunch in the dining hall.

“Hey, Don't you go to my school?” she asked. You were surprised she remembered you.

“Yeah, I’m F/N L/N, I’m a junior” you extended your hand.

She shook it and smiled, “I’m Ashoka Tano, I’m a senior”.

You smiled, “I’ve seen you compete, you’re really talented”.

She let out a hearty laugh, “Well thank you… F/N!”

“Were you talking to this guy?” She asked, pointing to the guy you were indeed just talking to.

“She was,” he answered before you.

“Wanna join us?” Ashoka asked, “we’re celebrating this job I got!”

“Of course! As long as you're fine with it” you smiled

“Definitely!”

You learned Ahsoka secured a job for the military, something to do with athletic training in the army. You later learned the oldest man in the group’s name was Obi-wan, but he went by Ben. The three of you enjoyed drinks for the greater portion of the night before you were all pretty drunk.

“-Back”

Huh?

“I said how are you going to get back?” Anakin repeated.

He must have meant home. “Ummm, I don’t know- I didn't really expect to go home t-tonight” you slurred, trying to steady yourself.

He sighed, standing form his seated position . Obviously he was not as hammered as you.

“I can drive or something” you offered.

“You’re way too wasted to get behind the wheel, plus you said you didn’t even drive here”.

Oh yeah.

“I’ll Uber” you offered.

“Nahhh, don't do that! The Uber’s here aren *hic* Aren’t safe” Ahsoka said, herself wasted as well.

“Wait! Come with us!” she offered. “We’re crashing at Anakin’s!”.

He scowled at the woman behind him, he didn’t appreciate his house being offered up.

“No-It’s ok, he seems…mad” you said, his scowl looking menacing in your inebriated state.

“BOO! Party Pooper!” Ahsoka shouted, to which Ben shushed her. She rolled her eyes and continued to whisper “Boo”.

Anakin sighed and looked at you. You really weren’t in any shape to go back alone, and this wasn’t exactly the nicest part of town. He begrudgingly agreed and Ahsoka cheered.

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Anakin’s apartment was rather small, it wasn’t a tidy place, but it wasn't necessarily dirty either. It was a one bedroom apartment with a kitchen, bathroom, and living area. Ben pulled out the sofa bed and Ahsoka flopped onto it. Anakin retired to his room and Ben took a cot from the closet to sleep on. You didn’t really know what to do, so you just laid beside Ahsoka on the pullout

You examined his cluttered living room as you drifted to sleep. He had a lot of military gear and other random items scattered around. Was he a soldier? A headache rolled through your skull and you decided it was time to go to bed, you could wonder about the man tomorrow.

Morning came quicker than you would have liked it to. But nonetheless it did. You woke up not as bad as you were expecting. You had a mild headache but you weren't gripped by nausea, not bad for the drinking you did last night. You propped yourself up in the bed and saw Ahsoka pulling the blankets up from the end of the bed. To your left ben was still fast asleep ont he cot. You smelled coffee and got up to see what was up.

You turned the corner into the kitchen and saw a disheveled Anakin shakily pouring himself a cup of straight black coffee. He was still wearing gloves but he now had on a sweatshirt and sweatpants. His hands were shaking and you were worried he’d spill the coffee so you went up to him to do it for him.

His eyes widened when you took the mug and pot. You poured him a glass quickly and set the pot back under the maker. You placed the mug on the counter for him.

“I had that” he huffed.

Okayyy no thank you huh?

He reached for the mug only for him to fumble with the handle. Eventually he got a grip on it and took a sip. What was going on?

“Hey, are you ok-”

“I’m fine.” he started putting the mug back onto the counter. But he set it down at an awkward angle and the mug fell over, spilling some in the sink and the rest on the counter.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed.

You heard Ben yawn and turn the corner, “Oh, Anakin let me help you with that” he said, approaching the spill.

Anakin scoffed and walked past you to get some paper towels. Well it was more like a limp than a walk.

He handed Ben some towels and they began to clean the spill. You went to reach for one to offer your help, but Anakin just glared at you.

Once you turned the corner into the living room you heard Ben say to him,

“You really should learn to be nicer to people who are just trying to help”.

followed by a crisp

“fuck off”

***

(a/n another ani one, unlike unconditionally, is this one doesn’t have kids and his injuries aren’t from a car crash. I kinda just wanted to do an aloof bitchy ani with a naive/ oblivious reader)

taglist: @dnamht @sxoulohvn @angeelcoree @wtf-andys @httpeachesblog @katsukiswrld @jetiikote

#anakin x fem reader #anakin x reader #anakin x you #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin fanfiction #sw anakin #sw imagine #sw x reader #star wars x reader #star wars x y/n #anakin x y/n #darth vader x reader #anakin #enigma #anakin imagine #sw fic #sw fanfic

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aiza-luna · 21 days

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Assassin's Creed - Syndicate Drabble: Nightly Chat

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"You know? Maybe my stay in London won't be so bad after all..."

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Hello, Hello, everyone! This is Aiza here, once again, this time, bringing something a bit different... A little draft I did of my AC: Syndicate AU and showing a bit more of my OC for the game! I hope you guys enjoy it since is my first time posting a small writting of mine, here! 🥹🩵

Without further ado, let's go!

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The darkness of the London's sky was comforting... At least at that moment. The cool breeze hitted her face, moving her braid softly against the wind.

Her dark copper hair glowed under the faint moonlight that timidly shined through the dark clouds. The weather was always so dark, so cloudly... Was it because of the constant smokes coming from the factories? Or simply the natural disposition of London's climate? She couldn't tell...

She kept cleaning her blade. The red hankchief she carried helping to hide the blood trail. The silver-colored weapon returning to it's shimering with every stroke she performed in it.

"... Y así pasan los días

Y yo desesperando

Y tu, tu contestando

Quizás, quizás, quizás...

... Estas perdiendo el tiempo

Pensando, pensando

Por lo que mas tu quieras

Hasta cuándo, hasta cuándo..."

The woman started to hum idly as she completed her task, her voice was of a Mezzosoprano tone, singing in a melodic but quiet pace.

So immersed on her work, she didn't noticed the light steps approaching her by her back in the cold rooftop. And she would have imediatly draw her blade on the stranger's throat, if it wasn't for the voice she quickly recognized.

- What are you doing here, little Hoopoe? - Spoke a male voice with an english accent, to which made her lower her guard and turn to face him. She looked a bit startled, and annoyed, but relieved it was a familiar face.

- I just needed a moment for myself, Mr. Frye... - The Spanish woman started, raising an eyebrow at him. - ... What are you doing here? Do not tell me you were indulging on those pubs again. -

The woman asked, knowing the Assassin's habit of drinking with his gang members until the late hours. And considering their expantion over London has been quite succeful those days, she was pretty sure he had been out drinking.

Her only reply was a humorous laugh, as he standed besides her, looking down at her as she was sitted in the edge of the rooftop.

- Is that how you see me? As a drunk scoundrel that only 'indulges himself on those pubs'? I feel hurt. - Jacob asked with a sarcastic and playful tone, smirking as he watched the Spaniard's cheeks heat up and gain a faint shade of red, barely visible with her olive complexion and the dim light of the street lights.

- ... You know that is not what I meant... - Solange argued in a murmur, visibly embarassed to have possibly offended him and not following the proper politeness she was taught.

Jacob sitted besides her, taking a look in the view and then at her, before speaking again.

- And you still haven't awnser my question, little Hoopoe. - He pointed out, seeing how vague her reply was, and how strange it was to find her at that hour. It was usual for him and Evie to roam the streets at the late night, but Solange? She usually would spend her evenings indulging herself in those pompous (and awfully demanding) social events of the high-class.

- Wouldn't you preffer to spend your "time for yourself" in your aunt's estate? I believe a warm long bath and the bed of the guest's room would be much more enjoyable than feel the cold night wind while sitting in a dirty rooftop. - The British Assassin commented in a light manner, in his typical charming manner.

Always a charmer, always charismatic...

...Was he always like this? It was both irritating and heart-lighting... Solange envied how well would he take things. How he always had this smooth-talker way of dealing with everything. This captivating energy that neither She nor the Evie had.

- ... Believe me, Mr. Frye... Is nothing. - The Spanish Assassin commented in a serious tone, before sighing heavily. - Starrick's influence in the British court is more than we expected... -

She started with a more firm tone, making the British man frown besides her. - What did you found? -

Solange mimicked his face expression, looking at her blade.

- James Brownlow William Gascoyne-Cecil, the Marquess of Salisbury, is another noble that is joining the Templars. - The Spanish Lady informed, her expression more worried. - We also suspect Lord Wensleydale may be connected to Starrick. Not as a member, but as an ally... Two nobles and a Judge. -

The Assassin concluded worried, clearly impressed that would be more Templars inside the court than just the Earl of Cardigan.

- Starrick is securing his strings in the Parlament too. - Jacob concluded with a more serious and somber voice, the brunette only nodded.

- I believe Starrick also have plans for my uncle, Tía Desirée is trying to use that in her advantage to approach and discover their true intentions. - The Spanish Assassin explained her family's course of action, placing her red hankchief on her lap.

- But in all honesty? I just did not wish to take part in tonight's gathering...- She commented quietly, looking down at the streets. The other Assassin looked at her surprised.

- What? Why? I thought you enjoyed "spending the night dancing your fears always and hoping to find a gentleman to wed."- Jacob commented with a smile, remembering what he heard his partner-in-Creed commenting with her aunt while he and his sister visited their estate. Solange chuckled and held her hands together.

- You're correct. However, is not that I do not like the events, is just that... - The Spaniard started, but her voice died down, as did her gaze. Jacob looked at her, eager for her to continue her phrase. - ... My aunt was trying to find me another suitor. Edward Marjoribanks, the son of the Baron Tweedmouth. -

She revealed, sounding a bit more nervous. Jacob looked at her confused.

- Well, aren't those good news? - He asked, his voice still laced with puzzlement. - You wished for a suitor, doesn't that overjoy you? - The British asked, going straight to the point.

Sometimes, his directness was a bit disconcerting.

- Yes, it was... - Solange confirmed in a tensed tone, before she let out a deep sigh. -... I know I should not oppose to this, and heavens knows how lucky I am a man even try to show interest in me while being... Una defectuosa enferma. - She murmured the last part with bitterness, although despite being in her mother-tongue, by the frown on his face, it was clear Jacob had heard it as well, despite not understanding the words exactly, he could recognize the tone. - But I... I simply do not know. - The brunette concluded in agony.

Jacob frown, still not really understanding.

- You do not know if you wish to wed him? - He asked, and the girl nodded.

- Do not get me wrong, he seems like a good gentleman, but... I simply do not wish to marry him. - She stated in a sad tone. - I... I know a marriege with him would be of great help for the Assassins, and would help strenght our influence inside the Parlament, but I... - She started to explain her thoughts, until she was stopped.

By the Assassin besides her, that had a clear frown and a face of disapproval in his face.

- Oi! Listen to me - Jacob started, sounding weirdly serious. A jarring contrast of his usual carefree tone. - You do not have to marry some Boujee to help the Brotherhood! We can overthrow Starrick without locking you on a Marital Prison! - He stated. Despite his tone becoming a tid more playful in the end, she could still feel the seriousness of his words.

He mean it. He really meant every word he spoke... She didn't knew wether to feel touched by his concern for her opinion, or she pitied him for not knowing the prices of the high-class. Solange sighed once more.

- Mr. Frye, I appreacite your words, truly... - She started, her voice calm and collected as ever, despite her hint of sadness. -... But I know my responsabilities, as my status demand...-

- Solange. - He started, calling her by her name, knowing this would get her full attention. - Before being a Noble, before being an Assassin, you're a bloody person. - Jacob affirmed seriously, even if his tone was not harsh. But it was evident that he hated that.

He hated to see how much Solange would put herself down, beat herself for not fitting what was expected of her... And mostly importantly, he hated how she was ready to sacrifice herself to fullfil those expectations. He couldn't stand it. He couldn't.

- Please, listen to yourself. To what you are saying! Do you believe trapping youself to an unhappy relationship is worth it? We can fight Starrick, and we will free London. - Jacob said with confidence, as to inspire her. - You do not have to go to such limits for the sake of a "good alternative". -

She looked at him. For the first time, the honey-colored eyes met his hazel ones... And she smiled. A simple, timid but sincere smile. Despite the layers of make-up that covered her disease, her face seemed to glow in gratitude.

-... I can not run from courtship forever, Mr. Frye... - The Spanish Assassin argued, her tone sounding more soft, even relaxed, as she spoke now. Jacob smiled slightly, looking at the scenary.

- Why do you insist so much on this, Lady Cotoner? - The British Assassin asked, with curiosity in his voice. He knew noblewomen usually married off early, but the way she took it so desperatly, definetly felt a bit... Strange, to not say obssessive, to him. - Wouldn't you rather wait until our mission is over to look for a man to betrothed you? -

Solange's eyes quickly shifted towards the street, as she bit her bottom lip light, in a discreet nervous gesture.

- Yo... - She started, her tone hesitant and heavy. -... I'm not like the other ladies, Mr. Frye... - The brunette stated, her voice disappointed and quiet. -... I fear no men will desire to wed a woman like me, for something I carry. - She concluded in a short and simple manner, clearly not wanting to elaborate the topic further.

Jacob looked at her for a few moments in silence. He wanted to ask her more about this "thing" she "carried with her", but he could also feel how that bothered her... And he did not wished to make her uncomfortable. Specially at that hour.

- Lady Cotoner... - He started, his voice sounding understanding and sympathetic. - We may have only known each other for a few days, but, if I may say: I found you an incredibly capable and beautiful woman. - Jacob said, his tone full of sincerity and animosity. - I cannot imagine a man on his right mind, specially a noble one, rejecting your hand to be claimed. -

Despite their differences and personalities, Jacob admired Solange. The Spanish Lady was a kind, sweet soul as much as she was a deadly Assassin. Her devotion, her understanding nature, her curiosity... Jacob admired them. And he did considered the Spaniard a friend, despite not knowing if the feeling was mutual.

At his words, Solange looked at him surprised, her mouth slightly agape and her eyes bright in desbelief and flattering... Did he really mean it? She hoped, deep down, he did. That those weren't just words of consolation, but of sincere admirament.

Once again, she smiled a soft smile, a hint of blush in olive her cheeks by the flattering his words caused on her... Her expression softned.

- Thank you for your words, Mr. Frye... - She started, her elegant voice filled with gratitude for such caring words directed at her. Then, she stood up slowly, looking at the sky. -... We should better go, is getting late and we will continue our moviments early morning. - She stated casually, feeling the wind move her royal-blue coat and hood against it.

Jacob smiled, as he stood up, but he did not walked towards her.

- Will you meet us in the train? - He asked, already knowing the awnser. This was becoming a routine since they had defeated Keylock and as she introduced herself as another Assassin from the Spanish Brotherhood.

- Yes, as always. - Solange confirmed in a more content tone, standing in the edge of the rooftop, before turning slightly back towards him. - Oh, and Mr. Frye... - She started, catching the British's attention, as he raised an eyebrow, waiting for her next words. - ... I also find you a capable Assassin... And a great leader. - The Spaniard stated in a warm tone, smiling to him, as she said "Good Night" and jumped off to another rooftop, running and moving in the night swiftly as a shadow.

Jacob smiled to himself, feeling the familiar cool breeze of London, and the smell of heavy smoke from the chimneys as he watched her disappear in the darkness of the night . - Good Night, little Hoope. -

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✨ CREDITS TIME! ✨

Writting Inspirations: @nemo-of-house-hamartia @thatcrazycrowgirl

Images: From Pinterest.

Characters:

• Master Assassin Solange Cotoner (OC by Yours Truly 🩵)

• Master Assassin Jacob Frye (By Ubisoft)

Universe: Assassin's Creed Syndicate (By Ubisoft)

Themes: Nightly talk, friendly-chat, historical references, just two (future lovers) having a light talk, self-esteem issues hinted, begining of the Syndicate story.

Thank you so much for reading! 🩵

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#assassin's creed #assassin's creed oc #Solange Cotoner #My OC #Drabble #Scene concept #not sure is going to be canon but I had in my mind for a while #Anyways slight introduction to my Spanish girly ?#Patootie and Dork having a casual chat after she murdered some Blighters in the streets #Jacob is probably OOC but I TRIED-#I need to polish writting him dang #jacob frye #assassin's creed syndicate #ac syndicate #AC Fanfic #OC x Canon #Jacob Frye x Solange Cotoner #Solob #The Rook and the Hoopoe

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darkwolf76 · 2 months

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@emilykaldwen really got me back into HoTD with her lovely OC Abrogail, and as she and my OC Deidre are fictional sisters of House Strong, I did a little writing with the two of them, to get back in the swing of things. Very much in the spirit of the hurt/comfort prompt: "It's going to be okay. I promise you."

Deidre felt it before she heard it. Twas a peaceful night. Yet, the air tasted bitter and felt heavy in her lungs. Samwell told her the feelings were her anger over of the whole affair. How the crown had treated them, and her family, House Strong, after so many years of loyal service. ‘Things will get better once we’re out of the clutches of the Dragons, and back in the Riverlands where we belong,’ he’d said. But even as servants packed the possessions of the Blackwood household, she gathered her brood close to her.

It been harder than she thought, getting her children to spend one evening away from the dragon princes and princess they’d all grown up along side, spent their childhoods intertwined with, as Deidre had with both their mothers. It made Deidre see just how much they really needed to leave King’s Landing, at least for a while.bDeidre thought perhaps she’d write to her father of letting her take Abrogail too. Her childhood had been woven just as close to the Targaryen and Valeryon princes as her own children’s, Blackwood and Rivers, but the more time that passed, Deidre questioned how dangerous that was.

Time back among the rivers, in Harrenhal’s walls, might be good for Abby, to reconnect with their cousins and roots in a way Deidre had not been able to at her age. And Harwin would be there, and she would be, for their little sister. Abby was a part of Deidre’s brood, as much as the four children she’d birthed. Her little sister wasn’t even a year older than Dyana and Tristan, her little Rivers twins, and she owed it to Celeste, her stepmother long passed, to mother Abrogail, when Celeste had been such a mother and sister to her, in Deidre’s time of shame and despair.

“I don’t understand why Helaena can’t join us.” Abby frowned, her blue eyes questioning, as she sat at Deidre’s feet, letting her little niece Elyssa braid a part of her bright red hair. Elyssa frowned up at Deidre, a lighter blue gaze boring into her as well. “Is something wrong, mama? Queen Alicent said we could stay the night with Helaena. She was going to let us pick flowers from her garden to weave into each other’s hair.” Deidre stroked her daughter’s ebony Blackwood locks, before turning to look at her little sister, smiling. “I just thought it might be nice for us to spend the evening as a family. It has been a while after all…”

Abby's blue eyes met her older sister’s green. “But aren’t the Queen and Helaena family?” Deidre tensed when she saw the girl didn’t look convinced by her reasoning.

Deidre sighed. “They are your kin, sweet girl. But…” She knelt by her daughter and sister as the words died on her tongue. These two were her family. And Deidre had spent enough of her life acting as a sister to dragons that did not think the same of her, when the truth of it all came out.

She turned her gaze to Dyana, sitting across the room. Her little Rivers lass possessed a temperament so much more fierce then her sister or aunt and was much more likely to be found near the tiltyard than in the Queen’s or Helaena’s room. She was of an age with Abby, but so different. Dyana boasted sun-kissed copper skin, complimented by dark eyes and hair, hinting at the Dornish in her blood, while Abby sported a fair complexion with bright copper hair and deep blue eyes, testaments of her Riverlands and Westerland heritage. Abby sweet girl that she was, must have sensed Deidre’s discomfort. Instead of demanding more answers from her older sister, she tried to make her happy, bringing all the girls of their family together. “Dyana, I can braid your hair! Helaena showed me a style that would look lovely on you!” Deidre’s Rivers lass, as fierce as she normally was, thankfully was quite happy to have Abby mess with her dark brown hair.

Deidre smiled at all her girls gathering close, her two daughters and little sister, and she breathed a bit easier. She knelt by their side and stroked all their hair, bright copper, dark Dornish brown, and Blackwood ebony. Her boys, Tristan and Benjicot, sat on the balcony within her sight, her Rivers boy reading to her Blackwood boy, brothers though they could not say it. Once Sam returned for the night, most of her family would be safe, within reach. And soon enough they’d all be back in the Riverlands, close enough to Harwin to ensure he was safe too. Father and Larys would be missing, but both would be fine here in this city of Dragons. The Targaryens had not sunk their claws in and drawn blood from them, not yet, not the way they’d done to Harwin, to her, to her children, to Abby.

The smile that spread across her lips died when Sam returned not an hour later, and the air in her lungs turned to stone, as she took in his grim face. The Stranger walked among them. The gods had stolen someone once more. Her husband’s voice grew muffled as he drew near, placed firm, steadying hands on her and Abrogail’s shoulders, and spoke in low calming tones to be a balm against the pain of his words.

Deidre froze up, a statue numb and cold, while Abrogail’s emotions burst forth in a way they usually did not. Deidre faltered in her own shock. She failed to be the motherly rock the little girl needed as Abrogail’s face crumpled, tears and sobs tumbling out of her at Samwell’s words. She shook her head, yanking away from Samwell’s grip, and Deidre simply sat, staring, when she should have reached for the little red headed girl, her little sister. Twas only once Abby ran from the room that Deidre found her feet. Sam shaking her shoulder jolted her back. Dyana’s fingers on her cheeks, asking her mother what was wrong, made Deidre realize the tears pouring down her face. She stood, looked at Samwell, entrusting him with the four children that called him father, before she picked up her skirts and ran out into the Red Keep to seek the little girl that now had no parents to call her own.

Deidre must have looked a mad woman, tearing through the halls with her skirts bunched in her hands, tears running free down her cheeks as she called for her little sister in a broken, desperate voice. She could have been looking for Abby for a moment or hours, before the despair over took her. She leaned against a pillar, panting as a sob tore from her throat. Deidre leaned forward, covering her mouth, trying to force back the tears. She needed to be strong, for Abby, for her own children. All of them would grieve the loss too. But Abby, especially. She was just a little girl. Deidre was a woman grown, married with babes of her own halfway to adulthood. Abrogail was still such a young little thing. Deidre wept as much for her as for herself. They’d both lost their father that day, and their oldest brother, who’d been their most ardent protector. She needed to find Abrogail desperately, to show the young girl that she was not alone. That she still had someone who loved her, that she still had a protector and caretaker, a family that would love and shelter her against this cold, cruel world.

Of all the people to find her, she did not think it would be him. “My lady.” She flinched, her eyes wide when she felt his touch on her shoulder. Criston Cole had not laid a hand on her in well over a decade. Her heart hammered out of its chest as her green eyes met his brown. “I heard the news of your loss from her Grace, the Queen. I am sorry.” His tone and face held none of the hardness nor anger that had become his norm the last ten years. Concern, genuine sorrow, even tenderness lay in his eyes. A bit of the young knight she had so loved. “Do you need…is there anything that I can…” His words were cautious.

“I need to find her.” Desperate for comfort, support of any kind, Deidre leaned into his touch even though she knew she shouldn’t. “Abrogail. She was in my family’s rooms when the news came. She ran away before I could stop her. I need to…I need…” She broke down into sobs, and Criston caught her as her steps faltered, as he often did many years ago. And for a moment, she let him hold her, leaning into his gleaming chest plate, before he coughed and shifted her away.

“The Queen sent me in search of Prince Aegon. He rushed off in search of Lady Abrogail as well, when he heard the news. Perhaps they’ll be together.” His calm tone and steady gaze brought Deidre back from her unyielding tidal wave of grief. She nodded, and took a deep breath to steady herself, before closing her eyes. She dung her nails into her palm so hard, a small bead of blood came out. ‘Take my offering, and show me my sister. She needs me, and I need her,’ she prayed silently in her head. She then listened. And she felt the smallest of breezes, the smallest whisper, brush her skirts. Her eyes still closed, she let her feet follow it. Let old, nameless gods guide her, shield her from the grief. She heard Ser Criston call out after her, his heavy armored foot falls followed her, but she did not stop for him.

Her feet guided her to the Red Keep’s small godswood. At the base of the weirwood, a little girl with hair just as red as it’s leaves curled up, and a prince with hair as silver as its bark sat beside her. Deidre stopped a little ways a way, taking in the scene. How familiar, how similar it all looked and felt. True blood sisters she and Abrogail were. Though Abby did not follow the old gods as she did, both sisters still found comfort under the same tree, anf silver haired dragons were never far behind to comfort them. But also to claim them and tear them apart.

Aegon looked so tender with Abby. A boy no one thought capable of such warmth or care anymore, and yet he was with Abrogail. But then again, so had Criston been that way towards Deidre, once upon a time, and that had ended in only pain for them both. “You’re not alone.” Deidre heard the prince whispering in Abby’s hair as she approached. “I’ll take care of you. Mother will let you stay with Helaena, I’m sure of it. And when you’re old enough, I’ll marry you, and you won’t ever have to leave.” Truly, sweet words from the boy, despite his arrogant and increasingly boorish nature, that had only sweet intentions, Deidre believed. But they were poisoned all the same, dangerous words that hinted at a dangerous future, that neither Aegon nor Abrogail realized. One Deidre had to save her sister from, all her children from.

“Abby!” Deidre called out, too tired to hide her despair as her voice broke again. She ran forward as Abrogail looked up in shock. She knelt down next to the girl and pushed Aegon away so she could fully enclose the girl in her own embrace.

“Hey!” Aegon shouted, tenderness turning to anger as his lilac eyes shifted from the younger Strong sister to the older. Deidre squeezed her sister tight to her as anger flashed in Aegon’s eyes. So similar his temper was to Rhaenyra’s, Deidre would have chuckled at it, had protectiveness not seized her heart. She’d faced Rhaenyra’s wrath enough times over the years that this boy prince would not frighten her. But before either could further act, a strong authoritative voice called “Aegon!”

Ser Criston approached, his eyes hard, and an unreadable expression on his face. “Your mother wants you in her chambers, immediately.”

“What could she possibly want with me? Abby needs me—” Aegon’s argument was cut off by the Kingsgaurd.

“Lady Abrogail is well tended by her family. The Queen demands your presence now, my prince.” That harsh tone that Deidre had come to loath over the years, she could not be more grateful for in that moment. The prince only glanced back and forth between the Strong sisters and knight a few times before he gave into the command, letting out a growl before he said, “I will make sure you’re safe, Abby. I promise.” Deidre watched Aegon follow Ser Criston out of the godswood, squeezing Abby tighter to her as the knight nodded to her, before leading the prince away.

Fearful of Aegon’s words, Deidre pulled Abrogail tight against her chest and muttered into her little sister’s red hair. “It’s going to be okay, I promise you. Father and Harwin may be gone, but I will love you fierce enough to make up for it. You’ll be safe in the Riverlands with me and Sam. You’ll want for nothing. I promise, ceann beagg.”

Abby cried harder at the epitaph. Little one, in the old tongue, an affectionate nickname Lyonel had used for both his daughters in their youths. Deidre wished to be strong, that she could dry her younger sister’s tears, reassure her that all would be well. But the fire of Harrenhal had made orphans of both of them that day, and taken a protector from both of them in Harwin too. It did not matter their separation of age and life experiences. They were full sisters in grief, though only half by blood, and Deidre could only share herself with her sister, broken as she was. “I love you, Abby.” Deidre hugged her sister tight as Abby squeezed her. “I cannot fill the hole our father, or your mother left behind. But I will try. I will try.” She hugged her little sister, stroked her hair, rocked her, even as she sobbed just as hard as Abrogail. All night they shared in grief and tears, not disturbed until the first rays of dawn, when a tap of a cane followed foot steps.

Abby had fallen asleep against Deidre. Though Larys was their brother, and the fire had made an orphan out of him too, Deidre still tightened her grip on Abby as Larys came walking down the path, expression unreadable as he fixed his bluish green gaze on his sisters. “Sister, it seems you both have heard the sad news.” He frowned, his tone sorrowful, but grief did not reach his eyes.

“We did,” Deidre croaked. She stroked Abrogail’s hair in comfort. “I’m sorry Larys…it must be hard for you too.” Larys simply gave a small smile, she supposed it was supposed to be sad, and shrugged. Deidre shivered, squeezing Abrogail tighter, and waking the small girl.

“Deidre?” Her voice seemed so fragile, so weak. A little broken bird.

“It’s alright sweet one. Larys has joined us.” Abrogail shifted in Deidre’s arms, sniffling as she turned blood shot eyes to meet their brother’s gaze. He smiled at Abby and slowly approached his sisters. He reached his free hand out and brushed over Deidre’s brown hair before settling his hand on Abrogail’s head.

“Abrogail, how are you faring this morning?”

“I’m fi—”

“You do not need to say that sweet girl,” Deidre cut her sister off. She narrowed her eyes at Larys. “None of us are well brother, nor shall we be for some time I wager.”

“Aye,” Larys sighed, leaning on his cane as he gave a pensive look up at the heart tree they stood under. “This tragedy has made orphans of us all. Its a small comfort at least that we have each other, untouched by the flames, as I take up our father’s mantle, that should have been Harwin’s.”

At the mention of the fire, Abrogail shuddered and started to cry again. Deidre rubbed her back and pulled her tighter against her body, to give her some comfort. Something about Larys’ words strummed something cold and horrible in Deidre’s veins. She narrowed her eyes at their older brother in censure. “I will do my best brother, to support you in your burden, and to care for our sister.” She swallowed before forcing out the words, “Has Uncle Simon sent any word about arrangements for Harwin and Father’s…” Deidre bit her lip to contain a sob. “Have you started making your travel plans? Sam could help…we were already making preparations to travel home. It wouldn’t be too hard to make room for you and Abby in our retinue. We can stop at Harrenhal before heading back to Raventree Hall.”

“Uncle is still assessing the damage I’m afraid.” Larys shook his head. “But as for me and Abrogail, we shall not be traveling to the Riverlands for a while yet, and perhaps you will want to change your own plans sister, after speaking to the Queen.”

“What does the Queen have to do with our family’s affairs?” Deidre snapped. Abrogail pulled away from Deidre a bit at her harsh tone, turning her confused, bloodshot gaze between her older sister and brother.

“Word came from Driftmark that Prince Daemon’s wife, the Lady Laena, has died. He is bringing her and their daughters back home it seems to give the lady a proper burial. The whole royal family and their attendants are expected to attend the funeral to pay respects. You were friends with Laena once upon a time were you not, sister?”

“Yes, but she is not my kin! Not like Harwin or Father! Why in the nine hells would we worry about her funeral when we have theirs to attend?”

Abrogail started crying again at Deidre’s words. Larys moved to put a hand on her in comfort, but Deidre grabbed Abrogial and pulled her against her roughly. Larys frowned, raising a brow, before saying, “You and your husband are free to do as you wish sister, but I as, a member of the Small Council and Abrogail, as the Queen’s ward, we will be expected to attend the rights of Driftmark. We will of course travel to Harrenhal after to pay our respects.”

“Since when have you been a member of the Small Council, and Abby the Queen’s ward?”

“The Queen let me know the honor while I was dining with her last night . And once I received the horrid news of our father’s death, I turned to her for advisement on how to ensure our sister’s future. She kindly offered to take Abrogial into her own household, as her kin.”

Deidre squeezed Abrogail tighter to her still, even as the little maid gasped and tensed in her sister’s grip. “As am I Larys! I am her sister! I have helped father raise her since her mother passed. She needs to stay with me! She needs to see our father and brother buried, not be used by the crown it whatever scheme you and Alicent are making together!”

“As the head of House Strong now, what Abrogial needs is my responsibility to determine, sister, not yours. The Queen is her kin, and has served as a motherly influence, just as you have these past few years, but can offer her better opportunities and education than you could. Do you not want the best for our little sister?”

Abby squirmed in Deidre’s arms enough for Deidre to tear her gaze away from their brother. Abrogail’s blue eyes were wide, scared, darting between her siblings as they bickered about her future. “I’m sorry, ceann beagg.” Deidre forced a tearful smile as she stroked her sister’s messed red curls. “We haven’t even asked you…what do you want? What do you need?”

“I-I don’t want to leave my home. Or my friends…” Abrogail muttered. “I don’t want you, or your family, to leave either. We’re family. Shouldn’t we all stay together?” Deidre’s heart constricted at her sister’s wide eyes, her sweet words, not understanding the games all these dragons played, Alicent and Larys along with them.

“I won’t leave you, ceann beagg,” Deidre promised, resigned, hugging her sister to her. “No matter what. I promise.” Despite Deidre’s efforts to free her family from these dragons by fleeing back to the Riverlands after Harwin, her sister would remain chained to them. Not long after, Alicent so graciously offered to take Tristan Rivers as a ward as well, to stay in King’s Landing to train as a knight and continue to serve as companion to her sons, such good friends as they were. Not to be outdone, Rhaenyra offered to take Dyana Rivers into her household on Dragon Stone, as a lady for her new stepdaughter, Lady Baela. And how could Deidre refuse, for her Rivers twins loved the dragon children as much as Abrogail, and Larys was right? Royal wards were afforded the best opportunities. Her sister and her children would never be free the Targaryens’ reach, and therefore, never would she. And Deidre already knew, for the Old Gods whispered to her, all within the dragons’ reach would burn.

#hotd fanfic #oc: deidre strong #friend's oc #hotd oc #hotd

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queengiuliettafirstlady · 1 year

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The Hero of Love

Fandom: Ikemen Prince

Pairing: Leon x MC

Prompt: 14. "I didn't think it was possible to love someone this much."

Part of Be my valentine content creation challenge hosted by @xxsycamore and @chaosangel767

Tag: Kisses Fluff

Word Count 1.459

Author’s Note: Snow feel from the sky on a placid winter night, while a pair of lovebirds cocconed in their cozy nest show their love to one another as it burn brigher than ever filing their heart with much happiness and deep rooted affection. 🥰🥰

Tag list

@kissmetwicekissmedeadly @lordsisterxotome @aquagirl1978 @violettduchess @atelieredux @klutzyroses @randonauticrap @thewitchofbooks @princess-pray-a @itsjudesfault

You can find me on AO3 as QueenJuliet 😊

Thank you for everyone who will like, reblog, or comment please be gentle with me english is not my first language so please do not leave rude comments I apologise for eventual errors I hope you will like it 😊

It was a chilly winter night, darkness fell on Rhodolite engulfed in the soft and pure snow falling since morning in the whole country, keeping everyone safe inside their homes, giving an unexpected twist to the monarch vacation currently snowed in a cottage hidden amidst the forest bordering with Jade, living their best life as only two lovers could finding happiness in the smallest task of each day away from the bursting and mess of the royal court, away from the golden cage of lies and deep in the simple easy life of commoners they felt more akin to, beloved and cherished by people and aristocrats alike for their wise ruling.

There bathing in the cozy atmosphere created by the cracking fire burning slowly in the fireplace they stood side by side on the sofa cocooned under a blanket, sipping the steaming hot cocoa Leon prepared beforehand from roses decorate mugs wearing handmade sweater as a soft lion plush keep them company nestled in a duvet on a nearby armchair.

The quiet atmosphere make her feel dizzy as she drowsily leaned her head on his chest feeling his gaze lingering on her a shy question escaped her lips as she looked up at his eyes glimmering in the darkness under the warm light of the fire looking almost like the sun had dawned a second time that day and only for her

“Leon, I have something on my face ?”

“Aside from your beauty ? ” his amber gaze glimmering like molten golden reflecting the warm color of the fire, the passion in them burning twice as much dripping over his sensual smile, she could not help but stare in awe at his gorgeous features as his raven hair seemed to dance with the the copper colored curls around his face melting together as he leaned unperceivable closer to his lover.

A sheepish smile on her lips she could not help but feel heat rising to her cheeks as soft shades of pink colored her fair complexion, her soft curls moving all around her gracious visage as she shook his head

“I was speaking about dirt spots. ”

“I see. Let me take a better look at you.” softly he cupped her face in his hands staring at the soft frown on her lips making her even more adorable than usual like a spoiled little princess, His princess the one and only he has ever and always would have loved with all his heart for all eternity, taking advantage of her naivete was even too easy yet the temptation of teasing her was too strong to be ignored, his mind already settled to mischievous deeds he assumed the most serious expression he could muster as he told her

“It seems you have some. Here let me clean them for you.”

her frown deepened only to be swiftly replaced with delight feeling his touch setting her heart ablaze all over again reveling in the light brush of his thumb over a corner of her bottom lip, swiftly replaced by his soft melting over hers swallowing the sweet moan that escaped her at the sudden but not undesired sensation took over her while a pleasant warmth spread in her heart as she fiercely kissed him back.

Reluctantly and breathless they pulled away their fingers entwined with one another lost in the bliss of the moment she did not noticed his lips slide up to leave an an achingly tender soft kiss on her forehead, hiding her rosy blush nuzzling her face in his chest a light frown curled her lips she shook her head as his arms tighten around her

“You are such a tease, it is not fair.” his hearty laugh reverberated deep in her heart showering it with his happiness, before she knew she begin to laughing with him letting that bright mirth fill the air of their small little cottage

“It is not my fault if you are so adorable.”

gently he cupped her face in his hands brushing his thumb sensually over her lips, feeling her warm breath fanning on his finger he tilted her chin up gazing into her bright eyes, his entire expression overwhelmed with happiness he gazed at her so affectionately making her feel like he was holding a precious treasure careful and lovely in his touch, their gaze reflecting all the love and affection they held for one another, soulmates destined to be, to defy all odds, laced with the red thread of fate.

A love story worthy to be in a fairytale for the prince who had finally found his princess, the same one they were writing together day by day loving and cherishing each precious moments, treasured memories all theirs to spoke of during long cold nights in which sleep late to come left them to enjoy intimacy growing stronger at each word murmured in sleepy pillow talks with secrets shared in whisper with only the aster as witness of the deep rooted love and complicity they had with one another.

He leaned closer bathing in the blissful expression of hers waiting, craving, yearning deeply for his kiss but too shy to ask for it, her lips slightly parted and her eyelashes fluttering lightly on her rosy cheeks begging to satisfy a desire he did not hesitated to indulge melting his lips on her once more, rolling down on the sofa, the pleasant flavour of the cocoa melting on his tongue rendered even sweeter by her moans he greedily swallowed leading his tongue in a passionate dance with her, smoldering kiss she deepened as her fingers crawled to caress his soft raven curls mewling at the sensation of his hands sliding sensually down her body taking in every inch of her voluptuous curves, his fingers wandered greedily on them before settle down on her hips their hips moving softly against one another, breathless and panting staring in awe at the sight of her gorgeous colorful eyes widen with affection, smiling mischievously at her he bent over peppering light kisses all over her face and collarbone, covering each uncovered side of her skin his light tickles making her giggle filling his heart with the tinkling sound of her happiness

“You know I am quite eager to discover all your hidden sides.” his gentle voice dripping with admiration as he tenderly brushed his lips on her nose

“You always manage to surprise me everyday. I swear you will never stop to amaze me.” an hearty laugh escaped her lips

“I was thinking the same.I love every single little thing about you, my hero.” softly she brushed the tip of her nose on his reveling in his smile resplendent like a smoldering fire brightening the dimly lit room making it warmer with his love radiating from his heart

"I didn't think it was possible to love someone this much.” his honest confession make her heart swell with love in her chest, a smile bright to put the sun itself to shame curled his lips as affection took over her appearing on her lips in a tender smile her eyes glimmering in the dark as she looked at him

“Thank you for showing me what love is.” his amber eyes sparkled with affection, as a lovestruck adoration glimmered in its depth

“Oh Leon.” overwhelmed by his heartfelt confession she hug him tightly hiding her face in his chest to conceal her blush placing a tender kiss on his heart feeling his arm tighten around her as she slowly raise herself up enough to palace a soft kiss on his lips looking straight into his eyes, smiling at his words enough to melt even the coldest iceberg with its warmth.

“I love you so very much my princess.”

“I love you so words are not enough my lion.”

Softly she nuzzled in his neck feeling his arm tighten around her back, feeling his lips delicately brush on her forehead, they drifted asleep together ready to explore the land of dreams hand in hand, careful to not awake Morpheus from his slumber with their pranks, awaiting the morning when they would have woke up only to continue living their dream together showing off their love to one another from the first light of dawn and well past the dusk, with only the aster as accomplices audience of their own fairytale written down with colorful ink on blank pages relegated in a book he would have surely not got tired of reading mesmerized by her soft voice as she read it to him on a lazy afternoon under a tree, grateful for that spell that caught in its hand every animals and humans alike, bonding soulmates destined by the universe to be together in the name of love.

#be my valentine ccc #be my valentine content creation challenge #my writing #ikemen prince #ikemen prince leon #ikepri leon #ikepri

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pentacass · 10 months

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"Who are you? You wear her face, but I know she is dead." "Perhaps I am her, returned against all odds to stand with you. Or perhaps, your subconscious assigned to me her likeness, one who would protect you at any cost."

[10 years before BG3]

Solistre’s boots pound across floors streaked with blood and soot, caution recklessly cast aside within a home under siege. Visceral fear twists her guts to the point of nausea, bloodied corpses of her mother and sisters seared into her mind. The thought propels her impossibly quicker down the mansion’s east wing, to the last place she can think to find the one she desperately seeks.

The door to the resident bard’s study comes into view, and Solistre slams her shoulder against it - but receives only a bone-rattling ache in return. She steps back, chagrined; of course it is fortified against intrusion.

Footsteps echo down the hallway, and she looks to the shadows beneath the door. Solistre attunes herself to the darkness and melts into its embrace, emerging into the study. Tables and chairs had been pushed to the sides to make space, and a lone copper-haired drow stands in the middle of a magic sigil drawn on the floor in blood. The alarm in her red eyes gives way to tired relief, as Solistre sprints over and engulfs her in a back-breaking embrace.

“Thank the Goddess, you’re alive.”

Ilivastra’s thin, weary smile is the only reply she receives, as she draws back to look the bard over - and her heart freezes. A large bloom of crimson mars Ilivastra’s ash grey dress, and when Solistre looks up to take in her pallid complexion, Ilivastra slips away from her arms with an almost casual flair.

“Dagger to the gut. Poisoned,” Ilivastra explains, with as much calm as panic flooding Solistre’s veins.

“Antidote?”

“Not here. It’s too late.” Ilivastra flicks her wrists, and the sigil beneath their feet comes alive with a sickly red hue, forming a barrier around them.

A bang on the door. Muffled voices calling for blood.

“Then I stand with you.” Solistre unsheathes a shortsword from her hip, wrapping an arm protectively around Ilivastra’s waist, pulling her close. Her eyes had turned towards the door, when a gentle touch on her cheek draws her attention.

Gaze inscrutable, Ilivastra leans forward, placing a firm kiss on her lips. As Solistre smiles, content in the certainty of death, Ilivastra’s hand slides down to rest on her chest.

“Light of my heart - forgive me.”

Solistre frowns, uncomprehending, when Ilivastra’s hand comes alight with a sharp glow. She is thrown back by a burst of magical force, stumbling feet finding purchase on the floor behind the barrier - where another, hidden sigil starts to glow.

She looks down, and her heart drops - a teleportation circle.

“No.”

The door bursts open, splintering under the weight of armoured invaders.

“Ilia!”

Ilivastra’s smile does not waver, as she turns around to meet the onslaught.

“No!”

Solistre leans forward, intending to run and grab her love, when overbearing light swallows the world around her.

#making posts specifically designed to drive myself crazy #i have a whole drow cinematic universe in my head and i am the only audience #baldur's gate #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #solistre #ilivastra #yzstuff #yzbg3 #yzwrites

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thefallenangelsgang · 2 months

Text

This is the incomplete scene the line from the tag game is pulled from. I'm not tagging it with anything in the hopes it gets hopelessly buried but I am too excited to not share. I am not kidding when I say narrative has not felt this easy in a long time.

Spoilers for Act 3 of Baldur's Gate, TW for Blood and Body Fluids (spinal fluid to be precise), I wanted the stakes to feel a little higher so I peppered in some bodily trauma hence the blood 'n stuff, brief uncouth language (there's a few fucks sprinkled in there)

Some context for it: this picks up after the failed Elder Brain Domination sequence immediately as the portal closes with the Party in the Astral Plane. The Tav and Narrator is a High Elf named Wynleth, she romanced Gale. All of the Companions (minus Minthara cause she didn't make it into the cool kids club) plus two OCs (repped by hirelings in my gameplay) are present.

Also, Emperor hate if you are sensitive to that. I'm not the Tentacle's biggest fan frankly, hence why this exists.

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

At times the squirming feeling had been uncomfortable. It even had been painful, distracting from whatever I was attempting to focus on. This is a whole other plane of being. The fire in my cranium consumes me, making coherent thought impossible. My mouth is filled with the distinct taste of copper and something I cannot place. Pressure builds and it makes it feel like my eardrums might rupture or perhaps my head might just explode altogether. That almost would be a welcome release from this torture

Then all at once it stops. The sudden shift from everything being too much to feeling nothing at all is damn near deafening in a different way than the pressure and pain was. I loll in disorientation and hands steady me, bracing my shoulders.

My vision swims at first. Blues and purples and greys swirl like strange liquid in a glass jar. It only adds to the dizziness brought on by the pervasive numbness. The hands are still gripping my shoulders. I can almost feel my hands, almost. The gritty texture against my palms speaks to handfuls of dirt clenched in my fists. I will myself to release them.

It’s muffled but I think someone speaks my name. So close I can feel the vibrations in my chest yet we might as well be separated by an eternity. It’s an effort to bring my hand up to grip their forearm. It’s an even greater effort to bring my head up to look them in the eyes.

I can’t discern exactly who it is through the intricate dance the colors are doing in my eyes. The figure is dark against the shimmering ethereal background so it is not one of my fairer companions whose complexions would only muddle my identification more. I try to ask for a name but a strained sound is the only thing to push past my lips. Well that and a bit more blood.

A new wave of numbness washes over me starting from the crown of my head and spreading to the very edges of my person. A little clarity comes with it this time and the vertigo subsides.

“Take it easy, you gave us quite a scare.”

Shadowheart. Still muffled but sounding closer by the second. Something I’m hoping resembles a smile graces my face.

Then The Emperor speaks and a crashing wave of pain drowns the words out, ripping a cry from my mouth. No fresh blood this time though.

A pulse of Shadowheart’s healing magic surges through me, a touch too harsh considering she is dealing with my brain pan, but I think that can be forgiven given that it sounds like she is reaming the Illithid for all it’s worth.

“-stupid? Her brain has been scrambled enough. Until she’s stable, kindly shut the fuck up.”

The silence after is telling. That round of healing must have knocked something back into place though, the dirt comes into sharp focus. I never thought I’d be so happy to see pebbles. I’m less pleased to see the amount of blood and clear liquid that mars the ground and both pairs of knees in my field of view. “Sorry about your pants.”

My speech is still lethargic and ungraceful and I certainly missed the mark on the coy tone I was going for, but the way Gale’s face floods with relief at my coherence feels almost as good as the magic coursing through my veins.

“My pants? Don’t ever scare me like that again!” The incredulity of his initial statement melts into something of a mix of concern and joy as he cups my face. His eyes betray the fright I put him through though. I wish I had the strength to feel sorry about that but I really can only make room for relief at the moment. “I really thought that was going to be it,” I say thickly before gathering some saliva to spit the fluid in my mouth off to the side.

“So did we. It was… a lot.” Shadowheart is somewhere behind me. The fear peeks through her usually even cadence. I must have put on quite a show. “Is this clear stuff what I think it is?” I venture and really hope she doesn’t affirm my suspicions. Spinal fluid means something was desperately wrong. I grit my teeth as I wait for a response.

“Y-Yes. I think so at least.” Now she touches me. A gentle hand between my shoulder blades. “You’d think they turned on a hose the way it sprayed out of you, darling.”

The urge to laugh at Astarion’s colorful retelling of the events is a difficult fight, one I lose. I bury it into my shoulder and try to cover it with a cough but the way Gale clucks his tongue at the comment of very poor taste breaks the dam. My reaction cracks a smile on the wizard’s face, however miniscule, though.

“I’m sorry my love, it’s all just a little absurd,” I say, still gallantly attempting to retain some composure.

“You’re cracking.”

“Spectacularly.”

Teasing each other in this moment seems entirely irreverent to the fact that I almost just died and that the situation we are in just got a whole lot more grim but the Gods can strike us down for attempting to find some levity.

Gently I lean forward and rest my head against Gale’s shoulder. I’m fucking tired and I feel lightheaded despite everything Shadowheart has done but there’s very little she can do about that without actual supplies. I’m short a not insubstantial bit of liquid between the blood and the spinal fluid. It certainly looks worse than it is though. We could try a cocktail of potions and elixirs to get me back up to speed but I think I’d rather rest a bit before we try drugging me into fighting shape. Gale’s arms around me feel nice.

“Am I all clear Shadowheart?” I turn to rest my temple on Gale’s clavicle. From this vantage I can see my party gathered around in a tight bunch wearing grim faces of worry. Shadowheart looks exhausted, I likely took quite a bit out of her, but she nods.

The Emperor floats back over and makes a motion like it’s asking permission to speak, shocking me more than it probably should. But if the psionic link is going to turn my brain to soup then maybe it is best to ask the cleric first before she has to revive me again. Her stern gaze is comforting and promises hell if I end up with more liquid leaking out my nose.

The psionics aren’t painful per se, they certainly are more uncomfortable than usual. I try not to grimace too much and make Shadowheart call the communication off. Charades are not indicative of good battle plans and I have a feeling reading is only going to make the lingering headache worse. Besides, we really don’t have time.

“The situation is worse than I thought.” I watch Astarion roll his eyes theatrically. He chooses to keep his mouth shut. Smart man. “What you went up against is an Elder Brain no longer. The magic of the crown has caused it to evolve. It has become something more - a Netherbrain.”

“Is that why I took up the role of a garden water feature when I tried to dominate it?” The withering looks I get from my companions are severe. I roll my eyes gently and burrow into Gale’s neck a little more. Try coping with this clusterfuck in a reasonable manner.

“I wouldn’t have used that turn of phrase but- yes. It unleashed the psionic power back on you. You are lucky I pulled you out of there. We nearly lost everything.”

And reality comes crashing down.

#Raaaahhhhhh #Wynleth's cadence was very easy to find and I've never been happier about it #*sighs*#I'm going to be sick but I'm being so brave about it #If you want to see more of this check out this tag on my account:#Jericho writes

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springofstarlight · 2 months

Text

Créachta Solas na Gealaí

[Wounds of Moonlight] A look into Fionntán's history and upbringing. Following the Selûnite tradition of sending a child into the forest to find their way home, Aodhán and Demetria stand watch while their only son makes his way home.

𝐵𝒢𝟥𝒲𝐼𝒫𝓈 - 𝒲𝒽𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝑅𝑜𝓈𝑒 Showing an act of loyalty to their God(dess), elder, or someone they look up to.

1.5k words

“Do you think he’s doing okay?”

The question came as a sigh as copper eyes peered towards the break in the forest, the winter pines stretched tall to the inky sea above, their narrow leaves boldly holding onto blankets of white. The darkness above peppered with the break of stars, and the boasting of the full moon, radiant and guiding…. That was what the purpose of the night was, guiding. Aodhán couldn’t deny he had been a little shocked when his wife had told him about the custom of her religion, sending children into the forests of home to find their way home, but Demetria trusted her Goddess and he trusted her.

And little Fionntán? He was ecstatic.

When Gealán tried to strike fear into the heart of the family's baby and yet Fin only grinned and snarled his teeth back. Freckled cheeks bright and dimples clear, showing his younger uncle that the boy truly did not understand the meaning of fear; Fionntán was as bold as he was stubborn, a both powerful and dangerous combination. Fionntán knew the forest well, likely better than most in the family, but in the dark was a whole new question, and yet the young lad particularly marched towards the starting point… silver dagger in hand, just in case. Aodhán had offered his own, taken the boys hands and folded the sheathed blade into the palms that had once been so much smaller, his son was slowly becoming a man, and a great one at that, but it didn’t stop the ache whenever he looked at that bright and awfully cheeky smile before the boy ran off into the woodland, waving back to his parents as if he had merely been sent to spend a day in the library.

Thoughts of earlier that night became quickly displaced as he felt the delicate skin of his wife's hand sliding against his own, toughened and callased from his previous life sweating over a forge. She shot him an amused look over her shoulder, causing him to snort in return at how silly the question was in all honesty. He watched her pale eyes drift to the sky, the colour of moonlit snow, the same that she had gifted their son. Fionntán held her eyes and fair complexion and yet his skin held the many freckles of his father; marks that Aodhán would always kiss and smoosh, calling little sun stars until the boy giggled and frailed… one day he would be too old for that, he would huff and say his parents were embarrassing him, but that was okay, that was part of pulling away from parents and stepping into adulthood. Fionntán wouldn’t have to make the same choices his father did, or go without a parent’s love like his mother had… the boy would be kept safe, yet allowed to spread his wings, possibly too wide and too early at times, but that was okay… they would be there to catch him if he needed them. Aodhán took a breath as he felt his wife’s eyes shift from the sky to the shadows of the forest, and how they seemingly jerked and twitched at her acknowledgement… no, it wasn’t a movement as rough as that, they danced. Lifting his own head, Aodhán scanned the treeline for what Demetria saw but he could not… but he heard the single pluck of a violin string cascading across the thicket. Ah, of course. His brother-in-law was a mysterious man, cloaked in the shadows that he weaved but there was no denying how much he loved his family, and if he was watching then even if something went awry Fionntán would be safe.

He laced his fingers tighter against Demetria’s fitting so perfectly into his and rested against her side, leaning his temple against her own. Her silvery hair tumbling against her shoulders and the wisps of thin strands tickling his nose as the pair watched the break in the tree for movement. The evening was cold, but in the north that was a given… it was always cold, something the southern born man had to adapt to, his skin had lost its slight brush of sun but the chilled mornings and blankets of snow were nothing worth complaining about when he woke up next to his love each morning, soon followed by the weight of their son throwing himself upon the bed and demanding their attention. Aodhán would withstand all the snow within the north for those moments, even if he had the odd grumble here and there. Copper eyes looked to the sky, the night drawing close to the highpoint of the moon as a fogged sigh left his lungs; he had not been born into the light of the Goddess of Silver, it was not something he understood but seeing the moon in the sky, chaperoned by all the stars… he could understand the comfort it offered.

A comfort that was soon shattered by the shriek that cut through the leaves, both adults ridged up and parted from one another, muscles taut and tense ready to pounce as another scream bounced across the thicket of snow.

“Máthair! Athair! “

Stubby steps ran across the snow, the squeak of compressed powder ringing out with each hot breath that burnt his lungs but as the figure of unbridled adrenaline broke through and came into view, there were no tears, no terror etched into starlit eyes but only the brilliant excitement of achievement and determination; the boy had made it through the forest with no trouble, no issue, and no fear…. Be that by reaching for the Moonmaiden’s guidance as the trail was said to test or just the boy's sheer mulish attitude was undetermined but either way, Fionntán had achieved what he had set out to do, as the boy always did.

The foreboding anxiety that held the pair’s muscles steel taut thawed in that moment as he drew closer, strands of dark hair that had been neatly braided by his mother’s hands that afternoon now spilling across his shoulders with a souvenir or two of a leaf that had decided it too wanted to break free from the forest. The same colour as his own, though allowed to grow much longer, the boy no doubt following the influence of his elder uncle who still remained hidden up within the trees, keeping a last guard to make sure the boy made it safely into his parent’s arms… Or well, as close as possible.

“I did i-!” The victory fanfare from the boy found itself cut short, muffled by the fluff of snow as he fell down with a sudden ‘pluth’ of body meeting the layers of snow below, the top giving away to softness from recently deposited clouds but the underlayers remaining built up of weeks old ice.

“Fionntán!” Aodhán pushed himself forward, boots thumping themselves through the snow as best they could to meet the boy’s unfortunate landing spot between them and the forest. Almost toppling off the balls of his feet as he crouched down to inspect as Fionntán was pulling himself out the snow, the dampness sticking to his hair and causing the dark strands to cling to his cheeks but that could be easily remedied by the warm bath and blankets they had prepared back at the house… what caused the man to gasp was the droplets of crimson that dribbled down the pale skin, from his lip and rolling down his chin to the snow below so striking against the disturbed blanket that the shaken man was sure he could hear audible ‘plops’ with each new bead. “Fin…” Aodhán sighed softly as he brought his sleeve to the boy’s chin, attempting to wipe as much as he could but the blood showed no signs of slowing, the wound against his lower lip deep but the boy merely blinked and smiled, a little less bright, a little bit more quivering as he shook his head.

“I’m alright Athair, promise.” He reassured as he peered up, smiling to his mother who stood at her husband’s side and offering him a kiss on the head as the cold and blooded child was brought up into his father’s arms, sleeve still pressed as best as it could against his lip despite Fin’s best efforts to pull away so he could carry on with his impressive ramblings about his adventure and how he had followed the guiding star and the moon kept his path lit, a path now stained with his blood. It sat in a puddle against the snow, seeping deeper until the flakes themselves soaked scarlet against the gleaming moonlight… but the family did not look back, even as the shadows rejoiced in the victory and the wind scattered through the narrow leaves. Only the faint chuckle from the woman who kept close to her husband and son, any tears that would have spilled at the sight of his injury pushed away by the boy’s attempt to chew on his father’s sleeve, to hold it to his wound, and then spit it out so he could start his chattering again, only to be silenced by his other pressing her finger to his nose and shuffling the fabric compress back into place.

“You can tell me more once Gealán has seen to your wound.”

“Do you promise?”

“Promise.”

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 tav #tavqotd #bg3 fanfic prompt #bg3fiction #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic

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i-can-even-burn-salad · 1 year

Text

The Plan

Nuisance

Warnings: None

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Merridy sat in an armchair much too large for her, with three small coins on the armrest and a pile of books spread around her. She was absorbed in the book on her lap, occasionally raising her head to look at one of the coins, searching for another detail she might have missed.

She had been at this for hours. The cup of tea on the small table next to her was forgotten and cold. Cedric had told her again and again that she didn’t have to be that thorough, that it was no problem if she couldn’t identify some of the coins. He had made it more than clear that her results already exceeded his expectations, but at this point, it was a matter of pride. She wouldn’t let a tiny little copper man with eyebrows almost as large as his goatee get the better of her.

Eyebrows. Merridy snapped the book shut, wincing at the sound. She cast a cautious glance across the room, but no one paid her any attention. Good. She grabbed another book, scanning the table of contents at the front. She had read a mention of eyebrows somewhere, some weeks back.

Soon, she was absorbed in the new book, skimming page over page about minor nobles in the west. A row of ancestry portraits drawn in sketchy lines showed a striking resemblance to the face on the coin. The same eyebrows, as well as similar facial hair on at least half of the men. With renewed vigor, she soaked up the descriptions next to the portraits, until…

“Gotcha!”

Lord Richard Joffridus Lowis the Third, who had minted his own coins after taking over the two neighboring counties and claiming independence from the kingdom of Raqhar. Most of the coins had been melted down again two years later, when the king of Raqhar had razed the newly founded monarchy, mounting Richard’s head on a spear and putting an end to his line of heritage.

Realizing how loud she had been, Merridy quickly pressed her lips together, looking up. This time, she met someone’s gaze. Laurent raised his glass in her direction, a wide smile on his lips, before he resumed his conversation.

Merridy knew most of Cedric’s regular guests by name now, but Laurent was the only one she occasionally talked to. She returned his smile, even if he couldn’t see it anymore. Then she grabbed the remaining coins, so she wouldn’t drop them as she leaned over the armrest, to reach the table.

She opened the inkwell, dipped the quill into it and started to write her findings onto an envelope. After blowing air on the ink, to help it dry faster, she slipped the coin into the envelope, tucking it closed. Staring at the envelope, she hesitated, then added another symbol, a little star in the upper right corner. She didn’t know much about coins, but this one must be pretty rare.

There were two more coins to go, but it was late already and she didn’t want to see another book about dusty old monarchs and nobles for a couple of hours. Instead, she took a moment to enjoy her victory by watching the men.

It was something she often did; watching them. Cedric had moved the armchair for her several weeks ago, when the winter had been at its height and the salon had often been the warmest room in the house. Now, with spring just around the corner, it wasn’t strictly necessary anymore, but she still preferred to spend her evenings here.

There was something cozy about sitting here, engrossed in her work, while Cedric met with friends and clients. She enjoyed listening to them laugh and talk, watching them play cards and occasionally other games. Sometimes, when Laurent was the only guest, she joined as well, at least for a few rounds.

Today’s meeting was of the business kind, though, that much was obvious. Merridy didn’t know the two men sitting at the table. Their skin tone was somewhere between Cedric’s light and Laurent’s brown complexion, their wavy, shoulder length hair dark brown. They had similar features, and a similar demeanor, making them brothers, or maybe cousins, she assumed.

It was the second meeting she had been present for, but for the first time, she started to actually pay attention to what was said.

“... library in the second story,” one of the men said, pointing to something on the table.

“Mhm.” Cedric pulled whatever it was closer to himself. “No basement, and only a rat would make it through the connection to the canalisation.” He traced a few lines on what Merridy now assumed to be a map of some kind. “The windows here, here and here are all barred, which leaves the kitchen. But that’s on the wrong side of the house.”

“I’ve checked out the servants,” Laurent chimed in. “They’ve all been employed for at least a decade, with few changes in personnel. If we want to get in through them, it’ll be a lengthy process.”

“Whatever it takes,” the man said. “It’s a matter of honor at this point.”

How honorable was it, stealing something? Paying someone to steal something? Not that Merridy cared much. Most of Cedric’s clients were wealthy, they could steal jeweled trinkets from each other all day long for all she cared. She didn’t know all the details of what Cedric earned his money with, and she didn’t want to. Sometimes, it seemed to be a mere game to him. Him against the law, using every tool at his disposal—his knowledge, his contacts, his magic—to get what he wanted. It wasn’t hard for Merridy to decide who she sided with. Where the law would have left her to starve, he had taken her in, saved her.

She reached to the side, grabbing the blanket that was lying on the floor, to pull it over her legs. The armchair was large enough for her to sit comfortably, legs tucked under the blanket and head leaned against the backrest. She closed her eyes, burying her hands in the blanket as well.

“Do you think a chaos mage could get in through the kitchen?” Laurent asked.

“Possibly.” Cedric sighed. “But the only one I ever trusted was Vincent, and he left Caldeia two years ago.”

Merridy barely paid attention to what was said anymore, letting her thoughts drift instead. To think that she was sitting here, warm and safe and comfortable, able to do whatever she wanted with the rest of the evening. Without having to worry about the next day, or the next meal. She wished she could pay Cedric back somehow. Sure, she cataloged those silly coins for him, and sure, some of them seemed to be worth a fortune. But he paid her for it, more than this work was worth, probably. Anyone could compare a few drawings and lines of text, it just took some time.

Merridy sighed, snuggling deeper into the blanket. If only she was a chaos mage. Then she could turn invisible, walk straight in and get the object Cedric’s clients wanted.

“Hey. Little nuisance.”

Merridy opened her eyes to see Cedric standing over her. When she blinked and looked around, she found that the table was abandoned. Her questioning gaze made Cedric chuckle.

“They left a while ago. Yvan is back, and dinner is almost ready.”

Now that he had mentioned it, she could smell the delicious aroma of roasted onions. It made her stomach rumble and she sat up straight, freeing herself from the blanket.

“Did you find a solution?” she asked as Cedric offered her his hand, to help her up.

His gaze turned the slightest bit darker. “No. This is harder than I would have thought. There doesn’t seem to be a way into the house, at least not for me. Laurent thinks it might be possible by gaining access to one of the services they use—if they use any, like landscaping. But if we do that, it’ll take forever.”

Cedric started to walk towards the kitchen, Merridy close behind him. “But none of that now,” he said, gesturing vaguely with his right. “That’s my problem, not yours. Did you have any luck today?”

“Oh, yeah! I found only one, but I think it’s very rare.” Realizing how excited she had sounded Merridy felt heat flush her cheeks. “I mean… probably,” she mumbled. “I’ll show you after dinner, if you want.”

Cedric paused in the doorway to the kitchen. “You haven’t been wrong yet, have you? You’re good at this.”

Merridy could have sworn her cheeks grew even hotter, glad that Cedric turned around to enter the kitchen, so he wouldn’t notice. She hadn't been wrong yet, that much was true, but Cedric’s trust in her still made her uncomfortable. She would be wrong at some point, she was sure of it. She just hoped he wouldn’t be too angry with her then.

The moment she stepped inside the kitchen, Yvan called out to her.

“Merridy! Just in time for my famous roast potatoes.”

Seeing him standing in front of the stove, a wide smile on his lips and wearing a pink apron, Merridy couldn’t help but smile herself. The apron was decorated with frills and sported the snout and ears of a piglet at the chest. Yvan had told her it had been a gift from Cedric some years ago, meant as a joke. Unfortunately for his husband, Yvan had decided to wear it while cooking ever since.

“Can one of you open the jar and drain the vegetables?” Yvan asked, pointing to the counter and a cloth covered preserving jar. “The other can start setting the table.”

While Cedric walked over to the counter, Merridy started opening cupboards and drawers, grabbing a set of dishes and cutlery. It had only been a few weeks, but she felt like she had been living here forever. Everything was so familiar. The way Yvan sorted the knives and spoons, where he kept the regular plates and the fine ones, which spatula he used for cooking and which for baking.

Her finger brushed over a dark stain on the table, shaped like a crescent moon. It was more than selfish, but a part of her hoped it would take a long time for her to get through the crate of coins.

“Beets? Really?” Cedric had drained the pickled vegetables and filled them into a bowl. “Might as well eat a piece of dirt.”

“You’re the one who took twenty jars as payment.” Yvan’s tone didn’t sound sorry in the slightest. “There’s still seven left.”

“It was her late husband’s ring, and she didn’t have any money,” Cedric grumbled, sitting down.

Merridy peered into the bowl. Next to the dark red slices of beet were bright orange cubes of carrot and pale sticks of either cucumber or zucchini. She resisted the urge to grab a piece. Instead, she sat down on her chair as Yvan brought the large iron frying pan over to the table, putting it down on a nicely carved block of wood.

He took off the apron before sitting down, and a few moments later, the three of them sat in front of a steaming serving of roast potatoes each. They were crispy on the outside and soft within, having soaked up the flavor of several onions, and the occasional strip of bacon.

“Want some?” Yvan had served Cedric and himself from the bowl and was now holding up another spoon full of vegetables.

Merridy hastily shoved her potatoes aside, to free space on half of her plate. Yvan took it as an invitation, setting the vegetables down, then raising the spoon, a questioning look on his face.

“That’s enough, thank you,” she said. She barely resisted the urge to apologize at the same time. She really liked pickles; she just couldn’t stand the thought of the salty vinegar soaking her potatoes. One had to be sacrificed though, the least crispy piece, being shoved in the way of a trickle of brine, making its way across the plate.

She could have asked for a smaller bowl for herself, but the last thing she needed was to be made fun of for having the eating habits of a three year old.

“So, how did today go?” Yvan asked.

Merridy listened half-heartedly as Cedric told him about the meeting. Some of it she had already heard earlier, and some of it she didn’t understand, so she didn’t pay too much attention. The potatoes were as excellent as ever, almost sweet from the amount of onions in the dish. It made her appreciate the pickled vegetables even more.

When Merridy noticed how Cedric had piled his slices of beets at the edge of his plate, she grinned. Her grin turned into a smile as Yvan kissed him on the cheek, before spearing the pile of beets with his fork. Even if she would never be able to find a love such as this, watching the two of them warmed her heart.

It was all she had ever wanted; finding somewhere, someone where she belonged. By now, she was reasonably sure that the price for it would be too high. Still, a girl could dream, right? She was still lost in thought when Cedric lightly poked her arm.

“We’ll just put you into an apron, hand you a feather duster, and tell them you’re the new maid.”

Merridy looked up from her empty plate, not sure if he was serious. The amused glimmer in his eyes told her he wasn’t.

“If I could, I would help you,” she said. She was serious.

“That was a joke. I’d never drag you into this. Into any of this. Listen…” Suddenly, he looked so very serious. “Being associated with me might one day put a target on your back, in the eyes of the law, or of someone who wishes me ill. The less you know, the less you are involved, the better. As it is, you’re already too close to me.”

She knew, shortly before she had returned, something bad had happened. One of his confidants had betrayed him, and one of his friends had been killed. Some things he had told her, some she had pieced together from overheard conversations. Claiming that it didn’t scare her at all would have been a lie.

“Are you saying I should leave?”

“No! No… Unless… Do you want to leave? Because I’m not—” He broke off when Merridy shook her head energetically. “I just want you to be safe,” he said with a sigh.

“I’ve been safer with you than anywhere else since I arrived in this city.” Which was ridiculous when she remembered how scared she had been the day he had rescued her. That was before she had seen through his standoffish behavior, finding a man beneath who could be quick-tempered at times, but wasn’t the monster Carl had made her believe he was.

Right now, that man was staring at her, an uninterpretable look on his face.

Yvan cleared his throat. “What do you think about a round of cards? Or that new game Laurent brought a few weeks ago. Why don’t you set it up?”

Merridy could recognize a pretense if she saw one.

“Sure,” she said, standing up. “Thanks for the dinner, Yvan, it was as wonderful as always.”

As soon as she was halfway through the living room, she could hear subdued voices behind her. She didn’t try to listen, instead walking back into the salon, where she opened a few drawers and doors, looking for said game.

Once she had found it, she brought it over to the table. Maps and drawings were still spread there. Merridy started to pick them up, then paused. On top of the pile was the layout of a house; a large house, every room carefully labeled. ‘Kitchen’, she read, and ‘Servants’ Quarters’.

She lifted the parchment, revealing another one beneath. This one showed the first floor, and the one she found when she lifted it as well the second.

Having forgotten all about the game, Merridy studied the layouts. The library was almost directly above the kitchen, which opened into the backyard. Merridy put the three plans next to each other, comparing them. Now she saw the things Cedric had mentioned; no basement, barred windows, the only entrance through the kitchen where—according to a scribbled note—at least one person watched over the hearth the whole night.

But what about the upper floors?

Her fingers traced the letters spelling out the rooms as she counted the windows, trying to memorize them. The first two from the corner at the back of the house belonged to a study room, followed by three for the library, and another two for some unlabeled room, with the scribbled words ‘Guest Room?’ next to it.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be possible. If it was, Cedric would surely have thought of it. She might just not have been listening when the men had talked about it.

Still, something called to her. She couldn’t remember them talking about it at all. How hard could it be, to enter the house through one of the windows in the upper floors? Many of the houses she had seen in the rich parts of the city sported ornaments that would make it as easy as climbing up a ladder.

“Merridy? What about some snacks? I still have some raspberry cookies,” Yvan’s voice sounded from the kitchen.

“Sounds great!” Merridy called back.

Hastily, she grabbed the parchments strewn across the table. Not knowing where Cedric kept them, she brought them over to a sideboard, making sure they were neatly stacked, and the top one was face down.

When the two men entered the room, she was almost done setting up the game. Yvan held out a plate of cookies for her; raspberry and chocolate, the rest of the batch he had made for their anniversary some weeks prior. She grabbed one, a grin on her lips, which turned into a delighted hum as she bit into the cookie.

Being here, happy and safe and welcome, was worth every risk so far, and a few more. Tomorrow morning, she would take a long walk and look at the house herself.

[ID: The banner shows a broken window, outside which the sun sets behind an iron fence. The sky is bright yellow and orange. The title nuisance is written across it in scribbled looking letters with a orange to yellow to orange gradient. All other images are purely ornamental lines. End ID.]

Tagging: @dont-touch-my-soup @freefallingup13 @kixngiggles

#Nuisance #whump #fantasy whump #my writing

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womanlives · 8 months

Text

THE FLAMING ROSES were an all-female criminal gang that operated in the late 1400’s DR before their untimely demise. Originating in Baldur’s Gate as just another second-story gang, they eventually came to specialize in brokering confidential and illicit information for the criminal underworld. After operating alongside Nine-Fingers Keene for years upon years within Baldur’s Gate, the Roses infiltrated Waterdeep — and, more specifically, the Xanathar’s Thieves’ Guild. They operated out of both cities for around a decade before relocating the entirety of their operation to Waterdeep. They never returned. According to Nine-Fingers Keene, they remained loyal to her until the end.

Much of the Roses’ true history is all but lost to the ashes. What can be agreed upon is this: they were very well-respected by Nine-Fingers, and the Guild leader before her. The Roses were known for their discretion, their creativity, and their tight-knit sense of community. Save for one exception, they only ever had seven members at any given time: one for each of the seven capital virtues. Upon joining the gang, each Rose gave up her name in favor of her virtue. Be it by design or by chance, these women were never true to the virtues they embodied. Perhaps that was the whole point.

According to records kept by Bursar Uktar of the Nine-Fingers guild, the last-known Roses were as follows:

CHASTITY. Sun elf. Bard (favored instrument: flute). Age unknown. Judging by the faint presence of wrinkles, estimate ~400 years. Copper skin, green eyes, blood-red hair. Beautiful beyond belief. Active Upper City paramour. Don’t look at her when she sings (don’t trust anything she says). Close with Nine-Fingers (how? why?). Known misandrist. Refers to self in maternal terms, but no children. Suspected accessory to the murder of Vulgar Hoffson (pimp; Rivington. No gang affiliation). Delivered bad intel O times. Makes me uneasy.

TEMPERANCE. Half-orc. Berserker. 43. Blue-violet skin, tusks, indigo hair kept short. DO NOT UNDERESTIMATE HER INTELLIGENCE. Plays dumb deliberately. Isn’t. Weaponizes stereotypes. Absolutely lethal. Has the coldest rage I’ve ever seen. Primary asset is strength; stealth capabilities unknown (reminder: weaponizes stereotypes). Keep away from bar. She’ll eat the Hall out of house and home. Guild members have lost 288 gold pieces betting against her in drinking contests.

CHARITY. Halfling. Thief. 26. Tan, golden hair, gray eyes. Wiry build. Stock-standard sneakthief. Real talent lies in legerdemain and sleight-of-hand. Favorite pastime: stealing from you while you’re looking dead in her eyes. (Picked my ring off my hand once and gave it back to me. Can’t call Guild violation; said it was a joke. Said she couldn’t help herself. Is there such a thing as a thief who steals too much?) Doesn’t share well. Quoted, when asked for a sip of beer: Hells, no. You could be on fire and I’d still drink every last drop. Wouldn’t even throw your corpse the mug. Funny.

DILIGENCE. Gnome. Cleric (Glittergold? Strange). 74. Pale, dark eyes, brown hair. Distinguishing features: broken jaw that never healed right. Flinches at any sudden movement. Prime suspect in the murder of Vulgar Hoffson (pimp; Rivington. No gang affiliation). Visits Stormshore Tabernacle monthly. Some sort of experimental treatment. Speaks to Sister Korinth exclusively. Always late with fee-sheets and theft-records. Bothersome, but neat as can be. Note from Chastity: DO NOT SUMMON TO GUILDHALL; INTERMEDIATE THROUGH MERCY, PLEASE. Why is she even a thief?

PATIENCE. Human. Bard (favored instrument: voice). 30s? Warm complexion, blue eyes, shock-pink hair. Vitiligo. Unsure if disguise. Noticeable body mannerisms ie: won’t stop fidgeting. Also won’t shut up (surprisingly not as obnoxious as one would think). Friendly, open. Background: actress. Kicked out of travelling troupe (need more information). Talk fast if she asks you questions, or she’ll get violent. Not allowed in Guildhall unless accompanied by at least one other Rose.

KINDNESS. Dwarf (suspected duergar roots and/or affiliations). Assassin. 230s(?). Shock-pale, cold blue eyes, bald. Noticeable tattooing on the right side of head and neck and down the right arm in addition to gang brand. Has no tongue. Fluent in Cant-Sign; interacted with her on several occasions. Uses specialized sign when communicating with fellow Roses. Attempting to decode. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO DECODE. Follow the example of the Lady’s Court; give her a wide berth.

HUMILITY. Fucking can’t stand this fucking bitch. Sun elf. Artificer. 450s. Dark bronze skin, heterochromia (dark bronze left eye, milk-white right eye), dark bronze hair. Golden freckles. Extremely tall. Creative, but arrogant. Does not take commission-work unless ordered by Chastity or Nine-Fingers (no time?). Suspected planner of the Rose operations. ALCHEMIST. Blind in her right eye (alchemical explosion from bad ingredients. No investigation needed – dealer dismembered by Kindness). Supplies NF with special (re: spiked) moonflower dosages. Single?

MERCY. Thought they were only allowed seven? Special? [An addition, in fresher ink.] Gods, no. Just annoying.

#mercy/hc.#mercy/faerun.#lore brainrot for my babies is Real rn

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ladycreatrix · 9 months

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Graveyard Set Up

(@whumpster-dumpster Thank you for the prompt. These are my OCs, so despite me believing that no one will, I have to ask that no on use them. Thank you.)

Tumblr prompt: Grave robber digs up the wrong patch and discovers someone who's been buried alive.

Zane wiped both his sandy hair and the sweat away from his face. The cool dry air of the desert night felt refreshing as he dauntingly climbed out of the exhumed grave. Tossing the shovel to the side, Zane looked to his scrawny business partner. "Your turn, Freddy".

The copper haired man looked over to the other with excited pewter eyes. Grabbing a weathered medical bag, Freddy rushed past Zane and to the edge of the hole, "so what exactly am I taking off of the old bastard?"

"I need the right arm, right leg and head of this man," Zane panted, sitting on the ground to catch his breath. Pulling out his small journal, Zane read the contents aloud. "The head already has a buyer. A necromancer I think. And I need the limbs for something I'm working on".

With a simple nod, Freddy hopped into the grave with thud.

Zane took a minute to gather himself before taking on his next task as the lookout. Slightly cursing himself for picking poorly during their coin flip. Rules are rules, he thought. This was how the job was with a partner. Ever since Freddy joined with him in his more shady endeavors, Zane had been getting more done. Grave robbing was already hard work, but having an assistant that was actually intelligent and can carry his own weight was a relief.

They decided flipping a coin was the fairest way to split the work. One would dig and fill the grave back up and stand watch for the guards while the other took what they needed from the grave and stood watch while the other dug. Given that there was someone always on watch, both Zane and Freddy agreed that the work was evenly spread.

The familiar sound of the casket giving way drew Zane from his thoughts and the unexpected gasp made him jump to immediate panic. He rushed to the grave to see Freddy standing over the open casket.

"There's a woman in here!" Freddy panic whispered. "And she is still breathing! Fucking all-mother, she's alive!"

Zane peered around Freddy to see a young dark haired woman curled up in the casket. Her bloodied fingers matching the claw marks on the inside of the shredded cloth lid. Her breathing was shallow and uneven. Much longer in the grave and she would have met her end Zane guessed. The sound of clanking armor and hastened footsteps sent Zane's panic into overdrive. The guards should be making their rounds in another thirty minutes, not now. Unless…

"Freddy grab the girl and let's go! We've been set up!"

"Why should we take her? It's kidnapping!"

"If we get caught with her here, it's attempted murder! If she comes with us, we can ask her who would want to put her in some old man's grave. Probably the same people who wanted us to dig this old man up".

Freddy shrugged, not arguing with that logic. Together, both men hoisted the unconscious woman out of the grave and the three escaped capture.

Zane always assumed that he and Freddy were going to make enemies, but being set up was completely different.

The men got back to their home safely and Zane started to care for the woman. Between his medical history and Freddy's help, they were able to mend the woman's injured hands. Her breathing and complexion improved by morning, all they had to do was wait for her to wake.

Freddy and Zane had so many questions. Hopefully their new house guest was willing or able to answer them.

#whump prompt #@whumpster-dumpster #writers on tumblr #fiction #dribble #my ocs #original character

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xasha777 · 2 months

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Under the shimmer of an autumn sun, her striking eyes, a shade of verdant mystery, hinted at secrets untold. With her fiery hair cascading like a waterfall of molten copper around her shoulders, she presented an image of serenity against the chaos of the world. Yet within her gaze, there was a depth that some might find unnerving.

For she was a descendant of the ancient Wiccan lineage, a keeper of arcane knowledge and mistress of the unseen. Her lineage was one that danced with the shadows, conversing with spirits and bending the natural elements to their will. She thrived in the balance of light and dark, her soul an eternal battleground for forces as old as time itself.

Her name was Verena, and by day, she was a beacon of charm and beauty, the brilliance of her presence like the sun's rays piercing through a canopy of leaves. But as dusk fell and the veil between worlds thinned, Verena's true nature surfaced. It was then she walked the path of her ancestors, under the silver eye of the moon, reciting incantations that would send a shiver down the spine of any mortal who dared listen.

One fateful evening, during the festival of Samhain when the spirits roamed freely, Verena's ritual took an unexpected turn. The spell she had been weaving, meant to commune with the spirits and seek their guidance, spiraled beyond her control. She felt a coldness seep into her bones, an ancient entity answering her call, one that had lain dormant for eons, forgotten by time.

It was a being of insatiable curiosity and malice, one that slipped through the cracks of her protective circle and into our realm. The entity clung to her, a specter that chilled the air and made lights flicker with its presence. Verena, realizing her grave mistake, sought to banish the being back to the netherworld it came from.

Nights turned into weeks, and Verena's once radiant complexion paled, her eyes now carrying the weight of a dreadful knowledge. She was pursued relentlessly by the entity, which whispered of ancient horrors and unspeakable futures. Only through a potent ritual, on the eve of another Samhain, could she hope to seal away the darkness she had unwittingly unleashed.

As the leaves turned from green to gold, then to the deathly hues of brown and fell to the earth, Verena prepared. Her once calm and confident demeanor was now laced with urgency, for if she failed, the entity would break free of its tethers to her and unleash its wrath upon the world.

On the night of her final stand, with the wind howling like the chorus of the damned, Verena drew her circle with a trembling hand. Candles flickered around her, casting long, ominous shadows as she began her chant, the words echoing into the void. The entity raged against her, a maelstrom of shadows clashing with the light of her will.

Would she succeed and bind the entity once more, or would her story be lost in the whispers of the wind, a cautionary tale of the dangers that lurk when one dares to meddle with the ancient and arcane? Only the spirits, now silent observers, would carry forth the tale of Verena, the Wiccan who walked the line between worlds.

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notsoinnocentlittleangel · 10 months

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FIRST MEETINGS MEME A meme for first meetings and introduction threads, aka a ‘What you will notice about my muse first’ cheat sheet. Repost, don’t reblog. Bold what applies. Fill in details. (Please do not remove the credit + blank meme link)

tagged by: I stumbled on this and wanted to do it.

tagging: Tagging my other blogs @sadiesawyer and @backedagainstthewall, anyone else can take it if they want from the blank meme link below.

blank meme: x

GENERAL APPEARANCE

Sex: Masculine. Feminine. Non-Binary.

Race: White (Mostly French, Irish, English)

Complexion: Fair. She actually can tan just a little bit, but mostly just gets freckly in the sun. Or burns.

Height: 5′3″

Body Type: Endomorph. Mesomorph. Ectomorph. Other / More Details: I’d describe Joanna as primarily mesomorph, with a slight degree of endomorph. Her thighs tend to be the first thing to pick up extra weight. She’s curvy, but still a bit on the small side.

Body Build: Small. Medium. Athletic. Muscular. Soft. Curvy. Voluptuous. Other / More Details: She has a very nice hourglass shape, which tends to get attention, especially from men.

Body Hair: None. Shaves/Waxes. Trims/Grooms. Untamed. Color: Notes: Joanna keeps her leg hair short.

Head Hair: None. Buzzed. Short. Medium. Long. Very Long. Asymmetrical Cut. Color: Ginger/copper red Style: Naturally curly, she typically wears it down unless she needs to tie or pin it back to get it out of the way. Only rarely puts it in a real updo.

Eye color: Light blue, almost grayish-blue. Details: Some people would describe her as doe-eyed.

Scars: One on her left knee from a bike accident as a kid that’s visible at close range. Another small one from her ex-husband breaking a glass over her head. She had a burn mark on one arm from an iron as a teenager that lasted a while, but it’s faded completely by the time she’s an adult.

FASHION

Fashion Style: Vintage. Traditional. Casual. Artsy. Vibrant. Geeky/Nerdy. Tomboy. Sporty. Trendy. Preppy. Girly. Bohemian. Elegant. Formal. Grunge. Punk. Rocker. Gothic. Other: I’d describe it as “girly tomboy” in that she often wears graphic t-shirts but with short shorts or skirts.

Color Palette: You’re more likely to see her in darker clothes, but she does wear some brighter ones sometimes.

Typical Clothing: Likes t-shirts (sometimes tank tops) and denim, either shorts or skirts in warm weather, jeans in cooler weather, often with a leather jacket. She does have a certain love for floral and poofy skirts and will wear them sometimes, though. Tennis shoes or boots are her typical footwear, with her breaking out flip flops on occasion. She likes cowboy boots.

Piercings: Ears

Tattoos: None. She almost got one once, but in a rare moment, chickened out. Joanna’s not a big fan of needles, though I’d stop short of saying she has a fear of them.

Other Information: If she has to dress up, she likes blue and green dresses, and likes the skirts to be big (think ball gowns or circle skirts), especially if they’re longer than her knees, so she can move around, and she thinks they’re cute. She wears sunglasses in the daytime unless it’s very dark overcast or raining, as her eyes are slightly sensitive to bright light. She does wear a uniform when she works as a mechanic.

EXPRESSION

General Facial Expression: Straight face, naturally slightly frowning to neutral look is her default look. She’s emotional enough her face runs the gamut of most expressions, though.

Default Body Language: Stands up straight, walks confidently, head up, though she leans back when she sits.

General Movements: Tilts her head and scrunches her face up when she’s in thought. She’s very expressive with her hands when she talks, especially when she really gets going.

NOTABLE FOR RP

Presence: She gives off a fairly bold, confident presence, which is sometimes true, sometimes an act.

Appearance: She does put a little effort into her looks. She spent years fighting her hair before learning to work with what she had. She typically wears a little makeup, but occasionally says “screw it” and goes without. She does put a lot more effort when she has to dress up.

Scent: Floral shampoo she uses, motor oil or gasoline if she’s been working on cars. She’s been told she has a slight peppermint-like scent sometimes.

Voice Description: Her pitch is about average. She tends to talk rapidly, especially if she gets excited. She tends to be a loud talker, unless she’s purposely trying to be quiet. Usually if she’s around and talking, you’ll hear her.

Accent: yes / no More information: Joanna has a fairly distinct south Louisiana accent. Anyone who’s not from there or at least the surrounding states will notice it pretty quickly. It was somewhat more pronounced when she was a teenager and lived with her grandparents for a little while. There is an occasional hint of a general Deep South pronunciation she’s picked up, especially on certain words.

Speech Mannerisms: Joanna uses double negatives and contractions frequently. Her speech is definitely not formal, but she has a certain flair with words when she wants to. She swears, often, sometimes if she gets excited, frequently if she gets mad. She tries not to do it around kids, her grandmother, or in church.

Anything else to add? Despite not being that well educated, Joanna has a talent for picking up languages. Unusually for someone her age, she understands Louisiana French pretty well after spending some time living with her grandparents who are fluent (she can usually understand it spoken by others, but her own usage of it can be a little rough). She also knows a fair bit of Spanish, enough to usually get the gist of a conversation. (Verse note: In her Wild West/RDR verse, she’s truly bilingual in English and French, in her pirate and Revolution verses, French is her native language, she’s fluent in English, she may or may not be fluent in Spanish but will still at least have a basic knowledge of it).

#About

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