#i had half a mind to just keep them there like golem with his ring | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rebelhan · 4 years

Text

yield

pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Reader

word count: 5.2k

warning: 18+, explicit sex, unprotected sex (pls wrap it before u tap it), fluff, a bit of pining, sword fighting as foreplay... if u squint

a/n: this was just an excuse to put fighting with geralt and smut in the same story oops

masterlist

AO3 link

“You think you can take me?” The question is asked with an amused lilt and you can see the smirk playing on the Witcher’s face. Though his hand is on the hilt of the sword at his hip, as if he already knows your answer.

You juggle the question for a moment. Realistically, no. You could not take him. You were going to end up flat on your ass in a few minutes and you knew this. Though you also knew a duel with Geralt would only help you improve your own skills. So, not two minutes earlier, you had asked him tauntingly, “You up for a fight, Witcher?” That, and Jaskier had been sent off to fish in a nearby river so you were alone with Geralt. Being alone around him made your mind foggy in a way you didn’t know how to deal with.

Geralt wouldn’t have entertained the thought of saying yes to you had he not seen your skills with a blade first hand. The Golem he had encountered just under a month ago was quite the challenge, even for him. And of course Jaskier was of no help against the beast. Then you had appeared out of nowhere and slain the monster with your meteorite sword. When you had shyly asked to accompany him to his next destination, Geralt had already made up his mind to say yes before Jaskier begged him to agree.

It was twenty-eight days since that encounter and the three of you had been making your way through the lands, eliminating the monsters that plagued the towns you visited in exchange for coin. Geralt half expected you to end your journey with them at each inn you stopped at, but the next morning you were always ready to go, on to the next adventure. Geralt didn’t mind as much as he thought he would. You could take care of yourself and you pulled your weight, proving a valuable ally against beasts more than once.

So here you stood in this clearing of woods, the sun shining low in the sky. Instead of answering his question, you unsheathe your sword from its place slung over your back and point the tip of the blade at Geralt’s chest, a sly smile on your face.

You can’t even blink before his steel blade clangs with your own, the force of the vibration rippling down your arm. You duck as he slashes, his sword slicing through the air where you once stood. You stab towards him and he avoids it with a step to the side. When he jabs at you again, you spin against the blade, catching his sword with your own near his hilt. The sound it makes is grating and you know he felt that clash in his wrist.

You step away from him to catch your breath. He knows you’re winded. “Is that all you’ve got?” you goad, though you are the one panting. A low chuckle rumbles through his chest at the taunt; with the way you’re breathing, he knows there’s no bite behind it. He spins the blade once in his wrist while you fill your lungs and you charge at him again, hoping to catch him by surprise. The sound of your blades crashing together over and over rings through the air. It’s punctuated by the sound of your grunts, struggling with the force of each move. The birds have long fled the trees around you from the sounds of your fighting and the sun falls lower in the sky with each meeting of blades.

With the next jab, your swords lock together at the hilt. Between the cross of the blades, your face is near Geralt’s, close enough to see the vein protruding his forehead in effort. You push against his sword, groaning with the strain of holding him back. “Not strong enough to beat a human?” you jest, but the words are grunted out and you know you will lose soon enough. You may be a decent sword fighter, but your strength is no match for a Witcher’s. As you strain with the effort of holding him back, you take pride in the fact that he’s breathing hard, too. At least you weren’t making this easy for him. You weigh your options quickly, your arms are trembling and you know you can’t hold him off much longer.

Before you can maneuver away, the ground disappears from beneath your feet and you hit the dirt with a yelp, the impact knocking the wind out of you. Geralt had kicked a leg behind your ankles and sent you tumbling to the ground. He stands above you, the tip of his sword touching the fabric at the center of your chest. The smile on his face reaches his amber eyes. He raises his eyebrows, waiting for the words to end the fight.

You huff in annoyance. “I yield.”

“Is that all you’ve got?” he teases, throwing your words back at you. You can’t help the matching grin that falls on your face. He sheathes his sword again before offering you a gloved hand. You sit up, grabbing his hand, a retort on the tip of your tongue. But when he pulls you up, you stand with your torso against his, looking up at him. You’re close enough that you can feel the rise and fall of his chest and trace the specks of black in the yellow of his eyes. It’s like the wind has been knocked out of you all over again.

“What? No witty remark?” he asks, tilting his head closer to yours, just slightly. You feel the words rumble through his chest and it sends a shiver up your spine. Heat creeps up your neck and you’re not sure how much longer you can stand to be this close to him. The sly grin on his face tells you nothing. Either he doesn’t notice your dumbstruck expression and is content to tease you on the outcome of your duel, or he is entirely aware of the effect he’s having on you.

Your hand is still gripping his in a vice, unable to find the biting words you had planned to say. You’re lost in his eyes, the orange of the setting sun bringing out the same shade in his irises.

Then, just as suddenly, you hear Jaskier’s voice. “Oi! Look what I’ve caught.” You jump away from Geralt and miss the look of disappointment that flashes across his face. Jaskier seems to be blissfully ignorant of the position the two of you were just in, cheerfully gesturing at the net in his hand holding two fish. You move to pick your sword up from the where it had landed during your fall and resheathe it while Geralt and Jaskier start a fire.

You eat in silence, but Jaskier fills the quiet, prodding the two of you to approve of his new lyrics every few minutes. By the time you’ve eaten, the sun is long gone and Jaskier has the makings of two new verses. He has taken to singing them over and over again in the name of perfecting them. You glance up at Geralt across the fire as Jaskier is beginning to sing the same line for the seventh time. His gaze was already trained on you, his eyes glowing against the low flames of the dying fire. Your heart jumps into motion again and the heat of the fire suddenly feels suffocating. You give a half-hearted excuse about needing some rest and step away from the fire to find a flat area to get comfortable on for the night.

When you wake to the sun streaming in through the trees, the thump of your heart has not subsided. Your hand falls to your neck where the ghost of a pair of lips lingers. With a jolt, you sit up, mortified. You had dreamt of him. You shut your eyes tightly, willing yourself to forget, but it’s a mistake and the images of your dream flash behind your eyes. His hands wrapped tightly around you, ghosting your cheeks, running down the sides of your body. His lips on your chest, your neck, squarely against yours. His eyes piercing yours as pleasure overtook you. His hair, falling around your face as he leaned down and kissed you, your hands tangled in white mane with his head between your legs.

The heat returned to your cheeks and you furiously rubbed at your eyes, hoping to dispel both the offending images and the last remnants of sleep. A rustling noise pulls you from your thoughts and your eyes open to Geralt packing up camp and stroking Roach’s mane. It takes everything in you not to curl up into a ball and the thought of running away crosses your mind before you chastise yourself for being stupid.

The day of walking is uneventful. You keep a safe distance between yourself and the Witcher, necessary to keep your heart at bay. Though you’re consumed with your own feelings, you think you maintain an air of nonchalance successfully, especially if Jaskier’s indifference to the situation is anything to go by. The regular banter between the three of you is easy to fall into despite your thoughts being elsewhere. And when the sun beating down is too much and silence encompasses your companions, Jaskier never fails to sweetly croon, “Toss a coin to your Witcher.”

“O Valley of Plenty,” you follow without fail. It brings a smile to both your faces. Though Geralt walking behind the two of you only responds with a disapproving grunt, you can hear the smile on his face, too.

You arrive at the nearest town just as nightfall is settling in. The sole inn of the village is above a rowdy bar and though the three of you are weary from the journey, the promise of strong ale is too good to resist. You pile your things into the single available room before crowding around a table together, pitchers of golden liquid filled to the brim in front of you. Jaskier downs his first pint in the blink of an eye and his second and third go just as fast. While you’re still working on your first, Jaskier grabs his lute and leads the patrons of the bar in a drunken rendition of The Fishmonger’s Daughter. The crowd takes to him rather quickly and you’ve lost sight of him in the middle of the establishment, though his voice still rings out clear above the others.

Geralt looks out at him and though his gaze is steely, you swear there’s a hint of affection behind the hardness. You admire the straight line of his jaw over the rim of your glass, content to observe him while he’s distracted. Then his head twists towards you and you rush to move your gaze down to your drink, taking a hefty gulp and nearly choking on it in your attempt to pretend you weren’t ogling him.

You drop the glass down to the table with a thunk and dab at the ale that escaped your mouth with your sleeve. When you look back up, Geralt’s amber eyes are still fixated on you. It’s an effort to keep your voice steady when he’s staring at you so intently. “Penny for your thoughts?” you prompt him.

You’re met with his silence. Then he shrugs and his eyes flit about the bar, as if he’s deciding what he should reveal to you. “You’re not bad with a sword,” he says.

The heat flares in your cheeks. Was he thinking about the day before? Just as you had been? Compliments from the Witcher came few and far between and you dared to guess this was only the second one you had ever received, though it barely qualified.

“Though not as good as me,” he continues. The corner of his lip is raised. He’s teasing again. Whatever fluttering was in your belly is quashed by your indignation.

“I beg to disagree! You won because you’re stronger than me, that I’ll admit. Had you not been a Witcher I would’ve had you on the ground in seconds. And I was barely winded!” It’s a bit of an exaggeration, yes, but he had successfully baited your competitive nature. His face reveals amusement at the flare of your temper. He takes a generous sip of his ale before returning his attention to you.

His eyes are alight with mischief. Even before he opens his mouth, you know he’s about to say something meant to rile you up and get some reaction from you. Though, there’s no way for you to anticipate the exact words he utters.

“Your heartbeat said otherwise” The memory has blood rushing to your cheeks again. He pauses, waiting for your retort, and when none comes he continues. “Or maybe that’s just because you like me.”

Your chest seizes in shock. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish, unable to come up with anything to defend yourself. Damn his Witcher senses. He hides his grin behind another sip of ale and you can’t meet his eyes anymore, your gaze drilling a hole into the wooden table. The tavern around you is loud and lively and Jaskier is still leading the crowd in some other drunkard’s song but all you can hear is your heart thumping in your ears.

Between Geralt’s piercing gaze and the small table, there is nowhere for you to run and you quickly calculate the fastest escape you can make to save yourself from any further mortification. With clumsy hands, you raise your glass and down what remains, clearing your throat at the burn. “I think I’ll retire for the night,” you say, your voice uncharacteristically meek. Although there is just the one room, you figure you can fall asleep, or at least pretend to be asleep, by the time Geralt is done drinking, and Jaskier will no doubt find himself in someone else’s bed for the night. If you’re lucky, maybe Geralt will make his way to a brothel and save you from the embarrassment of being around him.

Just as you get up and scrape your chair back, his voice cuts through your thoughts. “I think I will, too.”

There is no way out, you conclude. You’re fated to die of embarrassment tonight. As you make your way through the tavern towards the stairs, you spare a desperate glance towards Jaskier, but his eyes are glazed over in drunkenness and he is draped over the lap of a beautiful maiden: he will be of no help.

The hallway of the upper level of the inn creaks with each step you take. Geralt follows closely behind you as you carefully walk to the end of the hall where your room is. He is so close that you can feel the warmth emanating from his body, even through the clothes he wears. If you were to stop walking, he’d surely bump into you.

When you stop at your door and fumble with the latch, his chest is mere inches from your back. The proximity has every one of your nerves on edge. The bolt creaks against the wood as it slides out from the door frame. Before you can push the door to open it, Geralt’s arm comes up beside your head and does it for you, caging you between himself and the door.

Your mind clouds with lust at the simple action and you push forward into the room to give yourself some distance to clear your head. He enters behind you and you turn to close the door and bolt it when you find his chest at your back yet again. He places his hand over yours and you freeze. You’re sure the pounding of your heart is loud enough for him to pick up with his Witcher senses. When you fail to move, he gently pushes your fingers to help you bolt the door.

You pull your hand out from underneath his and spin around, your intention to duck away from him. But you find yourself trapped between Geralt’s body and the door at your back, his arms on either side of you to keep you in place. You can’t bring your eyes to his face, instead dropping your gaze to your hands which you clutch together in front of you. The question of what he’s doing flits through your mind, though you settle on the answer that he’s figured out you like him and he’s now enjoying teasing you and watching you squirm.

“Look at me,” he says quietly, though your combative nature is stronger than your embarrassment and you keep your gaze on your own fidgeting fingers as some form of protest.

“Look at me,” he repeats. This time, there’s something in his voice you can’t place. It’s a little gentler than you’re used to, the banter between you has always been abrasive. Regardless, you can’t seem to stop your body from listening as your head tilts up and your eyes find his. The stupid smirk is still on his face and that is enough to solidify the idea that he is making fun of you.

Your ears heat in anger and you huff indignantly, “Fine, I like you. There’s no need to be an ass about it.” There’s an angry line dividing your brow and you don’t cease the wringing of your hands until one of his hands leaves its place on the door to stop the motion.

He leans down, until there is but a hair’s breadth between the two of you. You hold your breath. Your eyes drop to his lips, and even as your heart is hammering in your ears, you’re still convinced that he’ll play out this teasing for as long as he can.

And then his lips are on yours.

Your hands find purchase on his shoulders and one of his grabs at your waist. And even as you move your mouth against his, your mind is still racing. Just how committed was he to maintaining this ruse? And as much as you were enjoying this, at what point should you push him away and come back to reality?

Then, his tongue swipes at your lips, begging for entrance, and all thoughts fly out of your mind. He licks into your mouth and you are entirely consumed by how solid he is under your hands. His frame envelops you and you are pressed between his chest and the door. His lips leave yours to venture down the side of your neck and a whine involuntarily escapes your throat. You feel his lips curl into a smile against your skin at the sound and you fight through the pleasure that clouds your brain to push him away. He looks at you questioningly as you take a moment to catch your breath.

“All right, I think that’s quite enough of teasing me. Wasn’t it enough for you to let me die of embarrassment, you had to take it this far?” you ask him, jabbing a finger at his chest accusingly. His face morphs from confusion to amusement to incredulity in the span of a second.

“You’re as thick as a brick, woman.”

Your indignation is halfway out of your mouth before he slams his lips against yours once again. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder if you had missed something, but then his nimble fingers are at the ties at the front of your blouse and you can’t hold on to a single thought as the garment is loosened and his rough palm is splayed against the bare skin of your chest.

He grabs at your flesh and drags a coarse thumb over your nipple, drawing air from your chest in a gasp. That sound is enough encouragement for him to repeat the action and pinch the nub until it’s hardened. He gives the same treatment to your other breast before seemingly growing impatient. He pulls away to tug your blouse off completely and lets it fall to the ground. His gaze lingers on your heaving chest for a moment before traveling up to meet your eyes.

The yellow of his irises is nearly swallowed by his pupils in a darkened look you have never seen on him before. With a jolt, you register for the first time that your feelings may not be one sided. He holds your gaze while you allow yourself to process that thought. When you bring yourself back to reality, your brow is set in a determination Geralt only sees when you’ve got a steel sword in your hand and the taste of a fight on your tongue.

With renewed fervor, you surge toward him, a hand grabbing at the nape of his neck and crashing your lips against his. The kiss is desperate and bruising. He nips at your bottom lip as you claw at the material of his shirt, breaking away for a moment to tug the piece of clothing over his head. He spins you around, walking you back until the backs of your knees knock against the rickety frame of the tavern bed.

His teeth bite at your pulse point, eliciting a whimper from you. One hand makes quick work of the laces of your breeches and when the material pools at your ankles along with your undergarments, he presses against you until you fall onto the bed. You raise yourself onto your elbows and watch as he undoes his own breeches and takes them off. As he crawls on top of you, you’re caught between the embarrassment of holding his gaze and his arms that cage you in.

Geralt’s golden eyes scan your face, enjoying the way your wild eyes glance around and breath passes through your kiss bitten lips. He drops his head into the crook of your neck, pressing his lips against the dips of your collarbone. One hand trails your side in a feather light touch and comes to rest at the top of your thigh. A sharp nip at your skin has your chest arching up towards his, but his hand on your leg holds you down and he eases the reddening spot with a swipe of his tongue.

The hand lingering at your hip ghosts towards your center and he presses his thumb at your bundle of nerves. You suck in a sudden breath and you can feel his lips form a smile on your skin yet again, though the haze of pleasure is too thick for you to come up with a witty remark to wipe the smirk of his face. Two fingers at your entrance gather the wetness there and your body tenses in anticipation.

He suddenly raises his head to look you in the eyes. With a start, you realize he’s asking for permission. And when you nod yes to him, two fingers slip past your folds. His eyes shut in appreciation and he groans at the sensation of your warmth around his fingers. The sound comes from his chest and has wetness pooling at your core. He moves his digits in and out slowly, scissoring them gently. Each of your whimpers has a grunt falling from his lips, like he draws his pleasure from yours. His thumb presses circles at your clit, slowly increasing pace as your pleasure builds, spreading from your core to every inch of your body. He slips a third finger inside you and your hands find purchase in his white hair, tugging at the strands.

Your chest arches up, toes curling and thighs tensing, head falling back as you near closer and closer to the edge. And then his hand is gone. You groan at the loss of the sensation, having been so close to coming. A thin sheen of sweat coats your skin and when you open your eyes again, Geralt’s face is twisted into that cocky smirk that you are quickly coming to despise.

“I was so close,” you glare at him indignantly, though the quick rise and fall of your chest and the wetness between your legs gives you little leverage against him. He controls your pleasure and by the grin he sports, he is well aware of this fact, but he presses a gentle kiss to your lips in apology.

He leans back to stroke himself twice before he’s positioning himself at your entrance. This time, he asks you aloud, “Can I?”

You nod quickly, but he’s intent on teasing you at least a little longer.

“I need to hear you say it.” There’s mirth on his face but it’s overwhelmed by lust. He can’t hold back much longer.

Your response is breathless. “Yes.”

He enters you slowly, groaning with the feeling until he bottoms out. He pauses to let you adjust. Your eyes are screwed shut as you struggle to get used to his girth. When the sensation subsides you nod that you’re ready and he begins rocking into you.

His pace is steady and you meet each thrust with a raise of your hips. The pleasure slowly builds again and you feel warmth creep into every extremity of your body. His hands grab at your thighs and push them up until you lock your ankles behind his back, allowing him to hit a new spot inside you that has you babbling praises and curses alike.

His hips move faster, slamming against yours with each movement. The bed creaks rhythmically, though you barely register the sound amongst that of Geralt’s skin slapping yours and the guttural noises that fall from his throat. As you near the edge yet again, he snakes and hand between your bodies to flick tight circles against your clit, eliciting his name from your lips.

“Geralt Geralt Geralt…" you mumble like a mantra, unable to form any other phrase as the coil in your gut twists tighter and tighter

And even in the throes of pleasure you recognize the glint in his eyes that tells you he’s about to say something to rile you up.

It’s a single word, grunted as a command.

“Yield.”

You comply, tumbling over the edge as every nerve in your skin is set alight. White flashes behind your eyes and a long drawn out whine escapes from your throat. Your thighs tremble around him as he moves through your release, chasing his own high. With a few quick thrusts, he spills inside you, your name falling from his lips in a gasp, spoken like a prayer.

He collapses above you, your chests heaving in harmony as the buzz lingers in the air around you. You feel his lips at your neck again, pressing a few breathless kisses, before he rolls over onto his back. His hair is a mess from the agitation of your hands and sweat lingers on his skin.

For a beat, the nerves return and you wonder if you should say something, or perhaps get dressed and make yourself scarce, but Geralt wordlessly tugs you to him until your head rests on his chest and pulls a thin sheet over your bodies.

“Sleep,” he says, and for once, you’re content to listen to him, falling into a slumber almost immediately.

You awaken to sunlight filtering in through the dingy window of the room. You lay in the same position you had fallen asleep in, save for the thin sheet now pooled at your waist. In the morning light, the memory of your actions brings heat to your face . You hastily decide that detangling yourself from the Witcher, getting dressed, and disappearing until it is time to leave is the best way for you to avoid the embarrassment of confronting your lingering feelings.

You’re sitting at the edge of the modest bed, tugging your breeches up your legs and overthinking how to avoid talking to Geralt, when his sleep laden voice promptly cuts through your frantic thoughts.

“Where are you going?”

You nearly jump from fright, but calm your heart enough to remain indignant. You twist towards him to find the man propped up on one elbow on his side, shamelessly observing your form. The sheet across his waist leaves little to the imagination and despite the previous night’s activities, the image still has you flustered.

You turn forward again to continue dressing and mutter, “Nowhere.”

“Turn around,” you follow, “I would like some privacy, please.” The ire in your voice is apparent and you focus on the feeling. At least while you directed your energy towards anger, you could avoid thinking about everything else.

“Why?” he retorts. “It’s not like I didn’t see it all last night.”

Your hands pause at the laces of your breeches as you process how difficult he is making it to avoid discussing what happened. “It was... dark,” you respond lamely.

“Did you forget I’m a Witcher?” There’s an amused lilt to his tone and sure enough when you turn around again his lips are raised on one side. You scowl at the expression and his grin only grows wider at your irritation.

Before you can decide between smacking the smirk off his face and begging him to leave you alone, he raises himself to sit and leans forward, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss. His palm tenderly cups your cheek and you feel his thumb stroke the ridge of your cheekbone. When he pulls away, all traces of anger have left your face.

He rises off the bed to get dressed and the wood creaks with the loss of the weight. The kiss, though sweet and short, leaves you inexplicably giddy and you fumble with your blouse thrice before fastening it properly.

Geralt sits back down beside you on the bed to lace up his boots as you do your own. When you finish, he stands and offers you a hand, looking at you expectantly with golden eyes. The voice in your head screams through frantic thoughts to run away from that hand as fast as you can, but you ignore it. You clasp his work worn hand with your own and he pulls you up off the bed. He lets go momentarily, strapping his swords to his back and grabbing his belongings while you do the same with your rucksack. At the door to your room, he takes your hand and tugs you out into the hallway while your mind is still catching up to the feeling of your fingers interlocked with his.

You find Jaskier in the lower level of the inn, looking miserably hungover in front of a plate of eggs. He doesn’t register your presence until the two of you are standing right in front of him. The bard nods solemnly and rises from the table to leave, anything but eager to start the day’s journey. If he notices the hands clasped between yourself and Geralt, he says nothing. Though you suspect his Witcher song will have a new verse by dusk.

It’s your mistake that you hum the melody to Toss A Coin To Your Witcher that night at your campfire, even if you are bored out of your mind. Jaskier’s colorful new verse, featuring a rather suggestive description of yourself, has you chasing him around the clearing with your sword in hand. Jaskier begs for mercy while Geralt looks on in fond amusement.

thank you for reading!

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realcube · 3 years

Text

gaming with iida hcs 🎮

summary: the dekusquad are trying to teach iida to lighten up a bit and play minecraft with them late at night but iida is much more interested in learning from you

tw// swearing

thank you to @coledrawsstuff for this sweet request 💗

♡ ok so iida was doing his nightly patrols to make sure everyone was in their own room, sound asleep, and he usually doesn’t peek into other people’s dorms but he heard a concerning amount of noise from yours so he felt as though it was his duty to peer in, just to ensure everything was alright

♡ and to say he was shocked and appalled would be an understatement

♡ also slightly sad bc you, midoriya, tsuyu, uraraka & todoroki were hanging out without him :((

♡ ofc he started the lecturing, the hand chops, the disapproving tone, the furrowed brows-- anything and everything to get the point across that y’all shouldn’t be hanging out so late at night

♡ and when uraraka tried to point out the fact that it was a weekend tomorrow, iida simply dismissed her by arguing that a hero must maintain a good sleep schedule all seven days of the week

♡ he hadn’t even noticed what you guys were doing..

♡ his gaze followed yours to land on the screen hung up on the wall, examining it for while before turning to you guys like, ‘video games at this hour?’ but what he really meant to say was ‘why didn’t you invite me?’

♡ however, you could notice the slight traces of hurt in his voice which is why you were the first to offer him your controller, asking if he wanted a turn

♡ this conflicted iida to no end

♡ bc on one hand he really wanted to play with you guys but on the other hand, he felt bound to his job and role-model status to reprimand you for disobeying the rules of the dorms

♡ then you promised him that everyone would keep quiet so you wouldn’t disturb anyone’s sleep and it didn’t take much persuading for you to win him over, especially bc he really didn’t want you to think of him as a buzzkill

♡ as you insisted further, he’d eventually take the controller from your hand, making it extremely clear that he wasn’t the best at video games so plz don’t make fun of him aaaa

“alright.” he chuckled, awkwardly clutching the controller which looked miniature in his large hands, “i’ll play, but only for 20 minutes, then we will all head back to our dorms.” he said sternly, his sweet demeanour returning as he was met by an agreeing chorus of ‘mhm’s from the rest of you.

he smiled, taking a seat on the bed right beside you, practically breathing down your neck while his eyes were fixated on the screen with the chunky minecraft world displayed on it. “so where is princess peach?”

♡ FTRGYUI trying to teach iida that were was no rings, no princess peach, no donkey kong and no pacman in micecraft was a CHALLENGE AND A HALF

♡ like you thought he was supposed to be smart but after the fifth time of telling him that he was was not playing as Ryu, you realised that his intelligence was probably a rumour smh

♡ although, the fact he wasn’t afraid of asking questions really sped up the process

♡ you didn’t want to be rude so you tried to stifle your laughs as much as possible but midoriya and uraraka srsly just let it all out tbh

♡ but luckily, iida didn’t take it too personally and just laughed alongside them

“so am i right in assuming this is a dog — how cute! how do it pet it?” he inquired, not waiting for an answer as he proceeded to right click the dog, hence hitting it. everyone’s eyed widened as they watched the enraged wolf start ruthlessly attacking iida.

the sound of iida’s soul leaving his body as he desperately tried to run away from the animal was enough to make each one of you burst out laughing , besides todoroki, who cracked a slight smile and iida who’s face was glazed over with fear. “I am so sorry! that was not my int--.... i died.”

♡ after that, todoroki was able to teach him the controls rather quickly

♡ also he made a dirt house and tsuyu made it look pretty for him with flowers and stuff (^人^)

♡ and the way he reacted to mobs attacking him was so wholesome >< ‘stop, fiend!’

♡ since he was sitting so close to you, you could feel his body tense up whenever a mob appeared on the screen which you thought was odd bc he was literally ready to kill a villain in a heartbeat but he’s too jumpy to face a enderman

♡ DSFGTHYJUHKI and when you playfully cradle his head in your arms after the tenth time he died and reassure him.......he’ll literally melt (❤´艸｀❤)

♡ one side of his face is on your forearm and the other is pressed against your chest - heaven 👼 he can pass away happily now

♡ also he has an adorable habit of talking to the things in the game as if they can hear him

iida stared at the villager and it hummed back at him, “hello, sir.” he greeted the villager and todoroki jokingly mimicked the humming in response, “may i inquire about your trades?” he said, accidentally right clicking the villager; his breath audibly hitched as he did so but he let out a sigh of relief once he realise that it wasn’t going to fight back.

all of your eyes widened, exchanging a knowing look between one another.

iida continued to go about what he was doing normally, minding his own business until an iron golem assaulted him from behind. “ooft!" he exclaimed, his palm finding it’s way to the back of your head as you hunched over with laughter onto his knee. “where do i go?! will he ever st--...i died again.”

♡ he’d be a bit more lenient with the time if he was enjoying it

♡ but you’d definitely all be in your dorms within 20-30 minutes of when he started playing

♡ and he’ll personally escort each one of you lol

♡ once everyone was safe and sound back at their dorm, he popped into yours once more to express his gratitude for the wonderful time he had 🥺

♡ and if he’s feeling especially confident he might make a move idk idk just throwing out ideas ƪ(˘⌣˘)ʃ

#iida headcanons #iida x reader #tenya iida x gender neutral reader #my hero academia iida #bnha x reader #iida x y/n #iida x you #iida hcs #tenya iida imagine

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uglyshirtsinc · 3 years

Text

AIGHT HERE WE GO BUCKLE UP!! Endermen hybrids Illumina, Purpled, and Ranboo! With a sprinkle of Technodad and Sonboo, a drizzle of Little Brother Purpled and Big Brother Punz, with a side of Illumina and Fruit friendship! Less go! This was meant to be a ramble but literally ended up a fic outline?? Could even be read as a fic if you wanted??? What the hell 6 am me???

Endermen hyrbid are valuable because since they're half human instead of making enderpearls they make eyes of ender, and they respawn like humans do so they're used to farm ender eyes.

Ranboo meets Illumina and Purpled after being kidnapped and separated from his dad at the wee age of eleven meets sixteen year old Illumina and eleven year old Purpled.

He's tossed into a cell with the two of them, Illumina being there to calm the younger two down after being used for the farm. Whenever Illumina is brought back to the cell, he cares for the boys and dotes on them, acting much more worried and clingy that normal. They let him take care of them, knowing that keeping them safe calms him.

They talk about their lives before being taken, Illumina talks about the adventures he and his friend Fruit would go on. The dangerous things they did. He promises the boys to one day show them cool tricks, using the excuse of "the cell is too tiny and someone would get hurt" as to why he can't show them off there, not wanting to tell them the little portions of food he recieves (even less considering he gives most to the boys) has eaten away at his strength.

Purpled talks about his adoptive brother Punz who's just a bit older than Illumina, at age seventeen. How he was a cool mercenary hired to do "super secret" stuff and protect people. He tells them about his trident and tomahawk.

When Ranboo opened up, it gave Illumina his first real sense of hope he's had in a long time. Ran talks about his dad, emperor of the Antarctic Empire and faithful patron of the powerful Blood God. Illumina had heard of the Arctic Empire's hybrid son and after story after story began to believe that Ran really was the prince of the Empire. Ran's father obviously loved him, each story leaving him in tears of either longing or laughter. His father would be searching for them, and he would find them.

Weeks turned to months and nothing changed, until Ran was on the floor screaming in pain and Purpled was hiding in the corner wailing in fear. Illumina could hear cracking, popping, and spotted two hard lumps just next to Ranboo's shoulder blades and realized he wasn't just some Enderman hybrid, but rather a dragon hybrid. When the pain finally subsided and their captors returned to take the two young boys Illumina knew what he had to do.

He didn't know much of Gods and patrons, only what he read while searching the strongholds with Fruit after their latest adventure.

Patrons were messy, being worthy to have one and be a follower was even messier. But within that moment, he didn't care. Thousands of voices in his head was better than having to witness those monsters that held them captive force Ran to cough and gag and wheeze in attempt to get Dragons Breath from the boy. It was worth it to return Purpled to his brother, to see the boys eyes light up the same way they did when Ran said his dad would save them. And for just a moment, Illumina let himself be selfish. It was worth it to get to hold his best friend close, to be strong enough to scale buildings and run from golems they'd messed with. To see the sunrise over a snowy mountain, to show the world he was faster, stronger, and smarter than anyone imagined.

Cutting his hand on a jagged rock sticking from the walls that he had warned the boys about so often, be used his own blood to draw the symbol. When it glows and the world fades, stands before him a towering man with hair as white as snow, wearing the finest attire fit for a king, dressed in gold with everything he wore.

Wordlessly, a deal is made and as their hands shake Illumina is staring into dark, ruby red eyes sparkling with a beast like excitement. The Blood God speaks and tells him "They have been waiting." And Illumina knows what he means.

When the world returns, his ragged and dirty clothes are replaced by the ones he would wear before the monsters took him. A pouch of emeralds hangs from his belt and a familiar black mask covers his nose and mouth. His strength has returned, but at a cost he has yet to find out.

There's no whispers, no cries, no one yelling in his head. There's no insanity blocking his train of thought. No amnesia. He is Illumina.

He wraps himself with the one thin blanket they were allowed, curling up near the gate to keep himself and his clothes covered.

Purpled is first to return and Illumina places a figer over his lips, signaling Purpled to stay quiet. When Ran returns, it takes Illumina less than thirty seconds to have the monstrous man on the ground unconscious. Ran and Purpled watch in awe as he checks the horrid man for anything of value to them. A ring of keys, a pouch of coin, an iron sword, and a map are all Illumina deems worthy.

While his strength has returned, he's mindful of the boys and their weak bodies. He carries Purpled on his back, the violet eyed boy the smallest out of them all.

It takes hours to escape their prison mostly undetected. When they do, Illumina grabs the first horse he can find that's saddled up and tells the boys to hold on as he rides off.

The map was appreciated beyond comprehension. It doesn't take long to find a town and get the boys proper clothing that will survive the journey to the Arctic. Keeping them close and their heads down they get what they need tools wise and leave before the sun can even set.

It's hard, telling Purpled that he'll have to wait even longer to see his brother, but promises once they return Ranboo home that Punz can come there to take him home. If Illumina must admit, he chooses Technoblade first because once it hits the news of the princes return and Illumina's name is spread, he hopes Fruit will come and find him, even if they have to meet in the middle.

Throughout the terror and pain, they push through. From the nights they got separated, Purpled clinging to Ran and assuring the dragon hybrid Illumina will find them, fighting off zombies when Ran couldn't stand straight to hold a sword. The relief when Illumina scoops them both into his arms and holds then tighter than before.

With hunters hot on their tail they can't afford to stop and it takes four months itself to reach the borders between the Arctic Empire and whatever land they found themselves in.

Ran's wings have grown in, one a dark, scaley black with brilliant green in the folds between each bone. The other is a is white and reminds Illumina of a jellyfish, bits and tassles hanging from the wing giving it a much more fragile, paper thin appearance. Both are incredibly strong, despite their looks, and it's often the intimidation factor the two wings bring that gets them out of sticky situations.

A year has passed since they've been held in captivity, Illumina now seventeen and the boys twelve.

Illumina buys the cheapest tickets to the Empire, having to hold Ran's hand to keep him from teleporting ahead in excitement. He cries multiple times, the feeling of finally being free and so close to home hitting him like a truck. Illumina sees the excitement on Purpleds face, knowing after Ran he gets his family too.

They arrive on the island and immediately Ranboo is dragging them the way to the inner walls. Claiming to know his home like the back of his hand. Passing by a few guards, Purpled asks why they don't just tell the guards they have the prince.

"The guards were the whole reason Ranboo ended up where he was, plus they could try killing us immediately thinking we took Ran. I can't risk putting you two in any more danger." Is the reply he gets.

They teleport to the other side of the walls easily, walking to the other, and teleporting. This repeats for two days till they reach the inner most wall. Techno stands on a platform in the town center, his expression showing no emotion and stance as proper as ever. Just watching him stand so straight makes Illumina's back ache.

Ranboo sobs on the spot and before he can call for his father and rush forward a hand is placed on Illumina's shoulder with a harsh grip.

The guard asks who they are, saying they most definitely are not meant to be there, and within that moment a rage so heavy it hits Illumina like a tidal wave.

A year of torture and pain, months of walking and risking his life to get here and right as he can reach it someone stops him. Illumina barely registers it before the boys jump back screaming and he's pulled his sword out to hit the other man.

He faintly hears cries of "Harvey!" As more people rush towards them. He can only focus on his blade pressing against the man, Harvey's, sword and the deep laughter filling his mind.

"It seems you've finally been broken into." The Blood God thinks aloud.

He yells for Ran to run to his dad who's being ushered of stage, his speech being cut short.

Ran looks between his father who has yet to notice him and then back to Illumina who's risked so much for him. To Purpled, who looks horrified and is trying his hardest to pull back Illumina.

And he chooses them.

Jumping between Illumina and Tapl he unfurls his large wings and yells out with a slightly staticy voice "Stop!"

And it's as if the world has stopped, the Blood God no longer speaking in Illumina's mind, Purpled can sag his shoulders in relief, and all eyes are on them.

He looks into Tapl's heterochromatic eyes and in a voice barely above a whisper says "Stop attacking my family."

Tapl steps back, the other guards step back. All can easily recognize the missing Prince, from the two-toned hair to the sparkling eyes only he possesses.

His name is breathed out and demands attention. Ranboo turns to gaze at his father from across the short distance and it's real.

They meet in the middle and Ran holds his father like a scared child, and Techno allows himself to crumble and cry. He cries for the child thought to be dead, stolen from him by those he trusted. He cries for the year and months he's spent separated from him. They cry together, and tears of pent up pain turn to tears of happiness. His grandfather and uncles appear soon enough, he's wrapped in hugs so tight and a pair of wings so warm he could fall asleep.

Purpled and Illumina and thanked for bringing him back, and all Illumina asks is for them to help them find their homes. A message is sent far and wide of Purpled's reappearance and it takes less than a month for a blonde boy, fresh i to adulthood to come crashing through the castle doors and Purpled to find himself wrapped in his big brothers arms once more.

Punz sobs so loudly it's heard from across the palace, clinging to his baby brother and cradling him like a baby.

You'd think after the royal family just about got on their knees to thank him, Illumina would be used to it and stop being so embarrassed, but something about seeing Purpled light up like he's dreamed of seeing the boy do and finally getting to see with his own two eyes the brother he talked about makes him very thankful for the mask there to hide his flushed cheeks.

Ranboo and Purpled aren't ready to let go, so Punz stays with his brother in the castle for awhile.

Illumina is asked thousands and thousands of questions, where they were taken, how they escaped, etcetera.

He takes Techno aside and confesses the deal he made in return for their freedom. He confesses he has yet to know what he's given up to the Patron and his fears. He confesses that He couldn't bare the thought of young Purpled loosing his hope and being raised in a place like that, Ranboo being hurt worse and worse for bottles of acidic breath.

He apologizes for being selfish and wanting to find his family.

And for the first time in forever, he's being held in the safety of a warm hug. He gets to cry and be comforted, he gets to be weak.

It takes longer, but one day new face appears and after four years he breaths in that ridiculously sweet scent of green apples and sweet fruits that Fruit Berries always had. He hugs his friend once again.

They show the boys their tricks, as Illumina promised. They watch them do stupidly dangerous things that make Phil, Techno, and Wilbur flinch and jump to catch the two seventeen year olds, always groaning in faux annoyance watching them land safely, Phil claiming this'll give him a heart attack and Wilbue and Techno agreeing their stupid (while impressive) actions are gonna be bad influences on their sons. Wilbur calls it quits after they manage to drag Punz in, the mercenary dueling the two of them and trying to see whether strength or agility are better. Purpled is torn between cheering for either family member and just yells words of encouragement a lot.

For once in a long long time, they're safe.

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orisirasjunkbox · 2 years

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Sapphic AmIRight?

Perhaps, the gods were right to hate them.

xxx

It is Hecate’s greatest weight, the meeting of Daphné Whirlpool.

Granted they lacked a choice in the matter. In the middle of that smoking crater, all they knew and could react to was pain. Their mind was not primed for decision making at that moment.

Barely even a mind, just a combination of unassailable truths whose source they could not track. They knew what a toaster was. They could read common. But these rocks, these sharp things digging into their back was the only tangible memory that belonged to them. Their first piece of self-actualization was pain, it is no wonder they grabbed onto Daphné like a drowning rat.

“Fucking hell.” They whisper sorely, struggling to sit up among the wreckage. The heaviness of the horns unbalanced her and they fell back into the crater. “Fucking, shit, ass.” Perfect first words for this life they’ve stumbled into.

Before they can try again, cool hands encircled their wrist and did the work of sitting up for them. It’s easier with support. Opening their eyes for the first time, Hecate Morningstar is consumed by their first sight.

A woman. The woman. Their soul sings for this.

“Where’s Celeste?” A voice shouts, disrupting the revelation. Threatening in tone even though the words were meaningless.

The skinny thing’s hand tightened, eyes never leaving theirs even as the tears stream. “They’re right here.”

xxx

“You don’t have wings?” It was quiet in the car. The others had gone inside the motel lobby to book a room, leaving their most colorful members behind. Blue and red. It clashes but Hecate can close their eyes. Daphné couldn’t let the silence stand though. Charming.

“Demons don’t fly.” One of the unsubstantiated yet unquestionable bits of knowledge they possess.

“They don’t have to work.” She protests earnestly, like this desire makes any sense. After all, there aren’t blue wings sprouting from her back and she seems fine. “They could just be there.”

Hecate reaches behind to feel their back, gliding over smooth skin until a drastic, hideous divot. “Well, aren’t you unlucky?”

xxx

They tell her about Celeste, sitting on the sticky linoleum clustered together like they were some kind of cult. The mermaid, Viviane, leads to service, speaking the most out of all of them. Daphné adds commentary, words bursting out of her leaving her looking a little shocked each time. The biggest of the group were silent- the half-dragon busy glaring at the floor while the golem stares into his hands.

Celeste had a good family while she was walking around. Rip.

xxx

Hecate joins the school. Picks up an extra pronoun while she’s out. Of the excessive amount she’d been told of Celeste, that was the only sliver that was appealing. No. Burn that. Celeste had another nice thing.

“Daphné, slow down. Don’t make me chase after your ass!” She calls out into the crowded courtyard.

The nymph swings her entire body to face her. Eyes scouring the yard before landing on her, transfixed. Daphné takes a few steps towards her before Hecate gives up and closes the distance.

“That’s my girl.” She crows, throwing her arm over her shoulders. It’s the attempt that counts. “How’s the day been treating you?”

The nymph visibly stiffens before hesitantly answering her. It was long and detailed but Hecate bore it with angelic grace.

xxx

Hecate has performed a task to the group’s liking. Snatched something vital or whatever, she barely cares beyond vague amusement over how stealing is okay now. The orb they were all obsessed with glowed in her hand. Even though the nymph is hanging off it, she’s yet to actually take it from her.

A clear, adoring voice rings out. “You’re magnificent!”

“Damn right I am!”

Hecate pretends they did not see the nymph’s ears droop at the response. It’s the wrong thing again, but Daphné keeps holding her hand so who cares?

xxx

“You and Daphné have gotten close?” The golem asks slowly. Not one of his usual pause filled sentences, this seemed physically painful for him to get out. “Very close.” She purrs, turning around in her chair to face him fully. “We’re like this.” She scissors their fingers together, silver tangled in red.

Whatever the golem was going to say to her was lost in the responding bluster and stammering, which in turn was covered by her own laughter.

xxx

“So are we going to fuck or not?”

Daphné flinches as though slapped and Hecate kicks themselves, regret lancing through their abdominal.

They shouldn’t have bothered feeling bad though, the answer was yes.

xxx

“You have her voice.” Daphné whispers this into the now silent room, like she’s confessing something horrific.

In a way she is. But with Hecate around, she’d never be the worst person in the room. Letting their voice pitch slightly, they suppress the natural hoarseness their attitude adds and speaks gently into the dark. “I love you, Daphné Whirlpool.”

She strokes the nymph’s hair serenely as she cries into her bare skin. It’s unfortunate love looks like this but before Daphné it was all pain and truth with no context. The nymph chose to snarl herself into Hecate’s self-actualization. Coloring all she knows of pleasure and kindness and friendship. Never known a touch she didn’t automatically compare to Daphné’s coolness. She had never been allowed to inhale without imagining their breaths intermingle.

She cannot bear this alone. Her love is not selfless, it must be returned, so she’ll say all the ‘Please’s and ‘Thank you’s it takes to keep it.

She means it though, Hecate knows this of herself as she rocks the nymph back and forth, even if she has to dress it up a little- she means it.

Into her locs, she hoarsely whispers, “I love you, Daphné.” The nymph sobs harder.

#c: daphné whirlpool #r: daphné whirlpool x hecate morningstar #s: caldor Institute #Iz me writing

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sonicringbond · 3 years

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Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey - Scene 38

I wrote this scene at the beginning of the month, and based on everyone’s feedback was presented with quite the challenge. So much so I ended up asking the ever wonderful @cutegirlmayra for help. Naturally she delivered, but I’ll let all of you decide if I did in...

~Blister the Mouse. She’s really nice, and you’re probably wondering who I’m talking about, tee-hee~♥

~Anyway, while Sonic, Draw, and me were in the big plaza, a mouse lady who’s even smaller than Draw greeted us. Like us, she was interested in the big crystal rose in the middle of the plaza surrounded by the weird clockwork gizmo. It looked just like the one from my dream before I ended up with a Red Star Ring in my eye. It also made me think of the one that Ix collected when I first met him. I wonder what they are and where they come from. Blister doesn’t know either, but she wants to learn more about them, and well, Sonic has decided to hear out her offer, even though she’s not necessarily as nice as she seems.~

“I don’t trust her, “Draw stated flatly as he crossed his arms and looked across a table of what could best be described as a hall-side bistro. The internal halls of the moving castle were as much streets as the paths on the outside. It was perhaps comparable to a shopping mall, in the form of the largest castle in history.

The mouse, Blister, was rather much the opposite. Perhaps not even half of Sonic’s height, it seemed unlikely that the little sapient mouse woman could hold the pack of goods on her back that was larger than Sonic by quite a bit. Her white fur fell into her round blue eyes as it bundled up into a curly mane atop her head. She smiled comfortably as she responded to Draw’s bluntness in an almost sleepy sounding, deliberate and playfully, teasing manner.

“Understandable,” Blister nodded agreeably. Tugging at the long sleeve of the white blouse like dress she wore under her blue poncho, she brought attention to the symbol on her sleeve. Like the one Rosy believed to be the Engineers, it was a wrench laid over a gear wheel. It differed though in that it was two wrenches forming an “X” under a human skull. “I am a pirate after all. Not a remarkably successful one though. I’m a far better merchant than I am a pirate.”

“Then you should focus on that!” Rosy implored the mouse who simply smiled at her.

“Well, my best wares I barter for from other pirates. And as a pirate no one questions me when I go looking in old ruin for even more wares. Though I’m not particularly good at that either.”

Pulling her left arm away from her sleeve, she flexed the simple flat fingers of the clockwork hand that emerged from her other sleeve. Watching her hand, Sonic spoke up as he leaned back in his chair. “And that’s where we come in, right?”

“Well, it’s not like you’re unknowns either,” Blister smiled assuredly. Reaching under her poncho she fished around a moment and pulled out a photograph, one identical to the one that Rosy kept in the shoulder puff of her leotard. In it was Sonic, Tails, Rosy, Mighty, Zooey, and Fang. Blister did not leave it face up however and turned it over to show the handwritten message on it from a Ring Thief named Mach Frog Gill Bradley. Rosy had read it before on the back of the photograph she carried and puffed her cheeks up in frustration.

“I thought it was sheer chance that I found one that Gill left a message for me on. Ooh~! Not only has he caused me all sorts of trouble, but he made a bunch of copies too!”

“A whole lot,” Blister agreed spreading her arms wide to illustrate. “And your affiliation with him and running out on the Engineers has made you an enemy of them. I’m surprised they let you in here, no less near the Rose. They say it’s the heart of an ancient type of golem known as a ‘war god’. The Engineers have been studying it and I’m curious about it too. But I can never have enough time to study it before the guards chase me away.”

“So, what do we get if we lend you hand?”

“Sonic!” Rosy admonished Sonic. “I know she asked for help and that we should give her a chance, but shouldn’t we address that she’s a pirate, and openly proud of it!”

“It’s not like the Engineers dislike pirates. Ring Thieves and the Preservers are bigger threats to them. Like you’re friend Gill.”

Rosy had no argument for that and puffed up her cheeks irritably. Blister though smiled as she flipped the photograph over again. “But I can help you find your friends. As a pirate and a merchant, I’m good with getting information. And looking at this picture, I think you’ll enjoy what I have in mind... Ms. Rose was it?”

“Rosy!”

~Ooh~! I’ve really been suckered in now. But Sonic didn’t seem to be bothered by Blister being a pirate. I mean she seems nice enough, and it’s hard to think she could hurt anyone as tiny as she is. And it isn’t like she was just offering to help us find our friends. Her familiarity with the crystal rose and machines made Sonic ask her about my eye, and it even changed for her to see it. It was too convenient, but she promised if she learned anything about the crystal rose that related to it, she would let us know. That meant we had to help her.

~Helping her didn’t require much though. The big indoor plaza where the crystal rose was hosted a dance event almost every night. The blue glow of the crystal rose under the stars above made for a magical dance hall. Music played across a radio system in the castle and everyone generally enjoyed themselves. All we had to do was join the dancers and make a big scene. Draw thought Blister meant a commotion, but Sonic had a better idea!

~I bet you didn’t know that Sonic can really dance! And I mean really dance! No one could stop from watching him! It’s almost enough to make me feel jealous, tee-hee~♥ But I don’t need to since I know Sonic and I are destined for each other. Even the stars above and beyond Yolk say so. But well, Sonic doesn’t like anything that’s slow, so when the music slowed down, it was a big disaster. Especially as couples started pairing up to slow dance. It turned out the crystal rose was also a place where lovers confessed their feeling to each other. It was so romantic.

~Sonic wanted out of there in a hurry, but Blister signaled that she wasn’t done yet when I looked over. That meant I was going to have to make Sonic keep his promise, though Draw didn’t seem to like me taking Sonic’s hand suddenly and leaning my head into his chest. It was so warm, and his heartbeat so comforting.~

“Awagh!” Draw blubbered incoherently while waving his arms about. “Mote! What do I do!”

The yellow fairy looked at Draw a moment before turning its eyes towards where Blister still moved about the mansion sized crystal rose and the clockwork device that housed it. She was in plain sight, and unquestionably the guards would spot her if there was not a sufficient distraction. Rosy not dancing as a named enemy of the Engineers would surely not end well for Blister, leaving Mote to look at Draw helplessly.

“You’re the one who told me to keep him away from her! Now you’re going to act like this!”

Draw was not alone in having problems. A slow dance was the last thing Sonic wanted to partake in and Rosy was hard pressed to get him started. But she knew she had to try, and somehow, she felt she was getting a lending hand from an unexpected place.

“Come on Sonic,” Rosy whined playfully as she pulled on his hand and attempted to move him from where he stood. “It’s not that bad.”

“It’s not my thing, kid,” Sonic looked away from Rosy as she again tried to pull him in a different direction.

“It’s Rosy! And I know, it’s slow, and it’s not exciting,” Rosy sympathized, “but you dance so well, and it keeps everyone watching us without causing any trouble. Well, maybe a little. I want to keep you all for myself right now, but I have to share, tee-hee~♥”

Rosy looked down as she giggled and let her arms fall, though she did not let go of Sonic’s hand as she stepped in closer to him. Sonic looked down at her and sighed as she rested her head on his left shoulder. “You know I’m not yours to keep.”

“I know,” Rosy acknowledged, though her playful tone of voice made Sonic quietly question her sincerity. But she wasn’t done talking yet and remained every bit as playful as she tried to step behind him while pulling on his arm still. Naturally, Sonic had to turn to keep an eye on her, and Rosy did her best to hide her smile and her face. “So~, what if I could make a slow dance exciting?”

“And how would you do that?”

“Easy,” Rosy answered slyly as she tilted her head back up just enough to look at Sonic with her left eye, the iris of which had again taken on the form of the unique Red Star Ring which crumbled at two points and revealed a gear within. More importantly however, the glow that all Rings typically cast, though red in color as to be expected. “Blister said that if this is a machine that the Engineers would want to study it. And since I’m a bad guy to them for some reason, they won’t stop from stooping below hurting me.”

“Like I’d let them,” Sonic assured her, though his voice took on a steely defensive chill. Rosy couldn’t hide her smile and Sonic felt for a moment he was being made fun of. He couldn’t let that stand as Rosy recklessly stepped further out behind him to where her eye might be seen by more than him.

“And what is it with you and eyes causing all sorts of trouble?”

“Wha…?” Rosy asked curiously and paused a moment as she looked up at Sonic, allowing him to step into her and hide her eye from the throngs of dancers. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t remember?” Sonic asked playfully and Rosy puffed her cheeks up not liking Sonic’s teasing of her memories. The lands they were in somehow seemed to steal or repress them and remembering anything over large periods of time was difficult. Even telling time over more than a few days at a time was difficult. To the people of the lands, it was normal, and they did not even see it as unusual, but to Rosy who cherished her memories it was upsetting. Even despite how much she did still hold on to while she smiled through it all.

“Well, you were pretty adamant about how these Gaia Eyes that were like the Chaos Emeralds were asking you for help,” Sonic clarified as he stepped after Rosy when she went to move away from him. “Kind of funny though telling you a story you wanted to tell me.”

“I don’t mind,” Rosy admitted as she stepped back in towards Sonic. “I can listen to your stories of adventure all day and night, no matter where we are. Even if it’s just you embellishing one of mine.

“Besides,” Rosy smiled slyly at Sonic, “I bet it would make it easier for you to keep dancing without paying attention to what you’re doing.”

There was no response from Sonic. Nothing audible at least. His mouth fell open ever so slightly, and there was just a hint of his eyes widening.

He hadn’t even noticed. The conversation was natural. Rosy pulling him to and fro no less commonplace. But without him even noticing, she had been dancing with him the whole time and he had fallen into step.

Moving his eyes, he looked down into hers, and past the Red Star Ring at the hedgehog girl who loved him with everything she had. Even knowing he would hate slow dancing, she had found a way to make even a few steps of it enjoyable. A little banter, a recalling of adventure, and just constantly being there knowing him and letting him be himself. He looked into her very being and perhaps, a tiny bit marveled at the side of her he ran from so much.

And Rosy noticed Sonic looking into her eyes. She felt as though her heart stopped and that she could not breathe. Her feet kept moving in tune to the music though, Sonic now leading the dance as though to reward her affections. Slowly she blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Still Sonic looked into her eyes, as though he was trying to find something in them, or perhaps that he finally recognized something there all along.

~It had to be all in my head, but… but, Sonic had never looked at me like this before. And it wasn’t a joke. His eyes were so serious, and curious. I think my heart reached him this time.

~And he knew. He had to. I always told him, but maybe. Maybe this time I won a little piece of his too…~

The music did not stop, but Rosy did and she took a deep breath. Sonic was confused, but not as much as he was when Rosy lifted herself up with her toes, just enough to rub her nose against his.

And there was an explosion.

Sonic had no words for it. He was speechless, and Rosy had already pulled away. Her face was buried in her hands and there was a jubilant squeal that trailed off through the crowds as the little rascal had stolen something, or perhaps given something for the first time. Sonic couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that she was gone already, and that he had never wanted to scratch the tip of his nose so badly. But there was a still calm in him that kept him from relieving his nose of the torments of Rosy’s conquest. And as Sonic stood there watching where Rosy had dashed off, he might have for a moment feared that calm, desperately wanting anything to chase it away.

“Wh-wh-what is that expression!” Draw asked flabbergasted at Sonic’s stillness. It was not Mote who answered him though, but rather Blister who pulled the koala’s hand down with her tail.

“You’re too young,” the mouse squelched his question. “And looking at him, maybe he is too. How slow the hearts of boys grow.”

“What does that mean!”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Blister answered obviously amused as she walked away.

“And where are you going? You’re done, right?”

“I sure am. But I think those two need some time to settle down. Don’t worry, they’re both too young yet for this to last. And I’ll be distracting all of you with plenty of adventures too. I may even want to learn more about all of you, and maybe see the flowers bloom too!”

Scene 38 · CLEARED Castle Rose, End

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😊💕 Huge SonAmy moment! Or at least for me it was 😁 Again a huge thank you to @cutegirlmayra for all of her help. Her experience and knowledge definitely allowed this scene to shine and i am so grateful! Thank you!

And I hope everyone enjoyed the scene, especially all the SonAmy fans. But that wasn’t all there was to this to scene. I also introduced my next recurring OC; Blister the Mouse. She should be an interesting one for me to learn to really write and get a feel for. Relaxed deliberate characters like her are not the type of characters I normally work with. But she’ll be an asset to everyone as the story continues, though how much is always in everyone’s hands as much as mine. Survey’s prompts, suggestions, these are all things that can affect her part in the story.

I hope everyone will enjoy Blister and will look forward to the first scene of February. Thank you!

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Scene and Character Character Consultant - @cutegirlmayra Special Thanks to Cutegirlmayra Story by @JoshTarwater/SonicFanJ Inspiring Song – ナラタージュinstrumental - Instrumental – Adieu – Narratage

Fair Use Disclaimer

Sonic the Hedgehog and all affiliated characters and logos are the express property and Copyright© of SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS used without permission under Title 17 U.S.C Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976 in which allowance is made for “fair use” for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. “Fair use” is use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be considered copyright infringement. The Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey alternate universe (AU) consumer written work of fiction is a non-profit transformative work primarily for personal use and can and will be taken down without warning or prior notice at the request of the copyright holder(s) should it not be recognized under “fair use”.

*Sonic Ring Bond logo created by DEE Art – twitter.com/daryliscute.

Sonic Ring Bond AU and Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey are the creation of Joshua David Tarwater/ynymbus/sonicfanj/@Joshtarwater and is to be, including all contents herein considered for all legal purposes the property of the Sonic the Hedgehog intellectual property (IP) and copyright owners, SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS. All story contributors via prompt, suggestion, written scene, art, and all and every other contribution acknowledge that all contributed material is forfeit for legal purposes to SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS upon official request from SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS.

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic fan fiction #sonic au #sonic au series #sonic ring bond #the journey #classic amy #amy rose #rosy the rascal #au amy #amy redesign #sonic oc #patch #draw the koala #mote the fairy #blister the mouse

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nicolewrites · 4 years

Text

i built these walls to keep you out

some soft, hurt/comfort, introspective (kind of) fjorester for your soul this fine Monday while I pretend that I’m not overstressed about midterms.

Rating: G+ Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst Characters: Fjord, Jester Lavorre Words: 3,535

"There’s something to be said about guilt. It eats away at you, clawing at your stomach in the dark of the night and tearing at your mind if you ever dare to smile. Survivor’s guilt, the weight of leadership, the desperate thoughts that say “you should have seen this coming”. It follows him, unassuming and quiet, ready to rear its head anytime there is a moment of peace or quiet.

Fjord knows about guilt.”

AO3

There’s something to be said about guilt. It eats away at you, clawing at your stomach in the dark of the night and tearing at your mind if you ever dare to smile. Survivor’s guilt, the weight of leadership, the desperate thoughts that say “you should have seen this coming”. It follows him, unassuming and quiet, ready to rear its head anytime there is a moment of peace or quiet.

Fjord knows about guilt.

The Tide’s Breath–he should have seen something in Sabian earlier, he should have warned Vandran, he should have known better than to wander to close to the rail, he should have died on that ship with the rest of the crew.

Mollymauk–he shouldn’t have let Jester come patrolling with him and Yasha, they never should have wandered too far from the camp, he should have fought off the attackers rather than be taken, he should have taken the brunt of the torture upon himself, he should have killed Lorenzo himself and saved his friend.

Uk’otoa–he shouldn’t have taken the sword, he should have ignored the Cloven Crystals, he shouldn’t have led them onto the sea, he shouldn’t have let Avantika take them, he shouldn’t have slept with her, he shouldn’t have let her open the seal, he should never have opened one himself, and god, he should have thrown the blade away long before he did.

There are things that keep him awake at night, blindly staring into the top of Caleb’s dome, or keeping vigil in the chamber while his friends slept because he didn’t need to sleep for those 8 hours when he could be protecting them. Melora wanted him to serve and protect and that’s all he wanted was to protect those idiots who surrounded him who he cared so much about.

They make it out of the Twiggy-dubbed Happy Fun Ball, with Yussa, their beaten, battered wizard ally in tow. They have a total of four spells remaining and Fjord has never been this tired in his life, but they are all alive, miraculously.

Beau is limping, her knee twisted in, and her new circlet tangled in her hair, but she is upright. Caduceus is wobbling along with his tall, lumbering gait because he’s very hurt and they didn’t have enough healing to go around (Fjord feels warmth course through his fingertips as he lays his hands on Caduceus’s chest and wills him back to life). Caleb is trying to support Beau, but there’s a darkly vacant look in his eyes and Fjord remembers his panic at the golem’s silence collar. Nott is clutching Jester’s cloak, her eyes wild and her scratches still bleeding. Since her adventure across the pond, Nott had been wary of their journey, but the goblin had taken her share of hits.

And then, Jester. Sweet Jester with bruises forming under her blue skin and wide purple eyes that reflect a guilt Fjord only knows so well because she hadn’t healed. Because she had nothing left to give them and Fjord knew she wanted to give everything for them, but she had nothing left.

Allura sweeps into the room, followed by a halfling woman with full armour and a stern, suspicious look on her face. Allura looks their mismatched group over and the halfling heads straight to Yussa, hands outstretched. A soft white glow emits from her fingers as she splays them on the wizard’s shoulders and Fjord blinks because he knows what that it and the kind of divine power that’s being harnessed.

Allura introduces Kima, the halfling paladin of Bahamut, but Fjord’s ears are still ringing with exhaustion. After a long look over them, Allura dismisses them to get sleep, saying that she’ll deal with Yussa and the sphere while they rest. Most of the Mighty Nein don’t protest, but Fjord finds himself wanting to linger.

They gave Yussa the Happy Fun Ball. They should deal with it, not this sweet wizard from a different continent. They’re the reason that Yussa was sucked inside and this is their problem. Blood pounds through his ears and his vision tunnels and he stumbles into Caleb suddenly.

“Fjord?” Beau says, her brow furrowing.

Her face dips in and out of focus as the ringing in his ears gets louder and for the first time, Fjord realizes how exhausted he is. He hadn't slept at all and they’ve eaten very little and the power of the Wildmother flooding through him has left him completely drained. He tries to respond, to assure them that he’s fine, but his tongue is heavy in his mouth.

Jester moves towards him, her hands reaching up for his shoulders as she steadies him, staring into his face. “Fjord, can you hear me?”

Mutely, he nods because that’s all the strength he can muster. Shame and guilt stab through him. He’s supposed to be better than this–a guardian for these fools–and he stands here looking weak.

Jester steps closer, reaching up to touch his face. Fjord blinks and tries to ground himself by counting the freckles that splash across her nose, but they swirl tauntingly. Her fingers run along his cheekbones and across his forehead and it takes everything he has not to collapse against her. Her brow furrows and her fingertip grazes the skin under his eyes where Fjord can basically feel the signs of his exhaustion.

“He’s exhausted,” Jester says after a moment. She looks sad as she leans away and as soon as she has stepped back he nearly stumbles again.

Quickly, Jester catches his arm and slides her arm around his waist, offering him some of her remaining strength. Allura gives the entire group another appraising look and this time Fjord can feel the eyes of Kima, the Paladin, on him. Her gaze is assessing and sharp, but he knows she’s looking at the Wildmother’s symbol scrawled on his armour.

“Please,” Allura says, her voice gentle, “rest. There will be much work to be done in the morning.”

“Follow me,” Wensworth urges soon after. “I will show you where you can rest for the night. We have many chambers for guests.”

Nott and Caduceus lead the way out of the room, and Beau limps after them, Caleb sticking close to the monk’s side. Jester hesitates, her arm still around Fjord, but Fjord looks back at Kima and Allura and his mind screams at him to stay and clean up his own mess.

Kima finally speaks, levelling Fjord with a heavy glare. “You’re no use to anyone in that state. Sleep, pray to your goddess, and come back when you in better form,” she instructs.

The words are hard, but not uncaring and Fjord recognizes that she has recognized him as a servant to a goddess in a similar way of her own. Guilt knaws at his stomach, but when Jester tugs on him, he follows her and they head out, following the rest of their party.

Wensworth kindly sets them up with three rooms that end up all being connected. As usual, Nott and Caleb immediately head into one and Nott is already curling up on one of the beds as Caleb turns to the rest of them to nod before shutting the door. Beau limps to the nearest bed and sinks onto it, rubbing at her knee and frowning. Caduceus lumbers towards the third room quietly.

Jester hesitates at Fjord’s side, obviously unsure if he still needs her support. He smiles down at her with a smile he hopes is relatively convincing before unwinding her arm from his waist and stepping away. He doesn’t stumble, thankfully, and it is apparently enough to ease Jester’s worries as she takes a step towards Beau, just glancing back towards him briefly.

He heads after Caduceus, letting their sleeping-roommates routine continue. He nods to Jester and Beau before leaving the room one more time. “Sleep well,” he says lowly.

Beau watches him leave with a furrowed brow and Jester worries her lip between her teeth, but they both nod and bid him a good rest as well. Fjord shuts the door behind him and sees that Caduceus is already turned to the wall on one of the beds, his shoulders rising and falling steadily with deep, sleeping breaths.

Fjord sits on the other bed and starts stripping his armour off. He does it slowly and methodically and he’s ashamed to realize that his fingers stumble over the buckles of it in his tired state. He stacks it at the foot of his bed, but leaves Jester’s whip closer to his head so that he could grab it quickly in the case of an emergency.

He lies down against the mattress and finds it surprisingly comfortable and his weary body sinks into unconsciousness almost immediately. Sleep takes him and all he sees is black.

Fjord dreams of a realm where the sky stretches undisturbed from horizon to horizon. The world is flat and covered in about a foot and a half of water over soft, sandy ground. The water shifts in waves, a calming noise, and the air smells like sea salt. Fjord inhales deeply, soaking in the familiar scent. He’s standing in the calf-deep water and his boots are soaked through. His toes must be pruning.

Fjord looks around and sees water and sky stretching blindly in every direction. He steps forward, curiously, and he moves, unimpeded by the water. He starts walking in one direction, blind curiosity leading his movements, but after a couple of steps, his foot hits something in the water.

He leans down to pick it up and pulls out Beau’s staff. The wood is splintered in places and the ribbon tied around it is charred, frayed, and waterlogged. He puts it back down, frowning, and looks around. There’s no sign of Beau, but he does catch sight of something else glinting below the water nearby.

It’s Nott’s flask: the unending one that she never lets out of her sight. Fjord doesn’t even need to lift it to fully see what it is and his heart starts to pick up its pace. Caduceus’s shield is half-buried by sand just a pace away and next to it is Caleb’s now-ruined spellbook. The Magician’s Judge is burrowed into the sand just beyond that and then Fjord sees Molly’s coat drifting along in the waves.

Fjord turns in a full circle, looking for his friends. Their things–some of their most prized things, are here–but they’re not. The sun shines brightly overhead and the water laps against his legs gently, therapeutically. He exhales slowly and tries to quash his panic.

He looks down at the waves and sees that the water isn’t the same clear liquid it had been before. There are wisps of red dancing through it, spreading and growing, dying this whole ocean the crimson colour of blood. Fjord turns and sees shapes nearby just below the water and he breaks into a sprint towards them.

Beau, and Caleb, and Nott, and Caduceus, and Molly, and Yasha, and–when he sees her, he swears his heart stops. Jester lies under the water, her violet eyes staring blankly upward, her stomach slashed and filling the water around her with blood. Fjord falls to his knees and pulls Jester against his chest.

There’s no pulse and her skin is freezing cold.

He failed them. They’re all gone and there’s nothing he can do. He’s worthless and he should have protected them.

Panic and pain swirl through Fjord’s mind and he falls to his knees, still cradling Jester’s still form. His breathing increases and he feels his eyes grow wet and he shuts them, trying to control his breathing.

Why was he alive when all his friends were gone?

He wakes up suddenly, his eyes shooting open so quickly that the entire room is black for a long moment before his darkvision adjusts and he can see the domed ceiling of the room in Yussa’s tower. His heart is still racing and his eyes are wet and his jaw hurts from where he had clenched it. His entire body is tense and it takes a long moment for him to let some of the tension out of his shoulders.

He sits up, looking around. Across the room on the other small cot, Caduceus’s chest rises and falls deeply with his breaths. Fjord swings his legs over the side of his bed and sits up, exhaling slowly. The exhaustion that had crippled him earlier is gone, but his head is still a little foggy and tired.

The air of the room is suddenly stifling and he feels an intense need for fresh air. Wensworth had pointed out a small balcony that they were free to use if they desired when he had escorted them to their chambers and Fjord desperately wants to breath salty, Menagerie Coast air. He stands from the bed, sliding his boots and a thin shirt on, and heads for the door.

Quietly, he cracks the door to Jester and Beau’s room and slips in. He can see both of his friends lying in their beds, breathing, so he heads for the main door to their chambers. He has just placed his hand on the doorknob when he hears a voice call his name.

“Fjord? What are you doing?” Jester asks, her voice soft with sleep and confusion.

He turns around and can see her half-sitting in bed as she stares at him in confusion. Fjord waves gently and gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “It’s ok, Jessie, I’m just going to get some air.”

She doesn’t reply but doesn’t move either, so Fjord opens the door and steps into the hallway, assuming that he has appeased her curiosity. The hallway is dimly lit by torchlight and Fjord locates the door to the referenced balcony quite easily. He cracks it open and slips onto the small balcony.

Due to the nature of Yussa’s tower, as he steps out and looks down, the balcony appears to be about 100 feet off the ground, but he knows that if you looked up from the ground, there would appear to be no balcony at all.

The air is stinging and cold and tastes like salt. Fjord splays his fingers along the stone railing of the balcony and exhales heavily. His dream was still at the front of his mind making him prickle with guilt and fear and shame. It’s not the terror that came from Uk’otoa’s ominous dreams, but it hurts just the same. He leans forward on his elbows, letting his head fall into his hands as he breathes.

“Fjord?”

He snaps his head up and turns to the entrance back into the tower. Jester is standing there in her underdress and boots, staring at him with a concerned look on her face.

“Jester,” he breathes.

She walks up to him and studies his face intently. “You need to rest,” she says firmly.

Fjord sighs. “Can’t sleep,” he admits.

Jester frowns. “It’s not Uk’otoa again is it?”

Fjord shakes his head quickly. “Just other stuff.” He reaches his hand up to scratch awkwardly at his face without thinking and Jester grabs his wrist to stop him. He realizes with a start that he had been aiming for his tusks and she’d stopped him.

She gives him a timid smile. “Your teeth look good,” she compliments.

Fjord lets out a low laugh and slides his wrist through her grip until they’re holding hands. “Thanks,” he replies.

Jester bites her lip and squeezes his hand. “Fjord, if something was bothering you, you would tell me right?”

He drops his gaze. “Sometimes I just feel like I’m not doing enough. It’s like all this trouble is my fault and I’m not doing enough to control the situation and to protect innocent people like Kiri or Yussa or to protect you all.”

Jester exhales, reaching for his other hand. “Fjord, no, we’re all doing the absolute best we can right now. And besides, we like supporting you too.”

He nods. “I know, I know, but don’t you feel like we could be doing more to stop the war than we are?”

For the first time, Fjord sees shame and grief in Jester’s eyes and his heart breaks a little. Without even thinking, he reels her into a tight hug and Jester’s hands curl into his shirt. He holds her for a long moment, breathing slowly.

“I’m so afraid, Fjord,” she admits. “The Traveler is always with me, but sometimes I wonder if I’m doing enough for him. And Momma, she misses me so much and I’m running around getting involved with a war.”

Fjord rests his head atop hers, between her horns and closes his eyes. “I keep feeling like I’m failing everyone and that I’m going to wake up one day and the Wildmother will have decided that I’m not good enough for her and that I’ll be powerless again,” he says quietly.

Jester pulls back just enough so that she can look into his face. “You and me have known each other the longest. But, this group, we’re a good group and we’re going to figure this out. We’re going to go to TravelerCon and we’re going to get Yasha back and we’re going to sort out this crazy Cerberus Assembly and we’re going to help the Cobalt Soul and we’re going to save Caduceus’s forest.” She lists the goals in one go and is completely out of breath by the time she finishes talking.

Fjord cracks a small smile. “You have so much faith in us, Jester.”

She smiles weakly. “I love you guys.”

Fjord can see the trepidation in her eyes and the hollow pain that echoes that which he feels as well. He hugs her again and just holds her for a moment. “Jessie, you’re so strong and good to all of us, but you know that we’re here for you too, don’t you? If there’s ever anything you want to talk about like the Traveler or your mom or even your feelings, we’re here for you.” He pauses, gathering his courage further. “I’m here for you.”

Jester curls her arms around him and hugs him back. “You don’t have to carry the weight of everything with you,” she whispers into his chest.

Admiration and adoration well in his chest for the girl in front of him. He kisses the top of her head so lightly he’s not even sure she’ll be able to feel it. “We’re a family, right? A crazy, out of control, mismatched family. How about this instead: I’ll carry what I can and you carry what you can, and we’ll share the rest?”

She squeezes him and leans back, but this time she doesn’t step out of his personal space. Her eyes are watery, but she’s smiling softly again. “I miss Molly,” she admits.

“Me too.”

“I don’t understand why the Gentlemen doesn’t want to be with my Momma.”

Fjord doesn’t have an answer for that, but Jester shakes her head, assuring him that it’s alright.

“I don’t know what to do now that Vandren’s alive,” he admits instead. “Should I be happy? Or should I be angry he never came looking for me?”

Jester sighs and rests her head against his chest again. “I’m scared I’m going to have to use Revivify sometime soon again. I’m scared I’m going to fail.”

“You won’t,” he says before he can even think the reply through. He swallows as Jester’s anxious eyes tilt to meet his gaze. “You won’t because we’ll be with you and the Traveler will be with you too.”

She relaxes a little. He keeps his arms around her and tightens them briefly as a gust of wind blows by, reminding them both that they’re not wearing their cloaks or armour. Fjord looks up, studying the starry sky that’s dotted with clouds.

“Jester, whatever happens next, I trust you. I’ll be with you till the end of the line and I’d follow you all the way down.”

She headbutts the bottom of his chin with the very top of her head. “I’m with you too. But no more lies, okay?”

“Only if you promise to talk to me, or to Beau, or to Nott, or any of us too. I know you’re carrying weights too, Jess.”

She sighs slowly. “A burden shared, right?”

He hums his response and Jester giggles, her hand pressing against the centre of his chest after a moment.

“I felt that,” she says softly.

Fjord smiles and he feels the gentle poke of his still growing tusks as he does. Jester reaches up to poke at them, smiling more openly now. He plucks her hand away from his face and just cradles it for a moment. Her cheeks flush a deep blue-purple shade and she looks away from his face towards the sky.

“We’re okay, right?” she asks.

“We’re getting there,” he replies.

The guilt that weighs on him lifts a little and when he breathes in, it’s the best air he’s ever breathed and he feels the most comforted and at ease he’s felt since the Tide’s Breath exploded.

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commanders-sole-braincell · 5 years

Text

Five Stages of Grief

He blinks, and he’s standing in front of Balthazar, one paw wrapped around Sohotin, except- Except this isn’t a burning desert of his daydreams, and he isn’t surrounded by his comrades, all of them burning with the desire to avenge. This is a familiar chill, familiar chains, familiar eyes peering at him from under disheveled hair.

(He’d been the one to find the body, and too late to stop Canach and Kasmeer from seeing; the sharp smell of burning flesh and boiling blood, his stomach rolling, and he did this: he stares at the two pieces strewn in front of his feet and thinks of a young soldier with an earnest smile now cleaved to half with Balthazar’s blade. It’s his fault. He might as well have taken the sword and stabbed them himself.)

“Friend?” Balthazar asks in confusion, and he wants to kill them. He wants to break those chains just for a chance to burn the god with his very own flames, Sohotin gouging out those damnably smug eyes. He wants to win like he’s promised, like the Commander didn’t get to witness, like Eir didn’t get to witness, like Snaff.

(Canach disappears, and no one knows where he’s gone as his footsteps are swallowed whole by a sandstorm. He can hear Kasmeer’s murmured prayers from the next tent over The Commander’s body, words shaking like pebbles underfoot as she weeps over the cruel knowledge that none of her gods will answer. Taimi’s choked sobs echo over the communicator, and he hasn’t the heart nor will to tell her she’s left it on.)

In another world, he breaks the chains to pay a debt. In this world, he leaves the chains be for such a reason.

(Take care of them Rytlock, he swears he hears The Commander whisper that night: he looks at the flames smouldering in the distance and says Yeah, says Of course, says least I can do, his own shoulders trembling.)

There are more important things than his anger, now.

“I hope you rot.” He snarls as he turns to leave. No portal opens for him this time, but it’s alright. He will find a way out and return, to a world with all the ghosts he thought he had laid to rest still living, and this time…

This time, he swears to himself, he won’t fail. He’ll make things right, even if he has to wander The Mists for an eternity with Balthazar’s curses echoing in his ears.

—-

She blinks, and the buzzing machinery in her lab melts away to raised voices and hushed whispers, pounding footsteps on earth. She’s sitting in Scruffy, she’d know his controls in a heartbeat, and yet- wasn’t she standing? Hadn’t she been alone? And now that the fog in her mind lifts, she remembers that the original Scruffy is gone.

(She hadn’t even been there when The Commander dies: Stuck in a lab, watching tourists. She only hears about it when Rytlock opens communications, and she doesn’t need to be a genius to know something is wrong when his words scrape together like shards of glass on concrete. She hears The Commander is Dead and that’s all she needs to know- she throws the communicator hard enough to crack it, feels paralysed in a way she hasn’t been for years.)

Scruffy is a comfortable presence. She clenches her fists and stares, shelves her confusion and elation and focuses on what’s around her. She’s at Rata Sum. Everyone is abuzz, trading worried and confused words with gradually rising voices, and this should be impossible. It’s against every law she’s been taught. If Zojja were here to hear her even consider time travel, she would be aghast.

But- and there’s always a but, sometimes: Eliminate the impossible, and whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. There’s no other explanation.

(Hot tears spill out of her eyes like waterfalls and she curls into herself, cries. She’s alone, without even Scruffy to keep her company, and she feels like she could vomit. Her head spins and she bites her bottom lip hard enough to bleed. All the things she could have said plays out in her head, rings in the silence like unanswered prayers. She could have said goodbye. She could have built herself another golem, and came after them, could have changed things.)

If it really is time travel, then- then she’s not too late. She’s not too late, because nothing has happened. And nothing will happen, this time. She won’t let it. She’d fight Balthazar herself if she has to.

Scruffy beeps questioningly. She gives him a smile. Here’s one more she failed to save, and she won’t let him die, this time.

(I’m sorry, she says, through the tears and snot and the heart wrenching grief. I should have been there.)

“Out of my way!” She yells, almost running over a poor pact soldier, but she doesn’t care. There’s a lump in her throat and a knot in her stomach. It feels like happiness. It feels like freedom. It feels like a second chance.

—-

She blinks, and she’s standing in Amber Sandfall, the wind pulling at her scalp and dust caked under her fingernails.

“Kas?” She hears, and she knows that voice- that familiar lilt, the warm hand on her shoulder. She knows if she turns, she’d see Marjory: And the thought almost brings her to tears. The last time they had met had been before she left for Amnoon, and Jory had been too injured to bring along. The last time they had met they had had a terrible row, and she’d left trying not to feel like she was running away.

(She can’t bring herself to look away from The Commander’s body, the burn marks littering their body like morbid tattoos. Behind her, Canach has stumbled back. Before her, Rytlock stands frozen. She drops to her knees. Did the Commander know this would happen? She wonders. How much of what happened in the volcano was a warning of what would come? She’d shut her eyes to it, and now what The Commander had told her has come to pass: Her eyes had been opened as brutally as theirs were. She’s surprised, and yet, should she be? Balthazar had once almost painted his hands with Jory’s blood.)

This is impossible, she thinks, but she can feel the warmth of Jory’s hand, seeping through her clothes and into her skin as she’s turned around. Jory’s expression is worried, her other hand rising to cup her cheek. She isn’t injured. She isn’t angry. She’s wonderfully, joyously, alright.

(She kneels, her hands clasped in prayer. Why did you let them die? She asks. Did I not pray enough? Did they not save enough people? The Commander was good, and so kind- The Commander didn’t deserve to die. Please, bring them back. If you would listen to me just once-)

“Kas?” Jory repeats, as she sways, leans into her touch. “What’s wrong? Did you see something?”

“No, I- I’m fine.” She answers. She looks around. She’s in Amber Sandfall, and Jory is too. They’re back on the day the Pact Fleet had been torn out of the sky by hundreds upon hundreds of thick vines. This means…

She almost stops breathing, when it registers.

The Commander is alive. They’re alive-

(Please: I’ll do anything, if you would bring them back.)

“Jory, we have to leave!” She says, and she grabs her lover by her hand. All she can see is The Commander’s soft smile as they told her how much they hoped she and Jory would patch things up, The Commander going around the temple helping others, The Commander keeping watch night after night until the bags under their eyes were permanent.

(Her cheeks are wet- it takes her a while to realise she’s crying.)

This time, she’ll make things right. She murmurs a quick prayer to The Six, and her words of gratitude are soon swallowed up by the wind.

—-

She blinks, and Kas is pulling her by the arm, running across the silverwastes. Her body moves in a way she hadn’t been able to make them since a volcano and a fake god, and Kasmeer is here.

(She hears it from Taimi, and the news makes something burn inside her: She forces her injured limbs to move, punches a nearby mirror hard enough to make it shatter. The ugly feeling is there inside her, a thousand little whispers telling her all the ways it could have happened. Did they suffer? Were they in pain? Did Balthazar make it last longer? Did he try to make them beg for mercy?)

She stops, so suddenly that Kasmeer stumbles back in a cloud of dust. “What are you doing?” She asks. Her voice sounds strange even to her own ears, but she’s feeling unnaturally calm. She watches Kas look at her, confusion and impatience swirling in those eyes.

(After the mirror, it’s the pillow; after the pillow, the table, and after that, the mattress. She’s lost before. After Belinda, she’s thought nothing could hurt that much ever again. But this isn’t the same feeling. When she mourned her sister, she’d been a mess: she would have fallen apart, if Kas hadn’t been there. She would have shattered into a million little pieces and nothing could have brought her together again. This is a different kind of hurt, liquid fire coursing through her veins, and she feels like she’s putting herself together, filling the cracks in her heart with heat. She doesn’t feel stronger as much as she feels justified rage.)

“Jory..?” Kas asks. She looks away, counts her breaths. Calm, she has to be calm.

“Yeah.” She says, and she can’t meet Kas’s eyes.

(She knew it, she knew Balthazar hadn’t been the god she was taught to worship; she knew. Kasmeer’s tearful apology plays itself again and again in her head: I’m sorry, I froze. It was Balthazar. The god… She had been angry then, and she is angry now; she wraps her arms around herself and shakes, surrounded by the debris that used to be her room.)

“Oh.” Kas steps back. They must have realised it by now. They’re both here, the two of them, somehow in the past. She keeps her gaze on a pebble as Kas stands in front of her. They were never this stiff around each other before, but the smouldering anger in her chest isn’t going away.

The Commander is alive, and Belinda isn’t, and she can’t help it; she’s bitter, and angry, and so so tired.

(She shakes and shakes, and she can’t stop shaking, caught up in an internal earthquake of her own making. The Commander is dead, and who’ll be next? Rytlock? Canach? …Kas? The thought brings with it a wave of nausea and she hunches over, gagging. It’s too much. It feels like everything’s too much, too big for her body, and she wishes she hadn’t punched that mirror now, wishes she’d waited, just so she could drive her first into the glass once more.)

“I’m sorry.” Kas tells her, and her voice shakes. “I’m sorry that- I’m sorry about the way we left things.”

She stays quiet, for a few moments. The anger is there still.

(Kas, she whispers, but there’s no one there.)

“I know, I know.” She admits, and she finally meets her lover’s eyes. It’s a surrender and she knows it, but the truth is- she’d missed this, and missed her, and worried. “Me too.”

—-

He blinks, and he hears a familiar call settle in his limbs, a frequency only he’s attuned to. His first thought is what, and his second thought is no. No, he cannot possibly be going through this again. Mordremoth is dead, he’s supposed to be dead, and yet-

That blasted call, and the haltingly familiar view of the Silverwastes. He digs his fingers into his arm, applying more and more pressure. The sharp pain makes it clear. He isn’t dreaming. This is something much worse than his darkest nightmares. It’s real.

(He waits until everyone is asleep before he returns, wishing for his solitude. He waits until Kasmeer’s weeping peters out into exhausted mumbles and Rytlock’s lumbering figure retires into his tent. He waits until everyone is asleep to enter the place they’ve been keeping The Commander’s body. He trips his way through the flaps, heart in his throat.)

His third thought is they’re alive, and that drives him to a stumble, still dazed by this turn of events. He grits his teeth- now is not the time to be a sapling- and forces his unresponsive arms and legs to move, running out of Rata Sum. In the distance, he sees “Scruffy” traversing the wastes and it’s more of a relief than he can imagine: Taimi left without him this time. That must mean she had come back as well.

She must have. He cannot imagine repeating this all again, resisting the haunting siren call of the Elder Dragon a second time. The last time, he had had The Commander. Last time, he had had company in his misery. He doesn’t have that now, doesn’t think he can lay his heart bare once again looking into the eyes of someone once dead, someone he had failed to be there for the way they had for him.

(Commander, he says, and he stares at the body. It’s still, and it just makes the words tumble out unbidden, drawn out by an invisible force. Stop this… act. I bet 500 gold that you would take down Balthazar- you can’t possibly make me lose that wager. You can’t possibly be dead. You beat two dragons! This should have been nothing!)

Freedom was a sweet drink, and he misses it already- he thinks he might be suffering from withdrawal. He thinks he might just have to be more sympathetic towards drunks now, with the way it feels. It feels horrible, to hear Mordremoth’s voice, to see twisting vines out of the corner of his eyes, feel phantom crawling all over his skin.

(You were there, you saw what I did. You’re the only one who knows what it was like- in the dragon’s mind. You and Caithe, and you know how I feel about her. You can’t leave me behind with only a firstborn for company: You couldn’t possibly. You called me brother then- you can’t just say that and go.)

This is a terrible place to return to, but he won’t let it be for naught. He runs, and he doesn’t know how long it’s been until he’s there: Where they had all met up last, brought together by the news of the destruction. He looks around, ears ringing. Where are they..?

(Commander, he says, voice breaking. And, quieter, sibling.)

He doesn’t find the Commander.

Instead, he finds the Marshall, and something is screaming in the back of his head; something pushes him forward, facing the firstborn who had died in front of them all, in a way even he had not wished to see them die. His mind is blank. This cannot be. The Commander should be the one here. Why is it him?

He knows the answer. He knows that if he had returned, if Taimi had returned, if everyone had returned- if The Commander had returned, he knows exactly what they would have done with their chance. The Commander, who he had never seen cry before Caladbolgh and a death.

“Where are they.” He asks, no, demands, as he stands in front of Trahearne. “Where are they? Why are you here? You shouldn’t be the one here.”

No no no no.

Trahearne’s eyes are wide. He doesn’t care. “Where’s the commander?” He asks, almost desperately. He sees Kasmeer in the corner of his eyes, hands over her mouth; Marjory, pale; Taimi, gone still- and panic swells in his breast. Panic that miraculously stays out of his voice, his words strangely level. “Answer me.”

(They don’t answer, and he knows now they’re gone- The Commander would never have ignored him if he called them that. He staggers, clutching at the table with limp fingers; It’s too late. They’re gone. The odds had been against them from the start.)

The firstborn closes his eyes, and he looks tired. He looks guilty, and that implies there’s something to be guilty of. He knows what they’re going to say.

Don’t say it, he thinks, as the entire Dragon’s Watch holds their breath.

“They… They took my place at the fleet.”

The world drops away from their feet.

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

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

ANON OMG

This sis so beautifully written from the characterization to the narrative and AHHHHHH

Everyone mourning the Caommnder and returning with their memories!!! Them all figuring out that something’s wrong! Canach being the first to figure out what they’d do to save them all! Brother/Sibling! The way they all responded to finding the Commander’s body and the little extra details aaaaHHHHH!!! IM LOSING MY MIND AND LIVING MY BEST LIFE

#Awakened Anon #you've awakened me!#OMG IM LITERALLY SPEECHLESS!#submission

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silversiren1101 · 5 years

Note

Hmmm okay Nero/Sanga prompt, where Nero unknowingly cuddles her in bed by wrapping his long limbs completely around her lol

‘Damn this cold. Damn it to Hells.’ Nero shivers fitfully. His tall, lanky frame does little to protect him from the bitter cold seeping in through… everywhere really. The cabin they’ve taken refuge in for the night is more of a suggestion of shelter than an actually viable one. A sudden snowstorm -though can it really be called sudden when they’re in bloody, thrice-cursed Coerthas? -had driven them to seek shelter sturdier than Sanga’s well-loved camp tent. Brought all the way from her homelands of the Azim Steppe, the canvas was made more to keep out the boiling heat of the desert sun than the cold of a frozen wasteland. The cool night air of the Nhaama desert may be enough to freeze, but not nearly so much as this hellscape.

Still, the stubborn little oxhead had refused his pleas to find shelter. The mere cold wasn’t going to kill her, she’d huffed. Him neither, being from the cold north of Ilsabard, himself. And so they’d trekked onward, snow piling up her knees and his calves as visibility dropped to near zero, stubbornly marching on. It wasn’t until a solid layer of ice had formed over her midnight-sky scales and horns that she regained some sense, turning to look at him with those crimson-ringed eyes almost apologetically.

“There’s a mill somewhere to the east of here… I think. The tent won’t do much good in this weather.”

He’d nearly erupted into that smug, boisterous laughter of his, had his teeth not been chattering so. “No shite, genius.”

By the time they stumbled inside, more frozen than the ice golems they’d encountered earlier, he’d nearly kissed the floorboards in relief. Hells, he nearly sent up a prayer to whatever goddess was worshipped here. Hal-something?

The fire Sanga immediately worked to get started in the hearth couldn’t have come fast enough. Her fingers had trembled so severely as she did it by hand, not trusting her volatile black magic skills to not explode the already ramshackle building around them. Reserved only for emergencies, her tutors had told her… from sickbay beds.

Even so, the crackling fire ended up being more useful for light than heat. The flicking flames barely put any dent in the cold air seeping through the walls. Nero doesn’t think he’s ever been this cold in his life. Ilsabard is cold but not Coerthan cold, especially not with how these hills have been corrupted in the wake of Dalamud’s fall.

The worst part, though, is that he really only has himself to blame for this predicament. For once, he decided to take his maybe-maybe-not girlfriend-or-fuckbuddy (it’s complicated) up on her offer to travel out on one of her quests. It wasn’t until they set out that she ‘remembered’ to tell him they’d be trekking into the Coerthan wastes with only her tent, two bedrolls, and two fur blankets.

Blankets valiantly doing their best to keep them warm as they lay on their rolls before the struggling hearth.

He never would’ve said yes if he had known, and a part of him wonders if she deliberately withheld the information or truly just forgot. Knowing Sanga, though, she most likely forgot, too excited to have company with her for once that she didn’t think he might not exactly be suited to traveling in such harsh conditions.

Still, he’s here now and there’s no changing that. Here with the Warrior of Light, the fierce little wyrmling, stripped out of her plate and fur cuirass, and somehow bloody snoring next to him. How she could stop shivering long enough to fall asleep so deeply as to snore he has no damn clue.

He turns to look at her, observing the dopey look on her sleeping face, just like any other time he’s seen her asleep. The cold doesn’t seem to be bothering her in the slightest.

So wrapped up into his bitter thoughts that the appearance of Sanga’s arm flopping across his chest nearly startles him to death. He hisses, sucking in the gasp so as to not wake her, looking down that the bare, grey-blue skin tossed over his chest. Oh no, no no no. Nero is not a cuddler. Even after sex, he quickly gets her out of his bed or climbs from hers lest anything more than lust catch hold. Feelings were not something he was willing to risk.

He quickly goes to push the limb up and away, but the sensation of his ice-cold fingers touching her flesh gives him pause.

Sanga isn’t just warm, she’s hot.

He looks over, wondering if maybe she’d caught a fever from the ice that’d clung to her earlier, but the relaxed expression still there says otherwise.

Sanga, apparently, is a little furnace.

And so, against his better judgment, he decides to leave the arm where it lay. He bites his tongue, looking away in that instinctive embarrassed reaction despite her being sound asleep. Leeching this small amount of warmth from her can’t possibly hurt. In fact, her figures she damn well owes it to him after dragging him out to this hellscape she called an ‘adventure’, anyway.

As the heat of her arm begins to permeate the shirt he has on, warmth seeping into his freezing chest, the more his choice begins to feel like the right one.

——————————————-

“You… are suffocating me.”

The warrior’s voice pierces through the fog of his slumber. He feels exhausted, and just opening his eyes is a battle and a half.

But as the scene fully registers in his mind, awakeness hits him as hard as a sack of bricks.

His arms have completely wrapped about Sanga’s midsection, pulling her tightly to his chest as he curls around her. His legs too, twine with hers and have hooked them close to his body.

Her face is pressed into his chest, between his lean pecs, and it’s only now he registers the pinpricks of pain from her horns stabbing at him. Those black and red-ringed eyes look up at him from his chest, a confused yet obviously amused look swimming in their depths.

Nero shoves her away in a heartbeat, horror descending on him just as quickly as the cold of the room does. It’s as though he’s been dipping into an ice bath as soon as she’s pulled away. Vestiges of her warmth cling to him desperately before falling off like molted scales, leaving him standing in the freezing air of the morning sun lit room.

“Awww. I was enjoying that.” She whines, but her tone indicates anything but mockery. Completely genuine, actually. “My people snuggle for warmth all the time. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, prudish Garlean.”

It tugs at his heart in a way he’s never felt, and a flash of red dusts his cheeks. Was it from him being embarassed at the situation? Or embarassed over this uncomfortable jealousy as he thinks of Sanga ‘snuggling’ with someone besides him?

No! Nero does NOT cuddle. Nero does NOT get attached.

“Well. I wasn’t.” He snaps but quickly turns so she can’t get a look at his expression.

It wasn’t the first lie he’s ever told her. It most certainly wasn’t the first he’s ever told himself.

And it definitely won’t be the last.

#ffxiv #nero tol scaeva #warrior of light #fanfiction #nero x WoL #do we burn bright

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keeroo92 · 5 years

Text

Savior, Bloodstain, Hellfire, Shadow Ch30 (V x Reader)

Chapter 30 Family Ties

______________________________________________________________

“Nero is your son, dipshit!” Dante stares at him, grinning happily as he delivers the metaphysical sucker punch excitedly.

The world grinds to a halt and for a solid thirty seconds, V’s mind is completely blank. He is numb, his body rigid and mouth agape as static fills his short-circuited brain. Even Griffon is rendered speechless from the sheer shock of Dante’s words. He can’t think, can’t breathe as he feverishly gathers his wits at long last. Emotion returns simultaneously with conscious thought, a tsunami of feeling he was not at all prepared to endure.

Disbelief.

Dante’s lying, that’s impossible. I would’ve known somehow, would have felt it in some way. I’ve spent so much time around Nero, I would have seen some likeness or similarity but there’s nothing!

Denial.

I could never, not even Vergil could have done such a thing, to leave a woman behind to raise his child alone. Even he wasn’t that monstrous… right?

Fury.

How dare Dante even say such madness! He has no right! Nero’s more likely his son than mine, with his tendencies! Yet again, I take the blame for his misconduct! Some things never change.

Confusion.

What is he hoping to gain from this absurdity? He can’t possibly believe Nero’s my… son. I don’t understand his motives; this makes no sense!

Doubt.

Unless it’s true; then it makes perfect sense. What if he’s right, what if I am… what if Vergil was… what if it’s true?

He mentally compares Nero’s face with his own, his original face. There are definite similarities, but he adamantly refuses to acknowledge the truth to himself even as his heart proclaims it’s agreement with Dante in a powerful surge of familial recognition.

I’ve already failed in so many ways, so many times. Fatherhood is not one of them.

You sure about that, Shakespeare?

Absolutely.

Would it be so terrible if it were true?

Most definitely.

Why?

Because… I wasn’t there. Nero grew up without parents, just as Dante and I did after the attack. He’s endured so much pain and suffering, to know that I was partially to blame for it…

You mean Vergil was to blame.

I… don’t know. It’s complicated, you know that.

Griffon sends him the equivalent of an eye roll, a short purr following soon after as Shadow voices her agreement with the sentiment. The enigmatic golem stays silent, but he can sense its amusement. Or was that anger?

It’s pretty simple, actually. You’re only half of Vergil, so you can only really be responsible for half the shitty things that dick did.

Griffon mentally preens, pleased with his assessment and giving off an aura of “so there” in V’s conflicted mind.

“Hey, buddy! You there? Hello?” Dante’s insistent voice juts in suddenly, his hands waving before V’s unfocused eyes in an attempt to bring him back from his hiding place in his mind. His emerald eyes meet his brother’s pale gaze and he forces himself to remain expressionless.

“You’re wrong. Nero is not my son,” his flat voice responds finally. Dante rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

“Yes, he is, and you know it,” the younger Sparda twin insists. V harshly subdues his urge to childishly respond with a no, the familiar structure of their spats already taking shape as Dante lets his emotions rule him and V refuses to rise to the bait. Dante huffs in frustration as he doesn’t respond, his calm façade ironclad.

I think he’s right.

Another purr sounds Shadow’s agreement, and this time Nightmare deigns to respond with a long rumble of assent.

Then you’re all as foolish as he is.

“It is impossible,” V tells his brother quietly.

“It is NOT impossible, you idiot! Just LOOK at him and you can see it!” Dante shouts, his arms waving in a gesture of emphasis as he loses his patience at last with a snarl of irritation.

______________________________________________________________

As V and Dante distance themselves from you and Nero, the young man chuckles again and shakes his head.

“I can’t believe you actually punched him, that was amazing,” he comments dryly. You smirk and try to ignore the painful throbbing in your knuckles where they struck the man in red, the area already red and irritated. It had been necessary; calling you cute was crossing the line. And then he’d had the nerve to compare you to a puppy!

How dare he.

“How’s V holding up? He doesn’t look too good,” Nero interjects, your thoughts shattering like glass under gunfire. You can’t help but sigh before answering, trying to find the right words to describe the poet’s decline. You look at the floor, vision sweeping across the strange texture as you speak.

“He’s hanging on, but I can’t tell if what we’re doing is going to help in the end. It’s honestly a crapshoot, but it’s all we’ve got, so…” you shrug, melancholy acceptance settling over your eyes as Nero scratches the back of his neck thoughtfully. He grimaces, obviously troubled.

“I can’t imagine… if it was Kyrie, I… I don’t know how you keep going sometimes, Y/N,” he murmurs with a sympathetic smile. You nod, grateful for his friendship as always.

“It is NOT impossible, you idiot! Just LOOK at him and you can see it!” Dante suddenly shouts across the area, his arms gesticulating wildly as he argues with V. The poet is rigid, unmoving and silently facing away from you and Nero. Dante’s features are twisted with his frustration and a tinge of anger and you instantly start running over to the two men in alarm.

You can hear V’s soft mumble as you skid to a stop a few feet away.

“It cannot be… more likely he’s yours,” he utters robotically. When his face finally comes into view, his expression is flat, whatever he’s feeling hidden so deeply within that even you can’t discern it. His emerald eyes are locked on something directly ahead of him, his fingers grasping his cane tightly as he resolutely conceals his feelings. You shift your gaze to Dante, your confusion and worry blatantly obvious in your pleading eyes. The gruff man looks completely at the end of his rope, his brows drawn together and lips a firm line of annoyance.

“Dante… what the hell?” you manage to ask him. He puts his hands on his hips and stares upward with a heavy sigh, closing his eyes to think before he speaks.

That alone sets off alarm bells in your mind. You barely know Dante, but he doesn’t use caution or forethought often.

This must be serious.

Dante’s eyes meet yours briefly; a glance of apology before he addresses the lean poet. You follow his gaze, watching V’s face carefully for any flicker of emotion.

“Either you tell them, or I will, but this is too important to hold back,” he informs the obsidian haired wall of motionless restraint. His emerald eyes blink once, twice before he focuses on his brother’s irritated face with a look of dawning apprehension. He licks his lips, opening his mouth to speak but no words come out. His knuckles are white in his death grip on his cane, his jaw clenching as he forces a single syllable out.

“Don’t,” he gasps desperately. You wrap your hands over his on his cane, trying to reach him underneath the ocean of new knowledge as Nero trots up to join the strange conversation.

“You guys okay?” Nero asks with a scratch at the back of his neck. His eyes can’t seem to decide who he should be looking at, shifting between each of his three friends in concern as he takes in the strained expressions. Dante crosses his arms, his signature Sparda stubbornness coloring his tone with resolve.

“You have five seconds, brother,” he growls, tapping his foot to keep count.

One.

V’s eyes widen in panic, his eyes darting around seeking an escape route. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows nervously, sweat breaking out on his face.

Two.

You rub the poet’s back soothingly, offering him your support as best you can. He flinches at your first touch defensively, the circumstances overwhelming his senses.

Three.

His eyes are dilated so widely you can’t see the green ring around his pupils. He’s shaking slightly as his eyes settle on Nero.

Four.

Nero meets his eyes unflinchingly, his uneasy worry prevalent in his expressive features. The poet’s eyes light up as if he’s seeing Nero for the first time and some facet of the young man seems to hit him with the same force as one of Griffon’s lightning strikes.

Five.

“So, what’s it gonna be?” Dante demands. V closes his eyes and grits his teeth before turning to face his brother, steely-eyed.

“Abundance of stupidity,” he recites, turning back to face Nero before he continues with all the caution you’d expect from someone diffusing a bomb.

“Dante believes that Vergil fathered you, Nero,” he announces hesitantly, reluctance dripping from every word. Nero’s lips pop open, eyes shifting to match the circular shape his mouth makes. He staggers as the words sink in and he turns to Dante.

“What the hell? Where do you get off, making jokes like that?” the young warrior chokes out.

Your own confusion rolls through you as you struggle to figure out whether there is truth in Dante’s assessment. From what little you know of Vergil, it’s possible but extremely unlikely. Plus, Nero has so much in common with Dante it’s almost like he’s the older man’s twin.

So it’s not true, right?

Right?

“Let me explain,” Dante pipes up, and all three of you turn to glare at him. He raises his hands in a gesture of submission, guarding his face from any possible attacks.

“Please do,” Nero growls, his hands balled up at his sides but remaining low.

The red leather of Dante’s coat ripples as he lowers his hands with a sheepish grin, realizing that no one is planning on throwing any punches.

Yet.

“I knew you were a Sparda the first time we met, Nero. The hair is a dead giveaway. Wasn’t sure how we were related, but the Yamato bonding with you like it did convinced me you were family. Now, as much as I mess around, I don’t actually sleep around. The few people I do sleep with are still friends, I know for a fact I have no children. Plus, the timeline didn’t fit at all; I wasn’t seeing anyone around the time you were born,” Dante begins carefully, mainly addressing Nero as his voice grows steadier with each word.

You glance at V to see him glaring at the floor behind his hair, stubbornly refusing to listen to Dante’s rationale. You stroke his back again even as you listen and wrestle with your own feelings on the subject, shoving them away until there’s a calm moment to face them.

I can deal with my own issues later.

“So, you were either a long lost brother or a cousin or something, or Vergil… you know. I don’t know of any aunts or uncles in the family, and dear old dad died when we were just kids. And, according to V, there was a lady in Vergil’s life around that time. So, uh, welcome to the family?” Dante concludes lamely with an apologetic grin.

Holy shit.

Dante’s right.

Holy shit.

Nero’s face shifts rapidly, cycling through several possible reactions before settling on bewildered acceptance. A weight lifts from your shoulders as your friend smiles lightly at the man you love, his hand scratching his neck again in his signature move of discomfort. Dante relaxes slightly too as Nero lets out a long breath and chuckles.

“Well, damn… that’s uh… wow,” he begins, his shock stealing his words. A look of realization crosses his face suddenly and he looks back at Dante. “That makes you my uncle, huh?”

Dante barks out a laugh and jokingly reaches out to shake his nephew’s hand. “Good to meet ya, kid,” he glibly states. Nero cracks a smirk of his own as he takes his uncle’s hand; they look so alike that it becomes glaringly obvious to you that they’re related.

How could none of us have known? How could V have not figured it out?

“Kyrie’s going to flip,” Nero adds, and V’s shoulders shake under your hand. For a heartbeat you think he’s laughing, but then he turns away and lets out a shaky breath, a single silent tear rolling down his cheek as he tries to hide it. You shoot a glance at the two other men and they take the hint easily, walking away and leaving you alone with V.

______________________________________________________________

No, no, no… it can’t be true.

Can it?

A single tear falls from his eye as he distantly watches Nero and Dante shake hands, their faces arranged into the same smirk of amusement he recognizes from when it would all too rarely cross Vergil’s face.

There’s no point denying it anymore. Nero’s your son. Which also means Y/N is banging the father of one of her best friends!

V sends Griffon an image of himself plucking every last feather from his body, using them to make a new pillow, and the blue bird instantly fades away as their connection weakens. He hears Dante’s banter with Nero echoing somewhere nearby, the use of familial nicknames driving home their newly redefined relationship. A surge of envy pulses through him at the ease with which they connect as they walk away, still chatting amiably.

“V… are you alright?” your soft voice asks.

He takes a deep breath, grappling his jealousy into submission and burying it.

What does she think of all this? I have a son. Nero is my son…

Even to think the words sends a frenetic shiver up his limbs, like insects crawling on his skin. He resists the urge to brush at his flesh, meeting your eyes to answer you instead.

“I… I am coming to terms. Are you alright?” he probes you. You look away and anxiety tugs at him harshly, imagining all the ways his previous self’s action may have disturbed you. All the reasons you have to walk away and never look back. Sorrow hitches his breath in his throat as his heart reminds him what it feels like to be alone.

“I’m not sure. It’s definitely weird, and it makes me sick to imagine you with someone else. But it wasn’t you, was it? It was Vergil. Whoever he was, you aren’t that person anymore,” you thoughtfully reply, continuing after a pause. “Do you remember his mother well? Nero might like to hear about her, he doesn’t remember anything.”

Unbidden and half-forgotten images rise to taunt him with his foolishness. A flash of red fabric, a half-hidden smile. The brevity of his time with her.

V forces his memory elsewhere as he remembers the sounds she had made, the feeling of it. Vergil’s thrilled fascination as he experienced what so many people were motivated by throughout their lives.

“I remember enough to be ashamed,” V faintly comments. You nod and take his hand, pulling it from his cane where it had been clenched for far too long. You massage his palm gently and bring his knuckles to your lips for a kiss and your tenderness makes him ache with appreciation. He smiles lovingly down at you and you wrap your arms around him in a comforting hug. With your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, and his nose in your hair to enjoy the scent he so adores… all his worries dissipate like fog in sunlight.

“I’ll tell him what is appropriate,” he murmurs, and he can feel you giggle in his arms.

“How very fatherly of you,” you tease him with a sly smirk, turning your face to meet his in a soft kiss.

______________________________________________________________

June 15th, 1:13 pm

The group finally sets off again, progressing through a series of massive caverns downward to face Urizen at last. Going together had been wise – each area holds an enormous number of demons, swarms that V isn’t sure he would have been able to clear alone. He can feel himself growing weaker by the minute and his irritation mounts every time he is forced to let his brother and his son do most of the work. It becomes a vicious cycle; he notices his weakness, can’t help but focus on it for a moment, and ends up repressing his self-loathing in order to move forward. In turn, this makes him weaker still, assuming your theory is correct. Coming to that realization makes him feel guilty, and then he represses his guilt, once again making himself weaker as a consequence of his own idiocy.

After yet another fight during which he felt close to useless, the group leaps down yet another hole and lands to see the path forward illuminated with a faint orange glow, throwing the brutally huge spikes curving overheard into stark relief.

“Looks like we’ve still got a long way to go,” Dante remarks ruefully. All four of you step forward together just as the surface underfoot disintegrates.

V reacts instantly, his arm twitching as Griffon materializes in a tornado of black shards. Luckily, he already had your hand in his when the area collapsed, and he easily grips you tighter as Griffon wraps his talons over his still-extended arm overhead.

His wings heave powerfully, keeping the two of you from being impaled on the sharp rocks below, yet despite his best efforts Griffon tires quickly.

“I can't carry you anymore! I gotta put you down! I gotta put you down...” the demonic bird gasps out, panting as he does his best to lessen the fall before he drops you and V the last dozen feet to land unglamorously. Griffon himself collapses on the rocky floor, his chest moving rapidly as V pulls him back within his body to rest.

“Damn, just a little longer. Come on... we must... go...” V pants as he pulls himself to his feet once again. You rise beside him, dusting off your clothes halfheartedly and helping V do the same. Taking his hand in yours, you set out slowly, making sure he can keep up.

He once again dwells on his own weakness, restarting the cycle of torment with a vengeance as he scolds himself for not preventing the fall entirely. Griffon’s exhausted caw pipes up within him, even his thoughts echoing his weariness.

You really aren’t doing yourself any favors, Shakespeare.

I’m aware.

He grits his teeth as his feathery friend points out his stupidity. It’s hard enough trying to break the cycle without his “help”. Not to mention pushing through the slight twinges of pain every time he tries to stifle his emotions…

Here, maybe this’ll help?

Griffon sends him a series of images; the look of frenzied victory on your face after you killed your first Empusa with a frying pan, the feel of your fingers stroking his hair as he leaned over to allow your touch, the warmth and friendship within the first hug he had ever received.

The weakness fades slightly, allowing him a brief respite from his hunched over posture. He pauses to stretch, his lower back complaining at the mistreatment.

“V? Are you alright?” your worried voice inquires as he halts suddenly.

I can’t let her see my weakness.

Are you seriously that dumb? You aren’t weak; you’re dying. And if you don’t let yourself feel this shit, we’re all gonna die too! You don’t wanna murder us, do ya pal?

Not yet…

Griffon quiets, but V can still sense his concern and his frustration in the back of his mind through their bond. Echoes of the sentiment filter through from Shadow and Nightmare too, and he lets out a small sigh of surrender.

…fine.

“I’m weakening quickly now, Y/N. I’m… scared.” V tells you slowly, the last word almost a whisper as he forces it through his reluctant lips with a grimace.

You frown tightly at his words, gently tugging him to sit on a nearby ledge. It takes him longer than he likes to limp his way over, but once he’s seated, you take his hand and study it thoroughly. He follows your troubled gaze to see his skin, once perfectly smooth under his dark tattoos, now wrinkled and cracked like the floor of a desert. He frowns deeply, not having noticed the progression of his… condition.

His heart aches painfully as your fingers caress the damaged flesh and you let out a deep sigh.

“I’m scared too, my poet. In fact, I’m terrified,” you begin, looking deep into his eyes. “I’m terrified that I’m going to lose you, that I’ll lose… this.”

You hold up your joined hands and he nods his understanding. He pulls your hand to his lips, planting a light kiss on your palm. A pit forms in his stomach with your words, a weight descending upon his shoulders to join so many others.

He can see now that he has an unhealthy tendency to take on responsibility when he shouldn’t. His mother’s death, his father’s disappearance, all manner of unspeakable things he did during his time as Nelo Angelo. Nero and his mother. And of course, the release of Urizen and formation of the Qlipoth. His list of misdeeds is long and growing, the weight on his shoulders steadily increasing until he’s crushed by it. Even as he objectively recognizes the flaw, he struggles to overcome it.

I doubt I’d even be able to identify the habit if not for Y/N.

Your words echo in his mind. “You are not Vergil. You are V. Just because you came from him doesn’t mean you have to share his fate.”

“Is there anything that helps? Any patterns you’ve noticed?” you probe him quietly, almost desperately. His lips twist upwards as Griffon sends him an image of your smile.

“Griffon has been sending me memories occasionally. Images of my better moments,” he responds thoughtfully, “They seem to help, at least a little. It’s… far too easy to slip back into despair.”

Your eyebrows furrow as you respond, “Tell Griffon he needs to send you more good stuff anytime you start getting mopey.”

Aye aye, Captain Nurse! I don’t want to die either.

“He agrees. None of them want to die either,” V answers back for the blue demon with a smirk. He’d have to keep that nickname in mind; it had potential.

Your hand clenches around his at his words; perhaps you hadn’t realized that the three demonic creatures would die with him?

An image of your hair sparkling in sunlight.

Thank you, Griffon.

The feeling of snide dismissal; a rude salute. He coughs out a laugh.

“V… when I face… when I face Urizen. You need to have Griffon send you everything he’s got. Any memory, no matter how small. Have him start cataloguing them, testing them to see what gets the best response. You need to maximize everything as much as possible at that moment,” you instruct him hesitantly.

He mentally cringes as Griffon whoops with laughter, his excitement to browse V’s most innermost feelings clear within his mind. Shadow growls at the obnoxious bird and he settles somewhat, but his glee still seeps through.

“He’s… excited to begin,” V translates. You beam with approval and stand, holding a hand out to help him rise alongside you. He doesn’t drop it as you trek onward into the darkened passage ahead.

#dmc5 v #dmc5 #dmcv #dmc #fanfic #my writing #v x reader #v x you #reader insert #SBHS #vitale #devil may cry

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salvatoreschool · 5 years

Text

Legacies Boss Explains What Hope's Finale Sacrifice Means for Season 2

Hope Mikaelson followed in her father’s footsteps on Thursday’s Legacies season finale — and not in a good way. After rescuing Landon from Clarke (and a headless horseman) and finally dropping the L-bomb, Hope did a cordless bungee jump into the pit, correctly theorizing that her tribrid nature would stop Malivore (also the creation of a witch, vampire and werewolf) from being revived.

Unfortunately, things weren’t any better back in Mystic Falls. An army of Triad goons — including MG’s mom and a handsome devil named Burr — stormed the Salvatore School, using a dark object to nullify the students’ powers. Though the good guys eventually prevailed, Josie nearly died after taking a supernatural bullet meant for her sister. As for Burr, MG’s gorgon girlfriend turned him to stone before skipping town, so he can fill in as the garden’s new gargoyle statue.

Once the madness subsided, Alaric delivered a passionate apology to the student body. He brought the Travelers’ dark object into the school as a back-up plan in case the world ever needed protection from one of his own. He shared that plan with concerned parents (including MG’s mom), putting everyone at risk with his ignorance. The honor council will decide his fate.

And here’s the kicker: Because Hope dove into Malivore, all memory of her existence has been erased from her friends’ minds. This presents an immediate problem for Rafael, who used Hope’s magic jewelry to turn into a wolf… and only she can turn him back.

Below, series creator Julie Plec answers our burning questions about the finale, including what really happened to Hope:

TVLINE | I have to get this first question out of the way: Did you name this villain Burr because of Hamilton?

I cannot take credit for his name. I almost think his name is too over the top because of Hamilton. Whenever someone says his name, I go, “Are you Aaron Burr, sir?”

TVLINE | OK, onto more pressing matters: Is Wickery Bridge really gone for good?

[Laughs] They’re going to have to do something, especially because the people who run that bridge charge us an arm and a leg to shoot there. So it’ll have some cosmetic upgrades.

TVLINE | Well, I appreciated that callback. And you mentioned the Travelers, which are among the less-memorable Vampire Diaries villains. Do you just have a list of references at your disposal?

Honestly, Brett [Matthews] and I have just been in that world for so long and have loved it so much. We think half the fun of Legacies is the nostalgia, paying honor and homage to where we came from and the roots of the show. That stuff comes naturally, which is great.

TVLINE | Speaking of deep cuts, was that an ascendant that Josie and Lizzie found?

Oh, it sure was. And if you recall, when Bonnie Bennett put Kai in the prison world, it was because the twins — at age three — spelled that ascendant for her.

TVLINE | And here I am, proud of myself just for remembering what an ascendant is.

That was an easy-to-forget detail. The reason it looks familiar to them is because they magically whammied it to make it work when Bonnie needed to put Kai away. … Ultimately, they’re going to need to figure out how that ascendant works and what it means for them.

TVLINE | You keep mentioning Kai. Do you have plans for him if Chris Wood agrees to return?

Yeah. It’s funny, and I’m really being cruel to myself and to Chris — but I’m basically Secret-ing this into happening. I’ve put it so much into the universe, it’s going to end up an inevitability. He just doesn’t know it yet. [Laughs]

TVLINE | Fair enough. Shifting gears entirely, is Hope dead or just in that Malivore dimension?

I think that’s the question. In her mind, jumping into the pit would destroy Malivore. And it appears that Malivore — at least in its physical mud-pit form — is gone. So where the hell is she, and why can’t anyone remember her? The fact that no one can remember her probably means she’s in that blackness, which the monsters described as being this terrible place.

TVLINE | Another mythology question: If Hope dies, she’ll come back as a vampire?

We’ve had a lot of fun asking those questions in the writers’ room, and we’ve realized that there are no rules just yet. We get to live them as we go along. If Hope dies, she presumably comes back as a vampire. But if the monsters didn’t die in the pit, did she? And if she comes back as a vampire, does that make her no longer a witch? Or is she now truly a tribrid with powers of all three creatures? Lots of questions, and lots of seasons.

TVLINE | Will Malivore take on a handsome, CW-appropriate form someday, or is he always going to look like that weird golem creature?

His intentions, as Clarke explained, were to inhabit Landon as his physical human form so he could procreate and not walk around as a monster. If Landon is able to prevent that from happening, who knows what opportunities await for Malivore?

TVLINE | I also want to know about MG. Any chance he’s going to keep in touch with his gorgon lady friend?

[Laughs] He certainly does seem smitten, doesn’t he? Maybe they have a future as pen pals.

TVLINE | And Rafael? He seems like he’s in a pretty bad spot.

He’s f–ed, basically. Hope had said in a previous episode that he can use the ring to turn into a werewolf, but she’s the only one who can turn him back. He doesn’t realize that the one person who can fix him is no longer in existence. Rafael will start Season 2 still as a wolf, which will do a huge number on him, psychologically speaking. It’s going to affect his relationship with everybody.

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vagrantblvrd · 5 years

Text

Under Restless Stars (1/1)

Summary: For someone whose kingdom was on the brink of war with his closest neighbor since he was a child, the Mad King is a reckless man.

Notes: Prompt fill for For @miss-ingno who asked for Kings AU Trevinwood with fool/master spy Gavin acting as a double agent sho was sent to spy on King Geoff and discovering Ryan's got a new head advisor(spy master???) in Trevor with the two of them trying to suss each out. (And then idk, shenanigans that got away from me. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

AO3

For someone whose kingdom was on the brink of war with his closest neighbor since he was a child, the Mad King is a reckless man.

Tinkers with his redstone creations in his laboratory well into the small hours of the night without so much as posting guards outside its doors. (The only concession, if it could be called that, is the hound that has taken to trailing after the king wherever he goes. Years past its prime and a limp from an old hunting injury.)

It would be all too easy for an assassin to make their way past the guards tasked with patrolling the castle. Past scholars lost in their work as they map the stars. Castle servants just beginning to wake, headed to their daily tasks.

Down, down, down to the rooms built to withstand any mishaps that might happen within its walls. All kinds of odd noises and smells coming from it that the castle’s inhabitants have long grown used to. No longer question as potential attack, and honestly, it’s a danger.

So easy for anyone with to creep down here unnoticed. To glide past the iron golems lined along one wall, red glow of their eyes dimmed as they wait to be called to action and put an end to the heir of a bloody legacy.

The same mad blood running through his veins as his ancestors who would have had the world burn for their goals.

For all the stories of his vaunted intellect, prowess in battle and terrifying creations, the Mad King is but a man, and man is so weak. (Flesh and bone.)

“You would think,” Gavin says, knife against the thin skin of the king’s throat, “that someone of your marked intelligence would have learned this lesson the first time.”

The old hunting hound curled by the heating stove snuffles in its sleep but does not wake. The golems stand still and silent, loyal as anything that has no mind of its own.

The king holds himself still in Gavin’s hold, respect for the blade stronger than whatever foolishness is running through that head of his. (Smart and clever as he is, he puts too much stake in his little mechanical wizardries, the wonders he creates, to keep him safe. Forgets that all it takes is a single blade.)

“True,” he says, amusement threaded through his voice. “Although I’ve been informed on more than one occasion that I’m anything but.”

Fighting an endless battle to turn his kingdom around, destroy the legacy his parents and ancestors left for him. (Making enemies in his own court as he decries the way of things that everyone insists are the only way, planting seeds of hope in younger generations and unsure if he’ll live to see them sprout.)

Gavin presses the blade harder against the pale skin, just enough for blood to well up along the edge of the blade.

“You have a great deal of enemies,” Gavin says, because that is a king’s lot in life. “You’re more of a fool than I to allow them this kind of opportunity.”

The king is watching him, not a speck of fear to be found in his eyes.

“Such sweet things you whisper into my ear,” he says, lips curving into a smile. “I may swoon.”

Gavin huffs, and lowers his blade as he steps back.

“Unfortunate that such a lesson doesn’t seem to have gotten through that thick skull of yours,” he mutters.

The king hums, a low rumble of that ever-present amusement of his.

Fingers pressed to the thin line of blood on his throat, a reminder that his foolish recklessness has consequences. (Arrogance, really, for someone of his standing to think himself invulnerable no matter where he is.)

“Have you been sent to kill me?”

Gavin studies him, takes in the lines around his eyes, faint shadows under his eyes. Cheekbones more prominent now than when he saw the man last. The tired slump to his shoulders only a select few are ever privileged to see.

“No,” Gavin says, and offers up a smile, hint of mischief to it. “I’ve been sent here to spy on you.”

========

“A gift,” Gavin says, ornately wrapped package in his hands. “From King Ramsey.”

A low murmur spreads through the room as their king steps forward to accept the gift from the delegation from a neighboring kingdom, just now arrived.

He’s wearing a high collar to hide the mark on his throat left by Gavin’s blade the night before, and it had gotten a sharp look from the man at his side. (Tall and slender, eyes that seem to miss nothing, and Gavin knows one of his own when he lays eyes on them.)

The truce between the two kingdoms is still new as these things go. Little more than a decade in effect, and still both sides eye each other warily. Spies sent to infiltrate the other’s court and to take up positions close to the kings.

Intrigue and politics and utter ridiculousness from two powerful men who hold true respect for one another, but are far too paranoid to allow old habits die. (Better this, however, than the assassins of earlier times.)

“I’m sure it’s very lovely,” the man says, plucking the gift neatly out of Gavin’s hands before Ryan comes close.

Gavin blinks, looking up to meet cool eyes sizing him up and a smile aimed at him that’s just a shade too sharp to be considered truly friendly.

“Trevor,” Ryan admonishes quietly, but says nothing as the slender figure hands the package to a waiting guard.

Trevor harrumphs, corner of his mouth ticking up slightly at the look Ryan gives him before he turns those cool eyes back on Gavin.

Dressed in the colors of a king not his own, and accompanied by people he’s known a fraction of his life. (Jealous and bitterly resentful of how quickly Gavin earned King Ramsey’s favor, had been granted such an important mission for someone so young.)

Ryan turns back to Gavin and gestures for him to rise, thanks him for the gift and welcomes him into his court, even as one his journeys to take up his empty position in King Ramsey’s. (Concession or compromise, and their lives little more than insurance against hostile intent.)

Through it all Gavin feels Trevor’s eyes on him, and wonders what game his king is playing now.

========

“Your accent,” a voice says, faintly curious. “I’ve never heard anything like it before.”

Gavin glances away from the view the balcony affords to see the king’s advisor approaching.

Sharp smile and sharper gaze that rakes over Gavin, cool and assessing.

“I doubt you would have,” Gavin says.

His family came to this continent when he was a child, and his accent has changed accordingly over time. No doubt he would sound strange to his countrymen now, earn a second glance or even a third. (Always an oddity.)

Trevor makes a thoughtful noise as he joins Gavin at the railing.

There’s a flush high on his cheeks, either due to the wine that’s flowed freely throughout the night or the cool night air.

“My parents came here when I was a child,” Gavin says, when Trevor looks to him, eyebrows raised.

He doesn’t do the man’s work for him past that. If he’s climbed to such a lofty position as one of the king’s advisors he should be able to solve that little puzzle with the clues he’s been given.

Until then -

“I can’t quite seem to place your accent either,” Gavin says, because it’s been bothering him all day.

It sounds similar to ones people from the north tend to favor, but there’s a twist to it that doesn’t ring true.

“I doubt you would have,” Trevor says, glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he looks over the gardens, clearly as fond of these games as his king.

========

The old hunting hound remembers Gavin, it seems.

Half-blind by now and too old for much of anything, and still this king, heir to a throne of bones and lies. A man with murder in his heart treats it as though it is still his prized hunting hound. Bringing down game twice its size, and fearless as a lion.

Gavin smiles as he watches the hound lumber to its feet, ear pricked forward and tail wagging slowly as it catches his scent. Limps its way to the entrance to the hidden passage that ends at in the king’s private chambers, sniffing along the edges of the tapestry concealing it and lets out a quiet bark.

“Oh, and what have you caught now?”

Gavin takes his cue and steps out of hiding, feels his mouth curve upward in a smile to match the one on the king’s face.

“Such a mighty hunter,” Gavin says, crouching to greet the hound.

The hound barks again, forgetting its training as it crowds him, tail wagging madly.

“He’s missed you.”

Gavin looks up, and feels a smile sitting crooked on his lips for a the man standing before him. (King he may be, but still a man for all the responsibilities and burdens of his position. The rumors and stories that amount to little more than lies when it comes to the sort of man he truly is.)

Years since they last saw one another, Gavin sent to do his duty for his adopted kingdom, his King. Far from the only home he ever truly knew, alone with only his wits and what training his parents had been able to give him before their deaths. (Far too young to truly understand the dangers inherent in such a task ahead of him.)

And now, through some strange twist of fate he’s returned home.

“Yes,” Gavin says, because the hound is clear about its feelings in ways humans rarely are. “That much is obvious.”

The King - Ryan - snorts, expression softening as he holds out a hand to Gavin, small smile on his face and warmth in his eyes.

“I’ve missed you too,” he confesses, and Gavin goes to him as easily as he ever has.

========

The retinue that accompanied him here have left, short words and little sneers. Glad to see the last of him, unaware the feeling is mutual. (Too certain of their own import and how lucky Gavin was to be graced by their presence, no matter how undeserving he was to think otherwise.)

And now, Trevor is watching him.

Has moved on from keeping a wary on King Ramsey’s men when they were in the castle as honored guests to all but spying on Gavin.

Clever man with all the right words and excuses for being the same place as Gavin, but the man is watching him. (Sharp and clever and he reminds Gavin of nothing so much as the ravens the royal family have kept in the castle since it was built.)

In the morning after Gavin’s had his breakfast and that itch beneath his skin to make sure this fool of a King hasn’t allowed his security to become too lax. (He wouldn’t, Gavin knows. All too aware of the reputation his family has garnered and how so many fear he is like so many others who have worn the crown in this kingdom, but the man is infuriatingly reckless with his own safety.)

A stroll through the gardens where they scaled the wall as kids, stupid and reckless and an entire forest full of wild things who obeyed the oldest, truest laws and cared little for the petty ones humans came up with. Down to the stables where Gavin would play with the kittens birthed to the cats who kept the mice and rats under control, small fuzzy things on wobbly legs and demanding voices. The prince with a young pup tumbling along behind him, gifted to him by his father when he was old enough to join in the hunts. (For all that Ryan’s parents were tyrants, they did love him in their own way. Spoiled him when they could.)

“I’d hate for you to become lost,” Trevor says, as they come back ‘round to the stables. “This castle can be like a maze at times.” He looks around briefly, and leans in as though confiding a secret. “I’ve heard there are even hidden passages, and who knows where they could lead!”

Gavin slants a look a Trevor, takes in his expression of dismay at the thought of Gavin lost and wandering the castle’s halls. Perhaps stumbling on one of those hidden passages and coming to harm in some way. (A pity, really.)

A knowing look in Trevor’s eyes and a hardness beneath it that tells Gavin he knows about his nightly visits to the King’s chambers.

“I wouldn’t worry,” Gavin says, and he’s spent enough time playing the tedious little games nobles love to play, words made into weapons as dangerous as any blade. “I have an excellent sense of direction, and always go where I intend to.”

Trevor inclines his head in acknowledgment, look in his eye that makes Gavin wonder what might happen if he were to make an enemy of such a man.

========

If he had any choice in it, Gavin thinks, Ryan would have been a scholar of some sort.

Allowed to tinker and create, to learn, to his heart’s content.

Ink staining his hands, charcoal and chalk absently wiped on his cheek, forehead. Ruined robes and light of discover in his eyes and finally, finally content. (No dire conspiracies of life and death matters, no assassins sent to collect his head as proof of his death. No enemies plotting his downfall.)

Gavin watches him as he parades his latest creations and inventions before him, shy little smiles and awkwardness only a few have ever seen.

Here, with Gavin and the old hound as his own witnesses, Ryan is no king.

Here he is the bright young man he should have been allowed to be, had it not been for his family’s legacy.

“And this,”Ryan says, setting some strange contraption in front of him with a small flourish, “is Archibald.”

Gavin bites his lip as he examines the contraption. Soft glow of redstone, low hum of machinery at rest, and an utterly ridiculous name.

“And what,” Gavin mimics, fighting a grin at the raised eyebrow it earns him. “What does Archibald do?”

Ryan sputters, for surely it should be obvious at first glance, and yet.

Gavin feigns confusion, poking at Archibald until Ryan slaps his hand away with a scandalized gasp and demonstrates what his invention is meant to do.

Clever fingers manipulating buttons and small levers and an ominous grinding noise followed by Ryan’s quietly alarmed, “That’s not right.”

And then Archibald begins spewing out black smoke as Ryan frantically ties to set things right, look of mild panic on his face and low mutter and Gavin failing to smother his laughter. (Some things never change.)

========

“There is something about you,” Trevor says, catching Gavin on the archery range. “I cannot put my finger on it.”

Gavin gives him a look, because the man is not wrong.

“Odd,” Gavin says, watching as Trevor waits for the targets to be set up. “I could say the same about you.”

Trevor gives him a sharp look.

Ryan favors him, Gavin knows.

Speaks to Trevor as a true equal, gives him these small, sweet smiles when he thinks no one is looking. (As careful as Ryan is, someone is always looking and Gavin was raised to this. Taught games as a child by his parents that have made him an indispensable tool, weapon, for his King.)

“Would you care for a wager?” Gavin asks, checking the fletching on an arrow, edge of challenge in the smile he gives Trevor. “Friendly, of course.”

Trevor eyes him for a long moment, and Gavin can see him considering the wisdom of such a thing against the valuable information he can gather if he’s shrewd about it.

“I’m certain what skill I have could never compare,” Trevor says, eyes downcast as speaks, ever respectful of their positions even as he adjusts the bracer on his arm, movements confident and sure. “I wouldn’t want to presume.”

Gavin snorts, amusement building as Trevor looks up at him, corner of his mouth quirked. (Sly bastard, and thinks he understands what Ryan must see in him.)

“Humor me.”

========

It’s odd, being at court and knowing no one remembers him.

Would never look at the young noble in his finery and connect him to the bumbling fool that amused the King for so many years.

Masks and costumes and bells that rang out merrily as he tumbled across the floor for the king’s amusement. Pantomimes and pratfalls, silly props and sillier dances. (The scrawny boy who ran wild with the king when they were young, getting into mischief and paying heavily when they were caught. Flimsy excuses and blatant lies to draw the wrath of the king and queen to himself.)

“Do you miss it?” Ryan asks, voice dropped to a whisper as his new fool struggles to keep the eggs he’s juggling aloft.

A careful act, and he knows few watching have caught the lie. Know the sort of training it takes to make the fool’s bumbling, clownish antics so believable when the man moves like someone fully in control of his body.

“At times,” Gavin says, allowing his gaze to rove over the nobles watching the fool, all their petty games and machinations forgotten for the moment.

The anonymity acting as the king’s fool had afforded him had been invaluable, however -

The fool lets out a dismayed cry, and Gavin watches as gravity wins out, eggs falling out of the air. A few strike the fool himself, the other break as they hit the ground, and the audience cheers madly, laughter and clapping as the fool stands there befuddled.

“I find I ruin less clothing this way,” Gavin admits, smiling as Ryan chuckles quietly.

========

Trevor finds him in the hallway one night as Gavin prepares to visit Ryan.

Cool look in his eyes and this faint downturn to his mouth, mouth opened to speak -

There’s a sound, a noise that doesn’t belong, and they both freeze. Cock their heads, Gavin’s hand dropping to the small dagger he always carries. (A farewell gift that has saved his life countless times.)

He sees Trevor mirror him, catches a flicker of a smirk and then they’re moving. Silent as death through the stone corridors, soft hiss from Trevor as they come across a pair of guards sprawled in a pool of their own blood with their throats cut.

“Dammit,” Trevor says, staring at the bodies.

Gavin catches his eyes, jerks his head towards the only direction they could be headed.

“Ryan,” Trevor breathes, eyes widening, and suddenly Gavin understands why he’s been so...prickly when it comes to Gavin.

A stranger who’s been sent here by King Ramsey not so much as an act of goodwill but as insurance. Exchanged for one Ryan’s nobles to ensure their truce holds true, and yet. (Unaware of the truth of things, the lies within lies and Gavin’s true role in things, and simple jealousy.)

“The king,” Gavin reminds him, and they're moving again.

Pass a dead servant, doused torches and shadows growing darker.

They pause at a junction, Trevor turning his head to say something when Gavin senses movement, and acts without thinking as he dives for him. Feels the rush of air as a blade cuts through the air where he’d been standing and hears a wordless snarl.

“Go!” Gavin yells, pushing Trevor ahead of him, trusting him to protect Ryan while he deals with this distraction.

Trevor hesitates for a brief moment, but then a hard look comes into his eyes and he nods sharply – duty first – and runs down the corridor.

Gavin laughs, and turns to the dark-clad figure glaring at him.

Huge, hulking figure glaring at him over the cloth pulled up to hide his face. Heavy broadsword in his hands and stance of a fighter.

A mercenary, perhaps, hired to kill a king and not expecting much in the way of obstacles like Gavin and Trevor. (No remorse at the deaths of mere guards and servants, and Gavin shoves his anger down at the thought.)

Gavin smirks, drawing his blades and stalks forward to meet this utter fool who thinks he can win against someone like Gavin. (Trained from birth by his parents, the sword-fighting lessons he took alongside Ryan as children even though he preferred his knives and bow. Everything he’s learned since then in service to his king.)

========

He can hear Ryan arguing with Trevor.

Even behind heavy wooden doors reinforced with cold steel, the sound carries. (Dark passages that twist and wind, leading to a hidden chamber few know about. Last hideaway before being forced the flee the castle altogether.)

Anger and concern against so much more, and it causes him to smile. Pulls his focus from the sting in his side and the way he reeks of blood as he knocks.

Simple enough pattern, long memorized. (Silly secret for a fine pair of idiots.)

The voices cut off abruptly, and Gavin stands still waiting for the door to be opened.

Finds himself staring down the length of a blade, cool eyes and hard expression and prepared to kill anyone who poses a threat to Ryan.

“Quite the stubborn one, isn’t he?” Gavin asks, lips quirking at the little flicker of annoyance in Trevor’s eyes, rueful agreement.

Before Trevor can say anything, Ryan is pushing his way past, heedless of the possible danger.

“You’re hurt,” Ryan says, frown on his face, everything else locked away.

Gavin hums in agreement as he allows Ryan to pull him into the small room, hears Trevor locking up behind him,

“A scratch,” he says, even though it’s a bit more than that. “I’ll heal.”

Ryan sends him a dubious look as he insists on checking the wound itself. Helps Gavin remove his clothing to reveal the gash down his side, shallow and bleeding sluggishly. Mouth turning down as he brushes his fingers across the dark bruising already beginning to form along Gavin's ribs, a lucky blow from the mercenary.

“A scratch,” Ryan mimics, gratefully accepting the clean cloths Trevor brings him, a shallow bowl of water. “A scratch.”

Gavin huffs, watching fondly as Ryan sets about cleaning the blood away for a moment before he looks to Trevor.

Expression carefully blank, hands at his sides and a spatter of blood across his chest, the side of his face.

“The situation has been dealt with?”

Gavin came across other mercenaries on his trek here. A handful at most, lesser fighters who seem to have been picked for ability to move quickly and stay in the shadows. All easily dispatched and no real challenge, urgency speeding him here.

Trevor’s expression thaws slightly, and he smiles grimly.

“My most trusted is searching for any we may have missed,” he says. “They will not expect him.”

Gavin cocks his head, but Trevor simply raises an eyebrow.

“You both act as though I’m helpless,” Ryan says, mulish and stubborn. “I am your king.”

Gavin looks to Trevor, sees the same fondness he knows will be in his own eyes, because this fool of a king.

“Exactly,” Trevor says, warmth to it that has Gavin smiling in spite of himself. “Which is why it is our duty to protect you, even from yourself.”

Ryan opens his mouth to protest, and Gavin grins as he sits back and watches the two of them argue in circles as they wait for Trevor’s man to bring word to them.

========

Trevor spends most of time in the coming weeks rooting out conspirators. Brings forth a young noble with terror in his eyes and desperate pleas for mercy on his lips. Claims he was led astray, young and foolish and easily manipulated.

Related to several important figures in the kingdom. Crucial figures it would be foolish to anger, and is put under guard while Ryan contemplates what to do.

Pressure on all sides to act quickly, lest he be seen as weak, and no safe harbor to be found. New enemies he can’t afford to make, and it weighs on him.

Gavin is prepared to act on his part when word comes that the young noble was found dead one morning. A note of confession saying the guilt and shame became too much to bear, and so he’d chosen to take his own life, and hopes it will be enough to pardon his soul of his crimes.

Ryan offers up pretty words of condolences, smoothing any ruffled feathers and seeing to the welfare of his kingdom with Trevor at his side. (Gavin notices the light of satisfaction in his eyes, and says nothing.)

========

Gavin steps out of the hidden passage and stops at the sight Ryan and Trevor make.

Both of them frowning mightily at the chessboard between them.

Ryan doesn’t look up, seemingly engrossed in whatever strategy he’s planning, but Trevor -

There’s a nervousness to his movements when he sees Gavin, fingers fluttering before stilling against the wood of the table being used for their game. Still unsure about these “chance” meetings Ryan keeps arranging, quiet moments for just the three of them. (Unsure, but still he stays. Doesn’t beg off with some excuse or other, and it’s...promising.)

The old hunting hound is curled up at Trevor’s feet, lightly dozing.

As Gavin moves closer, Ryan looks up at him.

“Excellent timing,” he murmurs. “Trevor seems to think he can still win this.”

“Oh?” Gavin asks, aware of Trevor watching the two of them, stilling as Gavin rests a hand on his shoulder, as he studies the board. An uneven number of pieces resting off to either side and a bitter battle being waged on the board, while there’s an all too familiar air of smugness to Ryan. “I wonder why that is?”

Ryan raises an eyebrow, and Trevor laughs quietly, a lovely sound Gavin could become used to.

“He’s reckless,” Trevor says, relaxing slightly as Gavin takes a seat in the char set aside for him. “Makes foolish choices.”

That, Gavin knows well.

Ryan still thinks like a king at times, even with all the lessons Gavin’s parents taught him in secret. Lessons Gavin, and no doubt Trevor, have seen fit to continue. (And while it’s true that Ryan is a quick study, he has so many things to unlearn first.)

Gavin looks to Trevor, laughter building in his chest as he reaches out to make his move, brilliant bit of misdirection that costs Ryan a powerful piece on the board to Ryan’s disbelief.

“Reckless,” Trevor repeats, sly curl to his grin.

Another thing about Ryan that Gavin knows well, but as often as he calls the man foolish, it’s always to d with his own well-being, safety.

“Did you know,” Gavin says, “there was a time, when he was younger that it got him into trouble?”

More than once, really, and Gavin at his side in all of it, no matter that he was supposed to protect him.

Trevor perks up, delighted smile on his face and mischief in his eyes at Ryan’s put upon sigh.

“Do tell,” he says, settling in to listen.

Gavin glances at Ryan, sees the crooked smile on his face, and laughs. (Reckless and foolish, he may be, but he’s also a talented strategist. No mystery what he’s after with all of this, but seeing the look on Trevor’s face and Gavin’s own interest, he thinks it’s a victory they’re willing to allow him.)

#freewood #trevinwood #ragehappy #miss-ingno #Prompt Fills #kings au #Kings of Nowhere #vagrant fic #¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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himluv · 6 years

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An example of Cerine's sense of humor?

Ugh. This prompt took me forever. Like f-o-r-e-v-e-r. But I sat down to it tonight and it just poured out. I hope you like it!

This had to be the worst week of Cerine’s life. And she’d had plenty of bad ones to compare it against. When the traveling merchant had practically begged her to take the control rod off his hands, she’d thought at worst she was out a few sovereigns. But at best, she’d have a stone golem all her own.

Except Shale had been startlingly autonomous, and opinionated. Cerine didn’t mind that so much, in fact, she found the golem’s droll and very sarcastic demeanor hilarious. Especially when it poked fun at Alistair.

“It’s cheeks have gone pink,” the golem noted, after discussing Alistair’s careful attention to Cerine’s “backside” as she walked. “Is it sick?”

While Cerine had the good grace to keep her reaction down to a soft chuckle, Zevran and Morrigan let out full belly laughs at the other Warden’s expense.

“He is not sick,” Alistair snapped and hurried to set up their camp, avoiding any and all eye contact.

“Oh good, it is leaving.” The golem looked at the rest of them. “Perhaps next, you’ll all turn pink and run away. Leave me in peace.”

Cerine was pretty sure Shale found the gang of “squishy mortals” entertaining, or at least somewhat of a novelty, since the golem decided to follow them, even once the Warden had made it clear the thing could do as it pleased. But she wasn’t going to point that out to the golem.

Sadly, Shale’s arrival had been the highpoint of an otherwise dismal week. While battling a chained demon in Honnleath had been anything but fun, it was a sight better than murdering an entire village. But, the inhabits of Haven left her little choice in the matter.

Her dagger sank through the chest of yet another villager, and despite how quickly they fell, there seemed to be no shortage of them. And they were all eager to die on her sword if it meant keeping her from following the path that trailed up the mountainside.

Alistair roared as he bashed a particularly strong attacker with his shield. Cerine heard the man’s chest crack against the silverite shield and winced. Then a flash of lightning lit the sky, followed by the ominous rumble of thunder.

“Perhaps we ought to seek shelter?” Morrigan called from the edge of the makeshift battlefield. Her staff swung in graceful arcs, glowing with ominous green light.

Alistair barked a laugh. “What’s the matter Morrigan? Afraid you might melt?”

“’Tis you who should be afraid, Alistair. You are the walking lightning rod, in all that steel.”

Zevran spun his twin daggers, crossing them to snip the head off the last villager as if the man were a blighted rose in need of pruning. Blood spurted from the corpse as it fell, some of it sprinkling the assassin like spray from a fountain.

“As entertaining as I usually find your bickering,” he said. He didn’t even have the nerve to sound breathless. “I believe we should press on.”

With matching scowls, the pair fell into step with Cerine and Zevran. The climb up the mountain was steep, and riddled with even more cultists. By the time they reached the temple Cerine had developed a thin sheen of sweat, despite the chilly air, and struggled to catch her breath.

She stood at the foot of the stairs that would lead into the giant building, hands on her knees. “These ashes better be sodding worth it.”

“You don’t really think they’re the ashes of Andraste, do you?” Alistair asked. Even he looked a little worse for wear after their climb.

“How should I know?” She shrugged.

“Well, these cultists obviously believe they are divine in nature,” Morrigan said. She looked fine, though her hair was particularly windswept as the storm gathered.

“Does it matter?” Zevran asked. “As long as they work, who cares whose ashes they are?”

Alistair stared at the elf, gobsmacked. Which, judging by Zevran’s smirk, was exactly what the assassin had intended.

Cerine chuckled, shaking her head, and stepped up onto the stairs. “Come on. These ashes aren’t going to relinquish themselves.”

But once they were inside they discovered that this was just the temple, not where the ashes themselves were held. Thankfully there was a very chatty, injured Shem loitering in the atrium. He mentioned, frequently, that he was a respected Chantry scholar, which meant Cerine only half listened to him before she handed him a healing potion and some bandages. Then they fought their way through the temple and out into the rain.

Because, of course, it was raining.

There was another path leading up to what looked like another temple, and one path that led down to a meadow blanketed in unblemished snow. On the way up to the second temple, they found a giant, golden gong dangling on a cliff that jutted out over the meadow.

“What do you reckon that’s for?” Alistair asked over the pelting rain.

“By all means,” Morrigan drawled. “Ring the suspicious gong, enshrined by mad zealots we’ve murdered en masse. ’Tis a most ingenious idea.”

Alistair glanced at Cerine and she shrugged. “How could this day possibly get any worse?”

Zevran shook his head as Alistair slapped the broadside of his sword against the monstrous medallion. Even from beneath the oppressive clouds and from under the steady roar of the rain, the gong rang out, echoing across the meadow.

At first, Cerine thought that ringing the gong amounted to nothing. That the sharp roar of thunder was just the storm, making itself heard. Then there was the distinct sound of air being displaced, as if mighty wings pushed at the clouds to brush them out of the way.

When the black dragon materialized from the storm, thunder incarnate, Cerine laughed. The sound was loud, harsh on her lips as her head fell back and her hand gripped her belly.

“A dragon,” she wheezed. “Of course it’s a fucking dragon.” She pulled her daggers and grinned as her companions did the same.

After the day they’d had, how could she expect anything less?

#cerine tabris #zevran arainai #alistair theirin #morrigan #shale #dragon age: origins #the temple of sacred ashes #haven #dragons

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miserycollections · 6 years

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story, have you ever been harmed or changed (even temporarily) because of the things happening in misery? also, are you close friends with anyone or do you prefer to keep your distance out of fear?

Sadly, Reader, I have been harmed on more than one occasion in my time living in Misery. It’s not a targeted thing–The weirdness in Misery will often harm or affect someone in some way.

While they don’t individually cause bad luck, swarms of the mote like demons can. I had a particularly bad and almost lethal day when a demon swarm decided to stalk me. Because of this I was almost in a car accident, several angels went feral on me, and a pixie, a Phooka, and a rock golem all tried to kidnap me [which was how I learned that there is a Faerie Court in Misery, despite being told on numerous occasion that the Gentry were extinct or fictional] Because of the trip to the hospital resulting from that day, Principal Lee Anders has conducted an investigation on what caused the swarm to follow me. It’s still going on to this day, and I’m required to wear a silver ring on my middle and ring finger everywhere except for my home.

I was also harmed by Kevin, a black cat the size of a grizzly bear, though it was more of an accident than anything. Kevin just happens to be overly affectionate [he only sticks to the Marcus Ward, thankfully]. Similarly, I was attacked by a spooked colony of bats, and a curious murder of crows, according to the girl with cow eyes and Margo the Crow Girl.

As for changes…nothing permanent. But everyone seems to think that one is imminent. They keep calling it “the Misting”, despite the fact that I’ve avoided the Mist since that first night.

However, I’ve been temporarily changed a total of three times. In a joint advanced chem/alchemical transmutations class, the girl with pink hair who fixed the internet had tripped and dropped her concotion on my head. For the rest of the day, I had a third eye that was red, my hands had turned into black stone with three massive fingers, and my hair had turned orange. I was regarded with pity and artistic awe [there are still drawings of my…form in the art buildings. And one in the greenhouse for some reason].

The second incident was a completely different expirience. I was going to go to the Rock Beach to try and interview this clique of girls that always seem to hang out in the water. On my way there I stepped through an arch of red roots and yellow flowers. When I was on the other side, I had visions.

Not visions in the sense of seeing the future, Dear Reader. However, I saw spirits, or muses, or some kind of minor god that tried to guide me down certain paths for a week. I also saw what I assume was the aforementioned Gentry without their glamours. During that week, my eyes had been blue, even my pupils, for some reason. I don’t know how I saw anything. The science doesn’t make sense.

My third and final change was by my own folly and accident. Julia texted me an incantation in High Méliès for translation (I took the language for all of middle school, and was surprisingly good at it. And MSAA doesn’t offer the course).

I say incantation, Reader, because when I translated it, the next day Kurt, the boy who sweats a lake, bumped into me. And for the next day and a half, we were entangled.

Not entangled by ropes or anything physical, mind you. But by magic. The incantation [I refuse to repeat it, to prevent an expirience similar to mine], turned out to be a binding charm–anything that happened to me would happen to him, and vice versa. Kurt….heavily abused the situation. My retaliation got him suspended, though, and the guilt still eats at me.

Temporary changes aren’t that uncommon though. People often wake up with them, or gain them after walking away from some phenomena. Permanent changes are less common, but still happen regularly. An example of both is detailed in an earlier post of mine, with the Forest of Crystal Fruit.

As for your other question, Reader….Friends. I used to keep my distance out of fear, only approaching people for a story or sources for events that happened before my arrival.

That changed upon learning about Cynthia Jennings. Originally, Julia Ingram only gave me the missing Cynthia’s journal as a warning. But when I suggested that I could probably use it to find her, Julia became more forthcoming with what she knows, which, to be fair, wasn’t a lot. But due to being a native, she was much more effective at finding/referencing material than I was.

At first, our relationship was strictly professional. However, the more time we spent together let her open up and relax. Our interactions still focus mainly on trying to find Cynthia, but we do stuff outside of that together. We often eat lunch with each other.

Julia is my only friend, I think. She has one other friend besides me–Sara Powers.

Outside of Julia, I have a few other acquaintances that I’m on good terms with. Margo and I will occasionally talk or text, and the girl with the cow eyes will give me a smile and wave when she sees me. And my neighbors will hold conversations with me and give sagely wisdom if I ask for it.

Micah Prince will sometimes give me a nod or raise a glass of brown soda to me when he’s on his porch, but he otherwise treats me with gentle ambivalence. He’s reluctant to share knowledge, and gets defensive when I bring up the girl who lives with him (when I can remember her–I needed a sticky note to remember to mention her)

I hope that answers your question Dear Reader.

((Sorry this took so long! I think this is my longest post–I had to go through a bunch of notes to keep this accurate. Thank you for such a great ask anon))

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condiscum · 6 years

Text

Chapter One: The Crash

So, literal years after starting this damn thing, chapter 1 is finally complete. I worked very hard on it, so I’d super appreciate reblogs!

In case y’all wanna read it on AO3 instead: [link]

Cannonfire’s muffled booms were still sounding from beyond the canyon. The light of their blazing from the west was painting the midnight skies like dawn. Still, Talæesyn couldn’t shake the feeling that something was desperately, hopelessly wrong. The egg that Caithe had stolen, again, was of course their top priority, so why was it that he felt his mind wandering further and further away from this goal, and more into unorganized terror?

The wind shaking the branches overhead and the hum of insect wings didn’t purr in comforting harmonies. Instead, it felt as if the trees were closing in on him, pulling in tighter and tighter as he made his way through the forest that connected the Brisban Wilds with the canyons that blocked Mordremoth’s grasp.

As he rounded into the clearing, he felt a strange urge rising up from within him, a strong tugging at the back of his mind. The urge to draw blood, to maim… to—

Kill them all.

The voice spoke like a whisper without real form, and before he knew what was happening, he realized his hand had reached reflexively for his sword. He yanked his hand back as though the grip had burned him, and skidded to a halt, eyes unfocused.

Somewhere in his periphery he vaguely registered Horus and Sapphire continuing without him.

What had he just been about to do?

A low voice brought him back to the present.

“Are you alright, Tal?” Horus spoke, turning back toward him.

“I—” he stuttered, swallowing hard. “Yes. I’m fine.”

His eyes narrowed at him evaluatively, but he could see the charr’s understanding. Talæesyn knew he too was replaying Caithe’s memory seed within his mind. However, there was no accusation to his gaze.

“If you’re sure.” he said. “Let’s keep moving.”

“Right.” He replied.

He urged his heart to beat more slowly and forced his eyes to focus on the moonlit path. The others were waiting on their arrival. The others were waiting on his arrival, and for as much as it would make his heart ache to see Mercer again, Talæesyn welcomed the easing burden of a shared secret.

His nerves were finally getting to him, he decided, but his sword would not bring him comfort now. Instead, he waved his hand before him, painting blue aura into the air, weaving the light together until it shaped a rod. He reached to catch the staff as it solidified and gravity took its hold, letting its glow light the way through to the clearing.

As the trees thinned, he could make out shapes ahead— the silhouette of a charr, a norn and a large golem… the faint glow of petals, ferns and eyes as heads turned to greet him and the others with somber glances.

Their approach brought heavy silence.

As his gaze found it’s way past the others and out into the valley below, he realized that it was not the blaze of gunfire that lit the sky, but an inferno. The smoke-filled horizon was dotted with falling airships, some still gripped in the clutches of towering vines. The flames were engulfing much of the dry northern jungle, and amongst the wreckage, he could see figures fighting to escape the fires.

“The fleet…” Talæesyn said finally, unable to tear his eyes away from the horrible sight below. “What happened?”

“Almost as soon as they reached the brink, something went wrong…” Taimi started. “Braham ran off, looking for Eir. Rox went after him. Shylah, Sigrun, Jory and Kas went down to see if anyone is alive and needs our help.”

Talæesyn listened carefully, noting that a particular name had not been mentioned.

“Where’s Gaeren?"

The others looked at each other, as though each not wanting to be the bearer of the news. Tal’s heart beat faster in his chest as Trace stepped forward, a letter in his hand.

Talæesyn ripped it open fervently.

Hello Tal (or should I say, Commander),

Change of plans. I'll be leaving aboard the Durmand's Crusade tomorrow, bright and early. I know you wanted me to meet up with you and your team, but Archon Stick requested I be a part of the assault. I guess he figures I've fought a dragon before, so I'm qualified to fight another one. I'm sure you can relate. Anyways, at this rate, I'm gonna have this dragon beat before you even get to Maguuma. Have fun finding another job when I do!

-Gaeren

“No… no, no, no...” He muttered under his breath.

He felt his heart plummet into his stomach as he read each line. Was there any possibility that he had survived the crash? Would he survive on the ground even if he had? Had he even made it to the ground or had he— no. He refused to acknowledge that as an option.

If only he had waited for him.

God damn it, Gaeren.

“If that weren’t enough, only Shylah’s returned so far, and… She found her father’s body.”

An additional pang of guilt washed over him.

“Glint guide her…” he heard Sapphire mutter. “The poor girl.”

“Yes, well,” Cadteryn said quietly, speaking up from behind Gwynivere, “She ran back off for now. I would be careful when you talk to her… or anyone for that matter, Tal… There aren’t many things we know about the crash except…”

Her gaze fell away. Her refusal to make eye contact made Talæesyn’s chest tighten.

“Except what?” he asked slowly.

“It’s not something you’re going to want to hear.” Cadteryn said.

“This isn’t about what I do or do not want to hear.” Tal replied. “Tell me.”

Cadteryn looked to Gwyn, as though for reassurance.

“Survivors we’ve found so far say that the sylvari on board went mad.” Trace continued for her. “Started lighting up ammunition, driving ships into the ground… They say the Jungle Dragon took them.”

There was a moment of tense silence in which Talæesyn felt the burning gazes of his crew awaiting his reaction.

Seeing the lack of shock upon his face, Mercer’s brow furrowed.

“What do you know that you aren’t telling us?” He asked.

Talæesyn hesitated.

“Mercer, we all felt it.” Cadteryn whispered in his stead. “You should know by now.”

“But you knew first.” Mercer shot back, his demanding gaze not leaving Talæesyn. “And you didn’t tell us, why?”

“I didn’t have time!” Tal said defensively. “Liar!” Mercer snapped.

“I only just learned myself… Caithe’s memories showed us.”

“So, the firstborn knew…”

“Enough, both of you!” Gwyn interrupted. “This doesn’t help us now.”

Mercer seethed audibly. Talæesyn sighed. This was going about as well as he had imagined it would. He ran a hand down his face in thought.

“Gwyn’s right.” He said, finally. “This isn’t the time or place for this. We need to get down there and see if we can find any survivors. That’s our first priority.”

The others followed him with little dissent as they climbed their way down from the plateau over the wastes that met the Brink. By the time they reached the cliffs, the fires had quieted. Whether they had been extinguished or simply run out of fuel, Tal couldn’t tell. The hollow shells of the blackened ships stood like ruined towers over the cliffs below. One chunk of a ship had fallen into the ground, marking a thick ring of metal. A small fire was shining in the night from within, glinting off of the surrounding steel supports. It was too small to be a burning bit of wreckage.

Survivors?

Talæesyn half ran, half slid down the steep incline and onto the jungle floor, kicking up soot at his feet. The ash was still falling through the air like snow, but he could see his target clearly. As he approached, the figures became more distinct. A group of humans, two charr, a few asura, three norn and… Laranthir!

“You’re a welcome sight, Commander.” Laranthir said as he approached, waving an arm.

“Laranthir, glad to see you survived… Status report?” Tal asked.

“The situation is grim.” Laranthir started, his face darkening. “Mordremoth tore the fleet apart. The pact is in ruins. Trahearne and Destiny’s Edge were taken prisoner. They were alive, but now MIA, and the remaining soldiers no longer trust me.”

Marjory stepped forward into the firelight from where she stood next to Kasmeer, her arms crossed.

“And you’re surprised?” She asked. “Scarlet, Aerin, and now this. Mordremoth always uses sylvari to do its dirtiest dirty work.” Talæesyn shot her a warning glance, and she quieted again. Thankfully, one of the other soldiers spoke up in her silence.

“We need to strengthen our defenses around here. Our priority has to be salvaging weapon parts from the crash site.” The Priory charr spoke.

Before Tal had time to think, Laranthir responded, his voice tired and rehearsed.

“What about our comrades in the cavern? The Pact does not abandon its own.”

“Look around, ‘sir’.” The charr responded. “There is no more Pact. And the prisoners you want to save are probably already dead.”

“Think it through, soldier.” Laranthir said carefully. “We need greater numbers, or any salvage party we send will disappear just like the others…”

“Stand by, Laranthir.” Talæesyn interrupted. “I need to think this through.”

He closed his eyes, running scenarios in his mind.

There were the facts: There were pact members trapped in a cavern presumably nearby, taken prisoner by Mordremoth’s forces. There was a necessity to protect what few survivors were left from the crash that had also escaped that raiding party.

However much it pained him to admit it, there was also the very real possibility that Laranthir’s thoughts were being influenced, just as his were just hours ago. He could feel his instincts telling him to rescue the prisoners, but could he even trust his own mind?

As though in the distance, he heard the voices of nearby pact members discussing their fate.

“We need supplies and salvage to build up this position, or we’re all gonna die.” Said one low norn voice.

“No, Laranthir’s right this time. We have to rescue the Pact prisoners. It’s both logical, and our duty.” an asura voice piped up.

There were no sylvari survivors in this group. This likely meant that those who had been on the nearby ships had either died or turned. This group was unlikely to trust his judgement, no matter what his decision was.

The way forward was clear.

“Everyone, listen up!” He called out, voice booming over the flames. “We’ve suffered a serious setback, but we’re far from beaten. I trust Laranthir. If you trust me, you can trust him. We’re all still on the same side, understood?”

“Yes, Commander!” The asura from earlier called back.

“Laranthir will join me on the search-and-rescue team. If you would like to join this team, volunteer now. If you are not on this team, dig in and fortify this position.”

Two new hands raised to accompany him, along with the hands of Gwyn, Cadteryn, Zaven and Trace. He beckoned them over to his side of the fire. The others stepped away.

“Good. Now fall in and get to work!”

The effect of his command was immediate. The other Pact members started up to move out. However, the Priory charr looked at him with disgust.

“It’s not worth risking more lives to save sylvari prisoners.” She spoke up gruffly, stopping the others in their tracks. “They’re already gone. Sylvari belong to Mordremoth.”

With that, she shoved her way past the others, out of the ring and into the wilds toward the Silverwastes.

Talæesyn grit his teeth, but ultimately could not stop her decision. As if a question, he raised his eyebrows, meeting the gaze of every remaining Pact member. When no voices answered, he turned on his heel.

The others followed closely as he made his way at the point of the group, turning to Laranthir for instructions every time they reached a new split in the path. They found their way down a set of ruined stairs in a cavernous alcove until they reached a small stream by a cliffside.

Bloodstains marked the ground around them, but there were no bodies to be found.

“Not a good sign…” Tal muttered under his breath.

He allowed his light-magic-forged staff to dissipate into the air around them, not wanting to draw more attention to them all in the dark.

It was too late, however.

As though on cue, a group of imposingly large Mordrem emerged from a cave to the north of them, and like clockwork, the team fell into fighting positions.

“So nice of you to come to us…” The foremost guard said, baring its gnarled teeth in a twisted grin. It waved an arm, and with that, the other guards bolted forward.

The first guard to attack was felled by Laranthir’s rifle, it’s armored body splashing up mud and water as it hit the ground.

Talæesyn led the charge into the center of the group, greatsword drawn. Gwyn and Cadteryn and the Whispers norn followed suit, while Laranthir, Trace, Zaven and the Vigil asura stayed behind at range.

Tal swung heavily at the largest Mordrem Guard, cleaving into it’s side and narrowly avoiding its own hammer blow. An arrow from another guard grazed his left bracer as he sidestepped the first guard’s upward swing.

With finesse, he plunged his sword up and into the guard’s chest, spattering thick golden blood onto his face and arms.

A tangling vine emerged from the dirt beneath him, grabbing onto his ankles and setting him off balance. He cursed as he fell forward and into the fray, his greatsword still firmly planted in the fallen Mordrem’s chest. Crying out as the vine’s thorns pierced his armor and carved into his legs, he turned himself over just in time to see a large sword aimed directly at him.

He waved his palms in front of him, conjuring a shield that deflected the blow and knocked the guard back, directly into the path of Gwyn’s hammer. It smashed into the Mordrem’s skull with a sickening crunch. Cad knelt beside him under the exchange of arrows and bullets and sliced the vines from his legs with her dagger.

“Move.” She murmured as the hammer-wielding Mordrem made to strike again.

Talæesyn rolled out of the way and back onto his feet, wrenching his sword free from the corpse’s chest.

Suddenly, a voice called from above.

“Can anyone hear me?” It asked, panicked. “We’re up here!”

The action seemed to stop for a brief moment as both Pact and Mordrem listened to the voice above. However, when the short lived peace was over, the Mordrem seemed all the more aggressive.

“Commander, you heard that, right?” Zaven asked, slicing through the weapon-arm of the smallest Mordrem Guard. “From above?”

“Yes.” Tal replied through gritted teeth as he swung his greatsword around him with great force, slicing into the hamstring of that same guard before pulling his pommel into the abdomen of another.

Soon, the Mordrem were cut down entirely, leaving the stream running amber beneath them. Vines, just the same as what had rooted Tal earlier emerged from the ground and wrapped their tendrils around the bloodied bodies and severed limbs, pulling them back toward the cave from which they came.

A chill ran up Talæesyn’s spine as he watched the vines slowly consuming the fallen guards. He couldn’t help but imagine himself in their place. A ring of laughter echoed in his mind that was distinctly not his own.

He forced it from his mind, swallowing hard.

Another long pathway of stone stairs wound up the cliffside, separating them from the voice they had heard. They made their way up single file, each checking to make sure their magi-gliders were prepared to launch in case one of them fell. When they reached the top, there was a clearing with several cages shaped from vines. Talæesyn felt as though he had seen the Nightmare Court using cages like these back near the Grove.

“Get us out of here!” the voice called from within one of the tangled cages.

“We’re coming!” Talæesyn replied.

The group moved forward, each drawing weapons or knives to slice through the thick vines and branches that surrounded the prisoners. As the vines fell, Tal saw Pale Reaver uniforms, along with corpses— even those of sylvari— at their feet. One by one, they were released from their cages.

“I’m ready to kill the enemy, sir.” said one of the Pale Reavers, saluting Talæesyn. “All I need is my rifle and a clear line of sight.”

“I knew someone would come for us…” Said another. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” said Trace, sheathing his daggers once more. “The Mordrem keep taking corpses and prisoners. You’re the first we’ve had of any sign of where they end up.”

“We feared the worst when you went missing. Glad to see you’re alive. What went on here?” Zaven asked.

The Pale reavers looked to each other before one spoke up.

“Mordremoth’s forces overpowered us.” he said. “They locked us up here… with corpses from the crash site. They took the others south to ‘join the jungle dragons army’. We would have been next.”

“We didn’t break.” another continued, her eyebrows drawing together in righteous fury. “And now we’re going to give Mordremoth’s horde a taste of what it gave us.”

“I hope this proves what I’ve been saying— if we work together, this doesn’t have to be a total disaster.” Laranthir said softly to Talæesyn.

“I believed you.” Tal replied, hoping the firmness in his words would help Laranthir feel more at ease.

Just then, a booming voice interrupted them.

“Welcome, fodder.” It said, a huge Mordrem emerging from the thick. “Mordremoth has plans for you all.”

It was nearly twice Talæesyn’s height and armored twice as broad. Tal thought to himself that it must be one of Mordremoth’s champions.

It wielded a hammer with a head roughly the size of Talæesyn’s own chest. Being hit with it would not be an option— for any of them.

Just as this thought crossed his mind, the Mordrem opened its mouth again in a cheshire cat grin.

“Mordremoth! Your enemies are here. Help your servants destroy them.”

Talæesyn felt the ground shake beneath his feet as Mordremoth’s voice seared across his mind once more.

“This world is mine.” It roared.

The ground buckled underneath them and they scattered just in time to see a huge twisted Mordrem neck at least three stories high breaching through the dirt. The Breacher spit out dozens of half formed Mordrem wolves which took the offensive as soon as their claws hit earth.

Laranthir and the rescued Pale Reavers began attacking them from range using arrows and rifles to spray into the crowd. A single blow from Gwyn’s hammer took down the nearest wolf, but it wasn’t long before Cadteryn was overpowered. She fell back to the ground as the wolves mauled her flesh, tearing into her shoulder and arm.

Talæesyn pulled Kudzu from his back, kneeled, and aimed a single arrow at through the side of the first wolf, knocking it over and off of Cadteryn. Two further shots ended the assault, but before he had the chance to help her up, he found himself the target of the massive Mordrem hammer wielder.

He shifted his focus quickly, calling for allied fire behind him as he kneeled again and aimed four shots directly into the Mordrem’s torso. The Mordrem was barely fazed. A single blow to the ground shook the ground so heavily that he lost his balance, nearly falling over and into the dirt. He slung Kudzu back over his shoulder and unsheathed his greatsword, calling back for Trace and Zaven to come in close alongside him.

Zaven sliced deeply into the Mordrem’s back as Trace grabbed Talæesyn’s used arrows and thrust the tip of one into the Mordrem’s eye.

The Mordrem flailed blindly for a moment, causing the group to fall back at range and avoid its swinging hammer.

“There is no escape, Commander.” The mordrem laughed. “You will all serve the Jungle Dragon.”

The hammer hit ground again, causing vines to spring up from its path. Tal could see Gwyn before him becoming tangled, the vines forcing her to the ground. She was a perfect target.

He ran to her, slashing open the vines with his sword, hacking at the ones at her neck, wrists and waist. As he carved through the ones at her feet and urged her to move, however, he could sense something behind him.

The Mordrem had regained awareness. Talæesyn just had time to stand and avoid its first swing, but failed to move in time to dodge its second. The hammer came up and around, momentum carrying it horizontally with great speed. The sound of his own ribs cracking filled his ears as the hammer hit him squarely in the back.

He blacked out.

When he came to, his vision was blurry. Out of the haze, he could see Trace plunging both of his blades deep into the Mordrem’s abdomen. Golden blood spurted up onto his face and arms as he withdrew the blades and lunged again.

He blinked.

Gwyn was on her feet again, dancing around the Mordrem’s blows with renewed vigor. He saw Trace improvisationally grab a thick severed vine from the ground and tangle the Mordrem’s legs. Just as he did, Gwyn took a swing at the back of its knees, setting it off balance.

Tal stood up, shaking his head clear and rushed the Mordrem with all his strength. As his shoulder hit his enemy’s chest, the Mordrem was knocked onto its back.

Tal regained his balance as well and raised his sword with a mighty cry, and plunged it deep into the Mordrem’s chest.

As he drove the sword down into the Mordrem champion’s heart, he felt a thrill coursing through his veins. His mouth twitched into a grin. The violence, the gore… It felt exhilarating. He wanted to kill more.

As he looked down into the Mordrem’s face and met it’s dying eyes, it’s face contorted into a smile as well. He heard it begin to laugh-- just a low chuckle of understanding that soon became a gurgle as the light left it’s eyes.

Tal let himself sit, weight on the blade for just a moment as he forced himself back to reality. The buzzing in the back of his mind was growing stronger.

He wanted to throw up.

He conjured his staff again as a light source as he sheathed his greatsword. Hugging one arm around his chest, he focused on healing his ribs and back before looking around at the injuries of the others.

He moved toward Cadteryn who had taken shelter back in one of the open cages and was tending to her wounds. He knelt beside her, taking a look at the thick golden claw and tooth marks that had ravaged her elbow, shoulder and chest.

“I’m sorry.” He said quietly, collecting blue light in his outstretched palms. “This might hurt.”

She nodded in understanding and closed her eyes tightly as he pressed his hands to each of the wounds. Within moments, they were healed nearly completely. Just a shadow of the wounds before still lingered.

“We’d better get back to camp.”

They traveled the path back in relative silence. Tal could hear murmurs behind him as the group consolidated, asking questions about their experiences, planning for their next fights.

As they reached the campsite, Talæesyn noticed that there were new faces, but also a significantly larger number of injured than there were before.

This was the price of his decision. Obviously they hadn’t been able to secure enough supplies to fully fend off further raids.

“Listen up!” he called to the others. “We’re breaking camp. Get the wounded to the Silverwastes.”

“Commander?” Laranthir spoke up, motioning him aside.

Talæesyn followed.

“There are more Pale Reavers out there.” He said, quietly. “I’d like to gather them together and take command. As a sylvari-only unit, we can monitor and protect ourselves from threats both internal and external. If any of us show signs of… Faltering, the others will do what needs to be done.”

“Consider your request authorized.” Tal replied. “Good luck, Laranthir… May the Pale Mother guide and protect us all…”

“Thank you, Commander.” Laranthir said, a weary smile on his face. “I’m headed to the high ground— That’s where the Pale Reavers were trained to go. And do talk to some of those that we rescued. They may have overheard valuable intel while they were imprisoned.”

Talæesyn nodded, returning the other’s tired smile and turned toward the group. However, just as he was about to address his comrades once more, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye.

Shylah had returned, and her expression was plain to read. All at once, he became aware of how he must look to her— conferring privately with another sylvari while the others carried wounded up the cliffs.

“Shylah…” He said, cautiously, remembering what had been said earlier.

“You!” Shylah responded, drawing her sword and pistol immediately.

Tal, in exchange, lowered his staff, laying it on the ground beside him and raising his hands.

“I’m not going to fight you, Shylah. We’re on the same side.”

“Same side??” She responded. “You led us here— into this— this carnage and now… You expect me to believe you didn’t know?”

“I didn’t, Shylah. I promise you. I would never have led us here if I had known.”

She stepped forward only just, pistol raised and aimed between his own eyes. Talæesyn heard the others reaching for their own weapons defensively, but moved a hand to tell them to stand down.

“They say the sylvari bombed the ships. Attacked the pilots, drove the ships toward each other. All the while people, like my father, struggled to put them down.”

“There’s nothing I can say that will make this right,” Tal said, his stomach knotted and writhing, “I can’t undo the past or bring the dead back to life.”

“You’re right. Nothing you can say will undo what you’ve done.”

Within an instant, she blinked forward, her silhouette shattering into a swarm of butterflies and reappeared at the center of their group, just behind Tal. With a single motion, she raised her sword, eyes locked on the commander, and before anyone could respond, struck true.

⁂

For a brief moment, Mercer’s eyes locked on Talæesyn’s. Whether from shock or illusion, it seemed as though the world had stopped. The roaring flames behind them became silence, and all Mercer could hear was the faintest of cries, almost a gasp of surprise, from Talæesyn’s lips. His eyes grew wide and unfocused, his head turning back toward the blackened sky, as the blade blossomed from his chest. And there behind him, stood Shylah, her whole body leaned into the thrust, looking on in grim satisfaction from his shadow.

Mercer could feel his blood beginning to boil. His throat burned, rough and dry, cracking his voice as he shouted, teeth bared.

What had she done?

What had she done??

He would kill her. He would rend her soul from her body before she had time to withdraw the blade. He would paint the forest with her blood, tear her heart from her breast and weave her back together to do it again.

He would make her suffer.

But before he could reach for his axe, he realized he was struggling against a sharp grip on his arm. Cadteryn was stopping him, and he nearly turned his blade on her before he understood why.

There, amidst the screaming emotions and the static of conflicting magics, he could feel it. Talæesyn’s lifeforce had not yet fully faded.

In that moment, time began again. Shylah had drawn back her sword, leaving Talæesyn free to collapse facedown onto the dirt before him. At that same time, he saw Gwynivere leap forward to cleave the mesmer in two, but no sooner than her blade was within reach, Shylah's figure shattered into a cloud of butterflies and reappeared at the edge of the trees.

Gwyn turned back to Cadteryn, who in turn gave Mercer a reassuring look before vanishing into the night to pursue her. As much as it sickened him to relinquish that control, Mercer begrudgingly gave it. His revenge could wait. Talæesyn would not.

With this in mind, he quickly knelt beside his fallen form. Even in the dim firelight he could see the blood darkening the armor around the wound. He quickly turned him over, cradling him for a moment in his arms before placing him gently back on the ground.

Mercer let out a shaky breath, feeling some relief as he dried his eyes knowing that Talæesyn was unconscious. Talæesyn’s staff— the beam of pure white light had not yet disappeared, and so Mercer pulled it toward him, as he searched his mind for a healing spell.

If he could not heal him directly, perhaps he could heal him through healing himself.

He quickly withdrew the thin dagger from his hip and unflinchingly carved a deep line into the flesh of his palm. As the golden blood began to pool upon the surface, he pressed it firmly to the wound in Talæesyn’s chest.

The light of the staff was quickly polluted by his grip as he raised it skyward, sending spirals of inky blackness through it’s bright white glow as he called for the souls of the dead to come forth.

All at once, the light of the crash behind him brightened as hundreds of green orbs began streaming through the air, suctioning toward him with more force than he could handle. He braced himself as their energy merged with his, sending vibrations of magic down to his very bones. With all of his strength, he willed his hand not to heal, and instead poured all of his focus onto Talæesyn’s body before him.

Mercer gritted his teeth, his body alight with the black fire of souls, as he prayed to whatever power would hear him. He prayed to the Six, to gods unnamed, to Haman Bloodwright and even the sealed god Dhuum.

Healing was never something he excelled at— it conflicted with the only magic he possessed, but as blood met blood, he knew he would succeed. In this setting, how could he possibly fail?

Mordremoth had given him a perfect source. All of the souls from the crash fresh for the reaping— hundreds of spirits of soldiers, tempered with powerful magics, full of emotions of shock and betrayal… What greater power could he ask for?

Ghoulish green light flared from his palms as he chanelled the spirits forcefully through his body. Feeling the energy of his death shroud burning off of him, struggling to reign in the power, his mind focused on revenge once more.

If it was Mordremoth’s power she hated, he would use it.

If it was a war she hoped to stop, he would start one.

If it was death she hoped to flee, he would ensure it.

If it was a monster she feared… he would become one.

#guildwars 2 #guild wars 2 #gw2 #gw2 hot #heart of thorns #the gang #hot rewrite #chapter 1 #reposting in tumblr post format #maybe this will get more attention #i tell myself hopefully #mypost

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sonicringbond · 3 years

Text

Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey - Scene 36

At last we arrive at the end of the 2-parter or 2-weeker if you prefer. Does it have a big dramatic finish? I’ll let you decide that for yourselves in...

The tiny planet hung in the sky. Above the mountain ruins that Sonic ran through. Above the storm clouds that Draw tried to keep the golems that held Rosy from reaching. Above the blue aurora and the god who stood in Rosy’s dreams. And at last Rosy had heard its name. Yoluku. Or as she and Sonic had taken to calling it in so short a time. Yolk.

“Ooh~! Even in my sleep that creepy little planet just won’t go away,” Rosy resumed her fusing before turning her eyes back down onto the entity in her dreams. Or tried to.

“Eh? Huh? What’s going on, I can’t lower my head!”

Trying her best, and even putting her hands on her head she could not turn her head away from the little planet in the sky. Even waving her arms in front of her face did nothing as her arms simply became transparent.

“Cree~py!” Rosy cried out and could not even force her eyes closed. “This bad dream is starting to become a nightmare!”

Rosy was not the only one who could not take her eyes off the little planet in the sky. Sonic found his own eyes affixed to it as he was sure he saw something beyond it which was not the red crack in the sky.

“Is that…?”

“…another Red Star Ring?” Draw finished the question as he stood up on a floating eye-type golem and looked up at the heavens through the crown of storm clouds. He did not realize however that he was already in ear shot of Sonic.

“What are you doing here!” Sonic’s question broke through Draw’s trance and he looked across to where Sonic was glaring at him from a nearby cliff. “And where’s Amy!”

“I’m trying to catch up! You left me to fend against an army of golems with only a bow and arrow! How was I supposed to keep her safe! And I’m betting you did that too!”

Pointing up the mountain at the towering entity at its peak, also transfixed on Yoluku, Draw called Sonic’s actions out. “How did waking that thing up come into collecting Rings! What is wrong with you!”

“Believe it or not, but I was trying to get her some help dealing with that oversized egg in the sky!”

“Now I know where she gets her food obsession from!”

Sonic did not humor Draw with a reply and flicked his nose before taking off back up the mountain. He was going to need a great deal of altitude to spot which golem had taken Rosy. Peaking back and forth between the swarm of golems and the entity on the mountain, Sonic noticed it was clutching at the crystal rose that seemed to be its heart.

“Maybe that will…,” Sonic started before turning to yell back at Draw. “I’m going to do something crazier than ever! Find Amy before I pull it off and get her somewhere safe!”

“And where would that be!” Draw yelled back, but Sonic was already moving up the mountain in a demonstration of skill that showed just having his speed was not enough to match him in its use.

Accelerating as he climbed, Sonic hit the sound barrier the moment he reached the end of an incline he had climbed in the blink of an eye. As he left the ramp, he curled into a ball to perform his signature Spin Attack and was like a fired bullet as a sonic boom erupted around him.

The sound at last drew the entity’s attention away from Yoluku and it turned quick enough for Sonic to pierce its spectral body and land on the gyroscopic mechanism within its heart. And wasting no further time, Sonic devastated the contraption, the ancient stone standing little chance against his fury of attacks.

“Ha~ hahahahaha!” the entity surprised Sonic by laughing aloud even as it crashed back down into the mountains from which it rose.

Sonic was flung from where he attacked back down the mountain and through a cloud of flying golems. Within that collection of golems, he spotted Rosy draped across the arms of one that resembled a smaller headless version of the entity’s stone upper half. With a smirk that things were going well for him at last, Sonic twisted his body to find a foothold on another passing golem. With just a flick of his ankles he kicked off and crashed a Spin Attack right into the core of the one that held Rosy.

In a spectacular display of acrobatics, Sonic recovered from the recoil of his impact and snagged the sleeping Rosy from the air. With her safely in his arms, he allowed himself a smile. “You’re something else, you rascal. Do you always get into this type of trouble when I’m not around?”

“Maybe…,” Rosy whispered weakly as Sonic’s voice bridged the gap between her dreams and the waking world. But as she turned her head to look at his reassuring face in both her dreams and reality, her eyes fell fully on Yoluku. A jolt tore through her body and she cried out in pain.

“Sonic! Sonic! It hurts!”

“Amy!"

“KYAAAA~~~~~~!!!!!”

Trying to understand what it was that made Rosy cry out, Sonic turned to look at her to make sure she wasn’t just half asleep. But the way her eyes snapped open in terror told him otherwise.

It was an expression he never wanted to see on her face, and he felt powerless. In her eyes though he saw Yoluku reflected and a Red Star Ring behind the ominous planet. Turning his head to look back, he saw only a hint of the Red Star Ring’s presence behind Yoluku. In Rosy’s eye however it was clearly reflected. A broken ring at two of the star points, a length of a red gear in the gaps holding the ring together. Reflected so clearly in Rosy’s eyes was it that that very Red Star Ring replaced her left iris and pupil. Sonic could do nothing to hide his surprise and again he heard the entity he came to the mountain to speak with laugh.

“A fair exchange,” its voice bellowed through the storm as it descended once more onto the mountains. You freed me from Yoluku’s power and now Yoluku has claimed the medium in compensation. Now, even freed I am powerless to help you, and you her. Ha~hahahahaha~!”

~I never learned what Sonic wanted to see up in those mountains. When I came too after passing out from my fever, it was in a seaside hotel. Sonic had been resting on the foot of the bed and greeted me casually when I woke up. He was ready and raring to go in search of his next adventure. He talked about finding Tails as he wanted to learn more about the world and was sure he could help us. But he never talked about what happened up in those mountains and neither did Draw.

~Hee-hee! Normally I’d complain about it or comment it wasn’t like Sonic to keep secrets, and I know I didn’t stop asking them for a while. It’s not just that I wanted to know, but that I had to know. My cards wouldn’t tell me anything either. But I know something happened. I didn’t just have a scary dream up on those mountains. I didn’t just get sick. Something happened to me, and I know it had to do with that dreaded little planet, Yolk.

~It had to after all.

~The Red Star Ring that replaced my left eye from time to time in my reflection was identical to the one I saw behind Yolk in my dream. And even when my eye appeared normal, it sometimes wasn’t blue like my right eye, but the same shade of red as a Red Star Ring. I’m sure Sonic and Draw saw it too. Sonic didn’t show that he did and told me any problems that we had we could just figure out later. He was so optimistic, but the way Draw looked when he looked me in the eye, and then back at Sonic… I know they know and just don’t want me worrying. But I’m stronger than that. Even with a Red Star Ring replacing my left eye every so often, I can still be cheerful and my usual self. I feel great and want to help find Tails and the rest of our friends and I won’t let this little bit of weirdness stop me!~

-|-

In Tower Point, Claymore the Purple stood with his arms on his hips watching Yoluku from a bridge between towers. He never saw the Red Ring that appeared behind it, but reports would soon arrive to him of sightings of it. The one that would most hold his interest though was barely arriving.

“Good Knight!” the black robed priest that strode out onto the bridge greeted the three-meter tall autogolem. “You will be pleased to know that we have compiled all of the reports involving those who have seen the Red Star Ring with the gear within.”

“Ho!” Claymore greeted the priest mirthfully as he turned. “And have you determined if any of them are mediums?”

“Not per say Good Knight,” The priest scratched the back of their neck and looked away. “It’s just that one of the sightings...”

“Ho~,” Claymore expressed his curiosity with an exclamation. Squatting down, he leaned in close to the priest. “Pray tell. Did someone hear something at one of these sightings?”

“It’s not what it sounds like Good Knight,” The priest looked away not sure how Claymore would react. Claymore remained patient however and kept his silence so that the priest might report. So prompted, they continued anxiously.

“You see Good Knight, and we’re lucky this report was filed at all as it is so unusual, but one of the sightings was not of the Red Star Ring appearing in the sky behind Yoluku. Rather as the left iris of a traveling pink hedgehog girl.”

“Has the seal grown so weak that Yoluku could act!” Claymore asked as he clenched his fist, the creaking of metal frightening the priest. But Claymore meant the priest no harm and spun to his feet, striding quickly for an entrance to one of the towers the bridge joined. “We must meet with this girl at once. Yoluku acts and we must know why.”

Before the priest could act, Claymore suddenly turned around and held a finger up, perhaps even winked one of his glowing purple eyes. “But you leave the gathering of soldiers to me. Return to the radios in case of more sightings and forget not the banquet. The people still need hope. And perhaps I might restore the seal myself before then and we can feast in celebration.”

Scene 36 · CLEARED Sonic & Rosy, End

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And that wraps up the 2-parter/2-weeker. I hope no one minds that things took a hard shift there at the end, but the idea was to cause an event to get Sonic and Rosy more invested in the lands below Yoluku. Having Rosy get branded in a way is a huge part of that. It also allows me to introduce another bit of interest further down the road. AU or not, this is still a Sonic the Hedgehog story and that means that means he has to face off against machines and protect nature. Or at least if I stick to the usual themes. But we’ll leave that for the future and I hope you enjoyed. Thank you everyone!

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Special Thanks to Cutegirlmayra Story by @JoshTarwater/SonicFanJ Inspiring Song – One Last Kiss – Hikaru Utada – From Neon Genesis Evangelion: 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time

Fair Use Disclaimer

*Sonic Ring Bond logo created by DEE Art – twitter.com/daryliscute.

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic fan fiction #sonic au #sonic au series #sonic ring bond #the journey #classic amy #amy rose #rosy the rascal #au amy #amy redesign #sonic oc #patch #draw the koala

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