#blades of light and shadow ch 15

[moeitsu]

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Summary: Kate and Arthur share a tender moment in the quiet of the night. Ao3   Wattpad Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8 Ch.10 Tags: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character, Widowed, Original Character, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby Arthur Morgan, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Ch 9 - A Hundred Months Have Passed

After a few days had passed, the ebb and flow of camp life settled back into its usual rhythm. The air buzzed with the familiar hum of activity—girls diligently tending to chores, men venturing out in search of employment. Micah, having wisely refrained from his lewd remarks, seemed to steer clear of Kate since the encounter with her blade at his throat.

Kate, ever the reliable hand, lent herself where needed: scrubbing alongside Mary-Beth and Tilly, deftly stitching with Abigail, and even lending a hand in Pearson's kitchen to ease Sadie's burdens. The oppressive heat of Lemoyne clung to everyone like a stifling cloak, making afternoons feel interminable. Yet, the proximity of the lake provided a much-needed reprieve, promising a cool respite at the day's end.

Arthur slipped back into the role of the camp's indispensable jack-of-all-trades. Strauss had once again tasked him with money lending duties, a responsibility Kate chose to abstain from this time. Arthur, sensing her unspoken concerns, pledged a new approach—doing things properly this time. His efforts brought a smile to Kate's lips; she recognized his earnest attempts to turn a new leaf, even amidst his continued forays into stagecoach heists and homestead robberies.

This morning, Dutch and Hosea, accompanied by John and Arthur, ventured into Rhodes at the deputy's behest, hopeful for legitimate work. Kate felt a surge of pride knowing they were earnestly striving for honest wages, unaware of Dutch's clandestine designs. Rumors of a longstanding feud between the affluent Gray and Braithwaite families had piqued Dutch's interest, his mind already scheming.

While the boys were occupied, Kate found herself free from chores, engaging in a serene game of dominos with Tilly and Javier. The late afternoon light filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows across the camp.

“I don’t like being this far south,” Tilly commented, her voice tinged with fear. “I feel like we ain’t safe here. I ain’t safe here.”

“You’ll be alright, Tilly. We’re all looking out for you,” Kate reassured her.

Tilly sighed and shook her head solemnly. “This lot don’t like folk like me, Kate. My mother was a slave until she was 15 years old.”

“We’ll keep you safe, I promise,” Kate urged.

Javier, who had been quietly playing dominoes with them, placed his domino and joined the conversation. “I don’t think these folks like anybody who isn’t white, if I’m being honest,” he said with a dry laugh. “I’ve been called ‘greaser’ by almost every pendejo in this country.”

Kate sighed as she played her domino, earning a few points. “This town is full of a bunch of drunks stuck in the past. They never recovered from the war, and they’d rather hang onto their grievances than move on.”

Tilly placed her last domino, earning no points, and stood up with a grunt of frustration. “Yeah well, I just hope we don’t stay here too long. We’re supposed to be going back west, not south.” She walked away, her steps heavy with frustration.

Now alone with Javier at the small wooden table, Kate leaned back and blew out a breath. The air was hot and heavy, weighing down any motivation to work.

“Is that why you haven’t left camp much?” She inquired, her voice tinged with concern. “Because of the way people are treating you down here?”

Javier shrugged nonchalantly. “Sorta, but it doesn’t really bother me that much.”

Kate’s expression softened. She hadn’t known Javier well, but since the night of the raiders and borrowing his guitar, he had opened up more. She sensed he was a quiet presence, always listening but rarely speaking. She also noticed how much it bothered him when other gang members picked on him, especially Micah and Bill.

She chuckled softly. “Well, you certainly have a lot of patience. I’m amazed you haven’t stabbed Micah yet.”

Javier grinned and met Kate’s gaze. “Oh, I’ve thought about it many times.”

He leaned back, stabbing his knife into the table. “People like Micah don’t scare me. You know, it’s been five years since I left Mexico. Those men chasing me, I still have nightmares about them. Those are scary men.”

Kate listened intently, intrigued by his story.

“If I go back there, I’m as good as dead. They killed my mother, and I mourn her every day. But I never got to bury her. My sister married a man and ran away, and I hope she’s safe, but I’ll never know for sure.”

“Why were those men chasing you?” Kate asked quietly, curious about his past and how he ended up in the gang.

Javier scoffed, memories fueling his frustration. “My crime? My crime was wanting food and fairness—for myself and for my people. That’s why they hunt me. When I came here, I found that it was not so different.”

Kate nodded in understanding. “This land is wild, far beyond being ‘free.’ I know that as much as anybody, and like most, I learned the hard way.”

“Everyone here steals and lies. The only thing they do better here is make you think it’s not that way,” Javier said, his frustration evident. “Mexico could be a land of plenty, but those cabróns in our government won’t even pay us a fair wage.”

He looked at Kate with a sad expression. “I know I’m a thief. But at least I don’t steal the lives and hopes of others.”

Kate spoke before he could leave. “Do you think you’ll ever go back?”

He shook his head sadly, “I’ll be shot on site if I do.” Javier left her with those words.

Kate sat quietly, her eyes roaming over the camp. In the short time she’d been with this group, she had come to know many of their stories, and each one tugged at her heartstrings. There was no joyous reason that a band of misfits like them would ride together, yet the more she learned about each member, the more she understood their pain. They were all seeking a way to escape, all fleeing from something in their pasts. Some were orphaned, like Arthur and John, taken in by Dutch and Hosea. They were provided for, cared for, and yet, Kate couldn't help but doubt the sincerity of that care.

Dutch hadn't spoken to Kate since they arrived at Clemens Point. She wasn’t seeking an apology for Micah’s actions—Dutch wasn’t responsible for that—but his silence troubled her. During her time in the camp, she had observed how Dutch treated Arthur. He was dismissive yet domineering, always assuring Arthur of his position as his right-hand man, yet often prioritizing conversations with Micah. When Arthur approached Dutch for conversation, he always seemed preoccupied, only granting him full attention when there was work to be done and money to be made. Kate sensed a tension between them, a dynamic that left her uneasy.

As she gazed across the camp, Kate couldn’t shake the feeling that Dutch’s intentions for their group's safety and future were not as altruistic as they seemed. She wondered if their pursuits were leading them toward a better life or simply deeper into trouble.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Arthur shook his head, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You know, I think you have finally lost your mind," he remarked, eyeing Dutch with amused disbelief.

The boys had ridden into Rhodes earlier that afternoon, on a peculiar mission orchestrated by Dutch. The notorious gang leader had struck an unlikely alliance with Sheriff Gray, a key player in the ongoing feud between Rhodes' wealthiest families, the Grays and the Braithwaites. Their task? To reclaim stolen moonshine from the Braithwaites, which had found its way into the hands of Lemoyne raiders.

Dutch, ever the showman, had orchestrated their involvement under the guise of "helping the law." Now, adorned with shiny silver stars that marked them as deputized lawmen, the outlaws-turned-vigilantes cut an absurd figure in the bustling town.

"Amongst these drunkards, hillbillies, and slavers... good honest thieves like us, we’re bound to be moralizers in a place like this!" Dutch declared, arms outstretched as if claiming dominion over the entire town.

As they wrapped up loading the stolen moonshine into the wagon, John and Hosea offered to take the wagon to a secluded spot near camp, assuring the Sheriff that they would take care of "disposing" of the last of the moonshine. The Sheriff nodded knowingly, pocketing a couple of jugs for himself.

Before Dutch and Arthur departed, they couldn't resist indulging in their hard-earned spoils, taking more than a few swigs of the fiery alcohol to celebrate their successful mission before making their way back to camp.

“Hey you know what, why don’t I race you back to camp,” Dutch quipped, saddling his horse in an unsteady manor. 

Arthur, equally unsteady on his feet, chuckled and climbed into Belle's saddle. "You're on," he agreed, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Later that evening, Arthur stumbled back into camp, his usually confident steps a bit less steady. The setting sun bathed the campsite in a warm orange glow, adding to the relaxed atmosphere. A faint scent of moonshine lingered on his breath, a testament to the drinks he and Dutch had indulged in before returning.

Kate looked up from where she sat near the fire, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. "Welcome back, Deputy Morgan. Looks like you've found yourself a new career path," she teased, giving a playful flick to the shiny silver star on his chest.

Arthur chuckled, brushing off her comment as he settled beside her by the fire. "Ah, quit it. I ain't cut out for lawman duties."

He turned slightly towards Kate, a warm glow in his eyes fueled by both the alcohol and the comfort of her presence. "How was your day, Kate? You tired of being surrounded by outlaws yet?" he asked, steering the conversation. 

Kate smiled warmly, her eyes reflecting genuine contentment. "Honestly, Arthur, I've never been more grateful for the company," she admitted, her voice softening with sincerity. "After so long on my own, it's nice to be part of something, even if it's a band of outlaws."

Arthur nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames of the fire. Despite the daily lively chatter and the camaraderie of the gang, a pang of loneliness tugged at his heart. He had always been surrounded by people, yet somehow, he often felt a deep sense of solitude. The only time he felt seen, felt solace, was when he was with Kate. Her presence made him light up, whether it was a fleeting smile in the morning as they greeted eachother before going about their duties. Or on evenings such as this, when they talked about their day by the fire and simply enjoyed eachothers presence. She calmed the raging storm in his heart, and each day he grew more and more fond of her company. 

The warmth of the fire and the alcohol in his belly emboldened him slightly. "Well, if it's all the same to you, Kate, I quite enjoy your company," Arthur admitted, a bashful smile playing on his lips as he shifted closer to her, their shoulders nearly touching.

Kate's eyes sparkled with amusement as she leaned in to meet his gaze. "I'll admit, Arthur, I enjoy your company more than most," she teased, a playful glint in her eyes. "But don't tell the others that," she added with a wink.

Arthur chuckled softly, the sound blending with the crackling of the fire. They settled against the log, warmed by the fire's glow. As the night deepened around them, they shared stories of their day. Arthur recounted their new duties as lawmen and the complexities of the feud between the two families, outlining Dutch's plan to navigate the situation without causing undue trouble.

The sun had long set, casting a cool, gentle darkness over the camp. Most of the gang had retired for the night, leaving only the crackling fire and the symphony of nighttime sounds—crickets chirping and frogs croaking.

Amidst the tranquil atmosphere, the peace was shattered by the distant voices of Abigail and John, their argument drifting from their tent and cutting through the night's quiet. Arthur and Kate exchanged a knowing look, their conversation momentarily interrupted by the reminder of the discord that often simmered beneath the surface of their makeshift family.

Arthur sighed, his expression a mixture of resignation and empathy as Abigail's voice rose in frustration. "Why don't you use that tiny brain of yours? Whatever you think is right and proper, do the exact opposite! Then, you'll raise a man!" Her words were hushed, as if she were trying to contain her anger despite the intensity of her tone.

John's retort came swiftly, equally filled with annoyance. "Just like your mama did? Raise a real man, like you?" His jab was met with a sharp slap from Abigail, the sound echoing through the camp.

Kate winced, noticing Arthur pinch the bridge of his nose in response to the escalating argument. Before she could interject, the soft patter of footsteps approached rapidly. In a flash, Jack emerged from his tent, clad in nothing but a nightgown, and flung himself into Arthur's lap.

Unfazed by the sudden intrusion, Arthur pulled Jack close, his voice gentle and soothing. "Hey kiddo, can't sleep?" he asked, his tone calming.

Jack nodded against his uncle's shoulder. "Mama is mad at Pa again," he murmured, his voice small and weary. Turning his head slightly, he glanced up at Kate. "Hi, Auntie Kate," he greeted quietly.

"Hey, little man," Kate responded warmly, brushing a stray hair from his eyes as his cheek rested against Arthur's shoulder.

As the voices of John and Abigail rose again, Jack buried his face against Arthur. Concern flickered in Arthur's eyes as he glanced at Kate, who suddenly had an idea.

"Why don't we go get Lorena ready for the night? You wanna help, Jack?" Kate suggested, offering a diversion to distract Jack from the tension brewing between his parents.

With a silent nod, Arthur rose from his seat, cradling little Jack in his strong arms. Kate couldn't help but watch the scene unfold before her. His towering figure enveloped the small boy with an unexpected tenderness and care. As Arthur held Jack close, his protective embrace painted a stark contrast to the tough exterior he often projected.

In that moment, Kate glimpsed a side of Arthur that stirred her heart. The way he handled Jack with such gentleness and love sparked a yearning within her. She imagined how Arthur might have been as a father—patient, kind, and devoted.

The campfire's warm glow cast a soft light on them as they moved away from the escalating voices. Arthur's features softened as he whispered reassuring words to Jack, his gaze filled with warmth and understanding.

Kate fell into step beside them, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight of Arthur's caring demeanor. Despite his gruff reputation, she sensed a depth of compassion that drew her in, melting away the rough edges.

As they approached Lorena, her mare nickered in recognition, sensing familiar company. Kate reached out, her hand running over the sleek mane of the horse affectionately. Before she could retrieve her brush from the saddlebag, Jack, nestled in Arthur's arms, spoke up with innocent curiosity.

"Does she like it when you sing her lullabies?" His voice was small and earnest.

Kate's smile softened at the question. "Yes, she does. It helps calm her down and makes her feel safe, knowing I'm right here to sing her to sleep," she replied, her voice warm with affection for the horse.

Jack looked up at her, a hint of sadness in his tone. "Mama used to sing me lullabies, but she says I'm too old for them now."

Arthur chuckled softly, his hand rubbing Jack's back comfortingly. "Well, you ain't a baby anymore, Jack. Yer gettin’ older and bigger," he reassured him.

Kate's gaze lingered on Jack as Arthur cradled him in his arms. It felt like a hundred months had passed since she held her own child, since she last sang a lullaby. A pang of longing swept through her. She understood Abigail's perspective—Jack was nearly five years old—but in that moment, Kate would have given anything to sing to her baby again, no matter the age.

Jack's eyes met hers, his innocence shining through. "Can you sing me a lullaby, Auntie Kate?"

Her heart swelled with warmth as she nodded in response. Jack reached out his small arms towards her, and without hesitation, Kate embraced him.

Arthur glanced at Kate, a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. He trusted her, but he didn't want to burden her with his nephew's needs. He had already come to terms with taking responsibility for the young child.

"Kate, ya don't have to—" Arthur began.

But Kate interrupted gently, reaching out to take Jack into her arms. "I don't mind at all, Arthur," she said sincerely, her voice warm with compassion.

Kate hadn't held a child since she laid her own in a dark casket with her father. The familiar weight of a child on her hip, his breath against her neck as he nestled his head on her shoulder, brought a mix of comfort and grief. She pushed the painful memories down, focusing on the present moment with Jack in her arms.

Arthur watched with a mixture of admiration and tenderness as Kate held his nephew, her cheek resting against Jack's head. As her eyes closed and she began to sway gently on her feet, rocking him as if he were a newborn, Arthur couldn't help but imagine what she must have been like as a mother—devoted, kind, and filled with love.

Kate started singing softly, her voice carrying a soothing melody into the quiet evening air.

When I was young, younger than before. I never saw the truth hanging from the door,

Now I’m older, see it face to face. Now I’m older, gotta get up, clean the place. 

I was green, greener than the hill. Where the flowers grew and the sun shown still. 

Now I’m darker than the deepest sea, just hand me down, give me a place to be.

I was strong, strong in the sun, I thought I’d see when the day was done.

Now I’m weaker than the palest blue. Oh, so weak in this need for you. 

Arthur studied her features in the soft moonlight, savoring every detail—the graceful movement of her lips as she sang, the way her hair danced in the night breeze. Kate's gentle circles on Jack's back gradually lulled him to sleep, his breathing slowing, arms going limp around her neck. A smile touched Kate's lips, and she continued to hum softly, ensuring Jack remained nestled in slumber.

As Kate swayed, Arthur felt something profound stir within him, a warmth he had never experienced. It was as though her presence kindled a fire in his heart, leading him closer to her warmth. In her company, he felt alive, radiant like the earth basking under the sun, humming with a joyful tune from the lips of a woman. For the first time in years, he began to reflect on all the moments he had missed with his own woman and child. 

Kate ceased her humming, her closed eyes and furrowed brow revealing the depth of her emotions. She released a shaky breath before speaking softly to Arthur, her voice laced with vulnerability. "When I held my baby girl for the first time, I saw her future branching out before me. Every possibility filled with something wonderful"

Arthur closed the distance between them, as if to shield her from the memories that still haunted her. Kate nestled her cheek against Jack's head, her voice trembling with unspoken sorrow. "I could have been a good mother," she whispered.

Gently, Arthur brushed his thumb across her cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Kate's eyes fluttered open at his touch, reflecting the moonlight like shimmering pools of emotion. They held unshed tears, a testament to her resilience and the burdens she carried. Despite life's hardships, she fought to maintain her kindness, a quality that only deepened Arthur's admiration.

Moved by the connection between them, Arthur closed the final gap, his lips meeting hers in a silent embrace. The kiss was soft yet filled with unspoken longing, a gentle affirmation of the feelings blossoming between them. The world around them seemed to fade as they shared this intimate moment, each touch and breath carrying the weight of unspoken words and shared emotions.

Kate removed her hand from gently rubbing circles on Jack's back, finding a new warmth against Arthur's cheek. She tilted her face, deepening their kiss as Arthur's arm wound around her waist, drawing her closer. He smelled of moonshine and tobacco, a scent that mingled with the smoky air of the campfire.

As their mouths met, Kate sighed softly, feeling their connection deepen with each tender touch. Arthur's heart raced within his chest, the world around him blurring as if the only anchor to reality was the sensation of her lips against his. Her tongue brushed against his, a silent invitation for more.

Just as the kiss intensified, Jack stirred in his sleep, breaking Arthur from the spell. Reluctantly, he pulled back, his breath slightly labored, a silent turmoil brewing within him.

"Sorry," Arthur murmured, his voice tinged with a mix of desire and uncertainty. "I, um,” he hesitated, “I-I should take Jack back to his ma."

Kate nodded, her eyes reflecting a shared hesitation. "Of course," she replied softly, gently handing the boy back to his uncle.

Arthur carefully settled Jack more securely in his arms. He offered Kate a tender smile, though his eyes betrayed a hint of inner conflict. "G’night, Kate," he said, his voice a mixture of warmth and unease.

"Goodnight, Arthur," she replied, her tone gentle yet tinged with an unspoken question.

With a last lingering glance, Arthur turned and made his way toward Abigail and John's tent, Jack's form cradled protectively against him. As he disappeared into the shadows, Kate stood by her sleepy mare, her heart echoing the silent uncertainty that had clouded the moment.

Later that night, Arthur lay awake on his cot, the memory of their kiss haunting his thoughts. Moonlight filtered through the canvas, casting ghostly shadows around him. The scent of campfire smoke lingered on his clothes, a tangible reminder of the evening's events.

Arthur couldn't shake the yearning that had blossomed between him and Kate, nor the underlying unease that accompanied it. The fleeting intimacy they shared left him grappling with doubts about the future, and more importantly, about himself. He cared deeply for Kate, admired her resilience and kindness, yet the complexities of their lives and the dangers they faced loomed like shadows in his mind. 

His own truth ached to be revealed, how he longed to tell her about his own son, but the guilt and shame he carried with the memories clouded all means of opening up. Kate missed her family dearly, that much was painfully obvious to him. He feared if she knew the truth about him, she wouldn’t see him the same. He too had a family once, and his own recklessness cost them their lives. He feared she would not forgive him for being so careless. 

Lost in contemplation, Arthur sighed heavily, his thoughts drifting back to Kate's soft lips and the warmth of her touch. He couldn't deny the pull he felt toward her, a desire for connection amidst the chaos of his existence.

In the quiet solitude of his tent, Arthur wrestled with conflicting emotions, uncertain of what lay ahead for them. The night stretched on, filled with unanswered questions and the restless beating of his heart. He reached for his journal, its leather cover worn and familiar, and opened it to a blank page.

With a sketching pencil in hand, he drew an image from memory—the sight of Kate cradling Jack against her cheek. Underneath the tender sketch, he penned his thoughts:

Kate has a way about her that makes a man feel alive. She’s fierce, and she's kind. She’s strong and she’s passionate. She’s utterly beautiful. And she’s too sweet for me. 

I kissed her tonight, I don’t really know why. The way she was singin’ and cradlin’ little Jack, it made me think of Eliza and Isaac. For the first time in years, I thought about all the moments I missed because I was off being a fool instead of a father. 

I see things still haven't changed. You’ll always be a fool Morgan.

I think I’m falling for Kate. I just hope she can let me down easy. Maybe I’ll just close my eyes on the way down. 

Closing his eyes, Arthur tried to still his restless thoughts. He imagined Kate's smile, the curve of her cheek as she cradled Jack, the warmth of her presence against him. The weight of his feelings tugged at him like an anchor, both comforting and disquieting.

With a heavy sigh, Arthur surrendered to the embrace of exhaustion. The world around him faded into darkness, and for a fleeting moment, his turbulent heart found respite in the realm of dreams.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x original female character #arthur morgan x reader #dutch van der linde #fluff #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #angst #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #journal #archive of our own #fanfiction #fanfic #eventual smut #eventual romance #mutual pining #kisses #john marston #abigail marston #hosea matthews #jack marston #ao3 link #red dead fandom #red dead redemption community #x reader #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending #arthur morgan x oc #oc x canon

[choicesficwriterscreations]

CFWC F/AotW - Feb 25 - Mar 3, 2023

✒️= Fanfic | 📱= Text Fics/Edits | 🎨 = Fanart Ⓜ️ = Mature Content 18+ | 🔥 = Explicit/NSFW 18+ 🏳️‍🌈 = LGBTQIA |🔹Submitted by creator

BLADES OF LIGHT & SHADOW

The Best Crew 🎨| Multiple Characters by @artoile (C: @storyofmychoices)

Best Crew in the Whole Damn Realm🎨| Multiple Characters by @garlickk

Nia Ellarious x MC Fanart 🎨🏳️‍🌈 by @gaiuskamilah

Orc Meets Girl ✒️🏳️‍🌈🔹| F!Orc!MC & F!Human!MC - @noesapphic

Pancake Mornings 🎨🔹| Mal Volari x F!elf!MC - @/artbyainna (IG) (C: @dutifullynuttywitch)

Until the Stars Fall From the Sky ✒️🔹| Tyril Starfury x F!human!MC - @thosehallowedhalls

BLOODBOUND

Hide Me In Thy Wounds ✒️| Gauis Augustine x F!MC - @gaiuskamilah

Kamilah Sayeed x F!MC Fanart 🎨🏳️‍🌈🔹by @vampirkit

CRIMES OF PASSION

An Interlude of Grief ✒️🔹| m!Trystan Thorne x F!MC - @thosehallowedhalls

THE CURSED HEART

Leaf Fanart 🎨by @artbyalz

DESIRE AND DECORUM

Threads of Gold ✒️🎨🔹| Ernest Sinclaire x F!MC - art by @oh-so-youre-a-nerd fic by @noesapphic

DISTANT SHORES

Distant Shores: An Alternate Path - Part 3 ✒️🔹| Charlie Smith x M!MC - @korgbelmont

THE ELEMENTALISTS

Surprise Selfie! 🎨🏳️‍🌈| Beckett Harrington x MC - @oh-so-youre-a-nerd

ENDLESS SUMMER

Grandchildren: Beatriz ✒️🎨🏳️‍🌈| Estela Montoya x F!MC - @marmolady

HIGH SCHOOL STORY

Count the Red Roses ✒️🏳️‍🌈🔹| Michael Harrison x NB!MC - @aallotarenunelma

IMMORTAL DESIRES

Cas Harlow x OC Fanart 🎨by @sadxlee

IT LIVES WITHIN

Rowan Burke 🎨| ILW MC by @bunmellos (C: @abelflints)

LAWS OF ATTRACTION

Watcha Doing Down There?🎨🏳️‍🌈 | NB!MC, OC - @oh-so-youre-a-nerd

Wind: Goldenrod (NB!MC)🎨🏳️‍🌈by @oh-so-youre-a-nerd

Windverse Art 🎨🏳️‍🌈 | NB!MC, OCs by @cammarada (C: @oh-so-youre-a-nerd)

MOTHER OF THE YEAR

Eiko Matsunaga Fanart 🎨by @artbyalz

NIGHTBOUND

Fantastic Beasts ✒️🔹| Nik Rycer x F!MC - @ladylamrian

OPEN HEART

Open Heart F/AotW List - Week ending March 2, 2024

THE ROYAL ROMANCE

Fruit of Her Loins ✒️Ⓜ️| Liam Rys - @littleredroseonthevalley

Midnights Like This (Series) ✒️Ⓜ️🔥🔹| Leo Rys x F!OC, Liam Rys x F!MC - @queenrileyrose Part 15: Hold Me Tight

The Royal Romance, Bk1 Ch1: Once Upon a Time (Pt. 1) ✒️ | Multiple Characters - @fadingreveries

Secrets Behind Their Eyes Ch. 1 & 2✒️Ⓜ️| Liam Rys, Drake Walker, Maxwell Beaumont - @fancy--marshmallow

Secrets Behind Their Eyes Ch. 3 ✒️| Liam Rys, Drake Walker, Maxwell Beaumont - @fancy--marshmallow

#playchoices #choices stories you play #choices fanfic #choices fanart #blades of light and shadow #bloodbound #crimes of passion #the cursed heart #desire and decorum #distant shores #the elementalists #endless summer #high school story #immortal desires #it lives within #laws of attraction #mother of the year #nightbound #open heart #the royal romance #playchoices fanfic #playchoices fanart #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #cfwc art of the week

[shining-red-diamond]

Ch. 25: Stowaway

Cast of Characters//Ch. 1//Ch. 2//Ch. 3//Ch. 4//Ch. 5//Ch. 6//Ch. 7//Ch. 8//Ch. 9//Ch. 10//Ch. 11//Ch. 12//Ch. 13//Ch. 14//Ch. 15//Ch. 16//Ch. 17//Ch. 18//Ch. 19//Ch. 20//Ch. 21//Ch. 22//Ch. 23//Ch. 24//Ch. 25//Ch. 26//Ch. 27//Ch. 28 (coming soon)

Words: 1k

Genre: Fluff, some angst

Pairing: ATEEZ OT8 x OCs

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: mentions of fear of death, weapons being drawn

As soon as the last dish was dry, Yunho carefully placed it back into the cabinet. He dried his hands on the blue towel hanging in between the cabinet under the sink, and then made his way towards the workout room to relieve some of the day’s stress with Jongho. It was something he and the younger male bonded over when he joined the crew, and at the end of each day they made it a routine to work out before turning in for the night.

Once Yunho had changed clothes and slipped on his gloves, something moved out of the corner of his eye. A shadow.

“Jongho, I’m coming,” he called out, thinking his friend was playing a joke on him. “Plus, Halloween is not for a few more months, so stop trying to jump scare me.”

The shadow didn’t answer, but rather move away, the light from the hall reappearing on the red wallpaper.

“Dude,” Jongho’s voice sounded from behind him, “who are you talking to? I was discussing something with Mingi in his room.”

Yunho’s eyes seemed to pop out of his head. If Jongho wasn’t in the workout room, who was? Another crew member? His conscience was telling him no.

Pulling out his switchblade, he and Jongho crept towards the room, alert and cautious. How could they have an intruder on board? The door was always closed immediately after everyone boarded, and Yunho would have seen if anyone tried to climb on. Sneaking on the ship would be near impossible to do. Yunho and Jongho entered the kitchen area, but only found themselves in a kitchen with unfinished dishes that needed tending to. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, except for a peculiar shoe sticking out from the pantry door. The two men acknowledge it with a certain look and a nod.

“We must have been seeing things,” Jongho said loudly.

“You’re right,” Yunho replied as the two tiptoed to the door. “Let’s just forget about it. It’s been a long day.”

Yunho knew which floorboards squeaked, so he was able to inch closer to the door without giving away his position. Jongo followed suit.

On the count of three, the two men tore the door open, blade and pistol ready, and a young woman with dark hair and caramel skin scooted away from the door like a crawling scorpion.

“Please, don’t shoot,” the woman begged while she covered her head with her hands.

Upon closer inspection, Yunho realized the woman was Dalia. She was dressed in the same scrubs he met her in, but her hair was all messy and a scar with dried blood on her freckled cheekbone didn’t hide her beauty.

“What are you doing here?” he asked her, putting his blade away. “How did you even get on board? I saw you walk away from the ship back in London.”

“Well, after you closed the ship door,” she explained as Jongho helped her to her feet, “I raced back to it and climbed to the deck. I’ve been hiding behind the barrels when everyone is on the ship. Forgive me for trespassing, but I was waiting for the right time to come out and tell you.”

“Personally, we forgive you, but the ultimatum goes to the captain,” Jongho replied.

“Would it help if I told you why I’m here?” she asked, her thumbs twiddling each other. “I think it’s important for you to know that you’re not the only ones looking for the diamonds.”

-

Silence and warm, lavender scented water soothed Dahae’s nerves. Her silky, black hair was being combed through by the captain. A relaxing bath where she was pampered by Hongjoong always melted away any stress or worry she had, releasing any tense muscle or thought in the process.

“How are you feeling now, baby?” he quietly asked.

“Much better,” she whispered back.

“I’m sorry you had to face those critters, but you’re here. You’re safe, and we’re high in the sky headed to Niagara Falls. It’s a much longer flight, but we have all the time to rest and prepare for the next location.”

Dahae just nodded and relaxed into her fiancé’s touch, however, Hongjoong could tell something was bothering her just from her body language.

“Is something wrong, Dahae?” he asked, setting the comb on the bathroom counter.

She was quiet. Nothing but a small sniffle came from her, and Hongjoong knew she was on the verge of tears. He immediately kneeled down by the tub to face Dahae and saw her eyes and nose turning bright red.

“I’m scared, Joong,” Dahae sobbed. “I mean, the last two places were dangerous and scary going in and out of them, but now, with one of my biggest fears used as a trap I’m scared of what the next booby trap could be or if there would be.”

Hongjoong said nothing. Seeing Dahae in tears like this broke his heart. She was a brave woman, but he had seen her most vulnerable moments. This was one of them.

He lifted the back of her hand to his lips.

“I’m scared, too,” he admitted. “Every time we head to a new destination that’s supposedly dangerous, I get scared that you or one of the crew will meet their end there. But when I think about how we’re a team and how we execute our skills, we get out of so many situations alive and breathing, with the exception of a few bumps and bruises.”

Dahae scoffed with a small smile.

Hongjoong leaned in closer and promised her, “We’re never going to lose each other.”

Just before he could kiss her a knock on the door interrupted his actions.

“What?” he asked.

“Captain, we need to talk,” Jongho’s voice answered from the other side of the bedchamber’s door. “It’s kind of an emergency.”

“You go ahead,” Dahae instructed the captain. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

With a nod, the captain shut the bathroom door to give Dahae her privacy.

“What’s going on?” he asked Jongho when he opened the bedroom door.

“We have a stowaway,” was all the younger man answered.

-

@ateezlovenet​ @treasure-hwa​ (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed)

#kwritersworldnet #foratiny #8makes1teamnet #atzinc #kdiner #kdiarynet #kpopscape #kpopficsnetwork #ateez #atz #ateez pirate au #kim hongjoong #park seonghwa #jeong yunho #kang yeosang #choi san #song mingi #jung wooyoung #choi jongho #ateez fluff #ateez angst

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Tuesday, February 15

YOUNG ROBIN: Can we go home now? NIKKI WOOD: Uh-uh. It's not safe there anymore. How 'bout I leave you over at Crowley's house, and you can play with those spooky doodads that you like. YOUNG ROBIN: No, I wanna stay with you. NIKKI WOOD: Yeah, I know you do, baby. But remember, Robin, honey what we talked about. Always got to work the mission. Look at me. You know I love you, but I got a job to do. The mission is what matters...right? That's my boy. Come on.

~~Buffy Season 7 Episode #139: "Lie's My Parents Told Me"~~

The Sunnydale Herald is looking for a couple of new editors! Contributing to the Herald is a great way to get your Buffy on! Find out more HERE.

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Alighting One's Soul () by OveliaGirlHaditRight

Truth and Consequences (Buffy/Giles, M) by Anonymous

What's a Slayer Supposed to Do (Buffy/Spike, E) by Takara_Phoenix

[Chaptered Fiction]

Drusilla’s Soul- Ch. 20 (Drusilla, unrated, Digimon xover) by darkjanet2

Valentine's Slay, Chapter 1 (Buffy/Spike, E) by Holly

Unbroken, Chapter 14 (Buffy/Spike, E) by Blade Redwind

A Chance In Hell, Chapter 15 (Buffy/Spike, E) by Grief Counseling

Demon's Heir Ch. 4 (Xander, M, Batman xover) by Sithicus

Corpse Lights, Big City Ch. 36 (Xander, M, Half-Life xover) by batzulger

They use kittens for a reason... (Xander, E, multiple xovers) by CrazyDan

Dawn's Next Great Adventure Ch. 19 (Dawn, M, Harry Potter xover) by Khatix

Konquest of Champions (Xander, E, multiple xovers) by Sithicus

The Ring Talks Chapter 7: Imperfect Teams (Buffy/Spike, M) by myrabeth

[Images, Audio & Video]

Manip:Spuffy VALENTINE'S DAY I () by NMCIL

Manip:Spuffy VALENTINE'S DAY II () by NMCIL

Manip:Spuffy VALENTINE'S DAY III () by NMCIL

Manip:LOVE and KISSES Mission () by NMCIL

Manip:HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY (Buffy/Spike) by NMCIL

Artwork:BtVS S04E14 Goodby Iowa Episode Poster (Adam) by swallowedshark

Artwork:Spike & Dawn () by mamonna

Artwork:BTVS “Every Outfit” “the Dark Age” Xx () by whatshisfaceblogs

Artwork:BtVS Cartoon () by heroofthreefaces

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Manip:Happy Valentine’s Day (Buffy/Spike) by teatimewithgiles

Video: Buffy & Spike | The Last Time. () by hostilepoet17

Video: My medicine// Angelus(Buffy) () by capy

[Reviews & Recaps]

Video: Blood Ties • S05E13 • TPN's Buffy Guide () by The Passion of the Nerd

30 Days of Buffy Challenge Day 13 - Favorite Season 6 Episode: Dead Things by ex-vengeancedemon

30 Days of Buffy Challenge Day 14: Favorite Season 7 Episode: Beneath You by ex-vengeancedemon

30 Days of Buffy Challenge Day 14 - Favorite Season 7 Episode - The Killer In Me - by theharshlightofday

PODCAST: 6.7 – "Once More, With Feeling" by If the Apocalypse Comes, Beep Me

PODCAST: by

PUBLICATION: Buffy Season 2 Episode 20 by Nicole Bartlett (Problematic Faves)

PUBLICATION: Episode 71: Pangs by Myth Taken

[Fandom Discussions]

>

Looking for Dark Dreamluver/Jeni fics by spike_lizard

One thing that has never made sense to me about BTVS lore by legendofnora

in the buffy motorcycle scenario spike would let buffy sit in the front by bakasara

Imagine if you walked into someone else’s mind. by herinsectreflection

On todays episode of making myself sad: by starsandmoongay

Actually, you know what the funniest thing about the “all dressed up in big sister’s clothes” moment is? by herinsectreflection

Do you consider Kendra to be another shadow self of Buffy? by herinsectreflection

Angel’s gift to Buffy is incredibly meaningful by becomingbuffypodcast

Willow’s pining for Xander by kyliafanfiction

Man, if “In Every Generation” was live-action–and part of me wonders if originally it was supposed to be? by oveliagirlhaditright

Sineya is the First Slayer by jaymonsterthecanaryprince

i know techincally canonically it’s open ended as to whether cecily /is/ halfrek by froggierboy

My other unpopular Buffy opinion by thejgatsbykid

BOOM! Angel # 2 of 8 by BAF

I FINISHED SEASON 3 by Queasy_Roll347

Did you predict the twist at the end of Five by Five? by LightBlueSky55

Just finished s1 & … by rosie-sunshine

So in season 2 why does Spike pretend to be in a wheelchair. by Crimedramagirl

Angel and spike and SPOILERS FOR END OF BUFFY by bitchassmfwhore

Who took over season 6 of buffy? by Brianna_Jay9

In honor of Valentines Day! ❤ When did you first notice a spark between Spuffy? by TigerJean

Let’s discuss about analogies in the show by ezesosa

Randy Giles by Limeila

Most OP Spell or Weapon that could have been used more often by rednax2009

I just got up to ‘Helpless’ on my rewatch and I’m angry all over again. by tierachaun

Why didn’t Spike help Buffy at the end of Becoming Part 2? by tierachaun

I have a theory. Out Of My Mind was not Spike’s first saucy dream about Buffy by AstridDante

The group dynamic was never the same after season three. by V48runner

How do Buffy and the Scoobies have all of there limbs??? by Crimedramagirl

The Immortal is one of the most mysterious characters in the Buffy/Angel verse. by adambier1587

"Whatcha doin'?" by Tuxedo_Mark

When Buffy is trying to get Giles to take her to ice show by Excellent-Durian-509

Post season 7 Scoobies by Reviewingremy

Anyone Else Think It's Weird That Buffy Was Rated TV-PG? by ColdCruise

s7 // him by cmlincrisis

The Potential Slayers suck! by Richar_16

How did people think the show was going to end on first viewing? by Individual_Syrup_848

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Join the editor team :)

#btvs #angel the series #buffy the vampire slayer #meta #fan art #fan fiction

[choicesenthusiast]

Blades of Light and Shadow, Ch. 15 AKA I AM NOT OKAY

What happened this week:

After obtaining a sick set of armour from Your Majesty Bad Father, you and the party mentally prepare yourselves to enter the Shadow Realm, save Nia, and defeat the Dreadlord. One hell of a checklist. I’ve had a few weeks to mentally prepare myself  and I’m still not ready.

The Shadow Realm is a realm of shadow, who knew? As if that were not enough, the portal drops you right on an active volcano.

And if that wasn’t enough, the first thing that happens is you get attacked by a lizard-snake-scorpion-beast-thing. Worry not though, because you can totally flirt with it. Oh, if only that could happen in real life.

At least the Shadow Realm’s got a sick fortress, with sick booby traps. The only problem is we have to get through all of that. But hey, they got pretty good interior decoration.

Threep 2: The Sequel happens, because Threep sniffs out a long lost lady nesper. If you didn’t save it, then I bet you’ll be missing out on some great power dynamic in the future. I can’t believe I got emotionally attached to cat-bats.

Baron Vostrasz suddenly appears and with the power of friendship (and swinging weaponry), you’re able to defeat him. The power of friendship is really handy when it comes to the Shadow Court. First Xenia now Vostrasz.

KADE IS ALIVE. I REPEAT, KADE IS ALIVE. They beat him up real bad. Immediately the party decides to adopt him as their little brother too and I just...I die sometimes, okay?

That really motivational emotional moment where your LI declares their love and no regrets for coming on this adventure with you. Would you look at that. I died again.

DARK NIAAAAAA. DARK. NIA. Fellas when we predicted this I didn’t think it would actually happen but damn I’m happy it did. You’re doing amazing, sweetie. I love it. Everyone go home, this is the only thing I’m talking about forever.

Thoughts:

This is hands down the best chapter that PB’s produced since… probably ever. The ES finale is a close second, but this definitely takes the cake. The skills game mechanics, phenomenal art, music, and 10/10 emotional moments (not to mention one hell of a plot) make it number one. Please try to convince me otherwise.

You know you have good writers when the vocabulary is *chef’s kiss*. We got “immense”, “spire”, “rivulets”, and “facade” all in one paragraph. I’ll take this over “sticky white liquid” any day, PB.

Can we take a moment and appreciate Threep Percivacurus Pompedorfin and Loola Coriandropolis Dupopodolis please and thank you. In case it wasn’t clear based on these names alone I would die for them.

One more round of applause for the Blades team because once again they deliver. Especially the art. So many artists have already created their own renditions of Dark!Nia and yet…? This happens. I’m genuinely baffled.

I…I’m still processing what happened. After weeks of lackluster writing taking in all of this at once is overriding all the coherent thoughts I had in my head before. Now I feel like a sputtering kettle.

#this week on choices #playchoices #choices stories you play #blades of light and shadow

[shootybangbang]

[Talking Bird] Ch 15: In which a literal slow burn occurs

[Ao3 Link]

Before long, the forest gives way to the rolling plains of the Heartlands. Its white cliffs jut from the earth like masses of eroded bone, their pale spires gleaming between sheets of prairie rain. Below them the yellow grasses lay rippling, the long stalks flattening beneath each new sweep of wind. And above, with all the vastness of an approaching Leviathan, the indigo-bellied storm clouds miles away, lit up from beneath with thin white forks of lightning.

It feels as though you’ve been riding for hours already, so protracted has every painful minute spent through this endless downpour been.

Like the baptism of some cynical god, the rain has washed clean the last remnants of violence from your skin and clothes. Your shirt and trousers are plastered to your body like a second skin, clinging cold and heavy with water, and the chill of it already has you shivering hard, teeth chattering as you ride slumped forward, gripping the saddle horn with both hands to keep your balance. It’s an uncomfortable position, but your only other alternative is to lean backwards, against the man behind you — and frankly, you’d rather fall off the horse.

(Though it’s generous, you suppose, that he’s allowed you the faculty of your hands at all.)

More pressingly, the cut across your upper arm is beginning to present itself as a real problem. It asserts itself as a dull but constant ache that doubly renews itself with any sudden movement or exertion. Earlier, when Arthur pulled you by the arm to help you into the saddle, the shock of pain that followed had been so intense that you’d nearly choked.

But the discomfort offers a welcome reprieve from the burden of guilt. After all, it’s hard to ruminate on your own damnation under this trifecta of misery: cold, wet, wounded. You glance behind your shoulder, and turn your attention from the dead to the living.

Well. Arthur looks like shit.

The leather of his clothes and his wide brimmed hat have kept him somewhat drier in comparison, but his eyes are red with fatigue, his posture that of a man half-asleep in the saddle. He seems to stir as you continue to stare. “What?” he says, irritated but too exhausted to conjure up any real ire.

“Just wanted to give you a quick reminder that you’re not gonna get any money outta this if I get sick and die.”

“Ain’t no point in carrying dead weight,” he growls. “So if you’re gonna die that easy, do us both a favor and keel over now.”

So he’s alert enough to still be needlessly aggressive. That’s good.

“You planning on riding the whole night through?”

“Nah.” Arthur points towards a rock outcropping about half a mile out. “There’s a ledge over yonder that I’ve camped under before. Gonna wait the storm out there.”

———

Soon after, he reins Boadicea in beside a thin grove of cottonwood trees bordering the road. You open your mouth to ask what he’s doing, but he answers before you can get the words out.

“Kindling,” he says.

“But it’s wet,” you protest.

He ignores you and strips off a few of the dead lower branches of the trees, breaking a large bough in the process that showers him with a sudden spill of rainwater. Arthur ties the gathered bundle to the horse’s back, an area which only hours before, you’d been stowed much in the same manner.

———

The overhang itself yawns like a dark gash at the foot of the butte. Arthur dismounts to lead Boadicea inwards, and as he guides the horse beneath the rock ledge you have the distinct sensation of being swallowed by the earth itself.

Arthut rummages through the saddlebag and pulls out something that, as your eyes adjust to the dimness of the overhang, you recognize to be a flint. He unhooks the unused lantern from the saddle, and in the dark you see a sudden array of sparks, bright as topaz, as the oil wick behind the glass alights, then catches.

A sea of orange light floods the overhang, casting long and lurid shadows against the rock walls. Arthur sets the lantern down carefully against a small recess in the weathered stone, then straightens his back and turns towards you.

“There’s an oilcloth in there,” he says, gesturing towards the saddlebag. “See if you can find it.”

Your wet clothes weigh down your limbs like a leaden coat as you grope through the jumble of items. Your fingers make out the ridged metal of a can, the smooth face of a pocketwatch, a few assorted pencils of varying lengths… and finally, a small bundle wrapped in a square of oilcloth that you pull out from the mess the same way a man might draw a fish from a river.

“This?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. Toss it here — got it.”

Arthur unwraps the cloth, then frowns. “Tinder’s damp,” he says.

“So no fire, then.”

“I didn’t say that.” He jerks his thumb towards the back corner of the shelter. “Get outta the way for a minute.”

You’re so exhausted that you practically fall off the horse when you dismount, landing with footing so unsteady that you have to catch the wall with your hand to keep from falling. Then you stagger to the cold stone wall, lean your back against it, and sink down until you can hug your knees to your chest.

Arthur unloads the bundle of wet branches from Boadicea’s backside and lets them fall clattering to the ground. He crouches down and picks up a piece of wood about the width of your wrist, then pulls his knife from its sheath. When you hear that familiar slither of metal against leather, you look up at him sharply, eyes wide - but he meets you with a steady, evenhanded gaze.

“Watch me,” he says, slipping the blade along the lateral edge of the branch. He splits it lengthwise to expose the core beneath the bark, then scrapes the knife against the pale, ragged edge, shaving off long, thin curls of wood that fall at his feet like snow.

“Wet wood won’t burn,” he explains. “But the inside’s dry. Cut it thin, like this, and we’ve got tinder.”

Arthur sheathes the knife and tosses it at your side, scabbard and all. “I’m gonna get some more wood to feed the fire,” he says, then points at the pile of kindling. “So make yourself useful in the meantime.”

You stare at him, incredulous. “Are you stupid?”

“… ‘scuse me?”

“I tried to kill you earlier and you’re giving me a knife?”

“I got enough faith in your incompetence to not be too worried. And besides…” He taps the holstered pistol at his hip.

You press your lips into a flat line and glare at the ground. “Fair enough.”

Boadicea seems reluctant to step back into the downpour. She tosses her head and snorts when Arthur takes the reins in hand, but he speaks to her in a gentle murmur, with words too quiet for you to make out, then pulls a withered peach from his satchel.

“Good girl,” he says in an affectionate tone, feeding her by hand. “We’ll be back soon enough.”

Your stomach makes an obscene gurgling noise. Hunger beats out pride, and you grimace as you ask, “Can I also get fed?”

“You really think you deserve food after what you put me through today?”

Fortune favors the bold , you think to yourself. Yet another one of Feng’s much loved aphorisms. “Yeah. You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

Something resembling a smile quirks at the edge of his lips. “Get some of those sticks carved up. Then we’ll talk.”

He walks out from the rock shelter and into the rain, with Boadicea trotting faithfully beside him.

———

You’ve always been good at peeling apples.

The owner of the brothel where you’d been born had been fond of them, and as a kid you’d quickly learned to cut away the skin in a single, graceful red spiral. Doing so made it easier to scavenge for later, when you’d dig through the kitchen scraps to retrieve the discarded skin and core to gnaw on in secret.

Carving wood, you find, is not a dissimilar process. The same basic principles apply: angle the blade and gauge the resistance of the material to be shaved, then press down and slide the knife through.

Still, your first attempts are laughable at best. With fingers stiff and clumsy from cold, and an arm that aches persistently with rippling bites of pain, you struggle to gouge out anything more significant than a series of shallow pockmarks. The blade of the knife either deflects or bites too deep, cutting irregular chunks of wood that fall at your feet like dense breadcrumbs.

But the work warms your hands and brings blood circulating back beneath your skin. The jerky, unsteady cuts begin to melt into a steady, deliberate motion that takes all of your concentration to maintain. And soon the rhythmic chk chk of the knife with every downwards swipe becomes a wooden staccato, the constancy of it blurring the rain, the chill, the events of the day from your mind. Only this, the smooth burled handle of the knife in your fingers and the steadily growing pile of wood shavings.

“Having fun?”

You jump so hard that your thumb slips against the dull edge of the knife and you nearly cut yourself. “Jesus Christ , don’t do that to — my god man, did you just crawl out of a lake?”

“May as well have. Storm’s gettin’ close.”

He and Boadicea are both so soaked that the water drips from them in a constant stream, strewing a series of small puddles behind them as they make their way back beneath the ledge. Arthur takes off his hat and jacket, then hastily wipes his hands across the grass in an attempt to dry them.

You watch as he gathers the newly-made tinder into a circle, then stacks a few sticks of kindling around it in a cone-like fashion. His first attempts with the flint result in nothing but an impotent shower of sparks. But on the fifth try the tinder catches, producing a fledgling flame that shivers against the wind from the approaching storm.

It glows orange-white, pale and wavering. He cups his hand to it and blows, and from your vantage point, it looks as though he’s breathing life into it, like some sort of modern day Prometheus. Then, with a sudden blaze of light and warmth, the fire spreads to the cone of kindling, licking at the wood with a warm constancy.

“Finally,” Arthur sighs. He staggers back and all but collapses against the stone wall of the outcrop.

Seeing him like this — wrung out and bedraggled and just as exhausted as you are — sparks in you a reluctant sort of camaraderie. In the isolation of the overhang, both huddled close to the fire in wet clothes, it’s not hard to imagine him as just another sodden refugee seeking shelter from the storm.

Outside, the wind picks up and the fire flickers in its wake, flattening and twisting and casting a nervous ebb and flow of uncertain light against the cliff face. The chill of it settles deep, exacerbated by the cold, damp cloth clinging to your skin, and you curl into yourself, folding all four limbs in close as your body will allow.

Arthur clears his throat. He shifts uncomfortably in his own soaked clothes and won’t meet your eyes when you glance in his direction.

“Look,” he says. “I don’t like it anymore’n you do, but we’re both gonna get pneumonia if we don’t get outta these wet clothes.”

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan/reader #arthur morgan/oc #rdr2 #red dead redemption #fic #my work #talking bird #man this is long and poorly edited but i couldn't stand sitting on it any longer

[azrielsiphons]

Shadows and Darkness: One and the Same (ch. 15)

<< Previous Chapter  Next Chapter >>

This fic is meant to be read in connection with my Azriel-centric prequel stories. I would highly suggest reading those first to get the full reading experience of this fic. 

Long chapter ahead... angsty chapter ahead... foreshadowing things ahead... ENJOY! 

Azriel stood to his feet, walking to the window, his body unnaturally still.

“And Jareth branded your wings as revenge,” Cassian said evenly.

Lena nodded. “He did. I let him. And now,” Lena turned to face Rhys and Feyre, her shoulders straight and chin high, “I want to beg him to join our forces.”

The moment the words were out of Lena’s mouth, Amren began to laugh. With a roll of her eyes, Lena turned to look at the small creature trapped in a fae body.

“Please Amren, share with the rest of us what you think is so funny,” she deadpanned, her already dulled eyes like blades cutting across the room.

“Your penchant for danger is admirable,” Amren said with a sly smile that none of then could quite read. “Do you enjoy almost dying as often as you do?”

Lena thought she saw Azriel flinch, but she didn’t turn to look. She kept her eyes trained on Amren as she gave a mocking grin, saying evenly, “It keeps me looking young.”

“What makes you think King Jareth won’t want to kill you on the spot?” Feyre asked as Rhys eyed the two females carefully at his side.

“I don’t,” Lena said. “I can only hope he’ll hear me out. Jareth loves his people more than revenge, I know that much. He’s a decent male.”

“He branded your wings,” Cassian growled.

“Yes I am well aware of that fact, thank you Cassian.” Lena’s growl was otherworldly. “Would you have done any differently if I had killed N—” Lena choked on the word, biting her tongue to stop herself as Cassian’s eyes went wide. “Look, Jareth is almost as good of a commander as you are, Cassian. If the King convinces Jareth to side his forces with Hybern, we’ll be at an even greater disadvantage than we already are.”

“And you think he hasn’t already?” Mor asked.

“I have no idea. If I had to guess, Hybern has already approached him, but we would have heard from Azriel’s spies by now if he had joined him. Right?”

Lena finally turned to Azriel, still leaned against the window, his shadows curling around him and hugging every plane of his tightly muscled body. He looked at her sidelong and Lena had to force herself not to fidget.

He gave her a single nod before looking out the window once again.

“So there you have it,” Lena said, her voice trembling despite her best efforts. “Jareth has either said no, which is a dangerous position for him to be at, or he simply hasn’t moved his forces yet. Either way, that gives me ample opportunity to go and speak with him. I can go right now, it would be an hour long conversation at most.”

“Or a five minute conversation ending in your death,” Rhys said, sitting down and pinching his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Feyre laid a hand on his shoulder which he took in his own as he looked back up at his sister. “I don’t know how I feel about this.”

“I won’t be hurt, Rhys. I let Jareth hurt me. This time I won’t.”

“What if Hybern gets wind that you’re there?” Mor asked.

Lena cocked an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“The mirror,” Elain whispered suddenly. Everyone in the room turned to look at her, even Azriel. Nesta, who had been adamantly not looking at Cassian, rushed to her side. “You have to take the mirror. He’s waiting on you. He doesn’t know it, but he’s waiting on you.”

Azriel turned to face Elain fully. “Who’s waiting on her?” he asked brusquely, but kindly.

“Is it the King?” Mor asked.

Elain shook her head, her gaze absent as she turned towards Lena. “He’s going to help you. But not — not yet. Not until after.” She blinked a few times then, coming back into herself. “I… I don’t know anything else, I’m sorry.”

Lena shrugged, completely unperturbed. “It’s fine. I guess I don’t have to worry about this mystery helper for a little while.”

Azriel turned and gave her an exasperated look and she only smiled back. He didn’t return it and her face fell.

“I’ve heard of Jareth’s armies,” Cassian said, bringing everyone back to the discussion at hand. “They would certainly be an asset.” He cast a pointed look at Rhys.

“Then you should go with her and convince Jareth from a military perspective.”

“No,” Lena told Rhys. “No, I need to go by myself.”

“Of course you do,” Azriel muttered.

“Jareth already hates me, if I bring in one of you big hulking brutes he’ll see it as a sign of aggression and distrust.”

“You can take Amren,” Feyre said.

Simultaneously, Amren and Lena both said clearly and evenly, “No.”

“Take me,” Mor jumped in.

“We need you here,” Rhys told her.

“This isn’t even a discussion,” Lena said loudly, bringing the room back to silence. “I am going by myself, that’s all there is to this. I’ll go regardless, I just wanted your blessing.” She looked to Rhys and Feyre. “Do I have it?”

The High Lord and Lady looked at one another. Feyre raised her eyebrows as Rhys narrowed his gaze at her. A couple seconds later he chuckled.

“What the hell are they doing?” Lena asked Cassian.

“It’s a mind to mind mate thing,” he said. “I think it’s one of their kinks.”

“Do you intend on staying there?” Rhys asked suddenly.

Lena shook her head. “No. I’ll be in and out. Like I said before, an hour at most.”

“Go,” Feyre said, her back straight, her voice every bit the High Lady she was. Lena tried not to let that sting. “Go and come right back, if they get hostile you get out of there.”

“Absolutely.”

“And if anyone from Hybern is there you turn your ass around,” Rhys added. “Don’t risk the King getting hold of you again.”

A wave of dread washed over Lena at the mere prospect of being back in the King’s clutches. She let nothing show though.

“I will.” At Rhy’s worried expression she offered him a smile that she desperately tried to make reach her eyes. “I promise, Rhys.”

He nodded, turning to Amren and asking if she planned on training with Nesta that day. New conversations began immediately, and Lena rolled her shoulders out and took a deep breath as she approached Azriel, who wasn’t looking at her.

“Az, I—”

“We need to talk,” was all he said, shouldering past her out of the townhouse, the door shutting behind him with a thud.

Everyone was silent, staring at Lena. She took a deep breath, refusing to meet their eyes as she followed after her mate.

His steps were hurried, those long strides of his sending shadows in his wake as he made his way through the waking streets of Velaris. Lena had to jog to catch up to him. A few people stared at her in shock, no doubt wondering if they were seeing things or if that was really the Daughter of the Night Court they thought long dead.

“Azriel,” Lena hissed, trying to hide her face from passerby with her hair.

“By the lake,” he said simply, vanishing with a swirl of blue light and shadows. Lena took a deep breath, winnowing after him.

Her feet had barely touched the ground by the lake when Azriel said, “How many more startling revelations are you going to have to share with me before this is all over, Lena?”

Lena’s eyes widened at his tone. Her mouth floundered for words as his dark hazel eyes stared her down over the distance between them.

“I—”

“Do you enjoy keeping secrets from us?” He snapped, his shadows swirling around him erratically. She had never — never seen him this angry. “From me?”

Lena scoffed, her own frustration bubbling to the surface. “Me?” She asked incredulously. “I’m keeping secrets from you? This is coming from the Spymaster himself?”

“I have never kept anything like this from you,” he said evenly, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists at his sides. “I have plenty secrets of my own, I won’t deny it, but you’re keeping things from me that I deserve to know. Things that directly affect me — that affect our relationship, our bond.”

“We were apart for 500 years, Azriel. Years! You expect me to somehow tell you everything that I’ve seen and done in all that done over the course of a couple weeks? Not to mention, you haven’t told me anything about what you’ve done over our time apart, who you’ve loved, who you’ve fucked while you thought I was dead.”

It was a low blow — and Lena knew it.

Azriel laughed humorlessly, throwing his arms up in the air. “What do you want to know, Lena? Do you want the names of the men and women I fucked? The number of how many I killed? Would you like to hear the story of how I got a little boy murdered?”

“Azriel no, I—”

“His name was Mylo,” Azriel continued, his shadows blazing. “He died because of me. I can tell you all about him, and Ana and Dask too if you would like. They were both my lovers, I can give you their names and more.”

“Please stop.”

“I can tell you about Dorea and Solomon and Moesen, about the time I killed a room full of fifty men, about the countless blood stains that I had to wash away while you were alive, working for the King and killing innocent people—”

“Stop it, stop it!” Lena shouted, her darkness pulsing across the clearing like a terrible dark wind.

Silence descended over the pair. Azriel calmed his breathing, looking down at the ground before him.

“I’m sorry,” he said just loud enough for her to hear. “I just… this isn’t okay, Lena. The secrets, the lying. You can’t treat me this way. It’s not you and me.”

Lena inhaled a shaky breath. “I know.”

“And now all of this about you in Vallahan,” he muttered, turning on his heel so that his back was to her as he ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck, Lena, I… I don’t know how to feel about this, about you not telling me how you…” He couldn’t even finish the sentence.

“I’m trying, Azriel,” Lena said pathetically. Every fiber of her being was at war within her: telling her to run after her mate, to push him him away, to scream, to cry. Azriel kept his back to her, his hands on the back of his head as he paced slowly. “I know there are no excuses and your anger is justified, I know, but I’m… I’m sorry, Az. For what it’s worth, I.. I never meant to love them.”

The air around them went unnaturally still as Azriel’s shadows snapped to his person as if a tether had been cut. Lena subconsciously checked their bond, withholding a sigh of relief that it was still strong, but silent on Azriel’s end.

When he turned to face her, those hazel eyes of his were icy like never before.

Azriel had finally snapped.

Lena had the good sense to think to herself, Oh shit.

“You really think,” Azriel began, his voice reminding Lena exactly how powerful he was as he took a small step closer to her, “that I am upset because you fell in love with someone else? That’s how little you think of me? That that is what I am completely wrecked over?”

When Lena said nothing, his shadows exploded back across the clearing.

Lena remained untouched by the expanse of Azriel’s power, though she could feel it in her bones calling out to her. His eyes continued to blaze as he stared down at her, their chests almost touching as he approached.

A few seconds passed as he breathed heavily, completely silent as he stared down at his mate. She could see the gears turning in his mind, the way he was thinking through exactly what he wanted to say.

Slowly, he reigned his shadows back in, his hands shaking as the edge in his eyes dulled just slightly.

“I don’t care that you loved Jareth and Danias,” he finally said, his voice barely a whisper. “In fact I'm happy you weren’t alone the whole time the King had you, even if it was only for a little while.”

Lena’s face screwed up in confusion. “But… I thought that…”

Gently, ever so gently despite the icy rage still coursing through his shadows, Azriel took Lena’s face in his hands, his scars and hers pressed together.

“Lena, I don’t know how to live with the fact that you killed those people in my name.”

Lena flinched away as if his hands had burned her as they had been burned so long ago. She stumbled back a few steps, her mouth parted in pure shock.

Azriel didn’t move, the devastation on his face matching her own.

Lena shook her head almost violently. “No… no, I didn’t…”

“You killed innocent people for the King because you thought you were protecting me,” Azriel said lowly. “I can’t imagine what that pressure felt like. But Lena… they were innocent. Good. And the burden of their deaths isn’t just on you anymore.”

“That’s not true,” Lena snapped, her voice coming out in short gasps. “I killed them of my own accord.”

“Yes, you did. But you did it for me and you know that I never would have wanted you to.”

“I thought you would die if I didn’t!”

“Then you should have taken that risk!” Azriel shouted right back, the words cutting across the clearing like a blade. Lena stared, eyes wide. “I don’t care if the curse wasn’t real, the Lena I know and love would have never killed someone innocent for selfish purposes.”

Lena laughed bitterly, her eyes cast to the sky above them. “Well then I guess the Lena you know and love really is dead then because that’s exactly what I did.”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“That’s exactly what you meant, Azriel!”

“You lost your way!” He took a closer step towards her only for her to back away. He sighed, taking a deep breath. “Lena. I know you were in a bad situation with no good options.”

Lena chuckled bitterly. “That’s one way to describe my imprisonment.”

“And I have no idea what you’ve been through. But I won’t condone all of the things you’ve done just because of the situation you were placed in. You killed those people for me, and that’s something I have to live with now too.”

“Oh do you?” Lena hissed. “Do you feel their blood on your hands too? Does the sound of someone’s last breath haunt your dreams as well? Do you dream in screams and the sound of knives sinking into flesh?”

“Yes,” Azriel said lowly. “Yes I do.”

Lena froze, remembering that Azriel had seen plenty of horrors himself. She closed her eyes, willing away the sounds of the innocents she had killed racking around in her mind.

“I fought with myself on every single mission,” she whispered. “Every single damn mission I told myself not to do it, to pick the innocents over you, that you would want me to save them and not kill them. And if I thought it was just you, I would have.”

Azriel felt his heart stutter as Lena lifted her eyes to him once again. The shame and regret he saw there almost knocked him over.

“I would have,” she repeated. “Believe me. But it wasn’t just you, Az. He threatened all of you. Rhys, Cassian, Mor… he said he would destroy the Court, and I knew if he ever took out the Court of Nightmares Keir would tell him all about Velaris. His threats were baseless, but I didn’t know that at the time. I thought I was defending the Court, not just you.”

A tear rolled down Lena’s cheek that she quickly wiped away. Her darkness was nowhere to be seen.

“I made plenty of wrong choices,” she said evenly. “I’ll own them. I’ll own every bit of my shame. A part of me will always hate myself for what I’ve done, the lives and families I have destroyed. But… Azriel, I can’t live if you hate me for it too.”

“Never,” Azriel said instantly, without a second of hesitation. “I could never hate you, Lena.”

Lena let out a breath of pure relief, her shoulders sagging. Azriel was before her in an instant, wrapping her in his arms. She melted into his touch.

“I’ll be more honest, I swear,” she murmured, burying her face into the crook of his shoulder. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

Azriel only nodded, breathing in his mate’s scent as he pressed his lips to the top of her head.

“We’ll tell each other all of it,” he whispered, his midnight voice like a caress down her spine. “When all of this is over, we will.”

Lena leaned back, looking into his eyes, seeing that spark of hope that they would have a future when this war was over. She gave him a soft smile, reaching up and touching the corner of his mouth lightly.

“I love you,” she said. “And maybe in the past I loved you too much. But if you’ll let me, I’ll learn how to love you just the right amount.”

Azriel’s smile was dazzling, that dimple in his right cheek making her heart swell.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said. “Together.”

~~~~~

Lena didn’t waste any time on goodbyes apart from Azriel, who kissed her soundly and made her promise to come back to him safe.

Something had changed between them, something they could both feel deep in their bones. An understanding that things would never be like they were so long ago, that they each had their nightmares that the other may never understand.

But with that came something else: a choice. A choice they had both made to stay by each other’s side despite all of the mess that came along with their pasts.

They would heal. In time, and at each other’s sides. That was the choice they had made.

Lena stared up at the castle she hadn’t seen in centuries, thanking the Mother for the assurance that Azriel would be waiting for her when she returned. That assurance was the only thing keeping her from winnowing back to the Night Court right that second.

She had shielded herself from sight and scent from the Vallahan guards, and she relished in the guilt she felt that she was deceiving them. Not long ago, she wouldn’t have felt guilty at all.

Her heart was changing. And while it made life a hell of a lot more difficult, it also made it worth living.

The guards jumped and scrambled for their weapons as Lena dropped her magic, revealing herself to them. She wore no glamour on any of her features, and remained in her Illyrian leathers. Her wings were out, though tucked in tight at her back with the brand out of sight.

With a mere flick of her wrist, she sent their blades scattering. They stared in shock, starting to put their fists up for some sort of fight.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” she said evenly, hoping her eyes conveyed the truth behind her words. “I need to see your king. Right now.”

~~~~~

Lena stood with her arms crossed and a bored expression on her face in the middle of the throne room. Centuries ago, Danias’s family crest had littered the flags around the room. Now, with Jareth as king, the flags had changed from blue to red, and held a new symbol: a sea serpent cutting through the waves.

She had been waiting for fifteen minutes. Apparently Jareth had been out hunting and had to be called back.

Lena supposed she was lucky she hadn’t accidentally walked right up on their hunting party when she had first arrived.

She had just been tucking her wings in even tighter, meeting the curious glances of the guards watching her when the double doors burst open.

Lena’s breath caught in her throat as she took him in.

Jareth looked… completely different. But it was still him. He wore armor similar to his old guards armor, except it was golden with red embellishments. A small gold crown rest atop his hair, which he had let grow out and now touched his shoulders in waves. He was more muscled, and his eyes looked… older.

And he looked furious. Lena let her magic gather at her fingertips as she prepared for some sort of attack.

“I thought I told Hybern to stop sending me lackeys,” he said smoothly, his stride not breaking as he stalked across the wide room towards Lena.

Lena gave a wry smile, forcing herself to keep her feet planted. “I’m not from Hybern,” she said plainly, thankful her voice didn’t crack.

Jareth slowed, his eyebrows crinkling as he heard her voice. He clearly didn’t recognize her, that much was obvious. And she didn’t blame him, he had known Arila, a weak girl who wore dresses and had light brown hair instead of black hair, and green eyes instead of piercing violet. A girl without a scar cutting across her face.

But he recognized that voice.

“Who are you then?” he asked. “If you’re not with Hybern you must be from Prythian. I have no desire to enter my people into your petty, centuries old war.”

Lena remained silent, letting some of her emotions show on her face as she stared down the male she hadn’t seen in so long. The male she had betrayed, had destroyed even though all he had done was show her kindness.

He cocked his head to the side, staring at her as if trying to see past her glamour that wasn’t even there. “Who are you?” he repeated.

“Hello, Jareth.”

His eyes widened in disbelief. He staggered back a step, his guards lurching forward. They froze as he threw out a hand.

“It can’t be,” he whispered.

Lena took a deep breath, praying to the Mother for strength as she flared her wings out wide.

Every guard drew out their sword as her brand came into view. She forced herself to stand tall, chin up and shoulders straight.

Jareth stared, his mouth parted slightly in pure shock.

“Arila?” His voice was like a whisper on the wind.

“My name is not Arila. My name is Lena. I am sister of High Lord Rhysand of the Night Court and former prisoner of the King of Hybern. Four centuries ago I came into your home, tricked you and your loved ones, and murdered Vallahan royalty. And I am here to try and right my wrongs.”

Lena prided herself on not letting her voice crack or waver even once. Jareth didn’t even flinch at her proclamation.  

“I thought he was lying,” he whispered.

Lena blanched. “Who?”

“The King of Hybern. He said that it was you… that you were really Arila. But I thought he was lying, trying to get me to side with him against Prythian out of revenge.”

Lena swallowed hard. “I… I’m sorry,” she said hoarsely. “It’s true.”

A silence descended over the throne room, and Lena itched to raise up her shields out of fear that Jareth might lash out at her with his magic. But she didn’t. She stayed still, kept her magic at bay as a sign of trust.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you where you stand.” Jareth’s voice was hard, edged with a rage that had been forged and refined over centuries. “Tell me,” he said even louder, his voice echoing in the throne room, “why I should not strike you down and let your blood stain the stones beneath you.”

His breathing grew heavy, his eyes wrathful. Golden sparks flew out of his fingertips, but still Lena did not raise her shields.

“You killed the love of my life,” he hissed, and Lena, as powerful as she was, worried that even her powers might not be strong enough to fight against a male who had lost the other half of his heart. “You killed him as he lay next to you. You convinced us you loved us and you killed my heart.”

“I did love you,” Lena said quietly.

“Tell me why you did it.”

Lena stilled. She saw it then — the heartbreak beneath Jareth’s rage. She took a deep breath.

“Because I thought I was saving my mate.”

The words were soft, but they cracked through the room like lightning. Jareth took a step backwards.

“What?” he asked incredulously.

Lena hesitated. Vulnerability is not weakness, she told herself sternly. It is strength.

“I have a mate. His name is Azriel and he is… my best friend. I was taken from him, from my entire family, 500 years ago. The King of Hybern kidnapped me, he told me that he had cursed my mate so that if I ever went against his wishes, Azriel would die. It was all a lie, a ruse to get me to be his weapon, but I believed it. I was sent here to kill Danias’s parents, but the mission changed and I… I had to kill all three of them. Falling in love with you and Danias was not a part of the plan, and when the King found out…”

“He threatened your mate again,” Jareth whispered in understanding.

Lena nodded. “He told me Azriel would die, Jareth,” she whispered. “The curse wasn’t even real, but I believed it was. And I shouldn’t have done it. I should have fought to spare Danias’s life, but I was weak and afraid. I let you brand my wings because I deserved it, Jareth. Every bit of pain, I deserved it and more. And I know that there is no apology that could ever rectify what I have done, but I am so, so sorry for taking him away from you.”

Jareth was silent. He gave no inclination in his posture or expression to what he was thinking. Lena’s magic itched, but still she kept it at bay.

After a horribly long pause, he finally said loud and clear, “Come with me.”

Lena started. “What?”

“I said,” he threw over his shoulder as he stalked towards the double doors he had entered, “come with me. You,” he pointed to his guards, “stay. We won’t be long.”

Lena opened her mouth to say something else, but then closed it, choosing instead to jog up to Jareth, working to match his long stride. Damn him and his long legs. The doors shut with a bang behind her as they left the guards behind, stalking through the quiet, empty castle.

Where was everyone? Was this the quiet, lonely life she had left Jareth with?

“Are you taking me to your dungeon to kill me?” Lena asked after a few awkwardly silent moments, only half-joking.

“Yes to the dungeon, no to the killing.”

“So torture then?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“I have to be home by dinner, I hope you know that.”

Lena could feel Jareth rolling his eyes. “You know Arila wasn’t this cheeky.”

She scoffed. “Arila was a foolish character that I always assumed you two saw through.”

“We did.” Jareth turned, catching Lena’s surprised eyes. “Oh please. Danias and I,” his voice cracked on his late lover’s name, “we knew you were no weak female. Your attempts at faking incompetence in the training room were pathetic. I beg of you not to pursue the theatre.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Jareth hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t know. We knew you had your reasons. I just never thought your reasons would end up with the love of my life dead in his bed.”

Lena couldn’t help but flinch. “Do you believe me?” She asked as they entered a narrow, dimly lit stairwell.

“That you were the King’s prisoner?”

“That I’m sorry.”

Jareth stutter stepped, refusing to meet Lena’s gaze as he took the lead and walked ahead of her, descending down the stairwell first. It was so narrow they had to walk in a line rather than side-by-side. Their boots echoed across the stone.

“Yes,” he finally said. “But I still hate you.”

“I would be surprised if you didn’t. I’m quite hatable.”

Lena could have sworn that the smallest hint of a smile played across Jareth’s lips. Perhaps time did patch up some wounds.

They continued down the narrow staircase in silence. Lena let her hand hover over her knives as discreetly as she could manage. Jareth’s shoulders were square, the small crown on his head glinting in the dim light of the stairwell.

What is he up to? Lena thought to herself. Why does he trust me?

After descending three levels, Jareth took a sharp right turn, pulling a key out of the inside of his coat. At the sudden movement, Lena unsheathed a knife out of sheer instinct.

Jareth cast her a wary grin over his shoulder, and she was surprised he didn’t knock her on her ass for the clear sign of aggression. “Relax,” was all he said as he showed her the key.

Lena gave him an apologetic look, sheathing the knife once again.

Stepping into the room, she couldn’t help but gasp.

There were relics everywhere. A few she recognized, but most she didn’t. Weapons of old, statues of former leaders, gold and silver jewelry and coin, and more lay all around the room covered in cobwebs. She tried to spot a back wall, but found none. How big was this place?

Jareth stepped further inside, gesturing for her to follow. She did, her steps slow and careful as she took in the living history all around her.

Back when they had been in the Spring Court together, Feyre had told Lena about Tarquin’s trove in the Summer Court. She had no doubt it paled in comparison to Vallahan’s hoard of artifacts.

Suddenly, there was a whisper at Lena’s ear. She whirled, but there was nothing and no one behind her. She could have sworn though that something had been there, something telling her to look closer, to—

Her gaze darted to the right of its own accord, as if she had been pulled by… something else.

There sitting atop a small trunk lay an old dusty hand mirror. A mirror that whispered of another world, a friend she hadn’t met yet howling at the skies, and a life far beyond the one she knew full of a magic she could only dream of…

The mirror, Elain had said earlier in the day back in Velaris. You have to take the mirror. He’s waiting on you. He doesn’t know it, but he’s waiting on you.

“Damn seers,” Lena muttered to herself. She was just reaching out to grab the mirror when Jareth called out to her.

“Hurry up before I change my mind and let my dogs eat you.”

Lena hesitated, looking back to the mirror. It still called to her, whispering secrets she shouldn’t know, telling of a world she had yet to see, of a friend she would come to know. A wolf’s howl was clear in her mind, wisps of darkness like her own danced across her vision, a male winnowing but… it was different, the magic was… not like her own, but similar in such a way it made her wonder if—

“Hey.”

Jareth’s hand on her own had Lena reeling back. She had been leaning closer and closer to the mirror and not even realizing it. She blinked several times, looking up at Jareth. With a start, she realized too that he could have killed her right then and there if he had wished.

“Don’t look into that mirror,” he said seriously, almost with… concern. But not quite. “The legends behind it are… not pleasant.”

“What do they say?”

“That it whispers of a power like no other. I’ve heard of some going mad with greed over what the mirror whispers to them, and then suddenly… they vanish. Just… don’t go near it. If anyone is going to get rid of you, it’s going to be me.”

Without another word, Jareth spun on his heel and continued his trek through the ancient room.

Lena could still hear the mirror calling her name, but she forced herself not to look back at it as she followed Jareth.

“So this mate of yours… does he know?”

“Which part?”

Jareth looked back over his shoulder without breaking his stride. “All of it.”

Lena swallowed hard. “He knows enough.”

Jareth’s smirk was almost feral. “Trouble in paradise then. Good.”

Lena supposed she deserved that, even though a part of her wanted to snap and tell Jareth that they were working through it one day at a time like a healthy couple should. But then she remembered that she had killed the love of his life and decided against it. He deserved to wish ill will on her.

“When the King visited me,” Jareth announced, slowing his stride, “he also brought me a gift.”

Lena’s magic exploded across the room, shaking the entire foundation as Jareth stepped to the side and gave way to those ancient, magic-cancelling chains the King had used on her for centuries. Her growl echoed across the stones as she bared her teeth, darkness creeping up her hands to her elbows.

Jareth didn’t even flinch, only stared at her with mild curiosity.

“If you try to put those chains on me,” Lena seethed, “I’ll not only kill you, but everyone in this castle.”

“So much for heartfelt apologies then.”

“I won’t go back there. You don’t know what he did to me.”

“I can guess.”

“No,” Lena hissed. “You can’t.”

Jareth cocked his head to the side, considering her words. “You didn’t come here just to apologize, did you? And put that magic away, I’m not going to touch those abhorrent chains.”

Slowly, with her guard still raised, Lena reeled in her magic. Coins and other ancient metals rattled, disturbing the silence of the room.

“Hybern asked you for aid and you didn’t give it to them,” Lena said carefully.

“That’s correct. We have enough of our own problems here right now. Apparently there’s insurrection trying to overthrow me.”

Lena shook her head. “No, there’s not. We brought that rumor over here weeks ago to keep you from accepting Hybern’s offer.” Jareth’s eyes flashed with rage. “Well, I didn’t. But my people did.”

“Your people,” Jareth scoffed, leaning against a pillar. “Do they even claim you after everything you have done.”

Lena tried not to let it show how badly that stung. “They don’t even know I’m still alive.”

He chuckled. “How the mighty fall.”

“Careful not to eat your words, Jareth.”

“So the unrest in my country is fabricated. Congratulations though, it kept me from acquiescing to Hybern’s request. I take it now you want my armies and I to fight on your behalf.”

“Not just mine. But all of Prythian, and all of your continent, and the mortal lands. Hybern will destroy every bit of it if we don’t stop him.”

“Hasn’t this war already been fought a few centuries ago?”

“It didn’t end there. The King wants to use the Cauldron to bring down the wall. He’ll kill hundreds of thousands of innocent people.”

“And how many have you killed, Lena?” Jareth hissed. “I can count three, but I’m sure there’s many, many more.”

“Seventy-six.”

Jareth’s eyes widened.

“Seventy-six,” she repeated. “That’s how many innocent people I killed while I was the King’s prisoner. Not perfect people, but… innocent all the same. The rest I would have killed even if I wasn’t under his control.”

“Well at least you’re honest,” Jareth muttered, pushing off of the pillar and cracking his neck. “How about you take that honesty and tell me one thing. Do you think you’ll win?”

“Yes,” Lena said without hesitation. Jareth looked surprised.

“Oh? Why?”

“Because we have something to fight for.”

“Which is?”

“Family, honor, love, justice. Take your pick, they’re all true.”

Jareth inhaled deeply, glancing over at the chains. “I’ve heard stories about your brother. How he was Amarantha’s whore Under the Mountain.”

“Watch it,” Lena warned.

“I mean no disrespect. Considering that I’ve also heard rumors that he did it intentionally to protect others, I certainly didn’t mean it as an insult.”

Lena’s eyebrows shot up. “You heard that?”

“I may or may not correspond with the High Lord of Summer occasionally. He has his suspicions, and I trust him. Though he certainly isn’t happy with your brother for stealing his things.”

Lena scratched the back of her neck. “We do what we have to sometimes.”

Jareth made a sound of reluctant agreement, pinching the bridge of his nose in thought. “I loathe the King of Hybern,” he finally said. “He is power hungry and insane and much too old. We fae tend to go a bit crazy after living so long if we’re already corrupt, as he is. I have no doubt that even if he doesn’t come for Vallahan now, he will someday down the line.”

“So you will fight with us?”

“On one condition.”

“Name it. Anything.”

“You are daemati, correct?” Jareth asked. Lena hesitated, but nodded. “I want you to show me your mate.”

Lena paled. “If you intend to hurt him—”

“I want you to show me how you feel about him,” Jareth clarified. “I want to know what… what it feels like when they’re your mate.”

Lena’s shoulders relaxed, her eyes softening. He wants to know if there would have been a bond between he and Danias one day, she thought to herself. She swallowed back her fear of what Jareth could do with this information and took a careful step forward, raising her hands.

“May I?” she asked cautiously.

Jareth hesitated, but nodded. Lena gently hovered her hands over the side of his head. Jareth took a deep breath, and then she delved into his mind.

Pain. Regret. Sorrow. Loss. The weight of a country on his shoulders.

Lena flinched as Jareth’s every thought and feeling barreled into her own mind. He felt so deeply it was hard to push away.

He flinched as well, and she could feel the insecurity coursing through him. She sent comfort into his mind, and a few seconds later she could feel the calm seeping in.

With a prayer to the Mother, Lena let the thought of Azriel enter their shared thoughts.

She was twenty years old again. Azriel kissed her cheek quickly before shooting into the night sky, calling out to her. She looked up at him and suddenly… it was all new. Everything in her world was different, it was all him.

Her best friend. Her protector. The male she had always loved. Azriel. Her Azriel.

Her mate. Her Cauldron-destined counterpart. The bond did not make her love him, only amplified the love that was already there.

That tether on her ribs forged bright and true as the stars in the sky above them, but as it reached out for him… it fell short. He did not feel it.

Lena left that memory, propelling forward to her time in the King’s clutches when she had seen Azriel for the first time after being taken.

The Middle was horrible. The fae she had been tasked with supervising were horrible. The humans crying and screaming and begging for mercy would haunt her dreams, but everything she did for the King haunted her these days.

She could feel something watching them up on the cliff. She didn’t bother looking. It was likely just some creature waiting until it was dark to come after them.

But then she felt it. That tether deep within her that had been dormant for so long, that bond she begged to reawaken… it jolted.

Lena shot to her feet so fast the hood on her cloak almost fell backwards. She could do nothing but stare, clutching her side as she stared at him, attacking the fae with her with a stunning speed, those shadows she loved so much swirling around his graceful, violent dance.

Azriel. Her Azriel. Her mate.

Lena wanted to fall to her knees, but… she couldn’t. She had to focus, had to concentrate. She checked the shields on her scent — if he realized it were her, that she was still alive… the King would kill him.

No she had to get rid of him, had to protect Azriel, it was the reason for everything.

She jolted back to reality when the fourth fae threw faebane in his face.

Something snapped within her. She winnowed next to the Hybern fae whose name she didn’t even remember and snapped his spine. Azriel was coughing, spinning as he tried to get his wits about him as the drug took hold.

That flailing bond reached for him so hard that Lena gasped in pain. She wanted to touch him, she had to touch him. She reached for him but he only lashed out with his blade — Truth-Teller, she realized with a start.

On instinct, she kicked his hand so that his blade went flying.

Azriel fell to the ground and he heart felt as though it were being ripped to shreds.

Knowing that she was being foolish but unable to help herself, Lena ripped her hood away.

She grabbed his arms and almost keeled over at the sheer love coursing through her. The bond was screaming, reaching out for him and physically pulling her closer to him. She wondered if somewhere deep beneath the faebane and the belief that she was long gone, he could feel her too.

She screamed for him, begged him to winnow away while he still could. More of Hybern’s lackeys would be arriving any second, he had to get away.

Azriel, Azriel, Azriel, her heart chanted.

“Azriel! You have to winnow! You have to get out of here, there are more coming! Dammit AZ, winnow! Please!”

Her heart and her mind and her soul were at war. She wanted to run away with him, to winnow him back to the Night Court, but then she would surely be seen… the King would know if she winnowed him at all because of the spell, but maybe… maybe since they were so far away and she could winnow without touching him… maybe…

She had to try. It was her mate. She had to try something.

Choosing to trust her heart, to trust the bond, Lena winnowed him to the other side of the Middle.

Azriel reached for her and her heart swelled, but… he didn’t recognize her. The drugs made those hazel eyes she dreamed of for so long glassy and distant.

But then at the last second before he passed out, inexplicably, he whispered her name.

“Lena…”

And it all suddenly mattered. The past three and a half centuries, the torture, the dreams, the nightmares… they all mattered. Because this is what she was fighting for.

She knew he would think it was a side effect of the drug. She was glad for it. It didn’t matter if he knew she was alive — if he continued to think she was dead, he would be safer.

It had to matter. It had to be for him. All for him.

A small orange creature sat watching them. Lena turned to him, holding Azriel’s unconscious body in her arms, already dreading having to let him go.

“Help him,” she begged, desperate for anything to keep him safe. “Please.”

Lena could feel the tears streaming down her face, the sympathy in Jareth’s mind. She decided to show him one more memory.

She showed him that morning. The words exchanged, the hurt in her soul that her mate was disappointed in her. The rage in Azriel’s eyes that she had killed Danias in his name.

The love in her heart, the relief when he said he could never hate her because she was wrecked thinking he did for all that she had done.

Their commitment to love each other through the pain. Their commitment to fight for each other. The feeling of that bond of shadows and darkness tight and strong between their souls. The belief in one another.

Her mate. Her Azriel.

“That’s enough,” Jareth said suddenly, his voice hoarse.

Lena took herself out of his mind gently, leaving behind as much comfort as she could without it being too obvious.

Jareth’s eyes were lined with silver, though no tears appeared. He inhaled deeply through his nose, blinking rapidly.

“That was…” He met Lena’s eyes, a compassion she didn’t expect residing there. “I’ll never forgive you for what you did to Danias. And I do not regret what I did to your wings. But I see now why you did it.”

A small piece of Lena’s soul seemed to repair itself in that moment. She nodded her thanks, unable to form words.

“Vallahan will fight with you. I already hated the King but for him to exploit something so pure, the hatred he has for humans and Prythian… we will fight at your side. I think it’s what Danias would have wanted.”

Lena smiled. “I think so too.”

~~~~~

As they left the relics room, Jareth chattered away, asking countless questions about the size of the Illyrian armies, everything she knew about the King’s tactics, and so on.

He didn’t suspect a thing as she reached out to that whispering mirror telling of adventures and danger and a friendship yet to come and slipped it into an inside pocket of her leathers.

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #tog #sad oats #SOOO UMMMMMMM #THAT WAS A CHAPTER #I like this one actually and it's setting up for an EXCITING THING I DIDN'T PLAN ON DOING BUT IT HIT ME OUT OF NOWHERE #hope yall liked this one please please please reblog and like and all the things #i always read tags too so #that's that #LOVE YOU GUYS THANKS FOR ALL YOUR SUPPORT

[mazurah]

Lost in Time Ch. 15: Truths - An Elder Scrolls Fanfic

Chapter Summary: Ma’zurah and Fayrl make an exchange of information and uncover more interesting historical facts about Morrowind.

This is the chapter to read if you wanna know what happened to Morrowind after the Red Year.

Cross posted from Ao3. Chapter Rating: T for mild, implied adult subject matter, in-depth discussions of lore, and Vvardenfeels.

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Lost in Time Chapter 15: Truths

When Fayrl returned from upstairs and sat down in the little alcove, Ma’zurah immediately noticed his change in scent. She blinked at him. “Why did you not tell Ma’zurah what you were trying to do?” she hissed at him under her breath. She glanced around for the Imperial, but he was nowhere in sight.

Ma’zurah had her journal open in front of her, covered in notes; a pot of ink lay on the table to her right, and Ma’zurah held her index finger over it, inkstained claw extended.

“I thought it would have been obvious, my dearest,” he said, eyeing the page of notes before finishing his glass of wine and turning to Jenassa. He understood why the assassin had chosen this alcove. It was more comfortable, dimly lit, protected, and partially out of view of those entering the tavern.

Jenassa raised her eyebrows at Fayrl. “Feeling better?” she asked in Dunmeris.

“Oh yes, I feel quite refreshed after having the chance to lie down. I think perhaps I also just needed to sate my appetite.”

Ma’zurah rolled her eyes. “Fayrl needs to learn to communicate,” she muttered. She slid her open journal toward Fayrl. It contained a basic timeline of events for the past thousand years, as well as more specific notes for events in the past two hundred.

Fayrl skimmed the pages to make sure he was not asking any of the same questions Ma’zurah had already covered. “I thought I had made my intentions quite clear,” he said easily.

“Well, outworlder, do you have any questions you wish to trade as well?” Jenassa asked.

Fayrl set down his empty glass of wine. He did not appreciate the moniker. “I do have a name,” he said, letting a hint of his annoyance color his voice. “I am sure you have one too, mercenary.”

He eyed her coldly. “Tell me, what is the state of the Great Houses in Mournhold? Do they yet stand?”

Jenassa’s mouth quirked in amusement. “Well, in theory. Redoran has the greatest presence in Mournhold, as in the rest of Morrowind. Sadras is the next most powerful. Dres and Telvanni have embassies, but their presence is merely token. Of course Indoril was merged with the Temple, so they have presence everywhere the Temple stands. If that answer is adequate, I would like to know how a mer from the height of the False Tribunal’s rule came to be a devotee of the Webspinner.”

Fayrl thought for a moment. How did Redoran get to have the monopoly in power? What happened to cause a merging of his own House and the Temple? Had the Hlaalu finally fallen? Was it the Sadras who rose up to fell them? He had so many more questions now.

“I came to be enlightened through my mother. She had dealings with the Velothi tribes and through it learned of the true treachery of the False Tribunal. Once I was old enough, she took me with her to visit the Velothi tribes myself. The farseers and mother taught me of the true gods--of their practices. Something about the Spinner spoke more loudly to me than the others. Perhaps it is just my personality. Either way, I became her loyal servant. Does this answer your question?”

“Indeed.” Jenassa nodded. Ma’zurah finished taking notes and looked up. “Ma’zurah would like to know what happened to Hlaalu!”

“Very well. Hlaalu was disgraced after the Empire abandoned us during the Oblivion crisis, the Red Year, and during the Argonian invasion. We are members of the Empire in name only now. The Imperial Embassy in Blacklight is just as much a farce as Hlaalu’s presence as a true Great House these days. Most Hlaalu fled to Skyrim after the Red Year along with most of the refugees. Most in Morrowind don’t even acknowledge them anymore.” Jenassa took a sip of her drink. “Now, is it acceptable that I ask my question of you, sera?” she asked, turning to Fayrl.

Blacklight? They moved the capital? Fayrl could scarcely believe it. Had something terrible happened in Mournhold? Or was it merely a show of power and influence? He had to wait for his chance to ask a question. “Yes, that is fine,” he replied.

Jenassa thought silently for a second. “Did you have any influence in any of the Great Houses of your time?”

Fayrl was uncomfortable with where this line of questioning might be headed. What was her true objective here? Surely this was more than a mere inquiry to stave off the slow passing hours. She was heading towards a bigger question, picking out the clues one at a time before she struck. He could feel it.

“It is difficult to say. I certainly believe that the House council would say I was a pest at best. Though I suppose that is a sort of influence in its own right. If you are asking if I am--was--ever a hero for a Great House or the inventor of some novel new technology, I must disappoint you. In truth, my work was far more subtle, not in the light, but performed in shadow. I was a tool for change, but hardly the only one. There is little I could claim credit to that might still influence this day and age.”

“I see, and what House council was it that you were pestering, sera?” Jenassa asked with amusement.

“I believe the deal was a question for a question, sera.”

“Ah, ah! No, the deal was a truth for a truth to the satisfaction of the asker.”

“Oh, and you were not satisfied with my answer?” Fayrl asked, leaning over the table towards her.

Ma’zurah stopped writing and held her hand out between the two Dunmer. “Fayrl, do you have a problem telling Jenassa what House you were member of? It seems a reasonable part of the answer to her question.”

Fayrl rolled his eyes. “I have none. Still, it seems as though it is giving up a potential question freely.”

“Well, if you have no problem, Ma’zurah thinks it would be best to answer in good faith and preserve the goodwill of our only ally here rather than to fight over trivial matters.”

“Indoril,” Fayrl said tersely. “Tell me, how did Blacklight come to be the capital instead of Mournhold?”

Jenassa sat impassively during Ma’zurah and Fayrl’s exchange. “Indoril. Interesting. That explains the concern about Mournhold. During the Argonian invasion, Mournhold was captured and sacked. The seat of government had to be evacuated to the next best available city, and because Redoran was fronting the defense instead of those fetchers in Dres, Blacklight was deemed most appropriate. Mournhold was rebuilt in the years after, but resources were already stretched thin between providing aid for the victims of the Red Year and the Oblivion Crisis, and then the Argonian invasion itself. If you visit Mournhold now, you will likely find it very different from your own times. Don’t expect the grandeur it had before. Is that satisfactory, sera?”

“Yes.” Fayrl’s voice was very quiet. He hoped that none of his family had been directly affected. Yet there was no way to know without going and trying to look up the records in the temple itself, if any still existed.

“Very well. Your Khajiit companion tells me that you are from the sixth century of the second era, which means you would probably have witnessed or even defended against the invasion from Akavir. The records about the invaders themselves are sparse however, and I am most curious to hear about them. You are a bard, tell me a story about your experience with the invasion and the invaders themselves.” Jenassa sat back and crossed her arms in challenge.

“You are quite intuitive,” Fayrl replied. “I was at the final battle, though not in the capacity of a regular soldier, a small blessing to be sure. I was a scout. We had heard about the invasion forces that had left the Rift and it had seemed obvious that Morrowind was their next target. Small bands of us were sent out to areas along the coast and the roads from Skyrim. I think I had reached my post only three days before, mid-Sun’s Height, when the ships were spotted off the coast.

“I had never been in a proper battle before then. I had always been trained in dueling or small group fighting. And the sight of those towering frost beasts rising over the hills towards us was enough to make even the veteran warriors quake. My unit was sent out to track their movements, to learn what we could of their strategy.

“Our first time out from the fort, three of the seven in our unit didn’t make it back. Replacements were made. I suffered a shattered shoulder our third attempt at it when a halberd came at me. I managed to dodge the first Kamali, but his companion was there too quickly. I made it out of the way of the blade, but their terrifying strength was too much.

“We had to fall back. We headed into the ashlands to give ourselves the advantage in rough terrain, to use the heat to maybe slow the demons down. Even as King Jorunn’s disorganized band of brute soldiers came afield, we could not push them back far enough. Almalexia gave her great speeches to every mer who would listen, yet it is hard to keep faith and pride when you have the looming figures of frozen death coming towards you. They are tall, like a frost atronach, yet from their backs protrude great spikes of ice and frost. Such sharp and jagged images call to mind the many ways one might be torn apart by such sharp edges, or how a body might be shattered against them.

“My unit managed to find that the real objective in the battle was to sack Mournhold. We would have all been slain, unable to send the information back to General Tanval, but the Kamali were distracted at the arrival of troops from Argonia. We were able to slip past the line.

“In the end, although the losses were great on all sides, we were able to drown the lot of Kamali soldiers in the sea. And from the ashes and blood of that war, we were able to form an alliance never before thought possible. We brought together the Ebonheart Pact. And as a result we began to eradicate the longstanding hatred between our peoples. Slavery was steadily being abolished.”

Fayrl paused, looking down. “Though I hear in a few centuries such efforts would be for naught.” He looked back up at Jenassa. “Is that sufficient?”

Jenassa looked impressed. “Well. If I wasn't convinced of your authenticity before, I am now. Do you realize the kind of opportunity you could provide by telling your stories to historians? Whole histories of lost information could be reconstructed! You could counter the propaganda and historical revisionism of the centuries that succeeded you!”

“I thank you for your praise,” Fayrl replied, “but I do not plan on remaining in the future long enough for that. I plan on returning to my time and correcting what I can so that truths may come to light sooner rather than later.”

Jenassa sighed. “Apologies. Truth is something that I personally have a passion for. When Vivec disappeared, it threw the whole of Morrowind into a frenzy. There were accusations and claims tossed about that threw into question the veracity of the Tribunal’s version of history. Then Vivec’s secret library was made public, and nobody knew what to think anymore. I lived through that era of uncertainty, and the hardships that came after, and it only made me more determined to discover truth in its most objective forms, and influence political movements towards embracing objectivity.” She smirked. “A passion some would say is at odds with the career of an assassin, but I disagree. Death is the great equalizer after all.”

Fayrl relaxed in his seat. “I do not see it as being at odds. The Morag Tong has always been about maintaining a balance between the Houses. It is about eliminating the few so that the many may survive. A noble profession and one that is hardly easy to succeed in. What could be more appealing than serving the gods, the country, and all while minimizing the bloodshed it takes to achieve it?” Fayrl gestured to the barkeeper for another glass of wine. “So, why are you no longer with the Morag Tong?”

The Bosmer bartender hurried forward to attend to Fayrl. Jenassa ran a hand through her hair. “That is a rather long and complicated question, I’m afraid. It has to do with the Morag Tong’s decline in the past two centuries, which in turn has to do with the shifting balance of power between Houses, and the rather drastic, if gradual restructuring of the Morrowind government. I'm certain you won't be satisfied with such a vague answer though, so perhaps I had better start at the beginning.

“First, however, I should probably establish the players. After it became apparent that Almalexia and Sotha Sil were well and truly gone, and after Vivec himself disappeared, the Temple underwent some rather profound changes, as you can probably imagine. Before he left, Vivec had been urging the Temple hierarchy to reinstitute the ancient system of ancestor worship and veneration of the Three Good Daedra. Of course, House Indoril found the whole idea to be completely unacceptable. I believe that most of their leadership were on the verge of committing ritual suicide when the Temple and the other Houses took a vote to put Indoril in charge of the Temple and its conversion efforts as a whole. The process was slow and painful, but the Houses took to the new system eventually.

“As of now, Indoril is completely synonymous with the Temple, and though usually only Temple leadership are members of House Indoril proper, gaining membership in the Temple is often referred to as ‘joining Indoril’. Aside from the governance of the ancestral territory over which House Indoril still has rule, Indoril and the Temple have become, for the most part, a completely apolitical organization. I’m sure you can understand, after more than four thousand years of rule by a Tribunal of false god-kings, why the citizens of Morrowind would desire their religious institute to become less involved in politics.

“In any case, one of the first things that the Indoril did in their new position as Temple leadership was search for Velothi tribesmer and religious leaders who were willing to educate the Temple and the general population about the practices of ancestor worship and veneration of the Three Good Daedra which had been lost under the rule of the False Tribunal. They requested that one of the minor Houses volunteer to open their doors to those Velothi who were willing to move to House territory, even part time. House Sadras stepped forward, and ultimately gained enough population and influence to become another Great House. Their culture is… unusual, to say the least.

“Anyway, back to your question. As you know, the Morag Tong is the organization that lawfully implements the system of House war that prevents violence from overtaking the common citizens of Morrowind. When the Oblivion Crisis happened however, House war all but ceased. Honestly, this was probably a good thing. Everybody had their hands full defending against the Daedra, and it would only have been bad for the province as a whole had House war continued.

“The Oblivion gates opened up outside every major city, but Ald-ruhn got the worst of it. The Redoran made a valiant show of it though, going so far as to resurrect the emperor crab shell, Skar, and the rest of the crabshell buildings to come to the city’s defense. I hear it was an amazing sight. The Daedric force was utterly overwhelming though, and they managed to push back the Redoran. The Daedra cleared a path up to Ghostgate, where they inexplicably proceeded to march the entirety of their troops up Red Mountain. Nobody knows why.

“With the majority of the Daedra’s invading force occupied at Red Mountain however, the Redoran were able to rally the other Houses in a unified defense of Morrowind. After Ald-ruhn, the province took minimal losses. This is all a testament to the skill and integrity of the Redoran archmaster, Athyn Sarethi. He actually went so far as to hire all available Morag Tong as scouts in defense of Morrowind as a whole--an unusual contract to be sure, but none of us were about to turn down an offer that let us defend our homes and fill our coffers with gold.

“Of course, once the Oblivion Crisis was over, the unification fell apart rather quickly, and the Morag Tong had more contracts than ever. Unsurprisingly, most of our contracts were either for, or from members of House Hlaalu. There was a lot of resentment there, as Hlaalu was the greatest supporter of the Empire, and the Empire had completely withdrawn its forces back to Cyrodiil at the start of the Crisis. Of course everyone felt abandoned, though there was little love for the Empire in Morrowind in the first place.

“Only five years later, Baar Dau fell, and Red Mountain erupted. It was awful. We had only really just recovered from the Oblivion Crisis. Again, the Empire did not send aid, and it took nearly a month to organize, but the Redoran archmaster again coordinated a unified relief effort for Vvardenfell and the parts of the mainland that had been affected by the catastrophe. We were lucky, in this case I believe, that most of the surviving members of the Redoran council had relocated to Mournhold, or it’s quite likely that it would have taken even longer for the other Houses to assemble any sort of relief effort.

“Again, House war all but ceased, and again, Sarethi contracted the Morag Tong for unconventional tasks such as scouting and damage assessment in questionable terrain, as well as escorting survivors and refugees to safe locations. I think at that point, many of the Morag Tong just decided to become members of House Redoran, as they seemed to have the best interests of Morrowind as a whole in mind, and honestly, House war was the last thing on any of our minds.

“Relief efforts were still in full swing when the Argonians invaded. At that point, King Hlaalu Helseth had long since banned slavery, but it didn’t matter. The Argonians saw an opportunity for retribution, and they took it. They had ploughed their way halfway through Dres territory before any sort of resistance could be assembled. Dres was a total shambles. Seeing another threat to Morrowind, the Redoran archmaster organized a defense, but the most he was able to do was to delay the Argonians on their warpath to Mournhold. The capital got moved to Blacklight, and most of the Great Houses decided to defer to Redoran’s superior expertise in military strategy during the whole of the invasion. It really altered the way the Houses interacted afterward, and House Redoran gained an enormous amount of political control.

“The fighting lasted several years, but the Redoran eventually halted the Argonians’ advance. It was at great cost, and we lost many citizens, either as casualties or as refugees to Skyrim and Solstheim. Apparently our plight was so pitiful, that the High King of Skyrim was willing to gift Morrowind the entirety of the island of Solstheim. It is House Redoran territory now, though I believe there is a Telvanni master living there as well.

“In any case, I think you can see why, after so many hardships and a complete rebalance of political power in Morrowind, the Great Houses did not recommence House war in the same manner. Redoran hardly needs the assistance of the Morag Tong to maintain their influence. Sadras never really got involved in that sort of thing in the first place. Nobody hears from the Telvanni these days, even other Telvanni; and Indoril is mostly apolitical. That really just leaves Dres and Hlaalu, and both of them are so reduced, that they often can’t afford the Tong’s services anyway. I’m not even sure they have the population or influence to technically qualify as Great Houses anymore, though they still have representatives on the House Council.

“By the time I had left the Morag Tong, we were but a shadow of our former self. My services simply were not in demand anymore. Not only that, but I was tired after surviving so much, and I needed a change of pace and a fresh perspective. I’m sure that the Morag Tong still exists out there somewhere, but I haven’t heard of them or from them since I left.”

Fayrl listened with an expression of interest on his face, keeping his eyes on Jenassa throughout. He could not believe what all he was hearing. So much of what he dreamed of, worked towards, prayed for, had come true. And yet, it all succeeded through some catastrophe or at the cost of innumerable lives, including the innocent. When he had sent forth his prayers, he had wished for this kind of unification at any cost. And now he could see just what that cost was. He wasn't sure now that it was worth it. The House system was all but destroyed. Baar Dau had fallen from the sky and Red Mountain had erupted. The gates of Oblivion had opened. Mournhold had been decimated. His House was reduced to mere priesthood. And there was some reason to fear that his House’s leadership would have all slaughtered themselves in ritual suicide? What precedent could there have been? What had happened?

When his wine arrived his swallowed the entire contents of the glass in one go and signalled for another before turning his attention back to Jenassa.

There was simply too much that had happened. He couldn't let himself work through all of it right now. Just as he hadn't been able to work through it this morning, he tried to focus on just one thing at a time.

Jenassa sipped her drink. “Well,” she addressed Fayrl, “now that I’ve talked your ear off, perhaps you would be willing to tell me your version of events leading up to your abduction to this era. Ma’zurah here tells me she has no idea by what mechanism the two of you traveled to this time, but perhaps you have more insight.”

“I am afraid I know even less than my dear Ma’zurah does. I had simply been disposing of the refuse of a task assigned to me. I had chosen a Daedric ruin as my dumping ground. They tend to be vacant during much of the day and crawling with cultists at night. A body quickly is made to disappear in such a place. Yet as I was leaving, I happened to see an unusual item, a piece of cutlery of fine metal, so I bent down and picked it up. No sooner had I done so then I found myself in an unfamiliar place.

“Luckily for me, Ma’zurah happened upon me and saw I was out of place in Oblivion. She said she would help me to return to Nirn. Our current predicament is the result of that attempt. I apologize, that answer is hardly useful, but it is the extent of my knowledge about our coming to be here.”

Jenassa nodded slowly. “I see. Well, at least your account matches that of Ma’zurah. A shame you have no further insight. In any case, what is your next question?”

“Ma'zurah has a question” said Ma'zurah quietly, drawing Jenassa���s attention. “What became of the Velothi tribes? The Ahemmusa, Urshilaku, Zainab, and Erabenimsun who did not join House Sadras? Ma'zurah needs to know.”

Jenassa stroked her chin thoughtfully. “As far as I know, The Erabenimsun were wiped out. They were situated in the middle of Molag Amur, which was a volcanically active area already, and they had no means of escape when Red Mountain erupted.”

Ma'zurah closed her eyes, an expression of pain spread across her face. She remembered the young Ashkhan she had put in power who had been so insecure about taking leadership. He’d only had eleven years to lead the tribe before the mountain had taken his life. He should have had centuries.

“The Zainab got lucky.” Jenassa continued. “The Grazelands were somewhat protected by the direction of the foyadas, and because their camp was in the shadow of the foyada, they were protected from the worst of the initial blast. I heard they made their way to the docks at Vos before the Grazelands flooded, and were able to escape to the mainland, where they made their way with a caravan of refugees to Windhelm. Even the Morrowind mainland was not a particularly hospitable place after the eruption, and the mainland Velothi tribes had a hard enough time surviving without sharing their territory with the Vvardenfell tribes. I can hardly blame them for their decision to head to Skyrim, though others disagree.”

Ma'zurah breathed a sigh of relief. They were alright. Relatively close even. She could visit and see how they were doing. Maybe they had more news.

“As for the Urshilaku, a great many of them were guests of the Temple at the time in educational capacities. I heard that the Urshilaku Wise Woman in the northern Ashlands received a vision from Azura the day before the eruption, and took the entire camp to a nearby Daedric ruin to seek shelter. I later heard they had water-walked all the way to Solstheim and established a new camp there.”

Ma'zurah broke into a brilliant smile. “And the Ahemmusa?” she asked eagerly.

“I'm not sure what happened to the Ahemmusa.” Jenassa answered. “I heard a rumor they made it to Solstheim. I also heard a rumor they were spotted in Windhelm, and in Elsweyr of all places. I'm not sure whether any of those rumors have any truth to them.”

Ma'zurah caught her breath. “Elsweyr?” she asked urgently, “Do you know which city?”

Jenassa raised her eyebrows. “The mer who told me said he heard it from a caravan who got it from a Khajiit from Corinthe. Of course this was before Elsweyr split into Anequina and Pelletine and became client states of the Dominion, so I have as little idea whether they could still be found there as I have as to whether they were ever there in the first place.” Jenassa gave Ma’zurah an apologetic look.

Ma’zurah’s mind whirled, and she looked like she was on the verge of tears. They had been looking for her. They had to have been. There was no other explanation.

Fayrl watched as Ma’zurah wavered between relief and anxiety. He understood some of that too, though it was far less likely than anyone he knew could possibly still be alive. It was extremely uncommon for Dunmer to live a whole millenia.

Still, he felt for her friends and lovers. Their fates were still relatively recent history. There might be a chance for some of them to still live, though they would have aged. It was only a couple of centuries between her time and this. In her place, Fayrl would certainly be trying to find any sign of them. If she sought after them, he would not stop her. He himself longed to visit his family’s tomb, to be able to speak with his son, with his parents. He wanted to visit Avon’s and Ervis’ as well. Ma’zurah was going through this with him, but it was not the same. She was a person of greatness, a hero of legend. He was just some stupid mer who picked up a fork and got thrown through time. Perhaps his being here was better for everyone back home.

The barkeeper came by with a bottle of wine and Fayrl let him refill his glass, then he took the bottle. He was not planning on letting himself stay sober for long. He drained another half of his glass and refilled it to the brim.

Jenassa looked at Ma’zurah curiously. “I gather that you lived in Vvardenfell for some time, but why do you care so much about the Velothi tribes?”

Ma’zurah took a deep breath. “This one is a clanfriend to all of them, and a full member of the Ahemmusa. They are her adopted family. See?” She smoothed the fur on her cheeks, revealing a line of dotted scars partially obscured by the fur underneath both eyes which indicated tribal membership in the Ahemmusa.

Jenassa’s eyebrows rose. “I see. Well then. Your next question?”

Fayrl leaned forward. “What is the current state of worship for the Spinner back in Morrowind? You mentioned that the True Tribunal has taken its rightful place. I wonder, how does that manifest itself? I cannot even imagine such a wonderful sight as free worship of the Three.”

Fayrl’s hand rested easily upon the hilt of the Ebony Blade. He had a hope swell in his chest to concentrate on the good that would come from a world where anyone could worship the true gods. More importantly, he wondered what to expect from the worship. Perhaps he could join in some of the fun if he only knew what to look for. Likely the old signs would have changed after so long a time.

Ma’zurah finished her drink and gestured for the bartender to come by. She leaned forward and murmured a request to him, and he nodded and went down to the cellar to retrieve it.

“Honestly,” Jenassa replied, “the worship for all three of the Blessed Triune is extensive across Morrowind. Certainly there are still a few holdouts for the False Tribunal, but they are generally quiet and don't make much of a nuisance of themselves anymore. All the temple buildings that had previously been dedicated to the False Tribunal are now rightfully dedicated to the Blessed Triune. I saw all this get built up gradually, so I'm sure it will be something of a shock for you if you get a chance to go to Morrowind. The worship itself is just as you would expect it. My personal favorite Temple visits are for the Orgies of Mephala, but there are other public sermons which the Preceptors give which require no initiation into the Secrets. For those that desire more, the Exemplars teach the Secrets to the Initiated and the Acolytes. And of course, the Ordinators are no more; the Ordinators Reformed became the Hands of Nerevar--”

Ma'zurah gave a sudden explosive snort. “Sorry! Sorry! Continue, please!” She stifled a laugh behind one hand and adopted an expression of rapt interest.

Jenassa looked at her in bemusement. “Well… Though the Temple wields no nominal political power, that is not to say they have no influence. The Redoran may be Morrowind’s guardian protectors and intermediaries to the rest of the world, but the Temple is the backbone of Dunmer society just as it was in the days of the False Tribunal. And personally, I don't believe for a second that Mephala and Boethiah do not influence political events both in and out of Morrowind; I've even heard rumors that there are secret orders within the Temple hierarchy dedicated to the Temple’s benefit which are beholden to none but the Blessed Triune themselves. It is one of my most cherished desires to receive an invitation to be initiated amongst the ranks of the Black Hands of Mephala.”

Ma'zurah barked a sudden laugh. “‘According to the Codes of Mephala, there is no difference between the theorist and the terrorist. Even the most cherished desire disappears in their hands. This is why Mephala has black hands.’ The best way to serve Mafala is not to wait for an invitation.” She gave the Dunmer a sly grin.

Jenassa blinked in startlement at Ma'zurah. “You certainly know your Lessons!”

Fayrl had a large grin spread across his face. “Do you speak truly? Are the great orgies really reinstated? I never thought I’d live to see the--” he stopped, his expression turning solemn. “I suppose in a way I don’t. That is, I didn’t. Not precisely. Still, this is happy news. To have the Black Hands back in power again. To know there are public sermons again. How I should love to meet with a Widow and discuss all that has changed in our worship since my time. There were so few in our nests back in those days.” He spoke wistfully. “I should very much like to see how things have changed.”

He shot a playful look to Ma’zurah. “How about it, my love, shall we join in prayer as in olden times? I would happily take your hand if it be your first time.” He was not above teasing her after she did so with Jenassa.

Ma’zurah shot Fayrl a flustered look. Jenassa laughed. “Who is this Khajiit? For someone so comfortable quoting the Sermons at me, she sure does look like a blushing virgin!” She smirked at Fayrl, then did a sudden double take. “Mephala! Is that the Ebony Blade?!”

Fayrl put an arm around Ma’zurah. “Watch your tongue, she is far more than meets the eye.” He pulled his companion close against him and absently stroked the hilt of the Ebony Blade. “Is that your question?” he teased.

Ma’zurah blinked at Fayrl, surprised, but not displeased at his unexpected initiation of contact. Jenassa looked frustrated. “Yes. No! Look. What in Oblivion is going on here? You two are too much to be believed. You’ve been an hour’s excellent entertainment, and I don’t think you’re lying or I’d have seen the signs, but I don’t think you’re telling me everything either. This is just getting ridiculous! Especially her.” She nodded at Ma’zurah. “Who are you, really? Why are you here? Now? What’s going on?” Jenassa paused for breath.

Fayrl was suddenly behind Jenassa. He spoke low into her ear. “I'm afraid that wasn't exactly the deal we had. You've asked at least five questions of us.” He did not like the tone the former assassin was taking about Ma’zurah. He clicked his teeth. “Whatever shall we do about her, my dear?” he asked Ma’zurah.

Jenassa froze and her training kicked in. She elbowed Fayrl in the gut and vanished. She reappeared a second later a few yards away looking horrified, holding out her hands in a pacifying gesture. “Oh gods! I’m so sorry! You were just.... I just--”

Ma’zurah burst out laughing. “Both of you sit down! This one doubts there is really any need for hostility. Or theatrics.” She gave Fayrl a pointed glance.

Fayrl laughed, coughing a little from the blow. He should have blocked it, but he had been sloppy. He was almost embarrassed at himself. He sauntered back to his spot at the table and poured himself another glass of wine, leaning back easily in the seat besides Ma’zurah. “My apologies,” he said flippantly, and sipped at his wine as if nothing had transpired.

Jenassa gave Fayrl a wary look, and resumed her own seat. The bartender came by with a bottle of wine, and uncorked it for Ma’zurah. She took it eagerly and poured herself a glass.

Jenassa took a breath. “I apologize. You startled me. I will attempt to keep my questions to one at a time.” She gave Fayrl a wry smile. “As for my immediate question, I suppose I shall settle for knowing how you came to possess that blade there.” She indicated the Ebony Blade.

“A lovely story. One of my life’s proudest moments.” Fayrl held up his glass to toast Ma’zurah. “I met someone in town--it would be impolite to say whom--that pointed me towards some information concerning a certain Whispering Lady. As they had acknowledged the symbol of my dear Prince, I was eager to follow up. Sure enough, we found a secret location where the Lady of Whispers spoke. I do not exaggerate when I say that I could tell at once that this was no stretch of truth. Many times I have heard the voice of the Lady. She has lifted me up before.

“We were given a task and retrieved the means by which to complete it without delay. Serving the Webspinner is always foremost in my life’s duties. We returned with the deed complete. Since we had proven ourselves to the Lady, we were rewarded for our service. At that point she named me Champion and gave me this token of service to carry out her will.”

Even just recalling the fact he had earned such a title, his heart was full to burst with pride. He could even feel himself being aroused at the echo of his Prince’s voice as he was given his title. “Does that answer your question fully?” he asked, this time without any malice in his voice.

“C-Champion? Truly? Mephala!” Jenassa passed a hand over her face, clearly somewhat shaken. “You know, I think perhaps it might be time for me to return home. I feel I’ve been afield too long. Yes, I think I will make preparations to return to Baan Malur and offer my service to the Temple.” She lapsed into silence.

“Well, have you any other questions for our dear friend, Ma’zurah, love?” He sipped at his wine. He was beginning to feel rather good from the alcohol, he was finally able to relax a bit since coming here. In fact, his mood was so good he was almost ready to pick back up his lute and play a bit more music. Perhaps he could even get himself a lovely little prize to send unto Mephala. It would be good to let the Ebony Blade have itself a full meal. Surely he could succeed in wrapping some gullible little thing around his finger. It had been a less successful first meal yesterday. He was eager to give the blade more power. What kind of Champion can’t do such a simple task within a day?

Ma’zurah had sobered at the mention of Fayrl’s status as Champion of Mephala. It only reminded her of her own duties to the gods. “Ma’zurah thinks perhaps she has delayed enough in preparing for her journey. She has made a list of things she will need, and she should go get them. Perhaps Ma’zurah will have time to ask more questions later.” She finished off the last of her wine, picked up her journal, and stood to leave. The bartender walked over, and she counted out his requested payment.

Fayrl stood. After all that about them not splitting up, was she now going to leave without him? There was certainly things he could complete without involving her, but she had been so adamant about not being apart. “Are we leaving then?” He downed the rest of his glass, just in case.

“Yes, we really should. Do not worry about the drinks. Ma’zurah took care of them.” She took Fayrl’s arm and smiled at him, slightly tipsy.

Jenassa stood up with a look of mild chagrin on her face at their eminent departure. “I hope we can do this again before you leave!”

Fayrl grinned, delighted at Ma’zurah’s spontaneous touch. “You are so generous, my dear. I will have to make it up to you somehow later, in whatever manner you desire.” He brushed a few strands of hair behind her ear.

She looked down, unsure how to respond to his flirting. Fayrl picked up his lute and the half empty bottle of wine from the table and turned to leave.

He paused at the door and glanced back at Jenassa. “If you would like to pray in the ancient way, my friend, come and find me this evening.” With that, the pair left the tavern.

End Notes:

Fayrl’s tumblr: @talldarkandroguesome

Screenshot of Fayrl Screenshot of Ma’zurah Check out my art tag for more pictures of Fayrl and Ma’zurah.

Constructive criticism is welcome. We also really like it if you leave comments on Ao3.

#TES #Elder Scrolls Lore #Skyrim #ESO #Morrowind #My Writing #Fanfic #Lost In Time TES Fanfic #Fayrl Indoril #Ma'zurah the Khajiit #Vvardenfeels #Rated T

[xxprincessjewelsxx]

The Lunar Mark (Xiumin Werewolf!au fic) Chapter 10

Warnings: Violence, torture

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7 Ch. 8 Ch. 9 Ch. 10 Ch. 11 Ch. 12 Ch. 13 Ch. 14 Ch. 15(M) Ch. 16

~Minseok~

It was taking everything his three pack mates had to hold him back as he saw Y/N being dragged away.

‘If you can hear me Minseok, I’m sorry for everything…but please don’t follow, I don’t know what I would do if you got hurt because of me.’  he heard Y/N’s voice ring through his head. She had opened her lines of communication to him momentarily to tell him not to follow. He wanted to try and answer back but never got the chance to with a hard thump to the back of his head, knocking him out cold.

“Sorry bout that, bro,” Chanyeol said, “We’ve got to get back to the pack house and tell them what happened.”

Kyungsoo and Jongdae nodded in agreement, helping get the knocked out Minseok back to the house. “Guys! Big problem,” Chanyeol yelled as he placed Minseok on the couch.

“What’s going on?” A still irritated, but now fully unthawed Kris questioned.

“The guards...they accused Y/N of being the one stealing the wire...and then they saw the lunar mark,” Jongdae replied, “They took her.”

“Took her?” Junmyeon questioned, “Did...did you hear them say where?”

“They’re taking her to Lord Yeongjoon,” he replied.

There were gasps from around the room. To humans, Lord Yeongjoon was a kind, caring, and fair leader who many looked up to (there were the exceptions, but that’s another story *hint hint*), to magical beings however, if you were caught by the royal guard and taken to him, most would beg to be killed before having to be stuck in the dungeons.

He was convinced that all magical beings and those that practiced magic were evil and complete scum of the earth and was hell bent on getting answers out of them about where their source of power was, where their packs, covens, families, etc. were, and what their deepest and truest weakness was.

“Kris...” Eunha said with questioning eyes.

“I know...” he said, patting the hand she had placed on his arm, “As reckless as he’s been and with the fact that we don’t even know if Y/N will accept Minseok or not...we can’t leave her in the hands of Yeongjoon,” he said.

“She tried to protect him...if that means anything,” Kyungsoo said, speaking up.

“Excuse me?” he questioned.

“When they were dragging her off she noticed Minseok...and she mouthed at him not to follow,” Soo replied.

There was suddenly a growl and Minseok sat up looking around disoriented. “Where is she?”

“We’re going to get her back, but you need to relax,” Junmyeon said.

“Tao...Luhan...Baekhyun...we’re gonna need you three at your best for this...get some food in you,” Kris said. The three men nodded and headed to the kitchen to get some food in them.

“They’ll kill her...we need to get to her,” Minseok said, trying to fight against Junmyeon.

“And that’s what we’re gonna do...but you can’t go running in there blind,” Junmyeon stated, “You getting yourself killed, will do nothing for her.”

“Um...guys...,” Baekhyun said, walking out of the kitchen, “Lu’s having a vision...and I do think it’s good.”

Closing his eyes and letting out a small breath Kris turned and walked into the kitchen, ignoring Minseok’s pleas for Junmyeon and Chanyeol to let him go. In the kitchen he saw Lu sitting against the wall, hunched over, hugging his sides. He crouched down and reached out to Lu putting his hand on his shoulder, only to have him pull back, making a pained noise.

“Don’t touch me...” he said.

“Lu...what’s happening?” Kris questioned.

“It’s not what is it’s what will happen,” he replied, looking terrified.

Suddenly Kris got knocked out of the way and Lu let out a cry of pain as Minseok grabbed onto his shoulders. “Luhan! Tell me what is happening to her!”

“Please...Minseok let me go...that hurts,” Lu said, pain surging through his body. Luhan’s visions, though he had very good control over them now...they could sometimes be physically painful for him. 

“Just...just tell me Lu,” Minseok pleaded.

“She doesn’t break, no matter the pain...no...no matter what he does to her she doesn’t give in to him,” Lu said, starting to feel extremely weak.

Kris pushed Minseok out of the way. “What dungeon is she in? Lu...we need that and then you can rest.”

“The lower dungeon...that’s all I can see in terms of that,” Lu said, “She...”

“Rest now...” Kris said, “Yixing!” Kris handed Lu over to Yixing’s care and looked at Tao and Baekhyun. “I hope you two are up for some old fashioned foot and nose work.”

“Of course...” Tao replied, “But you do know with all the human scent and as deep as those dungeons run...we can’t just rush into this.”

“Yes...which is the one thing that does worry me about this,” Kris replied.

~Y/N~

It had been a couple of hours since you had been dragged down into the depths of the dungeons of Lord Yeongjoon’s mansion. Vampires, witches, humans...you could smell their blood...but drowning out that was the smell of your own blood. You truly wish you could lick your own wounds; the guards had not been kind as they dragged you through the forest and even less kind as they pushed you down into the darkness.

“If it were up to me...all you mongrels, blood suckers, and those who deal in the dark arts would completely eradicated...without a second thought about any “humanity” that you might have in you,” you heard a voice say, “There’s nothing human about any of you...you’re monsters.”

“And you’re a cowered, hiding in the shadows...Lord Yeongjoon,” you said.

A chuckle could be heard as the man stepped into the light of the torches. “You’ve still got some life left in you, the guards said you fought the whole way here...at least until they threatened you with a wolfsbane blade.”

“Why wouldn’t I fight, WHEN I’VE DONE NOTHING WRONG!” you yelled, your voice echoing through the dungeon.

“You’re alive!” he said, “Your mere existence along with the rest of your kind is wrong!”

“I could say the same about the hunters that tear families apart,” you said lunging. The chains around that were around your wrists seems to tighten as you stumbled backwards. You looked at the chains around your wrists and let out a low growl. “What would your people think of their savior if he said he wanted to eradicate magic but he used it himself,” you said holding up your wrists, the shackles glowing a pale blue color, “This is the work of a master of binding spells.”

“The people would be happy that I am doing what I need to keep a wolf bitch confined,” he said, “Speaking of which, we need to talk about your pack.”

“I don’t have a pack...I am an unmated female without a pack,” you said.

“I will not tolerate being lied too,” he stated.

“Good thing I’m not-,” you started to say only to receive a smack across the face.

“I see we’re going to have to do things the hard way,” he said, “That’s alright...it’s more fun this way anyway.”

The punching, the slapping, even the whippings that took place throughout the night didn’t break you. When Lord Yeongjoon retired for the evening, you rested in the corner against the cold brick. You could smell your own blood and the pain that seared across your back was something that you had never felt before. And it wasn’t so much sleep that took over, then it was you passing out.

“GET UP!” a voice snapped, pulling you up from the ground.

Your eyes snapped open, the guard from the day before dragging you out of the cell. After a minute of walking (if that’s what you want to call what you did) he threw you to the ground and you looked up to see Lord Yeongjoon.

“I heard that unless a werewolf has the power to control fire, one is generally afraid of it,” he said, as he nonchalantly poked the wood in the large furnace he was crouched in front of.  

“We’re fine around fire...thanks,” you said, starting to get nervous, “We are part human after all.”

He turned bringing the red hot poker with him. “Are you sure about that? Because your eyes are quite big right now,” he said, “Now...I can’t make promises, but if you tell me what I want to know...I might just be tempted to leave fire out of this.”

He held the poker out towards you and you moved back a bit feeling the heat radiating off of it. “But I have nothing to tell you...honestly. I have no pack...no mate...I’m AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!”

You screamed as the poker came in contact with you arm. “It’s a shame you’re as stubborn as you are...you could have ended your own suffering hours ago. No matter...I will get what I want out of you...one way or another.”

To be continued...

#kpop scenarios #kpop fanfiction #exo #exo fanfiction #werewolf!au #xiumin #kim minseok #suho #kim junmyeon #lay #zhang yixing #baekhyun #byun baekhyun #d.o. #do kyungsoo #chanyeol #park chanyeol #chen #kim jongdae #kim jongin #kai #oh sehun #sehun #luhan #kris wu #huang zitao #tao

[graglithans-library]

Welcome to Paris Fur-ance Ch 15: Heroes, Hostages, and Help

With Michiru unexpectedly joining in the fight, the heroes try and handle their most dangerous Akuma yet, with mixed results.

The moment Michiru arrived at the fight, Shirou’s instincts spiked. The sight of her wildly attacking the Akuma was something he never expected to see. It was completely out of character for her. She had helped him before but never had her attacks been so vicious. She must have charged out of the bakery once Nazuna vanished. Shirou snarled and shifted his weight slightly, eyes never leaving the fighting ahead of him. “Ladybug.” The heroine turned her attention to him for a moment. “I’m going to try to get Michiru out of there. She’s not thinking straight.”

“I was actually about to ask that.” Ladybug said as she readied her Yo-Yo. “Try to keep him from destroying too much more of Paris while you do. We’ll try and get to the hostages and move them somewhere safe.” She looked over to Chat and smirked. “Ready?”

Chat twirled his baton and gave her his signature smirk. “As always!”

________________________________________________________________

The growl coming from her throat felt strange, but Michiru barely noticed it. She just kept punching, kicking, and clawing at the Akuma. He had Nazuna. That’s what mattered. She just had to make sure Nazuna was safe. Her gorilla-sized hands clawed through a tree that Wolf Hunter had backed up towards, only to get stuck. She started pulling, making the wood creak in protest and caught a glimpse of the Akuma raising his blade.

Before he could bring it down, a blur shot between the two and caught him by the wrist. With a growl of his own, Shirou threw the Akuma back, where he slammed into the side of a car across the road and dented it. She stared at him in surprise for a moment before Shirou looked over at her angrily. “What do you think you’re doing!?”

“I-” She stammered out as the adrenaline running through her refused to stop.

Shirou stared down at her for a moment before sighing and facing the Akuma once more. “If you’re going to fight, keep your head level. I’m immortal, not you.” He got ready to charge in again and glanced back to Michiru. “I don’t want to see you gone just yet.”

The two turned back to the Wolf Hunter, noticing a flickering symbol over his face, before he reached up and grabbed it, snapping the image to pieces. “Tellement bon de l'avoir hors de ma tête.” He chuckled before getting up and raising his sword. “Maintenant, où en étions-nous?”

Michiru shifted her arm back to normal to free her hand and felt a spike of worry at the look in Wolf Hunter’s eyes. That... couldn’t have been good. Looking to the tree she’d smashed, she grabbed some of the wood and started hurling it. However, before the debris could strike true, Wolf Hunter’s shadow sprung up into the air and absorbed the attack.

That’s when Shirou got an idea. “While I fight him, you keep the shadow busy.”

Giving a determined nod, Michiru shot her arms out and grabbed a few more pieces of rubble. “Right.”

________________________________________________________________

Shadow Moth’s eyes widened as he watched the fight through his Akuma’s sight. These new heroes were proving formidable in their own right. He’d only thought the tanuki girl would act like Chat Noir, a distraction for some clever ploy. Yet, here she was, proving herself more dangerous than he initially thought. These animal shifting capabilities. Just what kind of Miraculous must this girl have to allow her so many uses in rapid succession?

He winced slightly as Wolf Hunter barely dodged a particularly strong punch that had been aimed at his head. He was lucky enough to see her claws had gotten stuck for a moment. Even with the enhanced endurance of my Akuma aiding him, that could have broken bones if not worse. Just what is this girl made of? It was only when the wolf had thrown his Akuma back and into a car that he had a safe moment to talk with him. “Wolf Hunter! The tanuki is proving more of a nuisance than anticipated. Bring me the other two-”

“Oh, shut up.” Shadow Moth jolted slightly. “It’s clear to me that she means something to that bastard if he’s that desperate to stop me from hurting her.”

Snarling, Shadow Moth slammed his cane into the ground. “Your orders were to bring them and their Miraculous to me! I did not order you to kill the two beasts!”

“Sorry, but you aren’t my boss.” A sneer came across Wolf Hunter’s face as he reached up towards the glowing mask on his face. “She’d pay me quite the fortune to have all of their skins. Even that Ladybrat’s.”

There was a sudden snap within the connection, and Shadow Moth was left reeling in surprise as he stumbled back. His eyes widened as he looked out of his lair’s decorative window in shock. The connection was severed!? How!? He snarled and marched back up to the window, holding up his cane and closing his eyes. Concentrating on the Akuma, he tried to find the severed link to pull the power back.

When he felt nothing left, Shadow Moth grimaced. “This may be a problem.”

________________________________________________________________

As Shirou and Michiru were fighting the Akuma, Ladybug and Chat Noir looked up at the mass of shadows. When Chat tried to get close to the windows and doors, wolf jaws would snap at him, nearly taking his hand at one point. “My lady, I don’t see how we’re getting inside. These wolves have more bite than bark.”

She looked around and saw a side entrance into the building that wasn’t being affected by the shadows. “Then we go around.” They rushed for the door, finding it locked. “Think you can break it down?”

“Right away, my Lady.” Chat reached up into the air and drew his arm back. “Cata-!”

“No!” Ladybug quickly slapped her hand over his mouth and shook her head. “We can’t waste your power yet. I have a feeling we’ll need it later with Wolf Hunter.”

Chat nodded before lowering his arm back down and grabbing his baton. With a strong swing, he managed to dent in the door, but it still stood. “This is going smashingly, don’t you agree?”

Ladybug took a moment to look at the hole before scratching her chin. “Just a little more, and I’ll be able to slip through.” A growl came from the door, and she jumped back, barely dodging the swipe of claws digging through the metal door. The metal gave way with a screech, and all that remained was a black void a centimeter in from the door frame. “Or... that.”

“I think we’re going to need a lucky charm for this.” Chat kept his distance from the shades, almost losing his baton to the snap of some jaws from the dark.

Keeping her distance, Ladybug threw her yo-yo up into the air. “Lucky Charm!” The flash of pink magic overhead hit the shadows, and there was a slight hiss from the creatures. Ladybug almost missed the charm she’d made as it fell down into her waiting hands. “Wait, what?” She stared at the small compact for a moment before realizing it looked like one she’d seen before.

Flicking open the wrist mirror to confirm her suspicions, she looked to Chat with a smile. “I have a plan, but we’re going to need some new help for this one.” She spun her yo-yo and got ready to leap. “Think you can help Oogami keep the Akuma busy till I recharge and get back?”

“No problem, my Lady.” Chat rushed back to the street where the fighting was going on, and Ladybug swung her way through Paris. As he went to help Shirou, however, Chat paused a bit in thought. “Where have I seen that mirror before?”

With Ladybug off to get help with the fight, Chat returned to the main battle and readied his baton. Shirou was in the middle of holding back one of Wolf Hunter’s swings, the blade caught in one hand and digging into his palm. Michiru was in the middle of throwing debris from the battle back at him, but Wolf Hunter’s shadow kept catching everything she threw. Chat rushed over and swung his baton, making Wolf Hunter lean back from the blow and jump away to avoid a second strike.

Shirou looked at him for a moment with narrowed eyes. “I thought you were handling the hostages.”

Chat gave a quick shake of his head. “Had a problem getting to them. Ladybug’s off getting a Miraculous that should help.” His attention went back to Wolf Hunter. “Any idea where his Akuma or Amok are?”

“It’s in the item that looks out of place, right?” Shirou dodged a slice that split the road between them and kept his eyes on Wolf Hunter.

Narrowing his eyes, Chat tried to pick out the objects that didn’t fit with the outfit. “It’s probably in the gold ring I see on his hood.”

Shirou ducked under another strike and growled as it slashed through a building. “And the other?”

Chat sidestepped as a beam carved through where he’d been standing. “The sword.”

“Then we just break them and be done with this.” Shirou got ready to charge in again, only to have a shadow beast try and bite him when he got too close. “Damn.”

“We can’t break the object until Ladybug gets here.” Another shadow creature forced Chat to jump, landing on a light pole starting to precariously lean. “Besides, this guy’s not giving us a shadow of a chance to get close.”

Michiru was still throwing debris towards the fight, but as she reached for another rock, one of the shadows started to climb up her arms. Shirou saw her start to struggle and growled. “Michiru!” Shirou ran forward, only for Wolf Hunter to jump between them and bring his sword up for a strike. Shirou landed a punch against Wolf Hunter’s sword, only to get thrown back and flip to land on his feet. Seeing the shadow wolf forming behind Michiru and putting her into a headlock, Shirou snarled. “Don’t you have something you could use like she does?”

Grimacing, Chat looked at his claws for a moment. “Technically, but It’d be Clawful.” Jumping to a different pole as a shadow consumed the one he’d been on, Chat readied his staff. “If I try to get rid of the Akuma, then all the damage can’t be fixed.” He lunged overhead and brought his staff down towards Wolf Hunter, where the Akuma blocked him and made him slide back with the force of the counter. He spared a moment to glance at Shirou, unintentionally letting his guard fall. “And I’m paw-sitively against that idea.”

Wolf Hunter noticed Chat’s attention had faltered and quickly brought his sword down towards him. The beam carved through the concrete between the two of them as it soared. Chat didn’t have time to react as he turned and saw the strike heading for him, eyes wide in shock.

Until he was shoved to the side, and a fountain of blood filled the air.

As he landed on the ground, Chat was vaguely aware of something resting at his feet. He looked down and paled at the sight of the grey-furred arm that was lying there. He felt as if the blood pooling wasn’t coming from the limb, but his own veins with how fast it was leaving his face.

Michiru had been fighting the shadow holding onto her but froze for a moment as she watched in horror. “Otōsan!”

Chat sat there, his eyes moving to watch the blood pour from the severed stump on Shirou’s shoulder. The girl had said Otōsan. That was Japanese for... father, right? Did that make him her father? If that was the case, then that would mean she just watched her father get his arm cut off. All because he didn’t pay attention. Because he had to get pushed out of the way of an attack. The information led to the realization, and shortly after, Chat felt something start to well up inside of him. It made him wonder if this was how Ladybug felt when he got hurt.

He didn’t like the feeling.

“You should pay more attention.” Wolf Hunter started to walk closer, sneering as he lazily twirled his sword. “You’ll live long-”

Shirou bolted forward, and with his remaining arm, landed a solid punch to Wolf Hunter’s face. “You talk too much.” He stopped for a second attack but stumbled as he tried to raise his foot. Looking down, Shirou saw the shadows clawing their way up to his legs and rooting him in place.

“Sorry there, but I figured you had some fight in you still,” Wolf Hunter laughed as he got up off the ground while rubbing his jaw. He snapped his fingers, and the shadows grabbing onto Shirou quickly began to spread over his body. “And I’m not about to let you do any of that. Now, I think it’d be fun to make these girls here suffer right in front of you.” He started to walk back towards the rapidly immobilized Shirou, and Michiru was slowly being pulled behind him.

Before he could get far, however, Chat’s baton slammed down into the concrete where he was about to step. Wolf Hunter looked mildly annoyed at the hero as he righted the grip on his blade. “You know, it’s pretty stupid to get between a hunter and their prey.”

Chat grimaced, baton held in front of himself defensively as he watched Wolf Hunter walk closer. Just what was Shadow Moth waiting for? Even his worst Akumas never went this far. When they had even come close, that damn mask would form, and he’d give them new orders to redirect them, so why wasn’t he here? Was he really willing to kill all of Paris for some magic jewelry?

Seeing the look in Chat Noir’s eyes, Wolf Hunter laughed. “Want to know something? I don’t think Shadow Moth realized just how much power he was giving me.” He tapped the ground with his foot, and all the shadows started to converge underneath him, except for the four holding the beastman in place. “He gave me the power to exact my vengeance on the wolf-man over there, his words, but he’s far stronger than he looks. I made sure to keep that little tidbit to myself once I realized it. It made breaking from Shadow Moth’s control that much easier.”

Chat’s eyes widened ever so slightly. If what he said was true, then he wasn’t currently under Shadow Moth’s control? This man was willingly doing all of this?

Disbelief slowly started to bubble into a new emotion. Chat hissed under his breath as his baton trembled in his grasp. “Shirou’s right.” He suddenly extended his baton straight at Wolf Hunter, making the Akuma lean to the side to dodge. Twisting his body, Chat sent the baton straight into the side of Wolf Hunter’s head, stunning him momentarily, before swinging it back around and knocking Wolf Hunter’s feet out from under him. Glaring at the Akuma, Chat’s eyes were filled with an unsetting coldness. “You talk too much.”

Wolf Hunter got a glint in his eye as he stood back up. “Now this is getting FUN!” Slamming his foot into the ground, the shadows spread out around the two and forced them into a makeshift arena. All four beastmen were held in place, embedded into the mass, and unable to move on the sides. “Come on, you worthless stray! Let’s see you try and best a professional!”

________________________________________________________________

On the Liberty, Juleka was sighing as she sat on the deck, looking out over the Seine sadly. Her mind refused to let go of what had happened the day prior with Lila and Rose. It was amazing how much she realized was wrong when she stopped to think about what she’d been seeing and hearing. “How could Lila insinuate something like that? It’s like she wanted Marinette to get in trouble.” But that was just it, wasn’t it? Maybe she did want Marinette in trouble. But why then? Marinette is nothing but nice to everyone. Except for Lila. But everyone loves Lila. Except for Alya and Marinette. Juleka’s eyes widened as she came to a realization. “The only kind of person Marinette hates is liars... and... Lila lied, didn’t she.” She felt cold as the thought sank in. Marinette was right. God, I’ve been a horrible friend and- Oh god, Rose. She doesn't know yet. But how can I tell anyone? Everyone glares at Marinette and Alya now. They’re treated almost like... like how we treated Chloé all the time. I don't want to think badly of them, but... the possibility of that happening to Rose or me.

Groaning, Juleka got up and rubbed her face. “I need something to get my head out of this mess.”

“Then, perhaps I can help?”

Juleka jumped and spun around, seeing Ladybug landing on the Liberty with a smile. “L-Ladybug? What are you doing here?”

“There’s an Akuma near city hall that has two hostages. I need help to get them out.” Ladybug pulled her yo-yo from her hip before flipping open side and pulling a small spotted pod out. She held it out to Juleka and smiled. “Juleka Couffaine, this is the Miraculous of the Tiger, which grants the power of Subversion. You will use this power for the greater good. Upon the completion of your mission, you will return the Miraculous to me.”

Reaching out for the miraculous for a moment, Juleka hesitated just as her hand got close. “Are... are you sure I’m the right one for this job? Nobody even noticed me until a friend helped me. And... and I already let that friend down recently, just because I was scared of being unseen again.”

Ladybug’s smile warmed as she placed a hand on Juleka’s shoulder. “If there is anyone who could turn their fears into their strengths, I have no doubt it’s you. Once we’re done, I suggest talking to your friend. They might be more understanding than you think.”

Juleka looked shocked for a moment before a determined glint entered her eyes. Taking the pod from Ladybug, she pressed on the dot and watched it unfurl, and a purple ball of light spring forth.

When the light diminished, the Tiger Kwami hovered over the panja bracelet sitting in the pod. “My name is Roaar, and I’m your Kwami!”

Juleka held back a squeal that would have been more appropriate from her girlfriend before holding her hands out and watching Roaar land in them. “So, what do you do?”

“I help you transform into a superhero! Just say the words ‘Roaar, Stalk the Shadows’ to transform and ‘Leave the Shade’ to de-transform. Your special power is called ‘Shadow Step.’ It lets you move through the shadows freely for five minutes.” Roaar flew up and poked Juleka between the eyes, making her flinch, “and you better not do anything selfish with my powers. Got it?”

Nodding, Juleka slipped the miraculous onto her hand. “I promise.” She took a deep breath before holding her hand out. “Roaar, Stalk the Shadows!”

#Welcome to Paris Fur-ance #MLB #BNA #miraculous ladybug #brand new animal #Fanfic #Fanfiction #mlb fanfic #bna fanfic #gore warning #chapter 15

[choicesenthusiast]

So y’all probably don’t know this but it’s been a year since I started “This Week on Choices”! Wow. I’ve been doing this for one whole year. Last year on the week of June 24, 2019, I posted my very first This Week on Choices review. Since then, I’ve made a review for every. Single. Choices chapter that has been released, no matter the book, no matter how crappy it may be, and I’ve never missed a single one (sometimes I even refer to the reviews as “I read this book so you don’t have to!”)!

As of today, June 24, 2020, I’ve posted 333 reviews! It’s super crazy to think that people actually read my unnecessarily structured word vomit. It’s also wild to see how weirdly I’ve improved in writing in the past year. To celebrate, I decided to compile some of the best and worst reviews I’ve written. Enjoy!

The Very First One: Wishful Thinking, Ch. 12 AKA Big Sky Country Book 2

My Most Favourite:  Blades of Light and Shadow, Ch. 15 AKA I AM NOT OKAY

My Least Favourite: honestly, just look for any of the cheap, crappy romance books (though some of those are hilarious simply because I gave zero fucks. Take this one for example: Sunkissed, Ch. 3 AKA The Sleep Paralysis Demon )

The One With the Least Effort: Witness: A Bodyguard Romance, Ch. 5 AKA Blink and You’ll Miss It (what can I say, I give back what I get)

IDK what category these would fall under, they’re just too ridiculous for me to not give them a highlight: The Royal Heir, Ch. 5 AKA Fluff Galore and The Royal Heir 2, Ch. 3 AKA Worship My Pixelbaby (funny how they’re both from the same series, which used to be incredibly intense and intriguing but is now ridiculous enough to be called “ridiculous”)

Of course, you can also always go to the #thisweekonchoices tag and find kilometers’ worth of text to scroll through too!

Thanks for the love!

#this week on choices #playchoices #choices stories you play