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youwerenevermeanttofeelalone · 4 years

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Of Freckles and War | Fred Weasley

✦ pairing — Fred Weasley x Mexican American Plus Size Reader (she/her)

✦ word count — 4k

✦ summary — you were only supposed to provide security for Bill and Fleur’s wedding.

✦ warnings — angst, mentions of war, some violence, fluff

✦ a/n — this was requested by a lovely reader who showed me a receipt of her donation (based off this post). Thank you so much, @5pantherpride, first of all for donating and of course for trusting me with this.

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

Weddings — you were neutral to them. You even were glad for people who fulfilled their goal to marry, but you found the timing of Bill’s and Fleur’s less than ideal.

The Order had a lot of things to worry about. Short on members and with the infiltration in The Ministry at its peak, you surely wished you could help in better ways.

Security duty wasn’t new to you, but it was the first time you were to fulfill it without Moody. His death was another reason why you wished you could be somewhere else. He had been the closest thing you had to a mentor.

At least the dress fit you nicely, way better than you had imagined it would. Finding one in such times hadn’t been the easiest task, much less with your schedule.

Offering to help with the guests so you could watch them closely, you introduced yourself to Bill’s twin brothers.

You had seen them before from afar, but that was it. Mrs. Weasley constantly said they were too young to be part of The Order so you assumed staying away to avoid problems would be better.

Smiling at the first arriving guests, you consulted the seating plan and guided them to their seats.

“Shut your mouth,” George snickered, pushing Fred’s chin so his mouth would clamp closed.

Fred shook his head, realizing he hadn’t stopped staring at the spot you had been standing in.

The marquee filled with voices and laughs rather soon. Your nerves increased as people continued arriving, unable to shake the bad feeling simmering in your stomach.

The more you thought about it, the more sense having a wedding in such unprecedented times made. Bill and Fleur just as their families, could very well be captured or killed at any moment. A gathering like this, though, was beyond your logical understanding.

He was sure you liked his brother, although he didn’t understand why when he had always been slightly more handsome, but that didn’t stop Fred from approaching you.

“Would you like to dance?”

You turned around to acknowledge him. “I would.”

He offered his hand staring intently at you as you placed your palm on top of his. He took a shaky breath in and guided you to the dancing area.

“I’m Fred, by the way,” he felt the need to let you know.

“I am aware.”

Tilting his head, he halted his steps on a spot away from his mom.

You explained, “You have a scar on your left eyebrow.”

Impressed, Fred placed a hand on your waist to lead you. In answer you rested your other hand on his shoulder, looking just past it.

Harry seemed to be annoyed by something —or someone— which made you believe he had seen or heard something suspicious.

“Is there someone you would rather be dancing with behind me?”

You shook your head, dragging your eyes back to Fred. “Of course not. I’m just being— oh, Merlin, what’s that word? Worried? No, no. Cuidadosa... cautelosa podría ser... Madre de Dios, ¿cómo se dice en inglés?”

[Careful... it could be cautious... Mother of God, how do you say it in English?]

The couple closest to you stared in confusion as you kept going. “¿Meticulosa? No, eso no tiene sentido... cuidadosa, sí. Lo cual es lo mismo que cautelosa pero cómo se dice...”

[Meticulous? No, that doesn’t make sense. Careful, yes. Which is the same as cautious but how do you say it...]

Fred pursed his lips at your language switch. Your accents were different in each one which caught his attention. He wanted to know why, if you had learned them both at the same time, or which one was your native language.

Entertaining the sad idea that you might have been trying to ditch him, he suddenly frowned. “You’re looking for an excuse to leave?”

“No, no!” You whined, sure you had said the word in the past few days. “How is it called when someone is being careful because they are worried? It starts with a W.”

“...wary?”

You could’ve kissed him. “Yes, that one!”

With a lingering laugh in his voice, he tried to reason with you, “Well, Bill and Fleur didn’t invite many people.”

“No, but polyjuice exists. I could be a Death Eater disguised as me and you wouldn’t have noticed.”

“That accent wouldn’t be easy to mimic, don’t worry.”

“It’s easier to understand than some I’ve heard around here,” you defended yourself, not offended at all by his comment.

A light irrupted into the marquee and you immediately knew whose Patronus it was.

Kingsley’s message proved you right and triggered panic as mayhem all over the place ensued. You pulled your wand out, looking around to see how many people were left.

Leaving would have been a good idea, but too many invitees had fled already and it would bring more trouble to The Weasley Family.

Not unfamiliar with their scare tactics, you did your best to remain calm as the Death Eaters questioned the family.

You admired how unfazed they tried to appear as their house was inspected. They must’ve been expecting the visit for days now.

“I’ll prepare tea,” Mrs. Weasley shakily said.

“Let me do it,” you mumbled, waving your wand as Bill helped his mother to sit down.

Mr. Weasley leaned over, reminding you to drop a splash of firewhiskey in his wife’s tea through a whisper. Nodding, you did as you were told and carried the cup toward the living room.

“You are staying, right, (Y/N)?” Mr. Weasley asked as you waved your wand to pour a cup of tea for Fleur’s mom.

“I don’t want to impose,” you assured them, “I can manage on my own — it would be safer for everyone.”

“I would feel better if you stayed,” Mr. Weasley sighed, “Everyone here would.”

“Kingsley said—“

“I’ll talk to him,” he interrupted.

You turned to look at everyone else, but no one added any other comment.

You couldn’t sleep. The room wasn’t the problem, nor the accommodations The Weasleys had given you — everything else was. People were disappearing at a worryingly exponential rate, and you couldn’t shake off the guilt of not being out there helping in some way.

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

The Weasleys would surely be watched carefully and suddenly leaving The Burrow in the middle of the night would put a bigger target on them.

You leaned onto the doorframe, watching the rain as it slowly fell down the garden. Grown used to the unruly weather such times had brought, you were trying to find pleasant parts in it like its smell and soothing sound.

“Can’t sleep either?”

You craned your neck to look at Fred. He rubbed his eye with his right hand as he held a glass of water in his left.

“The weather is nice.”

Humming, he chugged the water down. Instead of going back to sleep, he pulled a chair out and then another. Fred sat down on the second one, waiting for you to take the other.

You did so, thanking him in a nod. The kitchen, only illuminated by the fading light the lamps outside gave, felt bigger than it was.

“Is Ginny giving you trouble?”

“No,” you answered immediately. His sister was lovely, she kept mostly to herself which you understood but on occasions, she would ask about which other jobs you had done for The Order.

You learned she wanted to join The Order more than anything. She would also talk highly of her siblings, even teasing you when you asked more about Fred.

Your dance had been cut off, so had the conversation. You had enjoyed yourself for once, of course you would want to know more about him.

After watching him from afar for an entire summer, you had imagined that not stuttering around him was progress. But you were at war, and war didn’t give time for getting to know people you’ve been crushing on for a while.

He took you out of your self-absorption, “You said it would be safer if you didn’t stay here. Why?”

Ah, that. “I have history with... them.”

You didn’t explain yourself further on and Fred sensed he shouldn’t press on it for now.

He opened his mouth to make a joke and lighten up the mood, but you spoke first, “Do you think muggles will have enough help?”

No, he didn’t think so. However, Fred didn’t have the heart to tell you that. “There are a handful of good witches and wizards out there still.”

You nodded. Good witches and wizards' existence wouldn’t make a difference if they didn’t act on it, but for some reason, you didn’t have the heart to tell him that.

He would surely be able to take it, he probably knew it already — but you didn’t want to say it out loud either way.

Fred placed a hand on top of yours, squeezing it. You must’ve looked like you needed comfort. Lifting your fingers so his own would fit between them, you gripped his.

The Kitchen started appearing clearer as the blue light of the early morning entered through the door and windows.

Under the blue tones, Fred’s eyebrow scar looked clearer. You could’ve counted his freckles if you had enough time. But you couldn’t, Mrs. Weasley would need help around the house at any minute.

Deciding it was better to go get ready for the day, you begrudgingly withdrew your hand. Fred’s eyes danced over your face, trying to assess what you would do next.

“Thank you for the company,” you whispered, not taking your eyes off his face either.

His eyes dropped to your lips only to go back to your eyes. Clearing his throat, he nodded, “No problem.”

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

More people were reported as disappeared as the weeks progressed. Your worries only increased as news from members of The Order got more sporadic — it was safer that way, and detrimental to your mental wellbeing.

You had the bedroom for yourself now. Ginny had taken The Hogwarts’ Express a couple of weeks ago. She had been upset, but not more than her family with the number of changes the school seemingly had made.

You wondered how Ilvermorny was doing.

Although you were living with four people, you didn’t talk much to them. Mr. Weasley was overwhelmed with work constantly, Mrs. Weasley tried to keep herself busy around the house, Fred and George had a shop to attend and sporadically helped their friend Lee with Potterwatch.

As for yourself, you were able to help The Order here and there. Nothing too extreme so you wouldn’t gain unnecessary attention and put The Weasleys in more danger. That was why you hadn’t wanted to stay there.

“I would use Ginny’s bed if I were you,” Fred said from the doorway, surprised to see you hadn’t locked yourself that afternoon.

You put the clothes you had been folding to the side and looked up at him. “That would be invasive.”

“And funny. May I?”

You nodded. It was his house after all.

Fred did sit on Ginny’s bed, amused by what he was seeing. You supposed he wasn’t granted entrance that often.

He and George had an unspoken pact with their little sister, she didn’t try to sneak into their room and they wouldn’t threaten her privacy. It was great, but Fred had always been curious.

More curious he was as to what was going on with you. Mrs. Weasley had sent George to ask you if you needed anything and not him, probably because everyone considered his brother as the sensitive one.

“Mum’s worried.”

“I’m fine.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “When did I say she was worried about you?”

“Why else would you tell me?”

“To chat.”

You tilted your head. He was funny, but not a very good liar.

“You look really sad.”

“I feel useless,” you confessed, smoothing the sleeves of an old t-shirt. “I was supposed to become an Auror this year.” Sighing, you shook your head, “God, I sound entitled...”

“Aurors aren’t particularly safe at the moment.”

“Much less if there isn’t enough of them.”

Fred leaned over, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Why do you want to be one? It sounds like too much work.”

You shrugged, not sure anymore. You liked the idea of doing the right thing, being able to ensure people were safe and evil was kept in check... but doing it for a ministry didn’t sound like something you could do.

“It’s different in America,” you explained, pulling a pair of socks from the freshly done laundry. “Not better, I’ll admit that, just different. MACUSA didn’t stop taking on aurors, for example.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

The socks in your grasp fell to your lap. “I wanted to be ready for the moment when I had to fight them again.”

Silence fell between you. Fred’s eyes were on you like they seemed to always be since you arrived. There was no pity in his gaze, only understanding.

“I believe you’re still ready.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Fred smirked, “I’m always right.” He made a pause, slanting his head to the side. “Almost always.”

You chuckled. “Who said that?”

“I did.”

You had expected him to answer just that and yet you were still amused by the comment. Oh, you were falling quite fast.

And he knew it. There was no doubt in Fred’s mind that you actually liked him and not George. You didn’t stare at George as much as you stared at him nor smiled so brightly when you greeted his brother — you were nice to everyone but you were more comfortable with him and Fred really liked that.

He took your hands, making you stand up as he did the same. You liked the difference in size and how his hands didn’t feel soft like most people expected their crushes’ hands to be but warmer than any other hand you had taken.

Someone cleared their throat from the doorway. George stuck his head into the room. “Dinner.”

Fred nodded, “We’ll be there in a minute.”

George pursed his lips, lifting both eyebrows. He still left you alone, reminding both of you to not take too long.

This was his best chance. Fred leaned over, capturing your lips in a short kiss. You slid one of your hands off his grasp to place it on the back of his head, pulling him into another kiss. His free hand rested on your hip as you tilted your head to kiss him more comfortably.

“I can’t take you out right now...” he sighed, lips still brushing yours as your eyes barely fluttered open, “but maybe we could have a picnic when everybody is asleep?”

You smiled at him. “I’d like that.”

George shook you and Ginny awake. “Get up, we don’t have much time!”

You were up in a second. “What’s wrong? Where’s Fred?”

“Packing.” George pointed his wand at Ginny’s trunk.

“Where are we going?” Ginny asked, rubbing her eyes as you made George turn around so you could get changed.

“Somewhere safer. Death Eaters know we’ve been helping Harry.”

“I can’t go with y—“

“Just shut up and hurry,” George interrupted you, voice softer than one would expect those words to come out of anyone’s mouth.

Ginny and you would be the first ones to be gotten out of The Burrow. The others could take hours to join you or days, whichever was safer.

“We’ll need you and your training more than ever, (Y/N),” Mr. Weasley reminded you.

You cast a glance towards Ginny who was blinking furiously while bouncing her leg.

You nodded at Fred, silently assuring him you would protect his sister. He nodded back, not doubting it for a second.

Aunt Muriel was a weird woman. Clearly not a bad person, but perhaps an entitled one. Ginny had already told you to not take anything she said personally, but you hadn’t understood the warning until she made a comment about the color of your pajamas.

It didn’t take many days for the family to be as complete as it could. From what you knew, Charlie was still in Romania and no one had news of Percy. You had never met the latter but Fred had lengthily complained about him.

Speaking about Fred, he and George had packed more than Ginny and you for some reason. There were five trunks in their provisional room instead of two.

You asked for permission to enter which Fred granted with an enthusiastic nod. Closing the door behind you as he sat down on the bed, you then approached him.

“Are you okay?”

He nodded, eyes not meeting yours. “Can you... talk to me in Spanish or something?” Seeing your confusion, he abashedly explained, “It calms me.”

In the five months you had been together, Fred had never really reacted to your babbling in Spanish. You had assumed he was just unfazed, but his explanation made more sense.

You sat down next to him, placing a hand on his upper back. “Do you want a story?”

He nodded, “Anything.”

Fred laid down, curled up as his head rested on your lap. He listened attentively, wishing he could understand everything you were saying.

Maybe when the war was over you could teach him Spanish.

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

Oh fuck. Turns out wounds not only hurt but stung — you had forgotten the last time you had been injured, probably that time Moody made you sneak into that shop in Knockturn Alley to look for an artifact.

“What were you thinking?!” Fred screeched, pushing Percy, who had been the one to move you to a safer spot, to the side to kneel beside you.

You looked at Mrs. Weasley who was battling Yaxley a few meters away from you, visibly desperate to approach her sons. “No mother should lose her child. My family is already dea—“

He shushed you, “Don’t.”

You tried to move, uncomfortable by the rubble digging into your back. Palming the ground in search of your wand, you whined.

“Do you need a bandage?”

You gritted your teeth. The pain in your lower stomach was unbearable and Ferula wouldn’t fix it.

“Can you cast healing spells?”

Fred shook his head, applying pressure to your wound.

“You would be a shit Auror.”

He knew you were making light of it, but he didn’t find it in him to laugh. “Tell me what to do.”

“Poke it and—“ you groaned. The hand he had on your stomach was shaking, making the pressure waver.

Your skin was losing color. He looked at Percy, desperate — his know-it-all brother had always been good at every class. He had to know.

Percy approached you, looking at you with sadness before looking at Fred. He was about to say he didn’t know what to do when Harry, Ron, and Hermione arrived to make sure all of you were safe on their way to The Shrieking Shack.

Harry only saw the blood on Fred’s hand and the desperation in his eyes. He had seen the same desperation in yours when you cast a spell that sent Fred flying out.

“I’ve seen Snape doing some type of magic... it puts the blood back in...”

You grunted, trying to nod.

“Is that the one?” Fred asked you.

You could only hum.

Thankfully, Mrs. Weasley was the one who did the spell. As amazing as Harry was, the part of his face you could still see looked terrified. He had enough on his plate already.

She slid her wand under your back, making the rock hurting you disappear. Closing your eyes, you gifted yourself a moment to breathe in and out.

“How come you didn’t know how to do it, Perce?”

You answered instead of Percy, “It’s not part of any school’s curriculum. It should, clearly, but it isn’t.”

“You would know that if you had finished school,” Mrs. Weasley said. You could’ve sworn she did so teasingly.

Innocently, you had thought saving Fred would be enough. As if loss would’ve disappeared from the world because he was safe. It was a nice concept, one you wished could be real for multiple reasons.

People you had considered the closest you had to a family like Nymphadora and Remus being the casualties of the war hadn’t crossed your mind.

It was over. At a high cost like every other war in history, yet you couldn’t believe it.

Fred, who was sat between you and George in The Great Hall, gave you a sideways glance.

He had properly known you for less than a year and you had already made him fear in ways he hadn’t only felt two times before — when Ginny was taken by Riddle to The Chamber of Secrets in his fifth year and when his dad had been attacked in his seventh year.

Dropping his hand on top of yours, he asked, “Do you want to take a walk?”

George turned to surprisedly look at his brother at the same time that you lifted your eyebrows. Your eyes crossed George’s who snickered before going back to his conversation with Lee.

“Sure,” you agreed, standing up.

Fred took your hand, walking aimlessly through the semi-destroyed halls. You could tell it affected him to watch his former school in such estate.

“You scared me.”

“I really didn’t want your mother to go through the loss of a child.”

He stopped the stroll quite abruptly. “So you wanted me to go through the loss of my girlfriend?”

“Fred...”

He shook his head, sliding his hand off yours to pass it through his hair. You didn’t know how it felt like, you hadn’t been the one watching their loved one bleed out in the middle of a battle.

He would’ve lost everything he had always wanted to have in a partner. Never had he imagined you would be so supportive of him, yet you had put up with his and George’s stupid plan of sending products by mail while the family had to hide at aunt Muriel’s and even helped them to package everything.

Everyone in the family liked you. He wouldn’t have cared if they didn’t, but it was nice to know that his partner was appreciated by the other people he loved so dearly.

Seeing a familiar frown on his brow, you warned him, “I’m not apologizing for doing it.”

Fred exploded. “What would have I done if something had happened to you?!” He yelled, using his hands to make emphasis.

You stood straighter, yelling back at him. “And what would have I done if that wall had collapsed on you?! Did you want me to stand there and watch?!”

Fred stayed silent which prompted you to add, in a softer tone, “It’s done, and it turned out okay.”

“It almost didn’t.”

“But it did,” you insisted.

His shoulders dropped. You were right, and bruised — but safe. The worst part was over already, he should have been focusing on that.

“You need to work on your anger issues,” you pointed out.

“And you need to stop throwing yourself into danger.”

You held your hands out for him to take. Fred opted for pulling you into a tight hug. The dust on his top itched your nose, but you didn’t have it in you to complain and instead hugged him back.

“I don’t want to live without you.”

”You’re everything I have left,” you mumbled on his chest, grimacing at the flavor of the dust clinging to your lips. “I mean, that includes your family and The Order, but you get what I mean.”

Humming, Fred rested his chin on the top of your head.

“My family really likes you. I think I’ll get disowned if I don’t marry you.”

“Is this your way of proposing?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“Your answer, honestly. Don’t wanna look like a moron.”

Pushing him off to both look at him and have a break from the dust and grime on his clothes, you held him by the waist. Fred was serious, there was no mischief in his eyes as he waited for your answer.

“Well... I don’t want you to get disowned,” you joked, more nervous than you should have been. It was just him!

“And how else would I outdo Bill if it isn’t by marrying you?” he joked back.

Caressing his cheek, you nodded in agreement as a smile crept into your face. You were sure you would beam the same way Fleur had.

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x plus size reader #plus size reader #plus size fanfiction #harry potter x reader #harry potter x plus size reader #fred weasley #wizarding world #wizarding world x reader #wizarding world x plus size reader

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sootcloak · 3 years

Text

Day One: Foster

For a Future yet Unseen

Warnings need to be applied before going on to the piece itself; This one goes to some dark places in general, and depicts a character struggling with suicidal tendencies, and graphically describes injury and death.

Roughly 1600 words. AO3 Link

I’m not going to put this on character tags for the reasons above, so be aware that this work involves dialogue from G’raha in case you don’t want to read anything which involves him.

“What is it?” Her hair, tangled and greasy, bobs as she turns her head to look back at the Seventh Heaven. Panting in the threshold of the door, G’raha Tia holds up one finger. A moment passes, and he catches his breath.

“You are to leave, then? With so much yet undone? Even Ser Estinien has-”

“Spare me the high and mighty speech, Exarch .” The lalafellin woman cuts him off, voice sharp, metallic and bitter. “I answered your call, aided your order while the Archons were away, and worked to reign in the Tolophoroi because it aligned with my needs. Now, I return to my work.”

G’raha reels a moment at her tone, then gathers himself, a familiar restraint creeping into his words.

“Your work is important - hunting heads so as to protect those less fortunate than ourselves. But you are, to put it lightly, overqualified. Your skills are needed here, joined with ours.” He extends one hand, ruby eyes unflinchingly gazing down to her.

“No, they’re not.” She breaks eye contact, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “And besides - if and when I am truly needed, I can be called by a number of means. Azem should-”

“Do not call them that.” The sternness in his voice catches her, emerald eyes matching his for just a second.

“Your hero should be able to summon me whenever they please. Besides, best not to let you get used to me. Once all this is done, the Empire in the grave, Fandaniel put down?” Her voice softens and she pauses a beat.

“After that, I’ve only one task left to me.” She glances up at the sky, awash in rainbow hues, ambient aether built up in colorful clouds. The silence sits there, uncomfortable and weighty. The thin crowds mill about their business, the air humming with soft waning activity.

G’raha steps slowly from the pub, until he’s a couple paces from her.

“Vavara, there’s more to life than the duties we must undertake. More for us here than the purposes we were made for.” His voice is low and gentle, but insistent - a warm undertow.

“Don’t go trying to impart wisdom to me. I don’t deserve it and I don’t particularly like it, either. I chose this path. Let it guide me. The only conclusion acceptable after all I’ve done is to blast clean all I’ve stained this world with. The Weapons project is dead and buried, and once I’m sure none of it remains in the Empire proper…” Her hand brushes against her sternum, a grim air washing over her.

“After that, only this body, my weapons, and my core will remain. I will not have it misused again. Not now, not in a hundred years, not in a thousand after my aether has dried up and this body has begun to rust.” She casts a brief glance at him, expression briefly softening as their eyes meet. “Oh come now, you’re an old man. Older even than me. You’re not so naive to believe I’d want to ‘live’ in this shell for eternity, are you?”

“No. I know. But that does not mean we are without options-”

“G’raha…”

“Allagan cloning technology shows great promise, and while none of your original body remains in a condition we could use as a base for a newly grown body, we could see if there is a way to-”

“G’raha.”

“-restore your aether to a living form, rather than a primarily magitek one. Or perhaps we could simply make your life in a magitek body less uncomfortable, experiment with other kinds of crystal and stone. Try variations on the technology you’ve-”

“Stop.” She pulls her cap from her head. Knotted locks tumbles out from beneath it in waves of gray and sandy brown, over her shoulders and down to her hips.

“I don’t think I can face death as I have again.” She says. Softly, so quiet one can barely hear the metallic ringing in her voice. Her eyes trace upwards to the lights above.

“But once? And then to bid everyone farewell, knowing I’ve done my part? That I had helped to raise a better tomorrow, quietly and from a distance? To know that I’ve made amends. I don’t need to live long, or happily ever after. To just know that would be enough. But if I stay, I will face it again and again. More viscerally than any of you have ever known.

“I have died ; I was shot through the chest and lost my heart and half my ribs - I was saved, barely, but I felt my life leaving me. No healer could repair that foul of a wound. They worked around the clock to keep me just on the threshold of death’s door. I choked on my own blood and bile for days as my aether was moved to my core. Drowning and experiencing my soul being torn from my body, all at once. It was not pleasant.

“I was scorched by artillery shelling when someone betrayed my position to the Imperials. Torched and thrown this way and that, until barely anything remained save for charred bones and fragments of hardened sinew. I felt every moment, every pounding detonation; My aether safe in my core and preserved to experience it all.

“I was dashed to pieces in Rhalgr’s Reach, my head removed from my shoulders by the Crown Prince’s lackey. Wasn’t even worth his attention. But I still felt it. Felt as all my senses went black -no, worse, they were just gone - and all my bearings were lost. Not even time held sway in the abyssal depths of that crystal without any sensation to anchor me. For what could have been a dozen seconds or a dozen years, I waited, hopeful that I wouldn’t be found - but destroyed - so as to just end the misery then and there.

“And again, this time I’d grown clever enough, fast enough, viscous enough, and strong enough to challenge the beast at Ghimlyt. Lost my arm, those last few organs I’d had, and my legs there. And again, I had to suffer through every moment of pain, every pulse of agony. Unable to do aught but watch as he nearly cut down the one, the ONE person I’d begun to place any stock in."

“..."

“I… I’m not strong enough to die again and have to live with it for…” Her voice stalls, eyes distant and posture stiff.

“I think. I think I’d just like to be done, truth be told. There’s not much left of me. But a professional has standards, and I’m not given to leave a job half-done.” Her face remains fixed on the clouds of aether above, in their myriad colors and shapes, the night sky awash in a tapestry of foggy, rainbow hues. As the crowd thins and she stands by the lamp, G’raha says nothing. He just takes another step closer, and looks up at the sky besides her.

“If you mean to finish what you’ve set out to do…”

“I’ll have to face it once or twice more. I… I know.”

“Had I but known you were struggling so much, I’d-”

“What, you would have called down from your tower to save me ? I did not ask for your pity.” A trembling anger briefly flashes through her. “I chose this path. I’ll walk it, don’t think to drag me off it now.”

“No, I don’t think I could. I was told I should save my breath - that you always depart after you’ve decided you’re ‘no longer needed’ . That no one had been able to convince you to stay. None of the Scions, or Archons, or Warriors who had reached out to you could convince you that you had a place here.” G’raha’s eyes slowly shift from one star to the other.

“Because I don't.” The words are a weak, half-hearted hiss.

“Perhaps not. But whether or not there is a place for you here, you need not make your journey alone. Whatever end awaits you, you need not face it with your strength and resolve alone .”

“I’m more than capable of-”

“I know. I wasn’t suggesting that you are weak, or that your will is lacking.”

“...”

“If at the end of the road, you find your journey has ended, that there is naught else left for you save your duty? Then in that too, I would walk with you. To ensure you may rest at ease, knowing that you have indeed played your role. But pray, give me - give us - a chance to repay all that you have done for us . You have answered our calls, our prayers. I wish to show you the future you have long labored to create.” He stretches a moment, and turns back the way he came. He glances back over at her.

“Though you have been laboring in the dark for longer than I’d feared, there is yet hope. If you’ll let us show you, we would be proud to walk alongside you. But the choice is yours. If you feel you must face the final days of your journey alone, then I will not stand in your way.” He takes a deep breath. His eyes break from her, jaw set, walks into the Seventh Heaven, and disappears from sight.

Vavara’s hand reaches for her sternum, the resonant clicking of the gears just beneath the surface rhythmically vibrating through her coat, her gauntlet. Her core burns in her chest, cold and stinging like alcohol on a wound. She tears her eyes away from the sky, and looks over her shoulder at the door, left slightly ajar. Her thumb brushes the brim of her cap, still held in her hand.

“Forgive my cowardice…” She whispers.

She pulls her hat over her head, the brim low near her eyes.

She wrestles with the strap of her bag, the rifle and spear strapped to it clinking.

And she turns on her heel.

#vavara kir aceris #ffxivwrite2021 #aegis' writing archive

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holyfool-arcana · 4 years

Text

The Holy Fool: Chapter 1

What the Waters Giveth

Word Count: 1.7k Warnings: Mentions of infant death, murder, and infidelity Rating: M Description: An Arcana AU set in a Vesuvia that is half-noir and half-fantasy.

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✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ

When Liuyin Mei nearly kicks down the door to the shop at dawn, Asra Alnazar immediately sensed, deep in the dregs of his instinct, that something foul was afoot.

For one, they were dressed, not in the high-collared and pale blue blouse that at this point was customary of them, but rather, in clean, simple linen, a pale figure outlined by the light of early morning. They were wearing white-- funereal colors, though on Liuyin, the veil and robes made them look like one of the immortals or angels or gods that lived atop the snowy mountains, aloof from worldly troubles.

For another count, it was dawn, when Liuyin was a habitually bad sleeper and a chronically late riser, and every moment before the sun was in the midst of the sky that they spent awake, they also spent cursing and looking like an alley cat rescued from the rains.

“Asra,” the white-garbed sorcerer had said, and in that space between sleeping and waking that he was surfacing from, the sound of his voice in their accent made his heart leap into his throat and stick there for a beat, two beats, before the rhythm reestablished itself in the wake of the tension held in those two syllables.

“You need to come down to the docks with me,” they’d said instead-- and turned to walk out the door entirely-- detained only by Asra, who’d reached out, clutching at the wide hem of their sleeve and feeling the fabric texture beneath his fingertips, magic rising to meet it-- magic seeped with death and decay, smelling faintly of that incense Liuyin sometimes burned.

“Have you eaten yet?” He’d asked, a question wholly unnecessary, a token of his concern nonetheless.

Liuyin shakes their head, and he’d nearly offered to take them to the bakery, before he recalled the urgency in their voice. “Let’s go.”

He’d tugged on a shawl and stumbled out into the streets in the early morning mists blanketing the town, distorting everything into a fanciful version of itself. Meanwhile, Liuyin forged on ahead, floating almost like a ghost in white.

For a moment, his heart was struck by a hidden foreboding, redoubling his pace and walking closer to his companion, letting the warmth radiating from their figure and the bitter-sweet scent of herbs reassure him.

As they paced down the street, only their breathing and the sounds of their shoes against cobblestone and the rustle of fabric to accompany them, Liuyin spoke up.

“My aunt received a client last night. Very wealthy, with stress on discretion being of utmost importance,” they’d reported.

“What services?” Asra couldn’t help but ask, but seeing Liuyin in their current garb, he had a good clue as to the nature of the house call.

For divinations, charms, and funeral rites, visit Liya Zheng and Associate’s today!

Namely, Aunt Liya and Liuyin ran a business that did some work on the side in blessing, cleansing, cursing, or otherwise invoking the spirits for their clients. Of course, this expanded into burial rites, especially for those matters that were more tinged in scandal-- a jealous lover shooting someone’s husband, a bastard daughter who’d been offed by the stepmother, the such. Said rituals were meant to prevent the deceased from coming back to haunt the wrongdoers.

(“That seems terribly corrupt,” Asra had declared, making a face.

Liuyin laughed. “No more than politics is. And it brings in better money, too.”)

Liuyin threw him a sidelong look that indicated the fact he ought to already have an idea. “Someone died. A child or baby, I believe, from the size of the coffin. Either that or there wasn’t enough of them left to bury-- we were tasked with banishing any traces of resentment or lingering malevolence it might have had on its person. I’m assuming a rather abrupt death, and the secrecy of it makes me suspect foul play in some form or another.”

“But you’ve no leads?” Asra asks, raising a brow. That was unlike Liuyin, who could suss things out with unerring accuracy akin to a bloodhound, as his own master, Old Fox, had once mentioned.

Liuyin shook their head. “I didn’t have the chance to-- someone stole the coffin before I could.” Their face took on a grim set, like one of the marble statues of the Scourgelander family.

“Then,” he drawled, the key points coalescing into a simplified timeline in his mind, “I suppose they recovered the body at the docks, then, if we’re headed in that direction?”

Liuyin let out an involuntary shudder, and Asra made to tug off his shawl and drape it around their shoulders instead-- before they’d given a tiny jerk of their head to reject this help. “They recovered more than that.”

The briny scent of the sea air was clearer now as they made their way down the empty streets of Goldgrave. “How many?”

“Not a body, just an arm,” Liuyin corrected. “A metal prosthetic.”

Involuntarily, Asra felt his eyes widen, thinking back on a visit to his offices three nights prior, the sharp scent of lavender lingering, the amused, wine-dark eyes and the silhouette of an elegant figure. “Do you think it might be…?”

Liuyin’s answering glance was grim. “Extremely possible. Who else around these parts has a metal prosthetic?”

✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩ͯ•͙͙✧⃝•͙͙✩ͯ┄•͙✧⃝•͙┄✩̣̣̣̣̣ͯ

Three days prior

Old Fox had gone travelling again, Asra noted with half a spark of annoyance after he’d returned from another house call-- someone wanted him to look into their husband, having gotten suspicious of his hours kept in the commerce district, and he’d taken one glance around the man’s study before he’d informed the lady of the house that Lord Sforza was having an affair.

It was really, nearly tragically obvious, and he didn’t even need to pull the tarot deck from his pocket to confirm this suspicion. The clashing notes of perfume were not a smoking gun, it was a crater on fire that someone had fired a cannon at.

Sometimes, he lamented the fact that his business had evolved from “Asra Alnazar, Magician and Diviner” to “Asra Alnazar, reader of tarots for bored nobles and finder of unfaithful spouses and eloped heirs”.

At least, as Liuyin had quipped, it brought in good money.

He’d slung his shawl over the coatstand by the door, and his satchel on top of it, then pauses when a figure rises from the chaise in the corner. “Asra Alnazar, I presume?” a silky voice accompanied the movement.

“Who’s asking?” Asra calls, a bit hesitantly, given the unanticipated nature of this visitor.

The woman inclines her head towards him as he snaps his fingers, illuminating the shop with a few dim lamps and allowing him to see the elegant planes of her face, furrowed with worry. “Nadia Satrinava.”

“Young Miss Satrinava,” Asra had bowed by reflex, in a gesture of courtesy.

The youngest daughter of city councilwoman, Secretary Nasrin Satrinava, their family was as wealthy and powerful as they came-- of her six sisters, all were exceptionals-- one was their mother’s aide, one was an ambassador, one was a silent film actress, one was a naval lieutenant, one a philanthropist, another a doctor, the list went on and on…

They were a veritable political dynasty that had their hands in every aspect of the public affairs in the city, how could one not know about them?

Speaking of which--

“Miss Satrinava, what brings you here today?” Asra asks as he rounds a counter and takes a seat in the chair opposite Nadia. “Is it not the day of your engagement party?”

And then there was Nadia, the youngest of seven, a journalist who, till recently, had been more or less out of the public eye, all of it thrown out the window when an engagement was announced in the Vesuvian Star, the premiere morning news of the city.

Nadia Satrinava, the youngest daughter of councilwoman Nasrin Satrinava, was to marry Count Lucio Morgasson.

As soon as the news broke, the rumor mill positively churned, from speculations of a passionate young love, to more outlandish rumors such as political alliances and scandalous accusations of premarital pregnancies. Asra was too polite to inquire into any of them, but the look on Nadia’s face spoke volumes.

“It is,” the woman confirmed hesitantly, almost diplomatically, before she scrunched her nose and curled her lip in something akin to distaste. “At least, till we couldn’t find my darling fiancee in time for his speech. You see, we’re pretending nothing is amiss-- my mother claims that if it were to come out the Count’s vanished, the ensuing panic cannot be a good thing. I left the party discretely to find you. My driver is parked in a secluded front a few stores down.”

Something in the intonation with which she’d said fiancee made him inclined to think it wasn’t an arrangement of love.

“Have you gone to check his residence? Or any of his usual haunts?” Asra asks. The Count’s reputation as a carousing hedonist was well-known throughout the city, another reason why the sudden engagement was so surprising to so many people.

“His servants said he’s left two days ago, and hasn’t returned since…” Nadia says, pauses, and then frowns deeply. “And all his companions with whom he usually revels with were all present at the party…”

“Is it possible he’s merely gotten cold feet over the betrothal with the engagement party drawing so near?” Asra prompted delicately. “A case of a runaway groom-to-be?”

“I’ve learned over the years to never ignore my intuition,” Nadia replies with a good deal of confidence. “And it’s telling me something is very wrong, Magician.”

Asra worries his lower lip in between his teeth absently as the woman stands, the folds of her velvet gown rippling out-- indeed, it looked as though she did come directly from her engagement party, or at least, there was no time to change before coming here.

“I’m willing to pay handsomely for your services and discretion, of course. Name the price and it will be yours. Think on it, Magician,” she’d said, draping a houndstooth jacket over her shoulders. “I leave the decision in your hands.”

With that, she departed into the night on a lavender breeze.

#Arcana: The Holy Fool #The Holy Fool: Chapters #The Arcana #The Arcana Fanfiction #The Arcana Fanfic #The Arcana AU #The Arcana OCs #The Arcana Original Character #The Arcana Fan Apprentice #Asra The Arcana #Asra Alnazar #Nadia Satrinava #Nadia The Arcana #Countess Nadia #Willow's Shadow #Liuyin Mei

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the-dragons-knight · 4 years

Text

FFXIV Write 2020

Prompt #9 - Hurt to Heal

Lush - ‘luxuriant, succulent’

- Warnings of Heavensward Spoilers -

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The darkened chirurgeon’s room did little to help Katsum’s mind rest. The events of the day weighed heavily on her mind and kept her from sleeping, and it kept her mind reeling at even the slightest of sounds. She heard the cold, snowy winds pushing against the windows, the whistling sounding like a howl of agony to her. Somewhere down the long halls of Congregation, she could hear the distant sound of footsteps that seemed to get louder and closer before suddenly stopping, sending her mind in a panic. She knew not how long she laid there, tossing and turning, until she could stand it no longer. With a desperate sigh, she sat up and reached over to the bedside table to light the lamp sitting on it. As its faint glow illuminated the room around, the blonde Miqo’te leaned back against the headboard, looking down at her hands in silence.

She noticed her fingers were trembling like she was still in battle, the memories of fighting with the Heavensward flashing before her eyes. She winced as she remembered the struggle against the knights, the booming of Thordan’s distorted voice ringing in her ears. She did not mourn the Archbishop, only the men he dragged down with him. And then there was Estinien, the thing she truly could not get off of her mind. Everytime she closed her eyes, she saw Nidhogg’s wrath wrapping around him and engulfing him, manipulating his form and twisting it into the shade of the Dreadwyrm himself. She should have known better to give him the second eye; something had told her not to but by then he had already taken it into his hand. Now, he was at the mercy of the dragons rage, powerless to fight against its thrall. Yet another soul she had failed to save, this one just more inches from her.

Katsum’s hands began to tremble violently, her body quivering as her walls began to crumble. There was no one here to see her mask break, and in knowing so, her heart could stand it no longer. She felt a tear slip down her cheek and she bit her tongue to keep from sobbing. She needed to stay quiet so no one could hear her.

Then suddenly, there was a gentle knock on the door, the sound making her jump in place and her fur stand on end.

“Lady Katsum? Are you still awake?”

Her breath shook as she frantically wiped the tears from her eyes and tried to steady her voice before answering, “Ser Aymeric, I did not expect you to still be here this late.”

She heard him shuffle at the door, yet it did not open, “I'm afraid I could not sleep so I thought I would return and see how you were faring.” Again, he shuffled, almost nervously, “May I come in, my friend?”

Her heart dropped along with her ears, panic rising. No one was supposed to see her like this, on the brink of the flood overflowing the walls. She stumbled slightly in her words as she replied, “I-I’m not really feeling up to having any visitors right now.”

“Please. Just a few moments of your time,” He was always so suave in the way he spoke, pleading so gently that she could not refuse him.

Indeed, she certainly couldn’t, “Alright.”

The door creaked open slowly and Ser Aymeric de Borel slipped quietly into the room, closing the door behind him. As he turned towards her, she could see his warm smile lighting up the shadows, his eyes sparkling with kindness as he looked at her. As he crossed the room, she noticed a mug in his hand, a small plume of steam rising from it. He moved around to the side of her bed nearest the bedside table, “After all that has happened today, I have no doubt that the only thing you crave right now is rest. However,” She followed his hand with her eyes as he held out the cup to her, “In light of the most recent events, I thought you might enjoy a mug of tea. It has always comforted me in times of hardship, and I hope it might do the same for you.”

It took her a few moments before she reached out with her trembling hands. She knew he had seen by the way he watched her, but he said nothing as she gingerly took the mug from him, “Thank you, Ser Aymeric.”

He stood there watching her, and so she guessed he was waiting for her reaction, so she looked down at the steaming, caramel colored drink and lifted it to her nose. She breathed in the scent and it was the most lovely tea she’d ever smelled. The aroma of the boiled Coerthan tea leaves that she knew well mixed with hints of vanilla and something like a syrup had her mouth watering. She shakeningly lifted the mug up and took a small sip, careful not to burn her tongue. The moment the taste of the tea hit her tongue, her ears twitched upward, and her eyes widened. She took another long sip of the ambrosia-like drink before pulling it away to look back up at the raven-haired Elezen.

He seemed to be chuckling inside by the look of the sparkle in his eyes, “Do you like it?”

“I..I love it. Thank you so much...”

He nodded, then as if suddenly remembering something, he turned and scanned the room. He moved over to a shelf of potions and medicines, searching among them until he found an empty one, stepping back over beside her to the pitcher of water left on the windowsill and filling the empty bottle with water. Katsum watched him curiously, taking long sips of the tea every few moments as she did.

“Master Thancred also gave me this, saying that I should bring it to you, that it would make you feel better,” As he turned back towards her holding the bottle in hand, her eyes widened and her fur stood on end at the flower that now stood in it. A bright red Azyema’s Rose stared back at her, its lush petals and leaves nearly shining through the dark with its own brilliance. He brought it over to her and placed it on the table beside the bed, “I hope it brings you joy and helps you rest.”

She did not answer, only stared at the flower. Memories flooded her mind again, of her childhood and the roses like this one that decorated her childhood home. She thought of her parents and how much she missed them, and how much she missed all that she once knew. She thought of the day she and Thancred investigated the Amalj’aa camps in Eastern Thanalan and she had found the rose on the cliffside overlooking the shrine built for Azyema, how she’d plucked it and keep it with her ever since. Now, another rose shone before her, given to her by a man she had failed entirely by not bringing his best friend home...she did not deserve this…

“I am taken enough of your time. Rest well, my friend. I shall check on you in the morning,” She blinked as he said this, seeing him turn away and she quickly reached out a hand and grabbed his arm, causing him to stop and look back at her in surprise. Yet she could not bring herself to look him in the eye as she tried to hide the coming tears, her heart fit to burst right then and there.

“How...how do you remain so warm and hopeful towards me...when all i did this day was fail you…?” The first tear rolled down her cheek and she clutched the mug of tea tightly as her ears flattened and she bowed her head lower, “I stopped Thordan and his enthralled followers, yes, but I lost Estinien. Lost him to an enemy that we were supposed to have vanquished...How can you still be so kind to me when I did not bring your dearest friend back home with me…?”

She saw him shuffled out of the corner of her eye, then felt his warm hand enclose around hers, the other appearing in her field of vision as he took the tea from her and set it on the table. He then knelt in front of her and held both of her hands in his, “Do not for a moment believe that I blame you for what happened. Estinien knew the risks when he volunteered to go, and he had to follow his heart to do his duty. But I know with all of mine that you did everything in your power to save him.” His grip on her hands tightened and he moved his face down to try and meet her eyes, “You have not failed anyone, Katsum. Not a single person.”

With these words, he broke the floodgates of her heart and set free her emotions, tears streaming freely down her face as she cried out in sorrow. She tugs away her hands to cover her face, yet Aymeric follows her and moves to wrap his arms around her and hold her tightly. The warmth of his body felt so safe and inviting, and so she buried her face in his chest and wept. The Elezen leaned his head against hers and whispered in her cat-like ear, “It’s alright. I’ve got you, Katsum. You are safe here.”

She is not sure how long she sobbed into him, not sure how long. They remained in this embrace. She only knew that she never wanted to leave it, hoping time would freeze and she could just stay right here with him, forever. When finally her cries quieted, she drew away from him, moving back to where she had been sitting as she wiped her eyes, feeling exposed and vulnerable, “I’m sorry that you had to see that...”

Aymeric smiles warmly, “I am not. Rather, I am honored that you allowed me the privilege to see,” He took her hands again, reaching up with one to wipe her tears away with his thumb, “You are the strongest person I know of to carry all that you do and not bend or break. To be truthful, I feel more relieved to know that you do let your mask fall every once in a while, letting your heart be free to hurt and to heal afterwards.”

Katsum closed her eyes as fresh tears fell, moving to hold his hand against her hand and lacing her fingers with his. She felt him lean forward for a moment and then stop to ask, “May I kiss your forehead?”

Her eyes flashed open as she registered what he said, looking back at him as a soft blush broke out on her face, for which she was thankful for the dim lighting, “You may...”

Aymeric smiled and leaned in and kissed the crown of her head gently, his warm lips making the blush on her face darken as he sat back again.

Katsum’s eyes flicker around him, looking everywhere but his own as she held fast to his hands, “Could I bother you a bit longer for your company, Ser Aymeric…? Just until...I feel I can fall asleep…?”

The Lord Commander’s smile brightened, “It would be an honor...though I must also ask because I worry...you do like the rose, yes?”

It was her turn to smile - genuinely smile - as she nodded, “I love it.”

#katsum almor #aymeric de borel #ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv writing #aymeric x katsum beginings #aymeric de borel x katsum almor #aymeric x katsum #aymeric de borel x wol #npc x oc #warrior of light #ffxivwrite2020 #heavensward msq spoilers #heavensward #heavensward spoilers

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voidselfshipp · 3 years

Text

The Copper Wars

Chapter 3

Tw:MC gets triggered.

By the time it was night jerico had finished the blueprints for his New invention.

A thirty feet tall robot, called The Forge, he couldnt wait to make It,but first he should change,and Grab something to eat,maybe even go to town and see whats up.

He took a quick shower,and changed,walking to the kitchen with his cats following behind him

--Hey guys whats up--jeri said non chalantly.

The mercs couldnt help but stare, he was wearing tight black pants,a dark green sweater, his hair tied in a bun while some stands fell loosely on his face.

--We uh...we were just about to eat-- engie mustered up, Serving the food.

--Nice, oh also! Ill go into town, anybody wanna come with me?

The men , except for pyro,soldier and heavy looked at eachother,before an argument broke out about who should accompany him.

--ya should let me go!, im super fun to be around!

--What ye goen ta get is this little shite talking yer ears off-Demo said drinking from his beer.

--Oh yeah? Well ya cant even stay still!youre drunk off ya ass!

--Id offer myself,I could use a break from workin'

--Ja!so would I!

--I zhink I could use some fresh air zoo

Jer stood there thinking--What if all of Us go?we could also use it to know eachother.

The mercs look at eachothern,and with grumpy looks they nodd.

And so, after eating off they went to town.

When they arrived the place was absolutely bustling with life,in the main plaza there was music playing, and jerico really wanted to dance!

The tune was so catchy!, and it reminded him of how much he and his dad would dance.

He took a quick look to his companions,but he could tell nobody was onboard.

So he just,stands there, pouting and his arms crossed.

Until a hand softly poses on his shoulder,he looks at engie who smiles and lends out his gloved hand.

Jer suddenly smiles, a huge smile on his face as he takes It.

The rest couldnt help but feel their chest warm up,he had a beautiful smile.

The music changes to a more softer one,and engie sweats bullets as jeri puts his arms around his neck.

--oh shit sorry i--

--No no,its alright uh aint used to dance with a Man thats all

--Theres always a first time,though if you want you can go back with the rest

--Its alright...this...this is fine

Both danced slowly,hesitant and unsure,but eventually they warmed up,and absolutely Killed it!.

Jerico was having so much fun.

Suddenly the texan Man dips him in, and he hugs his neck as jeri feels hes going to fall.

Engineers arms hug his waist,and with red cheeks they got back on their feet.

The texan knew hed get teased by scout, but seeing his companion happy made him feel giggly like a schoolgirl.

While walking through the local feria,jer fidgeted as he saw the stalls,so Many Many pretty things!.

He ran around, scout following him as he also got excited by all the things people sold.

--anyzhing Catching your interest?--spy sneaked behind the New merc, his french accent made a shiver run down his spine.

--Beejeezus!you scared me!

--my most sincere apologies,but please answer

Jeri just shrugged--Nothing really I mean they are pretty but,nothings like...'wow I want to buy that',besides you dont need to get me anything

--Consider it a welcome gift,if you need anyzhing or change your mind,let me know,our revoir

And the frenchman left.

While the rest were exploring,jeri sat on the empty stage, he then saw a Man,struggling to get his kid to calm down, the same Man was trying to play something on his guitar to no avail.

So he approached the dad, and asked if he needed help.

--You can try

Unaware of his team watching him, he sat on the floor with the kid,And softly played the guitar.

Jeri smiled,the kid mumbled things in what could be understood as spanish, and an idea appeared on his face.

--Hoy voy a hablarte

De mis héroes, que me vieron crecer

Desde el león que se hizo rey

Hasta la princesa que rompió la ley--He sang,gaining the kids attention--

Si me preguntas a mí

De ellos aprendí

Que hay personas por las que vale la pena derretirse

Que todo es posible, incluso lo imposible

Las virtudes a veces están bajo la suficiente

La belleza esta en el interior

Recuérdame aunque te diga adiós

Debo dejar de ser algo que no soy

Llorar me tranquiliza los problemas de la vida

Elimina de tu vida si elimina tu sonrisa

Hay una lágrima por cada risa

Eres más valiente de lo que crees

Porque tenemos que crecer

La segunda estrella a la derecha todo recto hasta el amanecer

Aférrate a aquello que te hace diferente

Si esperas el momento oportuno, era ese

Ohana significa familia, familia estar juntos siempre

Que tu alma libre esté

Que nunca es tarde para ser joven--his team had Walked closer.

The kid slowly calmed down as he sang, and quietly joining him.

Jer had a huge smile on his face,pouring his heart and soul as he sang with the kid who did the same,enjoying the music-- Boo

Sigue nadando

Quiero ser cómo, tú

Hakuna matata

Vive y deja vi bibidibabidibu

Hay un amigo en mí

Tan blandito que me quiero morir

De ellos aprendí!

Both ended their singing and the kid started to giggle and laugh, jerico gave the Man back his guitar and watched them walk away, with a warm feeling on his chest.

--recruit is good with little kids--heavy said.

--back in my home I had a lot of siblings,you end up learning I guess

And they spend the rest of the night enjoying the town.

Once back at his bedroom, just as hes about to sleep, he notices a pacage on his desk.

How...how did that get in here?

He got out of bed and Turned on the desk lamp.

--Que carajo...?--(what The fuck?),he then opened the small box to find a beautiful book,with carved details,painted gold.

'Since you too design things I figured this would suit you best.

Spy'

Said the note on the wrapper of the box.

He smiled and left it there,already too tired.

He then when back to bed, and fell asleep with his cats on his chest.

The morning sun filtered through the old blinds,jer hears his alarm go off,smacking the button of his alarm with a groan.

Suddenly he jumps as loud noises and shouts reached his room.

--la re puta madre!--he cursed sitting Straight,vica stands on their two back feet and with his front paws Cling to his unbuttoned shirt.

Jer picks them up,as illa jumps on his shoulder,and he walks to the source of the noise.

--Can I know what the fuck is going on?--Jerico asked,grumpy and a bit anxious.

--zhis idiot tried to Cook a pie,and somehow left zhe fork inside of it--medic said looking at scout.

Suddenly, scout screamed at the top of his lungs to defend himself,with a stupid argument.

Jer jumps back and hugs his cat, who purss and licks his hand.

His breath hitched as hes barely able to say--scout shut up!

His broken voice is enough to make the whole Room shut up and look at him.

--leetle Man feels bad,whats up?‐-heavy tried to Grab his shoulder but jeri stepped away.

--Scout give him a glass of vater-medic approached jerico softly, guiding Him to sit on the table--...how jou feeling now?

The New merc drinks the glass of water as he brokenly tries to steady his breath.

Vica sits on his lap,and illa jumps on the table, purring into the hand thats holding his head.

--I...I think im alright--jeri straightened his back--sorry,shouting And and loud noises make me anxious, try and Keep it quiet for now please?

--Ja, Ve'll zry, oh, by zhe vay,breakfasts ready

Engenieer was so kind to make the New merc breakfast with some home made applepie(without the fork inside of it)

Jerico Drank his tea, while his carts sat besides him curled up in a ball.

--So,jerico right?--engie said

--Yeah,whats up?

--Why dontcha tell Us about yourself huh?

Jers hand buttonned Up his shirt as he finally realized he was still in his pjs.

--Well,i moved in with my dad when I was a teen,worked in a bakery--scout chuckled condecenfingly--wich means I can make better pies than scout,and I Will not leave a fork inside of it,a part time artist, when I was like....twenty I did my phd in Steam powered engenieering,and when I could id go learn blacksmithing in one of my dads Friends house,nothing much

--nothin freaking much?!--scout said surprised-- you learnt blacksmithing and you think thats nothing much?

Jeri laughed snorting--well yeah blacksmithing is pretty cool

The Bostonian boy sunk in his chair and hid his face with his cap, as his cheeks Turned Pink.

--Oh and engie,I have the blueprints done,we can get to work in the wiring after this

--Alrighty then!

The rest of the breakfast was spent in quiet chatter, and jerico went to take a shower, closing the courtain.

The warn water hit his body and his shoulders and back relaxed.

He stretched his neck and washed his hair.

After the bath, he changed and went to Grab the blueprints and the notes he'd made in the notebook spy gave him.

He Walked to the door of his room,feeling excited to make this proyect of his into reality.

#tw//trigger mention #tw:trigger mention #🔥⚒toughesr coppersmith around⚒🔥#f/o fic

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scurvgirl · 4 years

Text

The Nature of Monsters, Part 5

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

;) Kass bonds with Ash and then with Melarue in a completely different way. ;)

Melarue belongs to @justanartsysideblog

________________________________________

Unfortunately, Melarue keeps to their word. Kass doesn’t see them the next day. They leave before dawn, reportedly bundled and a little sluggish but definitely leaving with a purpose.

“They told me to tell you they are spending the day with Suvenin and the baby,” Elsi continues as she sets the table for Kass and Ash’s breakfast.

“Oh! Mama, can I show you what I’ve been working on?”

“Of course, baby.” A pang of guilt shoots through Kass as she realizes how little time she’s spent with Ash since waking. She’s made sure to eat her meals with her, save for yesterday of course, but the days have largely passed in a way where Ash has been off with her tutor and Kass has...not been around.

Today will be different.

After breakfast, Ash leads Kass to the pavilion in the garden. Her instructor is already there, a tall man with a shock of white hair and pearlescent skin. His ears are long and reach back, though not nearly as much as his horns.

“Ser Lokraan is like us, but his mother was an elf,” Ash explains, striding comfortably up to the man. He enters a graceful bow when Kass steps onto the pavilion, his white hair falling forward in a cascade.

“A pleasure to meet you, lady Kassaran,” he says in a deep, rumbling voice. Kass grimaces and waves him off.

“I am no lady, please just call me Kass. It’s good to meet you.” She smiles even as the hair on the back of her neck rises. Over the years, Kass has developed a sort of sixth sense when it comes to monstrous people. She’s not talking about the obvious monsters, the giant worms and the slime monsters that live in sewers, but the kind that hide in plain sight. They’re the most dangerous, and most people don’t know how to protect themselves from them. Kass, however, is not most people.

Many monstrous people move in a different way from non-monstrous people. Depending on their natures, movements can be preternaturally smooth like a vampire, or more disjointed like a fawn who is walking on hooves, not feet. Head tilts are a good way to tell as well, many monstrous people have heightened hearing and will tilt their heads in ways to pick up on more sounds. Some creatures are just...different in a way that Kass can’t quite pin down, but she just knows.

Lokraan falls into that last category. Nothing about him seems overly different except for his striking features, but there is a sense of other about him that makes Kass want to retract her hand a little faster and watch him a little closer.

No, she reminds herself. Melarue hired Lokraan to train Ashokara. They clearly trust him enough to allow him into their home and to train Ash, so Kass should trust him. She doesn’t think Melarue would put anyone dangerous with Ash.

Not intentionally, that small voice in her head whispers.

He exits his bow gracefully, pink-hued eyes flickering up to her blue. His wide mouth spreads into an oddly charming toothy smile, “Kass it is. Now Ash, let’s show your dear mother what we’ve accomplished so far.” With a quick flourish of his cape, Lokraan turns and gestures for Ash to join him. She skips up to him and falls into her stance.

The demonstration is beautiful. Ash’s fiery blue magic has matured and grown so much, it makes Kass proud. And afraid. She knows the older a mage gets, the harder it is to hide magic, it’s a part of the mage, an important part. Ash’s magic is beautiful but undeniably dangerous and strong, and her heritage does not help in her image. She doesn’t want Ash to ever feel like she has to diminish herself for safety.

Isn’t that what we’ve had to do in the last year? A sinister part of her whispers in her mind. More guilt tells her that yes, they’ve had to do exactly that to survive. As she watches Ash perform, her magic swirling in a dancing cloud around her, she realizes just how horribly unfair it would be for her to ask Ash to give all of this up again if they left this place.

As safe as it might be to leave...a life lived in fear is no life at all. She wants better for Ash, and for herself.

After the demonstration, Kass praises Ash and thanks Lokraan. He is courteous and humble, but she can see the glimmer of pride in his eyes. A success for Ash is a success for him, which is fine in her book - it will motivate him to make sure she succeeds.

“Time for academics!” Lokraan declares, “Kass, we shall be in the library if you have need of us.”

“I’ll walk you inside,” she says, falling into step with them. “What books are you studying?”

“Lokraan is teaching me arithmetic and we’re currently reading The Hightown Noble. I like the books about dragons better.” She mumbles the second sentiment, but her eyes are bright and Kass knows she’s enjoying herself. She’s learning and doing well.

“Well, dragons are very interesting. Maybe Lokraan can teach you about dragons next.” Kass has thankfully not encountered a dragon. From what she understands, they’re pretty rare and largely now content to live in their respective homes and territories. There are some hunters and mercenaries who seek the creatures out for epic battle, and most of those get eaten. The others perish from their chosen dragon’s breath. Kass has never desired to meet such an end, so she has avoided all hirings related to dragons. She’d take a stray wyvern, but never a drake or dragon. Ash, however, has always been fascinated by the beasts. Kass supposes her daughter feels a certain kinship with them, with all the fire and horns and whatnot.

“I may have a tome detailing some of the larger fauna that live in the west,” Lokraan comments.

“Please!” Ash asks, eliciting a chuckle.

“Very well, we can dabble a bit in zoology. Our basics must still be learned.”

“Of course!” Ash agrees quickly, making Kass chuckle. Her eagerness is so endearing, and good to hear. Kass had feared she hadn’t done a good enough job of educating Ash, or providing opportunities for her to be educated. She feared that as a result, Ash’s desire to learn had been stunted, but here she is, eager to learn about the things that interest her.

When they enter the library, she sees that the mathematics they are working on aren’t entirely basic either. Kass had picked up this particular book at one point, only to swiftly set it aside. This type of arithmetic doesn’t mesh well with her mind - she’s good with budgets because she has to be, but the rest of math...it doesn’t suit her. Her brain seems to do better with literature. And fighting, though she really just prefers the literature. While she doesn’t have the mind for the arithmetic, she’s so happy to see her daughter be encouraged to explore it so she could have it.

“I’ll leave you to your lessons, little one. I’ll bring lunch later,” she says and Ash nods, already absorbed in her work. Lokraan glances up to Kass, the light-heartedness gone and replaced with a possessive expression that unsettles Kass. As Kass leaves the library, she frowns but tries not to let it bother her too much. Lokraan is odd, and his oddness is likely explained by whatever monstrous characteristics he has, Kass tells herself.

She heads back outside to wander the grounds, pulling her cloak tighter against her to keep out the cold. Despite the season, she can tell the grounds are well kept and tended by someone who enjoys the work. Long ago and far away, Kass had enjoyed gardening. She would spend days in the garden, pulling up weeds, planting beautiful flowers. It was dirty, hard work, but rewarding. Part of her longs for it now, to tend to the currently sleeping flowers, but the ground is hard with the cold, and she is sure there is a gardener here that would frown upon her meddling.

The rest of the day is spent in relative quiet. Ash bounds in and takes her lunch with Kass and they eat tiny sandwiches to Ash’s delight. As soon as she’s done though, Lokraan has her resume her studies. That feeling in Kass’s gut returns, making her frown. She needs to talk to Melarue, find out where they found Lokraan and see if he is as trustworthy as he is made to seem.

Kass reads for a good part of the day until she feels restless enough to return to the grounds to train. She feels weaker than she has in a very long time and it doesn’t suit her. It reminds her too much of when she was actually weak and defenseless; she promised herself to never be that way again.

She goes through hours of exercises, working up a sweat despite the cold. She shucks off her cloak and rolls up her sleeves before resuming work with her assortment of weapons. There’s the hand-a-half sword, the hand-axe, a short-sword that feels more like a dagger in her hand but she keeps it because it always seems to get the job done when she needs it. She breaks out her shield as well, and even a “staff” that is really more of a walking stick.

Hours later, muscles aching, and out of breath, Kass notices the sun has set. The grounds are lit by gas lamps, though she doesn’t know when they were lit or by whom. She does know she is hungry, but sweaty and likely giving off a stench none too pleasant.

She turns to go back inside and stops when she sees Melarue in the sunroom. They’re speaking with Elsi and as if sensing her eyes upon them, they turn to look at her. Even behind those glasses she can feel the weight of their gaze. She holds up a finger in a universal sign for them to wait. She has to go around the hedges and into the main living area before making it into the sunroom. She hurries as quickly as she can but when she reaches the sunroom, it’s just Elsi.

“They retired for the evening,” the harpy says, “they apparently had a full day at the Orchid.”

She wants to curse. They’re avoiding her, and there isn’t much she can do about that. Not when they have the ability to essentially vanish.

“Thank you, Elsi,” she says anyways, knowing it’s not the girl’s fault.

She nods, “Would you like me to bring you some soup during your bath?” Right, her bath, and food. Her nose wrinkles as she recalls what a foul state she must be in and tries not to flinch.

“Yes, please. Has Ash already eaten?”

“Yes, she retired quite awhile ago. Her tutor had her do some more magical exercises that wore her out, something to do with endurance.”

“Dammit,” she finally gives into the temptation to curse, “tomorrow...tomorrow will be better.” She didn’t get time with Ash or Melarue, the two things she wanted to do today. Instead, she spent the day training.

The journey to her room is long only because her body realizes that it spent the day working. Her muscles begin to ache and fatigue, and she’s practically quivering by the time she makes it into the tub. She used to have incredible endurance, able to run all day and fight all night. Then they went on the run and she had to start cutting back on food and sleep, then she got sick. Amazing what the three will do to a person’s endurance. Still, she trained for most of the day and is only now feeling the effects - she doesn’t consider that a total loss.

Elsi brings up Kass’s soup a little later and informs her that she will be retiring for the night as well. Kass bids her goodnight, finishes her soup and her bath, then crawls into bed herself. Tomorrow will be better.

The next day is better. She manages to spend the majority of it with Ash since Lokraan is coincidentally caught up with a personal affair in the city. Kass takes the opportunity to take Ash out into the city as well. If this is to be their new home, they need to learn to enjoy it properly.

Kass has Ash wear the necklace to disguise her while donning a thick cloak and hood. Ash’s skin shifts to a warm brown and her white hair darkens to black while her horns shimmer away under the illusion of humanity.

“That amulet is meant for you,” Elsi murmurs, “sometimes the necklaces that are meant for someone else can...cause issues.”

“She’s like me, and we won’t be out long,” Kass says, adjusting her hood in the mirror to make sure her horns are sufficiently covered.

“I look weird, all...humany,” Ash says, staring at herself in the mirror, touching her face and hair. She turns and pokes at the now rounded ear.

“Be careful, Melarue would have my head if anything happened to you,” she jokes but there’s a serious look in her eye that has Kass placing a reassuring hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“They wouldn’t, and nothing is going to happen.” Kass pulls up her scarf to cover the lower half of her face and Ash dons a cloak of her own for warmth. Her daughter may be a walking fireplace, but she is worryingly susceptible to the cold, which is part of the reason why Kass won’t keep them out for long. They are in a much colder region than where they were living before they went on the run, and while a climate like this keeps them safer since the hunters wouldn’t think this is the first place they’d go, it certainly isn’t the most comfortable for Ash.

Melarue’s driver is still with them, but they don’t need the driver to get around and besides, markets are better traversed on foot. It doesn’t take long for them to reach the markets, and they see more of the nicer part of the city in the process.

“I love this, I love living like this.” Ash laughs, spinning along the sidewalk, the falling snow spinning with her.

Kass smiles, “It is certainly very nice.”

“You like it too, I know you do. And you like Melarue.”

“Oh, they’re a very nice host -

“C’mon, Mama, I’m not stupid. You like them, and they like you. And I think it’s great.”

Kass stops, her face flushed under her hood and scarf, “You...do?”

Ash turns to her and shrugs, “Yeah, all you’ve ever done is work and then we had to run because of me. You just about killed yourself to make sure I’m okay...I want you to be happy too.”

Kass’s heart warms and tears threaten to spill over. Instead, she pulls Ash for a tight hug.

“I love you so much. I am so, so proud of you.”

“Mama!” She protests, “you’re embarrassing me.”

“I’m your mother, that’s what I do.” She tucks Ash’s head under her chin and presses a kiss through the scarf to the top of a disguised horn.

Ash moves away as soon as she can, teenager scorn of affection firmly back in place. But Kass knows now, and it’s good. Selfishly, she hadn’t really been thinking all that much about how Ash would react to Kass pursuing a relationship with Melarue. That thought breeds guilt, but she’s mostly relieved that her daughter is fine with it. More than fine with it, Ash wants it for Kass. This whole time Kass has been sacrificing herself for her daughter, she hasn’t stopped to think that Ash wanted more for her as well.

They make it to the market, greeted by the growing roar of shopkeepers shouting their wares and shoppers trying to negotiate. The street is lined with stalls and filled with people despite the cold and snow. There are food stalls with all types of street food from meat pies to wraps to even season spiced wine. Most of which smells delightful and even though Kass has already eaten, she finds herself looking over at a stand selling what looks to be a special type of warm bread that is cooked with a rotating cylinder over an open flame.

“Can we get one of those, please?” Ash asks, taking out a very familiar looking coin purse from her cloak.

“Ash! I thought the purse was lost.”

Ash flushes and shrugs, “Technically, I never said it was lost. You read that from my face. I kept it safe while Melarue looked over you. But hey! Now we can get this really neat bread!” She hands over a few copper and the baker hands over the bread. Ash’s gloved hands take it and immediately tear off a piece to try. “Mmm, you gotta try it.” She breaks off another piece and offers it to Kass who sighs and takes it. She’s right, it’s very good. It’s sweet in a way that it’s clear it's made with honey, and while there is a slight crust, the bread itself is the perfect balance of soft and crisp.

“Alright, good choice, but I hold the money from now on,” Kass says, holding out her hand. Ash sighs but hands it over.

They spend the next two hours wandering the stalls, looking at all the odds and ends of the various merchants. Ash is particularly taken with the glassblower’s wares while Kass finds a very fine silversmith. They are browsing a stall full of journals when Ash shivers. Her hand spasms and she pulls it to her body. When she exhales, a puff of smoke comes out with it.

“Mama, I don’t feel right,” she whispers. Kass restrains herself from cursing and takes Ash’s arm.

“Let’s get back to the house.” On a mission, Kass directs Ash swiftly through the throngs of people, thanking her immense height for this. People move out of the way as soon as they spot Kass and Ash hurriedly making their way down the street. Kass murmurs a polite “excuse me” and “pardon us” every now and then, and thankfully no one seems invested enough to pay overmuch attention to them.

Every few moments, Ash twitches and Kass feels her arm heart with a pulse of magic trying to return the girl’s temperature to its normal elevated level. Ash is already tall, only a few inches under Melarue’s height and still growing, but she seems to shrink with each step. She hunches into herself to conserve heat. Damn it, normally they have more time. They’ve been in the cold for much longer before Ash even began to feel uncomfortable!

By the time they reach the mansion, Ash is shaking. Kass doesn’t stop to take off her layers, instead hurrying Ash to the great room to set her by the fire. She reaches around Ash’s neck and unclasps the amulet. Ash’s form wavers then settles on her true form, with gray skin, white hair, and curving horns.

Magic immediately blooms around Ash in a heavy wave of heat. Ash gasps as if she had be suffocating and the fire roars a brilliant blue in response.

“Elsi!” Kass calls as she grabs a blanket to wrap around Ash. The other girl comes dashing in, worry written on her face.

“Can you get some soup for Ash? Hot soup, something like chicken noodle.”

“Right away!” She runs off to the kitchen while Kass tries not to flagellate herself for not seeing the signs sooner. Ash’s magic, while strong and vibrant, also creates within her a vulnerability that needs to be protected and Kass is supposed to be that protector.

The rest of the afternoon is spent with Kass and Elsi doing their best to warm up Ash. Hours in, Kass walks into the great room to see Ash extricating herself from the extensive blanket cocoon, stripping down to her bare skin to climb into the fireplace.

“ASHOKARA!” Kass shouts, running to help her.

“I’m fine,” Ash says, her voice surprisingly soft. The fire snaps to blue from its original orange, curving over her daughter’s body like a blanket. “I need the fire.”

Being a non-magical person, Kass doesn’t quite understand it. Not to mention her daughter’s magic seems so different from the magic of a typical mage. But she trusts her daughter to know what she needs; the blue fire has never harmed her before and if she were in pain, Ash would remove herself. It makes her think that perhaps the hunters aren’t entirely wrong, Ash isn’t normal, for certain. She isn’t a monster, like they espouse, but she isn’t a typical mage with the way she interacts with fire and how fire reacts to her.

Kass watches her daughter, flames growing bigger and higher within the gigantic fireplace. Laughter blooms from the fire and Kass smiles. It’s said that their people have a bit of dragon’s blood in them, and Kass thinks Ash must have more than most to live within the fire like this.

By dinner, Ash is all warmed up, dressed and carrying on just fine. Kass has barred her from leaving the house for the time being, however. All of her food is also served very hot for her happy consumption.

“Can I have hot chocolate?” Ash asks and Kass chuckles. She’s so milking this and Kass can’t bring herself to not give into it.

“Sure.” The treat is brought to the table and Ash sips at it happily. Kass watches as the heat doesn’t affect her, if anything, her color improves and her eyes close with relief.

Ash’s eyes open when she lowers the mug and she smiles. At her next exhale, some smoke puffs out, but unlike before at the market, this breath is controlled. Kass raises an eyebrow and Ash’s eyes sparkle.

“Lokraan says I’m special,” Ash says, sounding almost completely normal once more.

“Of course you are!” Kass agrees but Ash just shakes her head, smile still in place.

“Not like how you see me, but my magic - he says it’s pure power. He says that I could really have an effect on the world if I try hard enough.” She lifts her hand and a small blue flame dances around her finger tips before dissipating as she closes her fist.

“That’s amazing, but little one, you’re only fourteen.” What sorts of things has Lokraan been discussing with Ash? Kass has no doubt Ash can have a positive effect on the world, but she is still just a girl. She has so much to learn and do before she is ready to go brave the world.

As if proving her point, Ash says “And what, that means I can’t be powerful?” Kass takes a deep breath and tries to toe this lightly. Ash is admittedly temperamental and with her young age, she is not...particularly wise.

“Of course not, it simply means that you have a lot to learn before you can apply that power. The world doesn’t need another explosion.”

“And that’s all I can do, that’s all you see.” Where was this coming from? Kass has always been supportive of Ash’s talents. Sure, it’s frightened her a few times, but mostly when she’s feared that Ash was in danger. Her daughter’s fire is incredible, even if it is dangerous.

“It means that until you learn how to use your power, you won’t know how to prevent such an explosion - learning how to use something also means learning when not to use it. Being successful and affecting change means having this wisdom of when to use power. Not every situation calls for a lot of power, sometimes...less is more. You are going to do amazing things, baby girl, when you are ready to do them. And as your mama, I want you to be safe too.” Kass reaches forward for Ash’s hand, but Ash recoils from her.

“Lokraan says non-mages won’t get it, and even that most mages won’t because my magic is so unique.” She practically spits the word non-mages and Kass can’t help but feel a twinge of pain as she knows that Ash, and perhaps Lokraan, very much mean Kass herself. Even so, Kass strives for patience.

“He’s right - your magic is unique, but that doesn’t mean you should shut out people who try to understand you, who do their best to help you. That would lead to a lonely life, Ash.” Kass needs to have a discussion with Lokraan. He can’t be spouting these things and expecting Ash to isolate herself with her power. In Kass’s experience, loneliness is a contributor to taking a dark path. And Kass will fight Ash going down that path with everything in her body.

“You are one of the strongest mages I’ve seen, and you make me so proud as your mama. I love you.” Kass tries and Ash glances back at her, violet eyes slowly softening.

“I love you too,” she whispers, “I guess...it’s just nice for someone who knows magic to recognize what I can do.” Finally, Kass sees her daughter past the defiance. She sees the lonely girl who hasn’t had this kind of expert tutelage despite Kass’s effort. She sees the toll of loneliness and ostracization have taken on Ash and it makes her heart ache.

“Absolutely! And I am so happy you finally have someone who can give you that recognition. I just want you to know that power isn’t everything. Happiness, love, companionship, joy, freedom - these are the things that make life worth living. Power can help you attain these things, but it doesn’t guarantee them, and sometimes, if you focus on just the power aspect - you’ll lose those things.” And without those things to fight for, power in itself is...corrupting. But Kass isn’t going to harp on that quite yet. Ash doesn’t need it and this is no time to talk to Ash like one of the monsters Kass has encountered.

Ash uncrosses her arms and leans forward to take Kass’s hand, “I want it all - happiness, joy, love, and power. Can’t I have that?”

“Yes, just don’t lose sight of yourself,” Kass replies softly. Ash’s hand is hot to the touch, charged fully with her magic. She’s so much stronger than she was even a month ago. Her power is growing and Lokraan is nurturing that growth, and Kass will nurture her wisdom in how to use it. Her daughter will not become someone to be hunted. At least, not deservingly so.

The conversation shifts to nicer topics, such as the rest of Ash’s studies. With her new spectacles, she is reading and apparently devouring books. By the time Ash leaves to head to bed, Kass feels more like herself than she has in months.

She hasn’t felt this happy since even before meeting Melarue in that cave. How long has her life been on this track of dissatisfaction? She wishes she could pinpoint a specific turning point, but she can’t. All she knows is that at some point, her life became less about living and more about surviving. That which she preached to Ash about what mattered in life - joy, love, happiness - those things took a backburner to food, sleep, even money to live.

Now? Kass doesn’t have to worry about any of that, only about being a good mother and a good person. She can read and train and enjoy who she is. She can enjoy a whole host of things, and what she wants to enjoy is...Melarue.

Kass returns to her room to change into lounging clothes and to read. It’s such a good book that it engrosses her and she can’t put it down until she’s finished it. It is late into the night when she finishes and her stomach growls. Seems like a midnight snack is in order.

She climbs out of bed and ties a sash around her loose tunic to keep it in place before heading downstairs. She makes her way to the kitchen and scrounges up some bread and butter. She picks up her plate and sets for the sunroom to eat. It’s a lovely spot to eat, and she wants to look out over the grounds, see if she can see any stars. Halfway there and she hears their voice, low and dark. She stops and cranes her neck to see Melarue in the room with the indoor pool, Elsi standing next to them.

“The pool is prepared?” They ask.

“Yes, warmed as you like. I could get you something to eat as well if you’d like,” Elsi says, her voice muffled by the distance.

They shake their head, “No, thank you. Please retire for the night, Elsi, you’ve worked enough.”

“Thank you.” Elsi bows her head and quickly leaves the room, dashing out to the grounds and into the night. Kass tilts her head to watch Melarue, curious. Their back is to her, safe from their gaze as they remove their glasses, setting them on a table by the pool. They take off the layers of their clothes until they are only clad in a light slip that is so thin and so close to their skin tone that she would think they’re naked except for the folds of fabric around their waist and hips. She should turn away, this is peeping behavior and that’s not okay - they reach up and reach behind their neck, unclasping the necklace. They take the necklace away, placing it with their glasses.

Their form shimmers, but it’s centered around their head, flowing in a downward pattern. It takes a moment for Kass to realize the change, their hair a black mass, but then the black mass starts to move and not with Melarue, but independently. There is a writhing rhythm and then a serpent’s head lifts up from the mass, a tongue flicking out as it moves toward Melarue’s jaw. They turn slightly, a finger coming up to gently touch the snout of the snake.

Their hair...isn’t hair, it’s snakes. Living, breathing, moving snakes.

A rational part of her, a part that finds tall burly men attractive in a very traditional expected way, says that she should be repelled by this. They’re a monster with snakes for hair and their very gaze turns people to stone. They can move so quickly and silently it’s almost like they teleported away from her. But there is a bigger part of her, apparently now in full bloom, loud and vibrant, that isn’t the least bit bothered by these things. In fact, this part of her wants to touch those snakes, feel their scaley smoothness as she cups their face, kissing them soundly.

Melarue walks into the pool, descending slowly into the water until she cannot see them.

Not thinking, Kass sets the remainder of her meal aside and walks to the door of the pool room. At the door, she undoes the sash at her waist then ties it securely around her eyes until she cannot see past the navy silk. She takes a steadying breath and opens the door. She is greeted by the sound of moving water, then Melarue’s voice in a harsh reprimand.

“Kassaran!”

“I have a blindfold,” she says, pointing up at the sash around her face.

“You should not be in here,” they say anyways.

“Probably not, I should be staying away, you have snakes for hair and freaky eye powers that could very easily kill me. You are a monster, but you’re not a monster. Melarue, I…” suddenly losing her words, she takes a step forward, gesturing towards them, “I haven’t ever felt this way. You are kind and brave and incredible and I haven’t stopped thinking about that kiss.”

“I’m dangerous, Kass. If I hurt you…”

“Then let’s make sure you don’t,” she says softly, again pointing at the blind fold, “I don’t need to see you to know you’re beautiful, besides...using my hands to see you sounds better anyways.” She shrugs, smirking just a little. The water sloshes and she hears their wet footsteps approach her. She hears the clang of metal on glass and she knows they’re reaching for the necklace.

“Don’t, you don’t need to, I want to know you as you are.” She moves slowly but carefully to them. She reaches out to steady herself and they must reach out too because her hand meets theirs. It’s like electricity that shoots through her, pure and primal, full of desire.

“Melarue…”

“I am weak,” they breathe and then her arms are full of them. Their hands cup her face and their lips press against hers. Weak as they may be, she is happy for it, reacting instantly to wrap her arms around them. She deepens the kiss, eager to taste them, her hand sliding down to grab their ass and pull them closer to her. This hunger she feels for them is unlike anything she’s experienced and for the life of her, she doesn’t care, she just wants.

Their tongues meet in a rush of wet heat that has her moaning and them trembling. No, wait, not trembling - shivering.

Kass pulls away just enough to breathe, “You’re cold.”

“A benefit of what I am, I grow cold easily,” they reply before putting their lips back to hers. They seem happy to makeout despite the discomfort but she has no intention of this ending soon and it will end soon if they let themselves get too cold. Recalling the pool is heated, Kass grasps their hips and lifts them up so that they wrap their legs around her hips, her hands supporting them under their thighs.

They give a little noise of surprise but don’t break the kiss, even now positioned so that they have to lean down to kiss her instead of her leaning. Moving ever so carefully, Kass retraces her steps backwards until she is sure is standing in front of the walk-in pool.

“Kass…” they groan, rubbing themselves against her. She gasps and nearly stumbles at the sensation. Her body is alight with a needy arousal, compelling her to stop and drop to her knees, let them continue right there. Why not? No, they need the warmth of the water, then they can be as wicked as they desire.

Mindful of each step, Kass slowly walks down the slope into the pool. She is still fully clothed, though barefoot, and the warm water soaks into her clothes, the fabric clinging to her skin. When the water reaches up to Melarue’s feet, they inhale sharply and break the kiss.

“I would have walked.”

“This is better, I like holding you.” To make her point, she shifts her hands to squeeze their behind. Them and their snakes let out a simultaneous hiss that has her raising her eyebrows.

“Don’t like that?” She eases her grip and slowly goes to her knees, giving them plenty of ability to remove themselves.

Instead they grab her horns, pulling her forward in a deep kiss. Okay, they like that. She twines her tongue with theirs and drags her fingers up their back. The fabric of their slip moves with her fingers and it makes her long for the feel of their skin, free from the garment.

Melarue pulls back and nips at Kass’s lip before retreating off her lap and into the surrounding water.

“Melarue?” She asks, reaching for them.

“Patience,” they purr. The water moves her ear twitches as it sloshes around her. She goes to turn but their hands are suddenly on the backs of her arms, so she remains in place. Their hands trail down her arms, then turn to come back up to her shoulders, then clavicle. Her lips part on an inaudible gasp as they press against her back, lips pressing against the nape of her neck.

“For two years I wondered if you were actually a physical person and not a kind spirit. And then you fell into my arms. I’ve been terribly selfish, Kassaran,” they say as their hands descend over her breasts, “keeping you here.” They squeeze gently and a mewl of pleasure escapes her.

“I like your selfishness,” she murmurs, her hands covering theirs, “and I stayed, I could have left. You’re not as selfish as you think.”

“What if I hired a tutor for Ash just to -

“You didn’t. Melarue, I know you’re not a monster - we don’t have to go through this.”

Their hands move from her breasts to move over her stomach, then over her hips.

“I have snakes growing out of my head, my gaze turns people to stone.”

“And I have horns and have killed so many creatures, they should put me in the world records book.” They pause and she smiles, “Didn’t think about that, did you? That maybe you’re not the only monster here.”

“You are not a monster,” they say emphatically, gently nipping at her nape.

She gasps, “And neither are you.” To make her point, she arches her back, pushing her bum against them.

They nip at her again, hands coming up to pull at the ties of her tunic. She lets them remove it without any protest. They toss it away and it slaps against the tile surrounding the pool. They turn to her breeches then, pulling at the ties. She takes over the task, to shimmy it over her bum and down her legs to toss away with her tunic. It leaves her just in her breast band and underwear.

“You are so lovely,” they murmur as they move around her, their hand trailing around her waist. Their fingers trail over her skin and she tries not to squirm under the scrutiny. Kass is not a beautiful woman, her life has been hard, full of fighting and manual labor that has sculpted a body covered in scars, roped with muscle. Her curves are overly exaggerated and -

Melarue’s mouth is on hers, their lips gently parting hers to slide their tongue inside her mouth. She softens under their touch, reaching out to them. Her fingers slide along their jaw, then trail down their neck to their small breasts. Their skin is so soft and pliant and she is greedy for them. She brushes her hands over the soft flesh before cupping them, her thumbs brushing over their nipples.

A note of pleasure leaves them, and they arch into her caress. Their body is a wonderland and she wants to learn it well. She moves her hands from their breasts to learn their form, lower and around their ribcage, to their stomach, to slightly curved hips, back up to their breasts. They break the kiss, head leaning back and their eyes fluttering closed at the sensations. Kass takes advantage and moves her lips down the column of their neck. She nips at their collarbone, only to press another kiss there. Her hands only move to support them as they lean back.

“Kassaran,” they whisper, “your mouth is sinful.”

She moves her mouth to the curve where their breast begins. If she weren’t blindfolded, she would have looked up at them before moving her mouth lower to cover their nipple. Alas, she is blindfolded and can only smile against their skin as a warning before sucking their nipple into her mouth. She laves at them, relishing the little gasps coming from them, their hands reaching into her hair then caressing her cheek. She moves over to pay the other breast just as much attention, tonguing the nipple to a peak.

“You like my mouth,” she finally replies, kissing their sternum.

“I do, I like all of you.” With that, they move so they can kiss her again. She could write poetry about their mouth, their tongue, their hands. She could lose herself so easily in them, and heavens help her, she wants to.

They mimic her movements, kissing across her cheek then down to her jaw, down her neck. They nip at her collarbone and unsap her breast band, then use their hands to cup her far more generous breasts to pay them attention. Their lips and tongue and teeth toy with her, making her squirm and a heat bloom in her nether regions.

She is so distracted by their mouth on her that she doesn’t realize they’ve been backing her up to one of the pool walls until she bumps into it.

“Ah!” She exclaims. They stop and she feels their grin against her chest.

“Hop up,” their voice is dark and full of wicked intention that has her flushing. She’s a grown woman who has had plenty of sex, but they whip out their “I’m going to do naughty things to you” voice and it’s almost like she’s virginal again. Almost.

Kass may be blindfolded, but Melarue is not, and they said they like her body. Grinning through her blush, Kass turns and uses her strength to slowly lift herself out of the pool and onto the ledge. She sways her hips in a mock movement to get dry before turning to sit on the edge. She keeps her legs closed even when she feels she can predict what they want to do.

“You are delightful,” they say.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, that’s how I always get out of a pool,” she replies, smiling.

She feels their hands smooth over her thighs and they press against her shins so she opens her legs to let them closer. They press against her front and she sighs before leaning down and kissing them. It’s a quicker, sweeter kiss that ends with them moving lower again. Melarue makes their way down her body, kissing the curve of her stomach, not minding the stress marks there. She shifts slightly so that she is nearly half on, half off the ledge of the pool. She leans back on her arms, tilting her head back to just...enjoy the sensations they are giving her.

When they tug gently on her panties, she lifts her hips and lets them remove the garment without fuss. Her blush returns but she keeps her legs spread, open for their viewing and...ministrations. They pause only briefly before leaning in and kissing her inner thigh. With the turn of their head, she feels something smooth and slick brush against her sensitive skin.

The snakes. She freezes momentarily by reflex, it’s not normal for her to feel a snake against her while in the throes. They stop too, and she feels their hesitance.

It’s their snakes, she tells herself, it all still feels so good. And she really doesn’t want them to stop.

“Melarue, please,” she says softly, “I want you.” It’s enough encouragement and they kiss her thigh again and slowly begin to move inward to where she aches most.

When their mouth finally finds her, she lets out a rather embarrassing sound halfway between a gasp and a mewl. They give her a long, searching lick before settling in to swirl their tongue around the most sensitive bundle of nerves.

Kass writhes under their touch, hips canting into Melarue to feel more of them. Heat blooms from her sex, so different from the cool air surrounding her outside of the pool. The sensations are nearly overwhelming, and she wants them to overwhelm her. They edge her closer and closer to that peak, making her gasp and roll her hips in desperate anticipation.But it’s just shy of being too much, dangling her over a precipice of pleasure.

She croons their name, gasps praises, and reaches for them. Her hands find their snakes, smooth and scaly. Undeterred, she carefully keeps her hands in their sentient tresses, holding but not squeezing. It’s different, it really is, especially since the snakes move, but it’s them and heavens, she is filled with a need for Melarue.

Their tongue sinks into her in a deep stroke that her toes curling, so close to that precipice.

“Please, ka - oooh,” she moans as their hand joins in, teasing her just so. It’s too much, finally. Her muscles tense and she keens against their mouth, their lips and tongue devouring her pleasure.

Even with her release, they don’t let up immediately. No, Melarue stays between her legs, licking at her and murmuring words in a language she doesn’t know. Kass doesn’t think she can move, and really, she doesn’t want to. It feels good what they’re doing, even if a little uncomfortable with how overly sensitized she is now.

After several long moments, the cold air starts to get to her and she realizes that while she’s found her pleasure they have not. She scoffs inwardly, she is not a selfish lover by any means. With her release seen to, the need to see to them fills her.

Kass sits up and gently tugs a little on a snake. They move away from her, slow and languid.

“My turn,” she says, voice husky with pleasure. She hops back into the pool, sighing at the heat enveloping her. She had intended to put them up on the ledge but she recalls their sensitivity to the cold. She can’t expect them to writhe with as much pleasure as she had while suffering from the cold, now can she.

Instead, Kass takes Melarue into her arms, kissing them deeply, not minding her own saltiness still upon their tongue. Her hands roam over them, caressing their back, their buttocks, thighs and breasts. Finally, she settles her hands on their hips, curving around to their ass, only to lift them up once more.

They chuckle, “You certainly like doing that.”

“I do,” she confesses, “most of my previous partners weren’t...well, I want to show off for you.”

“Please do,” they confirm, making her heart clench. Their hands trail to her upper arms, thick with muscle, and squeeze appreciatively. “Mmm.”

Moving in the water with them held like this is a little tricky, but she moves slowly and the slowness gives Melarue plenty of opportunity to express their appreciation for her form. They push themselves upward so that their chest is level with her face, and she can’t help but nuzzle and lick at a breast. Their hands slide up to her shoulders and down to her back, nails dragging in a way that has her humming her approval.

Once in the shallows, Kass gently lowers them back into the water.

“Warm enough?” She asks, hands skimming over them to feel that they’re warm.

“Absolutely.”

Kass grins and it is all the warning they have before she lays on top of them, her thigh sliding between their legs to press against their hot sex. She slants her mouth against theirs and pulls their leg up around her hip so they can feel the friction and pressure of her thigh as much as possible. They gasp into her mouth and drag their nails down her back to her ass, arching their back in response. She moans at the feel of them, soft and hot and wet, and not just from the water around them.

Her hold on their thigh inches upward and rocks against them, setting a slow, torturous rhythm. As their pleasure mounts, they get feistier, nipping at her lips, nails digging into her ass, moving faster against her. Shifting, Kass slides her hand from their thigh to the center of their pleasure. Her fingers find their sensitive flesh and circle the small bundle of nerves. Their flesh is so hot and needy and she wants to give them everything.

They groan and she feels them tense, so close.

“You feel so good,” she praises, sinking a finger into them, then another when she feels them give so easily. She crooks the fingers on a shallow thrust, and their response is immediate. Their hips thrust, a sharp groan escapes them and then their muscles seize as their release takes hold. She continues to pleasure them with her hand through their spasms, relishing their pleasure, desiring more of it.

When they squirm, she removes her hand and sets to simply kissing them. They’re sweet, unrushed kisses, full of...whatever it is she feels for them.

“Am I squishing you?” She whispers between kisses.

“Only in the best way,” they reply.

“I don’t want -

“You’re warm and I really don’t want to move,” their voice is so quiet that if she weren’t so close, she wouldn’t hear them. But she does hear them, and she kisses their cheek.

“How long will the pool stay heated?”

“The enchantment wore off twenty minutes ago.”

She laughs, “I’m terrible with time, it’s really late isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“I’d suggest we go to bed, but I have no idea where my clothes are and they’re probably all wet.”

They kiss her temple and she lets them up when they gently push against her.

“Wait right here, darling.” The loss of them makes her realize how much the water has cooled and she brings her legs up to keep warmer.

“You can take off the blindfold,” they say. They must have donned their glasses to allow her this, and she eagerly removes the sash from her brow to see them naked and glorious. They’re smiling and waiting for her to look at them, she realizes. While she learned their body with touch, she takes them in greedily, all the details that she couldn’t know without sight. Their pale skin seems to glow in the soft light from the gas lamps and the moonlight streaming in from the windows. The color of their nipples, how red their mouth is after all the kissing. Their snakes are long, trailing all the way down to their waist for some, while others remain more suspended, watching her.

“I could read the dictionaries of a thousand languages and never find the words to describe how marvelous you are,” she says.

Their brow arches and their ears flush, “I think you just did.”

They move over to one of the lounge chairs and pull on the coat they had discarded previously. They button it up then pick up the afghan that had been draped decoratively over the arm of the chair. They move back to the walk-in end of the pool and hold out the afghan. Anyone else would have looked comedic or out of place when only wearing a coat, but it just makes them look even sexier, if that is even possible.

Kass rises from the pool and walks into the outstretched afghan, letting them wrap it warmly around her.

“Thank you.”

Together, they pick up the remainder of their clothes then head upstairs. They’re quiet, but there is an understanding in the silence between them. She stands close to them and eventually shifts her bundle to one arm so that she can reach out to them. Her fingers touch their hand and they glance down before turning their palm over to lace their fingers together.

Heat of a different sort spread through her at the joining of their hands. A heat that she doesn’t feel entirely comfortable examining yet. All she knows is that when she is with them, she feels wonderful and light. That’s enough to know for right now.

They stop at the door to her room and she suddenly doesn’t know what to do.

“Um, do you want to come in?” She offers. They tilt their head and one of their snakes leans forward, sticking its tongue out to taste the air.

“I think it’s time for me to retire for the night,” they say and her expression must have fallen more than she could control because they continue, “but tonight was lovely and I look forward to seeing you in the morning.”

“I’ll hold you to that, to not avoiding me,” she says before leaning down to give them a long goodnight kiss.

“You are far too persistent to let me hide,” they murmur against her lips..

“You’re right. Good night, Melarue, sleep well.”

“You as well, Kassaran.” Their hand slips from hers as they walk down the hall to their quarters. Kass watches them go, biting her lip. When they leave her sight, she slips into her room and tries not giggle like some little school girl. She just had very naughty sex in a pool, after all. She’s far from being a girl. Still, Melarue makes her feel young and desirable and very sexy.

Kass drops her still soaking clothing into the hamper and considers redressing for bed, but there’s a comfort in sleeping naked after having sex. She braids her hair back and dons a cap, then wraps herself back in the afghan and climbs into bed.

#the nature of monsters #kassaran #melarue #caserole #ashokara #my writing #;)#lemon

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thesentientmango · 4 years

Text

Stay Away From The Dark: Chapter 3

If At First...

AO3 Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Word Count- 1108

Ship- LAMP

Summary- Virgil arrives at the castle, Patton tries to calm Logan down, and opportunity strikes

Warning- Injuries, Vague descriptions of a panic attack

After Virgil rode away, Patton hurried off to Logan. Logan was still staring at the spot where Roman had been standing, but he was now sitting on the ground hugging his knees. He was rocking back and forth, and it broke Patton's heart to see the tears pouring down his face.

Patton knelt beside him, Logan was hyperventilating, and Patton knew he would faint if he did not calm down soon. Afraid of what might happen if Logan did not begin to breathe, Patton gently took one of Logan's hands in his own.

"Logan, honey, if you can hear me, please squeeze my hand?"

Logan's hand gently curled around Patton's, and Patton took that as a yes. "Okay, I'm going to count you through some breathing exercises. Can you breathe with me?"

Logan's grip tightened slightly, so Patton began to count, something he'd done millions of times for Virgil.

A while later Logan's eyes began refocusing, and he collapsed against Patton.

"Oh sweetheart, it's okay. Roman's okay. We're safe. You're safe."

Logan nodded as Patton brought his arms up and began hugging him, "Vee will be back soon, everything will be alright."

There was a loud crack right above them and Logan looked up sharply, just in time to see Patton's eyes roll back in his head as he fell backwards. Their kidnapper, or previous kidnapper, was standing above them with a large branch. Before Logan could even think to scream, the branch came down on his head and there was nothing.

~~~

When Virgil reached the castle Roman was in bad shape. He had lost so much blood he almost looked grey, and the makeshift bandage had failed at clotting his wounds.

Virgil dismounted the horse and took Roman off its back. Virgil sprinted up to Emile's ward, hoping all the way Emile would be in, Virgil wasn't sure how long Roman could wait.

“Doctor Emile?” Virgil called as he burst in through the door. Fortunately Emile was there, they immediately sprung up from their desk.

"Jiminy Cricket! Lord Virgil you scared me!" Emile said lightly before their eyes traveled to Roman, "Oh no. Get him onto the bed."

Virgil complied, as Emile began asking him rapid fire questions

"What happened?"

"Someone slashed him with a knife and then stabbed him in the side."

"How long ago?"

"About an hour? Maybe only half."

"I assume you didn't remove the weapon at any point?"

"Nah, we know better."

Emile hummed, "We?"

"Yeah, Pat and Lo were with us."

"Are they here as well?"

"No I left them back at- shoot. Emile do you need me?"

Emile frowned and glanced at Virgil who was getting frantic, "No, thank you for bringing him here Virgil.” They mumbled half distractedly, “Go get them."

As Virgil left Emile heard him mumble, "I hope Pat tied that guy down."

Emile frowned, but didn't really have time to worry about it, as they turned their full attention back to Roman.

~~~

Virgil arrived where he had left Patton and Logan on the cusp of night. He had brought one of the head guards, Remy simply as a precaution and to help bring a second horse. When they arrived and everything seemed all too quiet, Virgil found he was quite glad he brought xir.

Remy tied up xir horse and looked around as xe drew xir sword. “Lord Virgil, I don’t know about you,” xe whispered, “but it seems unlike that Sir Patton and Prince Logan to be so still and quiet upon your return. I would insist you tie up your steed and follow behind me.”

Virgil unmounted and tied up his horse before drawing his sword. “Yeah. I have a bad feeling about this too Remy.”

Remy walked slowly forward, xir eyes scanning for any signs of a trap. “Prince Logan?” Xe called. “Sir Patton?”

Virgil saw the clearing he had left them in and nudged Remy. “Ser Remy, in there.”

Remy nodded and walked slowly into the clearing, “Sir Patton? Prince Logan?”

The clearing was abandoned.

Remy didn’t put away xir weapon, but xe looked, slightly defeated as xe turned to Virgil. “I’m sorry My Lord, but it looks like they left, by their own accord or not.”

Virgil shook his head, “Not by their own accord. The person who attacked us is missing. They must have woken up and attacked them.”

Remy looked alarmed, “Someone overpowered Patton? He is one of the most competent knights we have.”

Virgil shook his head. “Patton had to give up. He would have fought but I got in the middle by accident and they grabbed me and forced Patton to give up if he wanted to see me alive again.”

Remy hissed through xir teeth. “And they took Prince Roman down too? This is not good.” Remy thought for a moment. “My Lord, forgive me, but we have to go back to the castle, we can not stay out here.”

Virgil looked up sharply, “What? We have to go get them!”

Remy shook xir head, “If they really are as powerful as you say, it is very possible they aren’t working alone. We can not do this alone. It would be foolish for the two of us to try to search, as we don’t have any idea as to where to start.”

Virgil slumped in defeat. “You’re right. I’m sorry Remy, I just hate the idea of them being alone.”

“Sire I also am not too keen on that idea, however they are together, and Prince Logan and Sir Patton are quite a force to be reckoned with.”

Virgil nodded and looked at the sky, which was quickly losing light. “We should go if we want to have light for our ride home.”

Remy nodded, “Yes of course. I’ll inform the guard of what has happened on our return, and send out a search party.”

Virgil looked up curiously as they walked back through the woods. “I thought you said searching in the dark would be foolish?”

Remy shook xir head, “Searching with two people in the woods would be foolish My Lord,” xe shrugged, “But with one or two hundred knights? Maybe not so.”

Virgil sighed as he mounted his steed, “Ser Remy you really do live up to your reputation of being the brains of the Chivalry.”

Remy laughed, “Please Lord Virgil, we both know that isn’t true. All it’s just a bit of common sense.”

Virgil shrugged, “I respect that. You’re a good knight Ser Remy.” Remy nodded, before allowing xir horse speed up, knowing the conversation was done. They rode in silence, the weight of what was happening hanging heavy on the air.

A/N: ...Try, Try Again...

#sanders sides #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #Ts LAMP #LAMP #ts Emile picani #ts remy #Ts sleep #mangowrites #injuries #if I need to add any tags let me know #stay away from the dark fic

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ravenqueen89 · 5 years

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Commission fill time

I was commissioned by the wonderful @numphet to write a fic featuring her amazing OC Katla Hawke. I really loved writing Katla, she’s such a complex and nuanced and vivid character, and I loved spending time with her. Thank you so much for the opportunity!

Fandom: Dragon Age II

Title: Keep this feeling safe tonight

Pairing: Katla Hawke/Ser Thrask

Rating: R

Summary: A relationship that occurs in the shadows has its one evening in public aka Katla and Thrask go to Satinalia together.

Notes: Is there rambling? Yes. Is there no dialogue? Also yes. Same old, same old in terms of style. There is also: angst, mentions of body image issues, mentions of using alcohol as a coping mechanism, and a lot of gloomy weather. This is the suit Katla wears, inspired by my lurking in her OC tag. I also randomly used details associated with Saturnalia when describing Satinalia. Title from PJ Harvey’s One Line.

Also on AO3.

There is no snow in Kirkwall’s winters, just a chilled damp and the wind rushing in from the sea, howling with the voices of ghosts through Hightown’s streets and insinuating disease into the chests of Darktown dwellers.

Katla leaves the windows open when the wind comes because the desperation in the sound is as familiar as the taste of wine and of Thrask’s skin. On sleepless nights when she is intimate only with the emptiness inside her she stands on the balcony with the alcohol souring on her tongue and reddening her skin and finds solace in the noise, in the fury of the wind, in the way it sings of loss. It smells of brine and decay and it fits on her, tangling in her hair and clutching at her skin like the lover she won’t admit she misses.

It is after one such night, when she still carries the imprint of her own nails across her palm, that Isabela drags her to a nondescript building, the clouds heavy and dark above them, the humidity making it hard to breathe, making them shiver. The wine still in Katla’s blood isn’t as guilty of making her stumble as the wind, and the streets are almost empty. She knows better than to ask Isabela what this is about and braces herself for yet another hat shop, but inside the building there is an explosion of fabric, and in the midst of all that colour a woman dressed in black, her hair silver and her face lined and drained by life.

Katla stands half-naked in the middle of the room as Isabela chats away about Satinalia fashion trends and how to ignore them, the seamstress holding various materials next to Katla’s skin, measuring with practiced efficiency. There is a mirror in front of her, and Katla stares at herself with little kindness, trying to distract from the reflection by remembering Thrask’s hands on the fullness of her thighs, the mark of his fingerprints along the soft sprawl of her belly. She knows that everything about her is too much, overflowing, but he never seems to mind it in their stolen moments together. He always seems as hungry for her as she is for him, and nothing makes him pause, not her magic, as red as their hair, not her body, not the way she screams at him when her feelings claw their way out of her throat.

Isabela talks and talks without requiring a reply, and Katla finds comfort in the sound without paying attention to the words. The seamstress asks no questions, but notices where Katla’s eyes wander, notices the colours and materials she reaches out to touch, notices which of the displayed outfits she studies.

By the end of the appointment, Isabela drags her out, thirsty for rum and gossip at the Hanged Man, and Katla remains none the wiser regarding her Satinalia outfit.

It had started off as a joke influenced by wishful thinking, whispered in the lack of space between them as Thrask kept kissing her like he wanted to remove the wine stain from her lips.

He’d said it first, as the wind slammed the doors and windows of her estate and witnessed the illicit way their bodies came together. The words ‘I would like to take you to Satinalia’ slipped from his lips and reached under her ribs, making hope bloom in her heart. Hope was never something she truly trusted, however, and what she said in return was not ‘yes’, but ‘won’t your dear Order comment on it?’ and she couldn’t stop the rest of the snide words descended from all her fears and anger, his mention of the traditional masks preserving their anonymity only stoking her ire. By the time dawn broke, he was gone and Katla was drinking, and it took days for her to slip a note with her answer to him through Isabela’s mediation. She watched, unseen, as he smiled upon receiving the scribbled word, and her heart beat faster and faster until she had to look away from him, the hope as painful as the futile longing for a normal life - a long life- with him.

When Katla goes to collect the suit on the morning that heralds the beginning of the festivities, she doesn’t look into the mirror until she is fully clothed and when she then glances at her reflection she doesn’t see an enemy there.

The suit fits her so well she almost suspects some sort of magic at work, but the scent and trace of lyrium is absent from the seamstress and her shop, so Katla can only stare, stunned, as Isabela wolf whistles, pulling Katla’s hair into a low bun that settles heavily at the nape of her neck.

There is contrast at play between the stark whiteness of the shirt and the darkness of the jacket, balanced by accents of velvet in the same crimson as the waistcoat.

‘I had some lace sent from the Valence cloister lying around,’ the seamstress says, as Katla touches the delicate material woven over the suit, the final touch of a masterpiece.

The half-mask is simple and the colour of burnished gold, making her eyes glow and matching the earrings that Isabela slips out of her barely-there pocket with a sly grin that makes Katla unwilling to ask questions about the provenance of the jewellery. None of it is what Katla would usually wear while dealing with the complications of her daily life, but she feels invincible in a way she hasn’t felt in years. She feels alive, her flushed cheeks highlighting her freckles. Her reflection smiles at her from the corner of her mouth, and when Isabela twirls her around, Katla laughs.

* Katla had thought it best to meet Thrask at the Lowtown festivities, so Isabela half-drags her through the crowds that are starting to gather and then takes over Varric’s quarters for the afternoon. The three of them drink together, and Isabela braids Katla’s hair with perfumed hands before pinning it in place. The perfume smells like heat and leather, like sweetness and smoke, and Isabela brushes the scent over Katla’s wrist, leaving the trace of it behind her ears, and Katla knows she should feel anxious but she only feels powerful. Varric and Isabela are staring at her like they are entranced, and there’s a giddiness in her that has little to do with the wine.

Before she dons the mask and makes her way down the stairs, she paints lipstick the colour of blood along the lines of her lips, and everyone turns to stare at her as she walks through the bustle, the drunken crowd parting around her.

Thrask is standing right outside the tavern, his posture as impeccable as always, and Katla’s breath stutters not only at the sight of him out of armour, but also because he’s not wearing a mask, because he’s right there, bare-faced and making her heart sing in a way it shouldn’t. He looks so handsome in his dark blue outfit, the scar around his neck mimicking the stars of the night sky, the material so soft looking that her hands ache to tear it. Katla wants to take her time and watch him, but the moment she moves his blue eyes find her straight away, and the way his lips part at the sight of her makes her magic hum inside her, make her blood rush to her head. Thrask reaches for her hand and presses his mouth to her wristbone, leading her into the revelry, and it all feels like she’s dreaming, like the Fade is showing her everything she wishes, as she walks hand in hand with him in the midst of a crowd of witnesses. She is wearing her mask, but the way Thrask holds onto her cannot be confused for anything else. She remains anonymous, but she is clearly not one of his rumoured conquests from the Rose, those rumoured conquests that shield them from the Order. If anyone were to look closely enough at her hair and her eyes, they would know, and Katla feels almost drunk on the feeling, on the defiance that surges within her.

She has wanted to claim him for too long, and for one night, Kirkwall shall watch.

The dreariness of Lowtown seems hidden underneath the Satinalia decorations, the usual greyness masked by crimson garlands and wreaths of greenery. The wind is still screeching its way around crowds and corners, tangling itself into Katla’s hair and around where her hand is entwined with Thrask’s. It also helps with chasing the smell from the streets, preserving the dreamlike atmosphere, dangling the lamps and creating a dance of lights.

The stalls are both colourful and plentiful, standard fare for the holiday, but Katla can’t say she’s noticed them much before. She’s kept away from Kirkwall festivities throughout the years, preferring to drink either at a tavern or in private, especially as the loss and the despair grew.

This occasion feels different, as Thrask whispers in her ear, letting his lips linger along the sensitive skin of her neck as he breathes in her perfume. There’s something racing inside her, something she can’t name, won’t name, and it makes her magic glow in her eyes, so she looks down, at her hand in his.

Thrask leads her to several stalls, where they taste hot spiced wine and the lightest of pastries, his fingers lingering on her tongue as he feeds her delicacies, and it would look scandalous, even for Lowtown, if everyone else weren't lost in the same lack of inhibition.

Katla takes advantage of the headiness in the air and kisses Thrask, in front of everyone, the smell of sugar and spice and brine and him around her, his beard soft against her jaw. She leaves the trace of her lipstick on his mouth and neither of them bother to wipe it off as her fingers tangle in the redness of his hair. Katla says nothing, because she knows her voice would shake with the weight of it, with the beauty of it, and she doesn’t want to break the moment with the acknowledgement of its enormity.

It feels like she’s part of the wind, light on her feet, whirling as the crowd parts around her, around them. Food has been like ash on her tongue for months, but tonight she feasts with Thrask on gilded cakes chased off with the decadence of the spiced wine. She kisses caramel off his lips that golden apples leave behind and basks in it, in kissing Thrask of the Templar Order in public, and she a mage and a blood mage at that, no matter how willing.

She laughs and he laughs with her, the lines left by suffering on his face smoothing over at the same time as her heart soars, and when he leads her into a dance she doesn’t even stumble, not once.

They dance until the bells of the Chantry toll over the city, marking midnight. Tradition states that during Kirkwall’s days of Satinalia, masks come off each time the bells strike midnight, but Katla knows better than to dare, so she holds onto Thrask and kisses him, for luck, for hope, for all the things she’s not allowed to want, like those forbidden dreams of futures that cannot happen.

She kisses him to forget the pain, kisses him to remember how it feels to be alive, kisses him to tell him how she feels in a way she’ll never be able to say out loud, and when she stops kissing him, when she presses her forehead to his and looks right into his eyes in that open way she seldom allows herself, he unties the ribbon holding her mask up, ever so slowly, and takes it off. Katla catches her breath before it turns into a gasp, and when he kisses her there is no anonymity left, there’s nothing but a templar and a mage, out in the open, part of the world.

They have so much hunger for each other between the two of them that by the time they stop kissing Katla is almost sure it must be dawn already. When she looks around, no one is watching them, the drunken crowd staggering together and coming apart, the crunch of shattered fragments of golden ornaments underfoot. The wind staggers, and then returns with renewed violence, bringing rain with it, and shouts mingle with laughter and bawdy songs.

Katla can feel the illusion coming to an end so she holds on, her face buried in his shoulder, taking her comfort in the way he holds her back, in the soothing pattern of his breathing, in the way he feels so alive, in the way he makes her want to exist. They stand together for long, languid moments, and it feels right, it feels the way it should, but the growing realisation that she can’t hold on forever makes the familiar bitterness bloom on Katla’s tongue.

When she moves, Thrask follows, but he catches hold of her hand before she gets too far ahead, and it hurts to want it, but she needs him there, needs to pretend just a while longer, so they walk the way back to the Hanged Man together once more, hand in hand, rain catching in Katla’s lashes, her suit most likely ruined in a way that feels fitting, and the wind slipping its chill back into her heart.

Thrask is drawing patterns along her palm with his thumb when they turn the corner right next to the tavern, but then he is gone, so abruptly that it almost jars her into thinking they are being attacked. Katla has to look behind her to see him, quite a few paces to the side and looking not at her but at the group of templars in front of the entrance to the Hanged Man. Just like that, Katla is sober and fully immersed in reality, and thirsty for wine and oblivion, the same way she always is.

With one last look at Thrask, she squares her shoulders and her mask, wrapped around her hand, falls to the ground, left to the mercy of the storm or the gangs, whichever gets there first.

She walks into the tavern alone, her heart screaming with all the fervour of the wind coming in from the sea, but certain, at least, that he will follow according to their usual routine, his lips carrying her mark as the inside of her thighs carry his.

Throughout the city, the wind reigns, and sings, and destroys.

#my writing #dragon age fic #katla hawke #other people's ocs #i loved falling into writing this a lot #thank you numps!

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loyalflutist · 5 years

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Manmade Killer (Pt. 1)

It was Christmas. Snow fell down within the city of Shinjuku and friends, families, and couples come together to celebrate the occasion. The night sparkled from decorations. Blue, red, green, white... all kinds of colors brighten the city. Tranquility makes it difficult for much negativity to taint anyone during this holiday. However, Oshima Yuko couldn't celebrate it. In one of the many buildings, on the third floor, the squirrel sat in one of the many desks. An ex-detective that originally came from the Metropolitan Police Department years ago, she came to an early retirement due to a past issue. But nevermind that, the young woman in her mid-20s clicked away on her laptop. Each keystroke was notable in the barely lit premise, a desk lamp the only source of light. Exhaustion. Fatigue. And alone. She desires to sleep, yet won't allow her body to feel the relief. Yuko has to keep on working. Work... work... work... work. The saying "sleep is for the weak" is horribly applicable to the ex-inspector. She furrowed her brows and resisted the temptation to rub her weary eyes. A loud exhale as she continued to tap away on the keyboard. "Yuko? You're still awake?" Thanks to Yuko's mental and physical state, hypersensitivity is prominent. She nearly leaped off from her black rolling chair. Thankfully, the person that called out for her is none other than Special Police Officer Yokoyama Yui. The tall raven-haired woman rested an arm against the doorway between the main workroom and the nap room, her sharp gaze aimed at the squirrel. In comparison to the ex-detective, not a hint of fatigue was shown on her face and body language. Donned with a white collared shirt, black pants, and uniformed blue jacket, the medal "SP" clung to her shirt as a sign of her prestigious position. Although her duty is to protect VIP figures such as politicians and CEOs, the Kyoto-originated female personally requested to be Yuko's bodyguard. Yui's reason for doing so? Well, it wasn't a difficult question to answer. A faint exhale escaped from her partially parted lips. "You should be sleeping." Yuko shook her head. "I can't. Shouldn't you be sleeping in the nap room here?" Another sigh came from Yui's lips when she saw the other female reach towards her cup of coffee. It wasn't necessarily the caffeinated product that concerned her so much. Instead, it was more so with how OLD the coffee is. When the SP Officer checked in for the morning, Yuko was sipping from the same container and drinking the God-knows-how-long-it's-been-made black coffee. It wasn't like the squirrel to forget how to operate normally on daily necessities. Then again, it's not surprising considering the month-long predicament that ate at them. Endlessly taunting them... especially Oshima Yuko. No grave sins were committed to sending her to Hell, but she's experiencing one right now. Rest did not bring any alleviation, agitation gnawing at her nerve. "Yuko..." she said. Yuko readjusted her seat as Yui waltzed over to the clear-glassed window from behind the inspector. Hands in her jacket's pockets, the Kyoto woman stared out to the city view. If it weren't for the heavy atmosphere that weighed on their shoulders, they would've not only celebrated the holiday but share wine with each other just like old times. Maybe even played out in the snow with their teammates. "I know you're trying your best to search for your sister, but I can't protect you from diseases." A scoff. Then, Yuko clicked on the laptop a few times to close all of the web browsers. Whether she was closing them to actually take a break or closing them out of obligation to shut Yui up is up for speculations. Thanks to the brightness of the screen, it somewhat reflected on the window's surface. The SP Officer didn't have to look over her shoulders to see what was on the device. Nevertheless, her eyebrows slightly raised at the sight of a group photo. Oshima Yuko. Yokoyama Yui. Yamamoto Sayaka. Kashiwagi Yuki. Watanabe Mayu. Maeda Atsuko. Matsui Rena. Seven members. A mixture of active and retired officers. A melting pot for the roles they each played. A group primarily focused on stopping a terrorist organization outside of police jurisdiction and limitations. They were after Adrestia. A faceless Japanese terrorist organization bent on taking revenge and delivering retribution to those seemingly "evil" to justice. They were meant to be upheld as a holy figure that would topple the police force. Those victims who died were murmured and whispered amongst the civilians to be truly terrible in society. For the government to lack efficiency in handling these small, but severe problems became a devastating blow to their reputation. Fewer people trusted the police and more on Adrestria. It's almost as if a superhero arose from the crowd and stood up for what is right and what is wrong. However, what made them God? What made them decide what's just and unjust for everyone? Not many were able to perceive this fatal flaw as their criminal acts... might not be so criminal at first glance. It has been six months since their existence came to light. Their first appearance was no minor introduction. The death of a man who is labeled as a stalker to an idol from AKB48 was their first case. Gunned down by a security guard protecting Team K when they were out on tour around Japan, the man immediately killed himself before he explained why he chose to murder the fan. Either way, Team K have been protected thanks to him. Adrestia made a big note of who they are when they uploaded a video on the Internet about the fan's crimes. He had stalked them, taken photos of them, and sent them Anonymous videos of the dirty actions he did with those pictures. Idols filed a report many times in the past. The police came to protect them but did a lackluster job. He still came to bother them. Over... and over... and over again. One idol even committed suicide because of it. Adrestia took action and protected the group in the police's stead. We are Adrestia and we strive to take revenge on the evils that outlived their days compared to their victims. The Cleansing Day will come when New Year Eve arrives. All in a distorted voice. Eventually, exactly a month after that, another death came to light. Instead of just one victim, there was a total of a whopping twenty. To make matters worse, they were all young adolescents. Their crimes? Bullying hurts but cyberbullying hurts even more. You have no way to distinguish who they are and if they really meant what they said. These twenty students, all between the age of 12 and 22, committed a grave sin. They bullied others on Facebook. Many victims called for help, but no one came to their aid. Police officers and therapists mocked them for their sensitivity. Adrestia did not take this lightly. We took action and protected the bullied users in the police's stead. We are Adrestia and we strive to take revenge on the evils that outlived their days compared to their victims. The Cleansing Day will come when New Year Eve arrives. A more feminine distorted voice, distinguishing itself from the previous video. And so it went on. Month by month, their crimes became horrific. Murders of rapists, child molesters, corrupted government officials, bribers, murderers, stalkers, corrupted officers... It went on. The crimes committed by them were atrocious. Police forces throughout Japan, especially Shinjuku, went haywire. Everyone in the organization used as much force as possible to search for the culprits. Some overexerted and abused their authoritative powers, making innocent civilians go to jail as a way to pat down one of the monthly cases. Lives were at stakes, reputations were at stakes, and most importantly, answers were desperately needed. The group that Yuko had formed alongside with her stepsister, Mayu, had kicked into gear. Beginning the day after the first month's murder, Yuko and everyone spread out to do their research. They were possibly the only ones able to stop Adrestia given their resources and experiences. But every single time they came close to an answer, it slipped through their fingers. In its place, another murder pops up in the name of the terrorist. It was a frustrating cycle. Loads of responsibilities and trouble began to accumulate as the months ticked by. Clues were gathered, but not enough to catch up on the latest events. By the time the ex-detective found an answer, the worst-case scenario unfolded before her eyes. That day, on November 25th... Yuko's thumb ran across Mayu's face on the screened photo. "I have to find my sister." Missing. Mayu is missing-- Er, well, it wasn't to say that she's missing like those found in the missing person poster. Actually, the Special Regions Crime Prevention Office (SRCPO) member is plastered on the bulletin board of this investigative's room as a wanted individual. Alongside, Kashiwagi Yuki went missing. Whether she was found with Mayu or not currently is not clear. Same goes for Matsui Rena. She disappeared the same day as Yuki. Then there's also the other two members-- "I can't forgive her. She murdered Sayanee." Yuko snapped out of her trance-like state at the sharp proclamation from Yui. She turned to look at the officer, her baggy eyes staring straight at the fierce woman. As if to showcase how serious she is with her statement, Yokoyama took the gun out from her holster and toyed with it. She unloaded all of the bullets into her other hand and immediately stuck them back into the cylinder. One-by-one, the gold metallic ammunition went into its original spot. Silence hung in between the two figures. Figuring that Yuko would object to her perspectives, the Special Police Officer raised her chin slightly. "Did you also forget that she murdered your parents?" They may not have been related to each other, but they were adopted together under the two kind parents. They were raised to be an outstanding citizen of society. Yuko and Mayu wished to serve in the police department as a way to give back to the community. Of course, thanks to a mishap, Yuko took early retirement (more like quit) from her position and became independent. Mayu, on the other hand, remains as a counselor and listens in to people's worries during times of emergencies. Regardless of their roles and what they did with their life, they loved their adopted parents dearly. So the cold-blooded slaughtering of their parents was the last straw for Oshima. She vividly remembers their death. It was exactly one week after the disappearance of Watanabe Mayu, Kashiwagi Yuki, and Matsui Rena. Yuko returned home with her parents to have dinner with them. There wasn't much to discuss, but the least she could do is bring them comfort during this turbulent time. It was likely that the three were kidnapped by Adrestia, but it's also possible that the trio's disappearances didn't correlate with each other. The independent detective does admit that it was too much of a coincidence to have such scenario occur though... Regardless, the doorbell rang during their quiet mealtime. Yuko went to open the door. A loud gasp came from her direction from the sight of who it was. There stood Watanabe Mayu in the doorway. Her eyes dead. A black collar snapped around her neck as if she were an animal. A handgun held within her two hands. The white police uniform she donned disheveled and dirtied. Yuko didn't even have a chance to register a dialogue before Mayu shoved her way into the house. Two fires came from the weapon. Two screams. Then, silence. Complete and eerie silence. It wasn't long till Mayu walked right out the same doorway as she had entered, ignoring the older female. Darkness from the dimly lit streets engulfed the gunner once she was far enough. Yuko was still standing in awe. Oshima Yuko always wondered why she wasn't able to stop her sister at that time. Was it because of her lingering attachment to Mayu? Was it because she hesitated to pull out her own revolver and shoot Mayu? Was it because she was shocked to think that her sister would return after a week of disappearing? Whatever it was, their parents are dead. A single bullet straight to their forehead. It was a direct hit to their brain. Death is certain for their fates. Still... it was all too strange. How could someone like Mayu not only go off to hurt their teammates, but their very own parents? Sure, they weren't related by blood, but it doesn't excuse the abrupt and violent end they were met with. Something must've caused her younger sibling to react this way. Yuko parted her thumb from the screen and bit the bottom of her lip. Besides, Watanabe harmed someone that she too cared for greatly... Someone that Yuko couldn't understand why either. "There's also Acchan too..." she cracked. Yui nodded in the background. That was right. Not only was Sayaka the victim in this betrayal, but Maeda Atsuko was at the brunt end of it. This didn't happen all in one day. The first victim was Yamamoto Sayaka. Yuko remembered the video that Mayu had personally sent to them, stating that another teammate would be next on her hit list. Her lifeless voice... Her bone-chilling message... Was this really the sister she knew since they were children? Atsuko... oh, Atsuko is someone Oshima loved so much. The ex-detective and a profiler from the Crime Lab at the Metropolitan Police Department. The unlikely duo that became tragically separated by a murderer no one expected. Yuko's hands curled into fists as she shakily exhaled. "Yuihan, I want to talk to her before I bring down her judgment. Even if you want to take revenge on behalf of your lover, I... I can't allow that. She's my sister." The Special Police Officer shifted her attention back to the scenery. She narrowed her eyes. "Well, you better be ready for it. I have a feeling we're going to find her before January 1st." "...right." The sooner, the better. Yuko wanted nothing more than to get this nightmare over with. ---------- In another location, Kashiwagi Yuki, a hacker at the Cyber Crimes Division, felt so useless. It wasn't the useless kind of sensation where one stands on the sideline. At least she could be cheering for someone or something. She could become an influence thanks to those encouraging words. This was a literal uselessness. Physically and mentally. She was stuck in a bright metallic room with nothing but herself. Steel wall surrounds her figure as she huddled in the corner of the mostly dried blood-splattered room. She hugged herself. Comfort was nowhere to be seen... She wasn't safe in isolation from her mind. The terrorist organization has her confined to this premise. No matter how much she screams or pounds at the only exit, no one would respond. Well, she tried to scream, that is. Not a single sound came out of her voice box. The tattered and bruised Yuki that was once kind, gentle, and a good listener to everyone around her is reduced to a silent wreck thanks to Adrestia. Whatever poison or surgical techniques they performed on the unconscious woman... She won't be able to vocalize her thoughts, her concerns, her love, her sorrow... anything anymore. Yuki gave up. The woman's ears perked up when the door creaked open. Her brown eyes peeked over her crossed arms. Watanabe Mayu came back. The door immediately clicked close by another individual once Mayu had taken a step into the confinement. Partially bathed in another person's blood on her clothes, Mayu truly painted an image of a psychopath. A black collar around her neck, the woman barely blinked when she saw Yuki extend her arms out. She acted almost like a baby in need of a mother. Ironic considering the fact that Mayu had a hand solidly gripping a loaded revolver. However, everyone knew that the two would never wish harm upon one another. They've loved each other and still do. Watanabe just doesn't know if she's alive or dead in this state. 'Mayuyu... Oh, Mayuyu...' Mayu was the only person who could bring some sense of peace to the hacker. However, the guilt that weighed on Yuki's shoulders were heavy as she littered long kisses on her lover's cheeks. The raven-haired desperately tried to give as much warmth as possible to the present day Mayu. Usually, the officer would be annoyed by the close treatment as it's reserved for privacy, but it hurts that Mayu isn't flinching or reacting to this at all. Tears streamed down Yuki's face as she wrapped her arms around the armed woman. Both of their brown eyes had no life... A lifeless duo that barely clung onto reality. 'Why did it become like this?' Of course, Mayu has no way of knowing. She's not human anymore... A police officer who once specialized in the Special Regions Crime Prevention Office is now a murderer. She not only raised her revolver at innocent civilians, but she assassinated their comrades. Yamamoto Sayaka and Maeda Atsuko... Someone they once called their allies, their friends... it all went away weeks ago with a bullet to their chest. Mayu may have given them a quick death, but the fact that they're not in this world anymore destroyed Yuki. It wasn't Mayu's fault though. "Neh... Yukirin..." That tone. That voice. Unlike Kashiwagi, Mayu didn't lose the ability to speak. This was a chance for her to tell the official what's on her mind. She was given free rein on what to say. Freedom of speech isn't exactly one hundred percent true in the hands of this terrorist organization though. "I killed our captain." Yuki knew Mayu had pride and conviction to remain true to her ways. Yet the collar that Adrestia's leader snapped around her neck served as a torturing device. Poison contaminated the metallic band. Every single time the girl would raise objections to their beliefs, to the orders they shoved down her throat, to their harsh treatment and abuse with Yuki, the leader allowed the collar to release its chemicals into the officer. The excruciating agony that paralyzed the victim ran on till Mayu sobbed for death to relieve her. Of course, they weren't so kind. A quick antidote brought her to good health within an hour. Then, they shoved their idealisms... their moralistic values... and assassination orders upon the woman once again. If she were to object once again, she would be subjected to the same treatment. "I'm okay... I'm fine." The hacker saw it all since day one of their kidnappings. A date out in broad daylight at a park to take a break from their work turned into a living nightmare. Since Yuki holds no value to the terrorist organization, they simply used her as their pawn to keep Mayu in check. With the police officer's strict outlook on what justice means and why revenge can be justified, their eyes have rested on Mayu. Her ability to use the gun is a bonus to them as she can play the role of an "Executioner". Of course, knowing the ponytailed female, she outright rejected their offer only to undergo horrific treatments. Yuki was there to witness it all in her mute cries and sobs. It's as if Adrestia is training a pet... Like a broken pet to order and reward. Yuki tightened her hold around the crimson-stained girlfriend. When the wet cheeks pressed against her lover, Mayu expressed her opinion in a monotone voice. "You're crying? Are you hurt anywhere?" Hurt... Pain. Oh, Yuki felt pain much worse than the abuse she's been submitted to by the hooded terrorist leader. It's the crushing anguish of her heart being squished to oblivion by an invisible force. The sight of her lover succumbing to cruel punishments for staying true to her ideals and not aligning with the enemies'. The horror of losing her ability to speak. The urge to scream in terror as she frantically and desperately provided as much useless care to Mayu as possible. She buried her face into the gunner's shoulder. 'If only I was strong...' Yuki wasn't trained in the art of firearms like Mayu. Thoughts ran through her head about taking up lessons from her girlfriend. However, Mayu urged that it wasn't necessary. If only the hacker held her stance much stronger back then... Then she might've protected Mayu rather than become dependent on her. More tears ran down her face as she leaned forward, lips close to Watanabe's ear. Just like every single day, Yuki tried her best to formalize words that can be audible rather than incoherent airy whispers. "I'm... sorry..." Did Mayu hear that? Or was that just a figment of Yuki's hallucinations she's constantly had in this confined room that she was able to utter words to her lover? Either way, the curtain will soon descend upon the stage as Adrestia makes their final move. After all, it won't be long till New Year Eve comes around the corner.

#loyalflutist #fan fic #fan fiction #one shot #os #akb48 #sayayui #atsuyuu #mayuki

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october-rosehip · 5 years

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When your incidental side characters defend their own novel... WIP

The ferry pulls up against the pier with a whump and a splish. I am so grateful to be at the end of this stupid, miserable journey that I let out a sigh of relief.

It may be a prison full of humans, but it isn't a wagon and I can probably get a bath. Whatever happens next, as long as I'm not chained to a bench next to Eadric, it'll be an improvement. I might not have to kill his pedantic ass.

Mine is the last boat. Robin, Iris, and one of the templars are on it with me. Everyone else is milling around the grounds, trying to look unimpressed, only that's hard because look at that thing.

The tower stands on the rocky island, taking up most of it. I have no idea how this thing hasn't collapsed under its own weight, but it isn't about to. It stands stubbornly above us, shadowing everything around. It looks black in the twilight, with a sparkling of light from arched windows here and there. I have to admit, I'm impressed. I've never seen anything so tall, or built with so much care.

“How come there's only one boat for this whole, giant place?” I wonder. I don't know I speak aloud, but I must, because Kester answers me.

“It isn't often so many come and go at once, miss. Maybe three or four times a year that happens. Most of the comings and goings are food shipments, or a few mages and templars transferring to and from. The next time you ride Lissie, it won't be such a wait.”

“I'm... likely to ride her again?” Mages can leave? And why is he being so nice? I have the strangest urge to tell him it was no inconvenience at all, thank you ser. Like I asked for this and the wait was a minor inconvenience to my holiday plans.

He laughs. “You're certain to, eventually. Only one boat, remember. You may go to another circle, or work for a noble, someday. It's me that never goes anywhere, nor my father and grandfather before me.”

“Oh.” Oh? Is that the best I can do? I'm not usually this rude, I swear. I'm just not used to humans being... deferential. That's the word. He's acting like he's here to serve me, and that's new. Also, this is the first I've heard about being able to leave, again.

He ties the boat to the dock and between him and the templar, whose name I still don't know, the three of us get lifted out. The templar is the ice-man, though. I would never be so calm standing in a boat wearing all that metal. He'd sink like a stone if he slipped. The back of my mind tells me to trip him. I don’t.

“Thank you,” I say as soon as my feet are on solid, well, boards. Robin and Iris follow my lead.

“You're very welcome, you three.” Kester helps the templar out as well, unties the boat, and heads back to shore.

Maybe someone inside has been waiting for us all. Maybe there was a signal? The huge doors swing open. An old, bent human man steps through. It's warm out, but he's wearing all the robes ever and looks like he needs them. Everything my entire family has ever owned isn't worth half what his clothes must have cost. I don't know what the fabrics are, but they look soft, and are green and black and heavy with embroidery.

“Welcome, welcome.” he says. “I am First Enchanter Irving. I am certain this has been a long and trying journey for all of you. As the dinner hour has passed, sandwiches have been set out for you in the entry hall. Most of the apprentices have retired for the evening to the dormitories. You may choose any unclaimed beds you wish. If they are unmade, they are available. Bathing facilities are also prepared for you. Please make yourselves at home.”

Robin and I shoot a glance between us. This old man is obviously important. He doesn't volunteer to answer questions, but he bothers to welcome us, specifically? Why go to the trouble? What's in it for him?

I guess it doesn't matter, right now. I can be stubborn and grumpy, or I can eat a sandwich and have a bath. I mean, I'll probably do all the above, anyway, but the first shouldn't prevent the rest of it.

The entryway is really impressive. Everything is arches, stained glass, and stone. And no, I have no idea what kind of stone. It's blue-gray. I'm not up to noticing much more than that anyway, once I spot the baskets of food and jugs of drink. I smell bread, and my stomach cheers. Loudly. I can't even try to play it off. I no longer care about stained glass because there is food.

What? Seriously, this bread is still warm. If you haven't eaten all day, see which you care more about: bread or architecture.

Maybe this is all an elaborate trap, or they're trying to get us to let down our guard. I don't know why they'd bother, mind you. They've got us. So, whatever. I demolish a cheese, sprouts, and mustard sandwich. There's cider to wash it down with.

When everyone's done, we head down a corridor. We walk past huge, iron doors with a complex set of massive bolts and locks. I already know I'm a prisoner, so that isn't what stops me in my tracks. It's the light.

Steady, warm pools of light fall to the floor from the lamps, no, chandeliers- I've read about those- above us. Those are not candles. The very light is magic.

“What's wrong, Turnip?” asks that asshole from Highever. “Never seen ceilings, before?”

I scowl at him. “Look at it, though.”

Everyone looks up. I've made something of a career from the fact that nobody ever does that, unprovoked.

“Glowlights,” says Eadric, like it isn't any big deal at all. “They're enchanted.”

“What, did you have them at home?”

“Of course not. They're far too expensive.”

I may have to kill him after all. (I’ve never actually killed anybody, I swear. I’m just very testy, right now.)

“I get you,” says Robin. “Magic, out in the open. Like it's normal. Expected.”

“Yeah.” That is what I mean, all right. I've had to hide my skills always. Here they use magic to light the hallway.

This will maybe be fine.

I stop holding us up and we head into the dormitories. There are two of them, even though it looks like more. Each one is so big it has two doors. I head into one at random, and it looks like this one is mostly youngish kids. A lot of them are asleep, already. There must be room for forty or fifty people to sleep in here. Besides that, there are chessboards, writing desks, bookshelves, and squashy pillows. Humans about my age are playing chess, cards, or some goofy looking game involving a beanbag. There are no elves. All the humans stop to look at us and I suddenly don't want to deal with this. I know it won't help, but I want to move on to the next room to avoid how they're looking at me.

Some of the others are braver. Eadric walks up to the first bunk he sees, and simply occupies it, like he's always been here and it's been his, forever. Fine for him, but I check out the next room.

It looks just like the first one, and humans still stare. I am prepared, this time. Robin and Iris find a top and bottom bunk together. It is right in the middle of the room. No, thank you. I look at the corners.

I'm starting to think I have been too slow and might have to go back to the first room when I spot a top bunk in the darkest corner. It's near the front of the room but not really in direct view from the door. That'll suit me. I beeline right for it, but falter. Three dark haired people sit on pillows on the floor beside it, a card game in progress between them. They turn to look at me.

The pale, tall human man with kind, blue eyes looks surprised to see me. The copper-skinned human woman across from him smiles at me. It reaches her whole self, like I was perfectly expected.

But then I see the third.

Oh, cute boy. I have found the one elf apprentice, and he is beautiful. He has to know it, to spend that much time on his hair.

And I can't do this, anymore. These three already belong here. They're all so... lovely, and obviously a tight group. Can I really just insert myself into their space? I decide I cannot, and spot another bunk not far away...

And the cute mage boy's ears droop. I'm turning away, and he's disappointed. He also makes no attempt to hide it.

Who does that? Didn't anybody ever teach him how to control his face? He's just signaling whatever he feels to anybody who knows how to look at the admittedly subtle movements of our ea...

Oh. Duh. Only elf apprentice. Been here almost a decade, already. Is about my age. Got it.

I turn back to them. “Excuse me, I'm supposed to find a place. Is that bed open?” I know darn well it is, of course.

“It is,” says the girl. She stands and offers her hand. “I'll be your downstairs neighbor, then. I'm Silvana, and these are Macsen and Jowan.”

“I'm Nisha. Pleased to meet you all. I. Ah, please don't think I'm being rude. Is that where the baths are?” I think I smell soap from the partially sectioned off part of the room near us.

“Yes. Don't worry, we've all been there.”

Cute boy gives me a half smile and doesn't say anything. After listening to Eadric explain everything to me like I'm four all week, I'm grateful.

#Dragon Age #Rosehiporiginal #Jowan #Silvana Amell #Macsen Surana #OC Nisha #Strange Luck #Sort of #Nisha is very insistent

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aldmerii-blog · 5 years

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3, 7, and 18 for best girl. my wife and queen.

PERISH i love u, [prompt list]

03. — lending a coat in the cold

This was the sort of miserable, soggy, just-below-freezing snow that clung to his shoes and threatened constantly to seep through and soak his socks. It reminded him constantly that this was a stupid idea. Turn back now, all ye who enter here, lest ye be afflicted with cold feet and post-rejection melancholy! It didn’t help that he was so utterly unfamiliar with this part of town -- he knew his way well enough to Shaelle’s house (manor? estate?) but less so in the dark. The wet wind had extinguished about half the streetlamps, though the snow did its best to compensate and reflect what light there was.

He came to a crossroad and thought he should have remembered which way to go, but the blanket of white made everything look the same. For a moment, he considered the possibility of just picking a direction and walking, and then retracing his prints in the snow whenever it became apparent that he’d chosen wrong; his salvation came in the form of another silhouette materializing out of the thick-falling flakes down the way.

The woman hurried towards him but didn’t notice him, too concerned with holding her dress up around her calves and keeping her head down to protect it from cold wind and snow. It was from about twenty feet that he realized she didn’t have a coat and from ten that he realized he knew her.

He grabbed her arm as she made to pass, not thinking to verbally hail her first, and Shaelle flinched away, like she was ready to fight. Her face was red, but more than that, she’d been crying.

“What are you doing out here?” Alphonse asked, and then he saw the tears and the red-rimmed eyes and he feared the very worst. Both hands went to her arms, immediately looking for bruises or rips in her dress or anything else to indicate something like a mugging. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she said, voice thick and slow. “I just want to go home.”

Alphonse continued running his hands up her arms, cold and icy pale and wet with melted snow, and he searched her face for any sign of fear. No, just misery. “Where’s your coat?”“I left it at the party. Couldn’t go back for it.”

She did look dressed for a party -- dress a deep ruby red, lace neckline hem clasping her delicate shoulders. Her hair must have been done nicely before being soaked in the snow. “Alright,” he said. No date tonight. Definitely no nothing tonight. He quickly, deftly undid the buttons on his own thick woolen coat and shrugged it off, then draped it over her shoulders.“Let’s get you home.”

07. — letter(s)

an excerpt, letter from Lady Shaelle Dasyra to Wilham Meruth:You are surely asking yourself what I could have possibly sent such a large package for. Several reasons. The first is that I have a lot of material for you, and the second is that a crate is less likely to get lost in transit. I should rightfully be very cross if sailors lost a bloody crate. Also, don’t you feel quite self-important getting such a big delivery? Are your colleagues not clamoring to see what you’ve received? I’ll let you make up anything you want to tell them and attach my name to it. Don’t make it too nefarious; I have a reputation, you know.

To the contents. First and most importantly, a draft of a paper I should like to publish. I normally have Mother look over these things but she is woefully uneducated in any areas regarding elementalism and therefore woefully ill-equipped to critique. And so I hand the dagger to you and ask that you do not send it back to me still living. In return for your time, what I hope to be no less than a year’s supply of your awful, awful tea and an equal amount of honey. I know it’s expensive up north, seeing as serys root doesn’t even grow there. Drink it wisely. I am more than happy to send more.

The crystals and foci are from Mother. Don’t think she’s being sentimental; they’re quite old and she would like an excuse to buy new ones. But I think they should be useful, and if not, do sell them. From the western canyons; good quality, rarely attuned, and particularly uncommon.

(etc.)

But I would entreat you to restrict your orbit, Ser Meruth. You circle so far from home, and what will you do if I ask you to return, say, perhaps, to serve as an honored guest at my wedding? It would be months before you arrived, years even. You might arrive just in time to see the naming of my firstborn!

Not that he has proposed. And I won’t supply you with sordid details just yet, not while this affair is in its infancy. Infancy -- ha! I do not have children on the brain and I would scratch this whole paragraph out if I could.

Come home soon, at any rate. I do miss you and you’re much less funny in print.

With all my affection and then some,

Lady Shaelle Alihanna Amoniel Erunae Dasyra, Master Wizard of the Luniac, Heir to the Third Advisory to the Crown of Serin Ilyan

18. — eyes

The midwife had shut him out hours ago, telling him in a fairly un-gentle manner that he’d be in the way. Alphonse hadn’t exactly enjoyed being in the room -- seeing his wife cry, seeing her sweaty and red-faced, having her cut half-moon marks into any inch of skin her hands could reach. But being stuck in the hall had been so much worse. Sequestered away where he couldn’t see with his own eyes that she was alright, couldn’t offer any gentle words or a hand to squeeze the circulation out of. He could just ... hear it. A back-and-forth of rehearsed encouragement and cries of pain.

It was dark and had been for hours when a new participant entered that hellish conversation -- “Just a bit more -- one more --!” and a ragged, clench-jawed shout, and then, and then, cutting through noise he had almost grown accustomed to, tiny, infantile cries.

Anxiety, over the hours, had turned his legs to jelly. When he scrambled to his feet, he wobbled, just a bit. They left him out there for what felt like another six hours but was probably, in reality, only ten minutes.

Someone had lit lamps in the room as dusk had turned to night. When last he’d passed that threshold, the room had been brightly lit through the western windows, all harsh shadows and burning orange light. Not so now -- rather dim and intimate, somehow tender. Maybe it was just seeing Shaelle again, after the torturous eternity of the evening, reclined against half a dozen pillows and a tiny head of wispy dark hair peaking out from beneath the blanket covering her chest.

She looked up to where he appeared in the dark doorway and the raw affection in her face near sent him swooning. One hand slipped from under the cover and she held it out to him in a silent invitation to approach, and he tripped over himself to comply, to take it in both hands and raise it to his lips and press a kiss squarely on each finger.

“Come here, come sit,” she said, voice more than a little hoarse.

Alphonse first perched on the edge, afraid that she was in a fragile state and would be easily hurt if he got too close, but she pulled on his hand and he slid closer, leaned against those pillows, chin on her bare shoulder.

Shaelle shifted the cover away from the baby’s face -- their baby’s face -- like she was uncovering some otherworldly wonder to an awed audience. In essence, she was. She pulled her hand from his grip and used it to cup their son’s head as she slid him up further her chest, and bright eyes peered out from under her hand, soothed by mother’s heartbeat in this strange new world.

#i wrote the last one first and u can tell because its the best one #carly tells tales #carly's ocs #oc: shaelle #carly writes #fingersinhisass

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teresabert · 3 years

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Some died of hunger, some of cold, some of sickness.

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The NHRA Mello Yello Drag Racing Series will be showcased in 17 live Sunday shows on FOX Sports 1 and the FOX national broadcast network in 2016.. As this population becomes more numerous, it becomes less productive. With the wind Saturday and Sunday, izraeli kézműves ékszerek it will feel even colder. I mean, I really had to think about what I need, and not so much about what I want. They have also been going out in boats locally referred to as the Navy to rescue people, supplementing the efforts of National Guardsmen, state officials and Coast Guardsmen deploying in high water vehicles, boats and helicopters.. While I'd prefer the option of upgrading to 8GB, I think 4GB is livable; 2GB is not. Other / Non US Alabama Alaska Alberta Arizona Arkansas British Columbia California Colorado Connecticut Delaware Dist. He referred to this book in the first televised presidential press conference ever, distributed it to his friends and top aides, and cited its wisdom to a terminally ill World War II veteran, Robert Biggs, who had written him a letter saying he "felt from your recent speeches the feeling of hedging and a little uncertainty. I think about it day and night. The cool Sangakkara then guided Mishra past fine leg, and this was now turning Sri Lanka's way.. I scarcely believe in presentiments and divinings, yet I have, as probably most people have, had some rather inexplicable experiences in my life. On the first Monday in January next I will sell, before the Court House in Columbia, 50 of as Likely Negroes as have ever been exposed to public sale, belonging to the estate of A. KISS does play a part in it.". Dead ravens sat on bare brown branches, wings crusted with ice. Elaborada en 1990, la tercera versin de la familia Air Max incorpor mayor volumen en Nike Air que sus antecesoras. Robert Goodwin, who resides near Frederick-Hall, in Louisa County, and has a wife in that vicinity. “Serve us in this, and when Stannis is defeated we will discuss how best to restore you to your father’s seat,” his lordship had said in that soft voice of his, a voice made for lies and whispers. But I promise that I’ll tell you everything afterwards, like a brother. By donating your gently worn, used shoes to Enid First Baptist Church, your shoes are nike jean jacket given a second chance to make a difference. And as now he never leaves your side, I expect, and has forgotten everything else on earth, please do not be angry if I sometimes take him off for an hour or two, not more, to do things for me.

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dunmerofskyrim · 7 years

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Forges and kilns squat in the clearing, stout as beehives built from clay. A dozen smiths, fletchers, armourers, and their prentices squabbled over the flames. Streams of sparks marked their words; blades thrust into coals or quenching vats. Half-drowning their arguments, the dinning strike of hammers and the offbeat grunt of anvils. Soldiers and sellers of food hustled through with clay pots and boxes, jars sealed with twine and layers of parchment, to set their food a-simmer amongst the hot and grey-white ashes. Smoke billowed, chasing itself, then fleeing before the wind.

But that was only the heart of things. A beat like iron and oil for blood — it dinned on, battling itself, but Simra reckoned it was faltering. The smiths were doing all they could to look and sound busy. Bothered over the same bits of haggard spare metal, rummaged with pokers at the coals, howled at their prentices for more air to the bellows. They fought amongst themselves for something to do. And all the while they scarce turned out an arrowhead. A waste of tar and charcoal and a waste of wasted time.

Whereas the clearing’s edges bristled and thronged. From mats and shacks and yawn-mouthed tents, people peddled boredom, and cures for it, and more pleasant ways to pass it by.

“Scents! Musks! I have hormones, pheromones, ambergris!”

“When were you last clean, sera? I tell you, I have soaps, water hot as any foyada you care to name! And the tub I have? Why, you could stretch your legs full out and still have room to wriggle with glee! One at a time, sers, one at a time — an orderly line, sera, one at a time if you please…”

“Poultices! Cures for callus you’d walk three days barefoot for..!”

“Faces mirrored, hair trimmed, beards cut! And if you have a tooth that pains you..?”

“Tea! Shein! What you will! Who are we to judge you either way? Who are we indeed to judge! Broths on the boil and straight to your bowl! Line the tables, warm the seats!”

“Pathetic…” Simra grunted under his breath.

“What?” said Tammunei.

They were quiet, huddling close as a cub to its mother, still yet to learn it too has claws. Marketplaces, voices, the crowd and clamour — like they thought Simra could shield them from it all. But that’s the way with crowds, Simra thought. You aren’t in the crowd; you are the crowd, unapart from it. Same for cities and battles and all. How do you save someone from your own self?

“Said it’s pathetic,” Simra answered. “Scrubbed clean, all of it. A camp full of soldiers and mercenaries, and not a glint of gambling in sight. Place like this ought to be red as Autumn with bedworkers’ tents and their caterwauling from inside… They’re not selling leisure here, they’re selling fucking prudence, moderation, temperance. If those were worth tuppence then they wouldn’t come for free.”

He cut himself short but the curse came all the same. Blighted Indoril; he thought it almost aloud. But in a place that forced bedworkers into silence, and dens for sujamma and skooma into hiding, no telling where muttering the wrong thing might get you. They were all still here – the gamblers and bedworkers and dealers of sharps and numbs – Suran had taught him that much. Only they’d be buried; their goods pricier, hawked in whispers. All it takes is for one stiff robe to call something sin and the whole underbelly of things changes. For every red tent taken down and every red lamp snuffed out, another goes up in secret, charging higher for the risk and the lacquer-black gleaming novelty of the forbidden.

“I thought we were here for provisions,” Noor said.

“We are,” said Simra.

“Yet you’re mourning pleasures you might’ve bought.”

“And where’re all these provisioners you’re seeing, hm? Could it be my license and love for the profligate have blinded me to them? What d’you see with your truer purer eyes, talsintushpi?” A sour pause as Simra waited for a response that never came. “Tsscht. Thought not. Nothing here but watery broth and sawdust dumplings and bug-musk by the jar-full, and I’d bet even that’s two-thirds fake.”

Long tables spilt out from the mouth of a wide yellow tent. Days of steam had left patches on the canopy, permanent damp, dark as mustard. A few handfuls of mercenaries slumped at the trestles. Pipesmoke; stale panbreads picked at with fingerless-mittened fingers; black crescent-moons under grubby nails. Men and women, Dunmer in the main, with hollow eyes and looks curdled with hunger.

Simra slouched down beside one. A Dunmer. He might’ve been stout once, but the flesh lay slack on him now. He wore a greasy red cloak, ill-darned in a half-dozen places. The strap of his belt hung in excess past his pad-armoured knees from all the times he’d tightened it, stabbing new holes through the leather. At his hip a wicked-wide shortsword, sling, and stone-pouch. A dished round shield of bonemould and a battered bronze helmet sat on the bench beside him.

“Using those soon, d’you reckon?” Simra tapped his fingernails against the helmet’s crest. It belled dull and quiet at his touch.

The mercenary turned a pouchy red eye on Simra. A spark of fury showed for a moment – the interruption, the gall of a stranger touching his armour maybe – and then went lax and left. “What’s it to you?” he said. “Looking to join the party, latecomer?”

“Me? No. Nah. Not me. Means more for you though, right? Me, I don’t even know who’s fighting who.”

“Hm.” Something moved the mercenary’s mouth, like working up and holding back the urge to spit. “No news where you came from?”

There was a bite and bristle in that, Simra thought — rank hypocrisy from a mer whose accent was scarce a scratch more native than his own. “Not down the road to south and west, no,” Simra said, keeping his tongue, keeping sweet and bland. “So what’s the word? Heretics, I heard.”

“Almsivists,” the mercenary grunted. “Sprouted up in the town months back. Some priest, young and bright eyed, on the run from out east. He comes in Senie one day looking a mixer, a freak. Says he’s had some vision that the Tribunes ain’t gone, only hiding. Testing us, like. Says he had a vision from Saint Ayem herself to tell him so. And on the steps of the Temple he offs his robes and shows how he’s mottled like a piebald guar — starting to turn gold, he says. Chimer-gold in patches like some pox. They lock him up of course, the Templers, but a week goes by and the city’s set him free and they’ve thrown out or killed all the Templers instead. Calling themselves the Uncursed. Locked up in there, wanting nothing to do with what’s outside while they wait on the Tribunes’ return. Something like that…”

“Something like that?”

“What I said, innit? For all I know they’re all in there, turning gold in their own sweet time.” The mercenary’s mouth worked again. This time he did spit, whitefroth and thick on the ground.

“Why the siege then? If they’re just waiting, not fucking with anyone, why bother? Just let ‘em starve behind their walls.”

The mercenary rolled his shoulders. A shrug that clicked his back and tensed his thick slack neck. “Some of the folk they threw out? Lords, merchants, priests — them as ran Senie, or as good as ran it. ‘Spose they want their town back, and before Winter sets in proper. Impatient bastards, throwing out money like that. Going begging to the Indoril…” He looked over his shoulder and hurried to speak on. “Not like I’m making plaints, mind. It’s them pays my pocket, and them that’ll see us over the walls, innit? And ‘sides, killing heretics?” A hollow laugh, shrill with worry. “I’d do that for free, right?”

Simra drummed his fingertips again on the helmetcrest. His neck itched and his scalp crawled. He looked round slow, casual as he could. Masks and plumes and pale blue silk, caught in the corner of his eye before he turned back. Ordinators, walking the marketplace. Don’t run. Don’t flee or they’ll think you’ve got a reason. Same as the Quarter; the uptown watch with their dogs and their brutal boredom. He stayed seated.

“Right you are… I’m travelling their way and all,” Simra said, sunny. “Sure someone’d thank me when I got to Daen Seeth if I came full of stories. Breaking the walls at Senie; taking back its streets. But time’s short, more’s the pity.”

The mercenary cast a measuring eye over Simra. Took in his travelling clothes, his armoured knees, sword and blades and all, then looked back to the table. His eyes wouldn’t answer the question so he had to put it in words. “Sellsword too then, are you?”

“Something like that, when it suits.”

“Not a soldier though,” the mercenary said. Something about his posture bristled.

Simra eased his hand away from the mer’s helmet. The threat hung thicker between them now — some posture or challenge in unspoken issue. “Not if I can help it, no,” Simra smiled; a closed twist of the lips. “I’m all sorts besides, but today I just wanted news. Grain too – provisions – if you know someone who’s selling..?”

The mercenary spoke after a curt pause. “Heading out east, you said? Hm. You’ll need it. Might be I know a man’s got some spare…”

Simra’s scarred hand slipped into his jacket. Found out a pocket in its stitched silk lining and fished two coins from its narrow mouth. Shils of tin and russeted iron, loose and stamped with holes; he laid them down on the tabletop. “For your help.”

“You’ll want to walk off that way.” The mercenary skimmed the coins off the table and into his palm to grease and grow warm there. He nodded a path through the tents. “Look for what’s left of the Black Lamps company. Reckon you can imagine what their standard looks like. Had a spill in the first try at the walls and now they’re supplied for more heads than they’ve got. They’ll not be raring to the breach again any time soon so they’re not counting on a good pillage. Been foraging hard instead. Might be they’ll see you right…”

“Grateful,” said Simra. Rising from the bench, his knees and hipjoints argued. Saddlesore, travelsore, aged before he’d grown old. A brief grimace pulled at his face before his muscles and bones fell silent.

“Same,” the other mer said with a backtip of his head, a jutting upnod of his chin.

“Good luck then. Y’know. When the time comes.”

You’ll need it, Simra thought. When the times comes, you’ll need helmet and shield and luck and more. Mole, mine, breach; the threat and promise that pushed comers forward and cowards back and turned one to the other in moments. The cold would keep the ground hard at least, and the footing better – no sea of hungry steaming mud here – but all the same… All the same, Simra wouldn’t have bet on the other mer’s chances. Wouldn’t have taken his place. He almost asked himself, what would his price be? But he pulled the thoughts up and threw them away. There are better ways to make coin.

#TES #Morrowind #Dunmer #Simra Hishkari #SH Forth and Back #SH New Canon #Tammunei Ereshkigal #Noor Jedhredzuk

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