#she would sooner die then bow to a human noble

[starlitmark]

Summary: Maybe a stupid old law isn’t so horrible after all. Pairing: Prince!Jeno x Dutchess!reader Trope: royalty au, arranged marriage au Genre: fluff Rating: PG Warning: language Word Count: 758 Note: for my Anniversary Event

Rai's Version

“I don’t give a fuck that I need to get married by next spring.” Jeno bites in a low voice.

“Your Highness-” 

Jeno cuts off the royal advisor with a glare that could put anyone six feet under. Everything about this hundreds year old law was stupid. There was nothing logical about it anymore. Had this still been the 1800s or something, sure, but it was 2023. Why should he have to marry by the time he’s 24, and to someone of noble blood at that. There were plenty of people that weren’t of noble blood that would make fine rulers if given the proper training. It’s not even like people die young typically anymore, Jeno isn’t anywhere near death. Unless there was some freak accident in the palace walls, there was no way he was going anywhere.

“Jeno,” His father says in a quiet yet firm tone, “we gave you a chance to cooperate… your mother, the advisors, and I chose someone for you.”

“Like hell you did.”

His fathers face morphed into a simmering anger. Jeno knew he had pissed him off, he just couldn’t show it with the people around them. There was a knock on the door that cut through the tension in the room. After a small nod from the king, a servant stepped into the room quietly.

“She arrived.” She says meekly before bowing and leaving again.

“You brought her here?” Jeno asks, “You could’ve at least warned me before carting her all the way here.”

“It was bound to happen sooner or later son.” His father sighs, “You are engaged after all.”

As much as Jeno doesn’t want to deal with this, he knows he can’t avoid it. Letting out a sigh he pushes his dark hair out of his face and fixes his tailored white button-up. His bodyguard leads him out of the room and in the direction that his father had went. At least it’s nice out today, he thinks to himself. The sun is shining and as he looks out onto the gardens he notices his mother walking down one of the paths, parasol over her head.

“You seem thrilled to be getting married,” His bodyguard, Johnny, comments.

“You know I don’t want to get married… at least not yet.” Jeno sighs, “We both know whatever noble girl they’re sticking me with is probably spoiled rotten and horrible company.”

He and Johnny are friends despite what their roles in the palace are. From the moment Johnny was assigned to the crowned prince the two of them bonded and formed a friendship. They fill the rest of their walk to the garden with idle conversation. Nothing heavy given how sour Jeno’s mood is knowing he’s being forced into a marriage. 

“What if you end up liking her?” Johnny prods once they reach the oversized glass doors that lead to the garden.

“I doubt that I’ll-”

“Jeno!” The queen enthuses, a bright smile on her face, “Come! Come! Meet your fiancée!”

You turn around and give him a gentle smile. You know he’s not thrilled about getting married, that fact is known across your social class. All you can do is hope he won’t tear you to shreds the moment you speak. Jeno looks breathless though, not a single word escapes his perfectly pouty pink lips. Taking a few steps forward you stand a meer three feet from him.

“Your Highness,” You curtsy.

Jeno still doesn’t speak. You watch as his bodyguard tries to stifle a smirk from growing on his lips before nudging the prince. 

“Um- I- um-” he stutters, “Hi.”

“Are you always this well spoken, your highness?” You chuckle.

“I- uh-” He clears his throat, “Given our circumstances, I think calling me Jeno will suffice.”

You give him a sweet smile, “Well then Jeno, would you like to walk through the gardens with me? We have about two months to get to know each other before planning for our wedding starts.”

“Sure.” 

Goddamn it Jeno speak like a normal human. She’s just a dutchess you need to marry. Breathe and chill the fuck out.

“Johnny, give us a bit of space, okay? I don’t want to upset the soon-to-be crowned princess.”

His bodyguard, who you now know to be Johnny, nods and tries to stifle a smirk again. Jeno lets out a small sigh and offers his arm to you. You watch as he shivers slightly at your touch. The look on his face says it all; maybe this law wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

COPYRIGHT STARLITMARK 2023© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED — reposting/modifying any fic or piece of original writing posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations are not permitted. 

Networks: @kwritersworld @k-vanity

Tag List: @jaehunnyy @ericssmile @anyamaris

#jeno fluff #kwritersworldnet #kvanity #nct fanfic #nct dream fanfic #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #jeno fanfic #jeno x reader

[fe-semi-decent-scenarios]

Hey! I wasnt the one who requested it, but I loved your how would the Blue Lions react to killing their SO! May I ask the same but for the Golden Deer if its alright?

{That was actually one of my favorite requests to write! It’s been a long time so I might be a bit rusty, but let’s give this a shot :)} 

Claude: 

 He had accounted for the possibility of you betraying him. Your disappearance had not been something he took with ease, yet the lack of contact or declaration of death for so long had him thinking 

Emotions are fleeting...the human mind was complex. Your loyalty was never something he wanted to question but he could never put his complete faith in you 

Even when you stood at his side protecting the crests, befriended his people, treated him as a true partner...he just couldn’t completely put his faith in you. Not with so much on the line 

 He wonders if that’s where he went wrong. Heavy rain clouded his sight but the sound of your voice rang dominant across the field. As you stand at Gronder with your weapon focused on his friends- your friends; Claude could not help but momentarily reminisce over the times you instead showed him your smile. The one that temporarily alleviated the weight of his dreams and expectations from his shoulders 

He would be the one to get it back. The professor had already converted other students to their side so there was a chance 

One you didn’t want, as you aimed at their head with tears pricking your eyes. He dismounted his wyvern instantly 

“Was it all a lie? Tell me...is this what you want for your home (Y/N)? Come fight with us” He slowly begins his approach, but the words die out as you attack him this time 

 A shrill battle cry is all he hears before he watches an axe lodge into your side. He’ll never hear the answer, but he didn’t need to. It finally clicked

White hair 

You planned to die 

His brows pressed in further as Lysithea gasped at your fallen form. Before he would have killed to know more about the hidden experiments going on in the empire, but not like this. They’ll come to collect the body before Hanneman can conduct any research, but he’ll give them more. Much more 

Raphael: 

Raphael doesn’t like to think on the battlefield. It’s not that he enjoys pummeling people without a glance, but if he looks back then he won’t look foreword. He’s confided in Ignatz many times after being scolded for running ahead, but when thinking can cost you your life he prefers not to waste the effort 

 Especially because he takes longer to process complex emotions and thoughts compared to the others. He trusts them to be tactical while he uses his muscles to save the day

Back in the day he had a perfectly reliable head to think for him. He cleared their path and they took care of all the important business. The classic ‘brains and brawn’ duo that no one would expect to ever find genuine interest in one another. Aren’t they stereotypically supposed to fight and be at each other’s throats? Not in this case 

“Haha! THAT WAS GREAT! Nice Job (Y/N), I hope today’s menu has meat because you need brain food and I need to feed my muscles!” 

 You knew Raphael and how to predict his movements, and he had complete faith in your judgements. Even at the monastery you both made the most efficient team to do chores  

 Instead of trying to change him, you worked to match his pace and became his partner. On the field and in life. Raphael knew he didn’t have to second guess with you at his side, and he felt what he wanted to feel.

He loved you. Your brains, your laugh, your heart, your cooking no matter good or bad...you. It was an emotion that came easy to him.

Though sometimes he berated himself for not thinking. Sometimes you’d get in trouble if he broke equipment or did something else out of line. Yet you remained patient and calmed him down at the same time.

It was difficult to adjust to fighting without his partner. He essentially had to relearn everything through experience, but he had full hope that you’d come back 

That hope clouded his judgement when he saw you conversing with the professor at Aillel. He was so overcome with joy that he mindlessly pushed aside enemies to get to you without actually examining the scene

His fury took over when the professor’s sword went straight through your stomach.  He tackled them to the ground and it took both Lorenz AND Hilda to pry him away. 

“You idiot! They’re the enemy!” Hilda shouted at him as he settled down. He couldn’t process it. They wouldn’t hurt their family, him.

 Yet, they wore red. Red that grew darker as their blood seeped in 

 Ignatz: 

“Can you paint my portrait?” You asked him one evening long ago. After a particularly grueling training session with the rest of class he had snuck off to sketch the trees by the market. The year was young and he still wasn’t too familiar with all his classmates 

You were new and he had took to your appearance instantly. He could replay your introduction mentally over and over. Your smooth words, slight bow, and the way your feet glided effortlessly to the closest seat you could get to the window. He was of course too shy to approach a new student since he wasn’t the social sort, but luckily he did not have to do much. 

You took the liberty of following him to his painting spot. He was flustered at being found, but you merely plopped at his side and began to eat your lunch. Where you had it stashed beforehand? He still doesn’t know 

 He had never been more aware of another’s presence, and his art showed it as the paper crinkled in his grasp. Yet somehow you seemed enamored at the picture forming on the page, so much that you asked to model 

He grew anxious instantly and decided to head back for his own meal. With no given answer you had left the topic behind, and from then on he began to find you nearby often. From acquaintances to friends, and from friends to ‘lovers without definition’. No confession was ever spoken but he knew you made decisions easier, life joyful, and the rest of his peers agreed as much as he. 

He drew that portrait. He drew it over, and over, and over, and over because he refused to forget your face. He would remember you and fight twice as hard to make up for what you couldn’t give. He swore that to Claude and everyone else when you were pronounced missing in action.

 and now? His eyes glisten as a body fitted under a white tarp lays yards away. You hadn’t tried to harm him but you were healing the enemy. It was decided that you were not with the Empire, but instead travelling through and became swept in the battle. Perhaps you didn’t know? Perhaps you simply decided to help whoever needed it no matter their side? 

He clutches his bow to his chest. One arrow, and you were down. He didn’t know 

He didn’t know but the pictures would never let him forget. The pages never felt the same from then on 

Lorenz: 

Relationships should never be formed unless you have something to gain

It is a nobleman’s duty to protect the weak, the poor, the sick; yet, there must always be distance.

A nobleman must always carry themselves with a sense of professionalism. They must not display weakness, and a true leader is born of being able to separate their personal affairs from that of those they govern. 

 One day Lorenz will be the head of the Glouscer territory, and soon the Alliance as a whole if he has his way. Death must not phase him and he must be willing to sacrifice everything for the sake of his people

He follows the laws of a noble. He knows them on paper, but not in practice. 

 Only as he grew during an age of dispute and fighting did he begin to learn that actions differ from voice. All that he pledged as a young man held no meaning, because gradually he began to realize that he is not the most fit to govern Fodlan. He was incapable of completely tossing aside his personal desires or making the best decisions with certainty. Yes, he was well educated and would make a great right hand

Yet the title of leader would never be his. Why? Because he is a noble by definition 

The professor was a noble by heart. A true leader who let actions speak for them and selflessly protected the entirety of Fodlan instead of one singular portion.

 Lorenz is a noble in name, but in nature he is a man. He is a solider, a son, a friend, a politician...a human. One not immune to temptations or the grievances of loss no matter what face he may display for the public eye.

 There was a soul he once found vibrant. They were a mere commoner yet full of dedication. He placed a barrier around them immediately, one he was not allowed to cross no matter how tempted. They did not fit the criteria he sought

 Yet the night of the ball he allowed “them”  the curtesy of a dance. Their warm hand on his own, their body held tightly in his embrace, and lighthearted small talk being tossed between quips about their poor dancing skills 

They left his mouth dry as he bid them farewell to their next partner. He allowed the barrier to resurface as he went his own way

“You must rethink this (Y/N). How could siding with the empire lead to any promising future/ They will kill us all and then themselves in the process! Please, join us” 

“Spoken like a true noble, Lorenz. This social hierarchy has divided people for too long and you would realize that if you’d only look beyond Alliance borders!” 

If only he had grasped their hand longer- listened. They were the first to show him a world beyond his bubble, if only he popped it sooner. 

 Hilda:

You really annoyed her in the beginning. The way you carried yourself like some kind of prophet, or how you’d question everything the professor taught. Was it so hard to just do what was needed and move on? Even with something as simple as weeding the courtyard you always had to add your own two cents

It was like always being under analysis. She got that enough from Claude and didn’t need two people trying to read her. On many occasions she tried to gain traction over you, but somehow her efforts never bore fruit 

For a try-hard you were very accepting of her shortcomings. So long as what you were tasked with got done, the performance of others was never a secondary priority 

If only she could be that carefree about other people’s opinions. Maybe then living would be easier? 

Perhaps you were what she wanted to be? Satisfied with who you were enough to question the world around you while remaining secure with what you had 

Someone with the ability to step beyond your comfort zone and make your own decisions. Respected, knowledgeable...loved for who you are. Maybe that’s what drew her to you and lead to her envy forming into adoration 

and that adoration being trampled by sorrow 

“I still love you so no hard feelings, okay? I can’t back down” is what she told you. It was a taunt, but she did not expect your smile 

“Of course. I’m glad you’ve decided to show your backbone, just think of this as a spar like old times”

The casual talk did not fit the clash of blades that followed. Nor did it suit the battle roaring nearby 

A spar- just like old times. It was a familiar battle but this time her axe did not halt before delivering the deciding blow. 

Her hands shook as your body fell, yet you still appeared at peace despite the gash adorning your back. Perhaps you knew this would be the outcome before the day even began

Hilda did not cry, but asked for you to be buried on alliance soil. If anything she owed you that curtesy

Leonie: 

She would never forgive you. Not today, not ever. 

How dare you choose to side with the people who killed the captain? He never did anything to anybody, and if you chose to betray everyone than Leonie would return the favor

She decided that any history between you two was nonexistent the moment you lifted your weapon. Mercy was a word you forgone long ago when instead of defending Garreg Mache, you slaughtered it’s inhabitants 

She thought you felt the same as well. Yet, fate always liked to twist in ways to hinder justice 

She watched from a distance as the professor approached your fallen form. They had insisted on trying to sway her old classmates, but she scoffed at the mere thought 

What made them think traitors would be good allies? Did they want to be stabbed in the back like their father?...like the captain 

She ignored the sting in her chest as you swatted their hand away. You had some nerve to reject their kindness and it pissed her off. She wanted this entire situation to simply end but- 

Her feet moved on their own

“Why are you such an idiot? Were you always this irresponsible?” her words cut deep, clearly shown by how you turned away. She could only grit her teeth at the stubbornness and reach for her lance 

You made your choice, and clearly it was up to her to deliver justice if no one else would 

So she did what she’s always had to do, the brunt work. With one swing it was over and you were just another count among the others 

She doesn’t know if the captain would praise her for remaining strong or scold her for remaining indifferent 

Lysithea: 

Everything always boils down to one thing: people cannot be trusted. Each and every time Lysithea has allowed someone close it has blown up in her face 

and somewhere deep down, she knew this situation wouldn’t have ended any differently. The world always found new ways to crush what she cared for 

The only question that remains is how much longer will she have to endure? How much longer did she have to fight? 

because now she had to fight for two. She had to find a cure or die trying 

During the battle for Garreg Mache many had been taken prisoner. She hadn’t the empire to conduct unethical experiments; maybe torture, but nothing like what she was witnessing. 

It was a fever dream one couldn’t fathom, but the mindless husk killing without remorse kept her in reality. What had they done to you?

She noticed the white hair in an instant. One of her worst fears had come to life seeing you at the death knight’s side, but the way you hadn’t even flinched when she called your name made her terrified 

Not even a whack of thoron could snap you out of it. She began to lose hope...were you even there anymore? Is this what they had planned for her if she didn’t flee?

“Say something you jerk! Don’t tell me you’re letting some petty magic keep you grounded, fight it!” 

No matter what anyone said it did nothing. When moral dwindled the only solution left was to free you through other means 

The death knight escaped after you fell. Next time...next time he would die at her hand. 

Lysithea instantaneously moved to further her research after your burial. Not for herself, but to find out if you were gone long before they found you. She needed to know if your death was peaceful, if you could see that she tried 

If you would forgive her 

Marianne: 

“This is Nova. I have to leave for a mission, would you watch him for me Marianne?”

 Bright blue eyes bored into hers as she gingerly took hold of the bunny. It’s fur was soft, well groomed. She took notice of how it snuggled into her arms as if it feared no human. Marianne knew instantly that the animal was well loved and cherished. The though made her almost refuse the favor in fear of hurting it, but her classmate’s insistence wasn’t something to fight. 

  Despite her warnings (Y/N) never listened, and at some point Marianne gave up on pushing them away. Their company was appreciated yet she would never say it, and the cuddly creature in her arms truly proved their trust in her 

 She could only nod in agreement as they skipped off to prepare the bunny’s necessities to bring to her room. Marianne hoped she could care for the animal properly, and that nothing would happen to it

She worried for the wrong reasons, as (Y/N) never returned home. They were sent to face Solon and avenge the death of the Professor’s father. Marianne was asked to remain and help in healing injured soldiers from the most previous confrontation. 

·If she knew that would have been the last time (Y/N) would show up in her room, she--no, she wouldn’t have done anything. She may have tried to convince them to stay home but Marianne knows she would have not confessed anything

  Not that she valued their friendship or that she worried for their wellbeing. Not that she was grateful they trusted her with Nova, or that they help her care for her horses. She wouldn’t have even thought it. 

 She didn’t think of it afterwards either. Her fondness for her deceased friend wouldn’t have been noticeable at all if not for the bunny. Despite everything she cared for it as if it were (Y/N) themselves. 

When she sees a familiar figure take charge at Gronder, time freezes. She remembers the bunny sitting in her dorm without an owner. She wonders how abandoned it must have felt to never see it’s best friend again. She feels for the bunny because it’s how she felt.

Without thinking she shoots a blast of magic their way and watches them crumple on the floor 

Why did they abandon their precious bunny? Did they give up on it? Did they give up on her? 

Did you...finally realize you had befriended a monster?

#fe3h #fe3h imagine #fire emblem imagines #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem: three houses #Claude von Riegan #claude x reader #raphael x reader #raphael kirsten #lorenz hellman gloucester #lorenz x reader #ignatz victor #ignatz x reader #marianne x reader #marianne von edmund #hilda von goneril #hilda x reader #hilda valentine goneril #leonie pinelli #leonie x reader #lysithea x reader #lysithea von ordelia #fire emblem #fire emblem x reader

[msotherworldly]

Blame for Bethany

Title: Blame for Bethany

Fiction Type: Fanfiction

Fandom: Dragon Age 2

Warnings: Minor swearing, mention of death

Prompt: “I’m not saying I told you so...”

“I’m not saying I told you so...”

“That’s funny, because it sounds like you are.” I smirked. The clink of tankards surrounded us. There was a low hum of voices, and the smell of nug shit. It was home sweet home—at least for him. Face turned only half to the fireplace, he looked older.

I frowned. How old was Varric? Admittedly, I didn’t know much about dwarf aging. I’d always assumed they aged as quickly as humans or elves, but...

“Get it off your chest.” He sipped his drink, eyes sparkling.

“Another day.” I sank into a chair.

He shook his head. “It’s bad to pent shit up, Hawke. I knew a fella in the carta who got by weeping into his pillow every night. It had a nickname and everything. Of course, when the other carta men in his squad found out, they filled his back with knives.”

“Thanks, Varric.” I waved the waitress for a drink. “You always know what to say to make me feel better.”

“That’s my specialty. But seriously, what’s eating you?”

“It’s just a conclusion I’ve had. We’ve survived the Deep Roads. I’ve made enough money that I barely have to work. And Mother seems happy. I thought it would go away, but it hasn’t.”

The dwarf raised his eyebrows. “Go on.”

“I think...I have to talk to her about this.”

“I’m going to say it again. If it’s bad, dump it on me. Your mother’s been through enough crap.”

“And deprive you of the chance of another ‘I told you so’ speech?”

Varric sighed. His chair creaked as he leaned back. “We’re not talking about an ogre this time, Hawke. We’re talking about your mother. Maybe give her some time before you hit her with something heavy.”

“I’ve given her time!” I laughed. “Varric, I’ve had this thought since I started work with Athenril. I’ve been carrying it around for two years now.”

“Do you need a shrink? I can recommend a good one I know. He works in Darktown.”

“He’s not a healer, is he?”

Varric grinned. “No, but I know a healer there who I’ve also recommended to see the guy. To be fair, he did attend one session.”

“But?”

“But it’s probably better if you don’t mention you’re a mage.” Varric’s face darkened. “Since that lovely therapy session, Briggs has a paranoia of being lit on fire. That tends to happen when you try to do therapy on a Fade spirit.”

“Maker.” I shook my head. “I think I’ll pass, Varric, but...thanks for the tip. Why Darktown?”

“If you talk to a therapist in Hightown, they might gossip. Any therapist there will likely be a noble looking for extra cash or a fun time, and well, you know your neighbours better than anyone. All they care about are scandals and social clout. If it got out that Marion Hawke was having mommy issues, it would be the talk of Hightown for at least a month.”

“I don’t have mommy issues.” I rolled my eyes. “But I see your point.”

“I’m not saying you do. It’s what they would say.” He winked. “Trust me, Hawke. I have a good read on people.”

“And a vivid imagination.”

“Exactly! If I say something is going to go wrong, it will likely go even worse!”

“And here I am, taking advice from the guy who loosed Anders on a therapist. Do wonders never cease?”

Varric chuckled. “I know you don’t listen. Hell, do any of you? But be gentle with her, Hawke. She’s had a hard time.”

I was halfway to Lowtown before I remembered my new home. I kicked a stone, and turned around. Would I ever get used to this? Even after three weeks, it felt strange to walk into Hightown and think I belonged there. In my rough leather jacket and scuffed boots, I felt as much like a ruffian as I’d always been. When I drew the key from my pocket, I had the unnerving feeling I’d stolen it from someone—or, as was more often the case, killed someone for it.

Smells of flowers and greenery washed over me. Mom had filled the manor with potted plants. Three shattered pots in the corner gave evidence that Sandal had managed to destroy half of them just as fast. The dreamy eyed dwarf looked out over the balcony; was he planning to swing from the chandelier again?

I dropped my satchel at the foot of my bed. When I emerged from my room, I was clean and dressed in finery. I drifted down the stairs, frowning.

“Is there anything I can get for you, my lady?” Bodahn bowed. “Name it, and I’ll be happy to oblige.”

“Just a bottle of wine, Bodahn, and a glass.”

“Right away, my lady.”

“It’s Marion.” I sighed as he ambled off. “There’s no need to be so formal.”

Mother sat by the fire, embroidery in her lap. Her wrists flashed with silver, and her hair was pulled into an intricate braid. To look at her, one wouldn’t have known at first glance that she had spent twenty years tilling earth or bathing a Mabari coated daily in mud. Still, I could see it—in the wrinkles around her eyes, and the whitening of her hair, I saw a harder life. Most of the nobles who were Mother’s age looked ten years younger.

“Mother.”

“Hello, dear.” She gazed into the flames. “Have you heard from your brother?”

“Mages and templars aren’t friends as a general rule.”

“He’s your brother.” She grimaced. “It’s just as well. He needed space. It could be a lucrative career for him.”

“Hunting people like me? That’s a ‘lucrative career’?”

“I’m sorry, Marion.” She glanced up, and smiled. “I’m just trying to make the best of things. He’s been discontent for a long time. If this brings him happiness, I’ll be grateful to the Order for that much.”

I pulled up a second chair. Bodahn left the wine on a small round table of polished wood. I filled my glass. The liquid was a deep red.

I studied the flames, seeing shapes, seeing houses, blackening ruins crumpling as darkspawn swarmed over them. Did Mother see the same thing, or was the fire a mere comfort?

“He might have joined the Order in Fereldan too.” I picked up a poker, and jabbed the logs. “After being kicked out of the army, that is.”

Mother chuckled. “I suppose it would have been a matter of time. Carver always did find trouble. I hope he’s settled down now.”

I frowned. “It would have been natural if...”

Mother glanced at me. “If what?”

If you had been strong enough to do what you should have.

I stood up, setting my glass down. My heart thrummed. I bit my lip.

Be gentle, Hawke. Varric’s voice was low and smooth in my head.

I wheeled to face her. “It wasn’t my fault that Bethany died.”

“I’m sorry I said that, darling. I never meant it. Not really.”

“Even after you apologized the first time, I still believed it was. I played it over in my head. If I had gotten to the ogre sooner, I could have knocked it down. If I’d thought to throw fire, I could have distracted it. But I wasn’t the only one there. If it was my fault, it was Carver’s fault, Aveline’s. We were surrounded. Everyone was just trying to survive.” I shuddered. “It wasn’t my fault that Bethany died.”

Mother reached for me.

“It was yours.”

Mother flinched as if I’d electrocuted her. Then she bowed her head. “You wish it had been me instead of her. If the ogre had grabbed me instead...”

“I don’t wish that.” I sat down. “But I was angry at you. When we were at Gamlen’s, what did you do? You stared into the fire and you didn’t move. You didn’t even take in washing to help us pay the rent. You didn’t try to sell fruit. You didn’t offer to stitch up clothes for a couple of coppers. You didn’t do anything! You left it to Carver and I. You’ve left it to us since Dad died.”

Mother’s eyes watered. She closed them. “After she died...after your father...each time, it was like another part of me, somewhere in my chest, had just been ripped away. I couldn’t even think. I was sad and angry, and I couldn’t see anything else. Then, when Carver left, I thought I was having a heart attack.”

“But he didn’t leave, not truly.”

“I realized that.” She took a breath. “When I realized he was just going to be on his own, with a job he might enjoy, I even felt a little better. I know you tried with him...but he needed to find his own way.”

“I didn’t want you to take Bethany’s place, Mother.” I took her hand. “I was angry because you could have prevented it.”

She met my gaze.

“I never wanted to go to the Circle. I liked the feel of grass under my feet. I savoured looking up, and seeing the sky. I even enjoyed the constant reek of filthy Mabari.”

She chuckled.

“But sometimes I wondered about the Circle. I thought of all the books there I could be reading. And I thought of Bethany, on those winter days when we had less to eat, being able to have her fill. They get three meals a day at the Circle. There was one winter where I even considered sending her off myself. It was a chance at a richer life for her.”

“But not you?”

“Not as long as you needed looking after.” I shook my head. “It’s just...if you had sent us, she would still be alive right now. She was capable. She would have survived the Harrowing. She might have even attained a position, become a senior enchanter. She might have written books, had friends...been safe.”

Mom slumped over. “I’ve made so many mistakes.”

“We could have stayed together. If you had been well, if Carver was there, I might have gone with her. And if Carver had joined the Order, he would have been able to send decent money your way. He would have kept us together with letters and stories. When he wasn’t watching over his sisters, he could have visited you, seen you were alright.”

“And all three of you could have been safe.”

“I shouldn’t have said this to you. Keeping us free wasn’t the wrong decision. Not really. You couldn’t have known the Blight was coming. If it hadn’t, all of us would still be in Lothering now. Poorer, but alive.”

“I’ve thought too much of myself.”

“Mother.”

“No, I have. You’ve played it through your head, too. You’ve watched Bethany die over and over. When you look into the flames, do you see it like I do? The homes falling, burning, being swarmed?”

“It’s all I see.”

“I wish I could look after you now.”

“But you don’t have to anymore. We’re set for life.”

“There must be some way I could be useful.” Mother pursed her lips. Her eyes glinted. “I have old friends from my childhood here. Many of them have their own children. Perhaps I could set up a meeting with some of them? I know Sir Laurence is very handsome.”

I laughed. “No, Mother. Thank you. I’m sort of already...seeing someone.”

“A noble?” Her voice was critical.

“Not at all. I have too much of my mother in me.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“He understands, Mother. If I married a noble, how could I be happy? I’d have to hide all the time. I’m so tired of hiding.”

“Is he...like your father?”

I nodded. “Like mother, like daughter.”

Her lips thinned into a severe line. She opened her mouth, and then she shook her head. She chuckled. “Well, it’s just as well I’m not like my mother. You can rest assured I won’t disown you. But be careful, darling. If you’re talking about who I think...well, he can be a bit wild.”

“You’re just upset he trailed that weird mud over the floor from Darktown.”

“Whatever it was, it had red stains!” Mother shuddered. “But it’s just as well. If you’re happy, I won’t get in the way.”

I stood up: I pulled her into a hug, folding her in. I was a head taller than she was. I stroked her hair. “I don’t mind looking after you, Mother. It gives me something to do.”

“Is Anders interested in children?”

Maker, I’ve said too much.

I blushed. “I...don’t know.”

“Well, grandchildren would give me something to do.” Mother drew away, beaming. “I could teach them how to curtsy, dance, sew, cook, sing!”

“After you were done teaching them not to light the house on fire.” I grimaced. “With their genes, it’s certain they’d all be mages. You could handle several apostate toddlers?”

“I handled two, didn’t I?” Mom puffed herself up. “I’ll figure it out.”

I bet.

“I love you, Mother.”

“I love you, Marion.” She pulled me in for another hug and stroked my hair.

#fictober21 #fictober #fanfic #dragon age #dragon age fic #writing #creative writing #writers #writeblr

[fangirlinglikeabus]

i read some non vna dw books a while ago but because i am a Clown i’ve only just finished typing up notes on them...i think my next dw book i’ll make notes as i go rather than just marking the pages and Hoping I Remember. anyway! here’s my thoughts on thirteen doctors 13 stories. i have more opinions on some than others. 

A BIG HAND FOR THE DOCTOR

"...Susan, who was possibly the only person in the universe who could make the Doctor smile at the mere thought of her."

awwwwww

didn't really like this one that much - i wasn't too impressed with eoin colfer's characterisation of the first doctor (esp since pre-ian and barbara i don’t think he’d willingly attempt to stop some villains until susan was in danger)

THE NAMELESS CITY

Polly...once described him as looking like an unmade bed.

lmao

...he didn't know exactly what he was, though when he was growing up, he had heard tales of the legendary fairy creatures of the Unseelie Court who haunted Scotland's deepest valleys. He suspected the Doctor might be one of the dark Sith.

HEAVILY vibe with this concept the world is saved by bagpipes.......peak dw THE SPEAR OF DESTINY

"You know what I love about London?" he said, turning to her briefly. She sighed. "I'm sure I can't guess." "It's the only city in the universe where you can drive around in a car that's seventy years old and get away with it." "Who says you're getting away with it?" Jo muttered. 

nkdfsjksn

"Fire away!"

"Oh, Doctor, please. Not after that business at the museum."

no doctor is immune to the temptation of a good pun. no matter how inappropriate. actually i really like how jo and three are written in this generally. there's so many good scenes. also, when the doctor asks her why she doesn't know anything about the vikings: "Doctor, we did the Romans. Every year." rip jo

From a distance the Doctor watched as a group of about twenty men loaded the TARDIS on to the back of a large low wagon pulled by four sturdy oxen.

jo: the doctor told me about the perception filter on the tardis so it'll be fine! they won't even spot it. literally the next scene, immediately:

She longed to stand and give this old goat a piece of her mind, but she knew she'd most likely fall over if she tried, which wasn't the effect she was after.

aw jo :(

"Do you know they wash once a week?" "Could have fooled me," muttered Jo.

*desperately resists the urge to write down every jo line in this story*

"I have the ship. And I have the spear. What need have I of you any more?"

the master is betrayed. to the surprise of no-one but himself.

The Doctor held her by the shoulders. "My dear girl," he said. "That is very noble of you. You were right. Your aspirations /are/ the very noblest. But you're wrong about something. Nothing is more important than you."

me, sobbing:

ROOTS OF EVIL

realised as i was reading this that i don't own any books featuring leela.....a crime

"Surprise!" the Doctor said. "You know you were complaining that you missed trees?"

this is actually the cutest thing no-one look at me

She could never understand why the Doctor was so careless of danger. It was a good thing he had her to look after him, she thought, as he opened the TARDIS door and they stepped out together into dim, green light and the earthy, warm-compost smell inside the great tree.

phillip reeve gets the four+leela dynamic. like. he Gets it. 

"It will not hurt you," she promised. "It is called a 'scarf'. It is like a cloak, only pointless."

ousdofnsoksfd

"Did it look a bit like a gravel pit? You'd be amazed how many alien worlds look just like gravel pits..."

what is doctor who. without quarry jokes.

"I mean, he's wearing a bow tie!" the Doctor explained patiently. "Ridiculous objects! I wouldn't be seen dead in a bow tie!"

1) says the guy who wears an obnoxiously long scarf everywhere 2) honey, you've got a big storm coming

TIP OF THE TONGUE

there's a scene in this where nyssa and the doctor chill at a diner and they drink chocolate milkshakes together. this is all i care about.

Good Lord, was that celery he was wearing on his lapel?

Yeah We Know

"Are you British?" Nettie said, as if this was the most surprising part of the whole thing.

i mean, fair

He paused. "I don't suppose either of you would be interested in travelling?"

the fifth doctor: hey one of my friends died recently and i abandoned the other one but i really miss having a large crew so i was wondering if you two literal children would like to risk your life travelling with me :)

SOMETHING BORROWED

you'd think given this one is from peri's pov she'd be slightly more central to the plot. ah well.

"That's two storeys up!" I exclaimed. "And I'm in heels." "Well then, you should have worn more sensible shoes, shouldn't you?"

maybe she lives in hope that she won't have to do any running/scale buildings every time she steps out of the tardis. i get that. 

"Well, you are the expert when it comes to gaudy," I said, giving a meaningful look to his red-and-yellow plaid coat and green tie.

every six story is legally obligated to drag his coat

The Doctor shook the man's hand vigorously. "Yes, yes. A little different round the edges since our last meeting on Kiri 4, but all the charm and intellect are still here."

i love this bastard.......

"Love? That contrived, chemically driven state of idiocy?"

mood

A clatter of metal was the sole warning I had before a hole in the ceiling suddenly opened, and the Doctor came tumbling down to the floor, landing in an ungraceful heap of rainbow plaid. Nonetheless, he rose to his feet with all the dignity of an Olympic gymnast who'd just landed a perfect somersault.

not to sound like a broken record but i would Die for this idiot

withholding myself from using more quotes to illustrate my unbridled love for the sixth doctor whom..........

"You might regret not helping me with this one day," she  [the Rani] called over to us. "Your next regeneration may be sooner than you think."

Huh. I Wonder What That's Referring To

RIPPLE EFFECT

From the look on his face, Ace reckoned that a visit to the Time Lords was something similar to her having to visit the dentist back on Earth.

i mean to be fair.....the time lords are a whole lot worse although in this case the doctor's reasons for not wanting to visit are: (i) they're 'old, boring and judgemental' (ii) they have stupid clothes and a stupid non-intervention policy (iii) they treat him 'like a naughty schoolboy' (can't have that in front of your companion!)

i apparently didn't have many comments to make on this one. um...it was good. i liked the idea of an alternate universe with nice daleks. MOVING ON

SPORE

"They're all dead....everyone's dead, flesh turned to liquid. It moves...There are things! Moving things! They're alive..." Major Platt looked up at the Doctor. "The caller became incoherent after that and disconnected shortly after." The Doctor drummed his fingers thoughtfully against the top of the aluminium folding-table between them. "Hmm...That really doesn't sound very good."

YEAH YA THINK?

"I was at the opera," the Doctor explained, "when my phone went off."

this is his excuse for That outfit. really just copying everything from grace here huh

THE BEAST OF BABYLON

She also didn't yet know that he wasn't a man at all.

yeah cos he's non-binary duh

"So now we're landing on Earth," he shouted, "two thousand years before the birth of Christ..." "Who?" "He was a bit like Sherlock Holmes. Knew the answers to everything. Very good at solving mysteries. Some humans use him to measure time."

obsessed with the implications of this dialogue...

THE MYSTERY OF THE HAUNTED COTTAGE

absolutely love the concept of this one...a world created from martha's memories of reading a famous five expy as a child

"What?" Martha said defensively, keeping her voice down. "That's how he was described in the books. Don't blame me. This was 1951. Everything back then was blinkered, sexist, and ever-so-slightly racist. It was a backward time." "Ah, yes," said the Doctor, "because 2007 has none of those things."

vibe with this convo

"Am I lonely?" Martha asked. "You're a particle of dust," the Doctor said. "Of course you're not lonely." "I sound lonely." "Well you're not; you're having a great time."

this conversation where the doctor tells martha to imagine herself as a particle of dust has exactly the same kind of energy as discussions you have at 3am at a sleepover

NOTHING O'CLOCK

Amy looked irritated. She wasn't irritated, but she liked to give him the impression she was, just to show him who was boss.

yeah...

ok the villains in this one are actually really fucked up like. it's been a While since i read it now because i procrastinated on making these notes but they were Good creepy. thank you mr gaiman. 

LIGHTS OUT

now THIS is one where the pov heavily contributes to the story...

He turns to look at me with piercing, hollow-set grey eyes, then furrows his impressive silvery brows. "I'm buying a coffee," he says. "For a girl."

so THAT'S why twelve took so long to find coffee for clara......he wasn't buying it on earth. good vibes

TIME LAPSE

i absolutely LOVE the concept for this one, which is that the year 2004 completely disappears from records

A typed envelope reading The Doctor, The TARDIS, Ex-Gallifrey followed by a long string of numbers, letters, and things that probably were letters but looked like they came from about eight different languages.

obsessed with the fact that (i) you can apparently send letters to the tardis, like it has an actual address (mel throwing a message in a bottle into space doesn't seem so unreasonable now huh...) (ii) part of this address is 'ex-gallifrey'

this dude gets rejected. and is so badly embarrassed that he erases 2004 from existence. i promise i'm not making this up.

#laura reads dw books #long post #oof i promise the other one i've got notes for isn't this long.....i just had a lot of Thoughts #aside from eoin colfer's i actually really enjoyed all the stories! would highly recommend this collection

[chalabrun]

we cried power -- ; (furol)

Word Count: 2,943 Pairing: Furol (Nick Fury x Carol) Rating: G Warnings: Endgame spoilers, death mention Summary: When they were alone, two of the strongest were finally allowed to grieve.

They wept the way heroes were supposed to, Carol supposed. On that clear day, some uncertain intermission between spring and summer, hands in her trouser pockets—she didn’t think she’d be this affected. She didn’t know Tony Stark like the others did, and maybe she didn’t have to. Throughout the funeral—a small, intimate affair—it made her question everything. For over thirty years, she’d been away from earth. Closer to forty if you counted the five years spent to and from this planet. Carol was certain she’d seen it all, bottling everything up so no one would doubt the strength, both inwards and outwards, of Captain Marvel.

But, if she looked around, she wasn’t the only one keeping their feelings boarded up, like some bankrupt, abandoned shop on the middle of Main street. Something that tried to hide the collapse, but you knew just by looking at it how much that wasn’t true. She felt it then, overlooking the lake. Mourning not just for someone who had become an ally, but for so much else, too.

They needed sanctuary. As the world was waking up again, people reclaiming what had been lost and finding their lives again, she’d needed to get away. But, not alone.

The clacking of the train tracks was like subdued and steady rainfall. The scenic view of the Swiss Alps as the train had long since departed from Bern was almost unnerving in its beauty, the verdant forests crossing with quaint villages and the occasional castle, through long, dark tunnels, seeming surreal compared to the upheaval and carnage they’d just come from. A sky dotted with occasional clouds in a tapestry of flawless azure was like it’d never been trespassed by Thanos’ coming in the first place.

“So, we just gonna be quiet the whole time, or are we gonna talk about what happened?”

The blonde glanced down at her companion who had been fast asleep just a moment ago, nestled into her side with his cheek to her chest, an arm around her middle as they reclined in the cushy bed in the sleeper car they occupied. Having been embracing him, fingers caressing over his clean-shaven scalp, the corners of Carol’s lips quirked.

“You were snoring and I didn’t want to wake you, Colonel,” she said with a touch of humor in her voice, earning a dry chuckle from Nick.

“Fair enough, Captain,” Nick quipped back, exhaling steadily. A pregnant pause suspended over them they were both aware of, like an elephant in the room. A coil of tension wound tightly in between them, thick enough for only a Vibranium knife to cut.

“If I’d have gotten here sooner—“ came Carol’s sudden confession, a strain beginning in her voice before Fury cut her off.

“You know damn well it’s not your fault, Danvers. It’s not just on you. You know that,” Fury interjected as his gaze flicked towards her, as if they weren’t on the train anymore. The world falling away even further.

It was the explosion during that mission with Dr. Lawson. The Supreme Intelligence forcing her to her knees after capture. The final battle with Thanos and everything in between, the time she’d been there and hadn’t—

“It doesn’t feel like that. Sure, I get it. Captain Marvel is everywhere these days, but—dammit, this is my home! This little blue rock was in danger and I could’ve done something to stop it. If I’d only been here sooner!” So, was this what collapse was like? How much she’d been holding in? Carol’s head bowed and the train continued its seemingly ceaseless roll through the Swiss Alps, no quick reply from Nick, because he understood. He peered further to see the woman’s lower lip worrying, beads of tears rolling down her cheek.

Of everything immeasurable and incredible he’d seen in all his life, Carol Danvers crying wasn’t one of them. But even heroes weren’t immune. Maybe it was Tony Stark’s funeral that popped the cork from the bottle, over thirty years old. Vintage as old as his. Life had been lost, memories scattered, hell—even Nick couldn’t deny the clump in his throat, something about Carol’s own crumbling making it feel like it was okay to finally weep.

These people meant the world to him. The Avengers, the very name the Carol had indirectly inspired all those years ago. Bullheaded on the best of days, he’d be the last person to deny that Romanoff and Stark’s deaths, as well as Cap’s paradoxical but understandable wish to remain in the past, had impacted him. He’d seen innumerable deaths; incalculable. In every trial and tribulation, he’d seen fellow soldiers die alongside citizens, but who he was hadn’t given him the luxury to indulge in grief, or misery. He’d remained strong through it all.

And if the woman who meant the world to him could collapse, so could he.

The world was unfocused, blurry then. When they bothered to look. For now, it was minute shuddering and stilted sobs, Nick’s restrained, but—God, it felt like fire. Carol enveloped him wholly, engulfing him in the vacuum of space itself. The clacking of the tracks, the passage of the Swiss countryside like a film reel; it was like none of that was there. His eyes were wet and misty where they could be, thinking of how he’d have to let the eye-patch dry.

It hit them harder than they thought it would. You couldn’t build without a strong foundation, Carol named the strongest Avenger. So, here they were. A sword and shield, a shield and sword; interchangeable, but that strength remained the same. They had to let go, needed to.

“Thinking about him, made me wonder: maybe I should retire. You know, settle down somewhere real nice. Someplace like this.” Carol emerged from her grief with a sniffle, Nick knowing she was listening. He gaze wandered out the window, her embrace all he needed. “One of those pipe dreams where I open up a bar, kinda a jazzy place. Switzerland ain’t really known for jazz. Bring in some real smooth New York jazz to this place.” He smirked against her breast. “Once a month, we’ll bring in Lang to do his tricks. Something nice and corny.”

“We?” Carol queried out from the blue, swallowing thickly.

“Yeah, we. You used to have a nice place you used to hang out, right? A canteen, same as every soldier. Dogs of war need a watering hole.” His smile broadened despite the wet streaks on his cheeks, skin stinging when he smiled.

“Huh, you make a point there, Fury,” Carol considered with a smile, her own tears remaining unbothered where they lingered. Her toes twitched as if to some invisible beat. “You do realize this means I get to choose the tracks on the jukebox and the name, right?” Despite the puffiness of her eyes,      her smile was more radiant than the cosmic light she was capable of producing. If anything, it was the brightest thing he’d ever damn seen.

“Better be a good one, and with some Motown on that track list, or else we’ll be bringing in Lang on ladies’ night. You really want that hanging over your head, Danvers?” he teased back with a grin that elicited a snort from the blonde.

“I think I can live with that on my conscience. Try again, Fury.”

They both knew, despite the levity buoyed in this sea of grief, that such a dream wasn’t likely to pass. It was nice playing make believe, jostling each other with a pipe dream, because that’s all it was. Tony and Nat’s deaths crystallized a reality every Avenger knew, but was unwilling to say aloud.

There was no stopping. A quiet death somewhere peaceful, after growing old, wasn’t for them. People like them didn’t get peaceful endings, but went out in some blaze of glory, foolhardy or no. Carol knew this in her heart when she’d watched Tony pass on in that blaze of glory, in the blinding penumbra of light that had swallowed everything blindingly. And in the stuttering moments after, seeing Tony transfigured like a pillar of salt, charred from the blaze. In his fire she couldn’t help but see herself, vividly. In a single moment of life and death, and the time between clinging to it for the sake of other people, she saw herself. Burning up as brightly protecting those she loved.

Except, when her time came, she might not be so lucky.

She might not face her demise surrounded by everyone she loved.

“It’s a nice dream, isn’t it? Pretty noble, too—bringing jazz to Switzerland,” Carol ventured through a closing throat, eyes misting over again. It bobbed as she swallowed tightly. “But, I think we both know what’s going to come after this. We’re not going to stop. We’re never going to stop until it kills us. And we won’t need the Infinity Stones to do it.”

It was a long spell of silence after she said that, sinking again into the movement of the train, the film reel landscape passing continuously by, and his ear pressed into her heart. Even though it was heavy, it was the truth. The same the others knew but pushed into the farthest recesses of their minds.

“...Yeah,” Fury conceded after a long spell of silence, shifting some in Carol’s arms, feeling her lips brush the crown of his head, lingering. “Doesn’t mean we can’t have moments like this. Remembering that we’re still human, and all. Think we should enjoy them, don’t you?”

At that, Carol managed a thin but genuine smile. Though she didn’t feel like saying anything more, he was right. Completely and absolutely right.

Until that time came, they were allowed this. Until that happened, she had Fury in her arms and all felt right with the world.

#nick fury #carol danvers #captain marvel #fury x carol #furol #endgame spoilers #avengers spoilers #my writing #idk what their ship name is but here have this--

[yourladybrie]

Lumley! Or if she’s already been requested, Ophelia :)

I can do both! 

~Lumley~

1. How many dead parents do they have?

One, maybe? Her river moma was shattered mentally, but I am unsure if she is completely dead and gone. 

2. How good are they at tongue twisters?

Not very good. 

3. Biggest regret?

Being impious for so long. Maybe if she would have believed, she would have found her family sooner. Her biggest regret now, is that she didn’t realize the family she had in Sentil sooner. 

4. Are they formally trained or have they gone through a more organic learning experience for their skillset?

Formally trained by Sentil. 

5. If they could hang out with one famous person in 18th century American History, who would they want to hang out with?

I don’t know what 18th century American History is. If I had to say any, Alexander Hamilton. 

6. What’s their theme song?

Legends Never Die (ft. Against the Current)- (The Acoustic ones)

7. What fictional character are they most like? Was this an intentional or accidental influence?

I didn’t create them with any likeness in mind. But if I had to say anything, Princess Mononoke probably. 

8. Paper or plastic?

Paper

9. What’s their dump stat?

Intelligence and Charisma

10. What’s their best stat?

Dexterity

11. What is their favorite anime?

Princess Mononoke. 

12. What’s their favorite beverage?

Milk! 

13. If they can use magic, what’s their favorite spell?

Shape Water!

14. Most heroic thing they have ever done?

Saved Mies and Ko from an exploding building. 

15. Most despicable thing they have ever done?

Not trusting Nasuada in the slightest. 

16. Are they a hero or a supporting protagonist?

Supporting Protagonist to Rowan only. 

17. What’s their favorite food?

Spiced Bread that is served in the Desert

18. Would they rather fight a hundred duck-sized horses, or one horse-sized duck?

One horse-sized duck. 

19. They have to go live on a deserted island. They can take one thing and one person. What do they take?

Her bow instantly. She wouldn’t take a person with her, they don’t deserve to suffer isolation with her. She would want desperately to take Rowan with her, but he has a mission and a job to do. 

20. Are they religious? If so, what god or gods do they serve?

She was impious, but now they are not so much. It turns out this baby is a demigod! She believes in Tenzin and her mother Hoth. 

21. How did they become an adventurer?

Sentil sent them with Rowan to go to a wedding that turned into a plot hook.

22. Most amazing monster they have ever killed or helped kill?

She hasn’t killed anything, she has helped kill humans but that was about it.

23. Thoughts on death?

She doesn’t think about it. She doesn’t want to end up alone on the other side.

24. Do they have any interesting skills?

Horde Breaker. She can hit a bunch of people a turn. 

25. Favorite animal?

Snakes-- any type. 

26. Expansion of civilization or the preservation of nature?

Preservation of Nature.

27. They’re at a tavern. They bump into a big burly angry drunk with a combative attitude. What happens?

Turn away and make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone in the party. 

28. What do they do between quests?

Meditate now, originally it would be journaling. 

29. Biggest positive and negative influences on their life and development?

Positive- Finding my brother Tenzin, who helped her gain inner peace. He showed her that she had a family and doesn’t have to worry as much. She, through him, realized that Sentil was the best parent she could have possible have. 

Negative- Through this interaction with Tenzin she learned a lot about her birth parents. One who was driven crazy by infighting and another was driven crazy directly because of this and Lumley, herself. She now knows that she got extremely lucky in regards to the lizard folks finding her and that her birth mother left her to die. She is anxious constantly about this. Will she cause her birth mother trauma upon seeing her? She wants answers about what did she do after. Will she eventually end up like her river mother and continue the mental insanity passed down to the daughters (Her grandma was crazy too)?

30. Would they smooch a ghost?

Can you smooch a ghost?

---Ophelia---

1. How many dead parents do they have?

All? She has two dead parents and her adopted is dead too. 

2. How good are they at tongue twisters?

Yes!

3. Biggest regret?

Not staying home in order to save her brother, no matter the trauma she would have to suffer. 

4. Are they formally trained or have they gone through a more organic learning experience for their skillset?

Formally trained in the temple of Boldrei and as a noble. 

5. If they could hang out with one famous person in 18th century American History, who would they want to hang out with?

No one. 

6. What’s their theme song?

Against the Sun (ft. Anna Yvette)

7. What fictional character are they most like? Was this an intentional or accidental influence?

Ophelia is a variation of Ophelia from the Hamlet story. She has more spit-fire and a fight attitude that the original Ophelia does. 

8. Paper or plastic?

Paper

9. What’s their dump stat?

Wisdom.

10. What’s their best stat?

Charisma!

11. What is their favorite anime?

Romeo x Juliet or Sailor Moon

12. What’s their favorite beverage?

Hot Chocolate

13. If they can use magic, what’s their favorite spell?

Sanctuary. 

14. Most heroic thing they have ever done?

Killed a God. 

15. Most despicable thing they have ever done?

Killed a God. 

16. Are they a hero or a supporting protagonist?

HERO

17. What’s their favorite food?

Pancakes that Sally made!

18. Would they rather fight a hundred duck-sized horses, or one horse-sized duck?

Horse-sized duck. 

19. They have to go live on a deserted island. They can take one thing and one person. What do they take?

She would take Elwen and a pendant of her god. 

20. Are they religious? If so, what god or gods do they serve?

Yes! She serves Boldrei, the goddess of community and home.

21. How did they become an adventurer?

She ran away from home to escape Hamlet. She continued to serve at the temple and the rest of the time was on the run. This on-the-run allowed her to meet people for quests. 

22. Most amazing monster they have ever killed or helped kill?

They killed a god of a city!

23. Thoughts on death?

She is afraid of it and won’t let it take her unless she has no regrets. She believes Boldrei is waiting for her, but she doesn’t want to regret anything on death. 

24. Do they have any interesting skills?

“Could kick butt and make you thank her” - Mars

25. Favorite animal?

Cat!

26. Expansion of civilization or the preservation of nature?

Expansion of Civilization 

27. They’re at a tavern. They bump into a big burly angry drunk with a combative attitude. What happens?

Go home, sir. If he starts a fight then she will fight back. 

28. What do they do between quests?

Pray to her god and go on dates with Mort!

29. Biggest positive and negative influences on their life and development?

Positive- Finding out her god exists fully and can interact with the world through her. 

Negative- oh boy there is so much. There is the abuse from Hamlet. There was the thing with the mayor that she does not want to talk about or recall. Then there was Elwen’s death. Then she was the direct cause of a city crumbling because she killed a god. 

30. Would they smooch a ghost?

Yes, if it was Mort. 

#dnd #lumley #ophelia #ashamedofmyusername

[bookxofxfables]

The Strange Tale of Doctor Dog

Far up in the mountains of the Province of Hunan in the central part of China, there once lived in a small village a rich gentleman who had only one child. This girl, like the daughter of Kwan-yu in the story of the Great Bell, was the very joy of her father's life.

Now Mr. Min, for that was this gentleman's name, was famous throughout the whole district for his learning, and, as he was also the owner of much property, he spared no effort to teach Honeysuckle the wisdom of the sages, and to give her everything she craved. Of course this was enough to spoil most children, but Honeysuckle was not at all like other children. As sweet as the flower from which she took her name, she listened to her father's slightest command, and obeyed without ever waiting to be told a second time. 

Her father often bought kites for her, of every kind and shape. There were fish, birds, butterflies, lizards and huge dragons, one of which had a tail more than thirty feet long. Mr. Min was very skilful in flying these kites for little Honeysuckle, and so naturally did his birds and butterflies circle round and hover about in the air that almost any little western boy would have been deceived and said, "Why, there is a real bird, and not a kite at all!" Then again, he would fasten a queer little instrument to the string, which made a kind of humming noise, as he waved his hand from side to side. "It is the wind singing, Daddy," cried Honeysuckle, clapping her hands with joy; "singing a kite-song to both of us." Sometimes, to teach his little darling a lesson if she had been the least naughty, Mr. Min would fasten queerly twisted scraps of paper, on which were written many Chinese words, to the string of her favourite kite.

"What are you doing, Daddy?" Honeysuckle would ask. "What can those queer-looking papers be?"

"On every piece is written a sin that we have done."

"What is a sin, Daddy?"

"Oh, when Honeysuckle has been naughty; that is a sin!" he answered gently. "Your old nurse is afraid to scold you, and if you are to grow up to be a good woman, Daddy must teach you what is right."

Then Mr. Min would send the kite up high—high over the house-tops, even higher than the tall Pagoda on the hillside. When all his cord was let out, he would pick up two sharp stones, and, handing them to Honeysuckle, would say, "Now, daughter, cut the string, and the wind will carry away the sins that are written down on the scraps of paper."

"But, Daddy, the kite is so pretty. Mayn't we keep our sins a little longer?" she would innocently ask.

"No, child; it is dangerous to hold on to one's sins. Virtue is the foundation of happiness," he would reply sternly, choking back his laughter at her question. "Make haste and cut the cord."

So Honeysuckle, always obedient—at least with her father—would saw the string in two between the sharp stones, and with a childish cry of despair would watch her favourite kite, blown by the wind, sail farther and farther away, until at last, straining her eyes, she could see it sink slowly to the earth in some far-distant meadow.

"Now laugh and be happy," Mr. Min would say, "for your sins are all gone. See that you don't get a new supply of them."

Honeysuckle was also fond of seeing the Punch and Judy show, for, you must know, this old-fashioned amusement for children was enjoyed by little folks in China, perhaps three thousand years before your great-grandfather was born. It is even said that the great Emperor, Mu, when he saw these little dancing images for the first time, was greatly enraged at seeing one of them making eyes at his favourite wife. He ordered the showman to be put to death, and it was with difficulty the poor fellow persuaded his Majesty that the dancing puppets were not really alive at all, but only images of cloth and clay.

No wonder then Honeysuckle liked to see Punch and Judy if the Son of Heaven himself had been deceived by their queer antics into thinking them real people of flesh and blood.

But we must hurry on with our story, or some of our readers will be asking, "But where is Dr. Dog? Are you never coming to the hero of this tale?" One day when Honeysuckle was sitting inside a shady pavilion that overlooked a tiny fish-pond, she was suddenly seized with a violent attack of colic. Frantic with pain, she told a servant to summon her father, and then without further ado, she fell over in a faint upon the ground.

When Mr. Min reached his daughter's side, she was still unconscious. After sending for the family physician to come post haste, he got his daughter to bed, but although she recovered from her fainting fit, the extreme pain continued until the poor girl was almost dead from exhaustion.

Now, when the learned doctor arrived and peered at her from under his gigantic spectacles, he could not discover the cause of her trouble. However, like some of our western medical men, he did not confess his ignorance, but proceeded to prescribe a huge dose of boiling water, to be followed a little later by a compound of pulverized deer's horn and dried toadskin.

Poor Honeysuckle lay in agony for three days, all the time growing weaker and weaker from loss of sleep. Every great doctor in the district had been summoned for consultation; two had come from Changsha, the chief city of the province, but all to no avail. It was one of those cases that seem to be beyond the power of even the most learned physicians. In the hope of receiving the great reward offered by the desperate father, these wise men searched from cover to cover in the great Chinese Cyclopedia of Medicine, trying in vain to find a method of treating the unhappy maiden. There was even thought of calling in a certain foreign physician from England, who was in a distant city, and was supposed, on account of some marvellous cures he had brought to pass, to be in direct league with the devil. However, the city magistrate would not allow Mr. Min to call in this outsider, for fear trouble might be stirred up among the people.

Mr. Min sent out a proclamation in every direction, describing his daughter's illness, and offering to bestow on her a handsome dowry and give her in marriage to whoever should be the means of bringing her back to health and happiness. He then sat at her bedside and waited, feeling that he had done all that was in his power. There were many answers to his invitation. Physicians, old and young, came from every part of the Empire to try their skill, and when they had seen poor Honeysuckle and also the huge pile of silver shoes her father offered as a wedding gift, they all fought with might and main for her life; some having been attracted by her great beauty and excellent reputation, others by the tremendous reward.

But, alas for poor Honeysuckle! Not one of all those wise men could cure her! One day, when she was feeling a slight change for the better, she called her father, and, clasping his hand with her tiny one said, "Were it not for your love I would give up this hard fight and pass over into the dark wood; or, as my old grandmother says, fly up into the Western Heavens. For your sake, because I am your only child, and especially because you have no son, I have struggled hard to live, but now I feel that the next attack of that dreadful pain will carry me away. And oh, I do not want to die!"

Here Honeysuckle wept as if her heart would break, and her old father wept too, for the more she suffered the more he loved her.

Just then her face began to turn pale. "It is coming! The pain is coming, father! Very soon I shall be no more. Good-bye, father! Good-bye; good——." Here her voice broke and a great sob almost broke her father's heart. He turned away from her bedside; he could not bear to see her suffer. He walked outside and sat down on a rustic bench; his head fell upon his bosom, and the great salt tears trickled down his long grey beard.

As Mr. Min sat thus overcome with grief, he was startled at hearing a low whine. Looking up he saw, to his astonishment, a shaggy mountain dog about the size of a Newfoundland. The huge beast looked into the old man's eyes with so intelligent and human an expression, with such a sad and wistful gaze, that the greybeard addressed him, saying, "Why have you come? To cure my daughter?"

The dog replied with three short barks, wagging his tail vigorously and turning toward the half-opened door that led into the room where the girl lay.

By this time, willing to try any chance whatever of reviving his daughter, Mr. Min bade the animal follow him into Honeysuckle's apartment. Placing his forepaws upon the side of her bed, the dog looked long and steadily at the wasted form before him and held his ear intently for a moment over the maiden's heart. Then, with a slight cough he deposited from his mouth into her outstretched hand, a tiny stone. Touching her wrist with his right paw, he motioned to her to swallow the stone.

"Yes, my dear, obey him," counselled her father, as she turned to him inquiringly, "for good Dr. Dog has been sent to your bedside by the mountain fairies, who have heard of your illness and who wish to invite you back to life again."

Without further delay the sick girl, who was by this time almost burned away by the fever, raised her hand to her lips and swallowed the tiny charm. Wonder of wonders! No sooner had it passed her lips than a miracle occurred. The red flush passed away from her face, the pulse resumed its normal beat, the pains departed from her body, and she arose from the bed well and smiling.

Flinging her arms about her father's neck, she cried out in joy, "Oh, I am well again; well and happy; thanks to the medicine of the good physician."

The noble dog barked three times, wild with delight at hearing these tearful words of gratitude, bowed low, and put his nose in Honeysuckle's outstretched hand.

Mr. Min, greatly moved by his daughter's magical recovery, turned to the strange physician, saying, "Noble Sir, were it not for the form you have taken, for some unknown reason, I would willingly give four times the sum in silver that I promised for the cure of the girl, into your possession. As it is, I suppose you have no use for silver, but remember that so long as we live, whatever we have is yours for the asking, and I beg of you to prolong your visit, to make this the home of your old age—in short, remain here for ever as my guest—nay, as a member of my family."

The dog barked thrice, as if in assent. From that day he was treated as an equal by father and daughter. The many servants were commanded to obey his slightest whim, to serve him with the most expensive food on the market, to spare no expense in making him the happiest and best-fed dog in all the world. Day after day he ran at Honeysuckle's side as she gathered flowers in her garden, lay down before her door when she was resting, guarded her Sedan chair when she was carried by servants into the city. In short, they were constant companions; a stranger would have thought they had been friends from childhood.

One day, however, just as they were returning from a journey outside her father's compound, at the very instant when Honeysuckle was alighting from her chair, without a moment's warning, the huge animal dashed past the attendants, seized his beautiful mistress in his mouth, and before anyone could stop him, bore her off to the mountains. By the time the alarm was sounded, darkness had fallen over the valley and as the night was cloudy no trace could be found of the dog and his fair burden.

Once more the frantic father left no stone unturned to save his daughter. Huge rewards were offered, bands of woodmen scoured the mountains high and low, but, alas, no sign of the girl could be found! The unfortunate father gave up the search and began to prepare himself for the grave. There was nothing now left in life that he cared for—nothing but thoughts of his departed daughter. Honeysuckle was gone for ever.

"Alas!" said he, quoting the lines of a famous poet who had fallen into despair:

❝ My whiting hair would make an endless rope, Yet would not measure all my depth of woe.❞

Several long years passed by; years of sorrow for the ageing man, pining for his departed daughter. One beautiful October day he was sitting in the very same pavilion where he had so often sat with his darling. His head was bowed forward on his breast, his forehead was lined with grief. A rustling of leaves attracted his attention. He looked up. Standing directly in front of him was Dr. Dog, and lo, riding on his back, clinging to the animal's shaggy hair, was Honeysuckle, his long-lost daughter; while standing near by were three of the handsomest boys he had ever set eyes upon!

"Ah, my daughter! My darling daughter, where have you been all these years?" cried the delighted father, pressing the girl to his aching breast. "Have you suffered many a cruel pain since you were snatched away so suddenly? Has your life been filled with sorrow?"

"Only at the thought of your grief," she replied, tenderly, stroking his forehead with her slender fingers; "only at the thought of your suffering; only at the thought of how I should like to see you every day and tell you that my husband was kind and good to me. For you must know, dear father, this is no mere animal that stands beside you. This Dr. Dog, who cured me and claimed me as his bride because of your promise, is a great magician. He can change himself at will into a thousand shapes. He chooses to come here in the form of a mountain beast so that no one may penetrate the secret of his distant palace."

"Then he is your husband?" faltered the old man, gazing at the animal with a new expression on his wrinkled face.

"Yes; my kind and noble husband, the father of my three sons, your grandchildren, whom we have brought to pay you a visit."

"And where do you live?"

"In a wonderful cave in the heart of the great mountains; a beautiful cave whose walls and floors are covered with crystals, and encrusted with sparkling gems. The chairs and tables are set with jewels; the rooms are lighted by a thousand glittering diamonds. Oh, it is lovelier than the palace of the Son of Heaven himself! We feed of the flesh of wild deer and mountain goats, and fish from the clearest mountain stream. We drink cold water out of golden goblets, without first boiling it, for it is purity itself. We breathe fragrant air that blows through forests of pine and hemlock. We live only to love each other and our children, and oh, we are so happy! And you, father, you must come back with us to the great mountains and live there with us the rest of your days, which, the gods grant, may be very many."

The old man pressed his daughter once more to his breast and fondled the children, who clambered over him rejoicing at the discovery of a grandfather they had never seen before.

From Dr. Dog and his fair Honeysuckle are sprung, it is said, the well-known race of people called the Yus, who even now inhabit the mountainous regions of the Canton and Hunan provinces. It is not for this reason, however, that we have told the story here, but because we felt sure every reader would like to learn the secret of the dog that cured a sick girl and won her for his bride.

#fairy tale #fairy tales #[Fable] #[dog]

[rinusagitora]

we will carve a home out of the hollow in your chest

Fandom: Bleach

Characters: Momo Hinamori, Izuru Kira, Renji Abarai, Shuuhei Hisagi, Tetsuzaemon Iba, Shinji Hirako, Byakuya Kuchiki, Shunsui Kyouraku

Pairings: RenShuuKiraHina, mentioned badship AiHina

Words: 1900+

Summary: Canon divergent, pos TYBW arc. WARNINGS– body horror, violence, mass death. 2/4. The war is over, and the losses are permanent, but they know how to manage.

FFN | AO3 | Previous | Next

She wasn't like Renji. She couldn't compartmentalize like he could. She could distance herself, distract herself, but the shock had worn off by then. Every bit of rubble she turned over, she feared she would find Izuru, lifeless, that arm contorted in some freakish way. The dread made her nauseous.

She couldn't take anymore bodies. She couldn't distance herself in her worry. Izuru was alive when she thought he was dead, and he was gone because she scared him away. It was almost worse in that way because it was her fault and her fault alone, like the times she turned her sword against her brother and her friends for that man.

She needed to create, to breathe life into something. But even if there wasn’t any shortage in charcoal, she was without her sketchpad.

Reconstruction wasn't art, but it was better than tally after tally after fucking tally. If she asked, she knew with almost absolute certainty that she could tug at Hirako-taichou’s heartstrings and land herself in the west of the Seireitei for a couple of hours.

Her captain was in a tent with their new Head Captain and Kuchiki-taichou, bent over a map until she entered. Her captain looked so tired. He didn’t walk over her and wrap her in a one-armed hug and he didn’t jostle her with a friendly, confident grin. He didn’t even smile at her, like the bags under his eyes were too heavy for his cheeks to lift. She hated to see someone who had so quickly one a spot in her heart so exhausted.

“If you have a moment, could you reassign me to the west end of the Seireitei? Please? I need a break from all the bodies. Just for this shift….” She pleaded under her breath.

She wasn't met with an immediate yes or no. Hirako-taichou merely looked to Kyouraku-soutaichou, who then looked at a roster.

“I think we can afford an extra man there.” The head captain said.

“We can't. We need to clean up all of this, account for as many bodies, and then track down and incarcerate any deserters.” Kuchiki-taichou responded.

“We’re spread a little thin, but when aren't we? It'll help us take down some of those tents sooner rather than later at least. It couldn't hurt to switch the poor thing for just one shift, Kuchiki.” Kyouraku-soutaichou said. His calm amazed her-- she always wanted to clock Kuchiki-taichou ever since his cold dismissal of Renji’s life not even two years ago.

Kuchiki-taichou’s lips tightened into a line. It, at least, seemed he wasn’t hot about the tents either.

“Meet up with Iba-fukutaichou, Hinamori-fukutaichou. He’ll delegate you where you're needed.” Hirako-taichou said.

She bowed graciously to them and made herself scarce. She had already thrown a wrench into their carefully balanced schedule, she couldn’t make herself a nuisance on top of it.

Iba-fukutaichou had always been among her favorite lieutenants-- outside of Renji, Shuuhei, and Izuru of course. He had always been more noble than any of the aristocracy, and down to earth and so very sweet. She wasn’t close to him, they had only spoken before lieutenant meetings, but he was good in her book. Not many were anymore. Especially not men.

The west of the Seireitei was different from the rest. The air was much fainter of burnt fat and decay and the walkways were clear if not just slightly crumbled where they hadn’t been repaved. It was a totally different atmosphere on top of it. It felt like she had finally bobbed above the dirty water for a breath of fresh air.

Yes. It wasn’t art, but it was an escape from all her anxiety, that awfulness in the rest of the Seireitei.

Iba-fukutaichou was among his men as they pieced together platforms with smooth slats. He straightened as she approached.

“I was told you could give me something to work on here.” She said. “I would appreciate anything. Really, just put me somewhere. Please.”

“Happy to have you, Hinamori. Just join the rest of us. If you need any help, just shout.” Iba-fukutaichou replied.

“Thank you.” She would’ve asked where Shuuhei and Renji were and if he knew where her dear Izuru had run off to, but she figured they would only be a distraction. Distractions-- Izuru-- made her sad and they couldn’t afford that then. It was like Renji said-- one step at a time.

She would ignore how it felt like she abandoned her dearly beloved and thank whatever higher power had taken the Soul King’s place that flooring was busy work. It didn’t require quite the amount of attention as her art or reading, but it was nice to busy up her hands with something more visibly productive than tolling bodies. The hours passed just as quickly either way.

Shuuhei described her as beat when he and Renji came to fetch her. He must’ve meant she didn’t look much different than she normally did because sleep eluded her. The noise did not, on the other hand. It was difficult to not listen in on the conversations around her, bored out of her mind and worried out of her hyde. It was still mostly who was still missing, grief over the deceased, cynicism in hushed voices.

She was a terrible leader. If she couldn’t hold herself together, how could her men? They were the gears of the Soul Society. Their leaders were merely the lubricant that kept those gears cool. Without them, the gears would surely be ground away or pop off their spindles.

If she didn’t listen in, she probed for Izuru. Normally, she could pinpoint any of her loved ones’ reiatsu at any time with little trouble. Izuru’s was unusually faint, however. Like he really was gone. But she knew otherwise. Half the Seireitei knew about that scene at the tents, and her brother was there too so it couldn’t have been a hallucination. Izuru sulked somewhere, because she was a terrible excuse of a human being and an even worse lover.

There was a sudden change in the cadence and the speed of the murmurs around, and the sudden silence as she picked up on a pinprick of Izuru’s reiatsu. It felt so distant, but she heard his footfalls. Each was like a kick to her gut. It brought tears to her eyes-- relieved and terrified. She wished his reiatsu was strong enough to tell how he felt-- if he hated her, if he needed her.

Or perhaps it was just a hallucination. Perhaps she had finally been driven undeniably and irreparably mad. Or maybe the entire thing was just a long nightmare, and she would finally wake sandwiched between her boys and they would kiss her at breakfast as she told them about the most horrible dream she had ever had.

She stayed silent. If he wanted her, if he was even real, she figured he would speak. Aizen’s voice never accompanied his phantom presence. The memories of his words, but never his voice.

“... you hold yourself when you’re asleep.” Izuru rasped finally. He sounded winded.

Tears welled in her eyes as she laid sight on him. He was paler, more ragged, with a blanket tied around his shoulders.

“You’re here.” She sighed.

He nodded solemnly. Izuru normally wasn’t one to smile in the first place, but those blue eyes were so emotive. Those same eyes were dull and they were lifeless then, like he belonged on a metal slab and knew it. Her teary stare was no different from the others he must receive.

“Do you not want me to be?” He asked plainly, as if bored.

“I always want your company, you know that.”

“You wanted Izuru Kira’s company. He is dead. I am but a humble war machine in his shape.”

“Don’t you say that.” She quivered. “Don’t you say anything like that again. You are my beloved Izuru. We’ve all been turned into war machines. But it’s over now and we’re going to rebuild our home and our lives, and we want you in that.”

“The man you loved is dead.” Izuru iterated. “He is only a small percentage of my reiatsu. The rest is reiatsu from fallen soldiers mashed into me so I can operate.”

“So?” She sniffed. “You look like my Izuru. You talk like my Izuru. I can still feel my Izuru’s presence. If it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, then it’s probably a duck.”

“You’re still as deluded as when Aizen fucked you.”

She flew upright. Her knuckles stung after they connected with his cheek. “How dare you bring that monster up.”

“The man you share all those happy memories with is gone. He died, and he let all of his men die too. Every single one of them.”

“We lost a lot of good men against the Quincies. It’s not your fault.”

“Like Aizen was coerced by Gin?”

Her knuckles stung as she backhanded Izuru again. His expression didn’t change as he stared down the row.

“Have you come to be cruel to me?!” She barked as embarrassed tears streamed down her face. She didn’t turn to Renji or Shuuhei  when they startled awake. “Izuru has always been like that. You’ve been so sarcastic and mean since Ichimaru died. You’re damn right I was loyal to Aizen, and I’m loyal to you now. Did you really think we would cut you out of our lives just because you’re having a tantrum!? You underestimate my tolerance!”

“You’re morbid to love a dead man.” Izuru growled

She slapped him again. “Enough of that! I don’t want to hear anything like that come out of your mouth again.”

Izuru stared off to the side, past the audience they had garnered. He got that thousand-yard stare when he was sad, when he truly debated death. She knew it well. How could he claim to not be Izuru when he was still so much like him?

“And what will you do if I refuse?”

She burst into humorless, bitter laughter. “You expect me to discard you? I couldn’t leave that monster when he raped me nightly, I wouldn’t have left him after he stabbed me! What the fuck makes you think you can make me leave you?”

“... I ought to go.”

“No, you’re staying. I’ll make you. Renji and Shuuhei will hold you down, and we’ll call Kuchiki-taichou in to hold you somewhere.”

He finally looked at her. “You’ll make me stay? Like you made Aizen stay?”

She slapped him once more and wailed. She couldn’t see his gaze through all of her tears, but she could feel it like a drill.

“You and I are taking a walk.” Renji plucked Izuru off the bunk and dragged him out. She couldn’t bring herself to look anyone in the eye as she walked in the opposite direction.

She knew the pain would fade, she thought as Shuuhei laid her head against his chest. She knew they would come together again just like they did after those men exited their lives, she knew her kisses would ease his pain, but Izuru was stubborn and she hurt too much to look at him.

Perhaps she was a fool, she thought, to let Izuru get away with a mere lecture from Renji. Perhaps she hadn’t changed since Aizen. Perhaps she was morbid and sad and needy, but he never seemed to mind it in the past.

#bleach #renshuukirahina #momo hinamori #izuru kira

[benikoumori]

The Fate of the Phoenix 19

CHAPTER 7   THE COMMANDER had allowed the Doyen and Trevanian their farewells while she dressed and attended to the not-negligible results of the physical fight.   James swore over her injuries in English and attended to some of the results.   She set a light healing trance and kissed him on his consternation. “Come, I have had worse in a hundred fights.”   “That is what worries me.”   “I am pleased that you did not try to intervene. Perhaps you are learning something.”   He laughed. “Are you kidding? I had pretty much the same idea—only I was held by a ten-ton truck. Trevanian landed his truck on the sand. He’s tough as a boot if he has to be. And I—” He looked at her bitterly. “I had to stop, or the guard would have known I was Human, and you would have died just as surely. Bruchon, with your Human treason.”   She sobered. “You see, you have learned something. You did stop.”   “Yes. And that could have cost you your life. It was some kind of fatal mind lock, wasn’t it?”   “Yes. You must learn to trust me for that last reserve of will, James. If it had been Spock, would you have tried to intervene?”   He looked startled. “Maybe—not.”   “You would have expected him to win.”   His eyes agreed, but finally he shook his head. “Yes. But if I thought that he was dying, I would have moved. You cannot ask me to trust you to be immortal—or to stand and see you die.”   “That is what you must do if it will break your cover. And you must now be the Prince.”   He stood back. “I don’t know how.”   “I will teach you.”   They met in the great hall by the statue in the secret alcove.   The Doyen had opened the alcove.   The Commander bowed to her fractionally. “You are the sculptor, of course.”   The Doyen nodded acknowledgment. “You have known that I would permit no one else the model.”   She did not say that she now would have no option and that the original model would belong to the Commander.   She didn’t have to.   The Doyen would have cold stone, and the Commander would take the living reality.   Even now the Commander considered it an open question whether the Doyen would not kill to prevent that—or whether someone might not on her behalf.   And where was Omne?   Was he merely keeping to the background for some purpose of his own?   Or had he approached the Doyen with some offer? The power of the Phoenix on the side of her quest for freedom?   What if he had offered another Trevanian? One for the Commander to take, while the original stayed safe with the Doyen?   The thought chilled the Commander—and yet she did not think that Omne would have surfaced so completely, if he were here at all. If he, in truth, lived. He would be saving his big guns for some moment when he could act crushingly against her, Spock, Jim, James.   It might be through the Doyen, but not just yet   The Commander turned to her. “We have pledged alliance. I shall hold you to that.”   “While he lives and prospers,” the Doyen said. “If not, I do not care what the cause or cost. There will be no ransom and no excuses I will accept. I will lead not merely my planets but the new alliances I have forged—into a war. We will now be strong enough to win.”   “Until I fail,” the Commander said, “you will back me. You will forge still more alliances, as will I. By family and personal obligation I already can call on substantial power. Yours will strengthen my hand, as mine will ultimately strengthen yours. However, neither will be sufficient. We must reach others. The faster we do it, the sooner I will return him.”   The Doyen shook her head. “I will have a time-name, now. I will not wait for you to achieve power. At some point you must trust me—or you must kill me.”   The Commander nodded. In truth she was debating whether the time should not be now.   She looked at Trevanian, at the Doyen, and she knew the agony, and that nothing could concern the Doyen until she got him back. Desperation might force her hand to treachery. Or—Omne might.   On the other hand, generosity now would forge a bond which the Commander would bet would be unbreakable.   She would bet… anything but James’ life.   And against anyone but Omne.   She set her jaw and named a time.   The Doyen must have read that it had been close. She turned and confronted the Commander. “Your impulse was to give him to me. Do it. I will see that you do not regret it.”   “I believe that,” the Commander said. “There is only one thing I would not risk on it. But that is what is at stake.” She shook her head with finality, “No.”   The Doyen’s face was not to be read.   Nor was it to be read as she escorted the Commander and James to the Commander’s scoutship.   The Commander turned to the Doyen. “By custom a royal tribute hostage may be accompanied by a kinsman who will attend him. I have asked you for no kinsman. I assume that your Prince’s private calling-name would be known to no one to whom you had not given him in evenwatch exchange.”   “To no one,” the Doyen said.   “Then my hostage, James, will be attended by his kinsman, Trevanian,” the Commander said.   The Doyen nodded and extended her hand. It held a simple eyemask. “I had thought so. You will want the mask of a kinsman of noble station.”   “I have one,” the Commander said, but she took the offered mask. “Very well, you may change now, Trevanian.”   She saw the Doyen’s eyes darken, but it was almost a look of gratitude. The Commander had correctly understood that this would spare the Doyen the imagining of the moment of unveiling.   Trevanian almost looked to the Doyen for permission, then caught himself and did not. He reached up and took mask and cowl off.   For a moment the Commander merely looked at him. The face had a startling purity of beauty that even the master sculptor had not fully captured. And it had a look of the mature man which even the statue did not promise—a curious look of innocence and maturity together. It was a face which, as in an old Earth legend, could have launched a thousand ships. And it was very probable that it would.   The Commander looked at the Doyen for a moment in acknowledgment of what she had chosen.   The beauty was startling on a sheer physical level, too. The coloring of the skin was fair and golden, to match the golden eyes. But the hair and the winged eyebrows were dark—they were the color of hair of that other strain of Romulan royalty which went back to the Origin World—that living, iridescent black which was almost blue-black, silky—the color, in fact, of Spock’s hair.   The Commander nodded. She saw that even James was startled by the sheer physical presence of the man. The Prince had the look both of a sheltered nobility of breeding, and of a strength which had never been tried. There was something in his eyes, the set of his jaw, which was a throwback to his most savage ancestor. But there was something in the mouth which was sultry, exotic, sensuous, and—almost sullen.   This was the last man in the galaxy to take well to being the princeling and the property of the victor. Well, almost the last. The Commander looked at James. James was looking, for once, completely nonplussed that the man he saw here could have been made to behave with the deference and decorum which James had seen.   The Commander got a sudden flash that James was going to know the reason why—or else—and that the process of finding out was going to be quite an education for a Romulan Prince, and for a displaced starship captain.   The Commander turned and put the cowl mask on James. He did not protest—in front of the Doyen—but the Commander could feel the rebellion in his whole body.   Yet he was held by the knowledge of the necessity. “You are the Prince, now, James,” the Commander said.   Then he said, “Yes,” very quietly, and he moved… She had not intended it, but she realized only as he did it that she had wanted it, almost commanded it in silence.   James went to his knees and knelt in front of her. “My lady.”   Perhaps it was an acknowledgment to Trevanian, in front of his lady, that what Trevanian could do—even while possessing that streak of fierce and elemental maleness—James could do, and would. Perhaps it was silent eloquence to the Doyen—arguing that the plan would work.   But it was doubtless also some tribute to the Commander. She knew that James would have done it for no one else, taken that role for no one else.   She saw a look of respect on the Doyen’s face.   “It is even possible that your ‘Prince’ will carry it off,” the Doyen said.   “He will,” the Commander said. “Rise, James.”   Her focus was on James, but she saw beyond him that the look on Trevanian’s face amounted almost to worship. Trevanian stepped forward to stand at James’ shoulder. “I will be his hand,” he said.   In another moment the Commander ordered them aboard the scoutship and they were gone. CHAPTER 7 >はフィジカルファイトによる結果として治療を受けざるを得ず、それと着替えをする間に長老とトレヴェニアンが別れの時を持つことを了承した。 ジェームズが彼女の傷を英語で罵り手当を行っていた。 軽いヒーリングトランスにあった彼女が彼にキスをし驚かせた。 "なぁ、最悪な闘いはもっとあったんだぞ " "私を心配させた " "私は貴方が邪魔をしなかった事に喜んでいる。 何かを学んでの事なのだろうと " 彼は笑った。 "からかっているのか? 同じ事を考えたさ -- ただ私は10トントラックに阻まれただけだ。 トレヴェニアンはトラックから砂に降りた。 彼がそう出来たのは彼のブーツがタフだったからだ。 そして私は -- " 彼は彼女を苦々しく見た。 "私は留まった、さもないと君が確かに死ぬだろう時に私が人間だとガードに知られてしまう。 反逆者である君の人間として扱われる " 彼女の酔いが覚めた。 "そうだ、学んでいるじゃないか。 留まるべきだと " "ああ。 君の生命をコストにしてな。 マインドロックとは死に至る物なのだろう? " "そうだ。 貴方は私を信頼するという事も学んでおかなくてはな、ジェームズ。 もしスポックだったならば、貴方は介入しようとしたか? " 彼は驚いた様だった。 "恐らく -- しない " "彼が勝つと思っているからだ " 眼は同意していたが彼の頭は振られた。 "そうだな。 だがもし彼が死んでしまうと思われたなら私は動くぞ。 不滅ではない君への信頼を君は私に求める事は出来ない -- まして君の死を見つめていろなどと " "貴方の覆いが破られた時はそうすべきだ。 今から貴方は王子であらねばなら��い " 彼は後ずさった。 "どうするのか分からない " "教えるよ " 彼等は秘密のアルコーヴがある広大なホールで顔を合わせた。 長老はアルコーヴを開けていた。 指揮官は僅かに頭を下げた。 "やはり貴方が彫刻家だったか " 認める様に長老が頷いた。 "貴方は私が他の誰もモデルとして認めはしないと言う事を知っておくべきだ " 彼女は現在オリジナルモデルが指揮官の物となる事に選択肢は内容のだと言う事については何も言わなかった。 言うべき物も無かった。 長老には冷たい石が、指揮官には生きた現実。 今でも指揮官は考えていた、長老がそれを阻む為に殺しにかからないかどうか -- 若しくは彼女の為に誰かがそうするのではないか。 此処にオムネがいるのではないか? 背景に甘んじているのは何かの目的の為になのではないか? 若しくは長老へ提供するべく近づいたか? もう一人のトレヴェニアンを差し出したとしたらどうだ? ひとりを指揮官が取り、オリジナルは長老の元で安全に? その考えは指揮官を凍えさせた -- それでもまだ彼女には考えられなかった、もし彼が此処に居るのだとしてもオムネとして彼が完全に表に出てくると言う事が。 もし彼が本当に生きているのだとしてだ。 彼はとっておく筈だ、彼女とスポック、ジム、ジェームズへ壊滅的な行動が出来るその瞬間まで彼の銃を。 それは長老を通してなのかもしれないが、まだだ。 指揮官が彼女に向いた。 "我々は同盟を誓い去る。 私は貴方をそれで縛る " "彼が着実に生きている間は " 長老が言った。 "そうでないなら私はどんな事が起き、どんなコストがかかろうとも構わない。 身代金も弁明もない所で私は受け入れたのだ。 私は単に私の惑星だけではなく私が創り上げた新たな同盟も率い -- 戦争に突入する。 今の我々には勝ちを得るに充分な力があるぞ " "私が失敗する迄は " 指揮官が言った、"貴女は私の支持者だ。 貴女は私同様より多くの同盟を創り出すだろう。 親類と個人の義務により私は既に現実的な力を呼集する事が出来る。 貴女の物は私の手を強くし、究極的には貴女の物も強くするだろう。 しかし、それは完璧ではない。 我々は他にも必要な物がある。 我々がそれを素早く行えば彼はより早く戻る事になる " 長老は頭を振った。 "今、私は時間に名をつけたい。 力を手に入れる貴女を待たない。 この時点で私を信頼 -- 若しくは私を殺せ " 指揮官が頷いた。 彼女がしている議論はあってはならない時間についてだったからだ。 彼女はトレヴェニアンを、長老を見た、彼女には苦痛が分かっていた、そして彼女が彼を戻すまで長老を案じる事が出来ないという事も。 自暴自棄となった彼女の手が裏切りに押し付けられるだろうか。 若しくは -- オムネに。 いっぽうで、寛大さによって創られる指揮官との新しい絆は壊せない物だろうと思う。 彼女は賭けるのだ... ジェームズの生命以外の全てを。 オムネ以外の皆に対して。 彼女は顎を引き時間に名をつけた。 長老はそれが間近であると読んだに違いなかった。 彼女は指揮官に相対した。 "貴女は私に彼を与えたがっている。 そうすれば良い。 貴女はそれを後悔しないと私には分かるぞ " "私もそう思う " 指揮官は言った。 "私が危険に晒せないものがたったひとつある。 それが危険に晒される " 最終的に彼女は頭を振った、"駄目だ " 長老の顔からは何も読み取る事が出来なかった。 彼女が指揮官とジェームズを指揮官スカウトシップにエスコートした事でそれを読ませる事もしなかった。 指揮官が長老に向いた。 "慣習として王族の人質にはキンスマン (血族の男) が従者としてつくものだが。 私は貴女からキンスマンについて何も聞いていない。 貴女は彼を交換に与えた事は無く誰も王子のプライベートの呼び名を知らないと仮定しているが " "ひとりもいない " 長老が言った。 "では私の人質であるジェームズ、彼のキンスマンにトレヴェニアンを " 指揮官が言った。 長老が頷き手を伸ばした。 それにはシンプルなアイマスクがあった。 "そうだろうと考えていた。 高貴なキンスマンとしてのマスクがいるだろうと " "私は持っているがね " 指揮官は言ったが差し出されたマスクを受け取った。 "素晴らしい、変えなさい、トレヴェニアン " 感謝の表情の長老の眼が暗くなった事に彼女は気がついた。 指揮官は正しく理解していた、それが何かが始まる瞬間として長老に想起される事を。 トレヴェニアンは許可を求め長老を見たが、彼自身で思い切った。 彼は手を上げマスクとカウルを取った。 暫く、指揮官はただ彼を見ていた。 その顔は熟練の彫刻家でさえ完全に捉え得なかった純度の美しさだった。 そしてそれは彫刻からでは予期できなかった男としての円熟もあった -- 円熟と無垢の同居した好奇心。 数多くの船を発進させた昔の地球の偉人に見える顔。 その可能性は非常に高かった。 指揮官は一瞬感謝を込めて長老を見た、彼女の選択に向けて。 身体的なレベルも驚くべきものだった。 肌の色は微かな金で金色の眼とマッチしていた。 髪と翼の様な眉は暗かった -- 髪の色は起源界にまで遡るロミュラン王族の色だった -- 生き生きと、滑らかで光沢あるブルーブラックの黒髪 -- スポックの髪の色。 指揮官は頷いた。 真にフィジカルな存在にジェームズさえ驚いた様子である事に彼女は気がついた。 王子には守られてきた生まれの気高さと之まで試される事のなかった強さがあった。 彼の眼、顎は彼の最も野蛮な先祖の遺物だ。 だが口には官能的でエキゾチックな鋭敏さがあった -- 陰鬱とさえ言えるものが。 銀河で最後のこの男は勝者の資産とするに相応しい小公子だった。 そう、ほぼ最後の。 指揮官はジェームズを見た。 ジェームズは見つめていた、敬意と礼儀正しい振る舞いをジェームズに見せ完全に途方に暮れさせた男を。 指揮官はジェームズが理由を知ったのだと唐突に気がついた -- 若しくはそれの代わりとなる事を -- 宇宙船の船長に代わりロミュランの王子として完全な教育を得るプロセスに。 指揮官がジェームズにマスクとカウルと着けた。 彼は抗議をしなかった -- 長老の前では -- だが指揮官には彼の身体全てが反抗している事が感じられた。 だが彼は必要だとの認識は持ち続けていた。 "今から、貴方が王子だ、ジェームズ " 指揮官が言った。 そして彼は " はい " と静かに言い、動いた... 意図した訳ではなかったが理解した、沈黙が命令となりそう望む彼女の為に彼はそうしたのだと。 膝を折ったジェームズが彼女の前に跪いた。 "マイ・レディ " 恐らくそれはトレヴェニアンへの感謝だったのだろう、彼のレディの前ではトレヴェニアンはそうすると -- 獰猛さと剥き出しの男らしさをを有しながら -- ジェームズもそれに倣ったのだ。 それは恐らく長老への雄弁な沈黙だっただろう -- 計画は上手く行くと主張して。 だがそれには恐らく指揮官への感謝もあっただろう。 ジェームズが他の誰にもそれをした事が無く他の誰へもその役を担った事が無い事を彼女は知っていた。 彼女は長老の顔にある敬意に気づいた。 "貴女の '王子 ' ならばやり遂げられそうだ " 長老が言った。 "彼はやるだろう " 指揮官が言った。 "立ちなさい、ジェームズ " 彼女の眼はジェームズに向いていたが彼を超えた所にいるトレヴェニアンの顔に崇拝が浮かぶ様も見ていた。 トレヴェニアンがジェームズの肩先に進み出た。 "私が彼の手になります " 彼が言った。 次の瞬間、指揮官が乗船を命じ彼等は立ち去った。

#Star Trek TOS #The Fate of the Phoenix #Japanese translation