#respectfully miss Maas | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

visualtaehyun · 3 months

Text

Names, particles, aliens and ghosts, oh my!

Disclaimer: not a native Thai speaker, still learning 🙏

Ongsa & Alpha

Last week's episode started with the trio talking about the sisters' names:

Nunnapat Ampornsopon /Nan-na-phat Am-phaawn-soh-phohn/ Matthayom 4, class 6 (=10th grade) English

While we see this, Tin tells us Alpha's name too:

Napatsanun Ampornsopon นภัสนันท์ อัมพรโสภณ /Na-phat-sa-nan Am-phaawn-soh-phohn/

Her and Ongsa's first names have the exact same two words in them, just switcheroo'd:

นันท์ /nan/ = joy, happiness;

นภัส /na phat/ = sky, heaven

-> Quick pronunciation lesson: The final consonant in นภัส /na phat/ is called ส เสือ /saw seuua/ (= lit. S like the word for tiger) but in final position it's pronounced as a /t/. In Alpha's name, that same letter gets reduplicated to better link นภัส /na phat/ and นันท์ /nan/ so we get Napat-sa-nun!

Their last name Ampornsopon contains:

อัมพร /am phaawn/ = sky;

โสภณ /soh phohn/ = beautiful

Aylin

Her club application form was only shown in a Next Break preview last week, not the actual scene, but I wanted to take a look at it anyway:

Application to join the Astronomy Club Name: Aylin Kueaahree Grade: Matthayom 4, class 1 (=10th grade) Hobbies: Communicating with aliens Goal in joining the club: Searching for a friend/friends

Aylin is her first name, her last name is เกื้ออารีย์ /geuua aa ree/:

เกื้อ /geuua/ = to aid, do a favor, assist, lend a hand;

อารีย์ /ah ree/ = kind, generous

We saw her name properly this week, too, in the document she hilariously designed, wrote up, and filled out by hand:

Permit for spending the night at S-TAR school Subject: Asking for permission to stay the night at school for the duration of 1 night To: Counselling homeroom teacher I, (young Mr./young Miss/Mr./Miss) Aylin Keuaahree, ID number 406123, student of Matthayom 4/1, need to stay over at school ... on the date of the 24th of the month of August in the year of 2566 (2023) from 20.00 o'clock until 06.00 o'clock. Please kindly take it into consideration. Respectfully yours Aylin Keuaahree (Miss Aylin Keuaahree) Student

I've mentioned before that the subs are a bit too generous and don't quite show how much Aylin limits her speech to the minimum she needs to get her point across. One thing that consistently gets subbed is how she differentiates between aliens and humans. But not every instance of human is the same. She does seem to differentiate between general observations about human behavior and specific humans she talks to, now even addressing them appropriately (albeit with the 'human' descriptor).

1) มนุษย์ครูใจร้าย /ma noot khruu jai raai/ = [You] are mean, teacher human. 2) มันเป็นหนทางที่เอเลี่ยนจะได้เจอเพื่อนนะ /man bpen hon thaang thee alien ja dai juuhr pheuuan na/

มนุษย์ชอบถามแปลก ๆ /ma noot chaawp thaam bplaaek bplaaek/ = Humans like to ask weird questions.

1) มนุษย์พี่เคยบอกเอง ว่าเรื่องที่เชื่อไม่ใช่เรื่องที่ไร้สาระ /ma noot phi koei baawk ehng - waa reuuang thee cheuua mai chai reuuang thee rai saa ra/ = [You] said so [your]self, senior human - that what [I] believe in isn't nonsense. 2) ทำไมมนุษย์ชอบกลับคำพูด /tham mai ma noot chaawp glap kham phuut/ = Why do humans like to go back on their word?

Luna, Mawin, and Ton

Thanks again, Tin, for helpfully giving us all the names lol:

Luna Lalita Chanthaboriboon ลูน่า ลลิตา จันทบริบูรณ์ /Luu-naa La-lee-dtaa Jan-tha-baw-ree-buun/

Luna is her nickname, her first name Lalita ลลิตา means pretty, charming, lovely, and her last name จันทบริบูรณ์ contains:

จันท /jan tha/ from จันทร์ /jan/ = moon;

บริบูรณ์ /baw ree buun/ = complete, full, perfect, abundant

พี่เป็นดวงจันทร์ต่างหาก /phi bpen duuang jan dtaang haak/

Moving on to the boys-

Mawin Kow(a)charoen มาวิน โค้วเจริญ /Maa-win Khoh(-wa)-ja-reern/ -> the added 'wa' would be for the same ease-of-pronunciation reason I explained earlier with Alpha's name

Mawin isn't a Thai name but his last name โค้วเจริญ consists of:

โค้ว* likely from หมูโค้ว /moo khoh/? = a pork belly dish

เจริญ /ja reern/ = the same as Charoen's name, meaning to pray/chant, to prosper, to thrive

Edit, addition by @recentadultburnout:

Based on the usual pattern, the *โค้ว in the surname โค้วเจริญ is likely a Chinese surname that got incorporated into a Thai one. โค้ว is one of the top ten most used ones among Chinese surnames in Thailand. As for [his first name] มาวิน, while it was indeed not originally Thai, it did have a meaning—a borrowed word plus slang of sorts. A winner or to win.

Ton Thanakorn Khajornyoo ต้น ธนกร ขจรอยู่ /Dtohn Tha-na-gaawn Kha-jaawn-yuu/

His first name ธนกร /tha na gaawn/ = to create assets/capital; rich, wealthy

His nickname Ton ต้น might stem haha from the plant (ต้น)ขจร /(dtohn) kha jaawn/, a type of vine. ต้น /dtohn/ is a prefix used for plants but it can also mean leader, chief, leading, beginning, etc.

His last name ขจรอยู่ /kha jawn yuu/ = is spread/spreading, emanating, diffusing

An addendum about Ton

Last week, I wondered if maybe Ton was a closeted gay guy because of a handful of instances where AJ's delivery of the typically-female polite ending particles ค่ะ/คะ /kha/ sounded pretty sassy (and because he's Ongsa's ex aka the biggest lesbian under the sun lol). After episode three, I'm pretty sure he's just a huge flirt with everyone regardless of gender, he just adjusts his particle use (and also his height!) accordingly to sweet-talk them all:

1) ว่าไงครับสุดหล่อ /waa ngai khrap soot laaw/ -> ครับ /khrap/ = typically-male polite ending particle 2) แต่คุณแอลคะ /dtaae khun Al kha/ -> คะ /kha/ = typically-female polite ending particle

And since he finger-guns his way into the student council room, I think we all know now that he's bi

"Filth-eating spirit"

ใครจะไปล่าแสงกระสือกับพี่ต้นบ้างครับ /khrai ja bpai laa saaeng gra seuu gap phi Ton baang khrap/

If that sounds familiar to you, you either know your Thai ghosts or you've seen this or other movies like it:

Inhuman Kiss or แสงกระสือ /saaeng gra seuu/, starring Minnie Phantira, Oab Oabnithi and Great Sapol

A Krasue is a type of evil spirit that possesses women and, when going out to hunt, leaves the body behind to be a floating head with internal organs still attached. It's translated as 'filth-eating' because a Krasue is cursed to feed on blood, organs, carrion etc. Ton calls the mysterious green light แสงกระสือ /saaeng gra seuu/ (=light of a Krasue) because sightings of a Krasue usually report them looking like a floating red or green orb. In that regard, they're comparable to will-o'-the-wisps!

#23.5 degrees #23.5 spoilers #thai gl #aylinluna #viewjune #view benyapa #june wanwimol #ford arun #aj chayapol #euro thanaset #inhuman kiss #local woman harps on about linguistics #if you're wondering why i keep spelling it Tin instead of how the subs do it- i refuse to adhere to the nonsense 'h' they put in there!#his name may have a silent h at the end (ติณห์) but that doesn't mean it's needed at all in the romanization and i stand by that 😤

120 notes · View notes

i-am-bitterly-jittery · 1 year

Text

On Death's Doorstep (pt 20/?)

[<<First],,,,[<Prev],[Next>] [ODD Masterlist]

Word Count: 940

Rating: Teen

Pairings: None in this part (mentioned Karrot Kings)

Warning: shady government shit, implied/referenced child abuse, references to past murder, allusions to kidnapping

Enter our new antagonist: Hazel Agon

~~~START~~~

As the Director of the MAA (Metahuman Affairs Agency) Dr. Hazel Agon had many responsibilities; she oversaw the SSP, she had to be well briefed on the supervillains running amok in her city, and she was intimately involved with the R&D department (she used to head the department before taking over the Agency, and she still stopped by at the end of stressful days in order to blow off steam). In short, she was a very busy and very powerful woman with a very low tolerance for unrulies who added undue amounts of pressure to her job.

Unrulies like the fugitive Knightcaster — real name: Virgil Sanders, age: 26 — who had robbed the government of millions of dollars' worth of assets, and the vigilante Sandman — real name: unknown, age: unknown — who was a public menace.

Sandman would be easy. As far as anyone at the Agency could tell, she worked alone and had limited access to resources that even low-ranking supervillains possessed. After months of her continued interference, and despite how careful her movements were, MAA agents were close to tracking down her real identity.

Knightcaster on the other hand…

Knightcaster had all but dropped off the face of the earth. He hadn’t gone home to his fathers’ house in Gainesville Florida — she had Thomas and Nico Flores-Sanders under constant surveillance — and no one had managed to find any credible sighting of him anywhere else either. It was like he’d just dropped off the face of the earth!

And even more annoying, there hadn’t been any sign of his son, Patton Sanders. Knightcaster was spoiled goods, and if he were to be recovered, he likely would not be good for anything other than enacting the Martyr Protocol, but Patton was young, and had quite a bit of meta-potential — Agent Sophia DuPont had reported some promising results to preliminary meta-testing. If he were to be recovered soon, he might be easily transplanted into a more structured and constructive household without too much fuss.

Perhaps Hazel would even take in the small child herself, after all, she’d always had a soft spot for children. It really was too bad most of them didn’t make it out of R&D fully intact.

“Director Agon!” Agent Smolet burst suddenly into Hazel’s office, snapping the Director out of her thoughts.

Hazel sent him her most withering stare, instantly cowing him.

“My apologies, ma’am,” he said, bowing his head respectfully as he held out a manila folder for her to take. “But we’ve found Sandman.”

“Really?” Hazel purred, snatching the folder from him and pursuing it quickly.

“Remelda Casper, seventeen-year-old junior at Madison High School,” Agent Smolet recited redundantly as Director Agon read the exact same thing in the file. “Her parents are Robert Casper and Julieta Sanchez, divorced. Neither have ever shown up on our radar being meta-potential, nor had Ms. Sanchez’s current husband, Michael Tucker.”

“Robert and Michael?” Hazel mused, mostly to herself. “What will her third husband’s name be? John?”

“Fourth, ma’am,” Smolet interrupted. He flinched slightly when Hazel turned her gaze on him but continued in a small voice. “Mr. Casper was her second husband, and Mr. Tucker is her third… so John would be her-her fourth…”

By the time Smolet finally petered off, he was shaking like a leaf. Internally, Hazel smirked at the blatant fear; externally, however, she remained coldly neutral.

“Have Harper send a recruiter to Madison High School,” Director Agon ordered, causing Smolet to snap to attention. “If she’s willing to come above board and register with us, then I see no reason why we can’t welcome Miss Casper into the fold. And if she isn’t… Well, it’s about time we remind the public about the dangers of vigilantism, don’t you think, Smolet?”

“Yes ma’am,” Smolet agreed before scuttling out of her office as quickly as he could.

As soon as he was gone, Hazel picked up her phone and called her secretary.

“Yes ma’am?” Rodgers answered. Hazel could see him straighten up through the one-way mirror that made up the far wall of her office.

“Have someone administer Kipper-Wang meta-potential tests to Julieta Sanchez and Robert Casper as soon as possible,” she ordered. “And make sure it’s inconspicuous, we don’t need the general public feeling uneasy about Big Brother.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Hazel hung up without another word and watched as Rodgers shifted his attention to his computer monitor before turning her own attention to Remelda's file.

Remelda was a smart girl — straight A’s, perfect attendance, member of her school’s chemistry club. She would make a very valuable asset to the Agency if she registered — not quite as valuable as Patton Sanders in terms of loyalty and potential, but equal at least to Knightcaster, and much more valuable than Atlas, reckless hothead that he was.

In a way, it was almost a relief for Knightcaster to have put him down. The experimental serum that had given Atlas his powers in the first place was proving to be growing more and more unstable over time, and it was only a matter of time before the combination of his already aggressive and volatile personality, and the degenerating effects of the serum turned him into an uncontrollable weapon of pure destruction. This, of course, would have meant an awful lot of paperwork and late nights for Hazel, and potentially a huge blow to the Agency if his rampage had been public.

But Remelda’s powers, as far as Hazel knew, were genetic, and therefore infinitely more stable than any lab-grown powers the R&D department had ever produced.

Yes, Remelda would be quite an asset if she registered, and quite a headache if she didn’t.

~~~END~~~

I’m surprised I was able to get this out in January considering my brain decided to take the first half of the month off, but here it is, the start of section 3

My current outline has section 3 being 10 chapters long, but considering it was 9 a few days ago and then I added a chapter between this one and what was supposed to be the next one, I’m guessing it’ll be about 12-15 chapters when all is said and done (we’ve got a lot of cover in this section and I’m really excited about it)

This chapter btw takes place around 5 months after the last one, so Remy’s built a name for herself as a hero, but she’s still on that same school year.

I hope you all liked the name Dr. Hazel Agon because I think I’m very funny :P

ODD taglist:

@royalty-of-all-things-snuggly @pixelated-pineapple @arsonic-knight @misunderstood-shadowling @lost-in-thought-20 @remy-the-lemon-berry @jinxcrafter @apinkline2715 @gothfoxx @donutsarepartybagels @xoaningout @meganmoneky14

#sanders sides #ts sanders sides #virgil sanders #patton sanders #remy sanders #on death’s doorstep #superhero au #thursday writes #my writing #sanders sides fanfiction

25 notes · View notes

sammyawrites · 6 years

Text

her troubled heart, her lying mind

(part of the sagas of larja)

@sammyawrites (tumblr) | @sammyaworks (twitter)

A/N: this is a short story written for @forgedzine! although preorders have ended for the print edition, you can still grab a copy of the PDF edition for as long as you’d like! make sure to check out all the incredible art featured within.

The moons’ light welcomed them to the small town under the Mersa mountains in southern Ihai. Larjah set out to find a smithery as Rudra sought a place to pray. They had agreed to meet at the town’s inn. Larjah released her winds, pleased when they returned the faint scent of Salali, the nightseeker she was hired to kill.

Dropping off her damaged sword, she couldn’t help but feel frustration building toward their situation. How had Rudra’s pilgrimage turned into a cross-country hunt for a nightseeker?

Larjah’s mind was focused on vengeance as she made her way to the town’s inn. Salali’s heart would be at the end of her blade tomorrow so she could find peace.

In the inn’s courtyard, Rudra was singing a song of worship to Rala, the Goddess of Water and Healing. With her maiju she fetched water from the fountain that she used to float around her as she prayed. Her dancing made the water pulsate out around her. Water arched high, making rainbows in the droplets as the moonlight kissed it.

Rudra was beautiful. Her gold eyes and brown skin glistened as she brought praise to her goddess. Looking at her, Larjah knew that Rudra would make someone a lovely wife.

“Jaha!” Rudra raised a hand in greeting before she went back to her dance.

When Rudra was done, she joined Larjah, who was consulting with the innkeeper about their room. Again, Rudra had gotten one room for them. Larjah glanced at Rudra, frowned at the lingering traces of the desert’s sand on her, and asked for a bathing tub.

“We don’t have time for that, right?” Rudra asked.

“I don’t want to lie to your Temple Mother when she asks if I treated you respectfully.”

“Couldn’t it wait until we finish the hunt?”

“No.”

“Are you two here on a hunt then?” the manager asked as he turned to them. “Did you come because of the disappearances?”

“So people have gone missing” Rudra said. “You weren’t able to find the bodies?”

“Not at all. It’s gotten so bad that we sent for Jahla’s priestess to help — so are you the maijuns they sent?”

“Actually, we were hired by a Lord across the valley! Maa jaha’s a hunter.” Rudra aimed a smile at Larjah who looked away. “She’s skilled in hunting monsters.”

“Oh!” The manager was pleased. “Are you a kakaja and an anaka? We are truly blessed then that a bonded maijun pair has come to help us!”

“It’s our honored duty, sir.”

Larjah didn’t have the energy to start a public fight because of Rudra’s stubbornness in lying about their relationship. “Please bring our meal to our room.”

Larjah walked away as Rudra said, “She’s tired. Please excuse my kakaja—.”

“I’ve heard that kakajas can be easily angered — why don’t you go calm your kakaja, anaka mahila?”

“Rudra.” Larjah called as she followed the servants carrying water to their room.

While she waited for the tub to be filled Larjah was silent. She ignored the exasperated looks Rudra tossed her way when she finally joined her. When the servants left, Larjah readied herself to speak but Rudra did first.

“Why won’t you accept that we’re bondmates, jaha?” Rudra was in front of the mirror, twisting her black hair into a bun for her bath, as she watched Larjah.

Larjah shook her head. “Why won’t you accept that your spouse is in Dumvasi? You’re going to end up hurt if you keep lying.”

“I’m not lying.” Rudra turned toward her. “I’m not the one who cuts off my maiju’s connection to you. I’m not the one who won’t accept that we’re interwoven with each other, that each day only proves our maijus call for each other. That I’m your anaka. That you’re mine.”

“You’re not mine,” Larjah said. “You’re meant for something so much greater than anything I could give you; so don’t pin your aspirations on me. Your goddess, Rala, speaks through you—you want to throw that blessing away to be a cursed person like me? Mother Rasa would never let you—”

“Since when do you care what anyone thinks?”

Larjah looked at the beautifully stubborn girl in front of her. One day, Rudra would accept her fate, but tonight was not that day. Rudra had promised since childhood that Larjah would be hers, and that remained her goal.

“I’m going to get another room.” Larjah didn’t linger for Rudra’s reply.

The next day as Larjah neared Rudra’s room, a foul smell drifted toward her. Her first knock was unusually ignored given that Rudra didn’t hold grudges and woke at dawn.

“Rudra!” Larjah knocked louder. Unease rising, she forced her way into the room.

Larjah stepped on glass. The mirror was cracked, the bedsheets tossed to the floor, and the window was opened. The smell was stronger now, barely faded in the early morning winds.

Rudra had fought. The black blood belonged to a nightseeker and the stench belonged to Salali. He had come for Rudra— though there was no red blood, that didn’t mean that he had taken her alive. It wasn’t necessary for a nightseeker to bleed a maijun like a human.

Her temper flared as winds gathered around her, spiraling out the window to gather up the nightseeker’s trail. Salali had drained dozens of maijuns and killed even more humans over a couple months. That monster had Rudra?

Rudra, a priestess, who was considered a healing prodigy thanks to her water maiju, who always had to help, who was the beloved of Rala and—Larjah reached for her blade only to remember that it was gone.

The winds returned, bringing faint traces of Salali’s scent. Larjah let herself drop from the window, releasing the wind to call upon the earth, feeling it shift to accommodate her as she ran to the smithery. She switched between her wind and earth maijus, fighting to keep his trail fresh in her mind and hurried to get her sword.

Larjah fetched her blade from the smithery and moved out of town using the ground to push her forward. When Larjah was outside of town, she let the wind circle around her to send her rushing toward the mountains.

The mountain’s face gave way as she switched to using her earth maiju to soften her landing. The strain of switching between earth and wind was draining, but if her curse to use all maijus would help her save Rudra she’d survive any pain, any further shortening of her life.

She passed through empty cave after cave as her maijus fought within her. Each part of her was seeking Rudra’s maiju signature. Her core was unfocused, forcing her winds to slam against her skin as they returned without Rudra’s scent.

Larjah landed in a cave’s entrance, ready to let the winds carry her to the next one.

Then she saw him. Salali. His skin was white, fragile as paper, his eyes cloudy grey. Larjah couldn’t focus clearly on him, eyes sliding past him, past the villagers’ corpses, to Rudra against the cave’s floor. Larjah let their maijus brush and Rudra looked at her. She looked pallid from Salali starting to drain her maiju.

“Salali.” Larjah’s voice was layered with disgust, her anger making her maiju become frantic, as she released the wind and planted herself into the earth. She felt the earth extend her senses as he laughed, a mocking sound from him. It would be his final mockery as she pushed up with her hands to force him back.

Salali twisted out of reach. He had grown stronger— how many maijuns had he claimed? How many lives had been taken to fuel him?

Rudra’s maiju was touching Larjah’s maiju eagerly, as if sensing her rage, urging her to calm down. Larjah let Rudra in, let their maijus mingle properly as she pulled her sword from her thigh, switching maijus and letting her winds give her the extra push to force her blade into Salali’s heart.

He shifted so that it hit his shoulder instead, and he was laughing again, even as she forced him back toward the wall while his cold blood coated her hands. As she pulled the blade out to try to reach his heart, and twisted himself into a tunnel in the wall. Larjah reached out, fingers closing around his cloak but he escaped, hiding deeper inside the cave’s tunnels.

She let out a scream of frustration, and Rudra’s maiju flooded into her, amplifying her sight. Larjah could see Salali crawling out of reach of her blade, yet not out of reach of her earth maiju. She stomped her foot and collapsed the tunnels throughout the cave as he reached them. He would have to escape or be buried alive.

Salali burst out of a collapsing tunnel teeth bared. She locked stone braces around his wrists and ankles. His screaming mingled with hers, but she kept focused as she prepared her sword for him. As she switched from earth to fire maiju, a whimper from Rudra reached her.

Her concentration slipped.

Salali threw himself at her, teeth bearing down into her shoulder as they slammed to the floor, her sword fell from her grip. Larjah reached for her dagger, fingers closing around the hilt as her vision swam. She felt powerful as she stabbed the blade into his back. Fire maiju swept from her fingers, and down the dagger to engulf him.

She felt him burn, felt the fire lick against her skin as he turned to ash on top of her.

Then there was Rudra drained yet angry above her, repeatedly saying, “Don’t die.”

I can’t promise that, Rudra, Larjah thought before she drifted into dreams.

After they let the villagers know where their dead rested, it was time to go.

“I felt you,” Rudra finally said after watching Larjah pack their beasts.

Larjah looked at the fence where Rudra was waiting for her to finish. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Larjaha, how can someone named after love itself be in so much pain?”

“I’m not.” How much of her core had Rudra seen? It had been careless of her to have allowed Rudra in after trying so long to keep her out. “Forget everything you saw.”

“Maa jaha, how could I?”

“Rudra, enough.” Larjah stepped away from their beasts. “It’s time for you to go home.”

“Larjah.”

“What?”

Rudra took hold of Larjah’s arm. “If you kiss me and can still say that we’re not bonded, I’ll go home without a complaint.”

If it was that simple… Larjah to kiss her cheek. “We’re not bonded.” Rudra rolled her eyes. “You promised, Rudra.”

“I meant a real kiss.”

The way to deal with Rudra sometimes was to give in. Mother Rasa said it spoiled her, but now Larjah could only look at the still drained girl. Rumors said that a bonded maijun pair could restore their maijus from contact… but Larjah didn’t know if it’d be fair to kiss Rudra based on a rumor. It also wasn’t fair that Rudra was demanding it from her.

There was no god she could ask for guidance as she shifted and kissed Rudra. Rudra gripped her shoulders as the world quieted. This could be their everyday, Larjah thought as she let herself feel the depths of Rudra’s love for her. She could feel Rudra’s maiju replenish itself, drawing on Larjah’s own reserves. Feeling that was enough for Larjah, it gave her resolve that Rudra needed to be safe. Neither could be selfish when Rudra could do so much good for the world, would do so much when Larjah was gone, left only to memory.

Larjah broke the kiss. “You’re going home.”

Rudra sighed. “See how much potential we have?”

“You promised, Rudra.”

Rudra rolled her eyes. “Okay, jaha.”

#sammya writes #s: the sagas of larja #f/f romance #vampires #woc characters #qwoc characters #magic and swords

13 notes · View notes

bloodshrike-helene · 7 years

Text

To Fall in Love with a Lion - Chapter Four || Morrigan/Andromache

Summary: The fourth installment in my story of Mor/Andromache and their timeline during the First War. I’m here for this ship. Here for Mor’s history, and I’m going to give it the love it deserves.

Rating: M

Pairing: Morrigan/Andromache

Word Count: 3000+

Chapter: 4/? (Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3)

AO3 link: Here

A/N: All characters and the Universe belong to Sarah J. Maas, not me.

“My High Lord has requested your permission to visit the palace. He wishes to be updated on the Treaty in person. The battles are intensifying in the North and he is...concerned about how things are moving.”

As Morrigan stood at the bottom of the steps before the six thrones of the Mortal Queens, she was relaying her High Lord's letter in much more pleasant terms. Orion had not asked permission, but rather had simply told her that she could expect his presence within the week. The war was becoming more violent and he wanted to discuss the terms of the preliminary Treaty that she had sent him a week previous.

It had been a little over six months since Mor had arrived in the human realm, four since she and Andromache had started...whatever it was they had together. They hadn't put a name on it, hadn't explored too deep into their feelings, but it hadn't stopped them from sharing a bed most nights, and whatever stolen moments they could.

As crazy as it was, Mor felt happy. Even with a war breathing down their neck along with death and fear, she was happy, living for the time she got with the Mortal Queen.

Even as she stood, stone faced with the dread of her Court looming over her, Mor had to steel herself from reacting when she met those amber eyes for just a moment before quickly looking away, heating licking along the back of her neck as she recalled waking up to meet those same eyes gazing up at her from between her legs.

“And can we expect a large party to visit with your High Lord?” It was a layered questioned, carefully asked by the Queen who was second in line, Briala.

“It will be a fleeting visit. The High Lord will probably be accompanied by a handful of sentries and perhaps an emissary from our Court,” And the sick feeling in Mor's stomach already gave her an indication of who that emissary would most likely be.

And she was right.

Three days later, the High Lord of the Night Court, with several Illyrian sentries, his Shadowsinger and her father, the emissary from the Hewn City.

Keir had brought two of his darkbringer guards, one Mor recognised as Gregor, a particularly horrid creature and a favourite of her father's.

Whatever brief happiness she had felt upon seeing Azriel, had disappeared the moment her father's presence had entered the room. The man didn't even look at her with the exception of a disgusted glance her general direction. Gregor however, barely took his eyes off of her, a wild grin on his features.

Andromache hadn't pried when Morrigan had asked to borrow a dress, one of Mortal design. It was an act of defiance, not towards her Lord or her Court, but towards her father, who would see the attire as one more mark against his disowned daughter. Keir hated the humans. In fact, her father had refused to offer aid during this war, and she had no doubt that he wasn't going to change his mind. He was here to satisfy his curiosity and make her feel uncomfortable while he did so.

Mor's dress while beautiful was more modest than her normal gowns, the layers, bustled skirts licked the marble floor, the corseted middle pulled her waist in and while her cleavage and collar bone were accented by the sweeping neckline, it was done so in a lady like manner as sleeves fell to her forearms and her hair was swept into a delicate knot Andromache had fixed for her. She was as beautiful as ever, but dressed in mortal wears with only her Fae ears reminding those of what she was.

Standing at the foot of the stairs before the Mortal Queens throne, Morrigan had curtsied before her High Lord and Uncle who had greeted her with a small nod, and her gaze had flickered momentarily to Azriel whose shadows had shrunk back, allowing her to see that handsome face and while he didn't smile, she saw the familiar warmth in his eyes.

Mor introduced each party of the Court; her High Lord, Azriel, sweeping over the Illyrian guard and stumbling when it came to her father. Silently she cursed herself, before in turn, announcing each of the Queens. Andromache was watching her, curious, contemplating, her beautiful face furrowed in a frown as she looked to the new arrivals and back to Mor.

Orion, her High Lord, took it from there, and respectfully, she stepped back, allowing him to speak. Azriel arched his eyebrow as he looked to her, his eyes flickering over the skirts of her dress and she offered a half smile, shrugging her shoulders slightly. She wanted to see him in private. She'd missed him but at the same time Azriel being here made things complicated.

Their relationship had always been that way, ever since they'd met, more so since he'd rescued her from certain death at the Autumn Court. And Azriel looked at her in the way she was certain she looked at Andromache.

Yet where Azriel was one issue, her father was something else entirely.

Keir still didn't look at her and while Mor held firm, there was still something tight and sickly in her chest. It made her want to run. Yet she would not be afraid. Would not cower from him.

“We've arranged a small celebration to welcome you to our home for this evening. We will hold a formal meeting tomorrow to discuss the Treaty. Until then, our servants will show you to your quarters.”

Mor didn't miss the sneer on her father's face. Nothing in the Queen's palace would be good enough for him. Maybe not for her Uncle either, but he had the ability to feign gratitude as he swept into a slight bow, if it could be classified as that, before the newly arrived members of the Night Court were led from the throne room.

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

The small celebration was bigger than expected and held in one of the finest dining halls of the palace. Lords and ladies from the nobility of the nearby lands had been invited, though many had refused when it had been stated a Fae High Lord would be present. Others were no doubt curious enough to be led here.

Generals and commanders from both her forces and the human men had been invited, and casks of ale and plates of food had been sent down to the barracks for those not in attendance.

Mor had spent an hour after Orion's arrival with her High Lord, quickly updating him, answering questions, not just on what she'd been doing but about the Queen's, the palace, the lands. On the attacks and battles and everything she had involved herself in since arriving. He reacted to little of it, dismissing her once he'd fed his curiosity.

The woman had changed for the dinner, clad in a sea-green gown that swept in long waves of skirts and clung to her breasts, the back of it was open and a split along the leg allowed her more movement.

Tonight, she wasn't to sit with the Queens. Her seat had been taken by her father, and the High Lord sat at the head of the table, the guest of honour. Mor however, sat at the table next to it, Azriel at her side, three of her best commanders across from her and Gregor next to them. She wanted to talk to her friend. To find out what he knew of the war, of the Courts and more importantly, of Rhysand and Cassian. Yet with her father's general smirking at her, she didn't feel like talking. Wasn't sure she could.

It wasn't until the dinner ended that Morrigan was able to relax.

The tables were pulled to the sides of the room and music began playing. Servants milled around with jugs of expensive sparkling wine, nobility mingled and gossiped, all the while shooting glances at the visiting Fae.

One thing she would never get used to was this normality at times of war. The whole world as they knew it could be about to change yet they were throwing a party. Or at least it seemed like a party. What it really was, was a display. A show that even mortals had luxuries, wealth, culture, beauty. Things worth saving, preserving, even if it couldn't match whatever the Fae had, it was still here.

And the wine was good.

“Seems like you're settling into the human lands, Mor,” Azriel's cool voice was like a whisper on a night breeze. As usual, she hadn't heard him approach, as swift as the shadows, even as they shrunk back from her. Siphons glowed in several spots across Azriel's body and she basked in the familiarity of them, of him, suddenly home sick. She missed Velaris.

Leaning against a wall, Mor cradled a cup of sparkling wine to her chest, offering him a little smile. “Oh don't worry, Az. I've not traded loyalties. I know you'd all miss me too much at home,” There was a slight quirk of his lips which for Azriel was practically a grin. “But I haven't hated my time here,” As she spoke, her gaze settled on Andromache and she hoped her friend didn't catch the gesture.

Tonight, the golden Queen was clad in a gown that matched her name. Layers of white, embroidered generously with gold thread which shimmered when it caught the light. Her dark skin was deeper, her figure hugged to her waist where the voluminous skirts bellowed out and her hair was pinned in an elegant up-do that was accentuated by expensive combs.

Breathtaking.

Mor let her gaze linger for a moment longer, on the woman who mingled easily with those around her. Who brought a smile to the lips of the nobles and even an Illyrian warrior as she nodded gracefully at him, before she looked away, glancing back towards Azriel who seemed not to have noticed her lingering stare.

“Have you heard from them? Rhys or Cass?” The question was reluctant, almost fearful of what news he might or might not have because if anyone knew anything, it would be the Shadowsinger.

“Rhys sent a report last week. He’s in the thick of the fighting and Cassian, it’s been even longer. Last I heard was the general was leading them towards the coast of the Night Court but I’ve heard nothing since,” Though Azriel was not one to let his emotions ever get to him, there was a waver in his voice, a quiet note that only someone like Mor would notice. He was worried.

“They’ll be okay,” They had to be. The idea of not seeing them again hurt her heart in more ways than she cared to dwell on. Azriel’s silence was answer enough. It wasn’t guaranteed. Nothing was.

For the longest time, they stood together without a word, Mor simply grateful for the familiar presence of her friend and the shadows which gently brushed against her skin. When a young, brave human man marked with a noble house crest approached her for a dance, she didn’t refuse. There too much she wanted to say to Azriel, and too many people watching and listening to do so.

So instead, she danced. She drank sparkling wine and let herself be passed from man to man, human and Fae. Keir barely looked at her unless it was to offer a look of contempt and disgust. If this was war, their end, then she would savour whatever good she could while it was hers to have.

It was after the chime of midnight when Andromache slipped past her, with nothing more than a sideways glance that even Morrigan barely recognised, yet the intention was there.

The Fae counted her breaths.

Five minutes.

Then ten.

Morrigan excused herself from the young noble man she had been speaking to, needing some air because the wine had absolutely gone to her head and she made a show of giving a flustered giggle as swept from the hall.

The corridor was quiet, empty or so it seemed as Mor slipped from the festivities. It was from a side hall to her right that Andromache appeared from, grabbing the Fae’s wrist and dragging her from her path. The Queen’s giggle was tipsy as she pressed Mor against the stone wall, finding her lips in a giddy kiss, winding her arms around the woman’s neck.

For a moment, Mor was more than happy to return the gesture, looping her arms around Andromache’s waist, dragging her close as she kissed her deeply, fingers curling around the expensive fabrics which clad her exquisite body.

“You're drunk,” Mor finally murmured against her mouth, pulling back with a grin, captivated by the answering smile on the other woman's slightly swollen lips.

“I'm not. I'm just happy,” That was a lie. The Queen wasn't beyond functioning, but she had certainly been enjoying the wine. Lips pressed to Morrigan's neck, her collar bone, a hand dipping under the split at the leg of her dress, tracing the bare skin. Apparently, she was tipsy enough to throw away the inhibitions that kept their moments solely to private quarters. Despite Mor also having enjoyed her fair share of wine, she was less inclined to let her guard down like that, especially not with the visitors who occupied the main hall.

“Let's go back to my room,” Mor hummed against the shell of her ear, shuddering as fingers slid between her legs, tracing along the delicate underclothes beneath her dress. The Fae twisted her fingers within the golden curls of the Queen who seemed to barely acknowledge the words, nipping a trail along Mor's pale skin, along the tops of her breasts baiting a soft moan from the woman.

“I've wanted to do this all night,” Andromache whispered against Morrigan's skin, and the Fae had to bite down on the groan which bubbled into her throat.

She heard the footsteps before the scent reached her and Mor stiffened, gripping the Queen's wrist and dragging her hand from under her skirt. “Stop,” She hushed, and Andromache pulled her head back, peering up at the other woman with a confused fluttered on her dark features.

“What's wrong-”

Mor held up a hand, cutting the Queen off in a gesture for silence. It was Fae, that much she could tell but it wasn't Azriel, the scent wasn't right. A wave of panic washed over her and she grabbed Andromache's hand, dragging her further down the hall.

“Morrigan,” That sing song voice sent a shudder down her spine. It was Gregor. Her father's guard. “Where are you, little bird?”

There was a storage cupboard at the end of the hall and Mor practically shoved the Queen into it who immediately opened her mouth to protest but before she could speak, the Fae cut in. “Stay here. Stay quiet. No matter what. Please,” There was a pause, and Andromache nodded slowly, she understood.

Leaving the door open a crack, Mor quickly threw up a glamour, hiding the Queen's warmth, her scent before slinking back down the hall, just as Gregor appeared in front of her. “Now, now, what are you doing out here all alone, Morrigan?” The man was smiling like a wolf, his black eyes glistening as he stood, bulking and intimidating, blocking her way.

“I needed some air,” The words were dismissive as she made to push past him only to be stopped by a rough hand gripping her arm, pulling her back to the spot in front of him, right beside where she and Andromache had been mere moments before.

“Too much to drink? You do seem to be enjoying your time with the new human pets,” The look in Gregor's eyes was dangerous, like a predator that had caught it's prey, but she would not be helpless, would not let him get to her.

“I'm fine, Gregor. Leave me be,” Mor snapped her arm from his hold, her chin tilted upwards, shoulders back, looking him in the eyes. She would not flinch.

“Have you traded in your loyalties for the humans? And here I thought you couldn't sink lower than the cocks of the Illyrian bastards you so favour.”

The words were like a slap.

It had been so long since everything that had happened with Eris and her father. Time spent not thinking about it. So to have it flung at her, even by an asshole like Gregor, it hurt, and it showed on the features of her face.

“Do not speak to me like that.”

“I'll speak to you how I wish. Tell me, if you're not going to fuck the human men who are hounding after you, are you planning on bedding the Shadowsinger? He looked ready to bed you then and there when you swept into the hall earlier.”

“That is none of your business, now get out of my way,” Morrigan snapped, her cheeks flushed with anger, gaze narrowed as she shoved the man roughly and he staggered back a few steps.

“Do not touch me, whore,” The word was spat like a dagger at her and when she stormed forward, Gregor threw an arm out, stopping her in her tracks and pushing her back, the sweeping skirts catching under her feet, tripping her so she fell without any delicacy, landing on the hard stone floor. Pain flared in her wrist, and a trickle of embarrassment as Gregor's low laugh rattled through the hall way.

“Get away from her.”

The voice was masculine, cold and deep, filled with quiet rage.

Azriel stood behind Gregor, shadows flaring from him, his features contorted in dark fury, siphons glowing dangerously. It was those that the darkbringer eyed nervously, jaw tight, looking like he was torn between fleeing and driving a fist into Azriel's face.

“I have no desire to touch that,” The man spat, glancing towards more as she pushed herself up into a sitting position, refusing to meet his gaze. Instead, Gregor merely smoothed his hand over his tunic, taking a few steps towards Azriel, then just past him. “Hopefully, your little friend, Cassian, right? Didn't die with the rest of his battalion. I'm sure you'll both want to compare notes on how tight she is.”

Darkness exploded in the hall and Mor flinched away from the power which danced around her.

When it cleared, Gregor was unconscious and bleeding against a wall as Azriel strode towards her, offering out a scarred hand. Mor took it, letting herself be hauled to her feet.

“Are you okay?” Az's brows were knit together in a deep brow as he looked her over for any sign of injury.

“I'm fine. I'm okay. Is he?”

“He's not dead. Though I'm tempted to correct that.”

“Don't. He's not worth the fallout,” The last thing Morrigan wanted was for Orion to punish Azriel for protecting her and killing one of Keir's men. She didn't want her father to have that chance to hurt the man. A little sigh rattled from Mor as she wrapped her arms around Azriel, hugging him, a silent thank you. He understood. Knew what she had been through. What it was to have those things thrown at her. “Thank you.”

“You're sure you're okay?” Azriel pulled back from her, the shadows building around him slightly again, acknowledging Mor's nod of reassurance.

“I'm okay, Az. Can you...just get rid of him? I want to go to bed.”

There was no refusal from Azriel, who merely turned to grab the man by his arm and with ease, hoisted him up. There was a protesting gurgle from Gregor, though he didn't struggle as Azriel winnowed them both away, to deposit the man wherever he saw fit.

A small sigh escaped Morrigan as she tried to compose herself, ignoring the tremble in her hand and the quick, rapid pound of her heartbeat. Readying herself to retrieve Andromache, but as she turned, the Queen was already standing at the other end of the hallway, a million questions in her amber eyes.

The glamour had kept her from being found but it hadn't stopped her from hearing what Gregor had said. From the spiteful, horrible names and lies about her, about Azriel. The Queen had been shown snippets of a past Mor had concealed from almost everyone around her. Of the world she belonged to beyond the palace and the place she had come from.

There was a growing nausea in the pit of her stomach that had nothing to do with the wine as she took a few uncertain steps towards Andromache.

“Can we talk?”

#morrigan #morrigan x andromache #acowar #acomaf #andromache #moriel #azriel #my fic #ficlet #mine

1 note · View note