#i only drew the spear but !!! yeh !!!

[maryoliverdotcom]

Virah—Chapter 2

“The Padshah Begum-ji wishes to hear you sing,” a tall, sunburnt man finally announced. “You may enter. Guards, remove your spears—stand at ease.” The guards let their spears fall to their sides, a stoic expression coating their faces.

Qameer drew in a shaky breath. Om namah Shivay, om namah Shivay, om namah Shivay. Victory to Lord Shiva. Cautiously, she stepped into the durbar. She had originally planned to walk in long, sure strides, but right now, she could only focus on not collapsing onto the carpet.

The Padshah Begum was nowhere to be seen. Qameer almost let her shoulders relax—here, take note of the word almost. The relief was gone as quick as its arrival when she caught sight of the courtiers seated on both sides of the carpet, passionate, lustful eyes boring deep into her skull. A man leaned over and whispered something in his friend’s ear.

Qameer rolled her eyes. 

Without warning, a trumpet sounded thrice, followed by a conch. The courtiers stood up, and so did Qameer. She steeled her heart, her grip on the scroll of poetry tightening with each passing second. Om namah Shivay, om namah Shivay, om namah Shivay.

Qameer set her jaw as the Begum entered, her previous nervousness forgotten. There is no place for fear in a poet’s mind. Only truth, and truth only.

Om namah Shivay.

x—x

“Remove the veil,” a sharp voice cut through the silence. “There will be no need for it.”

“But Begum-ji, a woman—”

Her Majesty raised her hand, cutting him off. “I am Padshah Begum. There will be no further discussion regarding this matter.” She raised her chin, looking down at him. “Remove the veil.”

The man’s face remained unchanged as he lifted the purdah in one, swift motion. “Jo agya, Padshah Begum-ji.”

A pause, and then the familiar sounds of the trumpet, followed by the conch. The Begum walked into the durbar, brisk footsteps echoing throughout the room. She took a seat on the Peacock Throne and raised a hand, at which the courtiers sat down. Qameer followed suit, mistrustful of the strength of her knees.

“Mehfil shuru ki jaaye,” the Begum declared, catching Qameer's eye. Her voice was rich and deep, exactly how Qameer had thought a queen’s voice to be. The courtiers briefly paused their daily gossip, turning to look at Qameer with both boredom and amusement.

Qameer swallowed what seemed like bile. Om namah Shivay, om namah Shivay, om namah Shivay.

Maa’s face flashed in her mind. There is no place for fear in a poet’s heart.

Baba, reading her Rumi’s poetry. Only truth, and truth only.

Ma, teaching her how to write. Om namah Shivay.

Hafiz. Om namah Shivay.

Rudaki. Om namah Shivay.

Qameer drew in a deep breath, closing her eyes. She would have no need for the scroll.

“Ae ri sakhi…”

Not a single courtier dared speak as Qameer’s voice cut through the silence of the durbar. “Ae ri sakhi, mai anga anga aaj rang daal du, apne jee se prem rang kaise mai utaar du?”

The Begum’s eyes were fixated on Qameer—her eyes lined with kajal, a bindi placed right between her eyebrows on dark skin. The scroll of poetry dangling loosely from her fingers as she sang, her raised hand and furrowed eyebrows. Her eyes kept returning to her lips, which almost seemed to bend the air to her will. “Ae ri sakhi…”

“Tere bina kahi bhi na vyaakul mann laage—” thunder rumbled lowly in the sky— “birhan sur taal saaj, aaj tere aage…”

Qameer’s voice rivaled that of the thunder, reverberating throughout the durbar as the sky tried to match her poetry with a low rumble. “Nainan ko chain nahin, raina raina jaage—” Qameer opened her eyes briefly. A slight smile tugged at the corners of her lips, as if challenging the raging sky. “Ek pal mai toot jaaye saas ke yeh dhaage—” a flash of lightning streaked across the sky, casting a brilliant glow on Qameer for a split second— “tu jo mooh pher sakhi, deha-praan tyaage…”

The rain kept pounding onto the streets of Aurangabaad, and Qameer kept singing. “Pal bhar tu dekh mujhe, zindagi guzaar du—”

The Begum found herself closing her eyes as she leaned back into her throne. “Ae ri sakhi…”

“Meri sakhi, mai anga anga aaj rang daal du—apne jee se prem rang kaise mai utaar du?”

Qameer’s hand slowly dropped to her side as she drew in a shaky breath, her voice accompanied by the music of thunder. “Ae ri sakhi…”

Om namah Shivay. “Ae ri sakhi…”

A crash of lightning, rattling the window.

Om namah Shivay. “Ae ri sakhi…” 

A low hum. The windowpane had cracked.

Om namah Shivay.

A flash of lightning, enveloping her body. She opened her eyes.

The Begum was standing, a small smile playing on her lips as she clapped, slowly, and the entirety of the durbar joined in. The servants rushed towards the windowpane.

Qameer raised her hand in aadaab.

The Begum smiled. “Tasleem.”

@orgasming-caterpillar @ad15124 @raat-baaki @alhad-si-simran @ioverep @amygdaalaa @lemongrass77777 @someonefromawarmclimate @janaknandini-singh999 @ramayantika @amrut-aa please let me know if you'd like to be added to or removed from the taglist!

the poetry is inspired by (basically copy-pasted from) the song virah from bandish bandits :)

thank you shre didi @raat-baaki for helping with the dialogue! <3

#virah chapter 2 #gaylord writes #i'm so scared omg. currently going through writer's block i'm so sorry

[franeridart]

This is probably the most self indulgent thing I’ve drawn in forever 👌

#bakushima #kiribaku #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #my sketches #bakushima su au #well these are just doodles BUT i wasn't even meaning to post them so it's to be expected #i might get back on this i actually had lotsa fun with this concept #i explained it a bit better on my main yesterday but in general #bakus a diamond that enjoys the power but hates the responsibilities #he wants to fight and they don't let him!!!! #kiri is a too unrefined pearl that wishes he were a quartz #he wants to fight and they don't let him !!!!!!!!!!! #they're made for each other ~ #btw kiri's weapon are a spear and a shield #i only drew the spear but !!! yeh !!! #it's v fitting isn't it #everyone: *draws kiri as a quartz for this au* #me: *picks a rock that isn't even a rock for the rock boy* g o m e #i like the idea of him not being meant to fight tho - it fits with his backstory in my head #like 'i just harden' to 'im only a pearl' ???? does that make sense only to me MAYBE SO #there are caption in the pics note to self don't hecking add tags or you'll lose all of them #either way yeh #su is back for half a day and im back to making aus #go #me

[pawnshopsouls]

YoungBones: Tails & Spears

It had been three days since Gunmar had entered the camp’s brawling pit and he hadn’t left yet - not to sleep, not to eat, and definitely not to socialize. He was a roaring tower of fevered rage and it showed in how brutally he contested against each combatant. Bonechard could only watch with mild intrigue as the troll went from one fight to the next, seemingly without tiring. Impressive.

Two other figures stood outside the ring, murmuring to each other as they watched the fights progress. Bonechard grinned and strolled up to them, standing beside the chief opposite to his changeling advisor. Orlagk paused mid-sentence, glancing down at the purple stone caster.

“Heh, I can see now why yeh made him a general,” the caster remarked with a grin. “The brute’s built like a mountain with the energy of an angry ocean!”

“Yes,” Kodanth drawled snidely, glancing at the short terum troll. “Now if he could use that energy to do something other than debilitate half the army, that would be astounding.”

Orlagk growled, his claws digging into his folded arms. “Lad’s in season,” he growled, squinting at the snarling warrior. “He won’t come out of it ‘til the fever’s broken.”

“And he won’t take any of the mares,” Kodanth grunted disdainfully. “He prefers to fight them than rut them.”

Bonely frowned and stroked his chin with a claw. “Prefers fightin’ teh ruttin’ huh? Well now, that I think I can help with.”

Orlagk raised an eyebrow while his advisor sniffed derisively.

“You? Wrangle him? He’s put more than a dozen trolls twice your size in the bonemender’s tent! You wouldn’t possibly—”

The changeling was cut off with the raise of a hand from Orlagk. The chieftain had seen him spar, seen the match between him and Gunmar not even a fortnight ago. “Think ye can handle him, caster?” the warlord mused, eying the caster curiously.

“Wouldn’t make the offer if I didn’t,” Bonely replied, rolling his shoulders. “We’ll see how long he lasts against the tenacity a’ Harth’Terum.” And with that, the cocky caster slid down into the brawling pit, grinning as he readied himself for a fight.

The brawl was spectacular and drew even more of a crowd than expected. Shards and piles of obsidian littered the arena as the general plowed through another black stone construct. Bonechard was a blur of purple and indigo, using his natural roundness to become a rolling boulder of destruction. He’d managed to clobber Gunmar from the back and sides, bruising the giant before his timing was figured out and took a full clenched fist to the face.

The blow sent him skidding across the pit, stars dancing in front of his eyes. The crowd of soldiers was let out a mix of amused cheers and sympathetic oohs as the caster tried to push himself to his feet. He sniffed, purple-black blood dripping down from his nose. That was new. Never had he been struck so hard as to draw blood by someone outside his tribe. This guy was strong and catching him mid-roll was incredible!

Bonechard’s thoughts were interrupted when he felt a hand grip his back and shove him back into the ground. He could hear the other’s heavy, ragged panting, feel the slight tremble of exertion, but more than that, he could almost feel the general’s triumphant grin as he pinned him in place. Bonely wriggled under the hand gripping his scruff, trying to get purchase on the pit’s dirt floor. No luck. The floor of the pit was as soft and churned as a farmer’s freshly plowed field and his claws passed through it as if he were clawing through sand.

“I have you now, caster,” Gunmar laughed, looking down at the terum troll. “No  tricks can save you now!”

Bonely growled, and squirmed again. Of course he’d gloat. Bonechard was the only one in the entire camp he’d have satisfaction in besting in combat. With the tricks he played in arm wrestling, the surprise magics in their first fight Bonely would’ve been surprised if the blue-runed brute didn’t take a moment to bask in his victory - especially one as hard won as this.

“Savor it while it lasts, Gunmar, ‘cause it ain’t gonna last—”

The terum troll froze as he felt claws brush against the ridges of his tail, strumming the invisible strings inside him. His tail lifted briefly as a shimmer of blue and indigo stars sparkled in the grooves of his runes, his magic racing through him and making his stony skin tingle. Suddenly the grips on his mane and tail released and the two combatants stared at each other in such shock that the fight had completely left their mind.

Gunmar looked from Bonechard to his hands and back again, shock and confusion written all over his face. The caster followed his eyes and then let his ears fall as horrified realization dawned on his face. He took in a sharp breath and ducked his head before darting off toward the edge of the ring, his stone flushed almost purple.

“Bonechard!” Gunmar called, raising his head to go after him, “Bonechard, wait! Bonechard!”

Falling to all fours, the young general clambered out of the ring and through the parting crowd. Why did he have to be so fast? Turning his head, he sniffed deep to try and find the terum troll’s scent. South. With his nose on the trail, Gunmar charged down the way after the smaller troll but was soon turned around by the many scents and trails they led. Where had the caster gone?

The general let out a frustrated bellow and pounded his fists into the ground. He wouldn’t be returning to the brawling pit. Not until he found the caster and they discerned just what in the name of Mother Mountain happened in that pit.

#¢::Passin'Gossip::¢ #¢::tribeofterum::¢ #youngbones #bonely #bonechard #caster!bonely #//Whoop there it is #//Bonely's first accidental turn on~ #gunmar #youngmar #young!gunmar #daylightisminetoconsume

[funkymeihem-fiction]

Special Delivery- Chapter 3

Mei lay listlessly upon her mattress, face still bleary with tears as she stared dully at the television screen, not really watching the rugby match still going strong. She was tired from crying, hunger and thirst gnawed her insides, her outside were sore and dirty from the scuffle earlier, and her mind ached with numb fear and despair. She’d had one chance, and it had only led to her nearly getting killed by minefield, roughed up by the pig-masked man, and summarily recaptured. And there might not be any more chances.

She heard the faint k-thump k-thump sound of a familiar peg leg outside, clacking up to the door. She immediately drew back into the corner, covering herself with the blanket. There was the clicking of a series of locks, and then a peg leg slammed the door open and Junkrat was back again. This time he was hauling a bulging burlap sack, which he threw into his makeshift kitchen before starting to empty it. To Mei’s relief, it only seemed to hold cans and containers of food, which he dutifully began stacking on his haphazard shelves.

Eying him warily, Mei remained withdrawn and silent, trying to make herself very small in her corner. But it was only a matter of time before his supplies were stacked, and he dusted off his hands and rounded upon her, placing both hands upon his bony hips. With that crooked smile, he grinned down at her as if they hadn’t been fighting for her life in the dirt just hours earlier.

“Well lookit who’s up yet again!” he said, almost mockingly friendly still. “Just in time for a tucker! Bet you’re hungry, eh love? Haven’t had anything in you since the back of that car, I wager.”

She didn’t answer, merely squinting at him. Back of what car? Perhaps he’d shoved her into the back of a car in order to get her here? She had no memory of anything after getting cornered on that side street. And she was ragingly hungry and thirsty. Not that she’d admit it to him.

“Still pissy, eh?” he grinned at her silence, snickering under his breath with clear glee. “Kinda thought a roll in the dirt might stir up an appetite. Then the whole chain fiasco. Didn’t take you for the slap and tickle sort, but I guess you like it a bit rough.”

Mei turned her head and stared at the floor, tucking her face into her knees. She definitely did not want this Junkrat going down that trail of thought. But he took no notice of her chagrin and kept on talking.

“Heh! Silent treatment! That’s tough tits for you, love, because I jabber on enough for ten people. How about some din-dins?” He paused, but received no answer. “No? Nothing? Guess I’ll just make meself a big Hog-sized plate of eggs and hash all for my lonesome, then!” The junker was already tying on an absolutely filthy grease-stained apron that read KISS THE COOK in much-faded letters, though it looked like he’d purposefully scrubbed away part of an O so it read KISS THE COCK instead. Ugh. Typical. And disgusting.

She remained curled in her corner, watching him balefully as he set up what looked to be a camp stove and pan. Her heart did seize a little when he picked up a rather large knife, but he didn’t even turn her way. She couldn’t see everything the strange man was doing, his beanpole form with his back to her blocking some of whatever he was chopping up on the counter. And throughout it all, just like he said, he talked.

“Now you and I, sweetness, we’re going to have a chat about hospitality. Because I’ll be damned but you’ve gone and pissed all over mine. But you know what, not even that mad at ya. Just scared. Weren’t you, darl? Moved too fast when you woke up, s’my fault really. Probably your head’s all fucked from how I found ya.” He continued chopping, rough enough that she saw flecks of something or other flying into the air. “So I’m gonna be the decent bloke here and let you know that bygones are just bygones! Pretty gallant for someone you just near on ganked with a chain, don’t you think? But really, don’t try to make another attempt at that because Roadie’s in one of his moods, and someone usually dies when he’s in one of his moods. And you’re too cute to get splattered. Oi! How d’you like your eggies!”

Mei stared at him from over the tops of her knees and maintained her shield of silence.

Junkrat sighed wearily. “Nothing? I see how it is. Well guess what, Sullen Sally, you being a little snit about things isn’t improving the situation here. And you just lost dinner fork privileges, by the by! Yeh, I see how you’re looking at me, thinking you’re going to fork ol’ Jamison in the back. Well I’m onto you. It’s spoons for you from here on in.”

He hummed tunelessly to himself as he began piling things into the frying pan, sparking up the camp stove. And soon she recognized the scent of cooking onions and potatoes, the vapors instilling a hunger in her that had only been kept at bay by fear. If Junkrat was right, it really had been days since she’d last eaten, and she was feeling it. And while her junker captor bobbed to some unheard beat and kept cooking, she found herself not really caring what it was that he was making, if he just gave her some.

Unfortunately, her silence earlier (probably combined with trying to kill him before that) had not done much for his good will. As she watched, he piled an enormous portion of hash and eggs onto a plastic tray instead of a plate. Frankly, she was surprised he didn’t eat out of a trough. And instead of offering her any, he took his tray and ambled over to his couch, setting it on his lap as he picked up a fork and promptly began shoveling piles of food into his jaws as he watched her.

Mei glanced up very briefly to his wild golden eyes, then back down to the tray of hash. She was literally salivating now, and swallowed thickly a few times as she tried not to let it drool out of her mouth. Junkrat only smirked even harder when he noticed, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he really did intend to taunt or starve her for her transgressions. He couldn’t be trusted, after all.

He speared a chunk of potato on his fork and pointed it at her. “I can see you’re hungry. Well, I offered you some! S’wrong? S’not poison, see? You don’t like eggs, maybe? What do you like? If you tell me, I’ll get it for you. But you gotta talk to me, pet. How about we start with your name, and then you tell me what you’ll eat.”

She warily bit her lip, but her snarling stomach was too strong to ignore. And he might as well know the name of the lady he had abducted. So she drew herself up a little and kept her eyes on the tray of hash. “Mei-Ling Zhou…Dr. Mei-Ling Zhou.”

His bushy eyebrows shot up. “No foolin’? A doctor! Maybe my luck is changing, I snagged a doctor! Listen, doc, think you could take a look at me? Have enough aches and pains to fill a list. And I got this weird lump on my-”

“Not that kind of doctor!” She held up both hands quickly, warding off any more talk about his lumps. “Not a medical doctor.”

Rat wrinkled his nose in disappointment, then shrugged. “Eh! What use is a doctor who can’t do doctor things? All right, Mei-Ling Zhou. Mei-Ling. Mei. That’s a pretty name.” He turned his crooked smile upon her, clearing his throat and trying a little too hard to be suave. “Pretty name for a pretty lady.”

She half-lidded her eyes at him in reply.

He merely took another huge bite of his dinner, chewing noisily and speaking around a jaw full of food. “Still pissed at you, mind. Gonna have bleedin’ blues and purples all over my neck for a week and my voice is cracking all over, worse than usual. And you trying to kill me in a shithouse? Hell of a location to take someone out. Insult to injury, that is. You know, Miss Mei, I gotta say I rather expected a little more gratitude on your end. ”

Gratitude! He expected gratitude from her! She could feel her hackles rising at the very thought, but she was still very much aware of her situation- chained to a wall and half-naked. She couldn’t risk angering him. So she swallowed and kept her voice soft. “Sorry? I was…scared.”

“Aw, sweetness!” Rat’s gaze softened, going positively gooey in their centers, and his maniac grin almost became a regular one. “See! I knew it! S’not your fault, you just didn’t know what was what, just like I said. Well not to worry. You’re completely safe here with me! I’ve made sure of it. Come on, dry your eyes. Give us a smile!”

She did not give him any sort of smile. “Junkrat? You said your name was Junkrat. Please…you have to let me go.”

He scrunched his face to one side again, spearing another hunk of sausage and shoving it in his gnashing maw. “Sorry, love. I already told you, can’t just let you go off on a lark. Not around here. There’s too much danger around here for wanderin’ guests. And not with folks out looking for you. I shudder t’think of the consequences! You arready saw one of our security measures? Well, they’re for good reason. I know what they’re like. But I’ll keep those louts away from you if it’s the last bleedin’ thing I do.”

“What if…What if you just let them find me? What if you just let me go, and they found me, and I didn’t tell anyone that you took me! Nobody has to get hurt, if you just let them find me safe.” She turned upon him with pleading eyes, pulling her blanket closer around her. It was a long shot, but if the police were searching for her, maybe she could convince the junker to free her in return for clemency.

It didn’t surprise her when he denied her request. What did surprise her was his confusion over it. His brows knitted up and he stared at her as if she was the one who was crazy. “The fuck? Are you bloody mad, love? You want me to let them find you?”

“Of course I do! Why wouldn’t I!”

He set the tray down, still out of her reach. Seemingly baffled, he rose and began pacing uneasily, smoothing back his soot-stiff blond hair. “Well this is…Arright, I see how it is! During our little scuffle, I must have whomped your head a bit. That’s all. Rattled your brains about, and now you’re spitting nonsense. Because you’d have to be mad to want that.”

“There’s nothing mad about it. And I promise you, I won’t tell them that you’re involved. You and your friend, you’ll go completely free. We can just…go our separate ways. Nobody gets hurt, and I can go back with them. Everything can still work out if you just let me go.”

He lunged at her so suddenly that she recoiled, slamming her back into the rough wooden wall. The lanky junker loomed over her, gaze skeptical as he brought his face uncomfortably close to hers. So close that she could smell the eggs and hash he’d just been eating. She almost would have kissed him for a taste of it, if she hadn’t been trying to lean as far away from his person as possible.

Rat stared very intently into her eyes through her glasses, then frowned. “Huh. Was seeing if you got wonky pupils.Ya know. Brain damage. Maybe a little concussion. Don’t fret, lovely, I’ve had plenty of concussions and I turned out just fine! Because that’s what you probably have is brain damage, talkin’ like that.”

“I’m not…concussed. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now please, just let me go!”

He still looked baffled. Still eying her, he shook his head, doubt clear. “You honestly want me to return you to them? Are you having a go at me, Mei? Or is this…Wait, is this some sort of suit rich-lady sex thing?”

“S-sex thing?!”

“Like…get yourself ‘kidnapped’ by junkers? And then they rough you up a bit? Like you have this bad boy fantasy? Or is this like…a cuckold thing? You and your hubby set this up?”

“Husband? Fantasy? What on earth does that even mean! W-why would anyone, why do you think I would…No! What are you talking about!”

Junkrat merely looked confused and even a bit put out. “Because…Look, if this is just some weird fetish you got, this kind of changes how everything went down. And…wow, fuck am I ever in trouble if that’s the case! But I mean…uh, if you really want some junker action sex fantasy here, I’m just saying, if you want that, I’m always available t- OW!”

***

She’d hit him. The bloody crazy not-doctor lady had just hauled off and slugged him. It didn’t hurt, really, not like when she’d choked him out and had the leverage to do so. From down there, she was just too small and soft and there was no power behind it. But she’d clearly meant it to hurt, so he humored her and yelped a bit, falling back right onto his arse.

This Mei-Ling Zhou, who was a doctor but not the right type of one, was even cuter when she was mad. And lucky him, but she seemed to be constantly mad. Even now she was glaring at him, full offense taken.

“How dare you! How can you treat this as a joke!”

He snorted and scooted away from her. “Touchy, touchy! I’m not the one who wants to go running off into…that kind of particular situation! And they say I’m touched in the head. You? You got problems, darl.”

“You’re the one keeping me chained to a wall! After…After what you tried to do to me!”

He threw up both hands. “For the bloody record, I did not! I was trying to gently persuade you not to go runnin’ off into a fuckin’ minefield! So yes, I had to jump on you, but only a little. You know, after I tried calling out to you, but couldn’t. On account of you stranglin’ me to a half death in a goddamn shithouse! And don’t think I forgot that absolutely spot-on nut shot you gave me. Fockin’ hell, I’m going to be singing soprano for weeks.”

“I was trying to stop you from hurting me! Just let me go!”

“I’m not hurting you! For the last time, I am not the junker what was going to hurt you!” he couldn’t help the snarl creeping into his voice, even if it hurt his throat and made her cower. “I know that you rich doctor lady types think all junkers are the same, but it’s not the case. Here. I know your brain’s rattled, so I’ll make this easy to remember for us both. Me, Junkrat. Me good. Good junker. Junkers out there? Baaaad junkers. Me keep you here for your own safety. Ya bloomin’ nutcase, ya.”

“You’re not funny!” she snapped, though she still shrank away from him.

“I happen t’think I’m hilarious!” he answered primly, putting his nose in the air and placing a hand to his bony chest. “Look, darl. This is all getting off on the wrong foot. And that’s bad news for me, because I only got one! Ha!” He shrieked a laugh, but she merely looked unimpressed. Tough crowd. “But look. I promise you, even though I dunno what your weird deal is, I’m not gonna let you come to harm. Never. I tried to tell you, the only reason I put on your cuff there was to keep you from wandering out into danger. And right the damn moment I took it off you, you wandered out into danger…Well, it’s clearly going to stay on a little longer until we hash a few things out. Oh, right, I still got that hash left…”

She eyed him carefully, clearly distrustful. “But…You can take it off me soon, right? And you don’t want to hurt me? Or do…anything bad, to me?”

“Swear it! Upon my very life.” He straightened up to his massive height, slapping a hand over his heart. “I won’t hurt ya, and you and me, we can figure this out. And I’ll make it comfy for you as long as you’re here, until we figure what’s what. Promise.”

Mei was silent for a long while, rubbing up and down her arm and not looking at him. He offered her his best smile, the constrained one that looked a little less boom-crazy. She didn’t smile back, but she did finally look back at him. Even though he knew his promise still wasn’t worth too much to a scared and clearly confused woman, she seemed a bit less outright terrified of him.

“Can I…please have something to eat?” she finally asked, wrapping her arms around her stomach rather meekly. “And drink? Please?”

He brightened, holding up a finger for her to wait before he went scrambling back to the sofa, with its tray of eggs and hash. He didn’t have the fine china she was probably used to eating off of, being a fake doctor and all, but it would have to do. Heaving the coffee table over in front of her mattress with a screech against the wood floor, he juggled the food tray up in one hand and brought it slamming down in front of her.

She swallowed hungrily, but was still looking up at him in a very expectant manner. Oh right! Ladies didn’t eat with their hands like he usually did. Holding up two fingers, trying to signal her to wait even longer, he went limping back into his kitchen, sorting through his cabinets and completely forgetting where everything was in the process. She’d lost sharp cutlery privileges, but he still needed to find a spoon, after he’d used the last batch of metal spoons as connecting rods for that one bomb one time back in-

He slammed open a cupboard and found it crammed full of cans of preserved peaches, the shelf below crowded with beans. Ah, two of his favorite things. Maybe she would want some, but later. He did manage to find a wooden stirring spoon in with a collection of tinfoil and rubber bands. And he’d have to try and remember where those were, for the next time he needed them. He probably wouldn’t remember. What was he going to remember, again?

Hobbling back the few steps across his humble home, he set down the too-large spoon and a new mug of water on the table before her, then reeled back, clasping his hands and waiting expectantly. And lucky him, but the lady did still have her manners. She looked a bit confused at the gigantic spoon, but picked it up anyway as she shuffled herself closer to her meal, looking up at him with a little “…Thanks.”

“Any time! Any time, love! You just have a bite to eat, and then we’ll talk about…everything else, I guess? I mean, you can’t honestly expect me to just let you go wandering off to…ugh. The others. I’d be an irresponsible host. Can’t have that.”

“What others? You mean that masked man?” She had an awkward time with her oversized utensil, but after a few wary bites, she became a whirling dervish of spoons and eggs and potato bits, shoveling it into her jaws almost as eagerly and rudely as he had. Poor thing.

He smiled dreamily as he watched her stuff her face, bits of egg falling out of her lip. She really was a cutie. “Roadhog? Nah. Look, I know he’s pretty fearsome. But underneath that gruff, blood-spattered exterior is…” His eyes drifted apart slightly, trailing off. “Huh. No, I guess he’s pretty much himself. Well they don’t call him the one-man apocalypse for nothing. But he’s my best mate and one hell of a standover man in these parts. I didn’t hire him on for nothing, you know. He won’t be hurting you, so long as you just don’t get in his way. And while you’re safe in here, you won’t! Easy peasy!”

His eyes swerved away from her meal, easily distracted as ever, to the television still playing off to the side. The sports had finished a while ago, and now it was some sort of news show. A skirt-clad woman with large breasts and a larger smile was showing off the weather for the next week. Not surprisingly it was hot, hot, and more hot.

Mei spooned up the last of the eggs, though she seemed strangely hesitant about the sausage. She looked at it with a knitted brow, bit her lip, looked at it again…and then finally scooped it up and ate it too. Junkrat tilted his head at her.

“Not to your liking, darl? I can make ‘em even crispier next time. Got a nice new blowtorch, even, can put it to good use!”

“Erm…No thank you. I normally don’t eat meat, is all. But…I was really hungry. Thank you?”

He practically wiggled at even the most basic gratitude. “Yeah yeah yeah! Whatever you need, darl! I’ll get it for you!”

“But shouldn’t we talk about me going home? You said you’re not going to hurt me but…I don’t belong here. Why did you even bring me to this place?” She hugged herself, and he couldn’t help it as his eyes darted to the way the thin jersey clung to the sudden bulge of her chest.

No no no. Eyes up, Junkrat. Eyes up. He cleared his throat and forced his gaze back up. “Because it’s the safest place in the Outback, love. Not like I could take you back to wherever it is you came from until I know where that is! And even then, you’re a long travel from any of the coastal cities.” His eyes darted again when he saw his words only upset her further. “But we’ll get you there! We just got to lay low for a bit while they’re combing around for you. The one you were meant for, he is not happy. Went through a lot of trouble to rescue you, after all.”

She gave him a strange look. “Rescue me?”

“Yeah! When I rescued you from those other junkers!”

“…Other junkers? What do you mean-”

He didn’t hear the rest of what she said, because suddenly there were two of her. For a moment he thought maybe his brain had crossed wires again. That happened sometimes. But no, there were definitely two Meis. The jersey-clad Mei in front of him, who still had a bit of egg stuck on her chin…and another Mei on the television behind her.

“Hold up! Hold the phone! Shhh! Shut!” He snapped his fingers loudly, then made a zipping motion near her mouth, which seemed to startle her into silence. Blindly groping around him, he grasped her spoon and pointed it at the tv, before throwing it away and replacing it with the remote, slamming the audio on. Mei turned to follow his gaze, both of them looking to the news program.

A female voice was narrating. “-environmentalist expert from Xi’an, China, visiting for the Australian Environment Efforts summit in Sydney. Dr. Mei-Ling Zhou was reported as a missing persons by her summit cohorts nearly four days ago. Foul play is suspected, and the police are currently following up on several leads. If anyone has any information on Dr. Zhou’s whereabouts-” More pictures of Mei flashed across the scene. “They are encouraged to bring it to the attention of the authorities. A substantial reward has been offered for-”

The words ‘reward’ and a series of numbers popped up at the bottom of Mei’s last known photo. A very nice set of numbers. A very generous set of numbers. All for rescuing someone that he had already rescued. This little not-doctor sitting half-nude on top of the mattress beside him was apparently worth serious coin. Enough coin to get a man’s attention, for sure.

The missing persons report ended and the news went on. Mei herself seemed rather dumbfounded, slowly turning to give Junkrat another very wary look. Her apprehension was back, posture tense as if she was not entirely certain how he was going to react.

Junkrat was already grinning back at her.

#meihem #junkmei #meirat #iceboom #mei #mei-ling zhou #junkrat #jamison fawkes #overwatch #fanfiction #writing

[young-writer1787-blog]

Scene 1 of The Fallen

I havent edited this too much. I think I will post the edited version of the story in full when the first draft is done.

I envied Loth as he calmly slid the bolt into place, pulling back on the crossbow. He crouched, so confident, so sure; as if we weren’t about to take out one of the most important figureheads in the kingdom. “Livin’ up Gared,” Loth said. I tensed at his words. “There are twenty of my best men down there, trained to kill. You’ll be fine.” I grunted. It was easy when you were a trained assassin. Loth could defend himself. I fingered the pommel of the sword that hung at my waist. Little good it would do. I looked out over the balustrade, we weren’t very well covered, but that wouldn’t matter when the fighting started. Below, the common folk dotted the street, stopping at carts and vendors on their work breaks. The gurgling hum of machinery and the low din of gruff industry men floated through the air. Spread out among the tanneries and salons, dispersed throughout the crowd, were twenty ruthless, treacherous, dangerous and expensive men. They had cost me as much as half of my life’s earnings, not that I made much as a dock worker. It had taken careful persuasion, many half-fulfilled promises, and enough loans to make the banks suspicious. I had to remind myself of the necessity, I was already being investigated by the Inquisition. It helped that Loth was family. The only reason I didn’t owe him right now was in the fact that I kept his plots and cunning cons a secret. I was desperate. “Cog’s makin’ his move,” Loth whispered. If I was nervous before, I was just about ready to run into the streets screaming, ‘take me, it’s my fault,’ now. My heart thudded in my chest. Was it supposed to skip? Sure enough, Cog, a surly man in a long leather duster, crossed the street, slipping a wicked dagger from his leather sleeve into his hand. I looked to Cog’s right and a squat, squarish man with a crooked nose, hobbled to a man in a deep, sea green, military coat. The crowd had already grown quiet, passerby’s stopped in their tracks, by the time Lout approached the soldier. Major Lieutenant Deth, head bodyguard to High Priest Edam. Rage filled me, filling half my heart, replacing a part of the nerves. When Edam slaughtered my mother and daughter, he had only been a priest with the name Father Jarle. But he had taken up one of the fallen gods’ names since I last saw him. That didn’t change how I felt about him. So what if the gods blessed him. I eagerly waited, my heart still pounding. Lout fell on to Deth, feigning drunkenness. For all I knew, Lout really was drunk. Deth shouted and made to strike Lout, but not before the ‘drunk’ man stabbed him in the leg. Deth fell in a tumble with Lout, blood splattering on the cobbled road. The crowd grew excited. People shoved through one another, trying to get away. They knew what would follow. In their haste, a whole caravan of soldiers, traveling from the mountains to meet with the King, was revealed. And, at their center, born in a luscious palanquin, sat Edam. “Now!” Loth cried. His voice echoed off the buildings, loud and confident. Twenty men moved at once. Lout stood, Deth unmoving beneath him. Dead. Cog dashed into the caravan, his duster trailing behind him. Before the soldiers could react, one of them slumped to the ground, his throat a bloody mess. Soldiers drew weapons, swords and spears, bows and arrows. A skinny young man with a rapier thrust at Cog. He missed, stumbling past the broad man. Before the soldier could turn around, a knife sprouted from his back. Just as quickly, Cog produced two knives seemingly from nowhere, one in either hand. Two more soldiers fell. From the palanquin came muffled shouting. I heard several curses from behind its curtains as several men in royal blue coats, the honor guard, escorted the High Priest into a business complex. Arrows flew into the group of soldiers, now pressing close together. A mistake. Some soldiers replied in desperation, sending their own arrows into the sky. They clattered aimlessly off the walls of the buildings. Some windows shattered and I heard a dull cry of pain over the chaos. It sounded like Sanduel. Damn the man. Loth had said that Sanduel would take me to the priest when the worst of the fighting died down. I was a tremendously terrible fighter. Strong yes, but I lacked the soft yet careful precision of a killer. The soldiers’ victory was short-lived. Loth stood up beside me and fired, killing three soldiers. Without Deth as their leader, the soldiers couldn’t hold against the barrage. There were at least eight of my mercenaries spinning through the men, cutting them down. Lout had retreated, nursing several wounds. Cog still fought. Not counting Sanduel, I guessed there were six archers still firing. The soldiers wouldn’t last long. What had once been over seventy, there were now thirty. Only three assassins lay dead. “The only reason those soldiers are still livin’ is because they that good,” Loth said. “They’ll put up a fight. I’m goin’ in.” “Wait. Sanduel is-” “Yeh, I know,” Loth cut in. “But you don’ make the rules, yahr enemies do. That’s the best thing I evah learnt.” I didn’t know what to say at that. I took it as a piece of good but unnecessary advice and nodded. Loth swung over the balustrade and hit the street in a roll before running off into the fight, firing his crossbow. A stray arrow from above me took one of the mercenaries in the chest. There were now about twenty-five soldiers still fighting, the battlefield was evenly matched. I had to do something. I could not just let them fight my fight and then be done with it. I thought of Gabrielle and her kind voice. My wife had given her the name of a Goddess. But doing so was frowned upon. I think that’s what killed her, the curse of the gods. I thought of mother, disposed of by Father Jaerl. I felt her die as I loaded boxes and crates onto merchant ships. Gabrielle murdered alongside mother. She had been in the wrong place at just the right time, for Jaerl at least. This was my fight. It must have been the emotions that drove my decision. But whatever it was, I could not stop telling myself how stupid I was being. I was going to die out there and then it wouldn’t matter because I would be just as dead as my family. I jumped. I didn’t fall as well as Loth. Pain shot up my leg as I landed and I fell to my side. I felt a sharp crack and my breath was carried away. One of my ribs. I struggled to stand, gasping for air. It finally came, but it was too late. A sea of white-clad officers poured into the street. The Watchers, Alietum’s police. In their hands were long, brown barrels of wood, held dangerously. Rifles. A marvel of modern technology. Faster and more powerful than a crossbow. More lethal and efficient than a sword. The fighting slowed to a stop. The remaining soldiers searched through the buildings and brought out seven assassins. Two were dead. I felt a small swell of pride, noticing that fewer soldiers came back than had entered the building. My men still had some fight left in them. The watchers circled the fray, stepping around the living and dead, my mercenaries, creating a defensive barrier. Sanduel’s body was thrown at the assassins’ feet along with another limp figure, Grunt barely sixteen years old and just starting to shave. Cog charged at the police, wicked blades in hand. Click Clack. A gun cocked and fired. BANG! Blood flew from Cog’s chest and a sizeable chunk of flesh opened at his back. He fell instantly. It occurred to me there that Haldar and Dick hadn’t raised the alarm. They were supposed to be watching for more soldiers. The Watchers hadn’t seen me yet, they probably thought me dead. From my spot on the road, I saw a man supported by two men. He hung limply, blood pouring from his nose onto the street. His eyes were swollen and he looked close to death. Dick. Stepping from the circle and towards the mercenaries, was Haldar. Loth screamed, “Traitorous bastard! We made a vow! You are our brother.” “Was.” Haldar flicked his wrist and BANG!. Loth stumbled back several steps. He looked down at his stomach and held his hands to the wound. Blood began to seep through his fingers. He didn’t die as fast as Cog, and when he did, it was in pain. I screamed in rage for all the good it would do. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not when I was this close. Edam had likely already gotten away. Unless-- Damn. A pair of bare feet walked over to where I lay. How--it didn’t make any sense. I had been planning this operation with Loth for months. “We are the light that watches.” The voice was smooth, silky. It terrified me. I stood warily and spat in the face of the man who shat on my life. Edam growled. The Watchers made to move. “No,” the High Priest shouted. “He’s mine.” My mercenaries cried out in protest as the soldiers rounded them up and shoved them past the circle of white. The sound of steel entering flesh is not pretty. I winced at the defiant cries as all my men died, tears gathered at the corner of my eyes. This was my fault. In my blind need for revenge, I had simply and easily forgotten that these were people. They bleed. “You break the rules Gared,” Edam said coolly, staring me in the eye. “Just as your family did. I know who you are. I remember your daughter, Gabrielle was it not? Oh, she screamed. She screamed when your mother couldn’t. Such a pretty voice. She should have known better. Her grandmother would have died anyway, she lived a good life in the factories. You know, I never thought Gabrielle was meant for the industry. She did have a goddess’s name. She would have made a fine whore. No matter, she broke the rules. She would slip out sometimes, thinking we wouldn’t notice. She claimed she was helping her grandmother. And then she disappeared. She had done so before. But three weeks!” I was just about ready to smash his brains into the street. There were rules that the commoners had to follow, but it was all to keep the peace. Rodau had just recovered from a massive depression. But the kingdom didn’t kill people for not working. The sick bastard was explaining his actions as necessary. “But, you know what I think?” Edam continued. Even the Watchers seemed uncomfortable as he spoke. “I think, as pretty as your daughter was, she had other plans while grandmother slept. Sucking on some street boy’s cock perhaps?” I grabbed for his throat, ready to strangle that scrawny neck. How dare he call my daughter a whore. “Son of a bitch,” I growled. He danced out of the way, his robes shuffling about his legs. “Careful now,” He said smiling, displaying two rows of perfect teeth. At that, all thoughts of nervousness were replaced with the need for blood. Rage filled my heart and I felt nothing but hatred. Hatred at Sanduel for being the first to die. Hatred at Loth for his confidence. Hatred for Haldar, a man I barely knew, who sold away his brothers. Had he joined them just to report back to the Watchers? Hatred for Edam and his jests. And hate for myself. For failing to kill the man who fucked with my family. I could imagine Gabrielle shaking her head, sadly asking why. I saw mother, dying silently. I saw my wife, her name to sad a memory to remember. She would know what to do. Something came over me. There was no way out of this that didn’t result in death. So, I charged, remembering the fallen. I don’t know how or when, but my sword was in my hand, held clumsily but with a purpose. The High Priest chuckled and picked a short sword from the dead hands of a fallen mercenary. He slapped my blows aside lazily. I swung in mad, uncontrolled arcs. My shoulder ached, but I kept attacking, trying to back him down. In reality, it was I who was backed down. I stepped back after each exchanged blow. He wasn’t trying to kill me. Not yet. “I will remember this,” Edam said. “I hope you tell your family how you died. Really, if you just let them go, we wouldn’t be in this current predicament.” He said his words carefully, and they hurt, digging into my heart. Pain flared in my arm. A thin gash ran from my wrist to elbow. I was forced to switch the blade in my hands. This was the end. The sword fell from my hands, clattering to the ground. I had nowhere to run. “Yield,” Edam said, the tip of his blade pointed at my throat. “Yield and I will let you live.” “Why?” I croaked. “Just kill me.” “That would be better wouldn’t it,” he said. “But alas, the gods are not merciful. They deal a swift and cruel justice. No, I will not kill you. I want you to live knowing that you failed. You broke the rules.” Your enemies make the rules. Loth’s words. This was Edam’s game. I couldn’t win. The High Priest turned to the Watchers. “Do not let this man die.” “Now you see--” Edam said turning back to me. He realized his mistake too late. I wrapped my arms around him and threw my weight against him. We both fell to the ground and tumbled apart. My fingers felt cold steel. I ran my hand deftly down the length of metal and found the hilt. I grasped it and raised both my body and the sword, thrusting it into the air. I felt a heavy weight on the end of the blade. Edam towered over me, eyes wide, a revolver in his right hand pointed at my head. The sword wasn’t buried deep, but it was enough. I twisted with all my remaining strength and let the weapon clatter to the side. The High Priest collapsed in a heap on top of me. Shouts of alarm ran through the street. Edam’s body was removed from atop me and I was roughly hoisted to my feet. My broken rib shouted in protest. The barrel of a gun thrust into my back. “No!” cried a voice. Haldar. “The High Priest said not to kill him.” “But--” the Watcher pointing the rifle at me protested. “He’s right,” a soldier. “It’s treason to disobey the High Priests, even if they’re dead.” “We’ll take it up with the King,” Haldar said. Time passed in a blur. And all I could think of was the hollow emptiness that followed Edam’s death. It was over, it had been so easy to kill him. I hadn’t hesitated, and now he was dead. It bothered me when I knew it should not. I felt starved where I should have felt full. It was as if something had been ripped from my body, the one thing that kept me tied to reality, gone. The cell door closed and the moans flooded my ears. I don’t know how long I sat in the dark dampness of the dungeons but something in me clicked. I had broken the rules of my enemies’ game. But now they would play by my rules. My game.

[akaluan-writes]

To Become a Lorta

((Okay, so this is one of the larger fragments of this ofic that I worked on nearly a decade ago, and I think it stands alone pretty well. Definitely not the cleanest of writing, but it’s not half bad.

So the general setting is like... post apocalyptic world, where a solar flare did some Really Bad Things to the world, and as a result there was a lot of backlash against technology in general, although these people in this story DO live in the run-down ruins of a city they’ve forgotten how to reliably fix. There’s... a lot of weird shit that’s implied in a bunch of the other fragments, but this one is pretty straightforward.

The “Lorta” are a small military group, right hand of the ruler of their country and all that, and they’re pretty well feared because they use and know how to maintain technology, including guns.))

Rough wood dug into his legs, splinters finding every opportunity to spear at him through his worn pants. He cast aside thoughts of annoyance, letting his gaze slide over the room below as he waited for the opportunity he'd been promised.

Four heartbeats later, a trio of men strode through, intent on their own conversation, and passed into another room. Gathering himself, he leapt down from his perch and landed softly on a thick rug. Quiet thumps to either side of him told him the rest of the team had followed his lead, if not exactly with his level of skill.

"Kaizur," came a whisper from his right, "should we be doin' this? Lairzu's buddy-buddy wit' Lortan, ain't he?"

"Hush yer mouth!" responded the man to his left, "We'z followin' orders, an' Kaizur knows't, as should ye. We Red Moons ain't 'fraida no Lortan!"

Kaizur crept forward towards the doorway the three men had passed through, his off hand signaling his teammates to remain where they were, and peered through the crack. Two of the three were sitting down and talking, the third standing to the side -- a guard, he guessed, with the two sitting being Lairzu and the distraction they'd been promised.

Satisfied that all was well, Kaizur crept backwards away from the door and began slinking towards the stairs to the second floor, motioning for the other two to follow him.

The stairs were old, creaking softly under his weight so matter how hard he tried to move silently, and the noise one of his teammates was making caused him to cringe inside. These children were more liability than asset...

"That's Zjierd!" came the shrill yelp of his second teammate.

Kaizur's heart froze in his chest as he turned to stare over his shoulder, at his second teammate who was crouched before the door, at the door itself as it was wrenched open, at the blood that blossomed across the old rug like a flower suddenly given life.

The sharp tang of blood filled his mouth as Kaizur bit his tongue to hold back his cry of disbelief. He couldn't pause long enough to view his last teammate's fate, though the echoing report of a gun warned him to keep moving, abandoning stealth for survival and completion of the mission.

The landing he finally reached was circular, ringed with identical steel doors.

"Ciradoss sed... fifth door frum stairs? Or wuz it sixth?"

The stairs creaked behind him, someone's steady tread approaching relentlessly.

Biting his lip, Kaizur darted away from the landing, tapping each door as he counted under his breath, skidding past the fifth and jiggling the handle on the sixth, a prayer to Sevok on his lips.

The door ghosted open on silent hinges, revealing a room crammed full of dressers and drawers and furniture the likes of which only the rich could afford, but worn and faded from their previous glory. And to the left of the only window in the room, resting on a dusty stand, was the sword he was told to fetch.

Closing the door with an absent kick, Kaizur scrambled over the furniture, snatching the sheathed sword in trembling hands and fumbling it hastily across his back and into his harness. The window beyond beckoned him, and it was the work of long heartbeats to fumble the catches open and shove the heavy leaves open without assistance.

The sudden breeze whispering past his ear and out the window was his only warning of trouble. Swiftly, he leapt onto the window ledge and glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see Lairzu and his cronies, armed to the teeth and ready to shoot.

Instead, a single man watched from the doorway, arms crossed over his chest and emerald eyes examining him with a cold detachment. Two vertical blue bars on the man's belt identified him as a Lorta, and a third red bar as the commander—

The kid had been right, the guest of Lairzu was Zjierd, Commander of the Lortan.

"Lairzu was right, wasn't he. Those two were diversions to protect the real thief."

"Neh! Untrained kiddies onna suicide mission, yeh, but ain't my choice t'bring 'em 'long! Coulda done this'un m'self, wit'out th' deaths, eh?" Kaizur muttered sulkily, "We Red Moons gotta stick t'gether, ye ken? Cept lately, th' boss been goin' sev'ral kinds of crazy, so we do we can t'live, despite stupid orders an such."

Zjierd frowned, taking a step into the room, "Why stay with them then?"

"Cause. Iffen I don't, more kiddies will die, eh?"

Before Zjierd could say another word, Kaizur twisted back around and dropped out the window.

(())

"M'lord Ciradoss, here be th'sword ye wanted, eh?" Kaizur spoke as he knelt before the throne of the Red Moons, head down and sword offered above his head as their leader required. Inwardly, he was glowering at the fool's feet, but he let nothing of it show on his face. He was in enough trouble for the death of the two gang members he'd been ordered to bring along -- never mind that they were both youths, never mind that he had protested bringing such untried children with him, and especially never mind that he suspected Ciradoss of trying to off him in such a crude manner.

"Yes, yes, a truly beautiful thing it is!" Ciradoss exclaimed as he lifted the sword from Kaizur's hands, "Worth th' loss of th' chitlins, yes, yes?"

"Yes, M'lord," Kaizur gritted out as he let his hands fall to the floor, shoulders protesting the strain of being held in such a position for so long, mind screaming profanities at the man who so easily discarded lives they couldn't afford to lose.

"Then away wit' ya, yes, yes? Th' mighty king a' th' Red Moons don't need ya no more."

Keeping his face impassive, Kaizur rose from the floor and bowed deeply, backing away from the throne and the man on it until doors slammed closed between the two of them.

It was time and past for a change of leaders.

(())

"Hsst! Kaizur!"

Miru's soft words were all it took to wake him, "What is it, eh?"

"Ciradoss be talkin' wit' some stranger 'bout ye. C'mon!"

Gritting his teeth, Kaizur rose from his nest of ratty blankets and crept across the rafters, following the dim outline of one of his few friends. Together, the two of them crouched on narrow steel beams, gazing down at the throne room through the carefully widened cracks in the floor of the attic and straining to hear what was being said.

"—stole from Lairzu." The muffled voice was distinctive, lacking the burr of the slums and the rounded vowels of the commoners, but not truly the cultured smoothness of the nobility.

"So ya force yer way inta th' Red Moons den, an' demand both th' sword an' th' boy, yes, yes? Yer jes one man, ain't 'fraida ya."

"Things will go much better for you if you cooperate. The sword must be returned to its rightful owner, and the boy must pay for his crimes."

He recognized the voice at last. Zjierd. How had the man found this hideout so easily, when not even their rivals could find it?

Frowning, Kaizur looked over at his friend, "How long's th' man been 'ere, eh?"

"Coupl'a minutes," Miru responded, "Think he'sa Lortan, but not sure. Keeps tryin' t' c'nvince Ciradoss t' tell him where y'are. Methinks th' sword's jes cover fer him t' ask about ye."

"Ain't never wanted t' be a Lorta, ain't never gunna be, eh? I gots duties 'ere." Such as keeping the Red Moons alive until he could wrest control from Ciradoss.

With that in mind, he turned his attention back to the throne room.

"Ya have n'right! Tellin' me, Lord Ciradoss a' th' Red Moons, what t' do! Guards!"

Eyes widening, the two boys watched as Ciradoss' thugs lunged from cover, their motley collection of makeshift weapons, mostly rusted knives and heavy pipes, ludicrous in comparison to the glimmering blades the stranger drew.

Kaizur counted only five heartbeats before the battle was won, the stranger untouched even by the blood of his enemies, and two more heartbeats for the stranger to cross the distance to where Ciradoss cowered on his throne.

"Tell me where the boy is."

"Upstairs! He an' th' rest be upstairs sleeping, yes, yes! Jes leave me 'lone an' ya can have th' blasted kid!"

Kaizur growled at Ciradoss' cowardice, "We gotta scat, Miru, that be Zjierd. Wit him on our tails, we ain't gotta raindrop's chance in Za'Crer t' stand an' fight. Wake up Dasur an' Raira an' th' rest, amma get our stash, an' we'll scat a'fore anyone's th' wiser, eh?"

"Kaiz—"

Kaizur paused, glancing back at Miru, "Promised ye that I'd pull th' Red Moons free, eh? Ain't givin' up now!"

He didn't wait for Miru to respond, just took off across the dark attic towards his makeshift bed, plans skipping through his head. There wasn't a moment to lose, not if he wanted to escape with the rest of his crew.

His subconscious recognized the threat and made him dart to the right before he realized what was going on, a hand grasping at thin air where his shoulder had been a moment before. Not daring to look back, he pushed himself faster, darting into the maze of half finished walls and stacked junk that took up part of the attic, abandoning his own things in favor of grabbing the crew's stash. No stranger could match him through the labyrinth, especially in such darkness.

Forcing his breath to be nearly silent, Kaizur wriggled his way through passages he was getting too large to fit through, scrambling to reach the hidden stash and make it back out before Zjierd could catch him. He nearly sobbed in relief when his hand closed over the small box tucked away in a nook, drawing it out and tucking it firmly into a pocket, before continuing his race through the labyrinth.

Diffused moonlight reached his eyes as he rounded another turn, the light filtered through milky, cracked glass of the window.

Zjierd stood in front of the window, one hand tightly gripping little Miru's shoulder, the two of them blocking his way.

"Am sorry, Kaizur..." Miru sobbed, tears catching the moonlight like jewels, "He caught me, an' threatened t' kill ye iffen I didn't help..."

"Kaizur, why are you running from me?" Zjierd's voice cut through Miru's mumbled apologies, "Is this life so much better than the life of a Lorta? You have the skills and aptitude to excel as one of us, and anyone else would jump for the chance to be offered such a position—"

"Yeh? Well, go an' offer it t' one a them, eh? I gots me duties an' promises 'ere, an' ain't gunna jes shove over an' let some fool take 'vantage a' my crew!" Kaizur weighed his options as he watched Zjierd. Ciradoss was right about one thing, at least, Zjierd was just one man, and there were more escape routes in this ruin of a building than even little Miru knew of. But if he left, who knew what Zjierd would do to the kid. Miru, at least, deserved better than death or imprisonment, guilty of nothing but friendship.

"Your crew?" Zjierd frowned, "As far as I'm aware, the Red Moons are run by Ciradoss."

"Yeh? Well, ya ain't one a' us, eh? My crew, we be wantin' free a' Ciradoss an' this 'ere death trap. An' who'll lead th' kiddies iffen ya take me 'way, eh?" Kaizur took a step forward as he saw Zjierd loosen his grip on Miru's shoulder. He strove to catch the kid's attention, but Miru was too focused on the floor to see him. Never mind, Miru would do what was right when prompted.

"A reasonable argument. In that case, if you will permit it, I'll—"

"Miru, catch!" Kaizur shouted as he lunged forward, knocking Zjierd back against the window more out of surprise than anything, tossing the small box from his pocket to Miru. Zjierd's hands closed over his shoulders even as both heard the protesting creak of the window and the glass. Green eyes looked down on him in surprise as both glass and frame gave way, spilling the two out into the night air.

Frantic, Kaizur grappled with Zjierd. He hadn't expected the window to give way that easily, but he fully intended on surviving the fall.

Green eyes caught his once more, surprise replaced by a combination of amusement and confidence, even as he felt a sharp pain flare on the back of his neck.

Zjierd's voice was the last thing he heard before unconsciousness claimed him, "Sorry, kid, but I refuse to let skills like yours rot down here in the slums."

#ofic #lorta au #Zjierd and a bunch of other Lorta are still really favorite characters of mine #and someday i'll probably drag them into new stories in new forms but same personalities etc #they'd make good mercs honestly #but the names are pretty hilariously bad #oh well #lolol

[arthurtristankingsmen]

RIP , I really like the concept of Lewis killing Arthur, I dunno why... But yeah, I'd like that

Send “RIP” and I’ll write a drabble of my Muse dying (source) 

Decided to do an off-shoot of my One Step Back AU, where instead of Arthur returning to the present after destroying Umbra, he found a way to undo the wishes by collecting the shards he’d dealt away. Umbra doesn’t take it so well…

Warning: This is not for the faint of heart. Contains: Character Death, Blood, Abuse, Gore, and Impalement

“I’ve got no strings,To hold me down….”

Lewis’s shoulders and knees jerked, like amarionette. His heart beat fast and hard, though it was missing from his chest.It was black as cinders, red and purple lines glowing like spiderwebbed crackson its surface. The shadowy figure holding it, some formless thing of the darkcontinued to sing, in a voice of multitudes -men, women, and children- twined togetherin one. It sang slow, dragging out the words far beyond the beat they weremeant to follow. 

The creature itself was formless in the shadows, like smokebut thick, hovering low to the ground. When the thing moved, there was thescrape of talons, of scales on stone.

But his focus was instead on Arthur, right infront of him as he lumbered forward, a dreamlike stupor clouding his vision andflicking a blender on in his mind, turning his thoughts to pulp.

“To makeme fret,Or make me frown….”

Arthur was in the corner, chest moving rapid asa crescendo. He looked up at Lewis; the terror there, at him, cut through thehaze. His arms lifted despite the clarity, gripping the bicep of Arthur’s sotight he winced.

“It’s not you I know it’s not you Lewis it’snot your fault-” Arthur stumbled out, panic lacing them together in a stutteringstring. “Close your eyes don’t look please lewis you can’t see it’s not you don’tbe like –.”

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, whenmetal crunched and snapped in Lewis’s hand. Arthur’s face twisted and crumbledlike a ball of paper, rendered mute. Lewis felt his stomach drop as he felt themetal beneath super-heated hands.

Stop please stop!

“I had strings,But now I’m free…”

Arthur only just seemed to let out his breath,tears pricking at his eyes. His eyes flicked to his and then to the shapelessthing holding Lewis’s anchor. “D-don’t make him do this- p-p-please, Umbra. Hedoesn’t d-deserve-.”

He cut off when a hand found his throat.

“Sh sh shhh…” The voice had shifted, a shadereptilian as it drew closer. Nothing but red glinted in the dark. “You had yourchance, Kingsmen. You stole back what you gave. The deal was undone. I have noreason to stop him.”

It ghosted closer, pointed teeth shining insmoke, and a leathery flap in the shadowed mists. “I want it; your soul. All ofit. You undid the deals through theft. Spirits wear their souls on the outside;it’s easy to take. I won’t keep it, I can promise you. This is his warning.” Thegrin stretched across the smoke. “Your punishment is this for what you stole.And a trade…

“His soul, for yours. You won’t need it, if you’redead as he is.”

A twitch, and the heart showed again, translucentfingers moving like a puppeteer’s above the anchor. Lewis’s eyes were wide ashe lifted the metal arm still in his grip like a bat, and swung it againstArthur’s side.

There was a sickening crack, and Arthur went bonelessin his grip. Bile rose in Lewis’s throat, but he couldn’t drop him, couldn’tstop as his hands lit up and pushed Arthur hard against the wall. Blooddribbled from his best friend’s mouth, and when he coughed more came up andpainted his lips and chin. Lewis scrabbled for control, but the fingers on hislocket kept him silent and pliable.

Arthur was dropped to the ground now, and helanded with a cry before falling on his side. Lewis slammed his foot againsthis ribs, screaming in his head almost as loud as Arthur did when something newsnapped.

“If only we had a ledge. Then this could be true dramatic irony.” The monsterfloated higher, vantage from above. “I suppose we’ll have to make due.”

“I-it’s not you- It’s not-“ Arthur wheezed andscreeched again when the prosthetic slammed against his right arm, sending itsprawled at an unnatural angle. Lewis wished he could be blind, could be deaf,could be anywhere else. That Arthurcould be okay.

Arthur didn’t cry out this time, curled up in aball, when the metal connected with his back. His eyes screwed shut, and hespat more blood, tears draining with the rest of the body fluids.

Lewis couldn’t stop himself from grabbingArthur’s shoulders and forcing him on his back, sitting on Arthur’s chest andslamming his fist into his cheek. Lewis was crying, he was sobbing in wracking,uncontrollable jerks as each rending cry escaped him. Arthur’s neck whipped tothe side with each strike.

He was purple and swollen in his cheeks andeyes, and Lewis could see through the tears, when he felt his hands stop.

“I think that’s enough. Let’s make this as evenas we can, shall we?” The spirit spoke, and Lewis moved off Arthur, stoping tolift the metal arm from where it had been discarded. The port, where it wasmeant to be connected to Arthurs arm, was broken and twisted. Lewis raised ahand to it, glowing with violet flame, and doused the area until the metalturned soft and malleable under his palm, His fingers squeezed and twisted thesuper-heated metal, into a thick, sharp spear, except thicker.

Lewis was hyperventilating when he stood overArthur, begging with every thought to be heard, to get this monster to stop. Helooked down at the battered form of his best friend and strangled out a scream-turned-whimper.Arthur’s eyes were half open, hazed and only on the verge of conscious as helooked back up at him.

The spirit- the entity- whatever this monsterwas- drew close, to the floor, but a taloned hand petted at blood soaked blond strands.“Any final words, boy? Before I take back what is mine, and the rest of whatyou owe?” It was hard to hear the truest emotion in its voice, but gleetranslated over easy enough.

Arthur’s gaze slid, slow like the bubbles in alavalamp, over to the thing, and then back up to Lewis. “Y-yeh….you didn’….y-youdin’ want th-this…” He slurred and mumbled, lashes fluttering. “S’not yerf-faul’ Lew. S’not yer faul’. D…don’ be li’ me. ‘S my…my faul’…Tell Viv’ ‘m sorreh.”

“Time’s up.”

This time the scream did escape Lewis. Acocktail of wrath and agony as the spike was brought down. He could feel each sensation, as it pierced flesh and bone alike with the force behind his strike soft to hard to squishy again as he broke through the ribcage, viscera squelching out the sides of the spike. 

Arthur seized, mouth open in a shriek too excruciating to escape, silentand caught in punctured lungs. He gurgled and his eyes rolled up, white, bloodspilling in thick lines all over and pooling below him and against Lewis’s feeton the stone of the floor.

The things’s claw appeared in the mist, dippinginto Arthur’s chest. Arthur let out one pained wheeze as his chest raised whenthe hand retracted, falling still when a light shimmered in it’s fingers like asmall, amber star.

The thing released Lewis’s locket with a clangon the floor as cracks crawled all over the glass, and Lewis dropped to hisknees, half faded. It was too much too much what could he do there was nothinghe couldn’t save him Arthur was wrong this was his fault he should’ve foughtharder he shouldn’t have let this happen oh god Arthur wasn’t breathing wasn’tmoving he did this why why WHY-

The spirit curled it’s talons around the light,fading from sight like it never was. It spoke in a sing-song voice as it andthe light vanished from sight.

“Oh, thereare no strings on me~”

#ooc #my original stuff #answering things #ask meme answers #death meme #hello i'm here to ruin everything #this one was fun but also exhausting to write #just ......poor arthur #poor lewis #someone murder umbra for me please #One Step Back #tw #death #tw death #tw impalement #impalement #tw abuse #abuse #blood #tw blood #i'm not putting this in the main tag it's too fucked up but #feel free to reblog #if you want???? this one is pretty bad so idk but it was interesting to write #fuck umbra with a chainsaw por favor #lasilhouetteinbianco

[as-eorzea-turns]

As Eorzea Turns ~ ACT 1: Fish Out of Water

SCENE 7

POV: Sylbfohc Ostulmsyn YEAR: 1553 AGE: 24

Her figure cut sharp lines against the horizon. Tall, proud, rigid; a dark banner unyielding in its claim, its tresses flying at bold, unfamiliar angles. She was a creature from another land, a blackened tree caught amidst a roll of boulders. Each of whom, by the look of it, had every intention of choking out her roots.

I squinted through the brightness of midday, casting a hand over my brow to shield the sun. Four bulky silhouettes stood just up the hill, each facing the other in an ill begotten attempt at formality. With their backs to the distant Aleport walls stood the two boulders: Swerdhwynza, his stout figure stiff and gruff as ever, and – hells, was that Skoenthota? A thin wash of dread rattled my nerves as I took in the sight of her, her sliver cloak billowing. The last time I’d seen her, well. To say we’d had a tumble in the sheets would be an understatement… I’d called on her afterwards, right? Taken her out for a meal? Or for a walk along the shore, at least? Gods… Sylb, you briny bastard.

With a deep breath, I rolled my shoulders back a mite farther, stood an ilm taller, and relaxed my pace from a timely march to a stately, casual swagger. There was a third boulder, I noticed as I drew nearer – another roegadyn. Young, and covered from head to toe in the shiniest, most ridiculous display of armor I’d ever seen. If he’d looked the type to draw the attack to himself for the benefit of the team that’d be one thing, but I could see the sheen of anxious sweat on his face from yalms away, his eyes darting from the two before him to the curious, formidable looking elezen woman beside him. No, best to dress that kid in earth tones.

“Yeh wanna know wha’ trouble is? Eh?” Swerdhwynza's harsh voice became clearer as I neared the top of the hill. “'Round these parts the only duskwights we see are the 'freelancin'' sort – spear wieldin' bastards who'll attack a child as soon as they would an armed mercenary for the coin in their purse. Or for some other dark purpose."

So it was true then. There was a duskwight in our midst! The first one in gods know how long. And, of course, immovable, unchanging, stuck in his ways Swerdhwynza was making an absolute ass of himself. I cringed inwardly and blew a silent breath through my lips.

"Well, I'm not them,” she replied through half bared teeth, standing her ground. And, as the two faced off, I realized that she was actually taller than him. An elezen woman taller than a roegadyn man. Wow.

"Gods above, Swerdy!" I rumbled amiably and barked a disbelieving laugh, closing the distance between the lot of them and myself with a few final strides. "Don't tell me you actually believe those ale-addled tavern stories." All eyes turned on me and I repaid their attention with a roguish, chin-dimpled smile. And, for good measure, I tossed Skoenthota a knowing wink. She rolled her eyes over a suppressed smile.

“Wha’ the fuck are you doin’ here?” The blank faced ‘Swerdy’ growled, color quickly rising in his cheeks.

“Ahhh,” I rumbled, opening my arms to him. “C’mon, Swerdy. Is tha’ any way to talk to your cousin?” I hooked one arm around the rosy faced grump and jostled him with a brotherly hug. He hated it.

"Gerroff me!" Swerdy growled and attempted to shake himself free of my embrace. From the corner of my eye, I noticed the duskwight women’s expression go blank before a flicker of incredulity spread over her face. Her foot took a noiseless step backward.

"Alrigh’, alrigh’," I lifted my hands in a lighthearted gesture of surrender, my crooked smile bright against my dark skin. "Really, though, Swerdhwynza," dropping my hands to rest comfortably on my hips, I turned my curious eyes to behold the lass more fully, "have you even ever met a duskwight?"

Her eyes were like ice as they stared not quite into mine – the palest blue made even paler by the darkness of her obsidian skin. It was as if she was trying to look past me rather than at me, all her fire from a moment ago gone. Instead she looked uncertain, confused even; truly unsure about what she should think. I swear that she’d have taken another step back if she could.

“No,” Swerdy barked, “‘ave you?" His question ended on an almost accusing note, and I couldn’t help but notice the flicker of pain that crossed the lass’s expression. She tried to contain it, sucking the inside of her bottom lip in between her teeth. Her eyes flickered briefly to the ground, her cheeks puckering as she drew in a breath through her nose.

Swerdy, you ignorant ass.

"Nope!" I replied cheerily in contrast. Then, stepping forward with a curious, but warm, smile, I extended a hand to the young woman. "Hello, there. I'm Sylbfohc."

She glanced up at me, cheeks still puckered around a now uneasy frown, and eyed me. Warily, she stretched out her hand, the movement slow as if she expected this to be the punchline of some strange joke, and she wrapped it around mine. "Ojene..."

But there was no punchline. No joke. Only the warm, firm shake of my hand, a quick nod, and a wry, but welcoming, quirk of my lips. "Nice to meet yeh, Ojene."

And then her eyes actually met mine. She stared, a bit-wide eyed and completely frozen. The moment my grip lessened she pulled her hand away.

"So!" I gave my hands a singular clap then turned to look at the rest of the group: silently fuming Swerdhwynza, smirking Skoenthota, and the wet-nosed shiny kid. "What's the plan?" I grinned confidently – as if this was all normal.

As Eorzea Turns is an episodic writing project based in the Final Fantasy XIV universe, set in the past, and written by a group of roleplayers on the Balmung server.

Visit our tumblr to learn more and to read from the beginning! Read chronologically ~ ACT 1: Fish Out of Water Learn more ~ About AET

We release two pre-written scenes a week every Sunday & Wednesday at 7pm PST.

This week’s scene featuring: @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast @diskwrite-ffxiv

#as eorzea turns #ffxiv writing #act 1

[ecotone99]

[FN/mild HR] Bunny Doll.

It hated heights. It really did. But it couldn't exactly tell the girl that, could it now? To the humans, it was an object. It should have been an object. It didn't know how it could be how it was anyway. The other toys like it couldn't move when the human's weren't watching.

How long ago exactly it had changed into this, how long ago the hunger started, it didn't know. Time was strange to it. It knew human things and concepts, but didn't know where they came from. So, it sat there on its shelf, where it had been for a long time now. There was dust in the fur, covering its body. Not that the body was remarkable. It had looked at itself in the girls, no, Jenna's mirror once. Its body was old, worn down. It looked like an animal called a rabbit, but one ear was torn off. One button eye was drooping, the stitches coming loose and its belly was missing some stuffing. It was ugly, in its own eyes.

Once, it had liked being hugged by the girl. In the last while however, the girl had put it away. All her toys were put on a high shelf in the corner of her chambers. Now, a sword, a shield and a knife were on the table next to her bed. She was growing up, and fast. So was the rabbit. Once, it had loved hugs. Now, it wanted something else. Had wanted for the past while. The hunger grew with every passing night.

But here it sat, on its high shelf, positioned so it could see out the stone window into the courtyard below. Humans milled about, men and women in grey armor sparring in with sword and spears, their tips alight with fire. Snow fell from the sky, and dusk was already coming. Still, they sparred.

And it sat. When night came the bonds that held it loosened a little, letting it move about on its misshapen legs. Never while humans were watching though. Never while they watched. Its body was stronger than it should have been, in all the right places. A doll had no business walking, the world tried to tell it. It didn't listen. It was hungry. Tonight, it would slake that.

Night came and the fortress quieted down. It never truly slept, but most of the humans went to their chambers. The girl was asleep in her bed, turned away from it. Slowly, the bunny doll stood, legs stronger than they should have been. It jumped from the shelf and landed with a silent thump. The girl stirred, but went back to sleep when no further sounds were heard. Her door was closed. The hound-flap below it wasn't.

It emerged into the hallways and began to quickly make for the back stairs. It knew the castle, and was headed to the kitchens. It would need something sharp. Suddenly, a whine, increasing in intensity, filled its mind. Something was coming. All but bounding now, it shoved its body into a darkened doorway just as it collapsed. It lay there, helpless, as the sound of armored feet echoed through the corridor. They came and passed, never having seen the stuffed toy lying on the ground. When the human was gone, it could move again. Heaving itself upright, it tottered onwards.

It hated the hound. Really did, it realized. It took away so much of the girl's time. The old beast was large, with drooping jowls and rheumatic eyes. Its teeth were yellowing and it just snored all day. Still, it hated it, for some reason. A hate too strong for it to be the fact that the girl moved all her toys away once the dog began growling at them. Or that it almost tore it apart once. The beast had taken its ear off before the girl had pulled it away.

But the hound was old, and its senses weakening. There were other, younger hounds around the fortress day and night, but only this one inside.

It crept up from behind, careful to keep quiet, the large knife wrapped in its paws. It was heavy, but the doll was strong. Strong enough to carry this. The hunger grew inside it as it crept. Ever so slowly, through the hallway where the hound liked to rest in the evening sun. It approached, and the hound began to growl softly in its sleep, the sound becoming louder with every step it took. The whine didn't return to it, however. The hound was not human, so the rules did not apply. It held the knife steadily, point up to stab as it approached.

As it took the last step, and brought the knife up, the hound's eyes shot open, bloodshot as it glared at the doll. It did not wait. Even as the hound drew in breath to howl, it stabbed it through the eye, into the brain. It died with a whimper. Pulling the bloody knife from the corpse, it set to work. Here was fresh meat, and its hunger yearned to be fulfilled.

Some time later, it was back on its shelf, watching the girl rise from her bed as an alarm went out. The hound had been found then. A corpse missing most of its pieces. The bunny felt full, satisfied. It didn't know how eating had worked, since it was made of cloth, but putting meat near its mouth caused it to vanish. It had been one of the best things the doll ever felt. Better than any hug. It had to have more.

Morning came and went. This day felt different to the doll. The whine was still there when humans passed nearby, but it only warned. It could move while they weren't looking right at it.

It wanted more. More hunger had come and it knew the taste of flesh now.

Some time later, the door banged open and a human was shoved inside. Another followed. A smaller human with dark hair righted himself and straightened his clothes as a taller, red haired woman followed him inside. She made the doll wary, for some reason.

The woman closed the door, turning to give a flat stare at the man. She was tall, beautiful by human standards, with slim arms bare and dressed in black armor. A sword was carried by her side and flatbow on her back. The male, on the other hand, carried no weapons and was much more finely dressed. He had blue eyes, like the woman, and a small beard on his face.

"Ah doubted it, brother. Ah really did."

The woman's tone was as flat as her stare, laced with a distinct accent. She spoke a touch slower than the rest of the humans it had heard. Still, her voice was powerful, and betrayed no emotion.

"Ah had clues to it. But ah believed in yeh. Now ah know ah was wrong. Yer guilty."

The man puffed himself up, glaring at his sister.

"Guilty of what, sister? Killing a dog? You're out of you mind."

"Yeh know what ah mean, brother. One year ago. Ah always suspected you, and now ah know it's true. Yeh killed that boy, Kolin."

"Who? The boy that got drunk and fell off the roof? I had nothing to do with it."

"Don't lie tah me, brother. Ah know what happened."

"Oh, do enlighten me, dear sister." The man sneered.

"Yeh were supposed tah be at father's nameday feast with tah other people. Ah wasn't there, on account of bein the bastard daughter, but ah heard. Yeh and Branton Cracklehart were absent at tah same time."

The man blanched, just in the slightest, but the woman continued.

"Ah was in teh kitchens, havin supper. Kolin was with me. He was a good lad. Brave and loyal. Ah sent him to mah room to fetch mah bow, show him some tricks in tah yard. Ah fancied him, I did. He walked in on yeh and Branton fuckin. Yeh used mah room, thought no-one would care. He saw yeh. Yeh panicked. Thought he'd tell. Yeh'd both be ruined if word got out. So yeh grabbed him, dragged him up tah stairs. He must have fought, didn't 'e? Yeh tossed him off the roof after pourin wine on his shirt. Stableboy sneakin some of tah Lord's drink. No-one askin more questions."

"And that's exactly what happened. He got drunk, fell off the roof."

"That's a lie, an we both know it. Ah knew that boy. Never touched a drink in his life. His father was a drunk. A right mean one. Scared the boy so bad he swore he'd never drink. He hated heights, told me so himself."

"I told you, I didn't do it, sister." The man proclaimed, spreading his arms in exasperation.

Ignoring him, the woman turned away, facing the window.

"Remind me again, Toran, what would be the name of the forest just outside Stoneguard. Teh one where our border ends, with teh black mist and trees that feel like boiled rubber?"

"I don't see how that's at all relevant, dear sister."

"Answer teh question."

"The Deadwood."

"And remind me, what kind of creatures live in teh Deadwood?"

"It's been a long time since I had the pleasure of listening to children's tales. I'd have to go get a nursemaid to remind me."

She hit him. Right in the mouth.

"Which. Creatures?" Her voice was ice now, fury pouring through her words. "Yeh are a soft fool from Teh Heartlands, but yeah were raised in Stoneguard. Stoneguards don forget."

The man clutched his bleeding mouth, and spat out his response.

"Wraiths and wights. Children's tales."

She hit him again.

"Children's tales. That keel more people every year than yer petty wars. Remind meh why criminals are executed outside teh city? Why every street is alight at all hours. Why no cloaked man or woman is allowed in our walls?"

It was bleeding even harder now. The male was clutching his mouth with both hands, doubled over. He still forced out an answer to her question.

"Hate and fear lets the wraiths in. Wights love the shadows and hate the light."

"You keeled a man in these walls. What did yeh think he felt in his last moments? If yeh weren't mah brother, I'd have yeh hanged. Because yer mah blood, I'll let you leave tomorrow. Set foot in Stoneguard lands again, and I'll have yeh flayed alive. Don think I won't do it. I'm a sworn Bloodguard of the castle. Duty comes before family."

"Why? Why now? What makes you think I killed that boy?"

"Old Makill was found dead this mornin."

"So, it's dog. They die all the time."

"He was stabbed and eaten, teh flesh carved right outta him. Yeh know why? Dogs hate wights and wraiths. Why do yeh think we have so many? They can smell em. Wights and wraiths hate dogs more then anythin. Today is the winter solstice. When the day is shortest. Today, they have power. Make no mistake, brother. There's a wraith loose in Stoneguard. It's been sleeping all year, weakened by our salted grounds and by the rules of undeath. But today, it's free."

They left after that, shutting the door behind him. Something the woman had said stirred in the doll. It's hunger grew. It could move, even though it wasn't night. Tonight, it would do more. Eat more. There were no more dogs in the fortress. Something bigger would have to do. After eating, it felt..smarter. Better. Stronger. It had to eat more.

The girl didn't come to her room that night. There were loud sounds coming from the inside of the fortress. Humans having a feast, to celebrate their Lord's nameday. The whine was faint in it's mind, but it could move. So it did. Out through the dog door. The tower they were in had five floors. The girl lived on the third one. But where it wanted to go was one more up. The red haired woman's room. The knife, it had hidden nearby. Easy for it to find.

It went up, making slow progress on the sharp stairs, and hid in an alcove across from her door. It didn't wait long. Soon, they came. The man from before, with another man. This one had orange hair and a wild beard. Taller than the dark haired man, and very strong. They stopped near the woman's door and spoke softly. The dark haired man shook his head and pointed up. Once they left, the doll followed.

It found them on the roof, wrestling in the snow. Ripping each other's clothes off. The whine was sharp in it's head now, but it did not stop. It tottered along on it's misformed legs, ambling through the open door. It walked in the snow, but left no trace.

They had slowed down a little, moving slowly now, as the wove their bodies around each other.

It remembered, sharp pains going through it's mind. Strong hands seizing and pulling. Biting a hand. The sight of the dark sky as it tumbled. Hitting.

It stood, lopsided, a blade with dried blood held in it's paws, one button eye barely attached and drooping. An ear ripped off and another hanging limply. Stuffing missing. A small, pathetic bunny doll.

It raised the knife and tottered forward.

Branton died when the knife went through his throat, collapsing atop his lover. For his part, Toran stared in shock as Branton's blood squirted onto his face. He tried to struggle, but his lover was too heavy to move. He lay there, eyes open in horror, as the doll came slowly ambling around Branton's body, dripping knife in hand.

He remembered how to scream as it plunged the knife into his side. Again. And Again. Slowly.

The hunger went away with every stab. It did it again and again. Until the snow was red with blood. The whine in it's head was screaming, but it didn't care.

It turned as the door to the roof banged open behind him. The woman from before stood, sword bared at it. Her eyes took in the two corpses, then it. She said nothing just strode across the rooftop, pain in her eyes.

It stood there, staring up at her with one drooping eye as she approached. She lifted her sword and spoke to it.

"Ah was too late. Ah knew this would happen. They snuck out again. Yeh we're waitin. Ah know it's you, Kolin. Hoped yeh might have just moved on to the next world, not become a wraith."

It didn't reply. It couldn't.

"I liked yeh. Want yeh to know that. But yeh've had yet revenge, wriath. Now I'll have mine."

Before it could move, she had lunged across the snow and stabbed it through the middle. It thrashed on the sword, but to no avail. The knife was knocked from it's paws and sent into the snow.

She held it up, into the night sky. Just for a second, it thought that the view from the edge of this tower looked beautiful. The city below was ablaze with light, and the moon shone down, clear as day.

Then, she flicked her wrist and the salt within the blade caught fire. It burned, hanging there on her sword. Not just it's body, but it itself. It didn't fight it.

The hunger was gone. It was leaving this world behind.

When the last ashes of the doll fell from Ellara's sword, a sigh could be heard from the air before her. She closed her eyes, and saw Kolin's ghost leaving this world.

It was done. And here she stood, on the snowy top of a tower, sword in hand, the dead bodies of her brother and his lover before her. Best get to cleaning up.

submitted by /u/lcie_nimbus [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2yiDN7L

#Blogger #Story

[uncleruin]

Episode 1: One More Red Nightmare

Uncle Ruin opened his eyes at the sound of V8s. Rolling his scarred body up to sitting on his dirt-crusted bedroll, he blearily gazed with blood-shot eyes through a shattered window at the sun-bleached nightmare that was his world. Boomclouds roiled and toiled, filling the horizon. Skybolts crackled and spat for mere instants against the ash-grey backdrop. Rushing towards Uncle from out of the storm like Traiture Nature’s own emissaries, kicking up geysers of dust from their back tires, were three of the Duke o’ Diesel’s great gas-guzzlers, all shiny metal bristling with the Thrice Damned and their accoutrements of destruction. And towed by one of those gargantuan gadgets of gears and grease was - possibly, probably, painfully - Uncle Ruin’s rocket.   

They were still a long ways off, but they were getting closer and Ruin imagined he could hear their warcries. He stood up and crossed the room. It wasn’t his bedroom, per say, though he could remember a time when he’d had one, with curtains fluttering from the breeze and a soft bed to lie on. There was a woman there, too, and some little ones, but he had trouble remembering their faces. He’d been called something different then, too, but he was damned if he could remember. He was damned anyway. We all are, he thought. And whoever damned us has gone on their way, taking even the chance of redemption. Ruin came to the far wall and removed a false brick, pulling a worn wooden box from the opening behind it. He blew off the dust and rubbed it, as if for good luck, before opening it. Nestled in a red nest of felt was his old service pistol, a Mauser C96. He called it Dr. Offal, and as always for the last who-fuck-knows how long, the Doctor was OUT. Uncle Ruin slid the good Doctor into it’s holster and strapped on his gunbelt. He wouldn’t make a threatening figure, with his deeply lined, grizzled face of grey beard and his emaciated carcass, but if he stood up straight maybe he could appear a proud figure. He stepped outside.

The old bastard sun beat down on him and sweat popped out of his skin almost instantly. Behind Ruin rose the decrepit building he’d squatted in for the last ten years or so. He was pretty sure it used to be a hospital, before the war, but most everything useful for medicine or otherwise had been gutted from it long before he’d wandered out of the wastes and annexed it. The only useful thing remaining was the cistern out back, next to the well. That, and the fact that it was situated atop a rocky crag from which he could see for miles in any direction. Of course, the mass shallow grave at the bottom was testament to the fact that anyone else could spot him from miles in any direction. At least they had all straggled in by ones and twos, from which he took it to mean that still, after all these years, there wasn’t anyone out there with a strong enough force to dare risk challenging the Duke’s reign.

So here came the Thrice Damned, rumbling up the twisted road to Ruin. They came around the bend and over the rise and they saw him standing there in cadaverous relief. Their war machines grumbled and hissed to a stop a few feet away, the inhabitants grinning wickedly at him. All three engines cut off simultaneously and there was a moment of stillness. The war posse, those atop the massive vehicles armed with spears, knives, and axes grinned their yellow-toothed grin. Some shouted mocking cat-calls, though hesitantly. They’d heard the legends. The Krieg-Kaptain didn’t leer or mock, though. He knew why he was here, and he knew respect. The Krieg-Kaptain climbed down from the cockpit of his rig, boots kicking up dust as he dropped the last couple feet. He stood there for a moment in silence, a violent vision in cracked leathers. Then he spoke and his voice boomed and roared like a brutal storm.

“I am Berzerk McFierce, and I seek the one what calls himself Uncle Ruin.”

Ruin spat in the dust and said, “I see you, Berzerk, and here I am. Same as always.”

McFierce grinned a yellow rictus grin. “Put on a shirt, old man, we’re sent to take you to the Duke.”

Ruin’s facade of confidence faltered. “The shit does the Duke want with me now?”

“That’s his business alone, Ruin. Now get in the fucking truck. His Royal Badassness wants you there quick as can be.”

Ruin squinted through his piss-yellow eyes at the lot of them - thirty or so Thrice-Damned, all told. Ruin thought probably he could get through them, but he’d be the worse for wear after, and he was too damn old to waste time healing.

“Fine, McFierce, have it yer way. I could use some more vitriol in my life.”

***

A few klicks down the road Ruin got to wondering if he’d ever see that building, his home, again. He’d never really gotten used to calling anyplace a home; it never felt comfortable, with how he was always leaving. Or being made to leave. But seeing that old pile of broken brick beating a hasty retreat behind him, now and then obscured from dust kicked up by massive tires, he felt a strange emotional stirring, like he was leaving behind the only place he felt was his. But fuck all that, he thought. The only thing sentiment gets you out here is dead.

“Is it true, what they’re saying?” some inquisitive motherfucker asked.

Ruin was chained up against the back of the cab, outside on the one truck that had a flat bed. It was the one that had his rocket, up on it’s crawler, dragging behind it. So he could see, and remember how it’d been taken from him. Between him and it were about a dozen of the war party, mostly ignoring him now. Most of the Thrice Damned pretended to ignore him, just glancing over briefly. Their earlier shows of bravado had fallen by the wayside, and their fear was palpable. One of them though, a real runty piece of shit who looked too damn young to shave much less do war, seemed to have taken a serious interest in him. “The fuck should I know?” he asked the rugrat. “They say a lot of damn-fool things.”

The boy leaned in a little, lowering his voice a touch. “They’re saying you came out of the wastes. They’re saying you crossed them clear from the other side, and you dragged this rocket all the way.”

“People often speculate on what they don’t know shit about,” Ruin opined.

The kid drew back and frowned. He obviously thought this palaver would go a different direction. After some moments of concentrated and probably-painful cogitating, the tiny shitstain whispered out a reply, this time more plaintive or respectful, or just plain desperate. “They talk about you all the time, you know. Our Father the Duke makes himself out to be our savior, the only one we’re supposed to speak on. But at night, when the older ones have passed out, we tell the legends about you. I just want to know.”

The kid hung his head a little and Uncle Ruin stared at him. Finally he said, just as quietly, “Yeh, beansprout, most of it’s probably true, or once was.”

A brief moment of levity in Ruin’s life, this, as the boy’s eyes grew wide and astonished. A moment that all too quickly came to a halt when the kid asked, “What’s a beansprout?” and Ruin was reminded that this little warchild had never known a world that wasn’t wasted desert and dust.

“What’s your name? I’ll call you that.”

“I’m called Nitros Pissant, sir,” the yellow-eyed boy said.

“Alright, Nitros, why don’t you let me be for the rest of the ride? Old Ruin needs time to think.”

Nitros smiled a toothless smile and hopped up on the roof of the cab, facing the oncoming desert in all it’s barren beauty, just another one of the countless things to come into this world, be afraid, and die - but maybe a little better than most.

#wasteland #uncleruin #post-apocalyptic #fiction

[as-eorzea-turns]

As Eorzea Turns ~ ACT 1: Fish Out of Water

SCENE 6

POV: Ojene Suinuet YEAR: 1553 AGE: 27

The Yellowjackets followed me all the way to the closest, most affordable looking inn I could find. They were there as I relinquished one of the dwindling coins in my purse for a room, and they were waiting for me in the morning when I emerged into the daylight. Fucking hells, really? I tried not to acknowledge them as I struck out into the streets. I had a few hours, after all, and it was time to explore.

But the townsfolk were no less unfriendly than yesterday- I did nothing but walk down the streets and take in my surroundings, yet all the while their suspicious glances bored into my back. I had tried so hard to be past caring about this shite. But something about it clenched in my chest, like a fist squeezing harder and harder around my heart.

On the eleventh bell, I relented for the day. Enough is enough. Might as well head north.

The ‘Jackets didn’t follow me past the city gates. A small blessing. And it was only a short walk past huts and farms until I came to what I could only assume was my destination. It was the only thing like it in sight- a looming hulk of a tree split down the middle. Dead blackened bark curled away from the massive scar. Lightning was my guess, and at least a couple years past. Fungus grew in the cleft left behind, its rotting interior lined with rising plates of mushrooms. Against the wood, I leaned. And I waited.

It wasn’t too long before I was joined by another. A Roegadyn boy, clad in a set of plate armor that gleamed so bright it sprinkled motes of sunlight onto the dusty dirt road. I didn’t miss the glances he shot me now and again- wide-eyed and wary as if he expected me to pull a knife on him at any second. I barely paid him more than a nod before I stared down the road so I didn’t have to contemplate his face.

The thirteenth bell came. And the thirteenth bell went.

Was this some kind of joke?

The boy’s glances edged from wary to confused, and I was right there with him. Surely this was the spot, and surely this was the time. And even though we hadn’t said a word, it was clear he was here for the same purpose as me. But he didn’t move, so nor did I.

Wind gusted through, rattling the bare branches above my head like the bones of a skeleton. The only sound to fill our silence.

Just before the fourteenth bell, they appeared. Two more Roegadyn, a man and a woman, their unfamiliar faces turned towards us. At first I thought little of it- just a couple more passersby. But as they drew closer, the light caught in the folds of the cloak that billowed from the woman’s shoulders, showing its color for all that it was. Silver.

Finally.

I straightened, pulling myself away from the crumbling bark at my back. Thumbs hooked in my belt, I watched their approach. And as they drew close enough to see their eyes, I realized just where their attention was focused. Me.

I doubt they knew it, the things a Duskwight could hear. Because when the cloakless man whispered to the woman at his side, it was all too clear his words weren’t meant for my ears.

“Well, fuck me,” he muttered. “It is a Duskwight.”

A thin smile fixed on my face- I forced my hands to relax at my side.

Dirt crunched under their boots as they sidled up towards us, muttering comments about me the entire way. After the indignity of today- of yesterday- of the past four months- of my whole damn life- hot coils of anger spread up my chest. But I shoved them down. This wasn’t the time. I had to keep my head clear.

The pair stopped, just a few fulms away. The woman stood back, a smirk on her face as the the man turned his dour expression on the plate-clad boy. A stout rock towering over a quivering tree.

The interrogation started with a single, rough growl. “Name.”

Just like that, the boy’s forehead burst with sweat.

The man’s questions were brief. Simple. A short grunt followed by the kid’s trembling answer. When asked his age, he shot back with a hearty “Nineteen!” and his shoulders hunched forward with enthusiastic gusto. But the woman laughed, a sharp mocking peal. And a droplet of moisture beaded down the bridge of his nose.

In a snap, it was over. The kid shrank back. And then, like the shifting of a glacier, the interrogator turned his hard, dark eyes to me. I had one solace in that moment, one unchanging grace- despite the straight ridge of his back, he was still a bit shorter than me.

“Name,” he said, tone unchanged.

I stiffened under his gaze. “Ojene Suinuet.”

“Age,” he snapped, barely giving my mouth time to close on the last syllable.

My eyes narrowed. “Twenty-seven,” I answered, as sharp and steady as before.

“Skills,” he barked, just as quick. And he drew himself up a little straighter, as if by virtue of will he was going to grow another couple ilms.

As I glared down into his eyes, I knew what this was. He was trying to throw me off. Unbalance me. Shatter my guard and force me to strew my true self before him. Because he, like all the rest, thought he knew what that was.

Right. I drew myself up a little taller. Let him feel every ilm of difference between us.

He wanted to see what I was made of. So that’s what he was going to get.

"Four years in the Gridanian Lancer’s Guild, assuming you know where that is. Extensive experience with the spear before that, and not to mention knives and bows. The ability to survive in the forest, to track even the most skittish of antelope for malms on end, and to actually follow someone without being fucking noticed. And I come recommended, from a proven mercenary herself, but I presume you already know that.” My eyes narrowed sharply. “Or is that, perhaps, not what you were trying to ask?”

But beneath the weight of my glare, he didn’t move a muscle.

In a different context, I would have been impressed.

“I was askin' about yer battle skills,” he snapped, smooth as polished stone. “Relevant experience an' th’ like."

My molars ground against each other.

"Then I've told you. Four years with the Lancers. And I’ve spent the last four months doing jobs in Limsa Lominsa."

"Why leave Limsa fer Aleport, of all places?" He wagged the question through the air like a finger in my face.

“More work,” I snapped.

"Yeh weren't asked ter leave, then?"

“No.” My hands tightened at my sides. “I wasn’t.”

He paused. Stared at me in silence, and despite the impassive stoniness of his expression, I could see his thoughts turn over in his eyes. Searching for a new approach. "What's a Gridanian Duskwight doin' so far west? Mm?"

What, indeed. The question everyone wanted to know the answer to. And for a moment, when I asked myself, I didn’t know the answer.

“They don’t like my kind in Gridania,” I said dryly.

"So, yeh thought your kind'd be liked here?"

A cold anger snapped through my veins. My lips rolled back, flashing him a grin that stretched my cheeks taut. “No,” I spat. “But I thought maybe I'd have a chance to get away from blowhards who thought even a whiff of a Duskwight spelled trouble."

But for all my passion, all my rage, he didn’t fucking flinch.

As Eorzea Turns is an episodic writing project based in the Final Fantasy XIV universe, set in the past, and written by a group of roleplayers on the Balmung server.

Visit our tumblr to learn more and to read from the beginning! Read chronologically ~ ACT 1: Fish Out of Water Learn more ~ About AET

We release two pre-written scenes a week every Sunday & Wednesday at 7pm PST.

This week’s scene featuring: @diskwrite-ffxiv

#ffxiv writing #as eorzea turns #act 1