#well one sword down and a quarter of the way through the next it occurred to me that pillagers just. keep. spawning.

[stardustbarbarians]

Too Pretty For War

Chapter 5 (ch. 1 | ch. 2 | ch. 3 | ch. 4 | ch. 6 |ch. 7 | ch. 8 | ch. 9)

A Samuel Kiszka / fem!reader fic

Summary: The only way for Prince Sam to end a war is by marrying the enemy.

Tags: Prince!Sam, war, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, angst

Trigger Warnings: blood, death, nightmares, grief

A/N: I apologize in advance for this one. You'll see what I mean when you start reading. As always, this series is dedicated to @safety-sam and this chapter is dedicated to @safarisammy (you know why <3). I'd say "please enjoy", but uh.... heed the warnings.

Words: 2.3 k

+++

As it was in line with the traditions of matrimony, Samuel was forced to share living quarters with his new wife for the next few days with no interruptions. Typically, this time was reserved for the- well… The production of heirs, to put it bluntly. The two of them had been sequestered into a private sector of the palace where the only people that would see them were the servants that would appear occasionally in order to bring them food as well as eavesdrop on them. 

They barely spoke to one another. 

The only time the newlyweds communicated was through shouting matches. The prince was filled with an unfettered rage each time he so much as glanced at his bride. He was reminded of all the things he had to sacrifice for this war and all the people he lost. Old wounds were reopened every time they shared the same air, her very presence a constant irritant on his nerves. It was any wonder that he did not descend into a fit of wrath every single day. However, he knew that his patience was wearing very, very thin. It was only a matter of time before he would lose his temper. 

On the third night of his forced isolation, he finally snapped. 

His meltdown did not occur until the evening, but the events leading up to that moment all culminated and led him to his extreme reaction. It all began with the nightmare he had. As he slept, he was treated to the vision of all those he loved perishing before his very eyes. 

He roamed the halls of his palace as carefree as he had been in over a decade. He listened to the waves of his beloved ocean crash into the shore, watching the clouds pass in the sky as he sat on the ledge of one of the windows. His calm would not last. All of the sudden, he heard a crash to his right and whipped his head around to see his oldest brother collapsed on the floor. Wasting no time, Sam rushed to his side, nearly slipping in the spilled wine the eldest had spilled upon his fall. 

“Joshua! JOSHUA!!” The youngest screamed, shaking his brother by the shoulders to attempt to rouse him from his convulsions. Sam watched in horror as the crowned prince’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, his limbs and body flailing and thrashing as his mouth gaped like a fish out of water. Samuel continued to scream out for his brother as tears fell down his face, feeling helpless as Joshua finally went limp. 

Samuel had no time to mourn or even fully process what he had just witnessed before someone came crashing through the door. It was his other brother, Jacob, staggering in as he clutched at his side. He was pale, wincing as he struggled to remain upright and held onto the wall for support. Blood dripped down from the hand he held his side with, splattering onto the floor right before Jacob joined it. 

“Samuel,” he weakly gasped, reaching out his hand to try and reach his baby brother. Sam scrambled to his side, taking his brother’s head into his lap. 

“Jake, what happened?!” Sam desperately asked his remaining brother, his eyes rapidly scanning his brother’s face. Sweat stuck to his skin, loose strands of hair adhering to his cheeks and forehead. 

All the younger twin did was remove his arm from his side, blood pouring steadily out of a gaping sword wound the size of Sam’s forearm. The youngest let out a horrified yelp at the sight, a fresh set of tears falling down his cheeks. He had never seen so much blood in his entire life. He did not know humans contained so much. Acting on instinct alone, Sam pressed his hands into the wound to attempt to keep all that blood inside his big brother. 

“Look after them,” Jacob whispered with his dying breath, his eyes glazing over as he ceased all movement. It was almost a perfect mirror to how Josh looked as he died right before Sam’s eyes moments earlier. 

Samuel gagged on his own sobs, the scent of Jacob’s blood filling his nose and making him sick. He wanted to scream out, but someone else beat him to it. 

“Veronica!!” Sam cried, gently setting down his brother’s head before running off to the direction of his sister’s scream. He was absolutely horrified to find that Spartan soldiers had somehow managed to enter her room, her corpse in two pieces. Slumped onto the floor was her body, blood pooling out from the spot where her beautiful head used to sit. That gorgeous and brilliant head that he adored so much was being hoisted into the air by one of the soldiers as if it were some trophy. 

The prince’s blood ran cold at the sight, his stomach churning as he was unable to take his eyes off his sister’s severed head. He felt petrified with both anger and sorrow, frozen in his place. It was all too much, witnessing all of his siblings die violently before his eyes, but it seemed he had not been put through enough. 

“SAMUEL!!” 

It was his mother. 

Without thinking, Sam rushed to where his mother’s scream originated to find her and his father tied to posts atop pyres. They were in the square, angry peasants surrounding them with torches hoisted above their heads. 

“Stop this madness at once!” the prince ordered, hoping to gain any control of the situation. He was not heard. His scream merely mixed in with the rest of the mob's clamor. He was helpless as he watched his parents catch fire, screaming out hauntingly as they attempted to fight their fates. 

Sam stumbled back, his eyes never leaving his dying parent’s visage as they were engulfed in flames. Finally, he fell to his knees, not even feeling the impact of the marble on his skin. Looking down at his hands still coated in his brother’s blood, he drew the conclusion that it was all his fault. All of his family’s blood was on his hands and no one else was to blame. 

“The prince finally falls,” a voice behind him spoke. Sam recognized it. Getting to his feet, he turned around only to be faced with his wife pressing a sword into his best friend’s throat. 

“No…” was all that Samuel could manage. He could not lose Daniel as well. 

“Athens falls with you, Prince Samuel. It was always destined to crumble by your hand,” the princess sneered, her grip on the scholar’s hair yanking his head back to expose his throat. 

“You… this was all your doing!” Sam took a step forward, his anger boiling within his chest. As he did so, the princess pressed her sword closer to Daniel’s throat. The message was clear: he could move no closer lest he lose Daniel as well. 

“Only by your aid. If we had not become betrothed, Sparta would have been defeated.” 

It was all too much for Samuel to process. All he wanted was to collapse under the weight of his despair. His mind was an unhelpful storm of thousands of thoughts all attempting to free his best friend from his peril. The prince’s eyes honed in on what little he could see of Daniel’s face, the fear palpable in his eyes as he feared for his life. 

“Swan, please,” the advisor pleaded, a tear slipping from his eye. Samuel’s chest ached, his heart bursting into millions of shards at the terrified tone in Daniel’s words. 

“Athens is yours, I care not about it now. Please, just spare Daniel,” the prince begged, his voice cracking as a tear of his own slipped down his cheek. 

A moment passed as Sam held his breath, waiting for what the princess would decide. It seemed that the gods had deemed Samuel unworthy of love as he was forced to watch his wife slash her blade across his best friend’s throat. Right before she did so, he called out his name like a prayer. 

“DANIEL!!!” The princess dropped the scholar as if he was worthless, his body crumpling to the floor. Samuel sprinted to his side, cradling the man in his arms as he watched blood pour out of his open wound. This was the second time that Samuel watched on helplessly as someone he loved bled out in his arms. 

“No. Not you as well,” Sam sobbed, clutching Daniel close to his chest. The best friend tried his best to speak something to Samuel, the hole in his throat preventing him. In lieu of this, Daniel settled for drawing a heart on Sam’s cheek. It was simple, but the message came through: I love you. 

The prince sobbed into his dead best friend’s chest, all of the death finally catching up to him. He was inconsolable, wailing for all of the family he had just lost. 

He heard footsteps approach before he felt cold metal pierce through his body. She had killed him too. 

“YOUR HIGHNESS!!” 

Samuel woke up screaming, frantically searching his surroundings. When his eyes landed upon Princess Y/N, he began screaming again. 

“Prince Samuel, please, calm yourself! It was only a night terror!” she attempted to explain, her hands held out like one would when approaching a startled animal. 

After a moment, the prince processed what she had said to him. It was only a nightmare. Looking around, he found that he was in his temporary chambers with no blood or death to be seen. He forced himself to even out his breathing, reminding himself that it was all in his mind. 

“What caused you to scream in such a way?” the princess asked. If Samuel had not been so blinded by his rage, he would have been able to register the concern in her voice. But the image of her slaying his best friend was too fresh in his mind. 

“Ask not about what does not concern you,” Sam spat, ripping the sheet off of himself and storming out of his chambers onto the beach. Well away from his wretched wife, Sam collapsed to his knees in the sand and sobbed. 

+++

The rest of the prince’s day went horribly. After such nightmares, Samuel was usually able to confer with Daniel and talk through his terrors but that was not an option this time. The rules were clear: no one was to disturb the newlyweds and no exceptions were to be made. 

Due to that, Sam was plagued by the visions of his loved ones violently falling before his very eyes the entirety of the day. His nerves were frayed. It was the perfect storm. 

The thing to finally set him off was when the princess let out a sigh that Samuel deemed to be one out of annoyance. Slamming his hands down onto the table, Sam spun around to face his betrothed. 

“Alright, what is your quarrel, princess?!” 

She slowly cast her gaze up from her book, the annoyance very clear in her eyes. “My quarrel??” 

The princess slowly stood to her feet, setting her book off to the side. Sam did not need his years of battle training to understand that she was sizing him up. She was not afraid of the prince and she was making that very clear through her body language. 

“I am not the one treating you as if you are horse dung stuck to my sandal,” she evenly  retorted, now a few feet away from him. 

“That is a bold-faced LIE! You harbor nothing but resentment towards me!” 

“If resentment is what you wish to discuss, how about we begin with your sudden shift towards being nothing but cold and distant towards me, your highness!” the princess yelled back, finally matching Sam’s level. 

Samuel leaned in towards her face, a devious grin across his face as he knew his next statement would win the argument. “And now you comprehend what I have experienced from you since the start.” 

The princess balled her hands into fists at her sides, clearly refraining from striking him. She remained silent as a sneer curled her lips. She could say nothing against that. 

“Gods, all that they say about is true,” she finally spoke. This hardly affected the prince, he knew there was talk about him that was far from favorable. 

“What, that I am arrogant and nothing but unpleasant to be in company with? Attempt again, princess. I have heard it all before.” 

The princess growled, visibly struggling to keep from striking him once again. He wanted her to do so. He wanted her to so that he had a viable reason to remove her from his presence and into the dungeons. However, she would give him no such satisfaction. 

“You wish to know why I am so cold towards you?!” Princess Y/N shouted, now in the prince’s personal space and backing him against the table behind him. 

“Pray, do tell. And spare me no details,” Sam sneered, standing to his full height and causing the princess to have to crane her neck to look him in the eye. 

“I had to distance myself so that I would ot allow myself to be swayed by that ridiculously beautiful face of yours!! You have eyes like an aphrodisiac!!” 

At the admission, the room went silent. Fury burned in the princess’s eyes as her chest heaved with anger. Samuel was processing what she had just screamed in desperation, the words sinking into his skin and seeping into his bloodstream. They maintained eye contact, the sound of the crashing waves the only indicator that time was passing. 

Princess Y/N broke first. She grabbed the prince but his face and pulled him into a kiss. In the throes of his passion, Sam reciprocated. 

Perhaps the tradition of producing heirs would not be skipped by these newlyweds. 

+++

Taglist:

@doodle417 @sammykiszkasunusedshoes @jmks-housewife @ageoferin @alwayssotiredbutneverofyou @etoilesnoor @ascendingtostardust @godlygreta @s0livagant @gretavanflowerpower @morganic-goods @dannythedog @baguettejuliette @fan-girl-97 @gaby-gvf @age-of-nyahh @mzbrightside @myownparadise96 @xserenax-13 @sammysvanfeet @loofypoofy @chalametpwk @seventieswhore @razorbladekiszka @kdarling1 @capturethechaos @unfortunatelykristin @welightthefire @gretavanfleas @sammiejane22 @satanplayshisfluteforhim @starsasone @mintysammykiszka @writingcold @tearsofbri @gretasmokerising @streamofstardust @lunaindigoraven @jakeydoesit @tripthelightfandomtastic @sunfl0wer-power @wingedgardener2000 @gretavanbitches @teddiie @gardensgatedaisy @sparrowofthedawnsworld @angelbabyyy99 @sammysprincess @whollyfreeamongststars @gretaswhore28 @l0rdoffli3s @kay-jordan @lightmyloverry @kenzie18 @gotavansleep @roosterbbradley @freckled-wonder @flower-power-anthem

Taglist Form

#greta van fic #too pretty for war #greta van fleet #sam kiszka x y/n #sam kiszka x reader #sam kiszka #samuel francis kiszka #sammy gvf #danny wagner #danny gvf #jake kiszka #jake gvf #josh kiszka #josh gvf

[herearedragons]

When Varric recounts the Arishok duel, he likes to keep it short.

Hawke shows up, makes a couple of roguish quips, dodges some blows, maybe swings on a curtain for good measure - and then ends it with one clean shot to the eye, or to the heart, whatever makes sense in Varric’s head in that moment.

It’s a good story. He likes telling it. The funny thing is, he also hears that story a lot, told by other people; sometimes it’s even people who were there. It’s like his version of events got so popular, it began to overshadow reality; like everyone had collectively decided they liked that version better.

He can’t blame them, really. Admittedly, it’s not that fun to remember how much longer that duel really took. 

It’s definitely not fun to remember how much of that time Hawke spent running.

He really did try to end it quickly, at first; the problem is, it’s really damn hard to line up a good shot in a space with almost no cover, with a sword-wielding giant closing in on you with every step. When he did get enough of a breather to draw his bow, it was never enough time to aim well; the arrows went in, wedged themselves into dense muscle, and the Arishok just kept going.

No, it wasn’t fun at all, watching that duel turn into a war of attrition. Seeing his friend scrambling to avoid getting hit, being chased into corners again and again, bleeding his opponent, but slowly, too slowly.

Hearing someone in the crowd quietly counting how many arrows Hawke had left.

Seeing Hawke reach into an empty quiver.

Seeing the Arishok swing again, Hawke failing to dodge, raising up the only thing he had left to defend himself.

Seeing Hawke’s bow - his mother’s bow - snap under the weight of a Qunari greatsword.

When that blow knocked him to the ground, it really seemed like the duel was over. You could feel the wave of held breaths and panicked gasps rolling through the crowd. All that was left was for the Arishok to stab downward, and he did - and Hawke was not there, thank the Maker, he wasn’t there anymore, but… where was he?

There was another moment, just as the impact of that downward stab died down, when the hall was suddenly silent, and the Arishok looked around, and Hawke was still not there, and in that moment, a thought could occur to you that he must have ran.

It was just a moment, but like everything else about that duel, it was way longer than Varric would’ve liked, and he would never care to remember it if it didn’t turn out to be just dramatic buildup for Hawke’s next move.

Just when the silence was threatening to break into chaos, something happened on the other side of the arena (Varric didn’t catch it then, a pillar was blocking his view, but later Hawke would tell him he’d set off his last smoke bomb in that corner), and it drew the Arishok’s attention.

Hawke then launched himself from behind a curtain (that’s why Varric includes it in the story sometimes) right at the Arishok’s back, sank the small knife he’s always used for close-quarters scraps into his massive neck, and clung for dear life until the thrashing stopped.

And thus the duel ended, in a way that resembled, more than anything else, a back-alley murder. You couldn’t blame Hawke, really; it was what he knew. But it didn’t make for a very glamorous story, and it’s no wonder that people were eager to move on to a better version of events.

By now, Varric’s rendition of the tale is more or less the official account; he tells it often, always with great success, and never in Hawke’s presence. 

There was a look in Hawke’s eyes, after he crawled out from under the Arishok’s unmoving body, of someone who wanted to never remember that day again - and Varric always honors his friends’ wishes.

#dragon age #dragon age 2 #da2 #hawke #varric tethras #I haven't replayed da2 in a long time #but I've read a lot of Hawke-related posts recently #and it reminded me of an archer Hawke I never actually played #herearedragons writing #oc: kane hawke #tw: death

[fictional-worlds-are-exquisite]

i think ‘they breed like rabbits’ needs to be changed to ‘they breed like pillagers’ because these fuckers reproduce faster than i can kill them

#so #pillager outposts are fun huh #i've always avoided them because i was like ooo scary i'll die!! #but i live near one in my current world and i had a what's it called #patrol? something. come to me and i was like #right i'm gonna deal with these fuckers #well one sword down and a quarter of the way through the next it occurred to me that pillagers just. keep. spawning. #this was at the outpost #they're not that hard to kill but i would like to be able to wipe out their outpost thank you very much #i want nothing to do with them #plus there's a nice village between me and them and i would like it very much if they leave the village alone #so anyway if you're a nerd here's a new saying #minecraft #pillagers

[witch-hazels-musings]

i dunno if requests are still open but if they are, could i request this? if not, feel free to delete! but in case they are open here's the request: jean, beidou, and ganyu reacting to accidentally hurting their s/o? it could be anything from simple slap in the face while turning around or hurting them with their vision/weapon :]

Accidents 

(ouchie -- having them accidentally hurt the reader T.T -- they didn’t mean too!) 

Warning -> SFW, accidental injury (Character -> Reader)(face injury (Jean)), (meantions of cuts to face / arms (Ganyu)), (hit by rope (Beidou))

Character X GN Reader | Anthology 

Includes: Beidou, Jean, Ganyu 

Beidou

She takes pride in keeping everyone on her crew safe, no matter the danger - on sea or land, she will fight and guard each person in her charge -- you are no exception and in fact, you are probably the one she fights the hardest for. The thought of seeing you hurt doesn’t sit well with her and, if she can control it, she’d never let it happen 

How could she have known that she’d be the one to cause you discomfort -- that she’d end up allowing you to get hurt because she let something slip through her fingers … pride was a strong emotion, but guilt could send a pirate to the bottom of the ocean 

The weather had made a sudden turn for the worst. Dark clouds rolled overhead as the crew furled the sales to protect them from the downpour that was bound to arrive any second now. 

“Captain!” Beidou’s attention shifted to the crow's nest, her scout pointing violently toward a massive cumulus cloud in the distance. She knew it was bound to smash right them if they maintained this heading, so in an effort to avoid it, she ran toward the bow barking orders. 

“Tack to starboard! Finnick,” She turned to point at the several crew waiting on the foredeck, “raise the spinnaker, now.” They quickly bustled to their jobs while she found herself at the head of the boat. Her arms crossed as she oversaw the work of her crew; great pride swelling in her chest to see how organized they were even without her voice like a well-oiled machine everyone did their part.

As the creaking boat turned, heading parallel now to the storm, Beidou hoped that it would stay on its heading so the Crux wouldn’t have to bear the brunt of its onslaught. It was now a waiting game, but if she knew anything about the ocean - it would be a win for her today. 

Just then, a rope tying one of the many large sails snapped. Its reaction was like a domino effect and soon all hands were rushing to stop a potentially catastrophic outcome. Leaping over the railing, she landed hard onto the deck below, her feet finding solid ground long enough for her to push forward and, before the other crew had a chance to react, she was already climbing the mainmast as if it were a simple tree. It took her no time at all to reach the issue but the strong winds continued to whip around the ropes below her and by the time she managed to capture them - her eyes fell onto your frame. 

In terrible slow motion, she watched as you reached for the rope only to have it collide into your chest and knock you back into another crew member. Her heart sank, her arms burned, her determination steadfast as she made quick work of the problem before dropping back down to you. 

“Are you alright?” Someone called, their hands reaching to you as if to offer some assistance but Beidou knocked them away. Orders were told, tasks were assigned, and before you could object, she carried you into her quarters. 

When the door closed and she sat you on her bed, you could already tell how upset she was. “Beidou -- it was an accident, I didn’t have good footing and …” She uncrossed your arms, you didn’t even realize that you were holding onto your chest. Carefully peeling back your tunic, she noticed the welt that was starting to grow in the area below your collarbone. With a huff, she walked away before returning with a cloth. “You’re being silly, it’s not that ba-AD!” You shouted, the cold material shocking you as it came into contact with your burning injury. 

“This could have been much worse. You’re lucky it only bruised the surface.” Sitting next to you, she rested her knee near your lower back, and the warmth of her leg as she moved close to you somehow offset the ice on your chest. 

“I’m just upset I didn’t grab it, it was right there and then … ah - that’s sore.” She tested your shoulder, pushing against it with her palm and shaking her head at the notion that you were going to have a painful recovery. 

“You are a member of this crew and I have sworn an oath to protect you, but …” Her head dropped and she found it hard to continue. 'How could I let this happen' was written all over her expression. 

“Hey, it wasn’t your fault. You’re an excellent captain.” 

“A captain keeps her ship on course, its belly full, and its crew happy. How can I do that when my happiness is your wellbeing?” Her fingers ran over your ear, slipping in between the locks of your hair as if to show you how much she cherished you. Carefully, she leaned toward you, her lips connecting softly onto your shoulder as they trailed a path to your injury and even in the numbness of it you were still able to feel the heat from her love. “If you are ever out of your depth, allow me to be your lifeline.” 

“Of course, as long as you trust me to know when I'm there.” 

“Within reason.” As the boat rocked on the sea and the sky rumbled far into the distance, you captured the steady heart of the captain.  

Jean 

Jean would never intentionally harm you, the thought of putting someone innocent in danger makes her sick - as the acting Grandmaster she has a sworn duty to protect everyone around her from those who would do them harm 

So when she's the one who caused your injury, she's beside herself with regret 

She stood in her office, her back to the door as she let her mind wander on all the things that needed to be done. It was never-ending, and while she was always fulfilled by the products of her work, she often pushed herself so far that her body and mind became clouded. 

Today was one of those days. The work, planning, problem-solving was weighing on her. There is never enough time, she thought to herself as she rested her head in her hand and squeezed tighter around her rib cage. She was distracted, so exhausted that her ears felt blocked, her body swayed even though she knew she wasn't moving, and her head throbbed. 

"Jean ..." What needed to be done first, she pinched her nose and through harder. "Jean?" She sighed and attempted to stop the voices in her head. 

"Jean, hey?" A hand touched her arm and in her daze, she turned suddenly. Her hand was further from her face than she expected and with a solid smack, she hit something. 

"Ah!" Your startled voice shook her back to understanding, your expression and hand now covering your face sent her heart in the pit of her stomach. 

"Y/N? I'm so sorry ..." She rested her hand on your arm and shakily reached for your face, her fingers tenderly touching the ones that hid you from her pained eyes. "I didn't -- are you badly hurt?" 

"Ouch, you got me really good." You explained, scrunching and circling your nose but allowing her to take your hand. 

"My mind was elsewhere, I am ... I'm sorry." She ran her hands over your face, the warm feeling of wind slipping from her fingers and soon your expression eased. 

"Thanks, It was an accident, don't worry." 

"An accident like this should have never occurred, it is unbecoming of me to allow myself to falter." She stepped away from you, afraid that any prolonged contact would make it worse.

"Jean, you're allowed to make mistakes, and look - I'm fine, see." You grinned proudly but she couldn't let it go. 

"I need to make amends." 

"Mmm, well then, I have an idea." 

"What is it?" She looked at you hopeful, her eyes watching you as you stepped closer. 

"I'll take a kiss as an apology." You tapped the side of your cheek and presented it to her. 

With hesitating hands, she rested her fingers on the other side of your cheek and let her lips touch the skin she hurt, "I will be more observant in the future." 

You turned your head, your face so close you could feel her breath, "I don't see how that's possible, but if it means I get to have more of your attention, I'll be okay with that." 

You kissed her and wondered if she was able to heal through her lips. 

Ganyu 

The absolute sweetest soul in all of Teyvat. She cares deeply for all things, works hard to get the job done, and is dedicated in her actions - it's one reason why her contract with Rex Lapis was drafted; she is the epitome of ____ 

She would never maliciously hurt those around her and often puts herself in harm's way to keep others safe

To her, causing harm to someone she adores, loves, cherishes would be as severe as breaking her contract 

The two of you ran through the field, your legs burning as you dashed across the landscape and away from your persistent pursuers. 

"Ganyu! Up ahead!" You shouted, pointing to the higher ground and dashing in that direction. She followed, keeping an eye out on the enemies behind. To buy some time, she laid down her tantalizing cryo flower before picking up her pace to reach you. 

"From here we can handle them more easily, just be ready." She nodded her head and pulled back her bow, ready to strike. 

The fight was far more doable in this arena, each enemy falling one after another as the two of you fought in perfect sync. Charging her shot, she saw the ideal opportunity to hit multiple targets at once, but as soon as her arrow flew so did you. 

"Y/N!" She shouted but you were too far away and, as soon as you reached them, prepping your sword for a swing, the arrow exploded hitting everything in its path. You yelled, sliding on the ground only to slam hard into the dusty surface. In an instant, everything that Ganyu was, and wasn't, aiming for fell. 

Rushing forward, she reached you and quickly assessed your condition. Her hands hovering, her eyes scanning only to find the damage she had caused. Several small cuts appeared on your face, your arms were equally damaged and the despair that filled her was so great she prostrated herself before you. Her head resting on your hips as she bowed deeply. 

"Ga-Ganyu? What are you doing?" You asked, setting your sword to the side as you looked down at her. 

"I hurt you, please forgive me." You tried to pull her up but she shook her head and dug in deeper into her display. 

"It was an accident, I wasn't looking and that was a good shot. I'm not hurt." 

"You are!" She shot up, her eyes looking at the marks that she had created on your skin. "It was my fault that you have -- if-if they leave a scar ... I ..." She shook her head, unable to finish her thought. 

"Ganyu ... they won't leave a scar, and even if they did, don't you think I'd look super cool?" You smiled but she hated it. 

"It's not acceptable ... if you'd like to d-dismantle our contract, I understa-" 

You wrapped your arms around her, squeezing tightly as you spoke. "I don't want that, I'd never want that. I need you, please don't ever think I'd be okay if you weren't at my side." After a moment, she returned the gesture and you felt the pressure of her nose dig into your neck. When she finally pulled away, you let your hands slide down her arms and rest into her delicate hands.

"I'll just have to practice harder." She nodded fiercely as she helped you stand up. 

"If you insist." You laughed, thinking to yourself when she would ever find the time to do that. 

--

tag list:

@clemmywrites @sufzku @plenilunegazes @lucacandy @marianadibenea @nonniechan @jaemjenjam @softlybeloved @excitedlysuffering

#genshin impact #genshin impact X reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact musings #genshin impact fiction #genshin impact ganyu #ganyu #ganyu x reader #jean #genshin jean #jean x reader #beidou #genshin beidou #beidou x reader

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 7 - ao3 -

Lan Qiren woke up with a pounding headache and no memory of having gone to bed.

This would not have been a surprise had he been at home, as his routine was blissfully static and required no thought whatsoever – each item he needed in its proper place, each movement mapped out through years of practice, his entire body trained such that he would automatically begin to go through the necessary acts at the appropriate time and would immediately begin to feel sleepy once he started the sequence – but it was highly notable that such a thing would occur while he was out of the Cloud Recesses, where each day’s sleep would only be the same in terms of the time at which he fell asleep.

In this case in particular, he also felt sore all over – his head, as mentioned, but also his upper arms and, oddly, his right knee. Had he been exercising unwisely? The bed in the room he had been given at the Sun Palace was not that nice, too hard and unyielding, but it wasn’t enough to cause this sort of aching…

“I will see to it that the next bed lives up to your stringent standards.”

Lan Qiren’s eyes shot open and he sat upright at once: that was Wen Ruohan’s voice.

“What are you doing in my –” he started to say, then stopped.

Wen Ruohan was not in his bedroom.

He wasn’t in his bedroom.

He didn’t even recognize this bedroom.

It was massive, for one thing: a full suite, the way the hanshi was back at home, with place for a bed and a table and plenty more besides. The bed was similar in style to the one in the room he had been assigned but larger in scale – made of dark wood and covered in the red sun motif like all the other décor, but over twice as broad and an extra chi in length, and the brocade fabric used to upholster it was considerably more lush and luxurious and, admittedly, more comfortable than what he’d been sleeping on in the Sun Palace’s guest quarters. The room itself was the same, decorated in luxury extending to the point of opulence: there was a painting scroll on one wall that if genuine would be worth more than everything Lan Qiren owned put together, young master of a Great Sect or not, and on the other wall hung six swords, each more glorious than the next, and he suspected if he knew more about weaponry he would be able to recite their names.  Even the red sun that was painted on every ceiling here glittered with embedded rubies and spiritual stones, emanating pure qi – a tremendous waste, each one of them sufficient to be a cultivation sect’s precious treasure.

Amidst all this luxury, Wen Ruohan was sitting not far away from the bed, a book held loosely in his hands – it was as if he’d been waiting for Lan Qiren to awaken.

“I think you’ll find, in fact,” Wen Ruohan said, and his eyes were glittering the way they had been the day before when it had been Lao Nie he’d been looking at, full of malice and self-indulgent amusement, “that this is my bedroom.”

This was not a surprise, but rather the only logical conclusion.

Not that it explained why Lan Qiren was here.

“Did I – fall asleep?” he asked uncertainly, though surely that must be the reason. “And you – brought me here?”

“You did, and I did,” Wen Ruohan confirmed, and seemed amused for some reason. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Lan Qiren wracked his brain, which was hurting and unhelpful and slower even than its usual plodding pace. “…I was thinking that liquor tastes vile.”

Wen Ruohan’s smile broadened. “Mm. It seems that you inherited your grandfather’s head for wine.”

Lan Qiren’s grandfather was one of the elders who refused to obey the rule against alcohol. He had also, in his later years, developed a most un-Lan-like fondness for wine.

He had not at any point developed a tolerance for it.

Lan Qiren closed his eyes in a wince. He must have made a complete fool of himself!

“This foolish junior apologizes to the Sect Leader for his misbehavior,” he said. He wanted to lift his hands to salute, but the movement, when he started it, set off his stomach, and he was forced to wrap his arms around his midsection instead.

There was a rustling sound, robes moving as Wen Ruohan rose to his feet, but Lan Qiren kept his eyes stubbornly closed, fearing that any further input would cause him to bring up everything he’d consumed the night before – only to open them in shock a moment later when he felt a finger press against the acupoint between his eyes, a warm stream of spiritual energy pouring in to cleanse away the nausea and pain of his headache.

Of his hangover.

He had a hangover.

Wen Ruohan, the mighty Sect Leader Wen, was providing him with medical attention to deal with his hangover.

There weren’t going to be words for how much he was going to get punished when he got home.

“Thank you, Sect Leader Wen,” Lan Qiren croaked, feeling hot all over with unending mortification. He had truly been foolish to think that just because there was only one night left in the Nightless City there was little danger of him repeating the mistakes of the past – he had no face left to speak of.

“Oh, no need to be so formal,” Wen Ruohan said, drawing out the words in a drawl. “Not after such a memorable night.”

Lan Qiren did not want to know what he did to make the night get described as memorable. He did not.

Especially not since Wen Ruohan was so obviously enjoying himself over it.

Of course, he wasn’t an idiot: he might be slow and bad at social cues, might find it difficult to understand the unspoken or keep up with sarcasm, but even he knew what was being implied here.

An older man with a younger one, liquor shared, a bedroom…

Yes, he understood the implication.

He just wasn’t stupid enough to believe it.

Lan Qiren folded his hands together and held his head up high.

“It is good that the Sect Leader did not take insult at my foolishness,” he said stiffly. “I thank you for your care and attention, and regret the burden I placed upon you.”

If anything, Wen Ruohan looked even more amused. “Such dignity, little Lan. You’re not even going to ask what happened?”

“This junior is only sixteen,” Lan Qiren said, still stiff and icy. “There is nothing that could have taken place without Sect Leader Wen’s approval, and naturally Sect Leader Wen would not permit this junior to offend his dignity.”

There, he thought with some satisfaction. That neatly turned the situation around: even if something untoward had occurred, which honestly Lan Qiren did not believe past that first initial moment of panic – even putting aside the fact that he wasn't anywhere near sore enough for something like that to have occurred, Wen Ruohan was not known to succumb easily to lust, nor was he so eager for war that he would recklessly try to deflower the son of another Great Sect while the latter was intoxicated for the first time – the blame would fall squarely on Wen Ruohan’s head, not Lan Qiren’s.

Wen Ruohan laughed, understanding perfectly well what Lan Qiren meant.

“You would think so,” he said, sounding almost approving of Lan Qiren’s rule lawyering. “I would have thought so, too, but I find that you Lan have truly remarkable arm strength…especially when trying to keep your conversational partner from escaping while you explain the difference between what the Lan sect consider to be fundamental rules and those considered ancillary.”

Lan Qiren blanched.

That was worse than what he’d thought – because unlike the notion of him making unwanted advances (or receiving them, for that matter), it was plausible. Terribly, painfully plausible.

“Oh, yes. All five iterations of the debate.”

Oh no.

“Four sect discussions. Seventeen separate texts on the subject, not counting later commentaries. Sixty-four subsidiary rulings, all of which you were very enthusiastic in recounting - and here I was thinking that your Wall of Discipline had a surfeit of rules, when in fact it was only the beginning. Apparently, I underestimated you.”

Lan Qiren buried his face in his hands as if that would make it stop. 

“Still, I suppose I’ll have to accustom myself to hearing more about the rules in the future,” Wen Ruohan mused. “We’ll be spending far more time together, after all, on account of our sworn brotherhood.”

Lan Qiren looked up and opened his mouth, then stopped.

He had nothing to say.

His mind was absolutely blank, a state which had never before occurred.

“Forgive me,” he finally spat out. “Our – what?”

Wen Ruohan smiled at him with eyes full of poison and a mouth full of teeth.

“Sworn brotherhood,” he said casually, as if it was nothing. “You were saying that you regretted not being able to see more of the Nightless City before you left, and that you could only leave the Cloud Recesses to visit family, so we became sworn brothers.”

“We did not.”

“Oh, but we did,” Wen Ruohan said. “We drank mixed wine and swore all the appropriate oaths – I have the written version here, if you’d like to see.”

The piece of paper he put in front of Lan Qiren was recognizably in Lan Qiren’s own hand, although his normally impeccable calligraphy was rather wobbly. It was still readable, though, and the first few clauses very clearly laid out a sworn brotherhood oath.

Lan Qiren stared at it.

“We – but we can’t be sworn brothers,” he said blankly. “We’re – you’re two generations older than me. Am I supposed to call you da-ge?”

“No one has called me da-ge since my youngest brother died,” Wen Ruohan mused, and Lan Qiren was abruptly reminded of the rumors, never confirmed, that that particular death had come at Wen Ruohan’s own hands following a challenge for the seat of sect leader. “It’ll be very charming, I’m sure.”

“But…”

Wen Ruohan said nothing, but only smiled at him.

Lan Qiren looked down at the paper.

He didn’t understand what was happening.

He tried to go over it again in his mind: he had left the competition when the celebration had started, he had wandered the halls, he had tried to obey his brother’s instructions in avoiding Wen Ruohan, and when that failed, he had obeyed him in trying to be obedient. He had drunk liquor for the first time, and he had no memory thereafter until he had woken up here and now, in Wen Ruohan’s bedroom, with Wen Ruohan saying that they had –

He didn’t think Wen Ruohan was teasing him over this, though. Not the way he had so obviously been with his implications that they had used the bedroom for purposes other than sleeping.

Not with evidence, written in his own hand.

He didn’t understand.

How could this have happened?

“…did we really?” he whispered, half-hoping against hope that it was still a tease, still a joke, still – something, anything, other than what it was. That Wen Ruohan was just waiting for him to declare that he believed him, to demonstrate dismay, and then he would tell him the truth.

“Yes,” Wen Ruohan said instead, inexorable. “We did.”

Lan Qiren’s mind fell into chaos.

He didn’t understand.

He didn’t understand.

“You’re shaking,” Wen Ruohan observed. “Ah, little Lan – don’t tell me it’s now that you’re scared?”

Lan Qiren’s hands were in fact shaking, he observed, and he put them over his face.

“Why would you do that?” he asked, his whole body starting to rock back and forth in his distress. “Why would you – with me – an oath of brotherhood can’t be taken lightly –”

“It can’t be,” Wen Ruohan said, and for some reason he sounded satisfied. “Certainly not for someone like you, little Lan, who always keeps their word and does not lie.”

“But why?” Lan Qiren asked, his voice rising almost into a plaintive wail. “Our sects aren’t even allies.”

“They are now,” Wen Ruohan said, and put his hand on the back of Lan Qiren’s neck. It felt hot against his skin, like a hot stone used for massage – a little too hot to tolerate for very long. “You know the obligations of a sworn brother oath as well as I. My duty as the elder brother is to guide you and care for you, support you and yours, and in return you are to obey me and be guided by me.”

Did Wen Ruohan want a spy in the Lan sect? Lan Qiren wondered wildly. But surely there were easier ways than this – not only would he make a terrible spy, with his clumsiness and his terrible social skills and his inability not to take everything seriously, but it would be simple enough for his sect to counter such a move. All they would need to do would be to cast him out…

His rocking intensified.

Wen Ruohan brought his other arm around him and pulled him close until Lan Qiren’s forehead, with its forehead ribbon still firmly in place, was pressed against his chest.

“Don’t cry, little brother,” he crooned. “Am I to allow a priceless painting to be kept by those that see it only for its use as spare kindling? A peerless treasure sword left to prop up a door?”

“You have a half-dozen swords hanging on your wall, each more priceless than the next, and all of them rusting away for lack of use!” Lan Qiren cried out. “Even if it’s only a door, at least it’s – it’s my – my brother…”

“Do not worry about your brother, undeserving as he is of your sincerity. Qingheng-jun has been trying to get concessions out of me this entire conference,” Wen Ruohan said. His breath was warm against Lan Qiren’s hair. “I’ve been refusing, but now I’ll grant them. He won’t punish you.”

“That’s not how that works. Punishment isn’t inherently bad; it’s meant to correct and guide the individual – the failure of good conduct will always be my own, no matter the result –”

“What I have taken into my hand, no one yet lives who would dare seek to take away,” Wen Ruohan said. “Anyway, it’s too late to regret now, isn’t it? What’s done is done. Don’t you have a rule like that?”

Lan Qiren sniffed. “No. There are at least four that could potentially qualify as having similar underlying meanings, but none directly on point.”

Wen Ruohan huffed. “Little Lan, if I tore out your heart, would you have time to cite one of your sect rules before you died?”

“…maybe if it was a short one?” Lan Qiren said, blinking at the strange question; his lashes brushed against Wen Ruohan’s lapel. “I mean, there’s a difference between ‘Be loyal and filial’ and ‘Set the wise as your teacher and the moral as your example’, isn’t there? And of course you’d have to consider whether in tearing out the heart you impeded the lungs, and how much time it would take the exsanguination to take effect…”

He was calming down, he realized, and pulled back out of Wen Ruohan’s arms, blushing as he realized that the question must have been meant as a distraction, though how Wen Ruohan had realized that a distraction would be the best way to reduce his distress when even he hadn’t known, he had no idea.

“Thank you for your consideration,” he mumbled, ducking his head in embarrassment.

Wen Ruohan started laughing.  

“Truly I have found an unappreciated treasure, unlike any other,” he said amid his chuckles. “Come along, little Lan. Let’s go break the news to your brother.”

#mdzs #lan qiren #wen ruohan #my fic #my fics #spilled pearls

[ithinkthiswasabadidea]

We’re Going Home

Set in a future where the Nein and Vilya have defeated Vokodo, we see the people of Vo lifted from Vokodo's influence, and the Mighty Nein must do what they can to help them get home.

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Imagine, you’re living on an island, in the village of Vo, going about your days cooking, weaving, hunting, planting, mining, giving thanks to your god Vokodo who provides everything for you.

Something clicks inside your head, like a pressure valve releasing, a snap headache rocks you before… a memory comes back. And then another, and another. You… don’t belong on this island, you were never meant to be here. You got shipwrecked, or you were stranded, or you just decided not to leave. Why would you do that?

You had a home, in Tal’Dorei, in Wildemount, in Marquet, but that was… years ago. And now you remember all of it. You remember your name, your real, full name, you remember the family and friends you left behind, you remember the home you had before arriving at this ramshackle village. You notice everyone around you shaking their heads as they have the same revelation, and then you get angry. All of this was stolen from you, by a greedy, arrogant, false god who wouldn’t allow you the dignity of keeping your own memories.

Then, through the sky comes your village leader Viridian, though, that wasn’t her name when she first arrived. It was Vilya. She’s in her wild shape, carrying someone; with her fly two great birds, they carry figures too. They… they must be the new arrivals. They broke the curse. They slew the false god.

They SAVED you.

They land, the village is ecstatic as the story is told, and then comes the doubt and worry. How will everyone get home? The group found ships, but not all on the island know how to sail, and you’re all from different corners of the world.

The group, “The Mighty Nein”, they call themselves, talk to each other through the night, discussing possibilities. The blue tiefling speaks to the air for several minutes, facial expressions switching rapidly between concern, trepidation, happiness. The human man with bright orange hair and a spark in his eye tells the village the plan: for those who cannot or do not want to travel by sea, he can teleport you over the course of a few days to different locations.

The number of you who are content with this give your permission; you will be leaving this godsforsaken island if it’s the last thing these heroes can do for you.

“It seems they’ve done it again. You’re not the first person the Mighty Nein have saved from the brink, and you certainly won’t be the last.”

.

Imagine, you’re Vilya. Youve spent a quarter of a century on this island, happily serving as Vokodo's intermediary and leading the village with your equals, Terra and Lukash. The people love you, but the love somehow can't fill your heart completely, until you awaken and the hole fills with memory of your true family. You gladly hug each member of the Mighty Nein, the small halfling woman swearing you into their party with a solemn ‘Welcome to The Mighty Nein’ and letting you know that you will always be received with open arms if you choose to return. Ever in their debt, you walk into the teleportation circle before you. You’re transported to the Tidepeak Tower in Nicodranis, a city you’re unfamiliar with in all but name, and there waiting for you are two mages, an elf in gold and a lady in blue. The elf makes a noise of quiet surprise and wonder, stating,

The lady takes you by the hand, telling you she will take you back to Tal’Dorei to reunite with your family again. You walk through her teleportation circle, you are finally led to your husband, older but still as handsome as you remember. You meet with your daughter who is all grown up and powerful, with stories and adventures of her own to share. You see all the people you’ve known and loved, and you’re introduced to ones you haven’t met before; your life is instantly enriched with their presence. You live to remember the breakers of your curse and the journey you took with them to free the village that was once a home.

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Imagine, you’re a human sailor. You spent your time on Vo longing to be back on the ocean, trading, fighting, fishing. The wizard draws a teleportation circle to Port Damali while the monk who stares you down with mirth in her eyes hands you a signed letter and she tells you to make a good impression. You’re led to the circle by the tall barbarian and when you hesitate, she pushes you gently into the circle. You tumble out and into a room, guards quickly opening the door in shock and you shove the letter into their hands; one takes it away. You sit on the floor, tears coming to your eyes as you realise you’re finally home. The leader of the Cobalt Soul archive comes to meet you, letter in hand,

“Another friend of Expositor Beauregard? You lot always like to make your entrances, don’t you?”

You smile, now understanding why the monk looked amused at you as you left. You’re led out to the port, weak at the knees at the sights and sounds and smells of the harbour, and spend your time finding the comrades you left behind. You remember those words the Cobalt Soul archivist said to you, that you’re a friend to the Mighty Nein; you live to hope you will do them proud and some day repay them for their aid.

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Imagine, you’re an elven merchant. You’re from Zadash, and you were on the way home from a prosperous trip to Marquet, when you stopped by this cursed island to refuel and never left. The large, kind-eyed firbolg of the group takes you aside to get to know your story and asks the tiefling to send a message to a shop owner you once knew in your city. You get confirmation that a friend will be awaiting your arrival. You take a deep breath and step through the teleportation circle, walking into the halls of the Cobalt Soul in Zadash. A face pokes their head around the door, fluffy, bespectacled, with beautiful robes. Someone you’ve sat down to tea and trade with for many years, and not for many years have you been happier to see him again. Pumat Sol takes you by the arm into a hug, chuckling and telling you,

“Respectfully, my friend, if it weren’t for the Mighty Nein, I don’t believe either of us would be here today.”

You gratefully follow your friend back through the streets of Zadash, planning your re-entry into the commerce of the city, though now you place less value in material wealth. You live to trade tales of your adventures and find, unsurprisingly, the Nein are folk heroes to the city also; many citizens attest to the bravery of the party who saved you.

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Imagine, you’re a smith. You’re from a great line of dwarven blacksmiths and creators. You left your home to search for rare materials to make your creations and name well known across the seas. You spend your time on the island smithing tools, simple hammers and spears, tools of function. Your memories clear of the great forges of Uthodurn, and you realise you were foolish to try to make yourself famous, all you needed was a place to work, your family beside you, and the gifts the All-Hammer gave you. The tiefling and half-orc speak to each other before she send a message away to the wind. The half-orc calms your travel nerves by showing you his blade, the incredible craftsmanship is mesmerising, and familiar, your fears are forgotten. You are led to the circle and roll out into a chamber of the Steeple Archive in Uthodurn, you’ve never been inside before and it is a grand place. You’re quickly escorted outside to a city that has changed just enough to make you worried again, when a stocky figure claps you on the shoulder. You spin into the embrace of Umagorn Smeltborne and he all but picks you up, exclaiming,

“My friend! Finally you have returned, we have much work to catch up on.”

You try to explain how you are here and what has occurred but he holds up his hand to stop you.

“By the grace of the Wildmother who watches over the Nein, the All-Hammer has seen it fit to return you to us.”

You congratulate your friend on his masterpiece of a sword, and vow you will never take your home for granted again. You live to create and learn and grow in prowess, you pay your tributes to the All-Hammer, and you make ones especially for your new friends, should they ever pass through Uthodurn again.

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Imagine, you’re a dignitary. An orc with a good ear and strong voice for negotiations. You were sent by your queen, many, many moons ago, across the seas on a mission to secure new allies. You cast your mind back to Rosohna, the sweet richness of the dark city, and the queen you have been honoured to serve in your lifetimes. You wonder who is still in her council, whether you will be trusted when you return after all this time. The blue one and the wizard come to speak to you of someone you once knew, the Dusk Captain. The tiefling carefully words her message, asking permission for you to teleport, while the wizard tries to update you on the situation from your homeland. When the circle is ready, you steel yourself and march through, blessedly arriving in the Lucid Bastion. You take a knee, thanking the Luxon for bringing you home, finally. As you rise, you are greeted by the Captain, smiling to see a long-feared-dead member of the council back and well. As she walks with you through the halls, she recounts the changes in the Kryn Dynasty, culminating with the wizard and his friends who held up their missing beacon in front of the queen, and gave them new hope.

“We feared you dead, with no way to come back through the Luxon. The Mighty Nein have assured you your soul in this life and the next.”

You frown, realising the wizard and the group conveniently forgot to mention they were also heroes of the Dynasty. You are confident they shall return to Rosohna, and add your voice to those who reverently bless their coming to the Dynasty. You live to return to your position and help write the new history of the Dynasty, about the aid of the group who gave back your voice.

 .

Connected by land and by sea, The Mighty Nein continue to shape the lives of the people of Exandria. The Nein will bend the knee for kings and queens and nobles, they bow their heads under the gaze of gods and false gods alike, they take their orders to do what they can to better the lives of others.

But at the end of the day, a druid in a far off land, a sailor in Port Damali, a merchant, a smith, a dignitary, a farmer, a smuggler, a Crownsguard, a carnival master, an inventor, a half-dragonborn, a mage, a kenku, a stone giant, a family of clay and dust and stone…

They look to the stars and count their blessings of the people who have irrevocably touched their lives.

#Critical Role #The Mighty Nein #critrole #i spent half the day imagining how many lives the Mighty Nein have changed #Caleb Widogast #Beauregard Lionett #Caduceus Clay #Fjord #Jester Lavorre #Veth Brenatto #Yasha Nydoorin #Vilya #mini fic #but a little long without a read more #Rumblecusp #Vokodo

[writingwhimsey]

Lady of Azuchi Ch. 7

Chapter 7

Echigo...

Shingen sat reading the report sent to him. "Very interesting." He said.

"What is it?" Kenshin asked him.

"According to my spy, apparently the devil has left his lair for a good will trip to one of his newly conquered domains."

"How would the midwife get this information?" Kenshin asked.

"Well, apparently she is going to help see to it that the expectant mother is properly cared for on the trip." Shingen answered. "Apparently the devil's right hand and the one-eyed dragon on on the trip as well."

"It would be a good time to move on Azuchi." Kenshin said. "But there would be no fun in it if Nobunaga is not there."

"Agreed." Shingen said. "The territory isn't too far from here. We could always surprise Nobunaga, but that would mean catching my spy in the middle of it...as well as risking harming the Lady Ava."

"She is a useless woman." Kenshin said. "Killing her would bring much pain to Nobunaga before he died."

"You kidnapped her once and may have threatened to kill her, but you did not." Shingen replied. "Besides, there is no need to harm the lady. We want Nobunaga's head not an innocent woman's."

"She ruined my last war with Nobunaga. I won't have her ruining another one."

"Calm yourself Kenshin. We will have our war and revenge on Nobunaga. We just have to wait for the right opportunity. I have a feeling it will present itself soon."

Little did Lord Shingen know that someone else had also seen the report he was now looking at and had made plans. Plans that would bring about war and destruction much sooner than anyone planned.

Ava...

After five days of travel we arrived at the town that was hosting the village. It was bigger than a village, but smaller than Azuchi, still a nice area. We were greeted warmly by the local daimyo.

"Welcome, Lord Nobunaga." He greeted with a deep and respectful bow. He then turned to me. "And you must be Lady Ava. And I see that the rumors are true, both of your good news and of your beauty. I congratulate you both on the joyous news."

"Thank you." I said with a smile. Though it did feel like he was laying it on a bit thick.

"It is also my honor to welcome you as well, Lord Hideyoshi, Lord Masamune." He said bowing to them as well. "And who might this lovely creature be?" He asked, looking at Asuna.

"I am Asuna. Lady Ava's midwife." She answered, bowing. "It is my honor to be welcomed here as well, thank you."

"Please make yourselves at home. My maids will show you to your quarters and once you are settled I will happily show you around the festival and my town, this evening."

"Thank you. Your hospitality is most welcome and appreciated." Nobunaga replied.

We were then shown to our rooms, where we settled and unpacked. The maids had already drawn a bath for me as well, which was rather nice. After all of the travelling it was nice to enjoy a warm soak and the maids had insisted on washing my hair, which felt extremely nice.

I didn't want to get used to people taking care of me like this, but it was hard to deny how nice it felt. I just reminded myself that it was just like getting my hair done at the salon in the modern day. I think that will always be my though when someone else washes my hair...well except when Nobunaga decided to do it. Though that was just because of what his touch did to me.

Once my bath was finished and I was changed into clean clothes, I joined Nobunaga and the others for tea with the daimyo before the sunset. Then we were heading out into the town to walk around the festival.

I walked hand-in-hand with Nobunaga through the town. I looked around taking in all of the sights, sounds, and smells. There were stalls with food, stalls with fabrics, and crafts. Everything was so beautiful and really not too different from festivals I attended in the modern day.

Lanterns lit the the streets and held Oda crest on them, something the daimyo had insisted on to honor our visit. "How do you find the festival?" Nobunaga asked me, though he could easily tell by the smile on my face.

"I am loving it." I answered. "It reminds me of festivals we had back in my hometown."

"Not too different?" He asked.

"Not majorly, anyways." I answered with a smile.

As we walked through the vendors who were all set up, I couldn't help but to notice a smell. Something quite delicious in fact. "Oooh, I think I smell dumplings." I said.

"You enjoy dumplings, my lady?" The daimyo asked.

"One of my favorites." I answered. "Something I've been craving as of late."

"This shop here has the best in town." He said pointing me in the direction of one of the vendors.

"Oh, I can tell by the smell." I replied.

Nobunaga softly chuckled. "Let us go get you some dumplings." He said.

As we all walked toward the vendor, I noticed a look on Asuna's face. "Is something wrong?" I asked her.

"There's just something off with one of these smells." She answered. "I can't quite pinpoint it, but something just...smells...off."

"Probably just all of the aromas mixing together throwing you off." Masamune said with a shrug.

We approached the vendor and ordered a box of dumplings. We then went to sit down and I pulled out a skewer of dumplings. I offered them to the others, but everyone else but Asuna declined. I was about to pop a dumpling in my mouth when Asuna swatted them out of my hand.

I looked at her stunned. Everyone else was looking at her with questioning eyes.

"You can't eat those my lady." She said, her face gravely serious.

"I know we talked about me eating less sweets, but I haven't had any today." I protested.

"No, that's not it." She said, shaking her head. "Remember how I said something smelled off? I recognize why now."

"What do you mean?" Nobunaga asked.

"The smell, it's given off by an herb that if cut a certain way can have many medicinal benefits, but when cut the wrong way, it is poisonous. It gives off this scent when it has been cut incorrectly and is poisonous." Asuna answered.

My eyes widened. That would have been the second time I would have been poisoned...and this time we don't have Ieyasu here to create an antidote.

"Masamune." Nobunaga said.

Masamune was already in the process of getting up. "On it my lord." He said, his hand going to rest on his sword as he went towards the vendor who sold us the dumplings.

"I am so sorry, my lord." Our host said. "I never would have imagined that this would happen. Allow me to assist Lord Masamune." He was then starting to get up, but Hideyoshi placed a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back down to the seat beside him.

"Masamune is fine." Nobunaga said. "He can handle questioning a baker." His eyes were cold as he looked at our host.

I felt my breath catch in my throat.

"You were the one who directed us to that baker's stall." Hideyoshi said. "You claimed he made the best dumplings."

Nobunaga was calling over one of the other vassals we had brought with us. "Carry a message back to Azuchi. Ieyasu and Mitsuhide are to come here immediately to help with this investigation."

"Yes my lord." The vassal replied and instantly headed out.

"Until my investigation is complete, no one is to come in or out of this town." Nobunaga ordered. He sent another vassal to gather troops that were stationed nearby. The troops were to also bring supplies.

'I swear to you, I had no idea that this would happen." The daimyo said. "I will give you my full cooperation."

Nobunaga and Hideyoshi were both glaring daggers at the man. I felt sorry for him and was about to reach my hand over to Nobunaga to speak up, but then a thought had occurred to me. There's a chance I could have survived the poisoning...but my baby...my baby is a different story. I thought, my hand flying to my stomach in an unconscious protective way. If that had happened... I couldn't even finish the thought and my blood ran cold at the thought of losing my baby. The little life I was growing inside me, created by the love that Nobunaga and I shared, snuffed out before it even had the chance to truly begin.

As these thoughts came to my mind, I had a hard time feeling any sympathy for the people involved. Had it just been me, I think I would have felt the way I always had...but I had my baby to worry about now. I felt so many conflicting and terrifying emotions running through me. How had such a fun trip gone so terribly wrong so terribly fast?

Read what happens next below!

https://writingwhimsey.tumblr.com/post/661509101157859328/lady-of-azuchi-ch-8

#ikesen nobunaga #ikesen #ikemen series #ikemen sengoku #fanfic #fanfiction #romance #chapter 7

[andypantsx3]

in cinders | 4 | machinations

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 24,362 words / 9 chapters

summary: You’re just trying to fairy godmother your best friend into a happily ever after. If only the prince would stop hanging around and cooperate.

tags: cinderella AU, prince!Shouto, romance, misunderstandings, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut

Kamiko was a nightmare the next morning.

She draped herself obnoxiously all over the kitchens, declaring to anyone who would listen that she had overheard a provocative rumor as she changed Countess Asui’s bedwarmer that morning. When asked, she would refuse to share, claiming it was too big to spill until everyone was gathered for the morning meal.

You let out a disinterested yawn as you rolled out the dough for Rikido’s famous morning buns. This was your favorite of your duties when you couldn’t be with Ochako, rolling out pastry crusts or--when it was for bread--shaping the dough into various knots and boules. Rikido didn’t yet trust you to mix the dough itself, but you liked kneading it and setting it into the ovens early in the morning. Leaning into the warm stone of the ovens and letting the yeasty scent of baking bread wash over you was a good way to wake up in the winter months, particularly after nights like the one before.

You hadn’t slept well, after everything. In the middle of the night you’d awoken, feeling Prince Shouto’s fingers at your sleeve. You’d sat up in bed, your blood pulsing in your ears, and stared into the darkness, listening to Ochako’s heavy breaths.

It occurred to you that you should have made her stay longer. The little time you’d spent at the ball, you’d taken too much of the prince’s attention and not nearly enough had been dedicated to her. It had been clear from the moment he’d set eyes on Ochako that he’d found her beautiful, looking her over and complimenting her necklace. Then she’d possibly run from him in shyness, and you swooped in to complicate the whole evening, sticking your foot in your mouth and almost blowing your cover.

If only you’d kept your head and forced her to stay behind, she could have asked him to a dance for real.

You gnashed your teeth, the fantasy of Princess Ochako fading before your very eyes. How were you to spend your days languishing in her chambers with a good book, calling on Kamiko for increasingly more unnecessary things now?

Finally, the swell of servants in the kitchen seemed to satisfy Kamiko’s appetite for theatrics. She stationed herself at the head of the meal table, tapping her fork on her glass to call for attention.

“I’ve heard a very interesting rumor,” she announced, and every pair of eyes snapped to her. Despite yourself, yours did too.

“Lady Asui overheard the prince last night at the ball. Apparently, he was looking high and low for a maiden who’d caught his fancy.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

Kamiko continued, unwary of your inner turmoil. “He described her as a lady of unusual tastes, and from what he could tell, quite pretty.”

“Welcome, Lady Uraraka. I must compliment you on your choice of jewelry. Your necklace is quite unique and beautiful.”

Your heart shuddered back to life, pounding heavily in your chest. A warm feeling like hope blossomed within you.

Ochako. He was looking for Ochako.

The sound of your heart pumping in your chest seemed to drown out the rest of what Kamiko was saying, and you bit your lip to hold back a smile.

This was your chance to make it up to Ochako.

As discreetly as you could, you slipped out of the kitchens, bounding down the staircase to the small room you shared with her. You let yourself in, finding the room empty, and leaned down to dig beneath her mattress. Finally, you felt what you had been looking for, pulling back with her ribbon necklace in hand.

You stowed it in your apron and made your way back to the kitchens, your plan singing in your veins. There was no way for someone like you to access the prince directly, but there was a shortcut to lead him down into the kitchens and straight to Ochako.

Kamiko was still holding forth at the table when you returned, though she spared a moment to toss you a nasty glance.

You let it roll off you and you retrieved the morning buns from the oven.

You made sure to watch Rikido carefully after he returned from his breakfast, pretending to peel carrots as you stealthily observed him plating up the prince’s breakfast. None but Rikido was allowed to touch the royal family’s trays before they were carried up to their quarters, as he trusted no one but himself to arrange the food pleasingly and deliciously. But even he couldn’t watch the trays forever.

In the spare minute between when Rikido turned his back and the servers came to call, you crept surreptitiously over to the counter, tucking Ochako’s necklace carefully out of sight beneath the large morning bun on Prince Shouto’s tray.

Then you returned to the sink, picking up your carrots to begin shucking for real.

The servers came to pick up the trays, and for the next half hour you waited excitedly, watching Ochako scrubbing out pans in the corner. In only moments, you were sure, the prince would sweep into the kitchens and take her into his arms. Then they would be married, and Ochako would live happily ever after.

Only, it wasn’t the prince who turned up in the kitchens.

The door smashed open, and a squadron of the king’s guard poured into the room. Behind them, Captain Katsuki Bakugou himself stalked into the room, blood-red gaze sweeping the occupants. He exuded raw power at close range, and you understood immediately why Kaminari had been so scared to leave his post the night before.

“Everyone who touched the prince’s food this morning, line up against the wall,” he growled. The entire room stood frozen, staring at him.

“NOW!” He yelled, and like a dam breaking, everyone rushed to obey. In mere seconds, Prince Shouto’s waiter, Rikido, and another kitchen girl were up against the wall, everyone else backing away to the other side of the room. You stood frozen at the sink, too terrified to move.

Captain Bakugou turned his crimson gaze on you. “You, girl. What do you do?”

You stammered, “I clean, and I--I help bake the pastries.”

He gestured with his sword. “Up against the wall.”

You moved to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the other kitchen maid. The king’s guardsmen stepped up to you and the other servants, and one grasped your shoulder in an unyielding hold. Then you were moving, being led out of the kitchens and up into the bright light of the castle.

Your stomach twisted like the series of halls and stairways you were ushered through.

Why had the prince sent the commander of the guard? Wasn’t he supposed to be in love with Ochako? Why hadn’t he come for her?

Before you knew it, your small group was standing before the door to the prince’s apartments. You’d never been this deep in the palace before, and everything seemed to dwarf the cramped hallways of the servants’ wing. Even the door you stood before was twice a man’s height and almost as broad across.

Captain Bakugou rapped firmly on the door and it opened inwards.

You were tugged in by the strap of your apron and thrust to your knees with the other kitchen staff.

The prince’s chambers spread out before you, so large they could fit the kitchens three times over. You looked to be in a sitting room, peppered with low tables and couches overstuffed with bright pillows. A large, ornate writing desk sat against one corner, covered in papers. On the far wall, a series of double doors lay open, leading deeper into his apartments. You caught a glance of a four postered bed deep within, covers dripping off the sides to lay crumbled on the floor like they had been kicked off in haste.

Prince Shouto himself sat on one of the couches, looking as though he’d dressed in a hurry. He was accompanied as ever by Izuku Midoriya, and at his right sat Lady Camie Utsushimi and one of her ladies-in-waiting you didn’t know.

“This is unnecessary, Bakugou,” the prince sighed in his soft tone. “It was a necklace.”

The captain snarled. “It could have just as easily been poison.”

The prince closed his gray and blue eyes. “But it wasn’t.”

Bakugou scoffed. “They try anything funny and I’ll run them straight through.”

You shivered on the floor. You felt miserably sorry to the other staff on their knees beside you, threatened with death here on the hardwood because of a stupid choice you’d made. Of course the royal guard would work themselves into a frenzy over something in the prince’s food. Why hadn’t you thought this through?

Prince Shouto turned to the four of you, holding up a familiar pink pearl necklace. “I found this on my tray this morning. I believe it belongs to a lady I met at the ball last night. I promise you no trouble if any of you come forward with information.”

If ever the time to speak up were to come, it would be now. But found yourself holding your tongue, eyeing Captain Bakugou’s sharp sword.

You looked up into the faces of the prince’s companions. Lady Utsushimi’s eyes were wandering carefully between the faces of the staff, and she seemed to stop in surprise when her gaze flicked to you.

You felt yourself stiffen under the guardsman’s hands.

“Please,” the prince continued. “She has a companion who I must find. She seemed rather insistent that I talk with the lady to whom this necklace belongs. Did she ask any of you to place this on my tray?”

Your heart leapt into your throat. He was talking about you. Dear god, he was talking about you.

What had you done to make him so keen to find you? Had it been the rough way you spoke to him or the stomping on his toes? Did he guess that you were a servant acting above your station? What was he going to do once he found you? Was Captain Bakugou here to deliver the prince’s justice upon you?

A silver ribbon appeared in the prince’s clever fingers. “Last night, she was wearing a blue dress with these about her sleeves. Camie tells me she might go by Lady Ito. Have any of you seen her?”

You looked up into his handsome face, feeling sick. Please don’t say Kamiko’s full name, please don’t say it. Not in front of the staff.

“Your highness,” Rikido’s shaky voice came from beside you, “I was the last to touch your tray. The fault of this is mine. I will accept any punishment you see befitting of my inattention.”

In the corner of your vision, Bakugou’s sword hand twitched. Rikido was going to get himself killed!

Before you could think, you had shot to your feet. “Please, it wasn’t him! It was me!"

Then the reality of your words washed over you and you quickly backpeddled, "I mean - I was the last to touch your tray. I - I sprinkled more sugar over your bun while his back was turned. But I swear, none of us were asked to add this to your tray!”

The prince’s cool gaze turned on you. You stared back, heart hammering.

If you made it through this alive, you were never trying something this stupid again.

His eyes wandered over you slowly, and you felt your face burn. You hoped your mask had covered enough of you last night that he saw nothing familiar to him. You hoped the sight of you now, covered in flour and carrot shavings, was enough to throw off any suspicions.

“Tell us, why should the prince believe you?” Lady Utsushimi’s attendant spoke up. Her tone was high and cruel. “It’s clear that one of you must have done it.”

You swallowed. You pitched your voice a little lower to hide it, now that the prince’s attentions were on you and you were thinking a little more clearly. “If I touched the tray while Rikido’s back was turned, there’s no reason why someone else couldn’t have done the same. Perhaps they were laying in wait.”

The lady sniffed, but Prince Shouto held up a hand.

“If I’m to trust your word, I’d like you all to swear to it,” he said.

You nodded, and other kitchen staff quickly did as well.

“You swear that no one asked you to add this necklace to my tray?”

Your voices blended together as you answered, “I swear it, highness.”

I wasn’t asked. I added it myself.

After that, the purpose seemed to drain from the prince’s lean form, and he waved a dismissive hand. “I’m sorry to have interrupted your morning. Captain Bakugou, please return them to the kitchens.”

Bakugou made an angry noise, but the guardsmen picked your fellow servants up off the floor to their feet and ushered you to the doorway. Your blood rushed in your veins as you stepped back through the massive doors, staring fixedly at Rikido’s back ahead of you.

As the doors closed, however, you swore you could sense a pair of eyes boring into your back.

#bnha #bnha x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki x reader #fanfic #todoroki shouto #boku no hero academia

[a-problematic-writer]

For a writing request, how about Jesse and Aiden sparring for funsies? Maybe after Season 2 when he's trying to make amends?

I was saving this request for last as a treat, but I've decided to just write it because my head is filled with nothing but Aiden and Jesse. The brainrot is real </3

Aiden has two favorite days of the week. Saturday because the bookstore gives out free volumes of old classics and Thursday because he gets to hangout with Jesse.

That was still new; hanging out with Jesse.

They weren't friends, per se. Though, he supposed two people who see each other on a weakly basis must be something more than mere acquaintances. She was still a dork. That hadn't changed, not much at least. He could tell the 'hero-in-residence' thing was dragging her down. She seemed more tired now then he could ever remember.

That's why they did this. Every Thursday Jesse got a well needed break and Aiden got an excuse not to stay at home alone.

[Home didn't know of his deeds in Sky City. Many didn't remember him at all. Some knew him as an old friend of Lukas' but nothing more. Still, Aiden wanted to stay to himself as often as he could. The last thing he wanted was attention.]

Today, Jesse had wanted to do something different. With Petra off on her own, she had lost a valuable sparring partner and had recruited him as her new one to keep herself from 'growing too soft'.

[He doubted Jesse could grow soft. She'd built up a lot of muscle during the New Order's heyday and was far stronger then he was even before prison.]

He agreed only because of Jesse's insistence that it would be fun. That she could show him the ropes. Aiden was a fair swordsman but admittedly was better at running then actually fighting.

He walks into the order hall and finds Radar sitting at the desk. He smiles at him, waving him forward.

"Hey! Jesse was just asking for you."

"She was?"

The younger male nods, pushing his glasses up. "She's in the training room. Go on in."

Aiden nods and walks past Radar and through the door that leads into the orders main living quarters. The place is still a bit daunting, but he knows his way around enough to only get lost once.

When he enters the training room, he finds Jesse there testing out a new sword she'd been gifted by Stella. It's an intricately forged blade of iron with jewels in the hilt. Definitely more ornamental then functional, but Jesse isn't one to burst someone's bubble like that. She's able to wield any sword with a finesse that is hard not to admire.

It occurs to him that he should have announced his presence right after she looks over her shoulder. A smile graces her features.

"I thought someone came in!"

She sets the sword in the weapon rack and crosses over to him. She's dressed in a loose-fitting t-shirt and sweatpants. Dark brown hair pulled into a tight ponytail. Her eyes have dark bags under them. He wonders if she's slept at all this week.

"How are you?"

Aiden shrugs. "I'm alright. How about you miss 'hero-in-residence'?"

"I'm fine," she answers. "a little tired but I had to finish the budget for the new apartment."

"We could do something more chill than train?"

"Absolutely not!" she jabs a finger into his chest. "You're not chickening out of sparring with me."

Aiden frowns. Perhaps his motives aren't entirely all based on care for Jesse, he's already certain his ego will be bruised, but he also doesn't want the woman to overexert herself.

"I just want to make sure you're~"

"I think you just know I'm better than you."

Her eyes are a light with a mischievous glint Aiden hasn't seen before. That usual spark lights in his chest. He will not be called second rate when he hasn't even given it a try.

"You think you are, but I'm pretty sure we both know I can hold my own."

Jesse grins. It's warm, no trace of malice in it. "Come on then! Show me what you got!"

She grabs his hand and tugs him towards the weapons rack grabbing two training swords. Aiden can feel his mouth growing dry already. He grips the sword tightly. It's been so long since he held one...

Jesse readies herself wooden blade drawn. Aiden frowns at her. He couldn't get himself out of this now. He mirrors her stance. They circle each other momentarily. Neither quite sure whether they should be the first to strike.

Jesse makes the first move slashing towards him. Aiden barely blocks the blow, stumbling back just slightly. He steadies himself and tries to remember the pointers he got from Gabriel so long ago.

Stand firm, move unpredictably, and never yield.

He knows Jesse's going to take advantage of his stumble so he cuts to the side. It only confuses her a moment but by the time she's turning on him he slashes at her. She parries it just barely.

"Cute trick!"

She swings and their swords catch. He puts as much strength as he can into pushing her back. She stumbles and he lunges forward swinging once then twice. She blocks both.

Aiden's breath is already becoming stilted. Jesse looks fine. If not a bit stunned. Aiden can't help the smirk.

He slashes at her again, she parries, and their blades lock again. Her gaze is firm and doesn't move from his. This is familiar to Aiden. Too familiar.

The training room gives way to the rain slick cobblestone extension of Sky City. He can smell the smoke in the air, feel the electricity that sizzles with each lightning strike, the cold rain that dampens his hair and makes it fall into his eyes. Ghasts screech, people scream, his own heartbeat pounds in his ears. Anger flashes red hot.

He freezes. Horrified.

Jesse pushes him back and he loses his balance, landing hard on the floor.

The training room bleeds back in. Aiden tries to even his breathing. Jesse approaches and kneels next to him.

"Hey, you alright?"

He meets her gaze and her brow furrows. He manages a nod.

"Yeah-yeah, I'm fine. Sorry."

His voice is barely above a murmur and cracks around the edges.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I just got dizzy."

She looks him over a moment before extending her hand. She doesn't believe him but they'll deal with that later. He takes her hand and she hauls him up.

"Dizzy, huh? Have you eaten?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine."

She frowns. "Aiden~"

"I'm fine!" his voice is a bit too harsh and he regrets raising his voice as soon as he sees Jesse wince. His mouth is far too dry. He feels like he can't take a breath. "I-I need to go."

Jesse frowns. "Wait~"

He doesn't; making a beeline for the exit. He can't be around Jesse. Not right now. He's too afraid of what he might say or do. He can hear her calling after him, but it doesn't stop him. He just needs to get away. That's all he wants to do; run away from Sky City. From Jesse.

Radar says something as Aiden brushes passed, but he doesn't catch it. The air outside feels grating against his skin. He doesn't know where he's going but only one thought screams at him:

You'll never be able to escape what you did.

#answered ask #Anon #my writing #kyler writes #mcsm #minecraft story mode #mcsm aiden #mcsm jesse #mcsm aidesse #I may have took this idea and ran with it a little #Made it kinda angsty... oops #Aiden's haunted by his mistakes #Guilt is a cruel mistress and Aiden knows it well

[juliandev0rak]

Bullet

Chapter Five of I’m Your Villain

Words: 3315

Warnings: mentions of death, blood, minor injuries, and brief mentions of past physical abuse

There is a long list of people that Cadmus hopes he will never have the misfortune of meeting again. He’s made many enemies over the years, both those forged through his job and his alliance with Avronne and those made through more… personal faults. 

Julian Devorak fits all of those categories.

When they’d first met in Macawi Port nearly five years prior, the red haired man had simply been another pretty face in a tavern. Julian was a traveler passing through the port city just as Cadmus had been, so Cadmus had flirted. He’d done a bit more than flirt. 

They’d hit it off, shared a few drinks, and when Cadmus had suggested going somewhere more private Julian had agreed. When he’d pulled him back to where he was staying Cadmus was a bit too preoccupied to care that the lodging in question was a boat. It wasn’t until later that he’d noticed the boat looked familiar.

He’d been sent to the port to find a pirate named Captain Wayland. As usual, Cadmus hadn’t asked why. He’d simply been sent to a specific location, given a description, and told to get rid of the target. He’d had no luck finding the Captain’s ship so he’d made a detour into one of the port’s many taverns where he’d gotten a bit distracted. But as Cadmus looked around the lower deck of the ship, he’d noticed a crate labeled “The Eel”, the name of the very ship he’d been looking for. 

At some point during the evening he’d learned that Julian was a ship’s physician travelling with a pirate crew across the world. It had never occurred to him to ask which ship. But here he was, exactly where he needed to be. 

So Cadmus snuck back up the stairs, certain that the red-haired man was asleep in the hammock he’d left him in. He’d found the Captain alone in his quarters and it had been quite simple to disarm the old man and take him out. It had hardly been a fight, really. As he’d cleaned his sword on the edge of the dead pirate’s coat he’d planned his escape route, confident that everything was going to plan.

But luck was not on Cadmus’ side that night and his companion hadn’t been asleep after all. 

A voice had startled him away from the dead Captain, and Cadmus turned to find an equally confused and furious Julian Devorak.

“What did you do?” He had yelled, and like any good doctor Julian rushed towards the body on the floor. 

It left Cadmus with a perfect escape route out to the port where he could disappear into the crowds. As he’d been making his exit, Julian lunged towards him so Cadmus had lashed out with his sword to block him. But he’d misjudged the doctor’s reflexes and instead of moving out of the way as Cadmus had expected, the blow had landed. 

Cadmus could only watch in surprise as blood seeped through the puffy sleeve of Julian’s white shirt. He’d mocked the man as he’d pushed past to get to the door, “There’s something to remember me by.” 

And he can still remember the icy tone in Julian's voice as the man had vowed, “If I ever see you again I will kill you.” 

After that, Cadmus had gotten away with little struggle. By the time he’d returned to his horse he had all but forgotten about Julian Devorak. He hadn’t thought about him once in the following years, until now.

Now Julian stands in front of him, only a few feet away. Cadmus holds his breath and shrinks back against the corner as he watches him. He hopes his illusion spell will last, but he’s never been very good at magic.

It’s not that he’s afraid of Julian, no, it's just that it’s terribly awkward to meet someone you’d once fucked in a hammock who had then sworn to kill you. Cadmus makes it a rule to never meet the people he’s slept with again. He’s a one and done sort of man, it’s for the best really. And adding revenge to the mix, well, it’s a bit messy even for him.

It would be better for everyone if he could get off of the ship now without anyone noticing, but he’s out of options. This ship is his only way out and if he has to kill everyone and learn how to steer it himself he will. Julian reaches for the barrel directly in front of Cadmus and he curses under his breath, wondering how he could have gotten so unlucky.

But Julian simply picks up the barrel and heads back up the stairs. Cadmus exhales in relief, thinking he’s safe, but as he inhales he feels a sudden tickle in his nose. He clamps a finger under his nose a moment too late and sneezes. He can’t help it, he’s allergic to dust and there seems to be quite a lot of it aboard this ship. 

“Merde,” Cadmus whispers. If his illusion spell had been strong enough it would have muffled the sound but, by the looks of it, his spell was nowhere near strong enough. He resists the urge to bang his head against the wall in frustration.

Julian stops halfway up the stairs and turns around. “Who’s there?” 

Cadmus stays silent, laying his back flat against the wall. He closes his eyes and tries his hardest to focus on maintaining the illusion spell, but he can feel it’s slipped. Agatha coils around his ankle and he tries to draw from her strength, it’s worked in the past but he feels nothing from her now. Julian stalks back to the corner, placing the barrel he’d grabbed on the ground as he searches the storage area.

Cadmus hears footsteps approaching and braces himself as a familiar pair of black boots stops in front of the row of barrels again. “I heard someone sneeze, I know there’s someone in here.” 

There are only so many places he can hide on a boat, there’s really no use in trying. If he gets up now at least he’ll have the element of surprise on his side.

So Cadmus moves out of the corner and lowers his illusion spell, watching as Julian’s eyes widen in shock. “Perhaps there's a ghost with a cold on board?” 

“You.”

He hadn’t expected the amount of vitriol in the other man’s voice and replies the only way he knows how, with bravado. “Hello Devorak, it’s been a while. You don’t seem pleased to see me?” 

Julian laughs incredulously, shaking his head as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “Why are you on this ship, Durand? Why would you come back after what you did?”

Cadmus reaches for his sword as Julian takes a step closer, just as a precaution. “I’m in a bit of a predicament. I’m sure you’ll be able to understand if you just give me a chance to explain-” 

“I said, why are you here?” Julian pushes the barrel blocking Cadmus out of the way and Cadmus takes a step back, feeling like the man is getting too close for comfort. “I needed a boat, I saw a boat, I got on the boat, it’s as simple as that.”

Julian grimaces, taking another step towards him. “You’ll pay for what you did to Captain Wayland! He was a good man.”

“Now, now, there’s no need to make a fuss. I’ll simply take my leave and you can forget you ever saw me.’’ Cadmus takes a step to the side, subtly getting himself out of the corner and towards the middle of the room.

“Not a chance.” The look in Julian’s eyes is one Cadmus knows well, it's the look of someone who’s about to attack.

Despite his obvious anger, Cadmus doesn’t believe that he’ll put up much of a fight. Sure, Julian is tall, and more strongly muscled than he looks beneath all of those ridiculous layers of coat, but Cadmus is certain that if it comes to a fight he’ll be able to take the scrawny man down. 

“Alright if you insist, we’ll do this the hard way. From what I remember you prefer it that way,” Cadmus laughs, drawing his sword. Julian glowers at him and takes a step back as Cadmus approaches. “En garde then.”

Before Julian has time to draw his own sword, Cadmus attacks. It’s not exactly gentlemanly, but he’ll take any advantage he can get. Julian reels backwards, barely dodging the blade as he reaches for the sword hung on his belt. He grabs it just in time, blocking Cadmus' next attack and using the momentum to launch himself forward as Cadmus retreats.

“I can do this all day,” Cadmus gloats, tucking one hand behind his back as he easily blocks Julian’s attack. He starts up the stairs, looking to get above deck where there’s more room and the possibility of an escape route. 

“You deserve to pay for what you did,” Julian calls as he chases Cadmus up the stairs, nearly slashing Cadmus’ leg. He’s fast, Cadmus can admit that at least.

“What, are you going to kill me? You?” Cadmus laughs, taking the final step up the stairs and onto the deck. “Don’t doctors take a sacred oath to do no harm?” “Yes, well, you’re not my patient. You’re a murderer.” Julian frowns in concentration, narrowly spinning out of the way of Cadmus’ blade as he emerges onto the deck. “And you’re a pirate.” Cadmus quickly scans the area, noting in relief that there’s no one in the immediate vicinity to aid his opponent. 

“Unlike you, I don’t enjoy hurting others.” Julian takes advantage of Cadmus’s brief moment of distraction and manages to graze his arm. 

Cadmus hisses and reels out of the way before lunging towards Julian like a wild animal. Julian jumps back and Cadmus notes with delight that a look of genuine fear flashes in the man’s eyes. Despite Cadmus’ intimidation Julian attacks again, hoping to take him off guard.

Cadmus parries easily, moving closer to return the attack. “You barely grazed me, you’re out of practice.” 

What he doesn’t expect is quick reflexes blocking his next hit before it can land and knocking the sword out of his hand.

“And you’re out of luck.”

Suddenly there’s a sword resting at his throat. Cadmus looks up at Julian, furious and trying to hide his utter disbelief that this man has nearly bested him. 

“Do it then, cut my throat and get your revenge,” Cadmus growls, pushing back against Julian as he presses him against the edge of the deck. He wonders if Julian will push him overboard instead, it would be less messy. Before Cadmus has a chance to see whether the man really has it in him, they’re interrupted.

“BOYS!” A brusque voice calls.

He looks behind Julian to see a short older woman running towards them. The sword at his throat drops and Julian sighs as he takes a step away. Cadmus tries to make a break for it, if his opponent is stupid enough to let him go he’s taking the chance. But Julian seems to anticipate the escape and grabs him by the arm before he can move. 

Cadmus gasps in pain as Julian’s hand clamps down on the spot where he’d cut him. He fights through it, managing to land a punch on the side of Julian’s face which sends the man flying backwards. He’s winding up for another when the woman pulls Julian further away.

“Ilya Devorak! What are you doing?” The old lady is brandishing a wooden spoon and somehow Cadmus feels she’d be a fearsome opponent even with only cutlery as a weapon. 

“What am I doing? He started it! That’s Cadmus Durand!” Julian sputters, taking a step away from the woman as if he’s also wary of her spoon. “That’s the man who killed Wayland!”

“I know who he is.” The woman turns to look at Cadmus, giving him a once over that makes him feel far too exposed. She and Julian have blocked him in, he has no escape unless he wants to jump overboard. 

“Well, we can’t let him live!”

The woman shakes her head in disapproval. “I won’t have murder on my ship, not unless you want to clean it up.”

“What are we supposed to do then, Mazelinka? Let him go?” Julian’s voice sounds flat with anger, and his face has grown nearly as red as his hair.

“We’ll lock him up until we decide.” Mazelinka yanks Julian away by the ear. “And you’ll bring him a meal later and see to that nasty cut you gave him.”

“But he’s a murderer, Maz!” Julian frowns, rubbing at his ear to dispel the pain where she’d grabbed him.

“And you nearly were too, Ilya. Follow me, we’ll take him to the hold.” Mazelinka grabs Cadmus by the arm, roughly pulling him back downstairs. She’s stronger than she looks, and from the way she’d said ‘my ship’ Cadmus realizes this woman must be the captain. 

Julian follows behind them, pouting as Mazelinka descends below deck. When they enter the storage room Cadmus calls for Agatha, if he has to be stuck in a cell he wants her with him. She slithers out of the corner towards him, hissing in alarm. He lets her drape around his shoulders, smiling as he notices both Julian and Mazelinka recoil. He might be a prisoner but with Agatha he can still defend himself.

Mazelinka brings him into a cell with thick iron bars and locks the door behind him. This certainly isn’t the first time he’s been imprisoned, but he’s never been locked up on a boat before. He truly has no way to escape and the thought quiets him, any taunting remarks he’d thought of die on his tongue. 

“Why do you have a jail cell?” Cadmus asks instead, scanning it for weak spots or loose bars out of habit. 

“We’re pirates.” Mazelinka grins. He can’t help but feel a shred of respect for her, she’d made him feel threatened with only a spoon and anyone who can do that deserves some credit. Now that he’s behind bars, she and Julian retreat to the deck. He can hear them arguing, though he can’t make out the words. 

Cadmus feels the boat start to rock as it pulls off from shore, and distantly he hears the sounds of someone above deck calling out orders. There’s really no escaping now.

A few minutes later, Julian comes back with a basket of supplies and a steaming bowl of stew. Cadmus warily accepts the bowl, trying to surreptitiously smell it for poison. He considers handing it over to Agatha who has a much better nose for poisons but Julian surprises him by taking the bowl instead.

“It’s not poisoned,” Julian sighs and takes a large bite. He waits for an exaggerated moment then hands the bowl back. “See, I’m not dead.” 

“Fine, give me the lousy stew.” Cadmus angrily takes a bite, finding that it’s nowhere near lousy. Whoever made this can really cook, at least if he has to be stuck here he’ll be fed well.

Julian reaches for his arm and peels back the shreds of Cadmus’ blood-stained shirt so he can see the wound. Luckily, it doesn't seem very deep and it’s already stopped bleeding. Cadmus is used to magical healing, his mother and her trained magical physician had always seen to it that his wounds were healed when he came home damaged. Though in some cases, his mother had been the one to cause the wounds. Simply part of his training.

Cadmus yanks his arm away, eyeing Julian suspiciously. “I thought I wasn't your patient.” 

“You're hurt, I’m a doctor,” Julian says, as if that explains anything. He rolls his shirt sleeves up to get them out of the way and pulls a clean rag out of the basket. He douses it with something from a glass bottle and Cadmus leans closer, wishing he could see what it was. He doesn't like being out of control like this.

“Earlier you seemed to be trying awfully hard to kill me, that doesn’t seem very doctorly of you.” Cadmus hides a wince as Julian cleans the wound with what smells like strong alcohol. He doesn’t understand why Julian would bother healing him.

It’s too dimly lit beneath the deck to see anything clearly, but he can see Julian's face silhouetted in the candlelight. He looks tired but resigned to his task. The flickering light highlights the sharp planes of his face and the blooming purple bruise on his check from where Cadmus had punched him. Cadmus finds himself staring despite his best efforts not to, it’s a good distraction from the pain at least. 

Been there, done that, bad idea, he warns himself, turning his gaze towards the wound instead. 

They fall into silence as Julian bandages his arm and Cadmus finishes eating. When he’s done Julian hands him a clean white shirt. “Yours is ripped to shreds.” 

Cadmus grudgingly accepts it and pulls his ruined shirt off. He hears Julian clear his throat and he smirks, taking his time pulling the new shirt on. He can feel Julian’s eyes on him but he keeps his firmly fixed on the task of buttoning the shirt. “Thanks for the shirt, Devorak.” 

“Get some rest, Durand. Try not to move your arm.” Julian rolls the sleeves of his shirt back down, fiddling with the cuffs in what looks like a nervous tick. 

“I thought you wanted me dead,” Cadmus laughs, lying back on the cot in the corner of the cell. Though the blanket on the cot is thin, this is certainly one of the nicer jail cells he’s been kept in. He stretches out, putting his good arm behind his head in a show of relaxation, though he feels anything but relaxed. 

“Yes, and I could just as easily heal you as kill you in your sleep, so perhaps you should listen to what I say and get some rest.” Julian still sounds angry, but the effect is dampened by fatigue. He looks at Cadmus for a brief second more before turning to leave, locking the cell door behind him. 

Cadmus can relate to the bone tiredness the doctor had displayed. He’s been on the run for days now, he can’t remember the last time he slept properly. Though his brain tells him he shouldn't trust these people, he figures he might as well get some sleep. If Julian wanted to kill him he would’ve done it already.

He tosses and turns fitfully, and when he finally manages to sleep his dreams are confusing and frightening.

He finds himself back in the snowy clearing from the dream he’d had before and he can sense he isn’t alone. When he turns he sees his sister standing before him. She wears a white dress stained with something dark, it drips off of her dress and pools in the snow below her. Though she stands only a few feet away with her arms outstretched towards him, Cadmus is stuck in place.

“Come back, Cadmus, you have to come back!” She pleads.

When Cadmus tries to open his mouth to reassure her no words come out.

“Don’t leave me here!”

Cadmus reaches out for her but his feet are still rooted to the ground. She calls for him again and suddenly Cadmus feels like all of the air has been sucked out of his lungs. He can’t breathe and he can’t move, and when he blinks Daphne disappears, leaving him alone and suffocating in the snow.

He wakes up with a start, trying to calm his racing heart as he takes in lungfuls of air. For the first time in his life, Cadmus feels something close to guilt.

#cadmus durand #I'm Your Villain #take that mental illness i have written a chapter #here is one of hopefully many homoerotic sword fights 😌 #👀 #i want mazelinka to adopt me #thank you laura of leech for convincing me to finally hit post on this fhdnd #i don’t have much to say in the tags this time but yeah- here’s the chapter lol

[foxghost]

Joyful Reunion, Chapter 69

Translator: foxghost @foxghost tumblr/ko-fi1 Beta: meet-me-in-oblivion @meet-me-in-oblivion tumblr Original by 非天夜翔 Fei Tian Ye Xiang Masterpost | Characters, Maps & Other Reference Index

Book 2, Chapter 16 (Part 3)

“Wait for me, Wu Du!” Duan Ling chases after Wu Du through the corridor, keeping close behind him.

“Wu—” Before Duan Ling can finish his sentence, Wu Du turns and draws his sword without any warning.

Duan Ling’s heart instantly stops beating.

He’s never seen that deliberate, calm expression on Wu Du’s face before. Wu Du’s eyes are as still as a placid lake, the tip of his sword is heading right for his throat.

Duan Ling’s words die on his tongue, fear surfacing in his eyes as a sharp pain hits his stomach — it’s an entirely subconscious response, as though his body had already built up this reflex mechanism a long, long time ago.

He wants to kill me.

No, he won’t kill me!

He …

Three successive thoughts flash across his mind in mere moments, then Wu Du’s sword flicks towards the side of Duan Ling’s neck and brushes past him by the hair. A bright metal on metal sound rings out behind his ear and Duan Ling stops breathing.

A sharp, black iron hook that has been aiming for his collar is flicked aside by Wu Du’s sword.

Wu Du wraps his left arm around Duan Ling and strikes his sword outwards again, but he doesn’t even bother to see where it’s pointing at this time. The force with which Wu Du has pulled Duan Ling towards him has Duan Ling tipping over, falling backwards.

But with a cold and detached look in his eyes, Wu Du has turned to face Duan Ling long enough to check over him, making sure that he hasn’t been injured.

With a rumble that sounds like thunder going off in his head, Duan Ling feels his heart may have stopped.

Wu Du wraps one hand around Duan Ling to make sure he’s steady on his feet, then the sword move he’s thrust towards Helan Jie’s throat earlier finally lands — Helan Jie backs away quickly, twisting the iron hook, bending Wu Du’s Lieguangjian into an arc and the two of them pull back at the same time with the inertia of their weight.

Clang — the resonant ring of weaponry striking each other sets Duan Ling’s eardrums stinging.

Helan Jie doesn’t say anything else as he scrambles forward. In two hits of his sword, Wu Du seals off the iron hook’s advance. Only now does Duan Ling realise that Helan Jie had nearly grabbed him by the collar and dragged him off. All he sees is Wu Du standing in front of him, exchanging blows with Helan Jie; with the length of the Lieguangjian giving it an overwhelming edge over the iron hook, Helan Jie is forced to back down again and again.

“Scram!” Wu Du says coldly.

With malice in his eyes, Helan Jie retreats without a word.

The fight is over in seconds, but Duan Ling is already covered in cold sweat, bloodlessly pale and hyperventilating, leaning back against a pillar in the corridor. He raises his head to look at Wu Du, his stomach hurting so much his insides feel like they’re being twisted.

Still angry, Wu Du returns his sword to the sheath hanging by his waist, the slide of metal lasting for ages, then he turns away to keep walking towards the end of the corridor. With his eyes closed, Duan Ling’s stomach hurts more with every moment, so much so that he can’t get a word out.

“Move it already!” Wu Du snaps from the other end of the corridor. " Are you waiting for me to carry you back?"

Duan Ling doesn’t even have the strength left to speak anymore, and he has no idea why he’s suddenly reacted in this way either; that very instant earlier of seeing Wu Du pull his sword on him seems to have awakened a sense of dread buried deep inside his memories.

“Lang Junxia, my stomach hurts …” He murmurs.

From where he stands Wu Du gives him a baffled glance, and realising that Duan Ling looks like he may have been poisoned, quickly comes back to put a thumb on his pulse, pushing up his eyelids to check his eyes.

“But you’re not poisoned,” Wu Du says. He gives Duan Ling a couple of pats on the cheek. “Hey, what’s the matter with you?”

Duan Ling stares sorrowfully at Wu Du.

Wu Du says, “Hey! Stop playing!”

“Wu Du, my stomach hurts …” Duan Ling says weakly.

It suddenly occurs to Wu Du that Duan Ling is probably acting like this because he’s had a fright from the way he drew his sword without warning earlier. Some people go into spasms under shock, and in this way extreme nervousness can also lead to stomach pains. Wu Du quickly picks Duan Ling up and puts him on his own back so they can get back to the room, then he picks out a bunch of medicinal herbs to decoct a bowl of strong medicine, making Duan Ling drink it all down. Once Duan Ling is back inside, his stomach starts to feel better, and as the medicine spreads to his limbs, he finally recovers.

“Feeling better?” Wu Du asks.

Duan Ling nods then, watching Wu Du, his eyes stinging with tears.

“I thought you were going to kill me.”

“Alright alright.” Wu Du doesn’t know what to say to him at all. “Helan Jie was right behind you. What else was I supposed to do?”

Duan Ling is lying on the bed on his side, and once Wu Du makes sure he’s fine, he busies himself with cleaning up. Duan Ling watches Wu Du, feeling quite complicated about everything.

“I’m sorry,” Duan Ling says.

Wu Du doesn’t speak; he quietly picks up the medicine bowl for cleaning, and suddenly gives Duan Ling a glance.

“Are you …” Wu Du is frowning slightly, but after asking the question halfway, he stops himself.

Am I what? Duan Ling’s heart begins to beat faster as he can feel that Wu Du seems to be aware of something.

Neither of them speak for a while. Wu Du stops what he’s doing and starts looking Duan Ling up and down, but Duan Ling has just had some medicine and he can barely keep his eyes open. Before Wu Du has a chance to ask, he’s already asleep. Seeing that he’s fallen asleep, Wu Du doesn’t say anything else, and soon after making sure everything’s tidied up, he climbs onto the bed and lies down next to Duan Ling.

The warm sunlight of the afternoon spills into the room. Once he’s slept for a while, Duan Ling abruptly shouts for his dad, surprising Wu Du.

“Hey.” Wu Du gives him a small shove. Duan Ling is still asleep though, and at the motion he turns over and wraps his arms tightly around Wu Du’s waist, burying his head in Wu Du’s shoulder, and holds on with surprising strength. Wu Du is used to this by now; he lies there unmoving with a rather helpless look on his face, but when he looks down at Duan Ling he gets to thinking that this young man doesn’t have it easy either. None of this has anything to do with him in the first place, and he’s only come all the way to Tongguan so he can keep Wu Du company. After their rough afternoon, all of his anger has faded away.

Wu Du reaches out to pat Duan Ling then, the way one would put a child to sleep. As though he can feel it in his dreams, his hold on Wu Du grows even tighter.

“Where did that young man in your estate who knew Yao Jing come from? He Mo wanted me to ask you,” Shang Leguan questions Bian Lingbai as he sips his milk tea.

Bian Lingbai is frankly half hassled to death by these Tangut already — they’re hands down the most troublesome guests Tongguan has ever had. One moment they want to see a bride-to-be who’s still a maiden confined to her quarters, the next they’re off to harass the young man who’s come to rely on him for shelter. He’s heard often enough that people from Xiliang are uncivilised and warlike, without any sense of shame, and now that he’s actually met some, everything he’s heard turns out to be true. They’re marrying a daughter of the Yaos but thinking about taking the boy away with them as well — honestly he can’t even imagine where these customs of theirs are coming from.

“That’s my nephew.” Bian Lingbai pauses to think for a moment. “But I wasn’t the one who assigned him that bodyguard of his. That guy has a bad temper, so please do forgive us if he’s offended you.”

Shang Leguan hums something in assent.

Bian Lingbai continues, “This kid has had a rough childhood, and he’s never enjoyed anything like luxury, and uh … if Mister He would like to show him his regard and become close to him, for him that would be a blessing, yet …”

“Money?” Helian Bo cuts to the chase with a single word.

Bian Lingbai was just pondering how he’s supposed to put a price on the kid as well; the Marquess of Huaiyin has no need of money, so when Yao Jing’s bride price arrives he just has to send some off as a token gesture to Jiangzuo. Now if they happen to take a fancy to the pretty young man Zhao Rong, that’s perfectly fine! They just have to add a bit more to the bride price, and this way he can also curry favour with the Shangs who are in power at the moment. Presumably this He Mo is someone quite important as well …

As this conversation carries on, Helian Bo and Shang Leguan exchange a look. Shang Leguan gives Helian Bo a slight nod — do as you see fit.

“His … name is?” Helian Bo is holding Duan Ling’s half a sleeve, subconsciously turning it over and over in his hands. Strips of cloth have been stuffed into his nostrils in an attempt to stop the nosebleed Wu Du gave him.

“Bian Rong,” Bian Lingbai says, “he hasn’t been given a courtesy name yet.”

Helian Bo frowns. That doesn’t seem to match what Duan Ling said to him. But since he’s already gone from a Duan to another surname, it’s not a big deal if it’s been changed one more time.

“Money.” Helian Bo re-emphasises this word to Shang Leguan.

Shang Leguan signals to Helian Bo not to say anymore, as he already understands. All at once, Bian Lingbai is over the moon — are these two Tangut about to head back to get the money ready? First it’s three hundred yi of gold, then it’s talk of “money, money”. All Bian Lingbai can hear for a while between his ears is the metallic, ringing sound of silvers being tossed to and fro.

“Um … Mister Shang.” Bian Lingbai says, “The portrait?”

Helian Bo waves a hand, and Shang Leguan repeats the gesture. Bian Lingbai understands this to mean that perhaps the Tangut hasn’t finished the portrait yet, so he doesn’t press for more details. He could never have known that Helian Bo had only said “money” because he thinks Duan Ling lacks money, and the hand waving means there won’t be any more use for that three hundred yi of gold either.

When evening comes, someone outside whispers, “Mister Bian?”

Wu Du carefully lifts Duan Ling’s paw away and comes down from the bed to get the door. He finds a Tangut man standing outside with the estate’s steward, who’s led him here.

“Mister Shang extends his invitation to you and Mister Bian for a visit.”

“No time.” Wu Du says, disinterested, having already lost the motivation for the lesson he wanted to teach these barbarians. “Mister Bian is ill.”

The man outside questions the steward in Tangut, and once the steward answers, the man hurries away. With a deep furrow between his brows Wu Du leaves the steward instructions to bring dinner to their room before sending him off.

But by the time he gets back inside, Duan Ling has already awakened. The afternoon’s incident has sapped him of all his energy, and he sits there like a wilted plant, sneaking glances at Wu Du to see if he’s still angry. Wu Du though, looks the same as always. He’s grabbed a long stick in the courtyard to practice his staff fighting with.

“Hey, Wu Du.”

“What?”

Duan Ling wants to make conversation, but he’s not sure how to begin. He racks his brain before saying out of the blue, “I miss home.”

Wu Du pauses for a beat.

It’s true Duan Ling does somewhat want to go back to Xichuan; living here is simply uncomfortable, as though nothing feels right. Even if there’s a Lang Junxia in Xichuan who wants to kill him, Wu Du’s courtyard house in the chancellor’s estate compound just feels more familiar.

“Then let’s finish up here as soon as possible so we can leave,” Wu Du replies.

Duan Ling scrutinises the look on Wu Du’s face but can’t tell what he’s thinking. “When?”

Wu Du finishes practising, bringing the staff to his side. “I’ll go tonight.”

“Then …” Duan Ling is about to say something, but holds his tongue.

Wu Du puts the stick away and something occurs to him — should he take advantage of the night to steal Bian Lingbai’s secrets? But then what about Duan Ling?

“Should I go with you?” Duan Ling asks.

If Wu Du leaves Duan Ling in the house, what’s he supposed to do if Helan Jie shows up later?

“What does Helan Jie have against me?” Duan Ling asks, baffled. “I never did anything to provoke him.”

“The sight of you offends him.” Wu Du says impatiently, “He wants to get revenge on me, therefore he wants to hurt you.”

“Oh …” Duan Ling nods.

In the midst of their conversation a bunch of Tangut shows up at the door again. Alarms go off in Duan Ling’s heart, oh no, what is Helian Bo trying to do now?! He’d better not come in here yelling “Duan Ling Duan Ling” because then everything is over for him. When Duan Ling woke up earlier he came up with another flaw-ridden story to give Wu Du in case he notices anything — wasn’t he and his father under Tongguan purchasing medicinal ingredients? He’ll just say Xiliang’s Tangut prince had been captured by bandits as well, and somehow in a twist of fate he saved the prince.

Worst comes to worst, he’ll just stop Helian Bo from talking by speaking Tangut to him as soon as he shows up. At any rate, Helian Bo stammers, so no matter what Duan Ling says he’s just going to nod. Even if Wu Du gets suspicious he won’t be able to get anything out of him.

And yet Helian Bo hasn’t shown up, but the Tangut are here to bring two lunch boxes full of food, then there’s two big hunks of lapis lazuli, a platter of gold bars, ten sheets of deerskin, two sticks of young deer antlers, and lastly the messenger presents him a goose feathered hat.

Wu Du is speechless.

Duan Ling is even more speechless.

Duan Ling tells the Tangut messenger, “Bring it all back! I don’t need any of it!”

The Tangut man says to Duan Ling, “His Highness prepared this for you. Please accept it — it represents his friendship with you.”

“You can speak Tangut?!” Wu Du asks incredulously.

Duan Ling stares at him blankly for a moment.

“I’ve been … to Xiliang.” Duan Ling can only lie to Wu Du with the set of lies he came up with earlier. “Since we had to buy things in the market, I learned a bit. ‘Sure’ is ‘qiji’, ‘thank you’ is ‘tuji’. Wasn’t I singing in the afternoon earlier as well?”

Wu Du is skeptical, but he’s already completely befuddled.

The Tangut messenger says to Duan Ling, “His Highness says he’ll wait for you outside his courtyard house at midnight.”

He leaves as soon as he finishes saying this. Duan Ling picks up the goose feather hat and finds a dyed-blue tail feather of a bar-headed goose sticking out of its top.

“What was that last thing he said?” Wu Du asks.

“I didn’t understand him.” Duan Ling quickly plays dumb.

Wu Du walks outside and beckons at the Tangut messenger. “Come on, come on, come back over here, don’t just say something and leave. What did you mean by that?”

The man must have been given prior instructions by Helian Bo, and immediately runs off without a trace.

I do not monetise my hobby translations, but if you’d like to support my work generally or support my light novel habit, you can either buy me a coffee or commission me. This is also to note that if you see this message anywhere else than on tumblr, do come to my tumblr. It’s ad-free. ↩︎

#相見歡 #fei tian ye xiang #joyful reunion #xiang jian huan #fox translates things

[johaerys-writes]

Dorian Pavus/Trevelyan

A World With You, Chapter 38: Resonance

A training gone wrong and a judgement gone wrong- in short, Tristan is having a very bad day, but at least Dorian is there to help. Because we all need a hug sometimes, amirite

Only part of the chapter here because of length, the rest on AO3! Or read from the beginning

The sharpened edge of his dagger flashed in the grey light of dawn. It hissed as it cut through the air, as Tristan flowed through the practiced motions. Wide arcs, precise stabs, like weaving a needle through light fabric.

Tristan took in a deep breath when he returned to his starting position, then let it out slowly. There were no other thoughts in his mind, just this: the calm of wielding his weapon, the controlled movements of its blade, the soft, barely audible hiss as it cut through the air. His consciousness shifted, sharpened, focused on that simple, lifeless object.

You are the weapon, Heir had told him the very first time he’d trained with her, and had made sure to drill the notion into him. You are the dagger.

“Again.”

He obeyed, without a word. There was no one else in the small, lower yard at that time, other than him and Heir. She was perched on the edge of the old well like a raven, her dark clothes blending with the shadows. It seemed almost unnatural, how perfectly still she sometimes sat, tricking the eye, going entirely unnoticed. She was watching him carefully as he flowed through the increasingly complex drills. A dodge and a slash for Knife in the Shadows, then a flurry of quick stabs for Hidden Blades. Once, twice, three times- he lost track of time as he practiced the same motions, again and again.

The sun was just rising over the jagged peaks of the Eastern Frostbacks when he finally stopped. Drops of sweat were running slowly down his brow, his back, his neck, but he paid them no mind as he stood before his trainer.

The elf regarded him thoughtfully, the fabric of her hood that fluttered with the wind the only moving things about her. There was no contempt in her gaze, like there usually was. She actually seemed… pleased.

“You have improved,” she said. “I am impressed.”

Tristan inclined his head in respect. “Thank you.”

A blade hissed, and he ducked only a blink of an eye before it darted past his ear. It landed on the wooden beam of the barn behind him with a thud.

“What-” He spun around to face her. “What was that for?” he demanded in surprise.

Heir uncoiled languidly from the edge of the well, landing on soundless feet. “Your body acts before your mind. That is good. Quick reflexes are what will keep you alive. But simply staying alive is not your goal.” She came to stand before him. When she lifted her eyes to his he saw genuine curiosity in them for the first time, as if she had detected something in him that she never had before. “Right now, you are the weapon. A weapon is useful. It can make the difference between life and death. But a weapon lacks intent.” She tilted her head to the side. “As do you.”

Tristan blinked at her, struggling to understand her words. “But you— you told me I was a weapon. That I have to view myself as one. That I have to be the weapon, be the dagger, in order to be an assassin.”

A small, barely perceptible smile curled her lips. “Ah, but do you always do as you are told, Inquisitor?” Before he could answer, she turned around, walking back to her seat. “I am here because you wished to train as an assassin. Yet one does not wish to be an assassin, any more than one wishes to be a sword or a cudgel. You must be your own assassin. Your own weapon. There is a difference.” She sat on the edge of the well, gathered on the smooth stone like a crow awaiting to take flight. “You still have much to learn.”

Tristan glared at her. “Months on end you teach me something, and now you change it, ask me to unlearn it and learn something else? What am I supposed to do with that?”

“Adapt.” Her eyes flashed in the morning light. “Improvise. Overcome. That is the way of the assassin.”

“This is ridiculous,” Tristan spat, flinging his dagger on the ground. Heir was watching him calmly, not an inkling of emotion in her gaze. Maker, but she was infuriating. He had had trainers for most of his life, yet none as vexing as she was. She had bid him wake up well before daybreak on the day before he was due to travel, and now all she did was mock and order him about, and throw knives at him. He straightened as he gave her his most icy glare. “I refuse to be treated thus. We need to sit down and have a talk, you and I, about what exactly it is you’ll be teaching me from now on. You have one job, and one job only: to teach me how to wield these blighted daggers as best I can. I suggest you start doing that, instead of—”

Another blade hissed past him, this time grazing the skin of his bare arm. “The way of the assassin,” Heir said with deadly calm, “is the sudden strike that overwhelms.”

Tristan ducked, then rolled out of the way of the next few knives that Heir threw his way. They all landed on the ground behind him, or the wooden beam, always just a hair away from where he was.

“An assassin does not just 'wield' a blade. An assassin does not stomp their feet in exasperation, does not barter with their target.” She sat up proudly, fixing him with a piercing look. “The assassin is the leap from the shadows and back. We hit where and when it hurts the most. In so doing, we send a message. What is the message you wish to send?”

“I’m not here to send any bloody messages!” he snapped at her as he pushed to his feet. He was panting with the exertion, but worse than that was his anger. She was winding him up on purpose, trying to make him lose his composure. “I am here to learn.”

“And learn you will. Once you open your mind.” She balanced a blade on the tip of her finger, her eyes still trained on him. “Perhaps you wish to merely walk in shadow when it suits. To prove yourself, to flaunt your skill. To save life through inflicting death.” She scoffed and shook her head. “Childish notions. The profession of assassin has no time for them.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that I am not interested in becoming a professional assassin, but merely learning how to fight like one?” Tristan grumbled, wincing when he touched the razor thin cut that one of the blades had left on his shoulder.

Heir cocked her head to the side as she studied him, like a curious bird. “You are emotional. Emotions do not serve the assassin. To walk this path, you must empty yourself of everything that holds you back."

"I am not 'emotional'," Tristan huffed, rolling his eyes. "I am simply in no mood to talk nonsense. Now, can we please stop philosophising and get back to business?"

Heir only smiled at him, a small smile that never reached her eyes. She had this way of looking at him that made him feel as if he were a spoilt and unruly child. Without a word, she stood up and walked away.

“Where are you going?”

“Our training for today is over, Inquisitor,” she told him over her shoulder. “We will resume when you get back from the Dales. I suggest you think about what we talked about today while you’re away.”

Tristan gritted his teeth as he watched Heir’s retreating form. He pushed his damp hair out of his face as he strode to the well, the old and rusted pulley whining softly as he hauled a bucket of water. It was ice cold when he splashed some on his face and neck, making his skin prickle.

His pulse was still thumping in his temples, the annoyance that had sparked within him still sizzling. He couldn’t understand how it was possible for someone to infuriate him so, with nothing but a few words. She was impossible, maddening; she made his blood boil, and he yet again wondered what Leliana had been thinking when he called her to Skyhold. He was starting to think it was all some elaborate ruse to make him start his days always on the wrong foot. Heir had a way of doing that, most days, and by the Maker, she did it well.

“‘Emotional’,” he echoed with disdain, before gulping down several mouthfuls of water. He was not emotional. He was fine— no, he was more than fine. Perfectly composed. Perhaps a little bit more… on edge than usual, snapping at people left and right, but that was to be expected. He was the Inquisitor, he had a lot on his mind, and while most people around him seemed to understand this well and give him some leeway, no one truly grasped the pressure he was under, what he was up against. And after what had happened the other night...

Maker, but he was tired. He couldn’t remember the last time he had had a decent night’s sleep. The previous night he had only been able to close his eyes and doze off for a few moments before the whispers had started, just at the edges of his hearing, and strange images flickered behind his eyelids. He had spent the rest of the night drifting in and out of consciousness, or staring at the ceiling, listening to Dorian’s rhythmic breathing beside him. That, at least, was his only comfort.  

~

Tristan’s mood hadn't improved much by the time he walked back to the keep. It was a good thing, at least, that the throne room was still empty at that hour. No one wanted to be the first to arrive and wait for the others, and the nobles were not known to be early risers anyway. Right at that moment, Tristan envied them something fierce.

He sighed quietly when he finally reached the door to his quarters. Maighdin and Nhudem took their positions at either side of his door, beside the two guards that were constantly stationed outside it. The elf, Mathras, was an archer and skilled with his daggers. The other one, a tall and dark-haired Orlesian —Jean-Claude was his name, if Tristan remembered correctly— seemed to be there more so to gawk at the pretty noble women who batted their eyelashes at him, than to actually guard him. Even though Cullen had assured him they’d been the best in their groups, and thoroughly vetted by Leliana, Tristan still eyed them warily. They were strangers to him, and he did not like strangers. Besides, he still didn’t know what to think about the fact that Cullen seemed bent on increasing his guard every few days, as if Tristan were made of gold and walking through Ostwick's dock market district after sundown.

“Harrit has made some new armour for me,” he turned to Nhudem after he’d greeted them all as formally as was permitted. Him, at least Tristan knew he could trust. He’d known him since Haven, and had saved his life. If anyone was there to truly guard him, it was him. In truth, Tristan was quite fond of him, despite his peculiar insistence on asking for his blessing every so often. This, Tristan could well do without. “One of his apprentices should be stopping by to leave it later, see him up as soon as he arrives.”

“As you wish, Your Worship.” Nhudem inclined his head respectfully, then stood straight once more. The Rivaini had not been his usual cheerful self ever since Tristan had returned from Crestwood. Perhaps it was the fact that Tristan had walked in on his midnight tryst with a washerwoman two nights before that had the man averting his eyes now. Tristan had thought about telling Leliana about it, yet now, as he ascended the stairs to his quarters, he found himself second-guessing that decision. His guards were people, too, regardless of the fact that Tristan little cherished their company. They had a job to do, as did he.

His job and all its complications faded away when he reached the stair landing, and gazed upon his bed, at the figure that lay amidst the rumpled sheets. Dorian had not woken up yet; he was sleeping as soundly as ever Tristan had seen him, clutching Tristan’s pillow close to his chest. The skin of his bare arm was warm, smooth like silk under Tristan’s lips when he placed a light kiss on it, then another, and another, following the curve of his shoulder, burying his face in the crook of his neck. He inhaled deeply, letting Dorian’s scent suffuse him, fill him to the brim: oakmoss, sandalwood, toasted cardamom, him.

“Sweaty,” Dorian hummed as he petted Tristan’s head, still half asleep.

“I was training.”

“With whom?”

“The elf that has apparently made it her life’s purpose to torment me.”  

Dorian chuckled warmly, turning to catch Tristan’s lips in a kiss. “Dramatic, as always.” He hummed as he kissed him, stretching his arms languidly over his head. The arms then linked behind Tristan’s neck to pull him close.

Tristan sighed, leaning into that embrace. He had things to do, he had places to be, yet nothing was more important than this. This: being with him, kissing him, gazing upon him when he first opened his eyes each morning. Nothing was better than this. Tristan never thought he’d see the day, but he actually looked forward to leaving Skyhold and his many and varied duties behind. On the road, things were simpler, and there was usually nothing calling him out of bed each morning before Dorian had even awoken. They slept together and woke up together, had their meals together, fought together. That last part he could well do without, but everything had its purpose. At least, that was what he chose to tell himself.

“I should get up, too,” Dorian said softly, pulling back. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, several strands of wavy hair falling across his brow, the lines from the pillow marking his cheek. Tristan was sure he had never seen anything more beautiful.

“Stay,” he whispered, leaning forward to kiss him again. “We have time.”

“We do, albeit very little, and I still have to go back to my room to gather the last of my things for our trip before I work on as much of my research as I can.”

“Just toss some clothes in a bag and you’re done. I’ve taken care of the rest.” Tristan’s hand slithered underneath the blankets to smooth down Dorian’s sides, but it was promptly caught and brought back up amidst laughing protests.

“Are you mad? Have you any idea how long it takes to properly fold clothes for traveling? And no, I can’t just ‘toss some clothes in a bag’ and call it a day. The gall.” He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “You might have servants to prepare your bags and your travelling gear, my dear, but I do not. Some of us still need to do those things ourselves, and I will not— I repeat, I will not spend the duration of our trip in wrinkled robes.”

“What if they are? You’ll look dashing, wrinkled robes or no. Come.” Tristan flashed him his most winning smile. “Stay.”

Dorian gazed at him for a moment, evidently contemplating Tristan’s offer, when he shook his head abruptly. “No. No, no. Enough with your distractions.” Dorian swatted him away, rolling out of his embrace. “It’s enough that I have to do the walk of shame from your quarters to my room each day in wrinkled clothes, I won’t be doing it during our mission too. I have a certain reputation to keep, after all.”

Tristan leaned back on his elbows with a sigh, watching Dorian as he gathered his clothes from the floor, his smooth skin prickling in the chill air. Layer after layer was put on; his linen trews, his undershirt, the silk shirt, his soft leather trousers that hugged his form so elegantly, the swaths of cream coloured fabric that he arranged over it all with belts and straps. Each piece more intricate than the last, yet all part of a carefully arranged whole.

“Why don’t you bring them here?” he asked.

“Bring what here?”

“Your things.”

Dorian froze in the act of securing a bright golden pin on his shoulder. “I beg pardon?”

“Your things.” At Dorian’s reticent stare, Tristan continued. “Your clothes, your shoes, your gear… your books. Your scrolls. You know. Things.”

Dorian tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly just as a small, curious smile widened his lips. “And why would I do that?”

“If you brought your clothes here, they would be ready to wear in the morning. No wrinkles. No walk of shame to your room. You could just… wear them and go about your business. We would have more time together in the mornings, too. And in the evenings. There wouldn’t be half a keep separating us. We could…” Tristan let his words trail off when he noticed Dorian’s incredulous expression. “What? What did I say?”

“I… I don’t know. What are you saying?” His silver gaze had never left him; it was on him, piercing him to the bone. “Are you saying what I think you're saying? Are you... suggesting we venture into mutual domesticity?”

Tristan paused, considering his words for a moment. “I never thought of it like this, but now that you said it, I think so, yes.”

Dorian’s eyes widened, then he shook his head slowly. “Mad,” he said under his breath as he turned to face the mirror once more, fastening the pin on his shoulder. “I had my doubts before, but now I am certain: you are out of your mind.” He gasped when Tristan grabbed his hand and drew him back to the bed.

“That is a serious accusation, serah,” he said teasingly. He pinned him down on the mattress and leaned down until their noses touched. “One that needs to be spoken in one’s face.”

“Very well, then.” Dorian quirked a brow at him, utterly unfazed. “You are insane.”

“How so?”

“Are you seriously suggesting I move in here? With you?”

“Why not? You’re here most of the time.”

“Yes, but I don’t live here, I just sleep here. And wake up here. And have some of my meals here, occasionally. It is not the same as living here. It is not!” he insisted when Tristan laughed.

“So? You’ll be doing those same things, only you’ll be more comfortable doing them. I don’t see the issue.”

“You don’t see the issue? You don’t —” Dorian huffed and fixed him with a pointed look. “What will your advisors say?”

“What’s it to them?” Tristan frowned down at him. “What’s it to anyone?”

“You are a public figure, amatus.” Dorian’s expression was stern, though his voice was softer now. “All eyes in Thedas are on you. What will people say if they see me moving in and out of your quarters this freely, if they see me bringing my belongings here?”

“I don’t care what people say. All I care about is you. If anyone says anything about it, I’ll fight them.” He widened his eyes dramatically. “You know I will. I’ll snap them like twigs. I’m strong, you know, even Heir admitted it.”

Dorian let out a quiet laugh, the rich and mellow sound warming Tristan to his core. His gaze was soft as it glided over his features now. “You mean it?” he asked quietly. “Do you really mean it?”

“I do.” Tristan leaned down to capture his lips in a slow, gentle kiss. “I like it when you’re here,” he whispered. “I want to be with you, Dorian. As much as I can. There’s nothing I want more.”

Dorian sighed into their kiss, his fingers slipping through Tristan’s and twining with them. “I want that, too.” Those silver eyes that Tristan would gladly drown in looked up at him through his long eyelashes. “Alright. I may bring some of my things here… for a start. Just a few, mind you,” he added hastily when a wide grin broke over Tristan’s face. “I certainly won’t be hauling all my belongings here overnight. Just a few changes of clothes. And some pomade. Perhaps some of my books, too. And that’s it! I mean it. That will be all.”

“Anything you like,” Tristan hummed, deepening the kiss. “Anything at all.”

They kissed for a long while; just this, just lips gliding gently against each other, their breaths mingling until he couldn’t tell them apart. A strange sort of warmth had spread over him, one that he had never felt before. Never before had he felt more comfortable, more connected with anyone. It was a strange sort of feeling, one that left him breathless, as much as it tethered him to a part of him that he had thought lost long before. The part of him that trusted unconditionally, that fought for what he wanted, held it close to his heart.

He would hold Dorian as close as he could. For as long as he could. As long as he would let him.

~

Soon after Dorian had left to gather the last of his clothes and travelling gear, Tristan’s own armour arrived. He had just stepped out of the bath that two servants had drawn for him, water pooling around his feet and his towel wrapped around his hips when Harrit’s apprentice brought it. For a set of armour that Tristan had requested at a day’s notice, it was not only sturdy and well-made, but pleasing to the eye as well, made to measure and form fitting to allow for ease of movement.

He set it carefully on his bed, admiring the elegant stitching and the hidden compartments for blades, daggers and potions he had requested for a brief moment before putting on his regular clothes. A crisp white shirt -thankfully with untangled laces-, his leather breeches, a dark blue coat with fine thread of silver embroidery along the sleeves and the lapels. Simple, clean, understated, yet still imposing. Looking his best was of the essence, especially for what he was about to do.

He had just finished pulling on his tall black boots when he heard Maighdin’s heavy bootsteps ascending the stairs.

“Ready, Your Worship?”

Tristan glanced at himself in the mirror one last time, taking in a deep breath. A light crease of worry was set between his eyebrows; he smoothed it out before turning around. Maighdin gave him a small nod, which was vaguely encouraging.

He was ready.

Read the rest on Ao3!

#dorian pavus #dragon age #pavelyan #dorian pavus x trevelyan #dorian x inquisitor #dorian x trevelyan #dorian/inquisitor #dorian/trevelyan #dorian x tristan trevelyan #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfic #a world with you #johaerys writes

[sweet-barnes]

From Princess to King - Prince!Bucky

Pairing: Prince!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Word Count: 4.7K

Summary: She is known as the Prince in her kingdom and is accepted by her people and her family, but that acceptance isn’t shared by everyone, not even by the family she is marrying into.

A/N: happy pride month! all you guys have my full support no matter what, i am here for you! i thought i’d write a Royal AU that’s a lil bit different, being fluid in your gender should be embraced and you should be able to identify as whatever makes you feel comfortable! so here’s a girl who embraces her masculine and feminine qualities, changes her titles to the masculine versions in public and dresses interchangeably in a time that wasn’t so accepting of it. Feedback is always appreciated!

Moodboard

The weight of the sword steadied you, grounded you and rooted you in your stance. You let out a deep breath and felt your mind entering a calm state as you closed your eyes. Taking one last breath, you snapped your eyes open and a grunt left your mouth as the sword swung around your body, heading straight for your opponent.

The sound of metal on metal echoed through the training pitch, the young warriors around you flinching at the harsh sound. You paid no mind to them, swinging ferociously in well timed sequences to catch your opponent off guard. They met every strike with a block from their own sword or a slight move of their body, dodging each on coming attack. Your frustration grew as you were unable to get a hit, causing you to become more erratic and unpredictable in your movements.

Soon, it was hard for your opponent to keep up, frantically trying to block each blow but soon it was too much and your sword was clanging against their chainmail.

The sound indicated the end of the training demonstration. Your opponent - one of the knights of the Royal Guard - stepped in front of you and both of you bowed to show your respect towards one another.

You turned your body outwards, towards the on-looking trainees that were stood in awe at the fight they had just witnessed.

“You need to stay focused, analyse your opponents movements and act accordingly,” your voice was strong and powerful as you spoke out to the group. “Your life may depend on it.”

You heard the scurrying of feet behind you as you finished your sentence. You turned as smoothly as you could in your own chainmail armour to come face to face with one of the palace’s messengers.

“Your highness,” the boy bowed in front of you and you dipped your head in response. “Your presence is requested in your Mother’s chambers.” You knew instantly what was about to happen. The plan had been in motion for the better part of 8 months and the time was creeping closer and closer. You nodded, letting the messenger know you would be right there.

You turned back to the group of trainees, “partner up, the Royal Guard will take over your training from here, I expect great things from you.” You flashed your bright smile at them, letting out a small laugh before adding, “see you whenever I see you I guess.”

With that, you turned and made your way to the small stables located at the entrance of the training pitch. Your jet black stallion waiting patiently for you. You let out a sigh, giving his snout a stroke just before placing your foot in the stirrup and throwing your foot over his body, landing heavily in the saddle with all of your armour still on.

“This could be our last ride my old boy,” your voice was wistful as you pulled yourself out of the covering. “Let’s make it a good one.”

Just a moment later, you were galloping through the large open fields, a smile spread across your face despite the tears that were rising to your eyes. You’d miss this feeling and you wondered if you were to be allowed this freedom where you were going next in your life.

You shook away the thought and focused on the ride you were having now, not wanting to miss a moment of it.

--

You uttered your thank you’s to the Royal Guards who opened the doors to your Mother’s chambers. A few maids were hurrying around the room, fabrics, food and other packages in their arms as they scuffled around.

You met your mother’s eyes at the other side of the large room and made your way over to her. She gave you a fond smile as she looked you up and down with you stood before her in your gamebeson. “You always remind me of your father when you put your armour on, so strong and independent.”

You simply smiled at her and she stood to press a kiss to your forehead. “You have a letter from your new kingdom, a welcoming.” You were handed an envelope, ivory in colour and the seal of your new home was stamped in wax to seal it.

You pulled it open, uncovering the crisp paper inside and the handwritten words. You immediately noticed your title.

“They’ve called me Princess again,” you huffed, glaring at your mother as she passed by you. 

You were always known as the Prince. From the moment you could form your own thoughts and words, you instantly called yourself the Prince, and whenever someone would dare call you a Princess, they would be at the receiving end of your telling offs (even at 4 years old). 

So that’s the way it has always been. Later in your life, you explained to your people that you wanted to be the Prince as to not be held back by your title as a Princess. As Prince you could venture out into the world more, you would be taken more seriously and you were respected far greater than the feminine title. 

You still attended balls in extravagant dresses but you also showed up in well decorated suits and capes, upstaging all the other noble and royal men within the ballroom. 

There was no holding you back, however you wanted to look, however you wanted to dress, you made sure it happened and no amount of royal traditions or rules were going to stop you. You did whatever made you comfortable, and if that meant appearing more masculine, the you were happy with that.

Your parents supported you all the way. Your mother was a little hesitant at first, worrying she would never get her precious little girl back but after much reassurance for yourself and your father, promising you would always be her little girl and that you were just a bit different from all the other royal girls in the kingdom, she finally came around to the idea. Now, she was extremely proud of you and defended your choice no matter what.

Your father embraced your interest in the masculine side of ruling a country as much as he possibly could, training you in the battlefield and in royal affairs that the women wouldn’t have previously been allowed any input in. It also gave your mother a chance to get involved, feeling more confident in herself after witnessing your bravery on the matter.

The smile on his face was unforgettable when you took down your first opponent in the training pitch at 10 years old. Fast forward another 8 years and you were training the next group of young warriors to be part of the armies and possibly part of the Royal Guard, the most elite soldiers there were within the kingdom. 

With all this acceptance from your family, you found it difficult when the other kingdoms did not respond in a similar way. Instead, they would dismiss your requests of being addressed as Prince and call you Princess regardless, and talk down to you as though you didn’t understand what was occurring around you.

There was only one person from your neighbouring kingdom who understood your preferred title, and that was Prince James Buchanan Barnes, or Bucky as you had grown to know him.

The first time you had met Bucky and his parents, they had greeted you as Princess and then told you to disregard the disorder with their guards as they were sorting the problem themselves and you wouldn’t understand. They quickly stopped underestimating you when you provided the perfect solution to their problem within 30 seconds of hearing it, and adding “it’s Prince Y/N” onto the end.

You saw Bucky smirk at your comeback out of the corner of your eye, a proud smile making its way onto your face as this response. From then on, you knew you’d be safe with Bucky.

Your mother voice broke you out of your train of thoughts. “Darling, I know it’s going to take some time but be patient with them, they’ll learn eventually,”

You rolled your eyes, earning a stern glare from your mother to which you apologised immediately. “I know it takes people some time, but it’s been nearly a year, and I’m going to marry their son, if someone was coming into our kingdom, I would make sure I was accommodating on every level.”

Your mother didn’t have anything to respond with, she knew you were right. Your surrounding kingdoms were not accepting of your view on tradition and tried to dampen it whenever there was a royal gathering, but your parents would never let it affect you.

“Come on sweetheart, we need to get you ready for the morning,” you let your mother lead you out of her room and down to your personal chambers, helping you prepare for your new life awaiting you.

--

Your heart was pounding as you looked out of your window at the houses that were scattered outside. The villagers were waving at the carriage, hoping to see a glimpse of you as you passed but you only sunk further into your seat.

“They love you already,” Wanda, your personal maid and best friend, whispered beside you. You glanced at her before moving your eyes to the window again.

“They love the idea of me, the idea of me being a good wife and Queen to Bucky,” you sighed. You knew what was to come, and your stomach turned at the thought of it.

The idea of marrying Bucky didn’t cause you as much anxiety as you thought it would when you first heard about the arrangement. Since your first meeting, he made every effort to get to know you. The real you, behind all the fancy ball gowns and suits, the royal dinners and the fronts that every royal and noble liked to portray.

You both had snuck out of your living quarters at an ungodly hour to meet and go for a walk under the stars. That night, he promised he would protect you no matter what. Even if you didn’t want to love him, even if you agreed to just be friends and only be lovers for show. He made a vow to always be the King you needed him to be, out in the kingdom and in private. 

That was the night you felt your heart open for him. He held your hands softly and you felt like your skin was on fire under his touch. He provided you with so much care and respect in the short times you spent together, it made you yearn to be around him more often.

You were looking forward to the time you would have with him now. Ever since the last time you had seen him, frequent letters were sent between the kingdoms. Telling each other many things about yourself and with every detail you felt yourself falling and falling even more.

Should a Prince really be letting herself feel this way? You didn’t know, but you would accept that warmth into your life in an instant if it meant you could spend eternity with Bucky.

The people scared you though. The King and Queen scared you, you didn’t know if Bucky could protect you from them but you were willing to let him try. Before you knew it, the carriage had come to a stop and when you looked out of the window, a magnificent palace loomed over you. Elegant and commanding over the kingdom it ruled.

You took a deep breath, glancing at Wanda who reached over and gave your arm a squeeze. “You can do this, I believe in you all the way to the throne.”

You sent her a nervous smile before nodding, turning your body to the door as it was opened by one of the kingdom’s guards. You looked up and Bucky’s face was in front of yours, his toothy grin causing goosebumps down your spine and a matching one to spread across your face. 

“My Prince has finally arrived,” he uttered to you, and an elated feeling spread across your chest. Hearing those words from Bucky instantly calmed your nerves. “I’m glad you are here to greet me, my Prince,” you responded. You took his outstretched hand, letting him help you step down from the carriage. 

Your mother had convinced you to wear a dress for the initial meeting, but said you were allowed to wear whatever you wanted thereafter, you just needed to impress the King and Queen at first arrival. 

The soft grey material stretched out behind you, flowing slightly in the wind. Mesh covered your arms and your back, gold and silver thread creating delicate patterns across the material. The skirt flowed straight down, extra layers helping to create a softer look and a simple tiara sat atop your head. 

Once you were fully straightened outside of the carriage, Bucky couldn’t help his eyes wander over you. You had taken his breath away, he couldn’t believe he was marrying you in the morning. “You look gorgeous,” he whispered, his eyes coming back up to meet yours. A slight mischievous look glinted in them but it was soon replaced with endearment. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, “come on Buck, they’re all staring.”

You had noticed the audience that had surrounded you. All the guards, nobles, and royal were all looking onto yours and Bucky’s interaction, the citizens of his kingdom also watching from afar, trying to get any glimpse they could of the new arrived royalty.

“I’m not surprised,” Bucky joked but still led you towards his parents. Your anxiety picked up as the distance between you and them decreased. You were glad you were holding onto Bucky’s arm otherwise you feared you would have turned and ran away. 

You felt like you were going to faint by the time you reached the King and Queen, Bucky’s grip was strong on your hand, tightening it against his strong bicep and keeping you in place. However, it was a good job he was holding onto you for very different reasons when the King greeted you.

“Princess Y/N, it’s an honour to welcome you to our kingdom for good now,” his voice was smooth and powerful but his words made anger rise in you. Before you could think to correct his mistake, Bucky was taking the words out of your mouth.

“Forgive me father, but it is Prince Y/N, not Princess,” Bucky held his gaze with his father for a few seconds, almost like they were communicating without words before his father conceded. “My apologies, Prince Y/N, please forgive me.”

You accepted his apology before being guided into the lavish palace that awaited you. 

You looked up at Bucky and he was already staring down at you, you sent him a soft smile as a thank you that made his heart swell. 

You were guided to a large chamber, a luxurious bed in the middle with red and gold drapes hanging at every window. The dresser, wardrobe and drawers were all made of solid mahogany wood and the gold handles stood out perfectly on them. Your eyes went wide at the sight in front of you, you had grown so used to the luxury at your own palace, seeing others made you realise truly what kind of lifestyle you led.

“Do you like it?” It was only you and Bucky in the room now. All your belongings had been dropped off and you were left alone for some time together before the dinner that evening. You hummed in response, turning to face him as he walked closer to you.

Before you knew it, he had scooped you in his arms with a grunt, earning a small squeal from yourself followed by a giggle. He flung you both onto the king sized bed and gave you a moment to settle before speaking again.

“I missed you,” his eyes were roaming your face, your tiara had fallen onto the sheets and pieces of your hair had fallen over your face. A gentle hand came and brushed them away, his fingers lingering on the side of your face before cupping your cheek in his rough yet kind hand. 

Your eyes met his ocean blue ones, his pupils dilating at they looked into yours. “I missed you too,” you whispered. These were the moments you longed for when you weren’t near him. No amount of letters could fill this void of his touch and his smell and his voice. 

Bucky inched forward, his breath fanning across your lips as he stopped in front of your face. A moment passed before his eyes closed and he gently placed his soft lips against yours. They were warm and tender, and you felt yourself instantly melt into his touch. From the one kiss, you could tell how much he cared for you and there was nothing that could rival that.

He broke away too soon for your liking and the soft whimper that left you caused a chuckle to rise from his chest. He moved his hand to rest around your waist, pulling your body so it was flush against his. “I’m sorry about my parents, they’re just not used to the Prince thing yet but I promise I have been correcting them every single time, they’re very stubborn.” You shook your head, “I believe you Buck, I just wish they understood what it meant to me.”

Bucky saw the hurt in your eyes and pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead. “I promise we will make them see, they will call you their Prince for eternity.” You giggled at him as he over exaggerated his words. 

“What will we do when I’m made Queen?” You voice was quiet and Bucky could hear the worry seeping through. “You will not be my Queen, you will be my King.” Bucky’s voice was stern, he meant every word, you could feel it in your bones.

“I wouldn’t mind being your Queen though,” you moved your gaze down, fiddling with the lapel on Bucky’s hand tailored suit. “Just for you.” Bucky didn’t know what to say. For as long as he had known you, you always insisted on masculine pronouns, and now you were willing to change that just for him? 

“Are you serious?” His voice came out as a whisper. His fingers moved under your chin, forcing your head up to make eye contact with him. “You need to tell me if you’re serious or not, doll.”

You smiled up at him, at the anxiety in his eyes at your words. “Of course I am, my Prince, I will always be your Queen, it can be our thing.” Bucky didn’t reply, instead he caught your lips in another one of his heated kisses, making you feel at home at last.

--

It was the day of the wedding. You had been woken early to start the preparations for the day and you were already exhausted at 9am, you didn’t know how you were going to last for the rest of the day. 

Wanda was stood behind you at the dresser, taking out the rollers you had slept in to reveal your wavy hair. She let out a sigh, running her fingers through your soft curls. “I’ve been waiting for this day since I first met you, it seems like so long ago but my dreams of you becoming my King are finally starting to come true, I just know you’re the perfect person for it, especially with Bucky at your side.”

Her words caused a smile to grace your face as you looked at her in the mirror. “I don’t know if I can be king here, Bucky accepts it and supports me but the rest of the kingdom seem against it, they’re just not willing to change.” Your eyebrows furrowed together as you thought of the dinner last night.

“The topic came up with the King and Queen when they mentioned me becoming Queen, I put forward that I would be grateful if I were to be called King, that it would make me feel more comfortable in my role and they turned their noses up at the very idea.” Wanda saw the anguish in your face and dropped her hands to your shoulder, giving them a gentle rub to sooth you.

You carried on, “Bucky came to defend me, and they even shot him down, saying it was not normal and not tradition so it could not happen. Word must have got out, I heard the people protesting outside this morning, they clearly do not want to accept that change either, I don’t know what to do anymore.”

At that moment, Bucky walked in. A white suit adorning his large figure, detailed with gold embellishments and thread, his short hair styled perfectly. He took your breath away when you saw him, your eyes dancing over him and taking as much in as you could. 

He looked like a god to you, and you never wanted him to be out of your sight.  

“You look perfect Buck,” you said after a moment, a grin lighting up his face as he walked over to you. Wanda stepped out of the way, busying herself with preparing your outfit. You snapped yourself out of it quickly though, “Bucky, you’re not supposed to be in here, we’re not supposed to see each other until we’re getting married!”

The panic caused Bucky to chuckle a little, kneeling down in front of you. “I know, but we break tradition enough already, what’s one more thing?” His soft voice calmed your nerves instantly and you settled back into your chair. 

Your hand reached towards him and he instinctively took it in his, his thumb brushing over your delicate skin. “I know you’ve heard the people outside, but I will not let them get to you, they can say whatever they want but you will be King of this land some day, no one can say otherwise.”

You shook your head, “They’ll push me out before I can even become their King, James,” the use of his real name caused a spike of worry in his heart, you never used his real name unless it was serious. “Doll, look at me,” Bucky insisted, his other hand moving to rest on your leg, squeezing it a little to get your attention.

“They may think that now, but once I am King, I will allow whatever you want, and no one can stop me because I will be their ruler, I will not let anyone suppress what you want in this life.”

You lent forward, letting your lips gently graze over his. You felt Bucky smile before he fully connected your lips, sending your head reeling until he pulled away. You eyes followed him as he stood and he let out a laugh, “don’t look at me like that, you need to get ready to be my wife!”

You rolled your eyes at him as he left the room and Wanda walked back over to you. “Wife, huh?” She was giving you the eye in the mirror and you shook your head, you couldn’t help the smile that took over your face. “Yeah, it’s our thing.”

--

Your foot was tapping against the floor of the carriage as you pulled in front of the great cathedral. The only thing that kept your mind in the present was the fact that Bucky was waiting inside for you, waiting to become your husband.

Wanda was sat next to you, her pastel red dress flowing over her body perfectly. You looked down at your own dress, knowing you would be much more comfortable in a suit but your mother was inside and you wanted to be her little girl one last time. She deserved to see you in a wedding dress on your big day.

It clung to your body in all the right places, the long lace trail laid throughout the carriage at to not crease it in any way. The back of the dress was open, buttons going down along your spine, as you knew Bucky liked it when you wore dresses like that and your hair was decorated with the wild flowers of your own kingdom. An ancient tiara sat atop your head, one that had been in Bucky’s family for centuries. Ivory laced adorned the white material of your dress, creating beautiful patterns along it. 

Your bouquet, that you were holding rather tightly - Wanda had to tell you to loosen your grip a few times on the way to the cathedral - was made up of sunflowers and rose. It stood out wonderfully against the pale colour of your dress.

The time between getting out of the carriage and making your walk down the aisle to Bucky was a blur. You focused on him the whole way down, noticing the tears rolling down his cheeks at the sight of you. You made a mental note to tease him about that later on when you were in private.

The ceremony went smoothly. Flowing as naturally as it could with the nerves of you and Bucky causing some jitters, and under the watchful eye of both your mothers and fathers. 

You had caught your mother crying a few times, your father holding her hand whenever she did and you sent her a warming smile to comfort her. It must be hard seeing your baby become an adult so quickly.

It wasn’t until the end of the ceremony that there was a problem, and Bucky was not shy in correcting it.

“Please, citizens of our Kingdom, please welcome your new Princess, Y/N.” There was eruption of cheering outside but you felt yourself sink inwards. Bucky made eye contact with you, gripping your hand tighter than he had already been and turned towards the bishop.

“I am sorry Sir, but you are mistaken, it is Prince Y/N,” you could tell Bucky was frustrated, you could see it in the way his jaw clenched and the muscles flexed under his cheeks. The bishop’s eyebrows furrowed. “Pardon me Prince James, but she is clearly a woman, she is a Princess.”

Bucky shifted his weight, letting out a sigh. He turned to face the audience, everyone looking onto the problem that was unfolding. He pulled you closer to him, his arm circling your waist. “This is my Prince, Y/N, you shall all welcome her and address her this way, I will not tolerate for anything other than this title.” 

Murmurs rustled through the crowd, Bucky’s mother and father sharing a look with each other before looking back at the pair of you. “If I hear anyone addressing her in a different way, there will be consequences.”

With this, Bucky turned to face you, your eyes wide after his announcement. You shared your first kiss as a married couple there, under the eyes of the kingdom, finally feeling at home in Bucky’s embrace. Maybe now they would accept you, only time would tell. 

The kiss was over too soon, Bucky had pulled away and was leading you down through the aisle, passed everyone who was staring at you but you didn’t pay any attention to them. Your eyes were on the man that loved you enough to protect you from his whole kingdom. 

You arrived outside to a cheering crowd of citizens, but you rushed straight to the horse and carriage, Bucky helping you inside and gathering your dress before jumping in next to you. It set off immediately, back to the palace where you were to get ready for the celebration later that evening, but you had a feeling Bucky had something else in mind before the event.

The fields of flowers and wheat passed you outside the windows, the birds singing and only the sound of the horses could be heard. You stared at Bucky, taking in his beauty in that moment.

He turned his face towards you, smirking when he noticed your gaze was already on him. “Like what you see?” He joked, and you nudged him before he captured you in his strong arms, pulling you as close as possible. 

“I definitely like what I see, my Prince.”

#james buchanan barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky fluff #bucky fanfic #mcu #mcu fanfic #bucky imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #prince!bucky #king!bucky #royal!bucky #royal au

[mommymooze]

Always Half, Never Whole

Hubert, OC Sarlik, Edelgard

TW: Forced captivity, bondage, starvation

Hubert stands stand outside of the Empire’s stronghold that houses the Black Eagle Strike Force and all of their supports. He silently perceives her presence. A tall dark haired woman stands alone outside of the stronghold at the edge of the woods, staring into the sky. She joined their forces recently, one of the members of his new battalion, the Vestra Sorcery Engineers. He had noticed her during the battle earlier today, she ran a sword through an axe wielder headed his direction, immediately afterward the enemy burst into flames.

He approaches silently. She does not stir from her peering into the heavens.

“What is your name.” Hubert demands, expecting her to jump.

She lowers her head, looking to the ground. “You may simply refer to me as your loyal servant, Lord Hubert.”

“Name.” He requires a proper response.

“Agarthe. I hate it. I would ask friends to call me by my second name, Sarlik, however I have no friends.” She responds listlessly.

“Sarlik. Thank you for your assistance today.” He mutters quietly.

“I take my work seriously. We protect you.” Her voice toneless.

“Why are you out here? Should you not be resting with the rest of the battalion?” He is curious about this one, deciding to continue the conversation.

“The quarters are close. The smells are…strong. I am enjoying the freedom and air of the outdoors.” She answers. For enjoying something, her voice is very unemotional.

“Where are you from? Adrestia?” He asks.

She laughs, however it is dry and hollow. “No.”

“Hmm.” Hubert brings his index finger to curl over his upper lip.

“Have you not seen our pale skin? Do you not feel the darkness raging through us?” She holds up her palm and a small purple flame comes to life in the center, putting her pale skin and black eyes on display.

“Shouldn’t you be with your kind?” He snarls, eyes piercing into her.

“They disgust me.” She fumes, curling her hand into a fist, the light disappears.

“Oh, do they now? Please tell me more.” Hubert refuses to believe much, if anything of what she says.

“I will tell you anything if you don’t force me to go back.” She kicks at a stone on the ground.

“I may keep you around, if nothing else, for entertainment.” He points to the encampment. “Return to your place. Rest. Tomorrow we march to Enbarr.”

As the army marches back to the Adrestian capital, they run into enemy forces upon occasion. Hubert’s battalion surrounds him and protects him well, never allowing an enemy to get within 20 feet of him.

Hubert is extremely busy upon his return to Enbarr, fulfilling Edelgard’s wishes, organizing his spies, and ending those that stand in their way. Silently he emerges from an alley in one of the downtrodden sections of the city when he feels the sudden presence of dark magic nearby. Walking away from him is a woman dressed all in black. Were she not wearing brown gloves, she would completely blend in with the darkness.

“Sarlik.” He speaks low and aggressively.

She turns, her face pale in the little light of the street as she walks toward him. She touches his shoulder, they are warped to the Imperial gardens in the rear of the palace.

“That is a foul place to have a conversation.” She answers before he asks his question.

Hubert takes a seat on the bench that is immediately behind him. She sits on the stone pathway, her dress circling around her.

“Why do you follow me?” Hubert growls.

“To protect you.” She states. “You are useful to me.”

“What makes you think I will do what you want?” He repudiates.

“It is already part of your plan.” She answers, her voice low. “When you are done with them you will seek revenge on those that have injured and tortured your Emperor, murdered her siblings, infiltrating and poisoning the government with their work in the shadows.”

Hubert does not react, does not flinch. His face reflects no emotion.

“They experiment on everything. Even their half breed children.” Touching her hair, it changes from black to white. “They think they are gods. All of them are mad, insane, a perverse blight upon the planet deserving of annihilation.”

“Take them out yourself. Why should I do your work for you.” He sneers.

“I cannot. I am magically prevented from any physical or magical attack to any Agarthan.” Sarlik answers. “But there is nothing stopping me from assisting someone else that can.”

“Curious, but not very convincing.” Hubert comments.

The Emperor dismisses the members of the Strike Force from their daily planning meeting in the Imperial Palace. Edelgard stands, straightening her dress preparing to leave the room.

“Pardon, my Emperor. Where are you going to in such a hurry today?” Hubert eyes her as she is halfway to the door.

“I have an appointment to keep. None of your concern. You are dismissed, Hubert.” She does not turn to meet his gaze as she leaves.

Hubert has a meeting with a spy and cannot follow her at this time, however as soon as he can, he searches the palace for her location. He arrives at the atrium where his Emperor is having tea with another person. He cannot make out their identity as their back is facing him and the thick cloak hides their appearance.

Hubert approaches to a proper distance then bows and announces his presence. “I beg your pardon, Lady Edelgard, however I have some information that I must discuss with you.”

Her lilac colored eyes raise to meet his gaze. “I will be with you shortly, Hubert. I must finish my appointment with my friend.”

“May I ask with whom you are having tea with?” Hubert pries.

“Just a friend.” She waves him off. “Must you know everything!”

“For matters of security, my lady.” Hubert bows respectfully. He cannot deny the sense of dark magic around the guest.

“They are welcome in the palace, so there is no security issue. Please leave us.” Edelgard verbally dismisses him, refusing to look in his direction.

Hubert huffs to himself, quietly leaving the atrium, then stomping angrily down the hallway.

A week later Hubert happens upon Sarlik and Linhardt working in a small laboratory not far from the infirmary.

“You must inspect the pods closely. They cannot be withered. Only the healthy ones can be used. Check first at the stem side, if it is soft or wrinkling, discard it.” Sarlik instructs Linhardt.

Linhardt looks incredibly awake currently, which is quite unusual. He is rapidly writing in his notebook, capturing every word the woman tells him.

“Cut off the ends and measure exactly two feet of pods. You will have the correct amount regardless of the size of the pods.” Sarlik continues.

“What is going on here. Who gave you permission to mix potions here?” Hubert demands an answer.

“Edelgard of course.” Linhardt answers, matter of factly.

“Emperor Edelgard. Mind your tongue. For what purpose is this potion?” Hubert scowls.

“We are brewing this at her request. Why don’t you go ask her?” Linhardt snips, turning away from the seething man behind him.

Hubert turns on his heel and does just that.

Knocking on the door of the personal quarters of the emperor, Hubert announces himself.

“Come in.” Edelgard beckons.

Approaching her with measured steps he bows, “Lady Edelgard, if I may have a word with you.”

“I really wish you would leave the formality out there. In here we are friends, come, have a seat.” She pats the couch next to her chair.

Hubert takes a seat as ordered. “I recently discovered Linhardt and Sarlik concocting strange potions near the infirmary. Of course, I have concerns for the safety and security of all occupants of the palace…”

“Give it a rest, Hubert. Sarlik meets with my approval and has my permission to create any potions she feels necessary.” Edelgard needles him.

“You have no idea who she is, or even what she is. I believe she is quite dangerous and possibly a spy.” Hubert argues.

“I am certain you have been spying on her since you knew of her arrival. What have you discovered?” She looks at him sternly.

“We are still observing her.” He remarks. “She has not committed any acts of treason, yet. She may be waiting for instructions, then when the time is right, she will betray us all.”

“I encourage you sit with her. Speak with her.” Edelgard advises.

Hubert bows, “As you wish.”

Once the potions she and Linhardt are brewing finish, Hubert orders Sarlik to accompany him. She follows him wherever he leads. He takes her to a secluded cell deep below the palace. He is the only person privy to its location. He orders her to sit, cuffing her hands and legs to the rough raw wood of the chair. He places a collar around her neck to prevent her from being able to cast magic. He questions her about her true loyalty. He demands to know what she has done to Edelgard to gain her trust so quickly. He commands her to provide the names of all that she has brainwashed or manipulated to put their trust in her.

For all of his questioning, she says nothing.

Hubert leaves her bound in the cell, returning to his office. He is immediately approached by one of his spies and he must leave the Imperial Palace for an important mission.

Hubert returns three days later. His first objective is to see to the health and welfare of his Emperor. Edelgard informs him that while he was away, when she knew he was away, nothing occurred out of the ordinary. He returns to his office to review spy reports and attend to duties that require his immediate attention. By his calculation, Sarlik has been secured in the cell for approximately 80 hours.

He packs a large basket, heading to the depths below the palace. He stops frequently to check the traps he has set, verifying that none have been tripped. There has not been anyone through here, he notes to his satisfaction. Unlocking the last door, he enters with the light of a single candle.

The light is still too bright for her eyes as she lowers her head and turns away from him. She has been in complete darkness the entire time she has been imprisoned.

“Perhaps now you are willing to answer my questions.” Hubert unpacks the basket’s contents, placing the different items on the floor. Several bottles, items wrapped in paper, a metal cup, other items wrapped in cloth. He unfolds a stool and takes a seat on it directly facing her.

She opens her eyes the tiniest bit when she hears him pull the cork from a bottle and pour liquid into the cup. He holds it to her lips, she drinks. The liquid is foul and bitter, tainted with whatever potion he wishes to use on her. She licks her parched and split lips, giving them moisture that they have not had for days. He brings the cup to her lips again, she drinks as directed until the cup is taken away.

“How rude not to greet me when I have brought you this gift.” Hubert chuckles.

“Apologies, Lord Hubert. Hello and thank you.” She manages to choke out before having a coughing fit. She raises her head fully taking a deep breath. Her breathing returns to quick and shallow.

He can see the signs of dehydration, her eyes sunk well into their sockets, skin dull, the strong smell of urine when she soiled herself. He raises the cup to her lips again, watching her drink.

“Who are you loyal to?” Hubert sneers at her.

“Those that will help me destroy the Agarthans.” She answers slowly, her voice comes out as a whisper.

“What have you done to Emperor Edelgard?” He growls.

“Nothing.” Sarlik gasps.

Hubert strikes her with the back of his gloved hand. “Liar!” He screams in her face as her head snaps back then falls forward as far as the collar allows.

Sarlik licks her bloody lip. “I eased her pain.”

Hubert observes her every twitch and shudder. “Explain.”

“Crest implantation is extremely painful for the victim, causing continued pain for the remainder of their life. The pain is multiplied if they have an existing crest, multiplied further if they implant more than one.” She coughs after such a long speech. “The more powerful the crest, the more damage it causes to the recipient. Every time one of her crests activates, it causes turmoil inside her blood, causing it to fight with itself. Many are driven mad by the pain alone. She is a brave woman that hides her suffering well. She has great strength both physical and mental. All I have done is brew potions to provide her relief from the pain, if only for a short while.”

“More.” He demands.

“The potion relieves the pain and diminishes many of the negative symptoms for nearly a week. You observed us measuring ingredients.” She stops to cough. “She has enough for almost a month. When you interrupted us in the atri-“ she coughs violently, vomiting on herself.

“What a dreadful mess.” Hubert curses as he wipes her face, collar, and shirt. He offers more liquid.

She gulps the bitter liquid and moistens her lips. “Atrium, we were discussing her reaction to the small dose. She said there were no adverse effects and she felt like she was able to sleep well for the first time in years.” She struggles to catch her breath.

“What are the adverse effects?” Hubert must be aware of any dangers to Lady Edelgard.

“Normal allergy symptoms, swelling, shortness of breath, rashes, headaches, numbness, vomiting. It is a healing potion for dark magic poisoning.” Sarlik answers.

“How were you able to convince her to take it so easily?” Hubert glares, staring at the disgusting creature before him.

“We share many of the same experiences. Losing family and friends to their experiments. Suffering the pain of multiple crests forced onto us against our will. Being held in cells in the dark. They take us out to experiment on us or force us to fight, to activate the crests to see if they complement each other or create additional boons. Misery loves company. We are comrades in arms. Been there, understand that.”

“I do not believe you.” Hubert can hardly contain his anger. “You are manipulating her, all of us. You are simply waiting for the right time to hand us over to them.”

“The only thing I wish to give themis death.” She responds. “Poison me, fill me with truth potions, you will not obtain any different answers than what I tell you now. Ask your questions. Leave me alone for a year or ten down here in your deepest, darkest dungeon. You cannot torture me any more than they have already. I am half human, half Agarthan. All nothing. Worthless.”

“Hmm.” He considers her words.

“Truly Hubert, it should not be this difficult to convince you that my goal is to defeat our enemy in common. I ask for absolutely nothing in return. I am willing to provide you every piece of information, weapons, and assistance that I am able so that they can be destroyed. Hatred, spite, and anger are the only things keeping me alive. When they are gone, when they are no more, I will lay down, sleep the long sleep and be at peace.”

“What makes you think I believe any of this refuse spewing from your lips.” He drawls.

“Certainly, it would not be your truth potion, barely diluted, enough to make a platoon of men confess every sin they had ever committed. Yet, had you given me water, I would still tell you the same.” Sarlik speaks with no emotion, her face revealing a suggestion of sadness.

Hubert frowns at the creature before him. Normally his victims would be confessing, the fear from the drugs taking over, as well as begging for their life. How has the mixture of the blood made this one different?

Sarlik finally raises her head to look into his eyes. “Tell me Hubert. How are your hands? The goddess had never meant for humans to cast the spells you do. Dark Magic is the creation of the Agarthans. Humans that use their magic, you have seen the woman in Abyss. Her hands frozen in the shape of blackened claws, completely useless. Have yours begun to shake? How far have the tendrils of blackness traveled up your arms. Have your feet begun to blacken as well?”

“Would you be interested in spells for cleansing the blackness from your extremities?” She taunts him. “To be able to feel the softness of your Emperors hair as you braid it for her. Has she noticed that your work is sloppy because of your lack of feeling in your fingers? Your hands are always cold. Even if your entire body is submerged in the hottest water you can manage, your hands are still cold. Does your lover recoil at the chill of your touch?”

Hubert delivers a stronger backhanded strike as a response. His glove is stained with her blood and spit.

“Your anger is wasted on me.” Is her answer to his strike. “You wish to curse me for telling the truth. Is that not what you want? The truth?”

“I will get what I need from you.” Hubert seethes.

Sarlik returns her line of sight forward, staring at nothing. “You cannot do anything to me they have not done already. You cannot take away anything, I have nothing to lose. I only have knowledge. That is the one thing you desperately need.”

“Then give me the truth.” He seethes.

She recites her knowledge relating to his experience. “Arundel was replaced prior to the insurrection. The Agarthan that holds his form orchestrated the entire rebellion, filling all of the nobles with his lies. He controlled your father.”

“Thomas was replaced at the monastery 10 years prior, keeping watch over Seir-Rhea and her ilk. They have spies everywhere. They make your operation look like a bunch of school children.The spy you know as Lassandra was replaced a year and a half ago. You don’t know her well, however she has been keeping an eye on you for them.”

She takes a breath, “Those in your battalion are Agarthans. They spy on everyone here, sending their findings back to the rest. It is best to be rid of them. I can brew the poison on the blade that killed Jeralt. It prevents healing of any type, turning the blood sour with its poison.”

Hubert is at a loss. In this short time, she has answered many questions that he has been trying to answer for years.

“The Agarthans claim they are the one true race.” Sarlik drones on. “They created Nemesis to defeat the Nabateans. Only a few of them remain. The Agarthans will soon turn their sights to eliminating humans as well. They will darken the skies to blot out the sun then take over the surface world. Their technology has created nightmares you have never dreamed of. Their leader, Thales, believes himself to be a god, the savior of his race. The church of Seiros are amateurs compared to their belief in him. Be careful with your dealings with them. Should they feel you are hiding anything, they will show force with weapons of your worst nightmare.”

“Perhaps you may be of use to me after all.” Hubert ponders aloud. “I still feel you are an enemy. I will be watching every move you make.”

Sarlik slowly turns her head to look at him. “Then you will release me from this place?”

“Yes.” Hubert nods, “I will have a room prepared close to my quarters. If you leave the room, you must leave me directions to your every location.”

Sarlik clenches her hands into fists, pulling at the leather restraints. Hubert faintly sees the flash of the crest of Blaiddyd as the leather tears and her hands are freed. She immediately reaches to her face, wiping the filth from it with her fingers.

Hubert turns to retrieve some of the food he has brought, along with a bottle of plain water. He does not want her to see his face after what he had just seen her do. He did not keep her there, she simply remained. He allows her to eat.

“Regarding your disappearance, one of my spies found you being held captive and brought you here. The captors tried to question you and were planning on ransoming you to Edelgard.” Hubert supplies the story of her disappearance.

“Agreed” she nods.

Once she has finished eating Hubert orders Sarlik to stand. He heads to exit the cell and watches her follow. Her steps are small and careful. She is unbalanced. He frowns. He removes the collar from her, then takes her by the elbow as he warps them to his office. He opens the door and calls out orders for assistance.

Sarlik remains in his office as her room is prepared. Food is brought. She eats some of what is provided. He takes her to her prepared room.

Sarlik collapses on the bed and sleeps. She may have finally found the assistance she needs to destroy the Agarthans forever.

#fe3h #feth #fe16 #fire emblem three houses #black eagles #hubert von vestra #everyone else makes handsome or beautiful OC but not me

[cate-deriana]

Synchronicity

So, here is my first contribution to IRmonth20. It may be a little messy and all over the place but I wanted to get this headcanon idea out :D So yeah, enjoy!

Prompt #4 - crossing blades, crossing hearts

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

It had been two days – although it had more felt like ages – since their arrival in the Royal Realm. Apart from strange meetings with even stranger residents, well zero squad members if you wanted to be precise, nothing really noteworthy had occurred… until that morning.

“So starting today the two of you will be training together.” Ichibei threw at them without further explanation.

It took a few seconds to sink in, before Ichigo tilted his head with a raised eyebrow looking at the so-called ‘leader’ of this squad with a questioning expression: “Sorry… what?”

“Are we playing deaf, Kurosaki Ichigo? The final battle is just around the corner, we don’t have time for this. You and Kuchiki will be training together. You have chemistry, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

Ichigo peeked over to Rukia standing next to him from the corner of an eye, then back to Ichibei: “I am fine with that. But Rukia had barely two days to recover, she nearly died and you want her to start training again today?”

Now the zero squad leader was the one to raise an eyebrow – a rare sight: “Well, do you want to win the war or do you want us all to die?”

The orange haired shinigami’s expression darkened but his eyes glared with determination: “I want to win, of course. But…” He tried to object again but was cut off by Rukia: “Stop insulting my abilities! I am able to decide if I’m ready to train again for myself.”

She had turned to face him visibly angered.

He did the same trying to cool down his temper. Otherwise things would get out of hand rather quickly: “This is not about your abilities it’s…”

“Stop protecting me!” She shot at him.

Screw his temper.

“Oh, sorry I thought that was the deal: I am protecting you and you are protecting me that’s how it works!”

The argument went on while Ichibei was watching them slightly shaking his head: “Yeah, you two have good chemistry. Hopefully that’ll save us all.”

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

“So, that’s the training ground you’ll be using. Quarters are over there and behind that you’ll find one of those hot springs to heal your wounds and recover. You’ll be training together, eating together, sleeping together. … And with sleeping together I don’t mean sleeping with each other. That’s not what you have to do – unless you want to of course, I’ve heard there was some unresolved tension. I’ll come to check on you once in a while. Any questions? No? Then I’ll see you around.”

  ----------------------------

That was what Ichibei had said before leaving them, alone. About three or four days had passed since. They had been training constantly for something the squad leader had called ‘reiatsu syncing’. Seemingly the zero division and some other questionable ex-shinigami, namely Urahara Kisuke, believed there was a possibility to defeat the ‘future foreseeing’ Juhabach with some telepathic ability that would make it impossible for him to take a look in said future because he would not be able to foresee what he could not see. Why they believed Juhabach was even able to see the future was beyond Ichigo. As far as he knew he wasn’t, maybe they knew more than him. But that wasn’t the point.

They of course were all convinced that only Rukia and him would be able to gain this telepathy ‘reiatsu syncing’ ability. The reason? Well, apparently it was because they had more than once shared the same reiatsu before. He wasn’t sure if he should really believe them and their far-fetched theories. Just because Rukia had transferred her powers to him twice didn’t necessarily conclude in them being able to communicate without words. Ok, maybe there had been moments when he had been sure to know exactly what she was thinking but… that was not the same as talking through mere thoughts, was it?

“When will you finally stop holding back, Ichigo?”

Rukia’s scolding voice brought him back to reality. They were in the middle of training, no miraculous telepathic conversation had occurred yet.

“I am not holding back.” He sounded as if he had to convince himself as well.

“Yes you are. I know how strong you really are so stop holding back and come at me with full force. Where is the point in training if you can’t even do that?” Her voice wasn’t angered although she hated him for going easy on her, for underestimating her out of fear she might get hurt.

“If I come at you with full force I might kill you.” Ichigo stated dryly.

She crossed her arms, her tone a little scolding: “I don’t want you to kill me I want you to start fighting seriously. I am not that weak you know?” Rukia let out a sigh putting Sode no Shirayuki down. “I guess we should have started with those stupid training swords. That way you wouldn’t have to be afraid of accidentally cutting me in half.” The irony in her voice was evident. “Though I have at least learned how to properly wield a sword. I should be the one at advantage here not someone who thought he could just chop a Menos into tiny little pieces to reach its top.” She shook her head disbelieving adding a mumbled “Stupid” to her rant.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t have the privilege to go to Shino Academy just to drop out midway cause I have a wealthy brother.” Ichigo tried to counterattack with his equally sarcastic remark.

Rukia’s eyes darkened: “You know what? Renji wouldn’t hold back.” Her reiatsu rose to a dangerous level. “Because he acknowledges me as a warrior.”

Ichigo’s expression changed in an instant after hearing the red head’s name from her mouth, he was in fighting mode and mood obviously: “You want me to go all out, yeah?” He didn’t wait for an answer his hand already on the arm holding his sword.

“Ban-kai!”

Rukia watched his transformation with a content smile as he was engulfed in black: “Now we’re talking.”

Maybe she should have given him a moment, given them a moment but one she didn’t want to get into another argument with him again and two she couldn’t keep it to herself any longer. “Bankai.” It echoed in the air before the training ground was covered with a thin ice layer, the temperature gradually dropping.

Ichigo didn’t have any time to comprehend what happened when her sword suddenly clashed with his really close to his face. He didn’t see her attack coming at all, because… well…

“Y…you have achieved bankai?” The shinigami substitute managed to get out, their zanpakutous frozen in place. The superior smile on her lips widened: “Surprised?”

His eyes travelled down and up again examining her new form. A somewhat inappropriate thought crossed his mind. He tried to shake it off: “Well… uhm…” If he wasn’t in the middle of a fight he would’ve scratched the back of his head in an awkward situation like that.

“I thought you were a lot faster than this.” Her voice brought him back to reality.

“Huh?”

“Your bankai.” She clarified for him. Something in her eyes left no doubt that she was seriously challenging him and something inside him couldn’t resist that.

He gave her a provoking look: “I’m just getting started.” Ichigo pushed her away with his sword.

“Finally.” Her smile didn’t fade.

The battlefield’s atmosphere changed, black and white flashes being the only thing that could still be seen. They were not really fighting against each other but rather fighting alongside, equally, synching their steps, their moves as if they were dancing. They were paying attention to each other but at the same time pushing each other to their limits. It would have probably continued like that a lot longer if Ichigo didn’t skip a step of their choreography for – payback time you could say.

Rukia found zangetsu only inches away from her throat, Ichigo’s body pressed against hers from behind.

“I got you.” His breath was touching her cheek.

Sode no Shirayuki was uselessly dangling in her right hand. She could have probably stabbed his foot, but… Rukia didn’t want to admit defeat, not yet, not now and certainly not in this position. That… was definitely too close and too… She paused – that could work.

Ichigo was damn sure she wouldn’t be able to escape him that easily. I thought you were a lot faster, huh? Of course he was he’d made that more than clear now. His pride would crumble only moments later.

She turned her head to him: “Don’t be so sure.”

Before he could realize what she was up to a sharp pain shot through his left leg causing him to drop his sword. It felt as if it had been frozen… Oh, that’s what she had done. He sighed trying to keep his balance but the leg gave away.

Rukia was about to declare her victory when Ichigo grabbed her wrist in the last possible moment pulling her down with him. If she didn’t let go of her sword she would have probably pierced his chest with it – again. Without it, it was only her unarmed-self landing on top of him. She propped herself up, one hand on the ground the other on his chest, furiously glaring at Ichigo: “What are you doing?!”

“What are you doing?! You just froze my leg!”

Wouldn’t it have been for their newly found argument she would’ve noticed a lot sooner that the position they were in now was a lot more indecent than the one before.

Instead of counter arguing Rukia looked to the side mumbling her retort rather to herself: “You didn’t leave me with another option…” Her eyes wandered around as if she was searching for the next thing to say, her right hand subconsciously travelling over his chest.

She wanted to put the blame on him alone for this but had to admit that it was at least halfway her fault as well. Then again if he didn’t have to prove his abilities then… her eyes caught her hand realizing the feeling of her skin on his.

Did Ichigo always have a muscular body like this?

Her eyes were still fixed on his chest questioningly tilting her head.

“No, actually that was a lot of training.”

Rukia nodded absentmindedly before it hit her in the face: “Wait! What?!” Her eyes shot up to him: “You heard that?!” She sounded a little hysteric, understandably so. Rukia watched him in shock a few seconds then rolled herself on her back next to him. That didn’t just happen. He was just making fun of her again and didn’t have the slightest clue what she’d… Wait, did she say that out loud? She was ruffling her hair trying to calm down her breath. Her heart was racing. Seriously, if this was a joke it wasn’t funny…

“I didn’t know you payed attention to this kind of things.”

She would’ve liked to kill him for this stupid grin his voice gave away. Rukia exhaled deeply, biting her lip in order to keep her anger contained: “Well, I didn’t. That’s the reason I didn’t notice until now.”

Ichigo folded his arms behind his head she could see it from the corner of her eye. He was taking this so casually. “I didn’t know you saw me like that.” His idiot smile was still there, as if he had just learned that his high school crush liked him back.

“Like what?” Her voice was indifferent, even a little annoyed. She wanted to get this conversation over with.

He turned to the side to face her. She didn’t do the same.

“Like a man.”

Now she did. She rested her head on her hand and looked at him with a sarcastic expression: “Uhm, as far as I remember you are one, right? Unless you are actually a woman and are just really good in disguising as a man and making everyone believe you were one.”

Ichigo repressed a laugh: “I take that as a yes.”

Rukia rolled back onto her back: “Do what you want.”

A moment of silence followed.

Then she suddenly heard his voice in her head:

Your bankai looks really good on you. It’s beautiful.

Rukia turned only her head, skeptical if she had really heard him say that.

It suits you.

His lips had not moved at all.

It’s even… a little sexy.

Her eyes widened when she instantly jumped to her feet trying to get a few steps away: “Okay, that’s enough! I don’t know what you’re trying to do here, but this is definitely going too far.”

He’d never seen her so close to panicking before.

We’re in the middle of war. We cannot. This is not about us. We have to…

“Rukia.” He grabbed her shoulder turning her around to him: “Don’t you see what just happened?”

She was frozen in her spot just like their surroundings had because of her bankai.

“It worked.” He declared in triumph when she didn’t react, another rare smile on his face.

She blinked at him a few times until it finally sank in.

“We did it.” Rukia murmured. He was right she did hear his thoughts – word for word. “We really did it.” She repeated, this time fully aware what this meant. They would be able to defeat him, to win, to end the war.

A few moments of silence followed. None of them really knew what to say or what to think. There wouldn’t be any way to hide from now on, would it?

Ichigo cleared his throat breaking the awkward moment between them: “Well, uhm… So…” He looked right then left, not sure how to tell her. “You know… now that… we are able to hear each other’s thoughts…” This time he did scratch the back of his head. “Well now that you will find out anyway... I can just tell you myself… I guess.” A deep exhale followed before he looked back into her eyes: “I really like you. Not as a friend, not as my partner in battle, not as the person who saved my life, but…”

“I know.”

A frown appeared on his face and he looked a little confused. Rukia just smiled one of her soothing smiles: “I mean it’s not like we had no idea about our feelings for each other until now.”

His frown deepened. “Weren’t you the one close to panic just a second ago because I hinted something like that? And now you are acting like this is absolutely normal?”

She rolled her eyes, a little sigh followed: “Well, now that you’ve actually said it… there’s no reason to anymore. When you’re set to do something nothing and no one can stop you, that’s how it’s always been. So… as you said – we’ll know anyway.”

I’d like to kiss you.

What’s holding you back?

I don’t know, isn’t this… What if you’re right and this is going too fast?

We’re at war, yes. Maybe it’s not the best timing.

Thought so.

But, maybe it’ll help us. Because there’s nothing left unsaid between us.

So you think we will win?

What do you think?

Well I can do anything, as long as you are right next to me. So, yeah we will.

We will.

We will win.

 And then he kissed her. And he would wonder why they didn’t do this earlier. And she would ‘say’ that he just didn’t ask.

They would fight the finally battle together. They would win. They would survive. They would save everyone just like the zero squad and Urahara had hoped. But most importantly in the end they would be happy. And Juhabach would never return.

 Because it was their story – a story where life and death would no longer be apart.

#ichiruki #ichiruki fanfiction #Kurosaki Ichigo #Kuchiki Rukia #ichigo #rukia #ichirukimonth #IRmonth2020 #イチルキ

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Machines of War

"Gentlemen and Ladies, allow me to welcome you to Mars.” the human representative said as they bowed to the assembled aliens guests. They were dressed sharply in a black suit with matching pants and shoes. “We here at the Icarus Foundation believe we have quite the merchandise for you.”  “I’m sure their sharpened sticks will make excellent toothpicks.”  The whispered remark drew a few stifled chuckles from the assembled aliens. If the human had heard it they gave no sign of irritation and continued with the presentation.  The guests, as they were respectfully called, were buyers from various organizations and alien governments around the universe. A Predatorian sat calmly in the sampling some of the prime rib bone and all, a Quwaty and Draxic were in a seemingly deep conversation about how much they despised humanity which wasn’t surprising given their previous defeats against them, a group of Ureti were gathered around a table observing the room with their keen eyes no doubt gathering as much mental detail of what was going on to report to their superiors later, and surprisingly a Flinchestet government official sat in an arm chair along the opposite wall. There were many more different species present but the Flinchestet was the star as the universe knew they prided themselves as being the “bigger man”, as the humans say. After what had happened to their representative after coming into contact with the human delegation their government may finally realize their ivory tower isn’t as stable as they once thought. 

Pulling out a remote from his pocket he pressed a button and the side wall opposite the guests slowly began descending, the harsh red wastes of the martian soil greeted the guests behind three feet of reinforced glass.    The Ureti seemed to notice something immediately and raised their concerns. “Why is there no energy barrier in place?” The other guests examined the glass and saw that indeed there was no barrier or other form of energy shielding. “What? Was it too difficult for you monkey’s to figure out?” quipped the Draxic. “After previous engagements it was found that an energy barrier or shield would distort our guests view of the demonstrations which given how far many of you have traveled to view would be nothing but an insult to you.” The human’s response was clear and crisp as he nodded to the Ureti group, completely ignoring the Draxic much to their frustration. “Our pilots are highly skilled and have practiced hundreds of hours to ensure no unforeseen incidents occur. Besides, should one of our products impact this building there is no level of protection that could stop the ensuing damage.”  The guests were shocked at the bold response, some even fidgeting in their seats and eyeing the nearest doorways. “Is this not safe?” another of the Ureti questioned, to which the human offered a warm smile and brushed the front of their suit. “If what you sought was safe then I believe many of you would not have come.”  The Ureti seemed satisfied with the response and nodded.  “We here at the Icarus  foundation have been on the cutting edge of weapons technology for the past thirty years. With our existing contracts with the various human government and organizations spread across the galaxy, an Icarus Weapons has been on every battlefield that has ever had a human present.”  The Quwaty let out a low growl as a warning. Their conquest would have been complete had it not been for the intervention of a human task force that wiped out their army and forced a cease fire.  “We’ll start out with the latest all purpose infantry weapon, the Lævateinn.” A door to the room opened and several humans wheeled in carts each carrying a strange looking rifle. Once the carts were positioned around the room for the guests to get easy views of the weapon the wheelers quickly left the room from the way they came and closed the door.  “What does “Lævateinn“ mean?”  “When translated it means ”Twig”.”  The guests eyed the human to see if he was serious and paced the room as he continued.   “In our history there was once a story of a mischievous god known as Loki. At the very doors of death itself Loki ventured and plucked the Lævateinn. It became one of the most powerful weapons of the gods, easily able to shift between staff, sword, and knife at the wielders command. So powerful was this weapon that it was eventually taken by another god and protected by them in a chest fashioned with nine locks.”  He wound up at one of the cart’s and spread his arms over the weapon. “The  Lævateinn now is no mere myth but has been made real and is presented to you as the all purpose weapon of the future.”  At the proclamation a armored soldier carrying the Lævateinn stepped outside of the reinforced glass while inside the room several monitors appeared each viewing the soldier from a different angle.  “What makes the Lævateinn so potent a weapon is its ability to adapt to any situation. Close quarters.”  Without warning several cutouts appeared behind the soldier, popping from the ground. The soldier pulled the barrel of the rifle downward and it slid below the grip turning the barrel into a much shorter version of itself similar to smg’s. They spun around and in rapid succession fired well placed shots center mass in each of the cutouts.  “Medium range.” The close range targets retracted into the ground to be replaced by prefabricated buildings 1-2 stories high. In the windows and atop the roof of the structures more cutouts appeared and the soldier re-slid the barrel back into place and started firing semi-automatic bursts into the cutouts.  “And of course long range”  As the last target was hit the buildings retracted into the ground clearing the space once more. Far off in the distance, easily one mile away, a new series of cutouts appeared atop a ridge. The soldier quickly went prone and pressed a button rifle and the barrel extended and deployed a tripod as they began lining up shots.  The guest watched in amazement on the monitors trained on the cutouts as the soldiers sniper fire once again hit center mass.  When the last cutout went down the soldier calmly stood back up, turned to face the viewing room and stood at attention.  “Weren’t they an wonderful shot?”, the human spoke. “Let’s all give a round of applause for our Icarus specialist shall we?” and began clapping his hands together. The Ureti clapped as their somewhat friendlier association with humans had taught them the significance of applause, but the others were slow to join in with some even refusing to clap.  “As you can see, the Lævateinn gives a single soldier the fire power of several weapons easily compacted into one; thus making any warrior equipped with this weapon a foe not to be taken lightly.”   The guests now seemed more inclined to the weapon and began examining it in better detail. The Draxic in particular was hefting the rifle and looking down the sights of it. After a moment of fiddling with it they grunted and set it back down. “This grip is too small to be used by my people.”  “With bulk orders of 10,000 or more modifications can be made free of charge per species.” The human replied smoothly. “Once we have been given measurements of a species the handle can be properly molded to allow proper usage. We also can alter the paint scheme to imprint different camouflage patterns and cultural symbolism.”  This seemed to renew interest for the Draxic and they continued eyeing the rifle as the human motioned to the window once again.  “Next on our list is the latest in armor warfare, the MegaTank.”  The room began to shake as a large round metal sphere rolled out in front of the window. It appeared as a massive ball bearing, its sides perfectly circular and smoothed.  “The MegaTank features a revolutionary gyro system that allows for rapid movement over any surface without inhibiting the driver. It’s shell is made up of a different composite of metals with the end result being the vehicle is nigh indestructible save for the heaviest of energy weapons attached to battleships.”  The human waved to the tank through the glass and a thin line emerged down the center of it. The tank split open down the middle revealing a human operator at the center of a canopy surrounded by a mass of cables, wires, computer screens. The human waved back before closing resealing the tank.  “Today’s modern armored vehicles are little more than elaborate transports for heavy weapons. Once the weapon is neutralized you are left with an expensive tractor. The MegaTank changes this by turning the entire vehicle into a weapon. Observe.”  The same prefabricated buildings appeared again in front of the guests along with a variety of different types of ground vehicles. The sphere appeared to turn in place to the nearest one and line itself up. Instead of a port opening to reveal a weapon of some kind the sphere shot forward without warning and smashed through the buildings. One by one the sphere rammed its way through the buildings, easily flattening cars and obstacles, while never losing speed.  This time the applause was more forthcoming as the entire room appeared impressed by the display.  “Our final item for the days festivities is our proudest achievement and has since been improved upon after tasting combat for the first time, Icarus is proud to present the next generation of mech frames!”  The MegaTank quickly rolled out of sight as the ground itself split open revealing a deep hangar underneath. Warning sirens began ringing outside as a heavy duty platform slowly began to rise up from the dark depths below and atop it carried the war machine that everyone wished to get their hands on.  Towering several stories tall a massive metal humanoid behemoth wearing the visage of a human skull emerged. As the red sands of mars blew across the planet it softly coated the machine and to the horror of the Quwaty and Draxic it appeared as if the great machine was covered in blood. Even the Flinchestet stood up from their seat and gazed upwards.   “These machines recently saw conflict on several fronts and the valuable data we retrieved as helped improve the next generation that stands before you.” Pulling out a small com device and putting it in their ear, the human looked at a monitor. “Can you hear me pilot?” The monitor switched from an outside view of the machine to what appeared to be a cockpit of some kind with a human inside.  “Loud and clear sir.” The voice was female the guests wagered, but many were too transfixed by the machine to care who piloted it. “What loadout do you want today?”  “Let me ask our guests.”  He turned back to the transfixed aliens. “Our mech units can be equipped with a variety of different weapons to suit any combat need. Today we have the anti vehicle auto cannon, the missile barrage launcher, and the energy lancer as possible options. Which would you care to see?”  The guests murmured amongst themselves for a time before the Flinchestet spoke. “I would care to see this “energy lancer”.” When no one else spoke up the human nodded and touched their com again. “Our guests would like to see the energy lancer please.”  “Roger that.” A second set of hangar doors opened up next to the mech and a large barrel weapon easily the size of a football field was rolled upwards. The mech walked over to the weapon, leaned down and hefted it upwards, connecting several tubes from the weapon to the back of the mech.  “Our energy weapons have their own power supply for usage, but when coupled directly to the mech itself the power yield triples in capacity.”  The energy lancer began to hum and glow blue as energy began directly feeding into it. “Weapon is charging now,” the pilot cut in as they flipped a series of switched, “we can fire in a minute.”  “Excellent. Your target is shuttle 313 which will be taking off now. Confirm?” “Confirmed. Shuttle 313 is the target.”  Far off in the distance the guests could see the streaks of engine exhaust as the shuttle took off the ground and made for orbit.  “Are they truly going to fire upon that shuttle?” the Ureti asked. “They will, but rest assured the ship is on auto pilot and no one will be harmed during this firing.” The shuttle was well into the air now and beginning to reach the upper atmosphere.  “Firing in 3,2,1..firing!”  In an instant the glass tinted itself dark as a blinding gout of light shot out from the energy lancer. The stream of energy raced forward easily closing the distance between the mech and the shuttle and struck home. The shot hit the engines and set off a chain reaction leaving the once functional shuttle a burning pile of falling wreckage.  With that the human turned around back to the guests as the glass untinted itself once more. “That today concludes the demonstration of some of our wares. At this time you may now go out and inspect the weapons yourselves and speak directly with the pilots. Bidding will begin later tonight and into tomorrow evening. Thank you for your time and we look forward to doing business with you.”  The room was silent now as the guests all observed  what had happened. It was the Flinchestet that once more broke the silence. “If that mech was your foundations greatest weapon, why did you save it for last instead of opening with it?”  “We humans have a saying known as “Saving the best for last”. Additionally, while the mechs are our greatest achievement, they also are our most expensive product and not every client can afford such devastation. We carry a variety of other products that are more affordable for the average buyer and can still provide for you military needs.”  The Draxic, while still looking stern as always, showed signs of being giddy at that news as they still had not fully recovered after handing over their homeworld to humanity after their failed challenge. The Ureti also looked interested as they were still trying to grasp how humanity had defeated them in their recent war and having such access to their latest weapons could give them insight.  The Quwaty lacked any such subtly and asked the question that was on everyone’s mind. “Are you not afraid we will turn these weapons against you? You must know many of us here hold a grudge against humanity.” The human simply smiled at this as if the question was coming from a three year old trying to figure out what three plus three was. “The Icarus Foundation plays no favorites and offers our products to anyone that honors our terms.” The human’s face took on a sterner face than previously at answering the next bit. “But rest assured that should anyone break the terms of an agreement with us or take action against the Foundation in anyway we will defend ourselves. You should consider that there is no one better to understand a weapon, than those that forged it.”  Meeting the gaze of the Quwaty for several moments, the Quwaty finally broke eye contact and did not meet it again.  The tone of the room finally took ona lighter mood once more as it became clear that humans were just as happy to destroy other humans as much as they were; for a price at least.

#HUMANS ARE WEIRD #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #scifi #story #weapons #mech