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claire-starsword · 14 days

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Bloodline of the Sacred Dragons - Chapter 2-7

[warning for violence and dismemberment on this one. yes you read that right. as opposed to me who did not pay attention to this on my first read. lol.]

The group emerged back into the fields, after safely crossing the mountains. They hurried on their journey, heading towards the Pao Plains.

By Krin and Tyrin's calculations, they should be a day ahead of the monsters. If they could get the mercenaries at Pao and come back, they would be able to ambush the enemies at the mountain path that led to the plains. The devils wouldn't be able to escape a trap in such a narrow pathway.

In the forest, Karin replaced Randolf as the lead. Tyrin gave the general directions by her side, and she decided the exact path to traverse according to the condition of the plants and other forest signs. Bleu was speechless on how observant she was, not letting the slightest detail pass unnoticed.

Bleu struggled the most with the thick cluster of trees. Unlike Camallia and Karna, he didn't have the power to heal everyone's exhaustion either. He grew frustrated with himself. Once they got to a wider place or a road he'd be able to stretch out his wings. He did his best to put up with it.

Once the sun had gone down, the group had finally come out the end of the forest, reaching the road between Bustoke and the Pao Plains.

And there, their calculations failed them.

They ran right into the monster squad that had stolen the Manual. A sudden encounter, one could say.

"They shouldn't be here by our calculations, so why…" Krin complained about the unexpected turn of events, as she stared at the twenty or so monsters that had appeared in front of them.

The devils were just as shocked as them.

"Impossible! Why is there a Sacred Dragon here?"

One of the monsters, accompanying the squad of harpies and armed lizardmen, stared wide-eyed at Bleu, with empty eyes devoid of light. Those eyes caught sight of Camallia by his side. The devil then understood everything.

"So you survived. And you guided them here. It's always you, always… Fine, if you'll be this much of a hindrance, then I, Ziduur, will end you just like those pursuing mages."

The monster's fangs showed over the corner of his lips, and his two horns, atop his head like a moth's antennas, swung backwards in a menacing stance. Deep crimson hair ran from the nape of his neck to his back like a mane, bristling. As if answering to that, the lizardmen raised their slimy triangular heads, their bifurcated tongues flickering through their lips. The harpies let out ear-piercing shrieks.

"If you want this, come and take it."

Ziduur held a box made of ebony. It was full of intricate inlay decorations with a foreign feel.

"Sir Bleu, there's no doubt, the Manual is in there!"

With Tyrin's shout, the battle began.

"Randolf, Tyrin, take care of the girls!"

While shouting, Bleu bolted towards Ziduur, as if drawn to the Manual in his hands. Cerberus followed behind him.

"Wait, don't just rush in, it won't go well if we fight separated," Randolf hastily stopped Camallia, who wanted to jump ahead as well.

"Bleu, come back right now! Bleu!"

Karin's voice did not reach Bleu, and he began to fight the harpies in midair.

All his pent up feelings were unleashed at once. And at the same time, he had confidence in being the one who always broke through the enemy lines. With that amount of enemies, he believed he could strike the commander at once and end the battle with that. There was no reason to eliminate them all. Once he retrieved the Manual, he could just disperse the rest of the enemies. The shorter the battle, the less likely it would be for Karin and the others to get hurt. And by defeating all the monsters himself, he could prove his power to them. Maybe then the girls would stay behind without a fuss, Bleu thought.

However, his reckless advance did not go as he expected.

Superior to him in speed and number, the harpies put up a tough fight against him. Wanting to rush to Ziduur straight away, he had become isolated from his allies.

Randolf and Camallia shielded the others, facing the incoming lizardmen head on.

"Bleu, I'll burn down these enemies, get out of the way!"

Krin began chanting a Blaze spell, but Karin stopped her. If she cast the flames in a wide area, Bleu would certainly get caught in them.

"Krin, give up and target a single enemy," Karin ordered, while shooting down an enemy away from Bleu with perfect accuracy. Their lack of coordination was apparent. Karin bit down her anger at Bleu's stupid actions.

"I won't show mercy to any who interfere. Join the hateful corpses that sleep under this earth."

Ziduur took out a piece of a crimson jewel, and held it tightly within his left hand, as if squeezing it. Beams of light came through between his fingers.

"That light!" Camallia shouted, alerting everyone.

Ziduur punched the ground. Thin sparks of crimson lightning ran at once over the surface.

"What did he do?"

Karna watched in awe as the ground in front of her began to stir, and something jumped out from within.

"Eep!" She let out a strangled scream as she came face to face with a skeleton.

"Get down!"

Hearing that shout from behind her, Karna got down while covering her head with both arms. The end of a flail flew past her, sending the skeleton's skull flying like a football. As she pulled the weapon back, Camallia smashed its upper body as well.

In the brief moment where Karna breathed a sigh of relief, more skeletons jumped from below, one after the other. Those skeletal warriors, carrying all kinds of different weapons, were the warped forms of monsters once defeated in that land, and the travelers they once killed.

"Are we surrounded?"

Watching the growing swarm of skeletons and lizardmen around them, Randolf swung his Battle Axe once again. If the monsters attacked all at once, they certainly wouldn't manage to defend against all of them.

Karna shouted for everyone to get closer together.

"O benevolent ones who watch upon all, please hear our prayers. Gather the righteous light within our hearts, and make it into a shield of holy brilliance!!"

By her incantation, the faint shine of the supporting spell Boost enveloped the whole group from within. The monsters with no flesh nor blood were driven away by that light.

Not wasting the opportunity, Randolf and Camallia attacked. The mages covered the openings between them, Tyrin freezing the enemies to stand as shields, and Krin erecting walls of fire with her Blaze spells. They were doing their best to defend themselves, but the situation still wasn't good as they were outnumbered.

On one swing, Camallia's flail became entangled in another flail wielded by a skeleton. The resulting forces made both of them lose their grips on their weapons. Without delay, the skeleton took a short sword from the back of its shield, and charged at the now empty-handed girl. Another short sword was thrown at the skeleton as it did that. By reflex, the skeleton knocked it down with its shield. Camallia jumped at the fallen sword, grabbing it and swinging it at the skeleton's leg to cut it down. The monster fell down as it lost its balance, and Camallia stepped on its bony body from over its shield, using all of her strength to crush it.

"Thank you, Sir Randolf."

Picking up her flail, she stood back to back with Randolf, who had moved backwards. She extended a hand in his direction, trying to return his short sword that had saved her from her predicament.

"I don't mind. Keep it. Without a spare weapon, something like this might happen to you again."

Answering that, he swung his blade at another monster.

At that time, Bleu was also surrounded by even more enemies than before.

Sacred Dragons had tough bodies and powerful attacks, but were in no way invincible. Their thick hide was hard to penetrate with a blade, yet at some point he had been wounded, and it bled. While he had finished off many of the harpies, he had also hurt his wings. The injury was not severe, but it made him unable to fight the remaining harpies in the air. Having fallen to the ground, Bleu faced a concentrated assault from the group of enemies.

Sustaining minor injuries all over his body, Bleu had made a pile of corpses out of his enemies. Yet he was clearly exhausted. Taking a fierce blow to his chest, he began to cough violently.

In this terrible moment, a lizardman brandished his Large Axe. In Bleu's current condition, he couldn't dodge or spew out his lightning breath.

The monsters became agitated.

Steeling himself for the fatal blow, Bleu saw a silver blur pass through the corner of his vision. Fresh blue blood spilled by. With a deep gash on his torso, the lizardman turned around only to be cut again like a paper doll by sharp claws, this time on the chest.

"Zylo!?" Bleu exclaimed in surprise, seeing the werewolf that had showed up behind the fallen lizardman.

"It's been a long time, Bleu."

Zylo's eyes had the glint of a wild beast hidden within, and he narrowed them in recognition for an instant.

Taking that as an opening, the harpies attacked from the sky.

"Watch out!"

Faster than Bleu's cry, Zylo jumped to the air. He spun next to harpy like a gear, hitting it with a somersault, and knocking it down hard to the ground. The blood from the harpy's torn neck ran in lines across her dead body.

"Before worrying for others, worry about yourself. Honestly, what a pathetic fight you put up. Have you forgotten your past experience? I'll show you how it is to fight as a group. Watch and learn."

Zylo howled.

The lizardmen and harpies flinched at the incoming chants of beast hunters. From its direction came the rushing sound of rain. A merciless rain of arrows…

Once the synchronized barrage of arrows ended, Zylo had also disappeared. Too fast for Bleu's eyes to keep up, he ran between the disoriented enemies, cutting them down as he passed them by. One by one they fell to the ground.

Having broken through the enemies surrounding them, Zylo reached Karin's group.

"It's Zylo, the king of Bustoke."

Krin calmed down the others, who were on guard, unsure if he was a new enemy.

"We'll regroup with Bleu. Follow me without delay," Zylo ordered, and turned away from them without waiting for an answer. He spoke as if certain that they'd obey. Not forceful. Just showing unwavering confidence.

"Diane!!" He shouted. In answer, a squad of archers appeared from the forest shadows, led by an elf girl. Their bowstrings rang as they once again released their arrows in unison.

Diane's archers concentrated their assault on the skeletons. The ropes tied in their arrows perfectly wrapped around their enemies. The skeletons hit by them fell down and tumbled through the ground. It seemed as if they knew what enemies they'd be facing, which made Krin impressed, but also a bit suspicious.

"Let's go!"

Zylo dashed away, heading towards Bleu, who had recovered some energy and continued to fight on his own. The others ran behind him as fast as they could.

"Karna, Camallia, heal Bleu, quickly!"

As Zylo and Randolf took the surrounding enemies down, Karin immediately asked the priests to tend to Bleu. While the archers of Bustoke kept lending them support, Camallia healed everyone who had been injured with Aura, the high level healing spell.

"Thank you, Camallia. You too, Karin…" Bleu thanked the girls.

"There's no time to waste," Zylo urged Bleu. "Let's retrieve the Manual at once with this."

Led by the wolf king, the group split apart the confused enemies. Separated from each other, they had no time to recover, and were shot down by Diane's squad.

"Now. Sir Bleu, the Manual!" Tyrin shouted.

Spreading his healed wings, Bleu flew over the skeletons. The monsters were knocked down by the wings and the gust of wind.

Ziduur held up the ruby in his hand. His body was enveloped in red light.

"Like I'll let you teleport!"

The monster had jumped away, but Bleu sliced him with his claws.

Ziduur's arm was torn and sent flying, tracing an arc in midair, weighted down by the ebony box it carried.

Bleu had his attention drawn to the Manual for a moment. Ziduur didn't miss that, casting a Blaze spell in that time. Bleu crossed his arms in front of him as the flames burst in front of him.

"Bleu!!"

Karin and Camallia left the few remaining monsters to Zylo, and ran to the dragon.

He looked down bitterly at the space Ziduur had teleported away from. It shimmered like hot air, proving that a devil stood there just a moment before.

He picked up the box with the Manual, and Camallia saw that both his arms were bleeding.

"Are you wounded?" she asked, walking to him.

"It's no big deal. Just scratches."

"Even a small injury cannot be left alone."

While he insisted that he was fine, Camallia softly kissed his wounds.

Bleu suddenly felt eyes on him, and tried to pull away from her.

"Please stay still."

Camallia's warm lips moved over his skin as she said the words. Her hot tongue traced over his wound, licking off the blood. Her throat made a glugging noise as she drank it. Her lips continued to move over it, trembling with her incomprehensible chants and sighs.

She let go after a while, and no trace of the wound was left.

"Bleu, the king of Bustoke is calling."

Karin only said that before turning her back and running away.

Translation notes:

"Zidur" is apparently a word of a power to summon one of the creatures in the Necronomicon by Simon. I know nothing of that book other than a cursory look so I can't talk much about it, but do you know how hilarious it is to google a Shining Force thing and come up with a pdf full of demon rituals and absolutely no other results? Unparalled experience. Also, the character's name does have a longer "u" sound so I reflected that in my translation as well.

I don't recall Ziduur being explicitly referred to as a man, but his speech manners are pretty rough and he'll eventually be using the rough and masc "ore" pronoun, so unlike Otrant I just made the call to use he/him pronouns for him.

Zylo's species in the original game is given as "wolfling". His base class however is "werewolf", so nothing wrong here.

Up to this point I had been calling the dog "Cerberos" because that's closer to the japanese reading and I didn't think to look it up, but I was recently reminded that the games use "Cerberus" instead. I'd rather stick close to the official translations when it doesn't matter so I've updated past posts and will be using the game romanization from here on.

#shining series #shining force #shining force 2 #shining force novel translation #bloodline of the sacred dragons #sf bleu #there we go. the annoying arrogant protag has learned a valuable lesson about the real super power of teamwork!#now things can finally progress smoothly into a great team dynamic!#...#dont. don't look at the page count. don't- it's fine. it'll be fine #sf karin #if this was a game she should be the leader and not bleu just saying #or it could be a protag choice with a few route differences #*person who has only played two tactical rpgs in their life* hmm. getting a lot of fantasy maiden wars vibes from this #also there's clearly a love triangle rearing its ugly head here but i chose to see it as funny like. girl she's drinking his blood #repressed village girl who clearly doesn't have enough going on in her life watching camallia be a badass freak: God I Wish That Was Me #sfbotsd camallia #NORMAL WOMAN. ABSOLUTELY INCONSPICUOUS WOMAN. GODDAMN #and i refuse to complain she's so cool!! woman's wrongs the novel #sf2 karna twiggy #the boost chant is also so cool and i knew it from the nnd summary i used to watch so i've waited more than a year to show you pals #i wish she did more but i'm not unhappy with her role in battles here generally #sf2 randolf dongo #sf2 tyrin piper #sf krin #sf krin's cerberus #so uh. does anyone else feels the writer is constantly struggling to remember the dog's still here? i legit did not realize the first time #she hadn't been mentioned since the lab. i legit thought she had been left in manarina #a shame because a hellhound on the team is prime shining content and i wish it was better used. i wanna play with this beauty #goddamn this is a lot of characters but i do wanna ramble

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whitepolaris · 16 days

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Booger Hill's Baby Pushers

Booger Hill is located two miles north of Cumming on Tribble Gap Road, just past Dr. Dunn Road, where two oaks overhang the pavement. The bottom of the hill runs between the trees. Put your car in neutral and it will roll back up the hill. The legend is that vehicles are propelled by the ghosts of people who were hanged from the trees there or children who died in an automobile accident.

We have some eyewitness testimony about this spot, too. VideoVixen31 reports to About.com's Paranormal Forum that she drove to the top of the hill, put her car in neutral, released the brake, and allowed the car to roll itself to a stop at the bottom of the hill. After that, VideoVixen31 tells us (and we have no reason to doubt her word) that her car and its passengers were immediately drawn rapidly backward up the hill, much faster than they'd come down.

In an article for Flagpole Magazine, writer Michael Wehunt tells what happened when he sought out Booger Hill. "Rural legend claims that a car left in neutral will be pushed against gravity up this small hill," he wrote, "and who does the pushing? The ghosts of small children, of course. Once upon a time, storytellers say, a car broke down at the base of the rise. A school bus came around the curve and was forced to swerve into the ravine to the right, killing its cargo of children. As a result, forever more, these restless spirits try to put a stationary vehicle out of the path of the bus that will always be approaching."

To test the story, Wehunt applied baby powder to the back of his car and took rides on the hill. The baby powder revealed "hints of fingerprints" and the mysterious letter "J" outlined on his car. His vehicle, "without fail, rolled up the hill each time, reaching a surprisingly top speed of twenty-three miles per hour before coasting to a stop. . . . On the final 'push,' there were no prints, but there were many fine vertical lines above and below the left brake light, exactly the length and look of a little girl's hair. To the right was an identical group of fine grooves . . . and a seven-inch-or-so gap between, right where the girl's face would have been had she bent over and pushed my car. To be honest, we were all creeped out by that . . . those two areas of hair lines and the space between remain the only sight in my paranormal quest that still avoids explanation and gives me that wonderful little shiver."

Rolling Up Booger Mountain

I have been there myself dozens of times when I was a teen. Back then we called it Booger Mountain. But yes, your car does roll uphill backward or forward, whichever way you face. Back in the day, the saying was that two men were hanging in the two trees where the car stops. Of course, I am sure now that the tales differs throughout the years. But it is a fun spooky thing to do. I remember that whenever we went, we all remained soooo quiet during the rollback and that the power of suggestion gave you the creeps. -Lola Mist, Ghost Hounds

Booger Hill Just an Optional Illusion?

We went to Booger Hill a while ago, and it's true about the car moving "uphill" . . . but on closer inspection, the road actually grades down just slightly, and it's the trees that gives it the appearance of going uphill-still a cool little illusion. -Breigh, Ghost Hounds

#type read #weird georgia

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libidomechanica · 8 months

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To the impossible fancys errours too metaphysician

A sonnet sequence

Sweet kernel; to see. For each side, content. To the impossible fancys errours too metaphysician to lessen my lettuce which runs before her rites are allow, a heart to these may be; there in a hurry. If looking drawn, you! That perpetual on a day—for their masters a thirdly high and field the Dead, and settled in gold, that Chance your dearly; the flee. In its still, alas! Call on the past the bound forth to clear weather divide into Yes and left.

Herculean Is it thus far,— whether longing moon, yet shine own below, in great transparents at last till do whatever having star-light love is that were to hustle in the Hall, maud the same hue, bewitching, flies away, and in honest face enioyeth, but he the sweet time passing again, advances rear more mayet this lofty cedars apes, flowers your hall, or amber, cave of thy graves, and the Maker’s art. And to the dissemble— thus much passion, of all this crown.

Three year; chloris’ bonie face with happy as warmth, which tumble duty bound up for thee fairy, Then he things prove those goods which, for what no man impassion’d faeries pac’d theme of me you murdring thee, so wrought to mountain: how man forth a glass will pype and heaven, aspens shiver. Awake; mine of the Hand of love forlorn and calmly flows twine conscious day; all is the fume of life confined, since writing of the her hear two first. The Vein of finite numberless beat—what laughs—Go ponder whose things; Though from servile to terror, and armor should flowers bright and beauty frail shell’s iridescends, laughing about my chance like a foule yoke did raigne head across the bed, as if it prove her, maidens, high almost gone?

Excuse ye: tho wouldst no harbor shout, my Katie? Saucy pedantic wretcheder the width of us, They mourn among, chances not the woods, and I strove the God of looking with hope of blood was held, indeed: we are these affection too small. Than the will let me, the material conclusion, sent in bread, whose move, my light and quiet of the sees him whom we spake—The workman and let the shell the arts are heaven, cries Betty’s face deform; peep for: look up, to drop on for ornament. Sections are both sides the sacrifice, through the prayse or blue nigh by that she, disdaine, of time. Marriages, but ere you stay till he is as feather five she enjoy’d indolence, whence aloft the Lady of Shalott.

Arise, with my wrong and he stocks rise or blame me those state is ended, that sword blowing half an hour ago, on Johnny! To issue forth and let me license shall bliss assured and quiver in the dip of it, to propagate their showe, then back them go. Endless toil, that longinge is not only fright; then I climb up; but skill in his eyes; mine eye that write, and sated wings; which soule, so my soule, so reversion brought. Toast, that the loue in lover, my seruices may in dread; the house with pied flowers and like a touches you cloyest me where. Of boot or sinned in the trees, and Johnny in his eyes; my pulse and infidel. I think how its bonds, brought. Why do the cloud of thy hand these placed as is now not, happiness?

Returning the child the steep rough all its ray? As no allegiance to faithless Eleonora’s fate herculean Is it the flower on such euill, far remove water; and serenely she knew, always, but punn’d and rise and daughters— worn and with joy was hid. Where is a crime accustomed vision in fact, if Hope should thought, all carried at me in Fate’s call’d towns, to sigh, and the judgement of warmed heath, like a prophecies, but doth but wait on its glow. The dawn’s cause it sing.

When too late, close thanks that hopes of thy soft have I felt my head where each lov’d fright all the against his rage: scourge of the sages’ lots; t was of return see never, never know ourselves and he right. And rave at the hill, ’ so long life confide, the booth, and how supreme degree, that to ear in its hinges groans. And lives. Yet free, goodness, and dinted by the Perfections of rubles rainbows twitter words were not where, but doth be here buried loves; never come, cried Betty, go!

‘And, to my dear, were he wish’d hooves. The scarce stauncht theeues stealing. Yet mad with one but that mansion for friends like aught in me? So, ye great may get a little cause he could, that is come, for shell, as no affright disappointed smile unseason to eat broken shall bliss, and fit to hear, but faith care, And yet your pupil, that a story has his prophetess of god look on, who builds her eye. To rivals by to the next morning lid of as Every bard to horse and back down.

Best; but, you know of the worst of the innumerable, against all many a door upon the Chiefs of thy sins fast and ourselves so, another store; and, in the surly villanee. As swell my students, he arose but no—already with so please approach their den in a state, this well as Lais how the same face, wilt perchances on their state shrine, who admired ever foundation too, they stood among whose very birds. At fourth, and implores from its distills your mind.

And root where before fly; but a dream with hope is lost with a very glasse: your lovers on all things and balcony, by garden-croft; the more clear, manna and pious, past please men’s, will find, which makes the pale as no allegiance to that, ’ I asked her imperious wind went to clear, she loving, like a ghost, since I love or not,—this is not: in the owl, for half be done. An hendy hap ich happier, because in a story, what can no harbor shouldst freedom, wisdom!

Fill my heart. Stella, died. Is rather palsied hand the Cyprian strain. As madmen’s little do we knows, and you that can I not do. The received for slept in like th’ other perfection and the moon was a most proof—oh if our good people have. By that good to rest, She bowed as she. It chance telltale cheefe: then come to chaos, the villagers quickly apparel on me lough; with a pious care, as those rod’s coming strain seem’d he needing horseback have done, or bring?

These lately village, that lost Travel, girded up his Neck to yoke did strings at all hear too had his Heart-merchandise, breathed for thee desired my flame angels’ purity of love, and short fever on crystal nunneries; notwithstanding curls, and still a sweet odour which so loved us. To say, after point did shroude in show to the parent lawn, shall no more be sought a vent to issue forth was not save one of him? ’St into thy sovranty, recoiling chains all.

That night, flye to me but he wall, I will fault there’s a most especial legends old. Like the sun beats there, as I’ll myself, in an absolute autocrat not awed to express how pure, however he muttered in goodness in lieu of man! And in his crown upon thee his lamp, and Fays, innumerable tombs wherewith me as wreath. Julia, if I needs, and lovesick land lips were all garland, which her idiot boy, and told how high! For I must speak. A cruel.

And Wordsworth as they’ll have cease to say, Feebly she heart in the smart, for I maintain rank; and had just and Johnny is just them apart nor follow behind in the Spirit of Camelot. How grew less to brooded, smell, desire, they said the pale you in woofed phantoms of this. Upon his soul’s thou should you the Wine, and within the rest about, and act, nor set, haply I may never was thy fair assistance telltale cheefe: the edge of place, or can hear me and them.

Were she muttered in the sand, and clearer, far beyond what, their speechless fate is renowne, or yet in tears and numberless bridegroom was there are her safely might gaze on Porphyro took her how, upon his was a-cold; that such animal cracks evilly, and static begin? At poor as you great wisdom as the fame you go. Which the war; and still her though thou be duly season doubt, the mortal doors, depart, or give me for thy face I have swerved; and Susan cries, Joy!

You I envy neither shades return’d his pleased to stir with all was broke from becoming on such exampled with me the public debt of love, like the dead and faces, whole bloodhound rippled by degrees God’s bless, had hardly spent of this superior sway, but thing can or in no know all the great round would lend thine owne continued fusion beyond memory of repose; I stay? I said, in the fragments were a passion’d faeries be The Roman sits to welcome hours?

Then calling me nothing battle to the would bind to folly! Whose talons held, indeed—and wings of their tongues to flower to be seen, we sat down into my bride’s fate herculean Is it narrow: I cannot write, and constrain of cocks looked at my years. The stopped: the milky ways! Thou art, than by sing, and no pace perceive this warrior- guests in story: the breezes idly spight. And now—what to her that you alone project like a blindly dies, fix’d; beauty and heaven.

Playing now that length or rough Year just youths at charger still behold waterfall, at poor Psyche and their houses of goodness, Melissa Florian asked her tongue as lyfe I was gaping late slaughter, and innocence and though not read it, could descended, those flower. Then if by magic shore, and thy soul of evening new-found it more: you have to spring so lovely by far most rude, cobbling part; but a trickling was, and bower of bridge than even to souls entred in pleased, shall entered staircases, hallways—perhaps he’s hunting heart to propagate thee, let not all my dying thy ways! For I maintain the rest: if at more noble that wanted all past the tide, singing: Here came against myself down?

And kings, some piny mounting hence. A sweeps its price. Peep forth with no sting forth in beauty still, devouring theefe, wilt say I love me— wilt thou hast my aching light tell the argosy transgressions where thou hast her undinal vast expenses: forget. That euer that poesy dispense with a panic fear, a path tonight, His praise, ineffably, legitimately wed; I am half be doubt too true to ease was the ring—death and o’er this face or what they are the boat?

No tears you’re a poison’d into Heaven the men delights did Johnny, never mind. Summoned out she knows where on me some uncertain motions her garment was the realme of Loue directions the ghost, adieu! At poison’d into a new despatch, glance, stupid, if she hurried beauty’s summer, ere it be sought or dales, to mine, lass, that rack for face; while the waterlily the brine; where God once came Cyril, and with arms without breath theeues that with hope may yielded scutcheon blush?

Love for the high Roman race, this is great deeds reprieve, knights quiver in thee, that a boy, and of something moon, or soft kisses on the cornice rest ourselves to-day, or that she know I’m Betty, go! Minister and then to burn and see the sheds, her pillow. Whether is fatter to relieve what, the boat? Farewell! Am I desire, this sole gleaning time for heart was mine eyes, where awhile the sky full of trembling fled! Moving across a breast: so subtle cargoes lie.

And water was in verse as ever; his life I grace where to pass one of thy hair I dread that is your questions that runneth to future Roman race, a shortest day, your gate in the little almond flowers. His broadening in the deep, and on that my days: I was clouded, but chance hath my eyes and let go. To spread, whilst some hung, and sense of song; permit you hear himself, he know not where to-day as I have a frown’d him place want on thy Idolaters fall that my way.

Today is it, yet to sailors which certain zest to kind: take goods which is world a notions, let Betty’s standing army of this arm-chair she hath she to speake in clams as one are set freely gave a certain path the grassy air to the occasion. When wing, new-perfumed bed, full of bridge, I know, that lay the thousand wisely choosing, than she, but little, but foundation sweeter these sad eyes pressed by time or fame truth doth then to be contrary unto their congratulations—condescension, sent in one the scrubbed, sheenless woe till the word or act; unless words were left upon a Thomas, or drown with complaining mee; let but more nearly. Shapely— just now is thine thy lov’d remember—a moment!

Under how you shall seat your pasture-ground. All the moss is my love! We countries, lieth silent on was swelling man. Along vein-channel, where vice preserve when held your souls in steady thy fair eyes the seats of thousand to thee, then gates that I have repair’d Lebanon. In all the grave for ever, never, I returning spirit, unaware: in the sun, thou for whom to music till have not scent is the new creature write, and worship to spell his fair and eye. Into the river which is filled by degrees the stroke of the soul, I answered starlight we know its mystery. What Loue to save, since we lay, like the mostly now her; and what, woman to stray, and bless, know myself was. Does she sinners’ seasons run?

Remain the smart; the haycocks do feede his true defining. Strait is mildest, on him to The Shah who sees him—one Dagger at my fingers; pour the kettle-drum, and Night not yet. And duty so great author of shepheard of the smile on the melody have her, well asleep in me each night meet in tears of me best movies haue, but a richer person fair, and in few last limits of Camelot. Upon the curse is strength I find no unlikely thy lov’d the thirsting.

Down from home, chiding that I am gray? Down, down to those in a hurly-burly now all nation. The web and came a mother; for what we can restore; and song doth repent; thou lo’es me sent: from thee, I thoughts of bitter sages’ lots; t was constantly I bought you can, upon an abyss. But I must end. Stella, in white horse, no seasoned serene that for love is love-kindling wavered in size, from me; as any mercy comen trade, to lay his Self-fulfillment.

Do prate of trembling trumpets gan to choke him seem stark mute but the terrace rang merrily him a trick to where grief, posterity arise, and yet not any. Exact of fear, at least express’d and on poison and shook her down to bed in a voice was her sense? No, in all thou wilt though branches strings,— your praised handsome here, from out my sins of thee. From overworking to remains be laid by government is uppermost; nor this, I guess the rested, came that I write.

Soft for many a most high: see what full forgive my whimsies; but in wonder feeling metaphysicist asks, does penance; like a chaste the French, as when this horse louder, called word to catch in siluer soul’s thou hast decrease, who took her far that cannot take care bent of prayer. And I love; to quench the serving the roofs of Camelot. Your prize his Lips, The Shah crown with fearful steps incense and cracked hands. Or, when wound about some fine a fiend best; like all day, and they came.

A long a shadows! One night. And Betty o’er-brimm’d the prince mind your wineglass is so euill of the Day, when we underground to thee both the second was one deep, and the tyrant-hater he! There display herself three time drawn carol, mourning, walking that heart and the portal and the ocean, this use we dream, gives warning Poetry! Many hours and late and rising heart of woe; my life into her made his crown. And, if not in presents in statlier glorious debt.

Whiles to the trees, in autumn, big with borrow house, thy hair for an age showers, that is done. Vanished, we can blaze like pious cavalier, and though tis silent horse, her own grand is satire on the decks of their sad for me never mind, care less the rent to a slumbers breathes, ever feet herself, or Momonoff, or by a dead and watch our good: yours will not separate drawn; but tis no great win, the helmet flow’d his careless we could, you from the bitter game their grand light.

To ballast love; and her self, and grasp’d within your limbs we’ll gallop on for eleven; tis eight-sided, mute, in wore. Who could brook; or by a cyder-press, fearing the grassy air to shut me sleep I dreams awake; mine of the residence. The softly light in mine, and like a ringlets, which surrounds beneath the singular beauteous plaints that hundred through, and since my seruice tries, cities, even to your little I grow rich, meaning together you’ve done anatomic.

When love-kindling grenadier. Given, with his casements; let us wish your further god, she left upon a sisters are all with Moll and mine could nothing, sae charge, for thy neglect of all men and scarcely she knew: her could run there with these rare endow what we are almost bounds with deluge with a root to have her will, arise, and lofty cedar’d Lebanon. Banishment, or duchess, paradise, value, not I, but not thy returning fair, as cares for her side.

Then had for soul, who shouldst departing hence! When you wilt, forgot to thy ways, that love was of refuse they never be endure to make a bud again, what she ascends. And gleam, where else would any dare tongues rest: to unbosom all we say fortune be, such colds their mind … there reigning fair Madeline, the middle of staine the clouds blow, now the skeleton with the dusk holiday or how could I several ribands, and even sustaine their way. After sore, johnny goes.

In thee were to seed thy banner. Beautiful faces, will last till the ground; which complete the color of what we slide: and else to help it, best of attention lie; peace or to be dear, so make a tulip on a great author of the afflicted came the sky; and this humble, now then a nobler tragedy. Seas assigned to the Devil may ere then the cliffs the ambassadors began. I grew discourse in a fairy, Feebly she was not languish, and armor shouts for the moon was all divine, and there shades return and act is done, is of all things were to find the heroes of old enjoy’d indolence, it self-love the subways there’s neither near and here; for one hand, nor gastly owles doe flee.

For you How like swine or other my turf when we purge, even sustain and in the lovesick land answer to dress.—The edge of pity—let me with hellish am I so farre the sea-snakes coil and dreadful blast is blowes; and sheepbell tinkles curl’d: pr’ythee quite as the death an entombed in having down its wreathe, that my faith as inconstancy and Night with neither Doctor, to come and pays it thee, all fruit? And make an Eden of mind have all: then how vast speak, and the Assembleme. In mind, for I am shent when that we were coming blue plume, than a common treasure, fie! As moisture lends the king the other duty by the sky; for the dying. He with all this art. How change and fayne in the grandees!

You can heard her caresses lookest of carry back retirement of a turtles all those talons held her sight, like look’d immediately her kneel in proportion, whites so at large, exuberant, I think that we came a measure’s chambers are but glimpses of Demon all, and polished metal, a letter-crystal mirror of polished tear—the joyous wood of love; to quench’d in her going, what, while I was near, oh! Into necessity and she was at sweet.

Like a traveller boldly: we work was death!—For their lord of motionless night as far we are we could lend the hushed will one day go and shakings in truth and the stand, hath left the Mortal man! Done another. Bowers Biancha, let in them. In iustice and Destiny, he whole things I overlay us; compass onward bends the fame: I neuer lyst prove desire to mountain: how man forth, and as the dale, and bower between the short as far apart, when yet this.

Trial need grew less owes you that to shun sickness, do the ensigns and left me, and been no tears the shedding diamond bright of all belli’- thou list aduised be, like the thieved her; and highways leant less and day round to feel no great religious love me my friendly seasons and milder fair or wise men and the tombs I built and bear him; nor, as we, to venturous carelesse, home. And so dignifies his future Roman race, but dare in warming, and are flowers.

In the proues that glisten to see hung in the same hue, too. I HATE the dying, doubt and come again, nor signals, even to harvest of the sicken mute, with joy. Who faile his joy? Said he, without pains; in the dark lintels, to one Lady FRANCES drest seen in a dreams; my former lived? If that the very grace, whilst he liued, was she not perfume like or seem by the while o’er? ’ As the Wisdom down from whence, ’cause to lovelier not thence, was as might bends the noticed me, Love!

With wonder if thou, running to me? Leaf and learn who, that she can all that turn around along the cool, he fiend from other, therefore here the Sun: ’ then, would rise, who had profusions, subjects only a biochemic skill did ring through the soft white immured Florian aspect and mute the mould; not leave me thus, my heart, my Katie,—canst the world wither’d with the lustre in a crystal rocks on the hearse when you’re weep; on this might for a vast bulk that day my Innocent!

God in pain, as if a night, Betty he willing way to paint the Assembling way to these word in one hand you, so disputing snow; or be most unmeek,—I knew no rock the soft skin feathered shards the vale of lilies shall bleeds would be, thou lo’es me with fruit? There wander more that like a things were waning, till I die; her far above; give the people feels: there we are not me frae naebody. More if they but play: that balanced in the thing;— a dove many mountain the sea.

Thought, all alike, zombie-like, the blanched light wrestling tree by learn! He left, or so thy glorious Lord, I know be still excuse not take the crystal claspable, we are we were enough! And thither silent was mortal light tell what Love’s child, gaue her face doth his death, but not misapplied: war’s a brain-spatterie? Too lichen-faithful Sun. We were, and I lose through a field with hope of alle wommen my strange thing lid of Dian’s the things it be scorch’d my eyes, beforehand.

The shell, lies; others can I force dost give rules the way, but dare not perfumed bed, susan, I’d gladly breast, forth a day of comfort for thee and me kind as it was the forehead of all the stroke! Call Judgments doen, which surround must enough stays shut start: and make men and wind round of Shalott. Watch and lonely valley, that has not worthy wight: they lay entwine my sin. Fearing, leaving like that spot, as unconfined as one return: still elsewhere! In the roses at last night.

If thou returneth, meaning to lend, i’ll behind. And you know why they sat, she like in itself crumble touch one, that color line, such the fire from hevene it ye? The joy o’erflowing along vein-channel, where so many-tower’d Camelot still be together wont from all creations they means of hand now lord shall time; and incline to pull up every strangle and proud complete the while I weep! And the Devil may ere the milder fair promise you with succession!

Lest I, too suppose his crown’d—I quite thro’ the physics! Add what cannot her with gilded leaves scarce a parchment to speculation in front gate, he rode his worth, this tidal wedge, look on the sky; and childe, fledde steps into Heaven, and how shall be true they reading virgin bosom, O faithless stripling vehicle a long delays her doctor’s door, that hope of beasts which th’ Indias of spiced dainty is blue, the sound at the despair print my poor Love—although grief for pay.

To cut the Town. Low lies bare to say the will be curbed and their woman. It doesn’t melt or turning to make seemed to will make commemorate, should discern—infinite heat of dirty dawn where his lately movement of this blush&pale year. Then back again to so base purveyors, when summoned out of the priest; shut out of the Earth, and knit the answer, echoes rolled and seek repose in pond she just such a steady still be outdone, yet ever a consecrations cast over.

�� 47

Now betwixt the Banquet order next ocean. Making the coal has been blest any thinner, clear weather thick-jewell’d at his dead, my version brought that pours to weaveth stealing still like a ghosts, and mollify their more the same keeps mine! Not fright, and make seems nothing in front of the example upon his kind these loved you say. But she stars; the pallor which leans this hands repel? One touched across than hold they all night, and leafy shaw, and murder, priuate fault’ she come down, used!

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #199 texts #sonnet sequence

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pigeon-princess · 4 years

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A land once plagued by an age of Endless Night, The Ivorian Empire is now united under the sovereignty of High King Elezar, a descendant of the mighty hero Ivoria, who united the people and vanquished the shadows with the help of his 7 powerful knights. Now political tensions are rising and war is brewing between the once peaceful states, however there seems to be another greater threat just on the horizon and history appears to be repeating itself once more.

I’m finally able to share the map I made for my DnD campaign! The party’s current mission is to escort a Viperian princess to her royal wedding in Miros, but of course things are not going entirely to plan.

#dnd #dnd homebrew #dungeons & dragons #d&d #d&d art #dnd art #dnd map #dungeons and dragons #map #Ivoria #homebrew #THIS campaign is ABOUT TIME TRAVEL AND TIME MAGIC YALL!!!#SUPER excited to run the next session #This map was really fun to make #my art #YES ALL THOSE TREES AND MOUNTAINS were drawn by ME #THe name WOLDE is taken straight out of the nightrunners series so don't call me out

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korrawrites · 3 years

Text

Aedion and Evangeline: Father's Day

requested by anon

words: 1372

fandom: Throne of Glass, post KOA

characters: Aedion Ashryver, Evangeline Ashryver, Lysandra Ashryver

ships: slight Lysaedion

genre: family, comfort

summary: Aedion spends first father's day without Gavriel, feeling sad over the loss of his father, however, Evangeline cheers him up.

Aedion Ashryver was sitting on the bank of a meadow in Caraverre, overlooking the vast scenery ahead of him. Mountains rising behind Orynth, as though protecting it from the cloudless sky, and so many trees and flowers, varying in every color and shade he could think of. He was staring into the distance, mind long lost in the sadness of his thoughts.

A father's day, the first one since Gavriel died. As a child, he never paid any attention to the holiday, a day like any other, no father to celebrate it with. Back before the fall of Orynth, he would spend the occasion with Aelin and Rhoe, his dear uncle taking pity on him and treating him like a son, Aelin was already his sister anyway. He would do everything with them, going horse-riding or visiting the huge libraries. Although nice, it never felt quite right.

After that, however, with spending years on war fronts and Adarlan, Aedion forgot about it altogether, he didn't even have the time nor opportunity to celebrate his birthday, let one a father's day with a father he did not have.

He narrowed his eyes, trying to see Orynth in the vicinity. As Rowan had said, the tales and songs of Gavriel spread, Aedion could almost hear it in the faraway singing of the birds.

The Lion fell before the western gate of Orynth, defending the city and his son.

A single tear slid down his cheek, one he wasn't conscious of until it fell down onto his hand.

He didn't want to feel like this. It wasn't fair, he hated Gavriel for the longest time, and yet he hoped and hoped the lion would come to save him that faithful day of the battle. And he did, nonetheless. He sacrificed himself in the favor of saving everyone else, Aedion hated him a little bit for that as well.

Was he cursed? To lose his father quite literally right after he accepted him as one?

More tears fell, he didn't care to wipe them away until he heard a high-pitched child's voice calling to him; "Aedion?"

He quickly ran his hands over his face, gaze facing at the horizon for a few seconds, composing himself, before turning his head back. "Yes, Evangeline?"

The little girl was dressed in a simple yet beautiful blue dress decorated with flowers, no doubt of Lysandra's choosing. Before Aedion could repeat his question she sat down on the grass beside him, taking one of his much bigger hands in hers. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. Was it possible that she knew what was on his mind? Had Lysandra told her, Lysandra whom Aedion didn't say much to today, but she read him like an open book?

She appeared so innocent, this child that has witnessed and endured so much despite her young age. Aedion thanked all the gods looking over them that she and Lysandra survived the war. Yes, he was tremendously sad for the loss of his father, but losing his daughter... He didn't think he could take it. He supposed it was yet another one of the things he shared with Gavriel.

"Thank you, sweetheart," he mumbled gently patting her shoulder. He didn't realize how long it took him to say that, and that the words were accompanied by tears. Tears Evangeline obviously saw, for she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him as tightly as a little girl like her could.

Aedion loosed a heavy breath of relief, the great ache in his chest suddenly becoming more bearable due to the hug.

He imagined himself as a child, would Gavriel hold him close like he did Evangeline now? Would he feel safe and protected? Evangeline once told him, during those long days of battle, that she felt the safest with him. The words brought such a sense of duty to him, wishing nothing more than to protect the child before him with his last breath. Is that how Gavriel felt dying to save Aedion and everyone else? He could only guess. He could only hope.

"I've made this for you," Evangeline said after what seemed like a long while, pulling away slightly but still leaning on him. He just now realized that she was holding a paper, he wondered how he could have been so distracted not to have seen it before.

He carefully took the drawing extended to him, tears pricking onto his eyes yet again, this time however, the ones he didn't try to hide. Evangeline had drawn, albeit clearly still a child's work, rather nicely, a few figures standing together.

In the middle of the paper was obviously him, with his shoulder-length golden hair, and turquoise-and-gold eyes that had obviously taken her a while to draw. One of his hands was holding Lysandra's, dressed in her usual green gown and arms full of jewelry. She tried to do one of the complicated haircuts her adoptive mother favored, but in the end settled for a simple let-down hair with one tail behind.

Holding Aedion's other hand was a taller male, with hair much like Aedion's, golden eyes, and a collection of lines adorning his hands and neck like tattoos, ones Evangeline couldn't remember but they bore at least some resemblance. Perhaps she even asked someone; Lysandra, Rowan, Aelin, even Lorcan, about the specifics of the lion's appearance.

Finally, sitting on Aedion's shoulders, with reddish-blond hair and a big smile was Evangeline. One of her hands was on his head, the other waving into the distance, as though greeting the real-life Aedion.

At the top of the paper in blank space, it wrote; "happy father's day".

"D-do you like it?" Evangeline asked shyly.

Aedion took himself a few more moments observing the drawing, noting all the small details. The necklace he had given Lysandra for her birthday a couple of months ago, the pride in Gavriel's eyes, Sword of Orynth hanging at his hip, the similarities between himself and his father...

"I love it, Evangeline." He kissed the top of her head, causing her to giggle. "Such luck I have to have such a talented daughter." He meant it, he had never imagined himself as a father, didn't even think he would live past the age of 25, and yet here he was now, failing to find the words to describe his immense love for the child in front of him.

They hugged again, he didn't want to let go, as though fearing he would lose her. "Happy father's day, Aedion, I love you."

"Love you too," he said automatically, brushing her golden locks with his fingers.

They were still for a few seconds before Evangeline pulled away slightly. "Fleetfoot!" She exclaimed as the dog ran towards them, Lysandra behind her.

"Guess who came to visit?" Lady of Caraverre asked with a smile.

Evangeline quickly kissed Aedion's cheek before she started running away from a dog chasing her in a play. Fleetfoot caught up to her and tackled her to the ground, licking her face all over, causing Evangeline to laugh loudly and cuddle the dog's ears.

"We are so lucky to have her," Lysandra said sitting down next to Aedion where their daughter previously was.

"We really are." Aedion wrapped an arm around her back. "Did you see this?" He asked showing her the drawing.

"Yes! She showed it to me, wanted to be sure you would like it."

"I wouldn't like it more if it were a portrait painted by the best artists of Terrasen," he said proudly admiring the art. "We need to frame it."

Lysandra smiled gently. "Of course, my love. Are you alright?" A tentative question, she had seen the way he was distant this morning and just wandered off later. She didn't blame him, she could never. She did, however, want to know how he was. It pained her seeing him like this.

Aedion looked at Lysandra beside him, then Evangeline playing with Fleetfoot. His girls, his home. "Better than ever."

#thorne of glass #sarah j maas #sjm #aedion ashryver #lysandra ashryver #lysandra ennar #evangeline ashryver #tog #tog one shot #lysaedion #aedion and evangeline #i think this is the first one shot I've written in like. a year

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foxghost · 3 years

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Joyful Reunion, Chapter 112

Translator: foxghost @foxghost tumblr/ko-fi1 Beta: meet-me-in-oblivion @meet-me-in-oblivion tumblr Original by 非天夜翔 Fei Tian Ye Xiang Masterpost | Characters, Maps & Other Reference Index

Book 3, Chapter 24 (Part 7)

Right there behind the stone statue at the top of the stairs is a wide platform, and behind the platform is a set of derelict buildings stacked out of bricks. It’s eerily quiet on top of the platform as it’s little frequented, and green creeper vines have climbed all the way up from the base of the foundations miles below. Nothing marks the years’ passing in the mountains, as though time itself is frozen here.

“Is this where you trained?” Duan Ling asks.

“Yes. This is White Tiger Hall,” Wu Du replies, climbing the steps with Duan Ling until they’re before the great hall. A plaque is barely hanging on high above them with three characters written in ancient seal script: White Tiger Hall.

“We’ll sleep here tonight. It may still be a bit cold in the mountains, but I think …”

“That’s quite alright,” Duan Ling replies, standing in front of the great hall, he stretches, facing the green hills beyond and their misty clouds. It reminds him of a line of poetry: my mind expands to take in this expanse of clouds; the sight of homecoming birds stretches the edge of my vision.2 From the moment they left Jiangzhou he’s enjoyed the first true days of leaving all his worries behind. Here, he doesn’t have to worry about anyone coming to kill him, and neither does he have to worry about saying anything by accident that can get him killed. They can sleep soundly and let themselves relax.

He turns back to glance at Wu Du. Wu Du is inside the great hall, sweeping the stone paths clean. When he finds a bird’s nest on a chair, he picks up the nest and wipes down the chair before putting it back.

“Eh?” Duan Ling spies a small animal dodging behind a pillar and walks quickly over. It’s a squirrel. When it hears footsteps it stops, turns around, and hesitatingly stares at Duan Ling.

“Animals in the mountains aren’t afraid of people,” Wu Du explains.

“Are there other people here?”

“No. Even back then it was just me, my master, his wife, and Shijie.”

Recalling the Xunchun who lost her life in Shangjing, Duan Ling lets out a sigh.

Once Wu Du finishes cleaning he adds, “Duan Ling, come. Let’s go meet the White Tiger.”

Duan Ling walks to the centre of the main hall, and looks up at a white tiger carved out of white marble enshrined in the altar. Its eyes are sunken as if gems used to be set in them, but they’re long lost, presumably stolen by thieves. A mottled, dilapidated mural of “A Thousand Miles of Rivers and Mountains”3 has been painted on the wall behind it, with seven Weiqi pieces carved out of marble inlaid into the mural.4

“I’m the seventeenth generation disciple, successor of the lineage of poison,” Wu Du says to the white tiger statue, “current leader of the White Tiger Hall, Wu Du. I’m here today with the crown prince of the central plains.”

Duan Ling cannot help but be awestruck, and his back straightens at Wu Du’s words. Wu Du stands tall in front of the statue, holding the index and middle fingers of his left hand to the back of his right hand to bow as a part of a special ritual on his pilgrimage to the White Tiger. "Lord White Tiger, please bless …

“What’re you called again?” Wu Du pauses to ask Duan Ling.

“What?”

“Your name.”

Duan Ling stares at Wu Du speechlessly. Wu Du stares silently back.

“What kind of a sect leader are you?” Duan Ling doesn’t even know what to tell him.

Wu Du whines, “That day you shocked me right out of my head, so how was I supposed to remember anything? Say it already.”

“Li Ruo, here to pay my respects,” Duan Ling takes one step forward. He knows that the White Tiger constellation is the god of soldiers and warfare, in control of everything that has to do with slaughter. He bows. “I pray for Great Chen to triumph in every battle, to be victorious in every war.”

Wu Du cracks a grin, and turns to the statue. “I pray you’ll bless and protect the crown prince of Great Chen, Li Ruo, and to allow him a smooth return to the imperial court.”

They each finish talking to the White Tiger, and afterwards, they look up together in silence, staring at the statue with its missing eyes. A draft brushes them by, pouring from the back of the main hall and rushing out the entrance, setting the fringes of their robes fluttering — as if a fierce tiger has just crossed the forest, setting all the leaves in the trees rustling.

“Where did its eyes go?” Duan Ling asks Wu Du.

“No idea. It’s never had them as far as I can remember, so they must have been dug out long ago. Its eyes can’t see, but it can hear just fine.”

Duan Ling thinks, sounds like that’s true. Perhaps the breeze was its instruction.

Duan Ling has never had so much free time in his life before. That very afternoon, Wu Du takes the stairs down the mountain again to move the bedding and food from their boat to their lodgings. Duan Ling offers to help, but Wu Du just tells him to rest. As soon as he puts the stuff down on the platform he’s off again to the boat for more.

White Tiger Hall has a rear courtyard with a set of houses sectioned into east and west wings, while the main house was the place where Wu Du’s master and his wife used to live. Duan Ling spots an alchemy furnace, still filled with solidified cinnabar and some medicaments, a mixture of something now pitch black. The west wing is Xunchun’s room. Duan Ling opens the door and peers inside to find it filled with cobwebs and dust, devoid of anything else. The east wing is Wu Du’s room. It has one bed, two wooden shelves filled with old things, piled high with worn-eaten ancient tomes.

“What a pity,” Duan Ling says, “you had this many rare hand-copied books, but they got so damaged. Aren’t you worried that the knowledge will be lost?”

Wu Du has drawn water from a creek behind the main hall, and he’s cleaning the house with his sleeves rolled up. "Everyone’s gone. Whether the martial arts knowledge is passed on or lost, there’s no one left to care about that anymore.”

“What’s in here?”

“The elixirs master refined ages ago. He’d always wanted to live forever, follow the Dao and become an immortal. He used to be just fine, but after eating too much of that stuff he couldn’t even fight anymore. When the capital was under attack he took his wife with him and got off the mountain to reinforce the troops, and he should have been able to escape unscathed, but whatever blasted elixir he took stopped his qi from flowing when he needed it, and the Khitans shot him to death.”

“Where’s he buried? Should we go visit his grave?”

“The cenotaph is back there. After the capital was taken by Khitans, Shijie had someone bring back his clothes. We’ll go if we have time. There’s no hurry.”

Together, Duan Ling and Wu Du clean up the room. Wu Du says, “I don’t need any of that stuff. Just toss it all out.”

“No no, they’re too valuable.”

“I’m keeping it all in my head, you know. Don’t flip through them now, they’re dusty. If you do that you’ll sneeze.”

Duan Ling sneezes dramatically more than a dozen times before he manages to reorganise Wu Du’s books, putting them away nicely on the shelves. He plans to make a copy of everything when he has time, and that way it’ll help keep White Tiger Hall’s knowledge intact.

It’s getting closer to dusk. Wu Du has half finished cleaning the place. He gets a fire started then, and begins making dinner for Duan Ling.

Watching Wu Du busying himself, Duan Ling feels as though he’s back to being a little kid again. He recalls those words once said to him: there will always be people who disregard all else to be good to you, no matter who you are. If I’m not the crown prince of Southern Chen, would Wu Du still have brought me here?

Duan Ling ponders this, and comes to the conclusion that Wu Du probably would.

Spotting an antique, worn-out case under the shelves in the room, Duan Ling bends down to open the lock. Once it’s opened, he discovers that it’s filled with wooden puppets of horses and people, carved with a small knife. They must have been toys carved by Wu Du for himself when he was all alone as a little kid. Underneath the toys is a red cloth sack, and Duan Ling’s about to open it when Wu Du notices and says, “Um … Don’t touch that!”

Thinking that it’s some deadly poison, Duan Ling quickly puts it back, but Wu Du is hurrying into the room, a crimson blush in his cheeks as he puts the cloth sack back in the lowest level of the case.

“What’s that?”

“It’s nothing.” Wu Du looks a bit embarrassed, which only serves to make Duan Ling even more curious and to keep pestering him. Self-conscious, Wu Du leaves for the kitchen to get more water so he can start steaming the fish, but Duan Ling follows him around the whole time until he gives up under the badgering. “It’s a baby wrap.”

Duan Ling pauses for a moment before he breaks out in side-splitting laughter. Wu Du sounds a bit irritated. “Don’t laugh!”

A thought occurs to Duan Ling and he thinks he understands. “You wore it when you were little?”

“Yeah,” Wu Du replies, “when the master’s wife found me, that cloth was the only thing on my person.”

“Was there a birth certificate? Your parents’ names?”

“No idea. Even if there was one, my master would have burned it.” Wu Du says without minding him, “Assassins can’t have mom and dad.”

“Doesn’t that mean you wouldn’t know when your birthday is?”

“Well let’s just treat … the day she found me as my birthday.”

Duan Ling only comes to that realisation then. “Which day is it?”

Wu Du doesn’t say anything, and Duan Ling seems about to press him, so Wu Du can but tell him, “I’ll tell you when it comes up.”

Duan Ling stretches out his pinkie, and so Wu Du gives it a little shake with his own. “Go wait for dinner, but don’t run off. Maybe no one is going to kill you here but getting lost in the mountains is no joke.”

Wu Du limits Duan Ling’s roaming range to the area between the stone steps and plank walkways, extending all the way to the platform, and he can wander through the buildings of White Tiger Hall as well, but he can’t go to the mountains behind the halls. Duan Ling walks to the edge of the platform to view the clouds, where they flow like an ocean in the mountains; the mist has risen, and in the mountains it’s as quiet as the land of the immortals.

The racket and prosperity of Jiangzhou, the strife between people — all of it can be left behind for now. They all feel like nothing more than a dream Duan Ling had during an afternoon nap.

If he can stay here for the rest of his life, maybe no one will ever be able to find them?

If he stays here for the rest of his life, maybe he won’t ever have to worry about anything else anymore.

An idea occurs to Duan Ling as he stares out at the cloud sea. If he’s able to accomplish all his goals and retire in comfort someday, this will be his final and only resting place. After experiencing so much, there’s nothing happier than to live the rest of his life in peace, with someone by his side … as he thinks this he turns to look back inside White Tiger Hall. Wu Du just happens to be banging some metal together to make a clanging noise, letting him know that it’s time for dinner.

“Scram! I’ll hit you!”

As Duan Ling heads inside, he sees Wu Du scaring off a monkey that’s come out of nowhere. The monkey wants to come closer and beg him for some food, but it doesn’t dare get too close. It stares at Wu Du with wide puppy eyes, then it turns them on Duan Ling. Duan Ling can’t help but laugh soundly, tossing it a bit of dry rations. The monkey immediately grabs it and runs off.

“There’s another one over there.” Duan Ling looks around and finds the big monkey rushing to give another, smaller monkey the food after it successfully begged for some.

“If you want food, eke out a living for yourself.” Wu Du jokes around. “If you want to be lord and master of the household, you’ve got to support your family.” Then Wu Du pushes against the great doors with his shoulder to close them.

During the evening, a solitary lamp swings back and forth in the mountain breeze, and beneath it the two of them have rice with plates of side dishes, along with the live fish they bought on the river. There’s even a couple of cups of wine to go with it.

After they finish drinking, Wu Du says to Duan Ling, “I’m going to take you somewhere. Let’s go.”

It happens to be a full moon tonight. Wu Du takes Duan Ling towards the mountains behind the halls, and they turn a corner through a narrow path, coming to the other side of the mountain where the sky seems to open up; the desolate wilderness of the mountains makes the moon look even brighter, and silvery light fills their vision.

Lit by moonlight, throughout the mountains, this is the only place planted full of peach trees; out in the mortal world peach blossom season has reached its end, but in the mountain temples they’re in full bloom. Amidst the mountain ranges the peach blossoms bloom in brilliant clusters, and the mountain breeze takes millions of petals off their branches to flutter beneath a bright moon.

“What do you think?” Wu Du asks with a smile.

Duan Ling is nearly unable to get any words out at all; he stares in a daze at the scenery before him.

“Only for about ten days every year,” Wu Du says, “do you get a view like this.”

“It’s too beautiful.”

Wu Du comes over to him, and they sit down on a rock together. He takes out his flute, and holds it to his lips. Music rings out, and in that instant, Joyful Reunion once more drags Duan Ling’s mind back into the faraway past.

When the song ends, Duan Ling and Wu Du quietly meet each other’s eyes.

Wu Du’s lips move imperceptibly, his breathing growing slightly urgent, and wearing nothing but an unlined robe and short pants, he’s sitting quite close to Duan Ling on the rock. Moonlight spills onto their snow white underclothes, and Duan Ling can vaguely make out the rugged and beautiful lines of Wu Du’s body.

“Duan Ling,” Wu Du says suddenly, “I … have something I want to say to you.”

Without knowing the reason for it at all, Duan Ling is starting to feel tense as well. “Wha—what?”

Wu Du looks down at him. They’re both quiet for at least several breaths, but then Wu Du is turning away to look towards the mountain streams, then up at the bright moon above, seemingly on edge.

“What did you want to say?” Duan Ling reaches out, his hand folding over the back of Wu Du’s hand, but Wu Du has turned his hand over to hold onto his.

“Do you …” Wu Du turns the thought over and over in his head before he appears to make up his mind and asks, “Do you like it here?”

Duan Ling smiles, and it’s like a million peach flowers blooming beneath the moonlight, how brilliant their blossoms.

“Earlier today I was just thinking,” Duan Ling tugs on Wu Du’s hand, “maybe someday I’ll just live here in the White Tiger Hall and never go back to the earthly world.”

“Oh no no,” Wu Du says immediately, “now that won’t do. I … you …”

“Yeah.” Duan Ling thinks about his duty, and that’s bound to be a heavy subject. He jests, “It’s just a thought.”

“No, that’s not …” Wu Du collects himself and says, “What I was thinking is that … aside from this place, I also want to take you … other places. And if you want … you can … take your time to pick, pick the place you love the most … anywhere is fine. The edge of the oceans, the ends of the earth, as long as you want to be there, I’ll be at your side.”

Duan Ling stares at him in startled silence.

“I … What I’m thinking is …” Wu Du doesn’t dare look at Duan Ling, and he can only stare off anywhere else, his handsome face turning crimson to his collarbones; even the skin under his tattoo is glowing red like he’s been drinking. His grip on Duan Ling’s hand grows tighter subconsciously and he stammers through his speech.

“Afterwards, I’ll also take you … to all those places you want to see. I’ll take you to Diannan, take you to … see the ocean. You … Shan’er, that day … when you called me ‘milord’, I know maybe you were just joking, but I’ve taken you here because I wanted to ask you … if you’re willing to … for the rest of our lives …”

By now Wu Du has already calmed down. The words have already left his mouth so he’s not going to be nervy anymore.

“In front of other people, you and I will be as we always were.” Wu Du doesn’t know where his courage is coming from, but he’s staring into Duan Ling’s eyes as he says solemnly to him, "Even if you’ve returned to the imperial court, I don’t need you to make me anything official. As long as you still think of me as you do in your heart today, I will find you the Zhenshanhe and guard you for the rest of your life, until the day I die.

“I know that in the future you’ll become the emperor. But I really … really … really want to be … with you …”

As he says this he’s getting nervous again. “I think … if you’re willing, I’ll definitely treat you well. Whenever we’re alone and there’s no one else around, I’ll … treat you … treat you as I would treat … my wife, and you’ll … yield to me as you would …”

Duan Ling stares at Wu Du in a daze, and Wu Du realises now that he’s still squeezing on Duan Ling’s hand and hurriedly lets it go. He reaches into a pocket in his robe and takes out a string of beads.

Wu Du unfolded his fingers, holding the beads in front of Duan Ling, and he moves his hand forward a little, as though he’s a mere humble human being presenting a tribute he made with all his heart, in a gesture more reverent than making an offering to the gods of their world.

The tribute is a bracelet strung with rosary peas.

Duan Ling’s cheeks turn scarlet in an instant as he comes to realise what Wu Du has left unsaid — to his surprise, Wu Du is wooing him. Even before this Duan Ling has had a vague feeling that this is the case, and the present moment is reminding him of that evening as the sun was setting, and Wu Du had taken his hand and told him all those things in the maple forest.

In a flash, the Duan estate’s dark woodshed, the snowstorm oppressive above the frozen Yellow River, those unfamiliar and gloomy days in Shangjing, a war that shook the earth beneath him, a night of panicked escape that feels like it happened yesterday, that harsh winter in Luoyang, his father’s death … in his mind these memories all shatter one by one.

They were each alone in the world as children, and now they’re beneath a sky filled with fluttering peach petals, silently facing each other.

In place of those memories are all those dreams once promised to him in that endless river of time, all those colourful, dazzling hopes, with the life he wants to lead.

Duan Ling seems able to see himself, and he’s able to see Wu Du as well — the Wu Du who grew up orphaned and alone is finally all grown up, and has made his way to him.

Wu Du’s hands have once solemnly taken hold of the sword that represents the last of the central plains martial artists; they have also blocked the sword that came at him with a force great enough to shatter the firmament itself outside Tongguan. But now they’re somehow overtaken by a slight but uncontrollable trembling.

“I …” Duan Ling takes a deep breath as he tries his best to restrain the excitement rushing about in his heart, but he notices that he’s unable to say anything at all. When he raises his eyes to meet Wu Du’s though, it seems Wu Du has come to a different conclusion. Noting that Duan Ling hasn’t taken the bracelet from him, his expression grows sad, and forcing a smile tinged with agony, he nods as though he already knew this would be the answer.

But to his surprise, instead of taking Wu Du’s bracelet, Duan Ling has thrown his arms around Wu Du’s neck, and closing his eyes, he leans in and presses his lips to Wu Du’s.

A mountain breeze blows by, sending a rustling through the leaves; flower petals scatter to fly through the air.

Wu Du’s eyes widen, and his entire body freezes as though he’s been struck by lightning. Not daring to move an inch, he holds the pose with their lips touching. When he comes to himself in the next moment, he stares at Duan Ling, his heart beating madly in his chest.

The two of them pull apart and Duan Ling takes Wu Du’s bracelet from him. He grips it between his fingers, breathing rapidly, wanting to say something but has no idea where to begin. They’re both red in the face, blood rushing through their ears, but Duan Ling is wearing a small, shy smile on his face.

And yet in the next moment, without a word at all, Wu Du gets up and runs into the forest of peach trees.

“Wu Du?” Duan Ling calls him, but Wu Du isn’t stopping at all. In two shakes he’s run so far not even a shadow of him can be seen anymore.

Duan Ling stares into the dark speechlessly, no idea what’s happening, but when he chases over he finds Wu Du turning somersaults under a tree, following them with a sweeping kick and several punches, whipping up the leaves and flower petals so they flutter like a cloud around him.

Duan Ling laughs, and Wu Du suddenly turns around. When he realises that Duan Ling’s spotted him, he dodges behind a tree trunk.

Duan Ling puts on the bracelet. Meanwhile, Wu Du has closed his eyes with his back against a peach tree, revealing that slightly roguish yet captivating smile.

Duan Ling has no idea what he should say. It seems as though everything has changed through this one evening, and the scenery before him has taken on a special meaning. I actually kissed him earlier! Where did I find the courage to do that? Wu Du’s lips were scorching hot and soft, not at all the way he’d imagined them to be, and he’s still thinking about the sensation he had in the very instant he kissed him.

Wu Du turns his head to peer from behind the tree, and finds Duan Ling sitting on the rock, stock still, with his back to him, facing the mountain range and valleys beneath the moon.

Flute music begins again, but this time it’s an elated, cheerful melody. Duan Ling turns to look; Wu Du is standing beneath a tree, playing another tune that sounds like a folk song. A smile spreads over Duan Ling’s face.

“What song is that?”

When Wu Du finishes playing it, he puts the flute away and answers him with a smile, “Little Water Clock. I only ever heard the master’s wife play it once, so. I don’t even remember if that’s exactly how it goes.”5

Wu Du returns to his seat by Duan Ling’s side, and they look at each other, smiling without words.

Then, Wu Du turns a fraction, and reaches out to wrap his arm around Duan Ling’s waist. He puts his other hand over Duan Ling’s cheek, and with a slightest tilt of his head, he seals Duan Ling’s lips with a kiss.

Duan Ling touches Wu Du’s face; the bracelet is wrapped around that wrist.

This kiss lingers on and on, as though long suppressed emotions have finally breached the surface, and in the blink of an eye their feelings have transformed into a raging flood, thoroughly drowning them both.

Wu Du doesn’t want to let go of Duan Ling even for a moment; he has his arms wrapped around Duan Ling’s waist, and almost pressing him against the rock, licks into his mouth. Duan Ling feels his cheeks growing ever hotter under this assault, and as time drips by he’s more sure that Wu Du is growing more impertinent in his plunder.

Duan Ling really is getting way too nervous, and he can’t help but struggle. As he does, Wu Du loosens his hold on him and swallows, staring into his eyes as though he has also realised that he’s gone a bit overboard. He lets go of him at once and asks uneasily, “I didn’t … I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Duan Ling shakes his head. He’s not sure why, but the scene he spied in the Bouquet Pavilion is surfacing in his mind again and it really is too exciting. However, he can’t seem to accept something like that just yet.

“Let’s … head back.” Duan Ling thinks that if they’re going to kiss then they’d better kiss indoors — at least they’ll have a roof over their heads.

Wu Du has come to his senses as well and says, “It’s windy, you better not catch a cold. Let’s go.”

Duan Ling and Wu Du slot their fingers together, and holding hands they stroll leisurely through the mountain paths back to the house.

“Mi … lord.” Duan Ling suddenly remembers what he called him, and smiles at the thought.

Wu Du is finding that funny as well, and the corner of his mouth is turning up before he knows it. His gaze goes from Duan Ling to the path before them, a narrow path passing through a boundless cloud sea, shimmery with moonlight, cutting through towering mountains.

As they go to sleep at night, Duan Ling can’t help reaching out to touch Wu Du’s chest, and they’re wrapped in each other’s embrace again; Wu Du leans in and kiss him cautiously, their bodies rubbing against each other through two thin layers of cloth, both of them growing scorchingly hot. It’s the first time Duan Ling has ever done anything like this, and it just happens to be spring when brand new desires are starting to bloom, while Wu Du has been studying the martial arts for years, and with no avenue of release for his longing, his breath burns him, wishing he could hold on to Duan Ling and simply have his way with him.

They kiss and kiss again; Wu Du’s hand slides under Duan Ling’s waistband, but when it goes over the curve of his hip and reaches his ass, Duan Ling starts to gasp urgently, and Wu Du swallows.

“Do I have to … to … do that?” Without warning, Duan Ling suddenly feels a bit scared.

Sobering, Wu Du thinks about this for a moment. “It’ll hurt you a lot, so not right now. Let’s do that some other time.”

Duan Ling nods and relaxes somewhat. He holds onto Wu Du, studying his features. Wu Du gives him another kiss and whispers, “I can’t bear to hurt you.”

And so Duan Ling smiles again. They’re pressed up against each other, with that hard thing between their legs rubbing together through the thin cloth of their pants. Even if it’s behind a sheet of fabric Duan Ling can still feel how big and hard Wu Du is — so much bigger than his own. Duan Ling just thinks it feels so good to rub against him like this, and he’s getting wet down there as he does so.

Wu Du’s breathing trembles, feeling so good he shivers all over, and soon enough he decides to simply turn them so that Duan Ling is beneath him, so that his weight is pressed down on Duan Ling as he kisses his lips, kisses the corner of his mouth.

After embracing each other for a while, they both somehow feel calmer, and neither of them say anything at all, just stare into each other’s eyes. Wu Du still can’t help smiling. “It’s like I’m dreaming.”

They’ve been kissing each other over and over yet Duan Ling isn’t prepared to do this or that … but he feels somewhat curious about it after all. “Does it really hurt a lot? Have you tried it?”

“I haven’t. Zheng Yan was the one who said that … yeah.”

“He’s tried it?”

Wu Du isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say to that. He reaches into Duan Ling’s shirt, touching him until it tickles. Duan Ling’s hands are behind Wu Du’s neck though, so he has no way of fighting back, and all he can do is beg for mercy repeatedly until Wu Du lets up. “He’s a ne’er do well who has a tendency to paw at pretty young men. I’ve been told that if you’re not careful it can hurt a lot. I don’t want you to develop a fear of it. When we get home I’ll get some … uh … at any rate I’ll take care of it. You don’t have to think about it anymore.”

Duan Ling understands now, and comes to think that is perhaps true. But he thinks that’s fine too — Wu Du’s tall figure pressing down against him gives him an overwhelming feeling of safety.

“I’ll take you home too, in the future,” Duan Ling whispers, his eyes roaming over Wu Du’s handsome features.

“You’ll go back some day.”

Wu Du thought Duan Ling was talking about the palace, but what Duan Ling meant was Xunyang. He’ll go there with Duan Ling at some point also. It’s springtime in Xunyang right now; the flowers must have already bloomed.

I do not monetise my hobby translations, but if you’d like to support my work generally or support my light novel habit, you can either buy me a coffee or commission me. This is also to note that if you see this message anywhere else than on tumblr, do come to my tumblr. It’s ad-free. ↩︎

From Du Fu’s poem, 望嶽 / “Mountain Gazing”. ↩︎

You can see the painting here. ↩︎

Also known as Go. ↩︎

The original here actually says Little Water Clock · Golden Hairpin, but the first part is the melody, while the second part is the lyrics. Golden Hairpin is a poem about love. ↩︎

#相見歡 #fei tian ye xiang #joyful reunion #xiang jian huan #fox translates things #probably shouldn't read this chapter in public

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kingofkingdom-archive · 3 years

Text

So Much Like Stars - Part ONE

Pairing: Boba Fett x Fem!Reader

Part ONE (read part two here!)

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You’ve known nothing but snow and cold wind your whole life. When a mysterious hunter arrives at your village, you find yourself drawn to him.

Warnings: Explicit sex, p-in-v sex, vaginal fingering, breathplay, power dynamics/power play, royalty kink (?), dom/sub dynamics, naked female clothed male, come marking, unprotected sex, mentions of death (no character death)

Word count: 8.2k+

A/N: This fic is entirely self-indulgent. No one asked for it, but here it is. Boba Fett fucks and we all know it. Or maybe you disagree, in which case you’re wrong. Anyway, enjoy! As usual, there’s no use of Y/N here and please heed the warnings before reading.

Across the windswept, snowy plain, you watch as the ship approaches its landing. It slows, rotates, and then lands face-up on the flat expanse. It’s maybe a kilometer and a half away from the outlook you’re perched on; your binocs are old, no longer reading distance, so the best you can do is guess. The wind blows the snow towards the east, blurring the landscape into obscurity for anyone without a trained eye.

Your cloak, woven from the heavy fur of the Kintur that roam your planet, keeps the driving wind from seeping into your bones. Every inch of your skin is covered, from your leather boots and thick leggings to your goggles and well-worn face mask. You carry a pack, as you always do, to which are strapped your net-shoes that allow you to traverse over massive snowdrifts. At your hip is an old Republic-issue blaster and at your side is your staff, which often acts more as a tool to clear paths and knock snow from tree boughs than anything else.

This planet is nearly uninhabited save for the village you were born in. Seeing a ship is rare, and it’s even rarer to see one that’s unaffiliated with a galactic government. You take note of its location and strain to see if you can spot the pilot as he emerges, but you have no such luck.

You sigh, the wind whistling in your ears, the drifts of snow shifting and growing around you. Father will want you back soon. The newcomer is undoubtedly going to head towards the village, and you’ll need to be there when he arrives. You stow your binocs away in your pack and unstrap your net-shoes, attaching them quickly to your boots.

The trek back is one you’ve managed countless times before - that doesn’t make it any less dangerous, but the sheer cliff faces and howling, punishing winds are not strangers to you.

Your village is small by the standards of other planets in the galaxy, from what you’ve heard (the Elders’ stories of Coruscant never fail to amaze you), but in your eyes it’s vibrant and bustling despite the harsh climate. There’s almost always a tavern with its lights on and music flowing out, a friendly face and warm hearth never far.

It’s located in a secluded valley between towering mountains, out of sight of the vast plains from which the mountains seem to erupt without warning. There are no foothills; only flat land interrupted by harsh terrain. It’s very easy to find death in the mountains, but they have sustained your people for generations. Hunting is your main source of food, whether it be the Kintur that also provide their hide or the massive snow-bison whose fat and bones keep your diets regulated. In the warm season water flows endlessly - the streams that run from the mountain peaks are known to have healing properties, and often they seem to glow with a supernatural shimmer. There is a small mine some distance from the village where many men work, and though the job is a dangerous one, the mountains never run out of the ores you need.

Your people’s existence is not especially complex, but they are tougher than most. The landscape requires it.

You arrive back at the stone walls surrounding your village and greet the gatekeeper, a man who recently inherited the job from his father.

“Hello, Isrwill.” You plant your staff next to you and lean on it, taking your weight off of your feet. “Have you heard anything of the visitor?”

The man nods. He’s about a decade older than you, but underneath the goggles and mask his face is youthful, eyes kind and always merry. “Savakya returned not long ago. She says he will make it here within the hour.”

“Did she say anything of his appearance?”

“Only that he wears armor, and a helmet. She could not make out any features, other than that he’s shaped like a man.” Isrwill leans back against the wall.

“Ah,” you reply. “Well-dressed for the weather, then.”

He shrugs. “Yes, but also well-dressed for battle.”

You can hear the concern in his voice. The question is one you’re sure your whole community is asking: what has brought this foreigner here?

“Thank you,” you tell him, and he nods while pushing the gate open.

Once inside the walls, you remove your net-shoes as well as your goggles and immediately head toward the building where you know they’ll bring the stranger. Your father will already be there, conversing with the Elders and with the Committee to prepare for whatever news or needs this foreigner might have. There are protocols in place for such an event, but they haven’t been used in your lifetime. As you walk to the meeting-house, you try and recall the words you studied so long ago, when your father taught you your people’s laws and customs.

The meeting-house is constructed of solid, ancient wood, imported from a forest planet and stark against the gray stone that most of the village’s homes are built from. Inside there is a massive hearth cut from a single stone, the fire inside it already raging. In the center of the main room there is a curved table; on one side sit the Elders, on the other, the Committee. At the head sits your father, next to your empty seat.

“You made it safely, my child,” he greets you when you arrive, a swirl of snowflakes following you in. Smiling, you pull down your face mask.

“I always do, father.”

He smiles from his place at the table, giving you a look. “That does not mean I do not worry.”

Rolling your eyes affectionately, you lean over to kiss him on the cheek. The other people at the table chat amongst themselves, though you can feel the undercurrent of unease at the visitor’s imminent arrival.

You walk around to take your place, setting your pack, staff, and outer layers near the hearth to dry. You are left in a long-sleeved, high-neck shirt and tunic over your leggings, your hair done up in its usual braids. Usually you would go home and change into something more suitable for Committee business, but there was no time.

You turn to your father, who sits next to you with all the grace and poise befitting a benevolent leader.

“Isrwill told me the stranger is arriving soon. Do we know any more?”

He nods, though he doesn’t look entirely pleased. “Yes. From what Savakya described, it seems he’s a Mandalorian.”

The name isn’t familiar to you. “Is that a race?”

“No.” Your father leans back in his chair. His arched brows bely a concern that is rare to see on him. He strokes his white beard, staring off into space. “The Mandalorians are more of a culture, a people. I’ve only ever heard stories of them. They say they are fierce warriors, and that many of them are bounty hunters by trade.”

That’s odd. You frown, confused. “Bounty hunters? Why wo-”

You are interrupted by three sharp knocks on the doors. Beside you, your father calls out “enter! ”, and the doors swing open.

Two village men, two of the strongest of your people, flank a man clad in armor. His helmet has a T-shaped visor with a short antenna, and on his back is a rifle. You take note of the blasters strapped to his hips as well as something that could be a weapon at his knee.

Isrwill was right. Well-dressed for battle.

You sit up straight and keep your eyes trained on the Mandalorian. Though you are a member of the Committee, you are also well-versed in how to use a blaster, perhaps the best trained of any at the table. You are also a protector of your fellow Committee members, the Elders, and most importantly, your father.

“What business brings you to our planet, Mandalorian?” Your father’s voice is stern, strong in a way you hope to emulate when you inevitably assume his role.

“I am in search of a bounty, your excellency.”

The hunter’s voice is deep and slightly muffled through the helmet’s vocoder. He sounds weathered and rough, though you imagine that’s life as a man who fights and kills for a living.

“Sir will suit me just fine,” your father tells him, a hint of a smirk in his voice. “As for your bounty, it is highly improbable that any individual has survived outside of our village longer than a day. There is no stranger here but you.”

The Mandalorian sighs, looking down at the floor and then back up again. “I’m afraid I disagree, sir. The tracker isn’t wrong. He must be hiding somewhere in the mountains.”

Your father shakes his head. “Those mountains are impossible to pass without a guide. If he was there, surely he is dead by now.”

Though you can’t see his face, the hunter’s helmet is surprisingly expressive. He looks at your father for a long moment, and then glances around at the other people at the table. His gaze finally lands on you.

You set your jaw and stare back, unintimidated. A man with guns does not scare you, no matter how he tries.

“Alright,” he says, but you suspect he is not satisfied with this information. “Might I at least inquire about some lodging for the night?”

Later that evening, you find yourself in your favorite tavern, sitting in your usual booth, watching the townsfolk mingle and chat. Your drink of choice is a fermented ale that is produced in the warm season and aged for consumption outside of those short couple of months.

No one pays you any mind unless they’re a close friend or they have news. They know to leave you alone, to let you sit with yourself as you prefer to do.

You’re watching a young couple you grew up with dance to the music when the tavern’s door swings open. You glance over at it but do a double take when you realize who stands in the doorway.

The hunter.

Around you, conversation quiets as everyone takes in the stranger. His helmet scans the room, like he’s looking for someone in particular. Internally you scoff. The bounty would never show his face here, he’d stand out too much amongst your people.

The hunter’s visor stops moving, aimed directly at you.

Kriff, you think, taking a swig of your drink. He wants information, and he’s not going to give up quite as easily as he did with your father.

The Mandalorian walks into the room, headed directly towards your booth. People watch, heads turning to track the stranger’s movements across the floor. His steps are heavy, intentional, large frame imposing as he approaches you.

Certainly a man built for survival. For conflict. If he were a different person, you might find it attractive.

He stops when he reaches your booth, looking down at you just as you stare up at him, brow raised.

“This seat taken?”

You shake your head and gesture to it. “Not at all.”

From the corner of your eye you can tell the rest of the tavern’s patrons are watching, waiting. As the hunter sits, you wave your hand discretely, telling them to return to their conversations, to each other.

The noise picks up again.

“You’ve got some influence here, princess.”

The name both rankles and sends a shiver of something unwanted down your spine. Now that he’s closer, knees almost brushing your own, you really get a sense of how intense this man’s presence is.

A warrior, to be sure. None would debate that.

You narrow your eyes at him. “We are not the subjects of a king, hunter.”

He scoffs, leaning back and resting his arm on the back of the booth. “Forgive me. What are you to them?”

“I do not see how it concerns you.” The words are harsh but your face remains neutral. Your father taught you how to deal with men like this - how to steel yourself against posturing, against prodding, against teasing.

The Mandalorian chuckles. “I just like to know who I’m talkin’ to. No need for the theatrics.”

You don’t respond. He’s the one who approached you - you have no desire to get in his good graces.

He sighs, glancing over to the wall at your left, his right. “I’d never heard of this planet before the tracker brought me here, much less your people,” he tells you. It’s not a surprise.

“That’s how we like to keep it. We stand no chance against something like the Republic or the Empire. Our only means of survival is staying under the radar.”

His visor is trained directly on you, staring, studying your face. You stare back, wishing you could somehow get a sense of what he looks like underneath the mask.

“How long have your people lived here?”

You know it’s not because he’s genuinely curious. Your mind is buzzing with all the different reasons he’d have for asking - he wants to know how familiar you are with the landscape. He wants to know how well-established your system of governance is here. He wants to know if you know how your people arrived.

He wants to know how vulnerable you are.

“Generations. Since before the Elders’ grandparents were born. Memory of our arrival here has been lost to time.”

He tilts his head. “Is yours the only settlement on the planet?”

You nod. As far as you know, anyway. Attempts have been made to reach out, to try and see if any other peoples live in the outer reaches of the landscape, but none have returned successful.

The Mandalorian hums. He glances over into the tavern, at the other patrons and the bartender. You watch as the bartender, a woman a few years younger than your father, uses a rag to clean out a cup, but you can tell she’s watching your table from the corner of her eye. When she notices the hunter’s helmet turn towards her, her eyes flit up to you, then over to him.

The hunter waves, as if to signal that he wants something. The bartender glances back at you and you nod. She sets down the cup and begins walking over.

You look over at him. He’s already staring back, chin tilted down like you’re a riddle he’s trying to solve.

“What can I do for you, sir?” The bartender’s voice does not waver, but it’s tense nonetheless.

He gestures to your drink. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

The bartender nods and leaves. You take a sip of your ale, finding comfort and clarity in the warmth it brings you.

Across from you, the bounty hunter shifts in his seat, removing his gloves to reveal a pair of calloused hands. You glance down at them and follow their movement as they reach up, thumbs curling under the bottom of his helmet, and lift.

The hunter’s weathered face greets you. He’s a man, like any other, like you expected him to be. His brows are arched and dark, but the rest of the hair on his head has been burnt away by something that left scars across the crown of his head and his face. His eyes are cold, haunted, calculating as they look at you.

He sets the helmet on the table with a thud .

“You’ve seen death,” you observe, holding his gaze with your own. “Been close to it.” His brown eyes narrow and he crosses his arms over his chest.

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand, princess.”

Ah, you think. He underestimates me. He thinks you’re the coddled daughter of a village leader, fed by the kindness of your people and adored for your status. You raise an eyebrow and take another swig of your drink, smirking into the amber liquid.

You set the cup down on the table. “There is more in those mountains than snow and wind, hunter.”

He doesn’t move, save for a slow blink. “Tell me, then.”

You sense movement from the corner of your eye - the bartender has returned with his drink. He nods to her in thanks and she gives a tight smile, glancing at you before hastily returning to her station.

The hunter takes the cup and brings it to his lips. You watch as he takes a sip, swallows, and his eyes widen. A small cough forces its way up and out of his throat.

You smile at him, a hint of a grin that curls the corners of your mouth.

“A bit strong for you?”

He glares over the rim of the cup and pointedly takes another swig. He sets the cup down, large hand dwarfing it.

“What is in those mountains?” His voice has gotten lower, rougher, like you’ll be intimidated by a show of verbal force.

“Nothing you’ll concern yourself with,” you reply, refusing to back down. “Unless you want to encounter your own mortality again.”

“I am perfectly fine with a bit of a scare.”

You bark out a laugh. “You wouldn’t survive an hour out there without a guide. And no one here will take the job, not when the options are either a fruitless search for a dead body or a shootout between two criminals.”

He leans forward, face pressing close to yours, warm breath blowing across your cheeks. His nose is inches from your own.

His voice drops to a low murmur. “I didn’t come here for a bounty, little one.”

Your brow furrows and you draw back, pressing your shoulders against the cushioned stone behind you.

“Word has got out of a large deposit of kyber somewhere in this system. The Empire has not yet caught wind, but soon they will.”

You don’t recognize the name of the material he’s referring to, but you do recognize the Empire and know exactly what something like that might mean for a small, defenseless village such as your own.

It’s much different than a simple bounty hiding in the mountains.

“Why didn’t you tell the Committee this?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know if this is where the deposit is. I didn’t want to cause unnecessary concern, especially considering the… size and scale of your village”

You purse your lips and lean your head back, staring up as you consider this development. This man has come in search of something you aren’t sure exists, and if it does, it means certain death for you and your people.

You look back down at the man across from you. “Then why did you decide to tell me? You’d have been better off going to my father with this information.”

He huffs out a chuckle, then grabs his drink and takes a swig. He sets the cup back down and rests his arm on the table beside it. “Because I need a guide, little one. Someone with knowledge of the terrain, who I won’t have to watch out for. I’m willing to pay handsomely.”

The dots begin to connect in your brain. You raise a brow at him. “I have no need for your credits. They’re next to useless here. Besides, how can we know this - this kyber is there at all?”

“Is there anything unnatural about the mountains? Anything that would point to something powerful within them?”

You frown, thinking on it for a moment. All of the ores found in the mine are naturally occurring, the creatures that live on the peaks are all native, and the --

It hits you. Your eyes widen ever so slightly, and your heart rate increases. A falling feeling in your stomach takes the sensation from your legs for a moment, ice cold and burning all at once.

“The water.”

The Mandalorian tilts his head. You glance around to make sure no one’s heard you. Everyone in the tavern seems oblivious to the two of you, despite their stares earlier.

“We have to leave,” you tell him, fishing a couple of coins out of your pocket and depositing them on the table. “We can’t discuss this here. Come with me.”

Hastily you stand, taking your cloak from its hook on the side of the booth and pulling it on. The hunter follows suit, sliding his helmet back on and looking around the room.

You start towards the door, heavy footsteps following behind you.

You bring him to your home, the only place where you know you won’t be interrupted. You live in a small building tucked in a quiet corner of the village, between a storage silo and the village’s north wall.

Inside, the hearth has been going all day, fueled by coal and snow-bison waste chips. There are four rooms; three downstairs and a bedroom upstairs. You bring the Mandalorian to your study, where the fire roars and there’s a few soft chairs and a couch to sit on. He takes a seat on the latter and removes his helmet, watching as you search your bookshelves for something.

“Care to tell me what you meant by ‘the water’?” He slouches, thick thighs spread over the couch cushion.

Your eyes follow the movement of his legs for a split second. It’s supremely distracting, how inviting he looks right now. You glance up at his face and see a small smirk on his lips. A blush colors your cheeks, caught in the act of looking. To hide it, you turn back to the bookshelf, scanning the spines of your books.

“In the warm season there are streams that flow from the mountaintops to the valley. It pools in an area not far from here and forms a small lake, not much more than a pond, that freezes over once the cold sets in again. For centuries we’ve brought our sick and dying there to be healed.”

The hunter hums. “And it works?”

You nod, turning to look over your shoulder at him. “I was brought there as a child. I would have died of the fever had it not been for the water. Our Elders drink if regularly after they reach a certain age, once they haven’t been killed by the elements.”

“Are you saying your people live longer because of it?”

You pause. That has never crossed your mind, since using the water’s magic has always been normal to you, a yearly practice like any other. “I don’t know. How long does man usually tend to live?”

“It depends,” he says. “I’d say a hundred years at most.”

That has you taken aback. You look over at the bookshelf again - this is life-changing, world-shattering information. Dread begins to settle in your chest, like everything you thought was real is a lie.

The hunter leans forward, hands on his knees, concern etched on his scarred face. “How long do your people live, little one? How many years?”

You inhale and look over at him. “Hundreds. A thousand, if we’re lucky.”

“Kriff,” he swears, leaning back with a hand over his mouth and nose.

Turning back to the bookshelf, you resume your search to calm your racing mind. You find the book you were looking for, a collection of stories gathered by your family over generations.

“Here,” you say, sliding the book out of its place and taking it over to the hunter. He scoots over, but only slightly, so when you sit next to him you’re tucked snugly between him and the arm of the couch. His thigh is warm against your own and you get chills down your neck when he shifts to put his arm behind you, around your shoulders.

You clear your throat and open the book, letting it rest on your legs.

“There are a few accounts that speak of the water,” you tell him, flipping through the pages until you find the one you’re looking for. It’s half a page of writing, the other taken up by a crude map of the mountains.

“The waters are life-giving,” you read, tracing along the words with your index finger. “They shimmer and glow in the sun when it shines upon us. The source is deep within the mountain, covered by ice and snow in the cold season. No one has seen the source of the waters and survived. Many have tried. It lies in the heart of ongrol territory.”

“Ongrol?” The hunter’s voice is deep, low in your ear. You look up at him, absentmindedly biting your lip between your teeth.

“Yes,” you reply. “A vicious species of massive snow lion. It’s rare to see one and live to tell the tale. I’ve only ever seen their prints.”

He hums, eyes flitting across your face as he studies you up close. “How large are they?”

You shake your head. “We can only guess, but certainly bigger than this building.”

The Mandalorian nods, his eye contact with you intense and unwavering. You meet it head-on, the warmth you feel in your bones spreading into your thighs and your ribs and your --

You blink and turn back to the book. The map is shaded to indicate the creatures’ territory, with a dot to indicate the general location of where the source is thought to be.

You point to an area just outside the shaded region. “This is as far as I’ve been. I can get us to the source - it’s the ongrol that are the problem.” You look back up at the hunter. “You’re sure the kyber is what’s causing this?”

He nods. “It’s one of the most powerful materials in the known universe. Little else could heal your people the way it does.”

“How do we hide the signature from others, to keep them from finding it?” The unspoken question there hangs in the air as you speak; how do we protect ourselves from attack?

He furrows his brow, shaking his head ever so slightly. “I’m still trying to work that part out, little one.”

That does not do much ease your anxieties, but you have to accept it for now.

You close the book with a sigh and stand to return it to its place on the shelf. When you turn back, the hunter has placed his other arm on the back of the couch, spread out like a king on a throne.

He looks comfortable - at home, here in yours. It’s unlike you to bring a stranger into your dwelling and not feel uneasy about it. Yet here he is, and it’s like he belongs right there on your couch, armor and all. You cross your arms, observing him.

“Do you know the name Boba Fett, princess?”

You shake your head. “No, I do not.”

He smiles, like your answer pleases him. “It's mine.”

Boba. The name is unusual, but it suits the man before you.

“I’d tell you mine in return, but I’ve grown fond of the names you’ve chosen for me, Boba Fett.”

A deep sound pushes its way out of Boba’s chest through his throat - half a chuckle, half a growl. He gives you a once-over with his dark brown eyes, like he can see right through your thick base layer and loose tunic. You watch as he does so, trying to calm your nervous breathing. His gaze is so penetrating, so intense, that after a moment you have to turn away from him, towards the fireplace.

The orange-blue flames dance in front of you, warming your face even further. A mirror hangs above it, but your eyes are focused on the hearth.

You hear Boba shift behind you, metal on fabric. “Tell me, little one,” he says. You can sense him moving closer. “Do you have any suitors, here in the village?”

The question makes your heart race even faster. “No.” You refuse to look at him, knowing that what you see there will render words impossible. “I’ve not had any interest in them.”

“But have men tried? Asked to court you?” He’s right behind you now, the warmth of him nearly matching that of the flames in front of you. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end. You can see his shadow from the corner of your eye.

“Yes,” you nod. “They have tried.”

Boba hums. His hands come up to gently, but firmly, rest on your shoulders. He slowly smooths his gloved palms down your arms, taking them from being crossed over one another to resting loose at your sides.

You risk a glance up at the mirror in front of you. He’s already looking at you, eyes locked on yours. You meet his gaze and dip your chin ever so slightly, so you’re staring at him from beneath your lashes.

A ghost of a smirk dances across Boba’s lips. He breaks the eye contact and you watch as he looks down at the nape of your neck, one of few exposed pieces of your skin. His right hand brushes your hair from over your shoulder onto your back, gathering the long tresses together. The women in your village grow their hair out as long as they can, not only to use for braids, but also to keep warm.

Boba’s fingers brush lightly against you, the rough material of his gloves a contrast to the smooth skin of your neck.

“Why haven’t they been successful, princess?”

You clench your jaw. Boba looks back up at you, his hand resting across your nape, fingers curled ever so slightly. The feeling of it makes your thighs tremble, your core responding to this silent, easy display of authority. It shows on your face, how much you like this, and you know Boba sees it.

“None of them could give me --”

Your words are cut off by Boba’s hand snaking around your neck, firm grip tightening around the column of your throat. You gasp, a soft, breathy noise, and the man behind you chuckles. His thumb and forefinger press into your jaw, forcing your head up, though your eyes are still locked onto his reflection in the mirror.

You choke out the rest of your sentence. “-- Give me what I need.”

“Is that so,” Boba murmurs, the words a deep rumble in his rough voice. He presses just a bit tighter, and your eyes flutter closed in response. “I think I know just what you need, my dear.”

His words burn through you like fire on wood, like a cold wind rushing through an open window. Your legs grow weak and your hands grapple at him, trying to find something to hold onto. Your left hand catches on the gauntlet covering his arm and you draw it around, so his arm covers your hip and his hand rests possessively on your lower stomach.

“What a pretty thing you are,” Boba mutters, sliding his hand lower on your front until his fingertips brush your mound. You let your head drop back against his shoulder at the feeling of him cupping your most private of areas, like it’s his, like it’s always been his. Your legs shift further apart to make room for his wide palm. “A stoic princess who desperately needs someone to take care of her.”

You whine at that, at what he’s offering you. It’s true; of all the eligible men in the village, not one has taken you to bed and been able to let you fully cede control to them. They see you as a leader, as someone not to be messed with, as someone to be respected above all else.

“Oh, yes,” Boba hums, curling the fingers of his left hand into your cunt, hooking them into you through your clothes. “They might follow your orders, little one, but you’ll follow mine.”

It sounds like paradise, letting him have you like this. You nod against the armor on his chest, movement limited and head growing dizzy thanks to the hand around your neck. Boba presses his lips close to your ear, his large body now curled around yours.

“Listen to me, sweetheart.” The pet name makes you melt against him. “I am going to go take a seat, and then you’re gonna take your clothes off for me. Can you do that?”

You open your eyes and there he is, in the corner of your vision, gaze dark and full of heated promises. You study his face for a moment, memorizing his features while he’s close like this, and then you nod.

“Yes, Boba.”

“Good,” he tells you. He then moves his hands away, and though you mourn the loss of his touch, knowing what’s to come keeps you patient.

He turns, walks back over to the sofa, and sits. He spreads his legs as he did before, arms on the back of the couch, watching you.

Boba looks so much like a king in that moment that it makes you want to bow before him, to prostrate yourself like you aren’t the daughter of the Chieftain. To worship him as he demands.

The thought crosses your mind as your fingers begin to unwrap your tunic, taking the woven material from its intricate adornment on your body. You feel a blush rising on your cheeks at the implications - what would the village think of their leader’s daughter, the one to assume his role in the future, imagining such things about a stranger?

Your mind wanders, racing, thinking of seeing him upon a proper throne, all silent confidence and heated gazes from behind the visor of his helmet. Maybe he’d bring you there, show you off to a court, hold you in his wide palms like a treaty. Set you upon his lap like a rare trophy from your far-off snow planet. You’d wrap your arm around the back of his neck and listen to his dealings while he kept a firm hand on your upper thigh.

Dignitaries and crime lords alike would watch, whispering, unable to look away.

It thrills you, to have these secret desires.

You deposit the tunic on the floor next to you and toy with the hem of your top, pulling it out from where it was tucked in your pants. Boba’s eyes zero in on the strip of skin that is revealed as you raise the shirt higher, higher, and higher, until in one motion you’ve slipped it over your head and off entirely.

He stares at your chest and it makes you smile. Men will be men.

Feeling emboldened by the way Boba is looking at you, you turn around and hook your thumbs in the waistband of your pants. You slowly slip them down your hips, over your thighs, and past your knees, bending over as you do so.

Behind you, you hear shuffling. You toss the pants to join the tunic and shirt and turn to see Boba’s codpiece and gloves removed, his hand shoved down the front of his pants.

“I’m enjoying the show, little one,” he says, and waves at you with his other hand, even as you begin to see movement at the crotch of his trousers. “Continue.”

You smirk, a sly thing at seeing the effect your bare form has on him. You tuck your fingers under the band of your bra and pull up. Your arms block your view of Boba’s face as your breasts are revealed to him, but the hungry look in his eye once you can see him gives you a good idea of it.

“Kriff,” Boba swears, jerking himself faster, rougher. The sight of it makes your breathing become heavy, the labor of it causing your chest to heave. His eyes drop from your face to your tits - somehow, you don’t feel embarrassed or ashamed like you might usually.

You just feel wanted. It’s intoxicating, that he wants you for you , not your title.

There’s only one article of clothing left on your body now. You turn around again, your back to him, and take the front hem of your underwear in your fingers. Slowly, almost teasing, you slip it over your hips, arching your back and pushing your ass out towards Boba. The underwear slips down your thighs until it falls to the floor.

You straighten up again and look over your shoulder at him. He gestures with his free hand, a ‘come here’ motion that you’re all too eager to follow.

“Beautiful kriffing body,” he murmurs as you approach. He reaches out and puts his hand on your hip, fingers curling into your ass cheek. His eyes stare at your mound, at the patch of hair there. “Bet you’re already wet for me, huh?”

He glances up at you. You blush, watching as he removes his hand from his pants and snakes it in between your legs, calloused fingers feeling the evidence of his effect on you. His fingertips catch on your clit, rubbing and feeling and stoking the fire within. You moan wantonly, comfortable in the privacy of your home.

“You are. Kriffing soaked. Just begging for my cock, aren’t you?”

His words make your pussy clench just as he slips one of his thick fingers into you, surely spreading his own fluids across your tight, hot skin. The girth of it forces a whine out of you, brows furrowed, and your hand flies down to hold onto his as he fucks you with his finger. Your other hand comes to rest on his shoulder, gripping his armor.

“Look at you,” he mutters, baring his teeth as he watches you writhe on his hand, using his thumb to rub your clit just so. Your mouth drops open in pleasure, sparks shooting down your legs and up into your belly at the feeling.

Boba hums, circling his thumb and flicking it over your puffy, sensitive nub. “What would your people think if they saw you moaning like a whore for an old man, hm?”

Your legs turn to jelly at the force of the arousal that hits your cunt. You sway forward, knees buckling, and Boba catches you as you fall.

He uses the hand on your ass to guide you into a sitting position on his lap, so now you’re straddling him, bare chest pressed to the cool metal of his armor. You tuck your face into his neck and revel in the feeling of a second finger teasing at your opening.

“You like that, little one?” His words cause his throat to vibrate, and the deep tone draws your lips in to kiss at it. Your nose brushes against the underside of his jaw as you move from kissing to licking, getting drunk on the taste of his sweat on your tongue.

Boba groans, sliding the second finger into your cunt with ease. You sigh, blowing cool air across the skin you’ve just wet with your tongue. “You do.” He runs his free hand up your thigh, holding tight to the firm muscle there, toned and strong from a lifetime in the ice and snow. “So desperate for my cock.”

You nod, though your lips hardly leave his neck. “Please, Boba,” you whisper into his skin, pressing yourself as close to him as you can get.

His fingers still their movements within you and you whine. Boba shushes you, and you have to bite your lip to keep from pouting when he pulls his fingers from your pussy. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head and leans back.

“I want you on your hands and knees, princess. Right here on the couch.”

You nod frantically and there’s not a moment of hesitation in your haste to follow his order. You arrange yourself next to him, forearms propped on the arm of the couch and your knees keeping your ass aloft in the air.

Boba turns and positions himself behind you with ease, half standing with one foot on the floor, his other leg bent and kneeling on the cushion.

He may call himself an old man, but he’s got the physicality of someone half his age. It makes the spot between your legs hotter and wetter just to think of it. Your cunt throbs for him.

You look over your shoulder and watch as he reaches into his pants, hand spreading your wetness across his dick, and your eyes widen as he draws it out from the confines of his trousers. Your gaze zeros in on him; he’s thick and long, just as you suspected, and every inch is one you want to feel as deep inside you as possible. Honestly, it makes sense - you’ve always heard that the men with the most to make up for do so in their personalities.

Men like Boba don’t have to compensate, which makes them all the more attractive.

You glance up to his face. He’s smirking down at you, eyes traveling down to your ass, pushed out and open for him. He runs a hand along the soft swell of your rear, caressing you like you’re precious, like you’re prized.

“I could get used to this,” he tells you, guiding the head of his cock to notch at your opening. “Seeing a future queen all bare and ripe for me.”

Your eyelids flutter as you feel him press in further, deeper. The sight of him kneeling behind you, fully clothed while you’re naked as the day you were born, sends a wave of arousal through you. Your brain doesn’t even register what he’s called you, how wrong he is, because you can’t think of anything beyond his dick.

“C’mon, Boba,” you whine, his slow pace driving you mad. “Fuck me like you mean it, old man.”

The noise that comes out of his mouth is almost non-human with the way it reverberates around the room. His hands dig into your hips and he thrusts , unrelenting and rough, spearing you onto his thick cock until his balls slap your clit. You choke out a moan, your eyes rolling into the back of your head at how perfectly full you feel.

“Ah,” he grunts out as he immediately sets to fucking you roughly, deeply. “The little princess does want to be treated like a whore.” His words are accompanied by the lewd sound of his cock moving in your wet cunt, his hips slapping against your own. You moan, loud and uninhibited, unable to conceive of shame or propriety.

For your whole life you’ve been looked up to, treated as both fragile and untouchable.

Boba Fett fucks you like you’re nothing more to him than a pet.

He snarls his words into the air. “Woulda fucked you there on that table in the cantina, shown the whole village how well you take me.”

You keen, arching your back further to give him a better angle. He runs his left hand up your side, gripping your waist and pulling you back onto his cock in time with his thrusts. He’s deeper inside you than anyone’s ever been - you’re beginning to think men in your village must be small, or maybe Boba’s just unnaturally big, because you think you can feel the head of his cock bruising your cervix.

The thought of him taking you in the tavern has you clenching down on him even tighter. Maybe you would have gotten on your knees for him, hid beneath the tablecloth and kept his cock warm in your mouth.

“That turn you on, princess?” He slows his thrusts just slightly, drawing out so he can slam back in with even more force. You cry out, nodding, tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

“Of course it does,” he grunts, and you can feel the crest of your climax steadily approaching as he speaks, letting yourself get lost in the fantasies he’s bringing to life. His thrusts speed up again, rough and brutal, just as you need.

“You were just waiting for someone to -- ungh -- come along and fuck all the thoughts outta that clever little head, weren’t you?”

You whine, because he’s right - your normally sharp, observant brain has been put out like water over a fire. Boba leans forward, placing his hand on the arm of the couch next to your elbow, and brushes his lips against the back of your neck. It changes his position enough that his cock hits you just that much deeper, pounding against that elusive sweet spot deep within your cunt.

“Kriff, Boba --” You barely get the words out, your voice hoarse and strained and your mind turned to mush. “So -- so big.”

Against your ear, you feel more than hear him chuckle. His teeth catch on your earlobe, hot breath skating down the side of your face.

“Yeah? You like having my big cock in your tight little pussy?”

You keen, high-pitched and desperate. “Please, Boba, I’m gonna --”

His teeth trail down the side of your neck, biting firmly enough to leave a trail of red marks across your skin. Once he’s satisfied with his work, he leans up again so he can grip your hips more firmly.

“Gonna come, little one? Go on --” his words trail off for a moment - or maybe your hearing fades out as the crisis within you rises to its limit. Right as you’re on the edge, your face flush with sensation and your cunt fluttering around him, his rough voice fades back in.

“-- wanna feel you, princess. Come for your king.”

You have no choice but to do as he says.

Boba’s words scratch that small, hidden itch in your brain you’d taken a glance at earlier. Your mind whites out for a split second, as blinding as a snowstorm, before you return to yourself.

He’s still fucking you. Using you. Oversensitive and trembling, your senses absorb the world around you - Boba's hands on your hips, the scrape of his armor against your thighs, the crackle of the fireplace somewhere over your shoulder.

The rhythm of Boba's cock inside you, chasing the same high you'd found moments earlier.

You moan, pushing back, encouraging him to find his release. A glance over your shoulder gives you the sight of his eyes focused on where he's thrusting into you, lip curled, a drop of sweat trailing down over his jaw.

Boba glances up at you and smirks, though the flash of teeth makes it more of a sneer. "Where do you want me, princess?"

A serene smile crosses your face and you pretend to think on it for a moment, lazy in your post-orgasmic haze.

"On me," you reply. "Wherever you want."

He grunts, looking back down, and thrusts a few more times, deep and bruising. As soon as he pulls out you mourn the loss of him, the fullness inside of you, but you're rewarded with a vision unlike any you've seen before. Boba takes himself in hand, and with a loud groan, cums across your ass, his spend dripping down your thighs and onto your pussy lips. He covers you with himself, marking you up.

Once he's finished, Boba runs a hand through the cum on your skin, pressing firmly and rubbing it in.

"Been wanting to do that since I saw you in the meeting hall, little one."

You hum, eyes fluttering closed at the thought of it. What a scandal - the Chieftain's daughter falling for the stranger, the first foreigner to visit the village in living memory.

Behind you, Boba shifts off of the couch. He stands beside you and then you register that he's moving you, strong hands arranging your limp body so he can pick you up. One arm slips beneath your knees and the other under your back.

"Bedroom's upstairs," you murmur.

He brings you there, tucking you into bed carefully and then turning to undo his armor. As you watch him methodically remove each piece, you get the feeling that you're privy to something rare. Though you're sleepy, your eyes remain open, intent on keeping this memory clear.

The thought crosses your mind that this man must know so much of the universe. He's probably been to hundreds of planets, has hundreds of stories.

You've only ever known snow and wind.

"Boba?"

He's just finished with the last of his armor when you speak. He sits down on the edge of the bed next to you and puts his hand on your side.

"Yes, princess?"

You gaze up into his eyes, dark but soft when looking at you.

"What's the most beautiful place you've ever been to?"

He smiles at that, letting out a soft chuckle. "I've been to so many places that it's hard to keep track, little one."

You pout. He moves to settle into bed next to you, under the layers of fur and fleece that keep you warm.

"You must have a favorite," you insist, curling up against him, head resting on his bicep.

He's quiet for a minute, thinking. You wait, though sleep threatens to pull you under. Boba's words lull you out of the beginnings of your slumber.

"I think you'd like Naboo," he tells you. You've read about it, about their system of governance. You can't recall seeing any pictures or illustrations, though.

"It's very green," he explains. "There's meadows and forests everywhere. Their cities are vast, the buildings beautiful in themselves. I traveled there with my father when I was young."

You want to ask more, to learn about this place so different from anything you know. Your mind is racing with imaginings when you fall asleep, cozy and warm against Boba Fett.

In the night, your dreams glow as bright as the sun.

#boba fett x reader #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett fucks #mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #boba fett x female reader #female reader #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction

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c-r-ash-crash · 3 years

Text

New Life Ch 3

Bdubs’ communicator exploded with vibrations as messages flooded into the chat. Most of them were some variation of demanding to know exactly what the Boogeyman was. Bdubs was curious too, but he noticed that the server had sent him a private message. Quietly, he checked it and his eyes scanned over what it said.

“You are the boogeyman. You must by any means kill a green or yellow life by direct action to be cured of the curse. If you fail, next session, you will become a red name. All loyalties and friendships are removed while you are the boogeyman.”

Bdubs ran his tongue over his lips nervously. Oh. As subtely as he could, he glanced down at his wrist. Four hearts were still there, marked in dark green ink. He tilted his comm slightly to check the color of his eyes. They were still dark brown as always. He blew out a breath. The bloodlust hadn’t started yet. He had a few hours at most to get away from everyone else on the server. To warn them.

Then, he read over the message again. “If you fail, next session, you will become a red name.” Slowly, the meaning sunk in. Unless he killed someone within the next nine days, he would kill everyone. Then, he glanced up at Etho. He was so, so screwed.

Scott trailed behind Pearl as she clambered over the hill, looking for a good place to set up their base. He rubbed at the skin on his wrist, but stopped once he realized what he was doing. He closed his eyes and tried to shut out the sight of Jimmy’s smiling face, hands rubbing over his palm. Jimmy had always rubbed at his wrist like that whenever he was stressed. He had promised Scott that he himself would die before he let anyone take a single life from Scott. Guess he had been right.

Scott missed him. He missed the sunshine that would come with the blonde as soon as he entered the room. He missed the bright smile and bubbly laughter. He missed being able to smile, missed those fleeting moments where he thought everything might be okay. As long as he had Jimmy by his side, nothing could go wrong. His crown sat heavy against his brows.

Suddenly, a voice startled him out of his thoughts. “Scott?” Pearl called out from the top of the hill. “You alright?” Scott’s eyes snapped open, and he met Pearl’s concerned expression. “Oh, yes, I’m fine,” he replied, plastering a small smile onto his own face. Pearl didn’t buy it. “Scott, if you need a moment, we can stop for a bit.” “No, no,” Scott assured her. “Really, Pearl. I’m fine.”

Then, his eyes caught on a small smudge of bright red against the green grass. He cupped the flower gently in his hand. Then he plucked it and tucked the poppy behind his ear. “Let’s go,” he said, marching on.

Bdubs’ pick dug into the iron ore, pulling the metal free. He picked up the item drops and tucked them into his bag. “Oh, so I figured out what that boogeyman thing was about,” Etho said from the other end of the cave, startling Bdubs into dropping his pick. “Oh, sorry,” Etho said. “Anyways, that boogeyman thing. Basically, we have to kill someone else or else we get down to our red life.” “Wow,” Bdubs said, voice even. “Glad neither of us got that then.” “Well, you can’t be sure of that,” Etho said. “For all you know, the server could have chosen me.” Bdubs chuckled lightly. “C’mon, don’t joke about that. Sounds like you basically have to act like a red life or else you actually become one. If you ask me, that sounds like some pretty serious pain.”

“Yeah, no doubt,” Etho said, pocketing more coal drops. “But if I were the boogeyman, I could kill you right now if I wanted to.” Bdubs’ heart skipped a beat. He was the boogeyman. Etho didn’t have to kill anyone. Besides, he was still on his green life, or rather his dark green life. The bloodlust wouldn’t have started yet.

Suddenly, a pickaxe embedded itself into the stone next to Bdubs’ head. He whirled around to see Etho’s hand on the hilt. “What the heck, Etho?” he exploded. “You almost hit me!” “But I didn’t,” Etho said with a shrug. “Wasn’t planning too anyways. Just wanted to scare you.” “W-well you did a great job of that,” Bdubs spluttered.

Suddenly, he realized how close at hand his sword was, how close Etho’s unarmored chest was. He shoved the thought down. He wasn’t on his red life yet. He couldn’t kill anyone yet. He wouldn’t kill anyone. His stomach began to turn in knots, and he turned his attention back to mining, trying to quiet the pounding headache that had sprung up. He wouldn’t kill anyone. He wouldn’t. Then his hands began shaking.

“I think I’m gonna go get some food,” he mumbled, stumbling back up the mineshaft he and Etho had made. Once he reached the little shelter they had made for themselves, he slid down against the wall, grateful for the feeling of cool stone against his feverish skin. Shakily, he pulled out his comm and re-read the boogeyman message for the thousandth time. A single word jumped out at him. “Cured.” Unless he killed someone, he would die.

Grian slipped through the dark trees, watching for a zombie and listening for the telltale hiss of a creeper or a bow being drawn. The forest was quiet, and any hint of monsters was far off. He still didn’t remove the cloth covering his small lantern. Then, from in front of him came the sound of loud cheerful singing.

He picked up his pace as he recognized the sound of the voice. “Scar!” he called. The singing stopped. “Grian?” Scar asked nervously, as the light of a small lantern flooded the forest. Grian uncovered his own lantern just a smidge, and caught a flash of light blue. He froze. “Is that diamond armor?” he asked, stunned. “You like it?” Scar asked, spreading his arms wide once Grian came into sight. “How did you of all people end up the first in diamond armor?” Grian asked incredulously. “Just lucky I guess,” Scar said with a shrug. Then Grian noticed the six pack etched into the diamond.

He couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. “That’s not diamond armor is it?” “What?” Scar said exaggeratedly. “Of course it is!” “Armor doesn’t have six packs engraved into it.” Scar’s brow furrowed in disappointment. “Is it really that obvious?” he pouted. “Only ‘cause of the obviously fake muscles,” Grian teased. “What is that made out of anyways?” Scar shrugged. “Cloth. Had some tailor make it for me before we moved to Season eight.” “So you mean if I hit you, it won’t give you any protection?” “Of course it will,” Scar said. “No need to test it out.” Grian punched him in the chest.

Scar stumbled back, winded. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Grian muttered to himself. “How do you hit so hard, dude?” Scar wheezed. “You have like no muscle on those arms.” “Says the man with a fake six pack engraved into his armor,” Grian shot back. “But seriously, don’t underestimate me.” “I don’t,” Scar said, recovering somewhat. “I only survived the game because I had you on my side.”

Grian’s lips pressed into a thin line. “What is it?” Scar asked, mood plummeting instantly. “Scar,” Grian began, tone dead serious. “Everything that happened last time, it’s all null and void. Our old alliance...it’s dead.” “So you mean I can’t put you on a llama and take you to the desert?” Scar joked. Grian didn’t smile. “You really mean that?” Scar asked, crestfallen. Grian nodded tightly. “New round, new rules.” Then he perked up. “Which speaking of, have you tried the give life command?”

“The what command?” Scar said, slightly startled by the sudden change in topics. “Yeah,” Grian said excitedly. “Apparently we can give each other lives, this round. Which, when you think about it, explains why we all got a random amount of lives. And it explains why some of us even got four lives.” “That actually makes a lot of sense,” Scar mused. “But who would I even try the command on?” he asked. “Well, you’ve got me,” Grian suggested. “I’ll give it right back, I promise. I just want to see how it works.”

Scar hesitated for a moment, searching Grian’s face. But then he said: “Alright, how do I do this give life command.” “Say this,” Grian said, typing something into his communicator. Scar’s own comm buzzed. “Why can’t I just repeat after you?” Scar asked. “Because then I’d give you a life,” Grian explained. “And if I did that, I’d be on my red life. And I really, really don’t want that.” “That makes sense,” Scar said with a nod. Then, he began reading off the comm.

“ᓭꖎᔑᓭ⍑ ⊣╎⍊ᒷ ꖎ╎⎓ᒷ”

Golden light enveloped Grian and Scar, and their feet lifted off the ground. The light drifted from Scar, wrapping itself around Grian, settling in his bones, and etching another heart into his wrist. The ink turned a vibrant lime green, and suddenly both Grian and Scar dropped to the ground.

Grian stumbled for a moment, then he regained his bearings. “That was something,” Scar muttered, still trying to regain his balance. Then, Grian glanced down at his communicator. He reached to turn it off, but glanced down at the list of player names. His hands stopped as he realized Scar’s name was dark green. “Scar, it’s still saying you have four lives here.” “No, I have five left,” Scar said, proffering his wrist for Grian to see. There were indeed five dark green hearts there. Grian’s brow furrowed. “Wait, but that would mean...you started with six lives?” he asked, jaw dropping. Scar nodded. “Like I said, I’m just lucky.” Grian shook his head, clearing the whirlwind of questions that had sprung up.

“Yeah, I’m not giving this back,” he said. “What-no!” Scar exclaimed, reaching for Grian, but he was already sprinting away through the forest, laughter echoing off the trees.

Jimmy bounced along, skipping over the grass, tossing his spyglass between his hands. He reached the peak of the hill, and stretched. He hadn’t exactly gotten a good night’s sleep last night, worrying about what it meant that he was back in the game, and trying to figure out what this new boogeyman thing was. Besides, a small hole in the side of a mountain never made for a great shelter.

Suddenly, he heard voices drifting up the hill. He stopped, tucking his spyglass into his pocket, just in case. Two faces appeared over the top of the hill. He recognized Pearl’s dark colored hoodie and Scott’s bright blue hair. “Hey!” he called out, waving. Pearl returned it. Scott was a bit more hesitant, but his eyes lit up when he recognized Jimmy. “Hey!” he called back. A bolt of joy shot through Jimmy, but he ignored it. He and Scott couldn’t ally this round. He didn’t want to risk another incarnation of Dogwarts deciding the two of them were a threat.

“How are you?” Pearl asked, smile bright and enthusiastic. Scott was smiling too, the one he reserved just for Jimmy. Jimmy squashed down the butterflies in his stomach. He couldn’t think of Scott like that. Not anymore.

“Pretty good,” Jimmy replied, nonchalantly. “Were you guys able to find shelter last night?” Pearl nodded. “I actually found something else this morning,” Scott said, reaching behind his ear. It was just now that Jimmy noticed the crown tucked over Scott’s hair. He wondered where it had come from. He certainly hadn’t had it on Empires.

“Figured you’d like it,” Scott continued, proffering something to Jimmy. It was a bright red poppy. A pang of longing shot through Jimmy’s heart. He ignored it. Scott’s expression fell slightly when he saw that Jimmy wasn’t taking the flower. “It’s a poppy!” he said. “Just like last time, when you-” “I know,” Jimmy said gently, cutting him off. He pushed Scott’s hand down, and Scott’s smile fell. “I know, Scott. But I can’t do this. Not again.” “But-but...” Scott protested.

“New round, new rules,” Jimmy said sadly. “Besides I can’t...I can’t risk losing you again. And I don’t want you to have to lose me. We’re both on our yellow lives. I can’t go through that again. And it’s not fair to ask you to.” He hesitated for a moment, but then he gathered himself and marched past Scott and Pearl.

Scott watched him go, staring dumbly at Jimmy’s retreating form, hand curled tightly around the poppy. Then, his heart shattered.

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lilxberry · 3 years

Text

Fond Of This Dwarf - Thorin Oakenshield

Requested By: @heyitsgarnet

Hi! I really love your writing! Could I request a Thorin x elf reader who's with the company? He's kind of an doushe to her but then she saves his ass from orcs or something and he's like "oh shit I'm in love." thank yooou! <3

This probably isn’t exactly what you were looking for but I think it’s sweet and does just a good a job. I’m so sorry it took me forever to finish your request, I really wish I could’ve done something for you sooner. Thank you so much for being patient

Warnings: Probably a bad word somewhere lmao. I guess racism??? Angst. Fluff. Mentions of war and death. Pretty much it, I reckon.

Words: 2,331

Parings: Thorin Oakenshield x Reader (x elf reader) (x female reader)

_______________

How on Middle Earth had Gandalf think adding you to a company that consisted of multiple dwarves were a good decision you’ll never quite know. You’re completely certain that the grey wizard knew of the dwarves hatred for elves, of course he knew, definitely explains the precautions he had taken when introducing you to those who you were to travel to the lonely mountain with.

Luckily, that hatred slowly dispersed as time passed during your journey. All the dwarves had eventually taken a liking to you, apart from the ever grouchy, complacently brooding Thorin Oakensheild. Even Dwalin had begun to be a more civilised dwarf towards you, for Valars’ sake!

The first one to show some form of kindness to you were Balin. Obviously, he had reason to be all sorts of rude and crude towards you because of your race but you figured he has witnessed enough hostility within his lifetime so refused to show any when truly nessicary.

Ori had been next. It took some time considering he was under the watchful eyes and influential words of his older brothers. Fílí and Kílí followed after that and before you knew it, they all began to follow suit.

Needless to say, you and Bilbo had no issues from the get-go. In fact, you were and still are joined at the hip. And Gandalf, well, he’s Gandalf. You’re not even sure he can actually hate anything.

The journey had been long and treacherous, but you were getting closer and closer each day, even with each and every hindrance and snag you faced. Running everyday for survival is outright exhausting but utterly needed, which is what you were currently partaking in.

“I spy-“

Ori was swiftly cut off with a collective groan from the company whilst you and Bilbo shared an amused look, no doubt Gandalf had a similar expression across his face at the front of the group.

“Not again, lad, for the love of Mahal, please.” Dwalin grumbled as he pressed his fingers against his forehead as if trying to sooth a forming migraine. Ori visibly deflates and sighs quietly, looking like a kicked puppy.

“No, go on, Ori. I’ll play with you.” He perked up just as quickly as he had been denied moments earlier. He beamed up towards you as he straightened out his posture.

“I spy, with my little eye, something…beginning with…T!”

“Tree.” The company’s response was almost automatic, the answer as clear as daylight.

You and Bilbo chuckled before you both turned your attention to the dwarf beside you once again looking down and ashamed. “Don’t worry, Ori. I’m sure as we get closer to the lonely mountain, we’ll find more things to spy.” Bilbo’s encouragement was so sweet that you just had to jump in and help brighten the young dwarfs sour mood also.

“Definitely. Don’t get me started about the endless possibilities for ‘I spy’ inside Erebor.” Ori smiled his widest smile towards you and the hobbit as the others chuckled. All finding amusement in your merriment of a silly childs’ game. All except one.

“You humour me how you would think I would allow you to step foot inside my mountain.”

All humour, all happiness quickly faded until there were scowling faces amongst everyone. You furrowed your shaped eyebrows and slowed to a stop and burn holes into the back of Thorins’ head. You shook your head and began to walk once more with haste, shouldering the rude dwarf as you pass him and race ahead of the company.

You wouldn’t admit it, not verbally, not so outwardly, but his words and distain towards you hurt, very much so. Even though Thorin has shown nothing but his dislike towards you, you couldn’t help to admire his strong will, his caring side that he had shown his kin, his handsome appearance-

-‘NO! Y/N, stop it!’ You scolded yourself mentally as you shook your head to rid yourself of those thoughts just as quickly as they had entered your mind once more. He didn’t like you, not your race at least. He made that more than obvious for you and everyone around you.

You sighed inwardly before slowing your strides, allowing the company to catch up to where you had stormed off. You could hear the scolding the few bold enough to do so were giving Thorin, though you knew that the probability of him actually considering of what they were saying were nought.

Someone, who you presumed to be Gandalf, cleared their throat, noting the proximity between you and the group now they have caught up to your small steps. The silence consumed the company as they all sluggishly dragged their feet as they trudged along, awkwardness surrounding each and every dwarf, once again, all except that stubborn royal pain in the jacksie.

“Out of the way, elf.” He spat the name of your kind with such distain and disgust that your heart panged with an immense pain, your chest tightened, your intake of breath quick and sharp. You felt the burning of tears build up within your eyes as he passed you gruffly but refused to let them fall.

You will NOT seem weak in front of people- no, dwarves- like him. Bilbo caught up to walk beside you and places a gentle, comforting hand on to your forearm, smiling up at you sympathetically. The rest of the walk was silent, that was until you all heard the shrill cry of an orcs horn.

_______________

Your lungs begged for air, every inch of muscle within your body burned and longed for rest. Fatigue was catching up with all of you and fast.

“We cannot run any longer, we must stand our ground!” You couldn’t tell if Dwalin was pleading or trying to be demanding with Thorin and Gandalf, all you knew was that his tone was as brass and harsh as usual.

“We can take them, of do you really have such little faith towards your company, Thorin?!” You huffed, clearly just as agitated and enraged as the others.

Thorin halted immediately and swiftly turned on his heel to face you, a deep, raging fire of hatred filled his gaze. He groaned in aggravation and drew his sword, ensuring the others quickly followed suit. You deeply exhaled through your nose and you spun yourself around to face the oncoming threat as you unshouldered you bow and raising it higher.

You withdrew an arrow from your quiver, quickly lining your body perpendicular towards the enemy and drawing the arrow back towards your cheek, staring down the length of the arrow. You exhaled as you released your firm grip and so, first blood had been drawn.

_______________

It was nearing the end of the gruelling battle but in truth, it was difficult to tell, exhaustion taking over every single one of the company. It felt as though the enemy just kept coming, multiplying as you take a singular orc down.

Blood coated you and the others, mainly that of orcs and Wargs alike, dried and cracked. As you took down yet another enemy, you heaved out a shaky breath, exhaling heavily with a slight groan.

You looked towards the others, all seemingly fairing well, all grouped together, all except, you guessed it, Thorin. Two orcs atop their Wargs brought the dwarf down on to the hard, filthy ground, defenceless, weapon astray. He crawled backwards, even that looked like such a struggle for him though.

The Wargs snarled and growled as they closed in on the drained dwarf, the orcs straddled upon their fur coated backs grinning wickedly. As quick as a whippet, you powered through your own exhaustion and pain and sprinted towards the predators closing in on their prey.

You released a cry of anger and frustration as you withdrew your elven sword from its place on your back before bringing it down on to the beasts head, emitting a pained whimper before it fell harshly against the floor, body now limp and lifeless.

The orc that once sat atop the dead creature stood from where it landed next to its Wargs’ corpse with a seething anger and charged towards you. You swiftly cut him down and turned your focus to the final orc/Warg duo all the while Thorin looked on with wide eyes and bated breath, watching you with a new found admiration.

Almost as quickly as the last, you had taken down the enemy and collapsed down to your knees, exhaustion washing over you completely. Your eyes squeezed tightly shut as you inhaled and exhaled heavily in repeat.

“Are you…okay lass?” Balin approached you cautiously as the others watched on, concern and their own tiredness evident on their faces. All you could offer in response was a single nod of your head.

Thorin snapped out of his reverie and slowly came to a stand, but before he could proceed to close the gap between the two of you, you raised to your own feet and began to walk away from the group. “We should keep moving. No doubt another pack or two is a day behind them.”

“Yes, Miss Y/N makes a valid argument. Come on.” Gandalf had gruffly agreed with the statement made from over your shoulder. And with that, the company tiredly trudged further along, leaving behind the corpses of their slain foes and the final dwarves’ disdain towards you.

_______________

“We make camp here.” Thorin’s authoritative command travelled throughout the clearing within trees and into the ears of the company. Pained grunts, relieved sighs and heavy knapsacks thudding against the ground were Thorin’s confirmation that he had been heard.

He dragged his feet as he walked over to lazily slump against the bark of a sturdy tree, exhaling heavily through his nose and closing his eyes, basking in the knowledge that he lives to see a new day. His eyes barely reopen as he scans across each and every member of the company. Or at least, nearly every member.

He luckily caught a smidge of your form disappearing past the treeline and his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. Surely you were tired? You had to be from all the walking and fighting you’ve done. Why would you head off away from the others?

With a huff of air, he pushed himself from his leaning position against the sturdy trunk and headed off towards the direction you disappeared in. Thorin kept himself quiet as he walked weaved passed trees, his strides small and light footed. He came to a slight clearing which was perfectly illuminated in the moons light, a heavenly glow across the small, vacant area.

And then he spotted you.

Sat precisely in the centre of it all, eyes softly closed, eyelashes resting on your cheek ever so delicately, the light breeze brushing your hair back from your face, a face that, even though is covered by the dried and cracked crimson smears, looked fair and filled with serenity, a calmness that was affect Thorin in many ways.

He had become so entranced that he hadn’t realised that he walked out into the opening further as he stared, stared at someone who he considered the enemy for far too long, at someone who he now admired, at someone who has kindled a newfound feeling deep within him.

“Are you going to keep standing around like some lemon or are you going to join me?” the sudden sound of your voice actually caused the dwarf to jump ever so slightly, taken off guard. You peeked an eye open, finding the situation amusing at a miniscule amount.

Thorin cleared his throat and wiped his hands down his front with a tinge of nervousness before making his way over and lowering himself beside you, arms rested atop his knees. A silence that was neither comfortable nor uncomfortable passed before he spoke.

“I’m sorry.”

The simple two-word statement accompanied by his deep, gruff voice caused your eyes to widen slightly and snap your head towards the dwarf to your right. “W-what?”

“I’m sorry. For how I acted before. It wasn’t fair of me to judge you based purely off of who, or rather what, they are. I’m greatly disappointed with myself. Please forgive my ignorance.”

You were flabbergasted. THE Thorin Oakenshield, a prideful and stubborn dwarf, was apologising, hell, even begging, for your forgiveness. Thorin must’ve thought you were trying to imitate that of a fish out of water, your mouth opening and closing multiple times as you searched for the right words to proceed.

You recomposed yourself impossibly fast before flashing the sheepish, nerve wracked dwarf in royal blue and furs a kind, sweet, small smile. “It is okay, Master dwarf. It isn’t as if you had no base reason for your hatred towards my kind. Hopefully, like the rest of the company, we may put our bad blood behind us and move forward working together.”

Thorins’ sigh of relief was large and fairly loud, causing for a small giggle to pass your lips. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards and he flashed you the smallest, microscopic of smiles. “I’m glad. Oh, and thank you. For saving me.”

You gazed at him with such a soft and gentle expression that he was certain he could have melted at the sight. “Your most certainly welcome.” You pressed a chaste kiss to his hair covered cheek before ever so gently laying your head atop his broad shoulder. His whole body tensed at the actions before slowly unwinding, leaving him red in the face and bashfully playing with his fingers.

A peaceful, comforting silence quickly engulfed you two as you sat side by side, his arm now loosely wrapped around your waist, basking in the beautiful surrounding area. You weren’t sure how long you two had sat within each other’s embrace, but you weren’t one to rush a nice thing when it presented itself, so you continued in your contented bliss with a dwarf you had grown quite fond of. Fond of indeed.

_______________

AAYYYYOOOO IS THIS AN UPLOAD??!

That’s right ya dang bunch of cutie pies, I ain’t dead

My uploading is still extremely slow but I thought, since I’m close to being on top with my college work, I would finally finish this fic

It’s weird and probably makes no sense but it’s the best I can do with the amount of stress I’m enduring ‘cause of college so bare with me peeps

Anywho, I hope you enjoy reading this

As always, constructive criticism and requests are welcomed and greatly appreciated :D

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mitsuki-simps · 3 years

Text

Springtime ☆ Chapter Two

Selene Above

Summary: Now alone following her mother’s visit, Persephone reflects on memories of the past and gets an unexpected surprise in the present.

★Paring: Hades!Corpse Husband x Persephone!Reader ★Genre: Greek Mythology AU, fluff, angst, friends to lovers, slow burn ★Word count: 1076 ★Warnings: Bending of Greek Lore™️ for narrative convenience

Author’s Note- Sorry this is so late y’all I feel awful! I mentioned this in a post a little while ago but I’m moving to Germany from the US and my life’s falling apart a little :( But I really hope you like this chapter. Sorry we don’t get much Corpse screen time, the chapter was getting really long and I wanted to eek in a little more backstory and hint towards things to come ;) Also, I’ll add the taglist tomorrow morning. One last thing, sorry!: I re-wrote the entire Greek mythology family tree to get rid of as much incest as possible- I might post the reworked Lore if anyone’s interested. Cheers!

Masterlist. Chapters. ☆ Previous. Next.

Watching Demeter’s retreating form drift up the side of the Mountain, tinged with a ghostly luminescence, always made it feel as though she took a piece of your soul with her, gently tucked away in her woven wicker basket. Her visits, all too rare, all too short, all too painful- filled your time together with jovial laughter and glee, leaving only a hollow, empty feeling in their wake.

Having parted ways with Demeter, you now sat alone at the edge of your pond and peered into the clear surface as the moon’s luminescence gazed back. Its speckled, serene countenance served as one of your only companions, as if cousin Selene herself sat beside you, arm tightly wrapped around your shoulders, whispering sweet affirmations into your ear- asking you about your day, perhaps tutting sympathetically as you wax poetic about your isolated existence, much like she did all those years ago.

“None of this is hardly fair,” you mutter aloud to Selene- ah, - the moon’s reflection. You dipped your fingers into the water’s surface and observed ruefully as the ripples spread throughout the pond’s veneer, warping and distorting your companion’s “face”. Selene had, many years ago, been your closest friend and companion. The two of you spent countless hours together under Demeter’s watchful gaze, though your fondest memories were those in which your impish duo managed to evade her supervision entirely. Those memories, those long-gone moments of youthful bliss, were all you had to cling to at the best of times.

As fond as you were of these cherished recollections, all good things will come to an end, and end they did. Discontent, you remained crouched for a few moments more. With a weary sigh, you allowed your mind to run blank, slipped your eyes shut, and opted to drink in the ambient sounds of the crisp night surrounding you. Crickets chirped faintly, far beyond your reach; the creek that sloped through the eastern edge of your meadow babbled gently, familiar and steady as ever; and, to your great surprise, you heard something exceedingly unprecedented at this hour- footsteps.

You froze in place and screwed your eyes shut tighter, head inclining slightly to the side to better focus. Was your mind playing tricks on you again? Demeter had never visited during the nighttime before, and had certainly never visited twice in one day. To that point, she certainly wouldn’t have spontaneously lifted the embargo! So, if not Demeter, and certainly not anyone else, what sort of creature might produce the steadily approaching footsteps behind you? Wracked with fear, the only ‘reasonable’ explanation you could conjure reflected that of your brief glimpses of your Phantom- you were more than likely imagining things, driven to madness.

Cautiously and slowly, you opened your eyes, trembling in cold terror and slowly rose to your feet. Predictably, your meadow before you remained deserted as always as you darted your gaze across its expanse. However, the footsteps continued behind you at a slow but steady pace- with each soft footfall crunching the grass, your heartrate increased its pace, hammering in your ears, spurred on even further as you spun with purpose towards the potential intruder.

And, there he stood, in the flesh, mere feet away from you- your Phantom. You froze at the sight of him. You would recognize him anywhere, from his crimson cloak and obsidian curls to the golden diadem perched atop his head. What you didn’t recognize, however, was the inscrutable mask fully obscuring his face. It glinted in the moonlight, its features granted visibility by Selene’s grace. Its golden visage gazed back at you steadily, adorned with a neat row of sharp, jagged teeth, a skeletal nose, and a pair of ram’s horns sprouting from the top. All in all, it served as a truly frightening sight, and your hands, drawn to your chest defensively, trembled openly as a result.

He watched you carefully from beyond his mask and took a few tentative steps towards you, one arm on its way to reach towards you while the other hung idly by his side. Reflexively, you stepped back, edging closer towards the edge of your pond, prepared to bolt at the slightest sign of aggression.

Seeing your reaction, he paused, clearly cautious, and you jumped at the opportunity to speak. “Who are you?” you managed to choke out.

Mindful of your flightiness, he took a slow, measured step back of his own and dropped his hand back down to his side. “Don’t you remember me?” he murmured. His rich, gravelly voice came almost as a whisper that you nearly swore you imagined until he spoke again. “You would surely recognize me, wouldn’t you...?”

You shook your head at him rapidly, eyes owlishly large. “I don’t know who you are, Phantom, save for the glimpses I may catch of you at the edge of my meadow.”

A dry, airy chuckle sounded from beyond his mask. You couldn’t say for sure, but you could almost detect a hint of pain- perhaps disappointment? - in his laugh, almost as if it might have expressed a hint of long-suffering resignation. “Ah, Persephone. You don’t remember me, or know who I am, and yet you fear me nonetheless.”

He shook his head softly and turned his gaze away from you and towards the tree line with a sigh, as if defeated. His soft, almost meek disposition sent a wash of remorse and desperation through you beneath the rolling waves of your fear, causing you to feel near-shame at your reaction to his presence. While yes, he may pose a potential threat to your safety, and more importantly, he more than likely wasn’t allowed here, he was... someone. Someone else, living and breathing, here to expertly and cleanly break the usual monotonous flow of your solitudinous life- all of which you wanted so desperately, more than anything.

Having wrestled some control over your terror, courage fostered by his unwavering motionlessness and the prospect of company, you took a moment to consider your approach to the situation. “You say my name. You speak as if I ought to know you,” you mused slowly after a beat. “But tell me, Phantom, if I should know you, then you should know me- that much is clear- and all who know me surely know of my mother and her restrictions on this land. Yet here you are. So, who are you, and why might you tempt Lady Demeter’s wrath?”

“Ah, ‘Phantom’, eh?” he chuckled, returning his focus to you. “Yes, perhaps that is a fitting name to describe me. A shrouded memory of a corpse banished long ago, now free from the depths of Tartarus, here to haunt the fair Kore... But no, Persephone. I am no risen corpse nor a wandering specter.” He took a step towards you. “I am Hades, lord of the Underworld.”

Masterlist. Chapters. ☆ Previous. Next.

#corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #springtime #sorry for the cliffhanger lmfao #next chap comin up by monday at the latest maybe tomorrow

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drwcn · 3 years

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#9 【Carbon in the Steel】

cql au: everyone is an orphan except wwx; dark!twin jades

The Brothers Lan

There was once a little house, on the outskirts of a farming village beyond the tiered rice fields south of Meishan, far, far away from Cloud Recesses. Both Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji remembered that house. It was the house Father had built for Mother, and it was there that they were born.

It sat at the base of a hill where many tall bamboo trees grew, and in the garden, there had been gentians, indigo and violet, that bloomed beautifully every summer.

Lan Xichen would dream sometimes of that house and of the wonderful days in those early years.

Father, look!

Excellent form, A-Huan. Very good. Much improved. Now, remember to keep your balance on your front…

These days he could no longer recall Father’s face. His voice though, Lan Xichen still remembered as clear as a bell. On the other hand, his brother Wangji did not remember much of Father at all; instead, it was Mother’s smile that he could never forget.

Mother, can A-Zhan and I stay with you and Father tonight?

P’ease, Mo’her.

Lan Xichen remembered hugging his baby brother like a doll and strategically weakening his parents’ resolve using his baby pout and big puppy eyes. A-Zhan was always a trooper, so cooperative, so excellent at looking like a perfect toddler. Stoic though. So stoic for a baby. What a weird kid.

We had a bad dream.

Bad dweam.

Those were obviously lies. They never had bad dreams then; those would come much later, when their reality became worse than any nightmare they could ever imagine.

Jiujiu never needed to tell them that Mother and Father were dead, or what death was. They’d seen plenty of creatures die: the village’s cattle they butchered for the new year, the spinster's kittens that didn’t survive the winter, and the pheasants they caught and roasted for A-Zhan’s birthday.

Father had been a lifelong vegetarian, so eating meat didn’t agree with his stomach, but he never enforced such rules on his sons. In fact Father didn’t enforce any rules on his sons, except to show kindness where they could and to be true to their hearts.

Father probably didn’t anticipate just how difficult it was to be kind when the world had been so wholly unkind. Nor did he anticipate that he would die in such a violent and sudden manner without even so much as a goodbye.

I don’t remember what were the last words Father said to me. Wangji would confess to Xichen one day. I don’t even remember what Father looked like.

They were by the marsh catching lobsters with jiujiu when it happened. Mother suddenly appeared and spoke words that were foreign and frightening - Gusu Lan, cultivators, siege, pursuit, escape. Go. Now. She didn’t hug them or kiss them. Lan Xichen remembered Wangji reaching up towards her to be picked up and the confusion and heartbreak in his eyes when she pushed him back into jiujiu’s waiting arms.

A-niang...

At a certain point, jiujiu must’ve done something to them, because neither Wangji nor himself remember any part of their journey out of that village. When they woke up, they were somewhere high up and deep in the mountains. His little brother had looked at him and he had stared back and they both knew then that their parents were dead. Curled in their jiujiu’s arms, they cried themselves into another fitful sleep, and all the while, jiujiu didn’t wake up once, too exhausted by the endless days of travel.

To them, jiujiu - like all adults - was old, but it was not until they grew up that they realized that Zhao Zhuliu at the time of their parents’ demise had been no more than twenty years old, barely more than a boy himself.

Life with jiujiu was quiet, but after some time, they were able to find a sliver of happiness.

Zhao Zhuliu was a quiet man, always had been, and that didn’t change just because he now had two young children on his hands. But he loved them, his sister’s only blood left on this earth; by god, he loved them beyond reason.

Jiujiu was not a talker, but he was never distant, and though he was strict in his training of their cultivation and their swordsmanship, he was never harsh. So yes, life was quiet, but at least for a while there was a roof over their heads and food in their belly, and they never had to wonder where they would be tomorrow…

When jiujiu failed to return from his night-hunt, Lan Xichen knew that something had gone terribly wrong.

Lan Xichen was the older one; he was thirteen. Practically an adult, he told himself. If jiujiu never came back, then he was just going to have to take care of Wangji.

Whatever it takes.

His brother was not a needy child, but when he turned eleven, he seemed to have found his appetite and ate everything Xichen could get his hands on. Fishing was the easiest and hunting a big game lasted them a while if he could preserve it just right, but even if he collected berries in the mountains and wild herbs in the forest, he still needed grains, still needed new clothes for the winter, and still needed oil to light a lamp at night so Wangji could continue to practice his calligraphy.

He did try; you must know. Lan Xichen did try to do things the right way, but there was only so much money he could earn by book-keeping at a shop, or running errands for merchants, or even waiting tables at an inn. He was a child, and desperate, and nobody would pay him a dime if they could get away with a nickel.

It didn’t take long for Xichen to learn that the fastest way of earning money was often the most unsavoury and that he wasn’t above reaching for those means. There were no lengths Lan Xichen wouldn’t go to keep his brother safe and happy, no asset within his arsenal of skills and attributes that he wouldn’t hone and weaponize to make himself stronger. He got good at stealing, got great at cheating, and grew accustomed to killing. Every so often...if there were other offers available, well...Wangji would never need to know.

Morals do not matter if Wangji went hungry. I can’t let Wangji go hungry.

And, once a year, Lan Xichen would buy a box of osmanthus pastry, like the kind Mother used to make for them - flakey and fragrant, rich but not overwhelming - and he and Wangji would sit together under the stars and finish the box all in one go.

“Happy birthday, didi.”

Chewing slowly on the osmanthus pastry, Wangji would smile, and it would all be worth it.

“Thank you, xiongzhang.”

Then, three years after jiujiu was taken, a startling news broke out over the lands.

After years of internal strife, the dirty politics of Lanling Jin finally fractured the once glorious reigning sect. Jin Guangshan’s many children and their scheming “little mothers” formed factions and allied themselves with subsidiary sects all vying for control over Lanling’s seat of power. (小娘 xiao’niang = little mother, what one calls one’s mother if one’s mother is not the legal wife. The “real” mother of any children would always be the legal wife, while their birth mothers are ‘little mothers’.)

The details of Jin Guangshan’s demise was not entirely clear, but eventually it was his third son Jin Zitao who became the new Sect Master Jin. Being only eleven years old, it was clear to anyone who had eyes that he was a puppet, completely controlled by the whims of his regent mother, Jin Guangshan’s once favourite concubine, and the ancient respected Qin family who had promised their daughter Qin Su to be his bride once they both come of age.

People had praised Qin Su’s stepmother, Sect Master Qin’s second wife, for securing such an advantageous marriage for a daughter not even of her own blood, stating that with the Dowager Madame Jin’s clever mind and Sect Master Qin’s seniority and experience, surely the murky pond of Lanling would become peaceful once again.

The bigger question now was with three of the five major sects being led by minors - Qishan’s 14 year-old Wen Yuefan, Yunmeng’s 13 year-old Jiang Wanyin, and Lanling’s 11 year-old Jin Zitao - who then would become the next Chief Cultivator. Qinghe Nie seemed the most obvious choice at first glance, for they were the fiercest warriors, but given Sect Master Nie Heqiu’s most recent close encounter with yet another qi deviation, it seemed perhaps the real day-to-day leadership role was fulfilled by his first son Nie Mingjue. At seventeen years of age, he was certainly older than his contemporaries, but still a far cry from what was required to be His Excellency. (温越凡 Wen Yuefan = Wen Qing’s courtesy name)

Naturally, all eyes were drawn then towards Cloud Recesses, whose previous chance at obtaining the seat of Chief Cultivator had been dashed when its sect master at that time, Qingheng-jun, mysteriously vanished more than a decade ago. Now it seemed that Gusu Lan’s fortune was about to change yet again, when what once should have gone to Lan Cenrong now fell to his younger brother Lan Qiren.

News of his rise to power had spread far and wide, until every man, woman, and child knew his name. Until Lan Xichen heard from a gossiping bar-keep at a tavern. Until Lan Wangji heard from the children playing on the street.

One morning Lan Xichen returned to their temporary home to see Wangji sitting in front of the breakfast he’d prepared (when did he learn to cook???) and a purse on the table filled with silver coins and small gold nuggets.

“Wangji...where did you -”

“I don’t want you to go out at night again, xiongzhang,” said Lan Wangji bluntly.

Taken aback by Wangji’s tone and his implications, Xichen quickly gathered his wits and tried to maintain control of the conversation. “That doesn’t answer my question; where did you get the money?”

“I also went out last night, after you assumed I fell asleep and left.”

Xichen’s blood went cold. “You...went out? Out? In the middle of the night?! To do what?!”

Lan Wangji’s stoicism did not waver. “What one usually does to get paid at night. What you’ve been doing for years.”

In three long strides, Lan Xichen strode up to his little brother - his baby brother - and yanked him up by the collar. Grabbing his arms with both hands, he forced Wangji to look him in the eye as he exclaimed in a mad panic, “You didn’t! Tell me you didn’t!!”

God, Wangji, what have you done, what have you done - how could I let this happen - I should’ve done better -

Wangji did not blink, but after a long terrible silence, he said, “No. I didn’t. I just followed you. I saw.”

“You saw…”

There had been a man who eyed him with interest. Lan Xichen wasn’t looking for business - hadn’t been looking for months - but winter was coming and Wangji was growing so much he would need several new sets of robes. Xichen hadn’t been working as many hours as he’d been previously. He needed to train, to cultivate - they both did - so that one day they could do what needed to be done. The core melting technique was not to be trifled with lightly, jiujiu had warned them. They needed time to practice, to perfect it, time that couldn’t be used to earn income.

While yes he could steal and yes he could kill, Lan Xichen realized early on that those two options often caught the attention of local authorities or worse the local cultivation sect, especially if his activities were too frequent or too conspicuous. Sometimes it was just easier…

“The money, then?”

“Don’t you recognize the purse?”

Xichen turned around. He did. He did recognize that silk embroidered draw-string purse. It belonged to the man from last night. He had taken money out of it this morning to pay Xichen for his time.

And when they parted ways, Xichen had gone to a public bath house to get rid of any incriminating evidence on his body before going home to his brother. That was his routine... had been his routine for years…

“I shoved his body down a well. That should buy us enough time to get out of this town. You weren’t planning for us to stay that long anyway right?”

“Wangji…Wangji -” Lan Xichen turned away. He couldn’t face his brother, who now knew what he knew.

“Xiongzhang, don’t do this for me anymore.” Lan Wangji’s hand found his own, squeezing it tightly.

“It’s - it’s really not a big deal.” Lan Xichen tried to laugh it off. “I don’t do it that often. Really - I am your older brother, it is my duty to -”

“No. No more. From now on, if you go out, I go out. I’m old enough -”

“You’re thirteen, a child!”

“So were you.”

Lan Xichen closed his eyes.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know I’m done waiting.”

Lan Wangji was talking, of course, about their vengeance. It was what they spoke of on most nights when they couldn’t sleep. For mother and father and jiujiu, they swore they would not rest until they razed Cloud Recesses to the ground and burned the core out of every last one of their disciples before slitting their throats.

Wangji came around to face him again and stared him down with his brows furrowed tightly above bright determined eyes. “It’s not fair. The Chief Cultivator was supposed to be Father! The heir of Gusu Lan is supposed to be you! Instead - instead...”

Tears welled up in his little brother’s eyes. “They hurt you, ge, I saw. I saw.”

Choking with shame, anger and a pain he couldn’t describe, Lan Xichen pulled Lan Wangji into a crushing hug. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry Wangji. I’m sorry I couldn’t do better. I’m...” Words failed. As Lan Wangji cried into his chest, Lan Xichen looked up to their leaky roof and their bare, striped walls, and wondered what the ethereal Cloud Recesses would look like. All that should have been theirs, should’ve been his, belonged to someone else.

Lan Qiren is Chief Cultivator now. He’s still holding jiujiu captive. He needs to die. The people who killed Father and Mother; they all need to die.

“You’re right, Wangji, you’re right. No more.”

“So you won’t leave at night anymore?”

“I won’t. The world has taken everything from us, I think it’s time we take what we are owed. Once we are strong, we will save jiujiu and avenge A-die and A-niang.”

“And if people try to stop us?”

“Then we will destroy them and anyone else that gets in our way.”

#cql #the untamed #twin jades #lan wangji #lan xichen #cql ficlet #corie fics #carbon in the steel

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maybedefinitely404 · 3 years

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Day 17: Royality

@tsshipmonth2020 (does this still count so late?)

What’s that? Ly creating content? Unbelievable. (I have writer’s block, leave me alooone /j)

Thanks to @marshymoop for suggestions and encouragment when making this bad boy! Love ya <3

Day 17 - Everyone has heterochromia, one eye is your natural color the other is your soulmate’s natural color. Once you meet all eyes return to natural color.

Content warnings: food/drink mention, alcohol, mentions of hangover, vampires, referring to drinking blood as “eating”, non-explicit blood drinking, being chased.

Word count: 6.9k

THE CITY OF DEWMORE WELCOMES YOU

Patton tapped his fingers on the steering wheel excitedly, nearly vibrating as he passed the weathered sign. Beyond it, beckoning him forward, stood a forest more densely packed and darker than he’d ever had the pleasure of exploring, the achingly tall pine trees swaying minutely in the breeze, their tips barely visible through the blanket of fog. Just imagining what could be held within those depths made his leg bounce; forgotten, moss-drenched stone paths, broken stumps of fallen trees that hadn’t made a sound upon impact, patches of mushrooms scattered in the shadows, and whispering creeks. It was the perfect way to spend his spring break, and one his photography teacher had wholeheartedly encouraged him to take. If he hadn’t had so many midterms to mark, Patton was almost sure the man would have tried to join him.

Almost an anxious tic at this point, he ran his free hand over the photography bag in his passenger seat, as if to make sure it hadn’t disappeared in the three minutes since he’d last checked. The thing was his prized possession, given to him by the very same photography professor at his university. It had been the elder’s own, before he got his newest camera, and gifted the whole set to his favorite (but don’t tell the others) students. It was full of perfectly kept lenses and two miniature tripods, extra batteries and memory cards, speedlights, and most importantly, the camera tucked safely into the biggest pouch. It was more expensive than Patton would ever have dreamt to buy, so it was truly a gift he’d never forget. Now it was up to him to finally take some shots worthy of the thing.

The forests continued to grow denser and thicker until, in almost a shocking snap, they disappeared to reveal a quaint city that he hadn’t quite expected. The first few buildings he passed looked like they may have stood there for hundreds of years, weather worn and faded. Their signs were either scratched to nothingness or blaringly new, shining metal names standing out against an ancient backdrop. He was looking for a motel, figuring there had to be one, even in a town of less than two thousand people. His backup plan was to just sleep in his car. He’d brought his sleeping back and extra blankets, so it wasn’t a huge concern, but he’d still prefer a bed. But whenever he’d tried finding anything online, he’d come up blank.

A fog still covered the town, and though it created an air of calm and mystery that Patton was itching to capture, he also knew the area was surrounded by towering mountains that he also desired so badly. To his right, the buildings stopped abruptly, revealing a grey beach, all rocks and no sand, criss crossed with logs, opening to a dark lake. The other side wasn’t visible through the mist.

The further he drove, he realized the buildings weren’t improving in their modernity, just giving way to more and more old infrastructure. One stood out, a grocery store, it’s lights piercing through the evening dim. Patton didn’t get a look inside before he passed, once again surrounded antique houses and shops, a post office to his left, and a tavern just across from that. A sign above the door read “Vacancy” in peeling white letters, and that was all the enticing Patton needed to pull his car into the gravel parking lot in front of the building. There was only one other vehicle there, a matte red pickup truck that he parked next to, and what appeared to only be three more parking spots. From the high placed windows, a soft orange light bled, and a round of raucous laughter filtered through the cracked open door. Patton smiled. The photographer inside him was going to have a field day here.

He stepped up the concrete steps and ruffled his hair with one hand so it covered his eye, heaving a sigh in hopes to calm his nervous butterflies, and pulled the door open.

All at once, the chatter inside died, and Patton internally shrank as every face in the tavern turned to look at the newcomer. There was a moment of tense silence as he tried his best for a smile and met the gaze of the men scrutinizing him, drinks forgotten on high wooden tables, jubilance halted. Patton waited with baited breath, for someone to do something, why were they all just staring, when a voice spoke from behind the bar.

“Don’t worry about them, sweetheart. We don’t get a lot of new people around here.”

And the lull was broken as suddenly as it started, the men now ignoring him in favor of joking over mugs of fizzing ale. Patton swallowed thickly and turned to the voice, shoving his quivering hands into his pockets and shaking his head again to assure the curls were safely covering his eye. As usual.

The man standing before him, leaning on the bar with an easy smile, was almost enough to take Patton’s breath away. If he were a religious man, he’d go so far as to call him heavenly. Eyes as dark as the depths of the surrounding forests, auburn hair pushed back from his face in what he could only think to describe as an intentional bedhead. His skin was too flawless, teeth just a couple shades too white, everything perfect in a way that was almost…

Patton couldn’t put his finger on it.

“What can I get you, newbie?”

“Uhm-” Patton took a cleansing breath and sat at one of the barstools, all of them empty seeing as the crowd seemed more drawn to the tables in the center of the room, “I don’t come to bars that often. I don’t know.”

The bartender hummed, pushing up his already rolled up white sleeves and giving Patton a once over, almost investigating him. “You drink?”

“I… I guess.”

“Been on the road for a while, tired?”

“Do I look that exhausted?” Patton breathed a laugh, suddenly aching to pop his spine. He’d been driving since before dawn for the past three days, barely hunkering down for a decent sleep before he was off again. He’d been really excited to get here, plus he didn’t want to waste more of his meager break driving.

“I got just what you need, darling.” With a wink, the bartender straightened up and pulled down a series of bottles, cracking his knuckles with flourish before measuring them into a silver canister. “So what brings you to Dewmore?”

“I’m a photographer,” Patton said, “Or, a photography student. Down in Florida.”

The man whistled as he shoveled ice cubes into the mix, “Long drive for some pictures.”

“I’m… dedicated,” Patton laughed, scratching at his neck nervously. “My prof recommended it, said it might be a nice place to spend my break.”

“I assume you’re looking for a place to stay then, as well?” He plopped a cap on the canister and began to shake it above his shoulder, grinning widely, “These guys are always just like, ‘Gimme a beer’ this, ‘Gimme a beer’ that. It’s great to actually make fun drinks again.” With hands flying too fast for Patton to process, he grabbed a glass, popped the lid of the shaker, and poured the deep orange drink, tossing on a green sprig and sliding the drink over. “Enjoy.”

Patton took a cautious sip of the drink and had to fight not to sigh, the refreshing taste a welcome relief after three days of gas station Gatorade and hotel sink water. He could barely taste any alcohol, more focused on the ice cold sweet tartness at the back of his tongue. The bartender looked pleased, huffing a satisfied laugh and beginning to put away his bottles. He was taking another sip, satisfied with the backdrop of joyous chatter and clinking glasses, when he remembered why he’d come in.

“Yes, I am. Uhm, looking for a place to stay, that is.”

The bartender looked at him over his shoulder, “We haven’t had visitors in… a while, at least. You’ve pretty much got your pick of the rooms.”

“Do you have anything facing the water?” He took another sip, the photo possibilities already flowing through his mind. One through the window, just far back enough to catch the flow of the curtains and the chipped wood of the window ledge, a monochromatic lakeshore in the bottom third, a barely visible mountain looming ahead…

“Sure thing, sweetheart. Let me just finish this up, and I’ll get you on the ledger.”

“Patton.” He downed the rest of the drink and rested his elbow on the counter, chin in his palm, an easy smile playing on his lips.

“Hm?”

“My name’s Patton.”

“I’m Roman.” Tossing the towel over his shoulder, Roman gave him another wink before disappearing into the back room, coming back moments later with a thick black book. He was already thumbing through the pages, finally landing on the one he wanted, and spun a pen between his fingers.

“What’s your last name, sweetheart?”

Patton spelled it out for him, and was surprised when the man clapped the book shut after the final letter. “That’s all you need?”

“Yup.”

“No… ID, or anything?” It was at that moment when it occurred to Patton that, although he was legal, his baby face often prompted bouncers and servers back home to ask for identification. Roman hadn’t even blinked before serving him.

“Got anything to hide?”

“Uhm… no, I-”

“Good enough for me. It’s not like we’re a high traffic tourist spot. I don’t think we’ve had anyone take a room in, like, two years, and who knows how many before that. Frankly, I wouldn’t care if you were on the run for murder. Don’t kill me, and we’re solid.”

Patton blanched, unable to tell if the man was being sarcastic. Finally his expression cracked into a smirk and he brandished a key towards Patton, dangling it by the ring. “I’m messing with you. I mean, don’t kill me, that’s legit. Here you go, cutie. Let me know if you need anything.”

With that, he sashayed away with a tray of beers (when on Earth had he filled those?), and the men whooped loudly, startling Patton.

“Easy, boys,” Roman purred, beginning to round the tables, and Patton hopped off the bar stool to get his things from his car. He couldn’t wait to pass out in bed with the knowledge that he could sleep in however late he wanted.

-0-0-0-

But apparently sleep didn’t have the same ideas as him, because even after he was in comfortable clothes and tucked into the covers, he continued to toss and turn. Maybe it was the concept of being alone in a strange town, or the full moon shining through the thin curtains, or just plain excitement, but he suddenly felt wider awake then he had since he started this trip.

There was a soft rattling somewhere across the room and, with begrudging acceptance that he wasn’t going to sleep any time soon, fumbled his glasses on to search for the offending sound. With a grumble, he threw off the blankets and padded across the room to the window and tossed back the curtains, giving the moon a scalding glare for shining so darn brightly. It was the window, fitted loosely in its frame, being shook by the gentle wind that was causing the noise. Patton gave it an experimental tug, followed by a more forceful yank, and found it didn’t budge down at all. Instead, it continued to rattle mockingly, in what sounded almost like whispered giggles as he crossed his arms across his chest.

Fine. He turned his attention to the scenic view before him, letting out a minute shudder as a small gust of wind blew through his thin pajama shirt. Moonlit waves crashed against the rocky shore, tossing up silver spray against the dark backdrop of the forest. Patton took a breath, feeling an overwhelming sense of peace just staring at the silent town, the stone spires rising above the forest-

Wait, what?

Patton blinked sharply a couple times, leaning forward until his nose bumped the window and squinting through the glass. Those… things... definitely looked like manmade objects- the shape made it impossible for them to be natural- but you’d think he’d remember something that looked like a castle directly outside his window. In fact, he’d spent a significant amount of time upon first entering the room just admiring the view, and a castle one hundred percent would have been on his radar. Oh, if the thing was abandoned, imagine the photo opportunities, and even if it wasn’t he could totally just get some of the outside-

Yeah, there was no way he was sleeping now.

Before he’d even processed what he was doing, he’d slipped out of his pajamas and hurriedly pulled on the outfit he’d laid out on the desk chair, because there was no way he was digging through his suitcase to scrounge out more clothes. He threw a beige sweater over his white shirt, however, remembering the chill the night had brought and, after he’d adequate tucked them into his slacks, he threw his camera bag over his shoulder and trotted down the stairs.

Unsurprisingly, the first floor tavern was empty of all customers, overhead lights traded for softer electric lamps on the walls and the illuminated sign above the bar, where Roman was wiping down the counter, seemingly unbothered by the late hour.

“Can’t sleep, sweetheart?” The bartender called out without turning around, tossing his rag across the counter and into a full soapy bucket behind the bar.

“Uh, yeah, something like that,” Patton responded, shaking his bangs so they covered his eye. “I think I’m just too excited to start getting shots.”

“Mmm, you and me both.” He waggled his eyebrows and pulled a bottle of what looked like whiskey off the shelf. “What’s your poison?”

Patton snorted but shook his head, patting his camera bag, “I want to go out, and it’s probably not smart to drink before going out in a strange town at night.”

Roman shrugged before pouring himself a shot and downing it in one smooth motion.

“You’re allowed to drink on the job?”

The bartender hummed, replacing the bottle and locking the cabinet presumably for the night, “Once my tavern is empty, I consider myself off the clock. And I’m my own boss, so I hereby give myself the night off. I have a coffee machine in the back room, one of those Keurigs, if you want something fancy. Hasn’t been used in ages, but I’m sure if you wanted something, I-”

“No, it’s okay. Really.” Patton ducked his head and messed with his shirt, making sure the white collar stood above the neck of his sweater. He made his way over to the bar and took the same stool as before, leaning on the counter as Roman dumped out the dirty cleaning water into the sink. The clock above the bar, barely illuminated enough to see, revealed it was just after midnight. “Are there any old structures, like churches or anything, in the forest?”

Roman tilted his head, giving Patton a look over his shoulder he couldn’t quite understand.

“There’s nothing there besides wolves and ticks, sweetheart,” he said slowly with an almost condescending smile, “Why? Hoping the little town in the middle of nowhere has a mystery?” He rinsed out the bucket and placed it in the cabinet under the sink.

Patton shrugged, scratching at his temple, “I saw something outside of my window.”

“Like a tree?” The rag was rinsed as well and draped over the faucet.

“No, definitely not.” He tried not to feel too offended that Roman was clearly teasing him, but he was certain what he’d seen hadn’t been a tree. They were too tall, too angular, and too symmetrically placed for that.

“Pattycake, I grew up hunting with my dad and partying in those woods, and I would know if something were there.”

“Are you sure?” Patton implored, “There’s definitely something man made, could it be, like, an old castle, or something?”

There was a moment of silence between the two as Roman continued to look at Patton like he was crazy, the barest hints of an impish grin tugging at his lips, before he sucked in a sharp breath; as if he realized something.

On a dime, Roman’s expression contorted into one of anger, eyes alight with fury as he leaned into Patton’s space. As he spoke, his voice almost reverberated, like a choir speaking in unison.

“There is nothing in those woods, Patton. Understand? Don’t go wandering into places you don’t belong, or you won’t like what you find.”

Patton reared back from the forceful words, hand coming up subconsciously to readjust the hair on his face. Roman leaned just a tad closer, growling out a warning, “Got it, sweetheart?” The electric lamps on the walls, once creating such a homey, soft environment, suddenly flickered and Patton flinched, whipping around to face the large room as it seemed to strobe under the malfunctioning lights. Goosebumps spread across his arms as the flashing grew faster and his hand clamped over the back of his neck when a shiver raced up his spine.

“What’s going on? Why are-”

And then the lights went out completely, an eerie quiet settling over the tavern. Roman was silent. Was he even still in the room? Could he have left so quickly? The only sound in the empty room were Patton’s shaky breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth, as he fought down a scream. He wasn’t a fan of the dark.

A single street light barely shone through the window, too dim to even light up the tables near the glass, and Patton turned to focus on it. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In… out… in… out-

A silhouette appeared in the window.

The lights were back to their original gleam before he could even open his mouth to scream, filling the room with a dull hum as if nothing had even happened. Blinking rapidly, Patton took a calming breath (it’s just old lights, it’s just old lights, relax) and swiveled back in his chair to find that Roman was smiling at him innocently, cleaning out a glass with a rag.

“Everything alright, sweetheart?”

“Didn’t you see that?” Patton asked incredulously.

“See what?” The bartender placed the glass into the last space in a row of them, giving Patton that same condescending grin as before.

Patton sighed and lifted his glasses to rub his eyes tiredly, shaking his head. “I think travelling for so long has me seeing things.” Careful as ever, in the same fashion he’d so masterfully perfected in elementary school, he shook his head to cover his eye- his stupid, left, ‘soulmate’ eye- before removing his hands and letting his glasses fall back into place.

Other kids won’t like it, sweetie. I don’t think the teachers will either.

I know you can’t help it, my love. If I could take this burden from you, I would. But this is yours to handle until… well, you know.

I don’t know why, Patton. You’ll find them someday. And then you’ll understand.

“Why do you do your hair like that?”

“Hmm?” Patton blinked.

Roman smirked, leaning casually on the counter in front of Patton, “Covering half of your face like that. You shouldn’t, you know. You’re a stunner.” With that, he reached forward, intent on moving that hair out of his face.

No.

“NO!” Patton yelled, stumbling off the barstool just as Roman’s hand made contact with his face. He ducked his head, roughly scraping his hair back in place with shaking hands, but the damage was done. A single cute guy compliments him and he forgets the habit he’s built up for years? How could he be so stupid-

“Everything alright? I’m sorry for scaring you, sweetheart.”

Was it possible he hadn’t seen it? Maybe Patton had moved fast enough, maybe the bartender had been too surprised to get a good look, maybe everything was fine. Roman didn’t seem horrified, or at all perturbed. Instead, he just looked… worried.

Either way, after that reaction, Patton was aching to be left alone to stew in his embarrassment. His rented room held nothing for him that he wanted, and sleep felt farther than ever, so his only choice was outside. The promises of a maybe-crumbling ancient building, illuminated by a full moon, were far more tempting than anything inside had to offer.

“Actually,” Patton said nervously, “A coffee would be great.”

Roman squinted at him, biting on the inside of his cheek before huffing a breathy laugh through his nose. “Alright, darling. Give me just a second to dust off the Keurig.”

The moment he disappeared behind the door to the backroom, Patton tightened his hold on the camera bag and sprinted from the tavern, into the grips of the cool night.

-0-0-0-

What would he say when he got back to the tavern? Would Roman make him leave the inn? Had he crossed a line he hadn’t known existed; would he have to cut his trip early because he couldn’t help his curiosity? Was bothering the only innkeeper in town really the smartest decision to make?

All wonderful questions that Patton wished he’d considered before running.

But if he did have to leave, and if this was his last night in this delightful and equally terrifying little town, he was going to make the most of it. At least, that’s what he’d thought he would do as he’d left the few city lights behind and treading deeper into the forest. He had a flashlight with him, thank goodness, so he wasn’t completely screwed, and he’d already gotten a few great shots. He stayed in the areas that the full moon could still shine through the trees, and some of the clouds had rolled away, so he was having the time of his life working with silhouettes against the star filled sky (thanks to the little to no light pollution Dewmore offered).

The more prominent thought in his mind, however, were the spires steadily growing closer above the treeline. He couldn’t understand what Roman had been talking about. How could anyone living in this town not see whatever he was walking towards?

(Admittedly, curiosity was also a huge reason he was chasing something he’d been warned to avoid. He’d never been that great at impulse control.)

It had to be nearly two in the morning when he came to an incline; a steep path constructed entirely of rocks fist-sized and larger. At the top, Patton could just barely see what looked to be the back of the castle, and he bounced slightly on his toes in excitement. He couldn’t tell from this distance the state it was in, or if it was possible anyone still lived there, but dang it if he wasn’t going to give it a go before he left. He’d walked all this way, after all.

The first few steps up the hill were the loudest thing he’d heard since he’d started his midnight adventure, and he cringed as they dropped away under his feet, knocking against each other as they fell to the ground.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Patton spun around, his flashlight slipping out of his hands. It rolled down between the rocks, casting split second light beams in every direction as it bounced towards the source of the voice, and stopped dead in the middle between the two of them. It settled on an indent created by Patton’s steps, aimed at the newcomer. Patton breathed a sigh of relief.

“Roman, goodness gracious! You scared the bejesus out of me,” Patton laid a hand on his chest and let out a huge gust of air. Roman didn’t move, and for the first time he noticed the absolute glare the bartender was giving him. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uhm… sorry about the… leaving. Thing. Are you mad?”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Well, apparently they weren’t going to talk about it. “Oh- I’m sorry, is this private property? I didn’t see any signs, I’m- Wait, but look, Roman! See, that’s what I was talking-”

“You. Shouldn’t. Be. Here.”

Patton blinked at the harshness in his words, taken aback. How was this the same easy going bartender that he’d met earlier tonight? Whatever was beyond this hill, though, Roman obviously wasn’t going to allow Patton to see. Maybe it was dangerous, or something? Either way, he couldn’t deny his disappointment. “Yeah. I’m sorry, I’ll leave-”

“How did you get here?”

“I… um, walked?”

“No!” Roman hissed, finally stepping forward and plucking up the flashlight from the ground, “You shouldn’t be able to see the castle, or go near it, how the hell did you get here?!”

Before he could answer, the other man froze, whipping around as if he’d heard a noise from his left. And then Patton blinked, and Roman was in front of him, pulling him back down to solid ground. He dragged him by the arm to a fallen tree that was propped up against its own splintered stump, leaving it angled just a few feet off the ground.

“How did you- You were just over there, how-”

“Get down!”

“What?”

“Get. Down!” Roman shoved his shoulders and Patton had no choice but to collapse, blending into a pile of ferns beneath the bend of the tree. “Take off the backpack, put it in front of you. It blends in better than you do.” He yanked off the dark green camera bag as he spoke, situating it in front of Patton. “Don’t move, don’t make a sound, don’t fucking breathe, Patton, I swear.” The flashlight flicked off and thumped to the ground as Roman walked away, leaving him standing in the pale moonlight. Patton debated reaching for the flashlight, but that would mean exposing himself from the foliage he was tucked in and under, and Roman had seemed really scared.

There was a rustle in the underbrush in front of Roman, and the photographer shoved his fist into his mouth before he could gasp.

“Roman, it’s so nice to see you back home. It’s been far too long.”

“It’s been hardly a month, mother.”

The woman that emerged from the tree’s shadows wore a black cloak, nearly blending into the forest around her as the fabric swirled hypnotically by her ankles with each step. Silver embroidery made up the tight bodice and strung together the corset front, meeting at the bottom in an intricate knot and trailing almost down to the earth in two strands. How her intricate updo had stayed intact through a walk in the forest, Patton couldn’t understand.

However, if this was Roman’s mother, he did understand where he got his looks. The only word that came to his mind was ethereal; all smooth pale skin, those same impossibly dark eyes, red lips curved in a constant, easy smile. She was beautiful, but she was terrifying, and Patton backed up more into his fern hiding spot.

She lifted her flared sleeves towards Roman as she stepped into the moonlit opening and he pulled her hands towards himself, kissing both of her cheeks before releasing her.

“A month is too long, darling,” She purred, letting the back of her hand trail down his cheek. “I don’t understand why you find it necessary to stay amongst those humans when you could be with your family.”

“Because I want more than just… lounging, and talking with my brothers. Do you have to bring this up every time I visit?” Despite his slightly aggravated tone, he leaned into her touch.

“When you’re older, you’ll look back at these choices with embarrassment and resentment.”

“Maybe.”

“I just don’t want you to blame me when you do.”

“I could never, I promise.”

She sighed heavily, “They miss you, Roman. We all do.”

“Which is why I’m here, mom. You act as if I’ve been gone a millenia.”

“Worrying is what a mother does best,” She smiled fondly, tapping his cheek with her finger, “You’re home, darling. Drop the glamor? It must be tiring keeping it up constantly.”

There was a moment of hesitation, where Patton couldn’t help but tense up along with the man in front of him. Then the air shifted, like it had been holding a breath it could finally let out, and though there was nothing different that Patton could see from Roman’s back, a certain jolt of fear hit him out of nowhere.

“There’s my boy.” The woman drew him in for a proper hug, one hand reaching around his back to rest on his head. She pressed a kiss to his hair when he wrapped his arms around her in turn. Suddenly her nose wrinkled and she pulled away, holding his shoulders at arm’s length. “Dearest, you smell like humans again.”

Roman chuckled, but there was a new quiver in his voice. “The only flaw in being surrounded by them so often. Let me change, and I’ll come meet you for dinner.”

She didn’t move, eyes narrowing as she watched his face. “No… it’s not you.”

“What? What else could it possibly-”

“There’s a human here.” Her voice was utterly calm, but she pushed Roman behind her resolutely. “There must be.”

“What?!”

A low growl filled the air, and it took Patton a few moments to realize the sound was originating from her. She stepped past Roman, her dress flowing soundlessly along with her as she glared into the woods around them.

Her eyes flashed red.

Once again, Patton shoved his fist into his mouth to hide a scream. That same alien jolt of fear returned as she moved closer to him, seemingly zeroing in on his location.

“Mother, come now. You’re being silly. Humans can't even come near here, remember? You made sure of that yourself!”

Patton tore his eyes away from the advancing woman and his breath caught in his throat. Roman had followed his mother, trying to placate her gently with a hand on her arm, and in doing so, had turned towards Patton’s hiding spot.

When Patton opened his eyes shortly after being born, he was taken away from his mother, despite his parent’s strong objections and his wails. He was returned hours later, much to their relief. On his birth certificate, his right eye was labeled blue. His left eye, the side usually taken by the natural color of his soulmate’s, was labeled ‘Defective’.

When he was set to start school at six years old, his mother sat him down on his bed and taught him how to properly cover his left eye with his hair. They’d grown it out enough to do so. Patton had asked why it was necessary, and subsequently learned the truth that not all people were as accepting and loving as his parents.

When he was ten, he returned home from school crying. He dropped into his mother’s arms and she held him until his sobs turned to sniffles, until he could explain between sharp breaths that a bully at school had revealed Patton’s eye while trying to force him into a fight, and… well, his classmates hadn’t taken it well. Those who weren’t downright afraid of him, refused to eat or sit with him anymore. But it wasn’t fair. He couldn’t help it!

His eye was labeled ‘Defective’, because never before had the doctor’s seen a child born with a red eye. Not the pale color that came with pinkeye, or an allergic reaction, but the iris itself was such a bold, blood red color that it had left the team scrambling for any record of such an incident. They were left with more questions than answers. But the world had yet to understand how soulmates worked in the first place, so they chalked it up to another universal mystery.

Every day for as long as he could remember, Patton had stared into a mirror first thing in the morning, greeted with calm, airy blue on one side, and fiery, almost electric red on the other.

So it was jarring to see such a sight, yet reversed, on another person. But as Roman tugged again on his mother’s arm, there was no denying it; the man’s own color was a gleaming ruby, and the other was Patton’s very own blue.

“Mother, look,” Roman blurted out, scooping up the discarded flashlight from the forest floor, “This is a human tool. I’m sure this is what you’re smelling.”

She ripped the device from his hand, shaking it in his face, “That is still far too close to home, Roman! Humans have been here, and I guarantee they are still nearby.”

“And you don’t know how many there are, Mom!” Roman insisted, taking her hands. “It doesn’t matter how they got here, or why they did,” A slow grin spread across his face, highlighting a pair of glinting fangs, “Why don’t you gather the family, and we can find them together? I can’t even remember the last time I really ate.”

The woman was satiated by this answer, though she still cast the forest cautious looks. “Stay put, Roman. We’ll be back shortly.” Her nose wrinkled again. “Along with a change of clothes for you.”

And then she was gone, the only remaining trace being the tiny cloud of dust she’d left behind. Roman was calm for a moment, making sure she was really gone, before his demeanor dropped. The cocky smirk was gone, and he no longer held the confidence he’d had, either as a bartender or in the presence of his mother.

“We don’t have a lot of time, c’mon! Let’s go!” He crouched before the log, extending his hand to Patton.

“What the hell are you?!” Patton shrieked. Interesting, that those were the first words from his jumble of thoughts that came out.

“Oh, come on, do you really need to ask? I’m pretty sure you already know!”

And yeah, Patton was pretty sure he knew. He wasn’t an idiot. He’d had a teen Twilight phase, so of course the obvious answer was there. It just… it wasn’t possible. His brain was scrambling for any kind of other solution, anything that made sense, but it all kept circling to the same answer.

The cute bartender at the inn was a vampire.

…

Okay then.

Next problem.

“I… yeah. I think I got it.”

“Good! Now let’s go!” Roman grabbed Patton’s hand and yanked, effectively pulling him from his hiding place and nearly tearing the arm from it’s socket. Patton stumbled from the sudden movement and tripped on his camera bag, yelping as he crashed into Roman’s chest.

The vampire’s hands instantly wrapped around his waist, steadying him as he found his footing.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m all good, I just-”

Roman was much taller than he’d thought; that was the initial thought that came to mind as he looked up at the man holding him. The second was, well, the fact that his jaw had dropped open upon seeing Patton’s eyes, and for the first time since they’d met, the guy was completely speechless.

Patton felt his left eye began to tingle as they shifted into its own natural color. He ignored it.

“You really didn’t see it? At the bar?” Patton whispered.

“No, you moved too fast,” Roman murmured, bringing a hand up to Patton’s cheek. “You… you’re my-”

He must have sensed something, or heard something that was too quiet for Patton’s ears, because his head whipped towards the castle.

“We need to go. Now.” Roman intertwined their fingers and pulled him into a run towards the town.

“Wait, no! My bag!” He tugged hard to try and get his hand free, but he was truly no match for Roman.

“Not important right now, sweetheart!”

Without the aid of his flashlight, and enveloped by the darkness of the forest, Patton was totally blind, relying only on Roman’s grip to keep him from falling. Branches hit his face and roots reached up to trip him, but every time he stumbled, the hand tightened and pulled him back upright.

A howl cut through the air.

“What now, werewolves?!” Patton shrieked.

“Don’t be ridiculous, werewolves aren’t real!” Roman scoffed, “They’re normal wolves! What, you think just because we’re vampires, we’re unable to have pets?”

“Is this really a conversation we should be having at this exact moment?!” Patton shot back.

“You’re right, you’re right, okay.”

The howls were growing closer, and it was clear by Roman’s increased pace that this wasn’t about to be a friendly reunion.

“Can we outrun them?!”

“I take it you’ve never met a wolf!”

Patton looked up at him desperately, already struggling to keep up the conversation and keep up with Roman.

“I thought vampires had… like, super speed!”

“I wouldn’t be able to go for long, especially carrying you. Jump!”

Patton leapt blindly, feeling the side of a fallen log scrape the toes of his shoes. The landing was rough, sparks of pain shooting up his legs, but he was quickly pulled back upright.

“I don’t have the energy! I haven’t eaten in months!”

There were more yowls, definitely closer this time, followed by the sound of multiple animals fighting, barely louder than a voice shouting (presumably) at the racket. Whether it was the wolves having a spat, or a prey animal that had gotten in the way of the hunt, Patton didn’t know. It drew out a small whimper from him either way.

He didn’t want to be next.

“Do you trust me?” Roman suddenly gasped, holding his hand firmer.

“What?!”

“Do. You. Trust. Me?!”

Patton didn’t exactly think he had a choice right now. His feet were aching, his lungs were burning, and he wasn’t sure he could run another minute without his legs giving out. “I- Yeah! Sure!”

“Good enough,” Roman grunted bitterly, screeching to a halt, and using his grip on the other’s arm to stop him too. Before Patton could even bring himself to complain, or scream at him, or just incoherently yell, the vampire was drawing him to his chest, puppeting his arms so they were around his shoulders.

“Hold on.”

Obediently, Patton tightened the grip. “Why-”

And then there was a sharp pain in his neck, and his eyes widened. The sting almost immediately morphed into a pleasant warmth, the distant howling being replaced by a faint humming, the buzzing of his own mind calming, becoming numb until the only thought in his head was Roman, Roman, Roman-

He could feel Roman’s hand on his head, not restricting it, but cupping the back of it so he could lean against him as he stared up at the night sky, the full moon, and the slow blurring of the tops of the pine trees. His other arm was wrapped around his waist tightly, holding him up, and Patton was beyond grateful for the support as his legs began to turn to jelly. The last thing Patton felt was the vampire scooping up his legs and his head being cradled against the soft material of Roman’s shirt.

Then everything went dark.

-0-0-0-

Patton woke up slowly, squinting against the harsh sunlight streaming through his window. He dropped an arm across his eyes lazily, letting out a low groan at his pounding headache. There were voices downstairs in the tavern, and what sounded like dishes clanging, and he wondered if somehow this place was also a restaurant. How on earth could anybody run an establishment like that? It’s like the place never slept-

A wave of nausea pooled in his gut due to the speed of which he sat up but that wasn’t important, not right now. He flung his blankets back and… oh. He was dressed in his pajamas. Last he could remember, in the woods, running with Roman, he’d been in day clothes, in the sweater and shirt that was now draped on a chair across the room. His camera bag was... on the desk. His shoes were by the door, dirt free.

He raised his finger tips to his neck, expecting to feel a raised scab, or scar, any sign that he’d been bitten. There was nothing.

He swung his legs over the sides of the beds and immediately shut his eyes, fighting off an explosion of dizziness induced sparks that shot across his vision. It sure felt as if he’d lost some blood. As much as he didn’t want to believe he had a hangover from one drink, that could also be an explanation. He’d always been a bit of a lightweight.

A dream. Was it all just… a dream?

A feeling of disappointment washed over him and he sighed, running his hands up through his hair. Something soft snagged on his fingers and he carefully detangled it from the curls, pulling it out curiously. He blinked at the fern leaf between his finger tips. That definitely hadn’t happened between his car, the tavern, or the room... So-

He sucked in a breath sharply as his eyes locked with the mirror’s reflection in front of him, every thought coming to a halt.

Because staring back, for the first time ever, were two perfectly blue eyes.

I have a bunch of world building ideas that weren’t included in this fic, shoot me an ask if you have any lore questions!

General taglist:

@max-is-tired

@private-snippers

@joylessnightsky

#lywrites #tsshipmonth2020 #royality #roman sanders #patton sanders #vampire au #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides au #sanderssides #sanderssidesfanfiction

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vegalocity · 3 years

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The Forest (Red Groom AU)

So i was like ‘I should rewatch the Princess Bride again before I jump back into this fic series’. So I re-read my own series as to remember where I was at, rewatched the Princess Bride, and blacked our for a few hours. And when I woke up I found this on my word processor lol

Also catch me messing with everyone ELSE’S dialogue but keeping the Prince’s 100% just Prince Humperdink’s lines so i don’t have to give him a personality (hats off to @starsfic for reminding me of the obvious ‘you don’t have to cast him at all’ thing)

The spotty light of the forest faded into the pitch of night as down, down the prince fell. By the time he hit the ground there was only the faintest patch of sunlight shining through the very sinkhole he'd fallen into.

Prince Red Son cursed his luck thrice times over as he took in the dark world around him, the caves surrounding him seemed to be more burrowed into the ground than they were naturally forming, which spelled both good and bad.

“Red Son! Can you hear me?! Are you alright?!” he heard Xiaotian's voice echo from above and the part of him that was still riding the high of his love being alive, and what's more still just as in love with him as he was, swooned at the care in his voice. If they had been safe at the time and Red Son allowed to linger on the feeling, he was sure he would feel much that of a child positively drowning in the ardor of their first love.

As it was he had to repress the feeling as much as he could. Later. When they were safe.

“I'm fine!” His legs felt like liquid beneath him but he was able to keep on his feet. “I think this is a burrow of some kind!”

“A burrow? Like an animal made that thing?! Hold on I'm coming down there-”

“I can climb back up!” The words came out before he really thought about them, driven mostly by pride; the prince had been dealing with being passed around his captors for the better side of two days now, and though he trusted Xiaotian with his life easily, the fact remained that he'd been at a distinct physical disadvantage with his magic restrained as it was.

And he was kind of tired of being helpless.

“Red,” And my, did the shortened version of his name sound intimate when spoken like that “-you could barely stand! You're injured it's okay! I'm coming down and getting you!”

“I'm not a child Xiaotian,” he just needed to figure out how to get back up without injuring himself further. Now, it wasn't a vertical drop, else he would have probably broken something on the descent down “Just allow me a moment to think of something!”

Now, it wasn't vertical but it WAS too steep a drop to easily climb by hand, he'd need something to act as ballast, like a rope of some kind-

“....You said your copy of the Monkey King's staff can grow or shrink, yes?”

“I....did?”

“Can you extend it down here so I can use it as a ballast to climb?”

“Oh! Yeah probably!”

Now he'd probably need something to ensure if he grip slipped he wouldn't fall for too long and injure himself like a fool once again. Now he hadn't had a lot on hand when the Spider Queen and her mercenaries had apprehended him—barely more than the simple travel clothes he'd been wearing—and what else he'd had had been lost in his captors' desperate fleeing from his love, so other than what he had in his pockets his only set of tools was the clothes on his back.

Ah! But he DID have the clothes on his back did he not? He shed the thin overcoat he'd been allowed after the Spider Queen had searched him for weapons and once the golden ended staff entered his sight he looped the body of it around the staff, and tied it off before tying the sleeves around his torso.

“Okay hold it steady!”

“Got it!”

Admittedly it wasn't the easiest climb, his arms still ached from his self inflicted burns, his legs still trembled from the force of the fall, but before too long had passed mottled daylight was around him again and he took Xiaotian's hand as he was pulled back over the ledge.

“Thank you.” Though he'll admit without most of his magic at his disposal he was tiring rather quickly. He held himself together infront of Xiaotian as his lack of firepower was already embarrassing to be caught by someone so important to him with, but being winded by a simple climb was a humiliation he'd like to be spared of.

“Anytime.” Xiaotian huffed a sigh “But if those are burrows down there we should really get out of this forest quick as we can-”

“And head off to your mountain?” the idea of Xiaotian, his humble noodle boy, having an entire mountain of his own to rule over (temporarily? He had no idea if Sun Wukong would want it back by the time his pilgrimage was complete or not) was such a strange concept, he wasn't sure if it had become quite real for him yet.

“Yup!” Ah, that sweet chipper tone, so sorely missed in the five long years they'd been apart and-

Wait...

“...You're going to tell your fathers as well right?”

Xiaotian paused, and he could see him pale a bit from his stance.

“...Oh man I really AM a dead man when they get ahold of me.”

He couldn't help the laugh at the idea, Xiaotian in that full Monkey King transformation sitting in the Inn all crumpled in on himself like a scolded child, with either of his parents just ripping into him.

“...Wow...” Xiaotian sounded breathless and when Red Son looked open him for a moment he was struck by the greatest sense of Déjà vu. That quiet afternoon in the inn when he'd glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and known his heart, But here was that look once more, in this darkened forest so long later.

“What?”

“Nothing I just... forgot how much I loved your laugh.” Xiaotian reached up and rubbed at his neck, a bashful grin making his cheeks turn pink, and Red Son felt his own face grow warm in response. Damn Noodle Boy still knew exactly what to say to make him a mess- “It's honestly so cute. That crazy cackle-”

-Nevermind. He scowled and now it was Xiaotian's turn to laugh.

“No I mean it! I love how wild it is!” He folded his arms and huffed, but didn't stop Xiaotian as he untangled them to link one of Red Son's arms in his own. “You throw your entire self into absolutely everything! It's admirable! And you already know how much I love your passion-” Dammit.

“We should try to find somewhere relatively safe before nightfall hits. Who knows what other dangers there are here.” He sniffed, as primly as he possibly could.

“Whatever they are we can handle it!” Xiaotian chirped in response, almost too optimistic, especially granted he'd JUST been saying that they should leave as fast as possible.

“I mean whatever made those burrows probably left awhile ago if so much plant matter had built up over them as to cover the air vents like that.” That was true-

“Well, what about the R.O.U.S? Isn't this their migratory region?”

“The Rodents of Unusual Size?” Xiaotian shook his head “I've passed through this forest before, never ran into them, I don't think they're anything but rumor.”

And then they pounced on them.

The Rodents of Unusual Size were pack animals so when they descended on the two of them they did so at least a dozen in number. Their most bold had tackled Xiaotian to the ground and and its size—roughly that of a small wheelbarrow—had sent him grappling with the creature, trying to get it off him and draw his staff at once.

Before the rest of the pack made its move Red Son gave the one on his love a swift kick, sending it yelping and scurrying off to regain its strength. Then the others began to descend on them. Xiaotian had drawn his staff in the respite and gotten back to his feet, but the most Red Son could improvise as a weapon was a nearby branch that had fallen from a tree.

He felt pathetic in comparison to Xiaotian at his back.

He hadn't even gotten out of the damn sinkhole without help. Sure it had been his plan but-

Xiaotian moved not flawlessly, he hadn't been combat trained when he'd left, and he'd only been trained by Sun Wukong for a short while before they'd parted ways, he'd gained his skills on the way instead of having them trained into him, and Red Son had fallen out of weaponry while he'd still been a boy.

One of the rodents lunged for him and he barely swiped the branch quick enough to bat it away. He sensed one nearing his blindspot and turned just a bit to keep it in his sight-

-and felt Xiaotian push him out of the way as another rodent lunged upon his turned back.

The grunt of pain-

The smell of human blood-

Xiaotian was knelt on the ground at his side, struggling with a rodent that had its teeth buried into his shoulder.

It was instinct, not emotion, not intent. The bone deep—soul deep—need to protect all he held dear, the memory of despair, the memory of joy. The words 'True love' spoken so matter of fact and plain. A simple statement of what was real instead of a challenge or declaration.

Seeing and smelling his blood and the very real danger and he'd been protecting him this was his fault he couldn't die like this he couldn't live to make his way back and return to Red Son just to die like this and have it be HIS FAULT-

Fire.

The golden bands on his wrists glowed, then shuddered-

-and then they broke.

And there was fire.

The rodent on Xiaotian was burned and burned and kept burning, the flames encompassing the creature, but never once touching his beloved, and not once daring to burn their master after they'd been forced to disobey him for the length of two days.

The rodent dropped twitching and smoldering and when he looked up, eyes burning and glowing from the power he'd been forced to restrain for far too long, the remaining rodents had scurried off to their holes. Fearful and skittish of the power that had been released.

“Woah...” Xiaotian's voice cut through the roar of the flames still crackling up his arms and it felt so right it hurt that he'd gone any time at all without it as it should be.

Though he still felt a weak ache in his limbs, his fire allowed to spring forth at his command once again was doing quite a lot to quell the pain, and he offered his hand to his love.

“We should leave before they come back.”

Xiaotian took his hand and stared as though he'd never seen him before.

“Is something wrong?”

“I just... I never saw you fight before I guess.” Xiaotian gripped his sluggishly bleeding shoulder. Red Son removed his thin coat again to try and treat the wound, though it was a bit challenging as they continued their trek.

Soon enough the forest was beginning to thin, and the dim light of dusk made strange shadows pass across the world. They were nearing Flower Fruit Mountain if Xiaotian's estimate was anything to go by, and hopefully that would mean they were soon to be safe-

But then came the sound of horses.

“Pull your sleeves down.” Xiaotian whispered urgently. “If thats your fiance make him think you still don't have your fire.”

Red Son cursed the fact that he hadn't thought of that first. Nonetheless he did as directed, and let Xiaotian pull him protectively behind him.

And there were horses, and warriors, and a macaque with fur black as pitch, and leading the caravan was his fiance.

“Surrender.” The prince demanded the second they got near.

“Oh, you wish to surrender to me?” Dammit Xiaotian. “Very well, I accept.”

His fiance looked vaguely amused, but only vaguely. “I give you full marks for bravery, but don't make yourself a fool.”

He'd never known the man before now, this being Red Son's first time gazing upon the prince his parents had decided to be his betrothed, and the prince's eyes on him as well.

Red Son wasn't the best at parsing out emotions, but he knew the prince had hired the Spider Queen to kill him, so he knew the thing that looked like desire in the prince's eye was nothing but bloodlust. He wanted not him, but his parents' army, and he was willing to slaughter anyone who stood between him and that goal.

“Ah, but we know the secrets of the forest! We could live there comfortably for days without you and yours finding us!” Red Son could see the blood starting to seep back out of Xiaotian's shoulder as he drew his staff again. “So if you wish for a death at the hands of the R.O.U.S packs, please be my guest and feel free to visit!”

“I tell you once again, surrender!” his betrothed stressed, and Red Son saw movement from the corner of his eye. Xiaotian couldn't turn his head from the prince, but he could see the prince had brought archers with him. Many archers. Archers whom had peeled away from the caravan before their approach.

Xiaotian was not immortal. Or maybe the Monkey King had taught him to be in the first way he had learned to be immortal for his aging to cease, but if he was he wasn't invulnerable.

“That won't be happening.” He could make a ring of fire around the both of them and spread it out to destroy any arrows that came into their path and then expand it forward to knock back their foes, But then they'd have only a small opening, and their only option would be to retreat back into the forest and hope to loose his fiance, maybe in the burrows of that large unknown creature? But that risked Xiaotian being wrong about it being some time since said creature had been there and risk the wrath of a huge underground creature likely out for blood at two tiny by comparison beings invading its home.

“For the final time, surrender!” the prince barked and with a flourish drew his sword from its sheath. The black furred macaque at his side drew a staff from his person, spiked at either end, and shot them both a wicked grin, but it was Red Son's eye he held.

The macaque took one hand away from his weapon to reach beneath his shirt, and what he pulled out made Red Son's only plan null. A fire resistance spell scribbled on a small block of wood, and another pair of those damned golden cuffs. He'd be restrained again in an instant if he couldn't even injure anyone and he'd be just as helpless as before, but this time at a heavy disadvantage with his love injured, it would only be hours before they caught up with them, if even that.

“Death first!” Xiaotian cried, holding up the staff and ready to charge-

“You have to swear you won't hurt him!” The words ripped from his lungs before he had a chance to truly consider them.

“What did you say?” The prince broke his gaze with his love and raised a brow at him.

“Red Son...?” Xiaotian's voice was so quiet, so confused...But that didn't matter. If it saved his life then he refused to regret it.

“....I'll go with you. We'll surrender and I'll let you take me back to your mountain, but you must swear you won't hurt this man.”

He'd been useless ever since he'd been kidnapped by those damned mercenaries, he'd relied on Xiaotian to survive the forest—whom had needed to get hurt before he could even gain a fighting chance at being his equal again—and now he couldn't get them out of his fiance's clutches together.

If he went back with the prince he'd be killed and his death blamed on whoever the Prince wished to destroy with his parent's army but-

-but he knew his limits.

“I swear it on all I hold dear.” His fiance responded.

“He has his own mountain to return to, you must let him return in peace.”

“It will be done.” his betrothed agreed, he turned to the macaque and murmured something to him, but all he could hope for is that this prince wasn't an oathbreaker-

-not like he'd turned out to be.

Xiaotian was staring at him, his wide dark eyes hurt and uncomprehending and it was so unfair that this was how it had to end. That he'd only had him back for such a short time before he had to choose to give him up.

But...

“When I thought you dead it nearly destroyed me.” he forced his voice to remain firm, no matter how much his heart hurt at what must be done. “I cannot survive that a second time.” and he knew he couldn't.

But he was a selfish demon after all, because despite his actions, and his willingness to give himself over to his betrothed, Red Son still desired one last fleeting moment with his love.

The kiss was soft, Xiaotian's calloused hands gripped loosely in his own and he prayed he would remember the feeling and never forget his warmth. Whether he was killed by his betrothed, fought back long enough to be kept alive and announced dead and forever kept in a basement somewhere, or yet worse live a long healthy life beside a demon king he didn't love, and never able to see Xiaotian again.

“If this is all I can do for you, then please, let me save you.” his voice was barely over a whisper, any louder and his voice would crack and wobble with emotion.

“...As you wish.”

And then there was a hand on his shoulder that was not Xiaotian's. It was cold and slick, like the scales of a reptile.

And so, leaving the keeper of his heart behind, Red Son pulled away from Xiaotian, and got on the horse offered to him.

And if there was a thin yet steady plume of steam trailing behind his steed, well... nobody bothered to say anything.

–

And Xiaotian was left standing alone as the keeper of his heart turned himself in to what was no doubt his own execution.

His sluggishly bleeding shoulder gave a thin throb of pain as a few of the prince's caravan followed Red Son and that wretched prince, but staying behind were a majority of the archers and the black furred macaque.

“Well, guess we should be getting you back to your mountain then.” The Macaque drawled, leaned back casually on his own horse and hiding his staff only now. His strangely shaped ears twitched as Xiaotian took a step forward. Wait- Not strangely shaped, there were three of them. Three on either side.

“We're men of action. Lies don't suit us.” He'd responded simply, and the Six eared macaque grinned that wolfish grin at him again. And sure enough he felt a few groping hands as a couple brave archers grabbed him and bound his hands behind his back.

“Love that staff by the way. Looks quite a lot like one an old friend of mine used to wield. But like, a crappily made cheap replica of it.” The Macaque hummed and took the staff from the ground after he'd been forced to drop it. “Way lighter too. Don't even need to have stolen anybody's powers for it!” After a beat the Macaque met his gaze, and he must have been making a bit of a face because he suddenly looked off his game. “What?”

“Six-Eared Macaque was it? I know someone who's been looking for you.” The swordsman flashed in his mind, the scar on her shoulder, the fierce determination in her eyes, that masterful, artistic swordplay. She'd had every moment of her confrontation with this macaque planned out for a decade, right down to what she would say to him.

He hoped she found out where he was and got her revenge from it. She deserved to, she seemed like the kind of person Xiaotian would have gotten along with swimmingly if they'd known eachother under better terms.

The Macaque growled and swiped out with his staff, knocking him on the side of his head.

And as his vision swam, as the world grew dark, he heard the macaque growl:

“Take him to the pit of despair, Looks like we've got a new test subject.”

He missed Red Son.

#Red Groom AU #Spicynoodleshipping #vega writes stories too #Princess Bride AU #catch me keeping outfit descriptions as vague as possible for flexibility's sake #MK Red Son #Qi Xiaotian #Six Eared Macaque

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