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wlfkssd · 3 years

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When in Frankia ( oneshot )

Piece based on the prompt ‘a stolen kiss + hvitserk/aethelred’ sent in by the lovely @issadoragreen <3

Summary : Having raided Spain, Hvitserk chooses to stay with Rollo after he returns to Frankia. During which time, Rollo hosts several members of England’s most powerful families in hopes of striking up alliances between them. Aethelwulf’s son, Aethelred, happens to be the envoy for Wessex.

A canon div. au that will eventually be expanded into a fic, probably.

Pairing(s) : Hvitserk x Aethelred, Rollo x Gisla ( mentioned )

Warnings : mention of alcohol ?? and there’s one kiss. that’s it.

Word count : 1,455

Addition Notes : Having watched back, Rollo has such a good relationship with Hvitserk when they’re raiding Spain and I’m just sad that nothing really came of it aside from Rollo giving him those troops that were really for Ivar anyway. Still, that’s what aus are for, I guess. But I really do want to expand this idea at a later date tbh.

Soft sunlight peeks in through the small window, carved high into the stone wall of Hvitserk's bed chamber. He turns over, refusing to let go of his dream as a heavy sigh escapes thin, pursed lips.

Rollo had kept him up until the early hours, regaling the young viking with stories of his father and England; vast amounts of wine flowing without heed nor hinderance. Much is the way of their people but having finally stumbled to bed with the aid of a servant, heavy eyes and rosy cheeks immediately led to an almost unconsciously deep sleep.

It could have lasted for minutes or days - he doesn't know - but when Hvitserk finally does manage to persuade his eyes to open, everything feels too bright. The room isn't spinning but the taste of those bitter red grapes still clings tight to the back of his throat. It's wholly unpleasant.

And yet.

There's hope for the day when Hvitserk hears footsteps outside his door. Faint as they are, he knows to whom they belong.

The Saxon prince, Aethelred.

Another softly pained sigh finds its way out as he sits up and rubs his eyes with one hand, index finger pressing slightly across the line of his lashes, catching the hard dust settled there. He flicks it away and somehow finds the energy and orientation to stand. Arms stretch gingerly above his head, muscles faintly screaming from the exertion of the past weeks.

For here, in Frankia, his uncle Rollo has been teaching him many things. Frankish manners are one. How to speak Aethelred's language is another. Both are tiring enough without having to mention the fact that he has daily lessons with Rollo's men in the central training courtyard. Sword skills and archery used to be a pleasure. Now they're simply a chore.

Especially when all he longs to do is sit by the river and listen to Aethelred talk about a letter he's writing to his family in Wessex. Or watch him form elegant characters onto the parchment with all the intrigue of a small child. Of course, that's another part of his new life here; learning how to write in something other than runes. It's painstakingly slow and his hand hurts most of the time but proud was the day when he perfected his own name.

A clean tunic and trousers wait for him on the small chair in the corner and Hvitserk pads across to quietly dress. This is as private as things will be, he knows, and for that reason, he takes a moment longer to fix his appearance before pulling on his soft boots and leaving. The arm ring from his father hangs heavy at his wrist. It shines gold in the light that fills the hallway leading to the staircase.

"Prince Aethelred!" Hvitserk sees him halfway down the second set of stone steps and leans over the banister to call out. Clear, sea blue eyes meet his own as the prince glances up, dark robes tight to his body as usual.

They both smile.

"Hvitserk." Aethelred says in return as he continues on his way, not waiting but expecting the Viking to simply catch up. There's something so refined about him that puts Hvitserk to shame sometimes but there's also a thoroughly fun game hidden there too. The challenge of seeing how far to push before pink cheeks flush.

Hop-skipping down, ignoring the fact that his body tells him not to, the young Ragnarsson is soon in step with the prince.

With his prince.

"You're awake early." Aethelred observes, calmly, hands folded around a closed book at his front. The high collar of his tunic hides a multitude of sins from two days before that nobody, aside from the Saxon himself, seems to care about. Nobody but the one who put them there, that is.

Perhaps it's uncommon to show any kind of attraction or affection in England. Hvitserk doesn't know. What he does know is that whatever little marks were left are probably fading by now.

"I want to get the worm." He shrugs and smiles, baring teeth. Aethelred shakes his head but he's smiling too. "What?"

"Nothing. It's nothing, Hvitserk."

Saying something is nothing hasn't ever made sense to him but it gives rise to the fact that there is a secret hidden; a piece of treasure buried within the words. A very little something to be found in the nothing it claims to be.

And Hvitserk is still thinking about that when they come to the bottom of the stairs and turn down the lengthy corridor, towards the hall for breakfast.

"Boys!" Rollo's voice is just as expected; booming and cheerful as he welcomes them with arms open, gesturing to seats by him at the head of the table. "Hvitserk. This is a surprise. Did you piss the bed last night?"

Both take their seats as Rollo fingers up another cold leg of chicken.

"He wants the worm this morning, Count. At least that's what he told me." Distant glee shines in Aethelred's heavy, lidded eyes as he carefully picks out his meal, transferring several different things from the platters to his own silver plate.

"Is that so? Hm. Shouldn't you be out in the gardens for that?" Rollo teases and one greasy hand slaps to Hvitserk's shoulder in the way only an uncle's can. It's almost the affection that should be expected of a father and that's what makes the younger Viking blush.

If only he were Rollo's son.

"Perhaps I should be. At least that way I wouldn't have to make a fool of myself trying to learn how to write." He says back, a little defeated, in the tongue both still hold onto from their homeland. Not a glance to Aethelred as they speak to one another.

"I never liked learning, either. But when I found I could express my thoughts to Gisla - those I couldn't say - I found it to be useful. I think you will, too. In time." The implication comes to fruition as Rollo's chin juts, eyes following in the direction of the Saxon, across the table.

Hvitserk pretends not to see.

"So. You have until the sun is at its highest before your lessons begin today. What will you do? Aethelred?" Thankful for the attention turning away from him, Hvitserk begins to eat, filling his cheeks as usual with anything and everything.

Aethelred is much better; swallowing his food before addressing his host.

"Practice a little with the sword, I think." Aethelred is nonchalant about the fact but Hvitserk can't help the way his mouth stops chewing. Surprisingly enough, he never imagined any more of the prince than scholarly pursuits. But thinking of him with a blade in hand, shield up to protect his body, giving as good as he gets; there's something stirring in that.

"Hvitserk?" As with his sleep, it could have been minutes or hours between the Saxon's answer and his uncle's summons. He doesn't know but when he's nudged and Aethelred is clearly staring at him too, the food in Hvitserk's throat is suddenly very hard to swallow.

"Uh. Yes. Training." He manages, around the bulk and forcibly pushes his tongue to catch the remains, pressing the tip to the inside of his cheek. "We should do it together."

They've done far more intimate things together and kissing is definitely something Hvitserk enjoys but even the thought of fighting a worthy adversary excites him just that little bit further. Call it lust or battle joy but he knows it's a feeling inherited from Rollo. Or he can assume as much, given the way the stories of the berserker were told.

"Then it's agreed. Once we've eaten and-" Aethelred cuts himself off - an expression of confusion writing itself across his face as he does - as Hvitserk's chair scrapes out and the Viking makes his way around the table. Their eyes lock. "Hvits-"

His name dies easily upon the sigh into his own mouth.

The world consists only of their heartbeats in shared moments like this. Heartbeats and the warmth of barely touching cheeks; embarrassment holding onto just the right side of shame as it colours especially the pale skin of the prince. It's unexpected and, therefore, a stolen kiss. But Hvitserk doesn't care. Anyone and everyone could be watching and he would only see and feel the young man before him.

"I'll see you there." He says, slipping back to ease their parting with the tender touch of foreheads before the prince can protest. Aethelred's only response is a soft sound, made in the back of his throat and Hvitserk smiles, unabashedly.

Rollo watches on, knowing that something more than battle lust is blooming between these two boys.

#hvitserk ragnarsson #hvitserk lothbrok #hvitserk #hvithelred #prince aethelred #requests #rollo #vikings #vikings fic #/ no gif bc i couldn't make one i liked #issadoragreen

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needtherapy · 4 years

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soaring, carried aloft on the wind

A story for Xichen and Mingjue, in another time and another place.

The Beifeng, the mighty empire of the north, invaded more than a year ago, moving inexorably south and east.

In order to buy peace, the chief of the Lan clan has given the Beifeng warlord a gift, his second oldest son in marriage. However, when Xichen finds out he makes a plan.

He, too, can give a gift to the Beifeng warlord, and he will not regret it.

Part 1: 1 / 2 / ... HOME

It’s on AO3 here if that’s easier to read.

NOTES: This story starts out G but will eventually be E for Explicit. My everlasting and undying thanks to @coslyons and AO3′s amazing mongrelmind for their beta reads.

Part 1 Opaira

opaira [ō-pī’rä], noun Love based on attraction and sexual passion

Chapter 1

Despite the rough callus that stretches the entire length of his finger, the Beifeng warlord’s touch is warm and gentle when he tips Xichen’s chin up. Xichen represses an involuntary shiver, reminding himself that the callus was made from the bow that has killed hundreds if not thousands of his countrymen. He thinks of water flowing over stone and does not move.

The warlord—even in his thoughts, Xichen will not use the name of this man who now owns him—looks more curious than fearsome, turning Xichen’s head in appraisal, lifting a lock of his hair and rubbing it between his fingers. Unexpectedly, he smooths his thumb across the unblemished skin of Xichen’s cheek, skin no man has ever touched so brazenly. A smile flickers across his lips when he looks Xichen in the eyes and Xichen stubbornly refuses to look away. Before he can react, the warlord leans down and brushes his mouth against Xichen’s. He feels like he’s been struck, pinpricks of light fluttering in his stomach, and he freezes for the heartbeat they are pressed together.

It is Xichen’s first kiss.

The warlord makes a low sound of approval before he moves away and nods with a flurry of words Xichen doesn’t understand.

A different voice translates.

“Elder Brother says the gift of the Cloud Recesses is accepted. A messenger will be sent.” More gently, the voice adds, “Your cities will be left unscathed.”

The boy who speaks Xichen’s language looks younger than Wangji, small and soft, more like a pampered child than a warrior, which is not what Xichen would have expected for this tribe of barbarians. He wonders if Elder Brother is a literal or figurative relationship.

Gift, he thinks, as though there was some beauty in this transaction. As though it is a willing offering his family had chosen to make. Still, Xichen thinks grimly, it is an appropriate word, even if not for the reasons the warlord thinks. It is a gift he is giving to someone he loves, and he will not regret it.

Chapter 2

Xichen did not know what to do with his brother’s tears. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen his brother cry. It must have been when they were still children, when tears were still an acceptable reaction to emotion. Tears were not valued in the Cloud Recesses, or at least, not valued by their father, and even when their mother had died, Wangji had not shown grief where anyone else could see it.

Crouching in front of Wangji, Xichen touched his brother’s foot. He was afraid any comfort he offered would be an embarrassment, but he couldn’t bear to hear the hitching gasps of breath Wangji tried to suppress or see the crumpled sorrow on his face as he sat on a bench under a sprawling plum tree, knees drawn up defensively.

They were only a year apart in age, and they had always been close—twin jades, people called them. The same black hair, the same light eyes, the same talent for hiding their true sentiments. Xichen tried not to be hurt by Wangji’s recoil, the shift to hide his face away.

“Wangji?” he asked hesitantly, not expecting words, but hoping at least for some explanation. In answer, his brother handed him a piece of paper.

Xichen read it. So few words, and yet, each one was a knife in his heart. He fought to control his fury, digging his fingernails into his palm for something else to focus on.

He knew—had always known—that a younger sibling’s primary value was as an advantage in negotiations, and yet somehow, he had thought his brother would not be forced into a union that was merely political. The Lan clan of Gusu was one of the seven largest clans. Their allegiances lasted for generations instead of changing yearly. They weren’t one of the minor clans who gained territory and protected their borders through regular skirmishes and bloodshed, and they did not make treaties imprudently.

As his father said on a nearly monthly basis, “We do not concern ourselves with the petty squabbles of smaller clans,” although that was only true if the smaller clans did not have a resource of value, like the Yunmeng and their purple dye or the Zhao and their tea.

If Wangji had been his sister, he might have been married years ago to secure an alliance, seal a trade agreement, or to smooth the way for some other favorable arrangement. But he was a skilled military commander, and the invasion from the Beifeng empire of the north had allowed him to remain unattached these past two years, despite being of marriageable age. As heir, Xichen had more choices, but he knew that he, too, would eventually have to do his duty to his clan. Once he was clan leader, he had assumed he would be able to keep his brother safe.

However, the war was going badly. The war had been going badly from the beginning. The child emperor had all but sealed himself in his impregnable fortress as the vast army of the Beifeng had slowly but surely pressed south, toppling the Nightless City of Qishan, defeating the mighty Yao of Qinghe and consuming every clan in between. Even the Ouyang, a clan of deadly assassins, had been overcome in mere weeks. Now, the Beifeng had been camped outside of Jinlin Tai for nearly a year, besieging the city and sending raiding parties into the other clans. It was only a matter of time before they reached the Cloud Recesses, and despite their skilled defenders and remote mountain city, Xichen knew they would eventually fall.

So, it seemed his father and the elders of his family had traded Wangji for peace, handing him their decision on a piece of paper instead of having the courage to face him. They would give him to the warlord of the Beifeng, a monster who had slaughtered thousands, and they had not even been brave enough to tell Xichen. No wonder we are losing, Xichen thought bitterly.

“Xiongzhang,” Wangji choked out, sliding to the ground in front of Xichen. “I love him. He is the other half of my soul.”

Oh. No. Oh, no.

Xichen closed his eyes, willing the words away, but it was too late. Had he already known what his brother would say? He had seen Wangji with Wei-gongzi, the dashing young commander who led the Yunmeng archers, sent to guard the Cloud Recesses thanks to a long-ago treaty. He’d watched as his brother’s initially puzzled reaction to Wei-gongzi’s charming smiles and laughter bloomed into friendship. He had thought, though, that Wangji would not be foolish enough to form an attachment with no hope of attainment. Even if he hadn’t been merely a soldier, Wei-gongzi was of Yunmeng, a respectable clan, but a small one, already bound to the Lans by covenant, and not significant enough to waste the handsome, accomplished, prized second jade of the Cloud Recesses on.

Evidently, Xichen had mistaken the depth of his brother’s regard.

“Wangji, I have no power to change this decision,” he said softly, his heart breaking.

With a loud gulp, Wangji inhaled and shifted so he was kneeling, forcing the tears to subside with the well-known strength of his indomitable will. “No, xiongzhang. I will do this if it will mean safety for our people. I ask only that you tell him yourself. He will not understand and...I fear he will do something rash. Stop him if you must.”

He misunderstood the expression on Xichen’s face and took his hand, his voice thin and splintering in a way Xichen had never heard before.

“Please. I could not live if anything happened to him.”

Xichen had not been intending to refuse.

More Notes: It’s about 40k words, so if you want to follow along, it’ll be on my pinned post, and tagged with #soaring au. It’s also on AO3 (same title).

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #nielan #soaring au #nie mingjue #lan xichen #the untamed au #the untamed fic #lots of planets have a north #plenty of other people make appearances as well #nie huaisang #lan wangji #wei wuxian #jin guangyao #luo qingyang #mianmian #mo dao zu shi

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thecandywrites · 4 years

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Of Heaven and Fire Part 2

Woo! Part 2! @probablyclever wanted to be tagged, so here you go- and if anyone else wants to be tagged- let me know.

The next day you managed to wake up before sunrise, creeping up over the horizon, you managed to leap out of the skylight and sit on the roof, your leg and the chain hanging down into the room, gently letting your leg swing as the sun rose, your feather cloak turning into a large fan like disc around you, the feathers turning black with a holographic sheen to attract and keep the sun’s rays. The first light was always some of the best light.

“There you are.” Came a voice as you turned to see Rhoslan walking up to the roof before she sat next to you. “Good morning.” She greeted you as she was wrapped in a heavy shall before she offered you one of her own which you gratefully took and wrapped it around you.

“Good morning.” You returned politely as you two sat next to each other and soaked up the sunrise for a few long moments in companionable silence.

“Am I really going to grow old here?” You asked softly after a while.

“That’s up to you. Don’t moura’s only age when they’re happy and in love?” She returned.

“To a degree, yes, but even hundreds of years age anyone.” You countered, keeping your voice a soft murmur.

“Well, then it’s a good thing orcs don’t live that long.” She pointed out as she pulled her shawl a little tighter around herself.

“How long do orcs live for?” You asked curiously.

“Most don’t live to see thirty.” She sighed. “It’s because orcs have such a violent life, with all the wars and raiding. It’s a hazardous life. But this clan is lucky, we have a port, it’s small and humble and we do a lot of fishing, less raiding and warring, well except for last night of course. Otherwise, the average life span in this clan is twice that.” She smiled fondly. “Drad is 40. An elder by orc standards.” She added as you stowed that piece of information away.

“It’s a decent life in this clan though. We get to buy whatever doesn’t sell at either Suchi or the other colonies, but the vendors make it sound like they are being charitable by even selling to us, they give us the leftovers so they can make it out of the river into the sea with all their gold. Most don’t even come through this port even though this port is on the best river that leads to the mountains, the others are barely creeks, even the shallow flat bottomed boats get moored, they’re trying to build a canal over there, to redirect the river outside of our territory so they can avoid us altogether.” She revealed as she pointed south as you followed her line of sight to see a construction crew just now coming to work.

“The problem is that if they succeed, half our clan will starve because the estuary has fish that only exist in estuaries and they make up a large portion of our diet. The next estuary is over there.” She pointed out as she pointed her arm in the opposite direction as you turned and followed it again.

“And that estuary is the territory of a much bigger, stronger, fiercer clan who would kill us in our sleep and take over our territory if they knew what real wealth would be coming through our river.” She added.

“So what am I supposed to do about any of that?” You asked.

“Nothing, just telling you so you know. Besides, the one with all the big plans, that would be Brock, I’m sure he has an idea or two about how you could help if you wanted to.” She answered.

“Why him?” You asked, your lip curling in disgust and the very thought of him.

“Because he’s the first born son of Drad, he’ll inherit the title and station of warchief from his father. It’s his job to do all he can for the clan, if he doesn’t have any good ideas on how to improve things or at the very least honor the old ways, the clan could over throw him, leave this one to join another.” she sighed as she nodded over to the larger clan’s territory.

“Like any other king.” You realized.

“Yup. So far Brock has done good, last night was the first time he’s ever seen defeat and he took it better than I thought he would.” She revealed.

“Considering a nobody with absolutely no military training with nothing but magical abilities was able to talk her friends into doing something that cost us everything, especially our most precious possession, our secrecy, I’ve put every moura into jeopardy.” You explained.

“Nah, I wouldn’t worry about it, everyone you told has very good reasons to keep it to themselves, mainly their own lives- because if that clan finds out- it wouldn’t take but a few hours for them to come over here and stomp us out, just the fact that you’re tethered to us is enough of a temptation for them to do so.” She reassured you.

“Then why attack Suchi?” You asked.

“Bruised egos and hurt feelings are powerful motivators and make you deaf to reason.” She huffed a laugh.

“That’s true, the adults tried to stop us and talk reason into us, but we wouldn’t listen either.” You revealed in turn.

“Wait, so all those hawks were all younglings?” She asked.

“Yeah, all of them were teens, the youngest I think was 15 and the oldest was not even 20. To turn all those meteorites and weapons to gold took all of our reserves. Usually those reserves are reserved our entire childhood until we are old enough to participate in our coming of age solstice flight. This summer was supposed to be our first. Even if I wasn’t captured, my friends and I wouldn’t have been able to participate. So it cost all of us our chances at finding a mate this year. Which means we would have to wait for next year and would have missed out on everyone else in our age group. Now all of us will just have to make due with someone younger than us, which will suck because most of us had our eyes on several others but very few of them would ever wait for us.” You answered as you pulled your knees up to your chest and rested your folded arms over your knees, continuing to watch the sun rise over the horizon.

“Well I for one am sorry for your loss, hopefully one day we’ll be able to make it up to you.” She genuinely offered.

“Thanks.” You thanked her graciously.

“Believe me, if it were up to me you’d be free now but Brock is...he’s incredibly stubborn, once he sets his mind and heart on something, he doesn’t stop until he finds success. So what I can tell you- is to be patient, your time will come.” She explained before she looked out over the sea and groaned.

“What?” You asked as you followed her line of sight and saw a fleet coming back into the port, half the ships half crusted with ice though.

“That damn dragon.” She growled.

“Dragon?” You frowned.

“There’s an ice dragon, just on the horizon, all the fish swarm around it’s cave because all the currents seem to converge on it. But every time they get too close, the dragon freezes the ships and then it’s a lot of work to chip all the ice off the ships and the fish gets frozen in the holds and it’s almost impossible to get them out. She grumped as an idea bloomed in your head.

“If I could get the dragon to not- ice your ships, do you think Brock would let me go?” You asked hopefully.

“I don’t know but I know the whole clan would be grateful to you if you did.” She figured.

“When will the boats go out again?” You asked.

“Not for another couple of days, it’ll take time to de-ice them now. Brock’s cousin Cugas is the captain of the fleet. You can’t miss him, he looks like Brock’s twin, but you’d actually like him- he’s a hard ass to his crew because he’s particular about how things are supposed to be, but when everyone listens, things go really smoothly. But otherwise he’s as easy going as a summer breeze when he’s off the ships.” She revealed.

“Well, most mouras are in alliance with dragons, I could try communicating with it. The fact that the dragon is simply icing the ships instead of drowning them- that shows benevolence and a patience in giving warnings, the ice ships being the warning. You’re probably encroaching not just on it’s territory but food supply too.” You reasoned.

“True,” Rhoslan nodded in agreement before you heard everyone else start to stir awake.

“Since there are a few kinds of ice dragons, do you think you could take me down to the docks to inspect the ice?” You asked.

“Yeah, after breakfast.” She nodded in agreement before she beckoned you off the roof, taking the stairs down this time as you gathered the chain and held it yourself and tuck it into a pocket.

You managed to get through breakfast without arguing with Brock, but you did give him several long suspicious looks and after breakfast, the family went with you to the docks to look at the ships.

Jade green ice crusted the ships. That was your first clue that you were dealing with a breed of oriental water dragon, who spewed that particular shade of green in their ice, because the color of the waters themselves were a gorgeous aquamarine that melted into a gorgeous sea blue before you pulled another feather from your cloak to make a chisel and chipped away at it. The ice was particularly thick and very hard and opaque, just like jade. A small hunk came off and you picked it up to inspect it more closely. You tasted the saltiness but you also tasted something more, you could smell the sulfur and taste the other minerals, the dragon was over a vent, not in a cave. There is only one reason why a water dragon would be over a vent- nesting.

You looked up and noticed Brock talking to someone who looked eerily just like him, like he could be a twin or something. Must be Cugas you supposed. You picked up your hunk of ice and found your feet and walked over to them as they were talking at the end of the docks.

“Excuse me.” You interrupted them.

“Yes ma’am?” He answered. Oh he was respectful, you liked that which made you smile. And while he matched Brock in appearance, something about his voice was wholly different, not bad but just different.

“Hi, I’m Benyana, pleasure to meet you Captain...” You greeted respectfully as he smiled in turn.

“Cugas,” he answered as he shook your outstretched hand.

“Pleasure to meet you Captain Cugas, now, can you tell me more about this phenomenon?” You asked him politely as you put the ice in your skirt to keep it from freezing your hands because this ice was somehow even colder than normal ice.

“Uh yeah, sure, this has been happening for a number of years now, we know there’s a dragon there and we try not to fish directly over it. But it’s like it’s not there all the time, usually right before the fish migrate here in the spring and stay all summer until the fall when the fish migrate south to warmer waters then it stops.” He answered.

“So about 4 months, 5 months?” You surmised.

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“Do you ever see it? Right before it ices your boats?” You asked.

“No, well, a little, it stays about 50 feet under the surface of the water and spits ice and then dives down again.” He answered. “It’s huge though and very long.” He answered.

“Do you ever see hints of other colors? Gold? Red? Black? Or any patterns?” You asked.

“It’s actually more green than the ocean around it, but sometimes it has more pattern, sometimes not, I guess it depends on the clarity of the water.” He realized.

“Do you notice any whiskers?” You asked thoughtfully.

“Yeah, sometimes it does and sometimes it doesn’t, they look, orange, with purple ends.” He realized.

“Ok, well, as I’m sure my captor has informed you,” You explained with a pointed look at Brock who rolled his eyes. “I’m a moura, mouras are allies with dragons, and while I’m not an expert by any means, I have an idea of what you might be working with, when you unpack your ships from all this ice and try to fish again - if you would take me out with you, I think I may be able to get somewhere. Mouras have a way of communicating with dragons, I can try asking it not to ice your ships.”

“Forgive me ma’am but that thing would no sooner eat you than listen to you.” He tried to gently argue.

“It won’t. The fact that it’s just icing your ships, shows it’s being benevolent, trust me, with this kind of dragon that you’re dealing with, it could just as easily open it’s jaws and chomp each of your ships into pieces the way we would take a bite from an apple. It could also just grab your ships with its claws, which are definitely big enough to wrap around your ships and crush them like you’d crush an insect in your palm. It could even just leap out of the water and topple all your ships. It’s trying to deter you from fishing there right now. Do you smell the sulfur and other minerals in this ice?” You asked as you picked it up and gave it to him to sniff before he did and it was like he was seeing and smelling it for the first time before he handed it to Brock to inspect as he followed suit.

“Yeah,” they agreed.

“Water dragons suck in a big “breath” of water -if you will- right before they spit. Because this smells like sulfur and other minerals, that means it’s sucking in water where it is at the bottom before it comes to the surface and the water it’s sucking in…”

“Is from a vent.” Cugas finished for you.

“And the only reason a water dragon stays in one place for five months straight in a place that’s super heated…” You hinted.

“Oh! It’s because it’s nesting! How come I didn’t think of that?” Cugas grinned brightly.

“Exactly. You have on your hands oriental jade water dragons, that’s why the ice looks like green jade despite the blue of the ocean. And you have a mated pair. Females are drab but have whiskers, males have more vibrant patterns but smaller whiskers and the whiskers have their own lures at the end, that’s why you see bulbs. But they’re old, which means they’re wise, older dragons have a routine pattern and migration, if they keep coming back year after year to the same spot- it’s because they know that it’s a successful nesting site, it’s safe they won’t be disturbed, at least by other dragons, except by your nets which they find a nuisance, younger dragons would defend the spot with deadly force, older dragons have learned that sometimes a little goes a long way and if they actually harm the ships, more ships come and investigate. They’re doing just enough to try to deter you. I would suggest, raising your nets so that they run at a higher depth, the lower the depths of the nets, the more you’ll disturb them and try not to take too much of a mated pair’s food supply, especially when they’re guarding their nests because dragons rarely like to leave their nests to guard from egg theft or egg replacement.” You suggested as you gestured to the hunk of ice still in their hands.

“Consider it done, easy fix.” Cugas nodded.

“Awesome, just let me know when you’re ready to leave, I’ll be ready.” You promised him sweetly as Brock finally smiled- happy that you were helping before Kari pulled you away, wanting to go get a snack before you tossed the ice into the water.

Once you were out of earshot Cugas whistled lowly.

“Wow is she pretty! She sure hates you though.” Cugas appraised as he watched your retreating form.

“She’ll get over it.” Brock insisted which made Cugas snort a laugh.

“Your head is still in the clouds then. She looked like she was ready to set you on fire.” Cugas insisted.

“She’s a moura, fire is in her nature.” Brock argued.

“Heaven is in their nature too but I didn’t see any heaven when she looked at you. She did when she looked at me though.” Cugas jabbed playfully which made Brock give him an unimpressed look.

“Hey she smiled at me and shook my hand and was all kinds of nice and polite to me.” Cugas noted.

“She was just trying to be helpful.” Brock dismissed.

“Sure,” Cugas placated. “I’ll see you at dinner, I got work to do.” Cugas excused himself and grabbed a chisel and helped his crew try to de-ice the ships.

Cugas joined you for dinner and brought huge bushel baskets of seafood with him, the servants in the kitchen very well pleased as you sat in the living room, helping Kari learn her letters and numbers before he sat down across from you, a peculiar look on his face.

“What?” You asked as his grin grew fond.

“Before today, I had never seen a moura before, especially up this close, only heard about ‘em. They say you’re born of heaven and fire.” He praised which made you smile as Brock frowned from his spot nearby.

“That’s true, we are.” You confirmed with a nod.

“So what does the heaven and fire refer to?” He asked curiously.

“Actually, heaven refers to the fact that we originated in the clouds themselves, if you could fly straight up into them you’d see how there’s a whole world up there, grand castles and estates that look like clouds on the outside but on the inside are magnificent palaces and estates. And the fire- well that comes from our ability to breath fire because one of our forms can be a phoenix- who breathe fire just like dragons.” You explained and Brock’s jaw was on the floor, as his brow could not get any more furrowed. How in the world had Cugas just asked that nonchalantly and gotten that from you so easily? He had to use a magicked shackle to tell him the truth.

“So you share ancestry with true pheonixs then?” Cugas wondered.

“Yup, we do. Angels are our closest relatives in species and it’s almost impossible to tell us apart when we are in angel form, but angels get to inhabit the different realms but we only get to enjoy this one, humans however are our second but we have very high compatibilities with other races too because shapeshifter genes are versatile. As long as they have our body layout as in- head up here, arms, legs, hands, feet and toes, that kind of thing.” You revealed casually as you gestured to your extremities.

“So if you share ancestry with phoenix's does that mean you can be reborn in the ashes?” Cugas wondered and you just grinned and playfully narrowed your eyes at him. Orcs were much smarter than you gave them credit for.

“Yes, however it is an extremely painful process with a lot of variables and should only be used in extreme circumstances. It’s primarily just the elders who do it when they feel their current form is getting too old to function, although currently there is a competition to see how long someone can go in one form. The current record is held by Elder TriKeng, he made it 145 years before he finally called it quits and was reborn in the ashes about 37 years ago…” you said before you noticed Rhoslan bristle at the name as you frowned and turned your attention to her.

“So..” Cugas began before you lifted your hand to silence him before you watched Rhoslan quickly leave the room before you gently got Kari to sit next to your spot before you got up and excused yourself before you followed Rhoslan out of the room and followed her to her own bedroom where she was finding some solace.

“Rhos?” You asked as you knocked on her door softly and put your ear to the door.

“Rhos are you ok?” You asked worriedly.

“No.” you heard a sob before you opened the door and found her at her vanity wiping her eyes.

“I’m so sorry if I said something upsetting.” You began before you touched her shoulder and she pulled from your touch and growled which made you recoil and step back.

“Sorry.” She apologized. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t...you’re not the problem and it isn’t your fault. But you are wrong about something, exactly 34 years ago, before you were born, there were two moura orc halflings presented to Suchi,” she began and you gasped before you pulled lira light into your palm and laid it on the center of her back which made her gasp and sit straight up as moura marks lit up her skin.

“What did you do?” She demanded as she looked at herself in the mirror. Having never seen her skin look like this before, like she had glowing tattoos on her skin.

“I...I...I’m sorry, I...I did uh, I did a lira light touch, it’s a tradition we do when we want to see if a person has moura genes and how strong they are.” You answered as you watched as there were moura marks haloing around her body.

“You’re...you’re the daughter of nobility. I haven’t seen moura marks like these...since…” You said to her breathlessly, her marks were beautiful, utterly mesmerizing as they began to swirl and dance around her body. “Sorry, these are extraordinary! I’ve never seen anything close to these, usually only noble heavenly moura have marks like these. These are far better than my own. How many forms can you change into?” You asked.

“None! This is the only form I have.” She growled in frustration.

“Surely when you get angry, you must be able to spew fire or heal or…” You began to argue.

“No! None of that, I have none of that!” She argued, you could tell she was frustrated and angry and hurt.

“All I have are these.” She angrily spat as she yanked open a drawer and it was full of tear diamonds as you gasped again, this time in sadness.

“Do you know what these are?” You asked her as you reverently touched them, the pads of your fingers barely touching the surface of them, feeling the pain and anger from them as your heart broke.

“Crystal tears?” She guessed before you crouched down next to her.

“They’re called benar- it’s a sign of extreme duress for a moura to cry them. I cried them myself last night, my first time, and they hurt like hell. This is a sign you have had extreme heartache and hardship in your life. My mother has a collection like this.” You explained as you reached up and held her hand and squeezed it comfortingly.

“What happened that she would cry like this?” She asked before you grabbed a stool and sat down next to her.

“My mother is the product of an affair. Only the sire never came forward when- after she was born because she came out much different than my grandmother’s husband and the rest of her children. Now affairs are not uncommon, however among nobility, it’s more politically upsetting if a very prestigious figure is known to publically stray. Several problems arose from this. To heavenly moura- their lineage is everything. Because your lineage you can prove out your own genetic potential because those bastards have nothing better to do than have as many kids as possible to explore every conceivable variations of their genetics, on one hand you get some really amazing and beautiful results, you get magnificent moura marks- wing colors and shapes and aesthetics, but on the other hand- those inbred motherfuckers have bred out functionality and in some cases fertility and verilty in favor of aesthetics, to the point they’ve lost their own powers, their own abilities, they can’t change forms anymore, or if they do- they can only go human form or angel form- no phoenix, no bird, nothing. They’ve lost their fire abilities completely and their own strength and stamina is next to none- they get winded flying from cloud to cloud. LIke have you seen those dogs, bred until they’re nothing like the original and shouldn’t even be allowed to be called dogs?” You asked.

“Yeah,” she nodded.

“Same thing, only they do it to themselves. And they stud themselves out. And to them- your genetics, they dictate your worth as an individual, no one would be caught dead without their own pedigrees on them at all times. And to them- who and what you are as a person, is one of the last things they care about.” You explained. “So you can imagine, with my mother only having one side of her lineage and therefore one set of genetics, the other half was considered a mystery. And that is a gamble no heavenly moura would normally wish to take. My mother is also of nobility- but the majority of that nobility came from her mother’s husband, not her biological father, whoever he was. Such is the way for daughters of affairs- sons however- sons are usually always claimed. Only the extraordinary daughters are claimed, my mother was, for a heavenly moura- drab, which to them is as close to a crime as you could commit even though she was perfectly innocent. Granted perfectly healthy and functional too, the first in many generations to be so, things the heavenly moura count as non-consequential. Many lower ranking women practically throw themselves at the higher ups, hoping to topple the current ladies by producing handsome heirs. It’s a gamble. A gamble my grandmother made and lost. And she lost everything, her husband’s tolerance for her because heavenly moura partners simply tolerate each other most of the time.” You explained as Rhos listened closely.

“And so my mother because- as you would call it, is the black sheep of the family- she left at barely 20, very young for a heavenly moura, took her own benar with her and went to the same palace her sister was enlisted to go to. But her sister couldn’t risk her newfound political place and power to shelter my mother, so she was turned away and cast out. She tried exchanging her benar for coins, but she was stopped by my father, because who she was about to sell them to, would be taking all of them and only giving her a tiny fraction of a thousandth of what they were really worth. And my father just helped her- without any thought of being paid back because it was the right thing to do and the kindest thing he could do. He helped her find a nice if not very safe place to live- he helped her become money savvy because heavenly moura don’t use money,, they have no need or use for it. And when she got up on her feet and came to terms with her own situation and got her bearings, then they started to court. And he had to really compete for her. But he was the first to help her and not try to take advantage of her in any way and have nothing but the best intentions with her. So now they live in Suchi, aging beautifully together and my mother is making a mural of the family in her benar on the walls. Because she is choosing to take years of pain and turn it into something beautiful and to use that to celebrate what she has now.” You explained, your smile proud if not bittersweet, feeling sad yourself that you would probably never get to see the finished product of your mother’s mural, not for another 30-50 years at least.

“Now I’m not saying that that’s what you should do with these, these are yours and yours alone to do with as you please. However I know of some that would fill every room in this house with treasures for a handful of these. All those traders that snub your people? Oh they would be giving you the best of the best of what they have if they knew you had these and this port would be five times as big because all moura- any moura- is a friend to any merchant. And they would eat their words about you for the sake of business, I can only imagine the apology gift they’d offer if they only knew.” You mused.

“Well that’s just it, I don’t want anyone to know, no one can know this, now turn this off!” She demanded.

“Ok,” you agreed before you put your hand over the center of her chest and pulled the lira light back into yourself, her moura marks fading to nothing.

“Rhos, do you know who your father is?” You asked softly as the sensation of the lira light coming back into yourself revealed many things to you.

“No, my sister and I were presented to Suchi- we were wrapped in our feather cloaks and everything. But that damn council- in particular- TriKeng…” she spat that particular name with the most hateful disgust. “Wanted to weigh it over night- in the middle of the night- someone came in and stole our feather cloaks from us and all we were left with was a sack of gold. That didn’t even last us down the mountains and a warning never to come back for any reason.” She sneered. “And in our culture- that’s seen as a huge disgrace.” She whimpered as she cried yet more benar before she added them to her collection.

“That is an unforgivable wrong dealt to you and your sister. And clearly this is the depth of your pain. To take a moura’s cloak- especially an infant’s cloak- when that child is already…” Your voice wavered as tears came to your eyes and bile rose into your throat. “So vulnerable and defenseless.” you whispered. “It’s despicable,” you clipped, your own anger growing before you took a calming breath and looked at her again, noting her rather beautiful high cheekbones- typical for a moura and the more you looked, the more moura traits you found, wondering how you had not seen them before.

“Make no mistake- whoever did that to you- will suffer, if not by your hands, then by mine.” You swore.

“It has nothing to do with you.” She argued.

“It has a lot to do with me! Because I am of daughter of Suchi, the very place that houses the bastard who did this to you and such a thing is normal in the royal houses, because so few are born with it- it’s a gift stolen from one and given to another- only the most important ones wear them. Do you have any idea how many in Suchi are there because of this very crime had been done to them and it is a law in Suchi- that no child born either to it our outside of it would ever have that done to it ever again and the fact that it was done to you- proves that the bastard is the biggest hypocrite.” You growled, righteous anger blazing in your eyes.

“You say that as if you know who it is.” She pointed out.

“I don’t know for absolutely certain, but I have an idea- one that I would wager all of these on.” You said as you reached into your own coin purse and showed your own benar as they laid between your fingers. “I’m here now, I know I’m 34 years late- forgive me, I wasn’t born until about 18 of those 34 years ago,” You gently teased which got her to crack a grin. “But I’m tethered to this family. And damn it even if this chain were to fall off right now, I would still fly back to Suchi- expose the son of a bitch who did this to you, take his own feather cloak off of him and then slice him and barbecue him in a sweet glaze.” You threatened as she barked a laugh through her own tears which got you to smile brightly in triumph. “And I’d come back and offer it to you on the biggest silver platter I could find. Unless there’s a better way you’ve been imagining justice this whole time.” You offered as she just shook her head.

“I only want the best for my children and this clan, say nothing of this for now- to anyone.” She pressed.

“Ok,” you nodded in agreement.

“Are you at all related to who you think did this?” She asked.

“No, but TriKeng- that village elder who dragged his feet who probably incited a thief or two to steal your cloak because actual evidence of a moura coupling with an orc and you’re proof of that coupling being not only fruitful but alarmingly successful- let alone 30 something years ago, Oh, that would thrown Suchi and every other colony into an uproar because the elders are hypocrites, they love to talk about how warm and inviting and loving and perfect the mountain colonies are, but in the same breath but out of the opposite sides of their faces- want it to be like that only to who and what they deem worthy- mainly elves, another species we blend rather seemlessly with, fae- who hold the keys to the other realms because fey and moura children can cross over from realm to realm no problem to the point angels are more interested in mountain moura than the heavenly ones, which pisses those heavenly moura right off and let’s be realistic- everyone loves power, those elder moura have just as much power and prestiege over their own colonies than the council does over all the royal moura, same game- different rules and different ways to play it.” You explained.

“And TriKeng is basically my adopted grandfather. He’s sweeter than honey and so doting on my mom who’s he adopted as his daughter and therefore my family- despite not being blood related- are his family because the man is one of those former heavenly moura who supposedly has lost his virility through his own inbreeding.” You explained as she gave you a pained expression.

“But this doesn’t surprise me, he’s extremely speciesist. He’s been trying to set me and my siblings up with some fae friends of his most of our lives and me being here is probably throwing a huge wrench into those plans. And honestly? Don’t tell anyone- especially Brock but I’m kind of relieved I’m here so I don’t have to dance with those fae boys this year because I know they would have tried to find a way to fly with me this year and just...I don’t like them back that way.” You explained.

“But this, this makes us family,” You gestured between the two of you. “In a much closer sense than the way I am with TriKeng- all who carry the moura in both name, lineage, gene or spirit are. I will stay and help where I can. First I’ll get this business with the clan’s fleet and the water dragons sorted out. Then, it will take some work- but there is a way to find out exactly who you’re the daughter of if you want to know. But if you don’t- then we’ll get straight to work on improving this clan’s station and reputation and lay a foundation for generations to come.” You vowed.

“Is this why this clan brought war to Suchi?” You wondered curiously.

“No, this- me... I had nothing to do with it, no one in my family knows this about me, my sister and I have never told anyone, not even Drad knows.” She maintained.

“Ok.” You agreed before there was a knock on the door as Rhoslan quickly shut her drawers and locked them before you put your own benar away before you escorted each other to the dinner table where both Brock and Cugas looked particularly worried but a dismissive smile from Rhoslan had them at least looking less worried, but perhaps more concerned.

“It’s about time, it’s getting cold,” Cugas playfully complained before he sat right next to you as you once again sat and had Kari eagerly climb into your lap again, her and Cugas eager to show you how to eat all of it as Brock sat across from you.

“Ok, I don’t like the oysters.” You scrunched up your nose before Cugas reached out and booped your nose which made you laugh.

“Your nose is too cute when you do that, I couldn’t help myself.” Cugas laughed with you and you had to turn and hide your face with your hair in attempt to hide your deep blush as Brock just stared in outraged disbelief.

“So what about the clams then? The smaller ones are the sweeter ones.” He offered as he held a tiny little clam out as you craned your head out and slurped it from the shell before you chewed.

“They are sweeter, they’re ok. Prawns are my favorite still.” You maintained as you worked on taking a large one out of its shell, it was almost as big as your hand,

“Try this then,” Cugas urged as he picked up one shell and scraped the meat off the shell before handing you that one.

“Ooh!” You oohed as you chewed it. “What’s that one?” You asked.

“Scallop.” Cugas answered.

“Ok, yeah, ok, new favorite.” You conceded before he eagerly got a few more from the stock pile that had been cooked in a spicy chili broth and put them onto your plate.

“Thank you.” You thanked him as Brock just cracked those thick crab legs with his hands, his imagination imagining it was his cousin’s limbs as his jealousy ate him alive.

“Here, try this, it’s the king of crabs,” Cugas insisted as he took a leg from the pile and cracked it for you, feeding the luscious meat hanging from a knuckle.

“Oh my gods, that’s...that’s ridiculously good,” you agreed.

“Don’t moura eat seafood?” Cugas asked.

“Royal moura do, but us mountain moura- no, it would spoil before it would ever reach us. The only time we all eat fish is when we fly over the oceans and dive for it ourselves, changing to penguins who can dive for sardines or anchovy or mackrel, any swarming fish really, then once we eat we take to the skies again. We only take the flight twice a year, and it’s the only stop we make.” You explained.

“So what’s so special about the flight?” He asked as your blush came back full force.

“It’s a moura tradition- on the summer solstice- we make one big flight around the world, following the sun and it’s sunshine and again on the winter solstice, only that one we follow the moon and fly in the northern lights, surely you’ve seen the giant flock of birds that seem to glow and dance in the northern lights on the solstice.” You urged as everyone blinked in surprise.

“Wait that’s all you guys?” Cugas asked in marveled wonder and awe.

“Yeah,” you confirmed.

“I can’t believe it, two of the biggest phenomenons that we use to gauge our year- and they’re moura traditions.” Cugas grinned which made you beam happily.

“Not just traditions, those are our courting rituals.” You revealed as Cugas’ and Brock’s jaw dropped before Cugas just started laughing in delight.

“What?! That’s your courting ritual?!” He asked, his smile so bright it would shame the sun and Brock was ready to pull his hair out of his head. This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t real. He was having a nightmare. Five minutes with his cousin and you were already talking about courting rituals like you were confiding in a lover? Just...just shoot him in the face with a fucking canon.

“Well that’s how mouras with the moura gene court each other- nothing proves the greatness of your own health like a 24 hour flight twice a year. Coupling happens in the air- you ever noticed how most of the birds seem to do feats? Fly in corkscrews and loops? Make hairpin turns and fly in a myriad of formations?” You asked Cugas.

“Well now that you mention it, yes, yes I do, I was always so jealous, wishing I could be that free.” He confessed as you smiled fondly at him. Oh if he only knew.

“So what about those who don’t have the gene?” Brock finally interjected and your smile dropped when you looked at him before turning back to Cugas, your smile returning to him, choosing to answer that question as if it had come from him.

“They dance the whole time. There is always a colony that hosts the event. For a week before the solstice, everyone converges, everyone camps in the valley of the host colony because all the colonies are always built in the mountains surrounding either one big valley or several small valleys and all the vendors from all the colonies come and try to sell the fattiest foods, the fattier the better. Everything is fried and- or smothered in rich sauces and gravies, there’s a few vegetables, but it’s mostly all meat and noodles and rice, lots of breads and stuffed buns and dumplings and things and sweets are king, we go through tones of sugar and honey and nuts, the easier to eat the better, everyone has these bowls with attached spoons and forks that they can walk around and eat and talk and it’s crammed with people, so much so that you squeeze through everyone and little kids have to be literally tied to their parents otherwise they’ll get lost in the crowds and the closer to the countdown- the crazier it gets, everyone is hyper and excited and trying to meet everyone else and everyone is trying to figure out who’s flying, who’s dancing who’s courting who, who’s available, who’s of age, who’s still underage because mouras age funny and it’s hard to tell sometimes. Courting mouras usually seriously court only six months at a time. Between each solstice. And usually if a pair keeps courting two consecutive solstices at a time- then it’s a pretty good sign that they’ll stay together. Now once the sun rises on the solstice in the host colony- the single moura who are taking the flight- take off. And once they do- then the dancing starts and every street in the colony is taken up by the dancers and they do not stop until the others get back. And it’s very vigorous dancing the whole time with only short breaks to eat and relieve yourself and crash. So much so that by the end of it- all the shoes are broken, your feet are swollen and they hurt, everything hurts but you’re so high off of dancing and off of being around so many people because most mouras are naturally gregarious and naturally extroverted. But it’s the best music you’ve ever heard in your life and your body can’t help but dance to it and the party takes up at the very least the very center of town, every street is lined with dancers and in the other sections of the city is where the other age groups converge, there’s even a section dedicated to the elders, although they only make it through a dance or two- usually the first dance and the last dance.” You smiled brightly.

“Gosh I can’t imagine having that much fun. I would wear myself out in just the first dance.” Cugas sighed dreamily as he rested his chin in his hand as Brock wondered if he reached across the table and smacked Cugas’ elbow if he would do a face plant into the table and crack a tusk.

“So who’s the host colony this year?” Cugas asked curiously.

“I don’t know, usually it’s on a rotation, but I can tell you it won’t be Suchi- since the attack I’m sure no one will think it’s safe enough to host such an event.” You answered with a long side eye at Brock who just exhaled out of his nose in defeat, shaking his head ever so slightly but kept right on eating as Cugas took a long sip of his ale and gave his aunt a meaningful look as she returned it.

“Well that’s a shame, I almost had hopes I could come and crash it this summer.” Cugas allowed.

“If you did, you’d have more dance partners than you know what to do with of every gender you could handle.” You promised.

“What? I thought orcs were a no go for mouras.” Cugas asked as you gave him a meaningful look and a mischievous smile.

“No, the elders are speciesist- us youngins and really anyone else? Oh no we’d eat you alive.” You cackled. “I mean come on- a culture built around strength, stamina, endurance and physical fitness? Aren’t orcs the epitome of all of that? I mean look at these arms.” You urged as you reached out and grabbed his arm muscles and jiggled them which made him giggle which you thought was adorable. “Like I could think of a dozen mouras right now who would love to climb you like a tree if you know what I mean.” You teased as Brock choked on his ale before you turned and considered him before he recovered.

“Aw, you recovered. Damn.” You snapped your fingers in disappointment which caused Cugas to choke on his own ale too before he practically spit it out at Brock before going into a deep belly laugh.

“Gods, you just hate him! I love it! You’re the first girl to ever hate his guts this badly. Every girl here goes gaga over him every time he sets foot out of the house and you’re the first not to, I like you! I like you a lot.” Cugas insisted.

“I like you a lot too!” You beamed happily right back at him before he just wrapped his arm around you and squeezed you tight and kissed the crown of your head as you laughed.

“Hey! Hands off!” Brock barked.

“He has my permission to be affectionate to me, just like Kari, your other sisters and your mother do.” You argued as Brock looked like he was about to either kill something or have an aneurysm and stroke out right there at the table.

“Fine,” Brock growled before he got up and walked out.

“What’s his deal?” You asked Cugas.

“You don’t want to know.” Cugas dismissed as you felt a pull on the chain and the shackle on your ankle and you felt something inside you pulled in that direction too as you groaned.

“And he says I’m dramatic.” You complained as you got up, the chain itself leading you out of the room and towards where Brock was storming away.

“Hey asshole! What’s your deal?” You called after him as the two of you got some distance as he came to the ocean and threw the biggest rock he could grab into the ocean as far as he could throw it.

“Go back into the house.” He ordered.

“I would love to but this shackle would break my ankle if I tried.” You countered as you folded your arms over your chest as the chain finally dropped to the ground at his feet.

“So I’m here, talk to me and tell me why you’re ready to rip your cousin limb from limb because he had the audacity to talk to me like a friend.” You urged.

“His behavior was inappropriate.” He finally hissed.

“Was it now.” You raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him.

“Yes it was!” He insisted.

“Right and if you weren’t already green you’d be greener than an avacado.” You insisted as you walked past him and sat down in the sand and let the waves come up and wash over your suddenly bare feet.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked as you looked at him over your shoulder before you pat the sand next to you so he would sit down.

“It means you’re jealous of the instant friendliness I have with him that I won’t have with you because you’re my captor and the one I’m tethered to whether I want to be or not like a soldier of war.” You insisted as he sat down next to you, pulling up his pant legs so they wouldn’t get wet as he pouted like a little kid being asked to share his favorite toy.

“It’s something easy enough to fix though.” You added as he just sighed tiredly next to you.

“I’m not letting you free yet.” He insisted.

“Well, it would be easier to take this if I knew that there was hope that there’s at least a chance of me earning my freedom, sooner than later would be ideal.” You insisted as he was quiet for a long moment.

“Do you really think you can do it?” He asked quietly after a while.

“What the business with the dragon?” You assumed. “Yeah, it’s just a matter of getting to it.”

“How are you going to talk to it?” He asked.

“It’s something you’re going to have to see to believe.” You grinned.

“So, I get the dragon to stop icing your ships- I’m free- deal?” You bargained as you held out your hand for him to shake.

“Fine. Deal.” He begrudgingly agreed as he shook your hand.

#Of Heaven and Fire #Of Heaven and Fire Part 2 #orc #orc boyfriend #monster boyfriend #exo #female reader #orc romance #orc love story

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heroofshield · 4 years

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🌾 💐 🌳 🌸 for your Ryder

(going in-game Annabel for this)

Describe your OC through the eyes of someone absolutely head-over-heels in love with them

Hair the color of a sunset almost gone, skin the color of wet sand after the rain, eyes the color of the warm Carribean sea, a smile that lights up a room and is seen too little. Quick wit and always trying to find the humor in a situation. Gentle in the moment and when letting down her walls. Lethal in a firefight. Passionate.

How does your OC handle being unwell or forced to rest in bed? Who cares for them and in what ways? Does your OC enjoy being doted on or are they a terrible patient? Reversed: is your OC good at taking care of others who are ill or in need?

Anna could be sweating her ass off because of a fever, barely able to stand, and wave it off with a “I’m fine.” Lexi has to threaten with telling Scott that she’s sick before Anna will go back to her quarters to sleep.

Back on Earth (and before she got really sick) Ellen would take care of the twins when they got sick. She’d be so good at making sure they had everything they needed (even if that meant wanting to be left alone) and had soup/tea/some kind of beverage ready if they wanted it. Although in the rare times that Alec was around he’d make hot lemonade and honey if requested and even Anna would admit that he made it the best.

Anna is a terrible patient (see above) mostly because she doesn’t want to admit that she’s sick and can’t do the things she’d normally do. As time goes on, however, she mellows a bit and will let people fuss over her a little.

That being said, she’s a decent caretaker if someone on the Tempest or Reyes is sick. On the ship she’ll offer them her quarters, since she remembers from her Alliance days how miserable it is to be sick and have to be in a bunk around other people, as well as anything else they might need- even if it’s something as simple as lending them a hoodie or raiding her stash for snacks once they’re feeling better.

With Reyes it’s seeing if she can stop over at Kadara for some time to check up on him, see if he needs anything or just being on a vidcall with him to let him know that he’s not alone.

What is your OC’s favourite way to relax after a stressful day? Do they have a favourite book to curl up with? A hobby? Or do they have a nice bubble bath and have an early night to bed?

She’ll hit a punching bag until she’s exhausted or put on a stupid movie so she doesn’t have to really think and can just enjoy something for once.

What are some of their favourite things and why? List as many as you can think of!

Seeing the stars at night/through the Tempest viewports. She’s always loved the stars, even back in the Milky Way and would climb onto the roof of her childhood home to stargaze.

Really good booze. She’s a whisky girl and earn Reyes’s love when she knew how to savor the Mount Milgram. She’s also a ‘5 credit beer’ kind of girl when the mood strikes/there’s nothing else.

being with Reyes when it’s just the two of them and they can drop their titles. Sometimes she feels like the pressure of ‘Pathfinder’ gets to be too much and starts to feel boxed in with all the responsibility placed on her shoulders. With Reyes, she doesn’t feel that pressure anymore.

Flowers. Even though she horrible about watering plants and has been banned from Cora’s little garden on the Tempest (in her defense the plant didn’t fully die, just got really wilted), she loves the smell of flowers when they’re in bloom.

Sports. Back in the Milky Way she was into a number of sports, they fed her adrenaline junkie and it was a good way to focus on something other than her life as it started to implode. Rock climbing, surfing, and snowboarding where a few of the things she liked to do.

#Anonymous #annabel ryder #oc ask meme

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storm-and-starlight · 4 years

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Love’s worth running to 🥺 I love that one koda

Oh, you’re just gonna make me expose that to the Internet, are you Kim? (lmao don’t worry about it I love that one too)

Love’s Worth Running To is my a/b/o MCD (sort of) longfic, in which Jaskier is the omega son of nobility, destined to be married off for a political alliance, and Geralt is a Witcher alpha on the run from his own past mistakes. And since that’s all I can say without spoiling, here’s a snippet instead!

He makes the decision, a week later, to sell Jaskier to Lord Augustin d’Attre in exchange for trade rights along the coast, giving him yet another safe port for his ships, and an agreement to aid each other in their attempts to expand the Cintran pack’s territory in the name of Calanthe. It seems a paltry thing for the life of his firstborn son, but Lord Attre is powerful and influential and has access to Calanthe’s ear, which is more than even Lord Lettenhove has, and politics is about the long game.

So Julian is dressed in his finest clothing and paraded about before Lord Attre’s household. He’s young to be a lord, but that doesn’t mean he’s young; he’s nearly thirty, though Julian supposes he’s lucky -- his mother was two years younger than he is when she married his father and had him.

The wedding is set for a month from today, in the spring when the flowers are blooming, and his mother weaves some of the earliest blossoms into his hair as he stands in the garden and watches his father and Lord Attre talk.

“It will be easier, when you have your own household,” she whispers. “You’ll have more power; he has to listen to you.”

Lord Attre doesn’t seem like the type to listen to anybody, but Julian doesn’t tell his mother that, because it will hurt her less if she can believe it’s true.

Lord Attre, once the final negotiations are complete, walks over to Julian and inspects him. That’s the only word for it: inspects. Like he’s a horse or a dog or some other kind of animal, being checked for sound teeth and bright eyes.

Lord Attre plucks a flower, a daisy, from Julian’s hair and rolls it between his fingers. “I accept.”

“Good!” Lord Lettenhove booms, and claps him on the shoulder! “Come to my office; we’ll finish the deal, and I have some wonderful brandy, just in from Kovir. Picked it up on the last raid, you know, must have passed through at least three packs…” His voice trails off as they wander away, up to his office where his father will sign away the rest of his life.

Silently, his mother picks the fallen daisy from the ground and tucks it behind his ear. “It will get better. You’ll see.”

Julian wants to cry.

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fyrapartnersearch · 4 years

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Historical long-term roleplays anyone? M/M or M/F

Hello my new friends!

You can call me Katariina, or any shortened version of it you'd like. I'm 24 and from Europe. And as you might have guessed, I'm very much on the look for new roleplays. So, first things first, I'm looking for mostly M/M roleplays, though I am not opposed to M/F if you find yourself more comfortable with it. I prefer to play the submissive/bottom role, but I promise you my characters are not your usual cliche "useless maiden in distress, will sob and cry at every little thing" type of characters. What I mean to say is, I prefer my boys (or girls) with some actual character and complexity. I do enjoy having my boys crossdress, but if that's not your thing, just let me know. As for smut - yes please. I do not do roleplays that are solely or majorly focused on sex, but smut is always welcome as a part of the plot. Also because of this, I only roleplay with people over 18 years old. And one last thing before we get to the good part: I write several paragraphs. I hope you will be able to do so as well, because I get bored if you only give me two or three lines. I can write anything from 400 words to 1000+ words per reply. Okay! So, if you're still with me and interested, let's see if our interests check out. Themes I enjoy: - Historical (I'm a huge history nerd) - Romance - Arranged marriage - Secret lovers - Drama (Lots and lots of it) - Fluff, but also angst in a lovely balance - Magic/Mythology/Supernatural (be it gods, sorcerers or werewolves, I'm up for it) - Enemies to lovers - ABO dynamics So, basically, yes - my plot ideas will be in a historical setting. I'm not opposed to a modern setting if you have a good idea though, but for now I'm mostly looking for historical settings. A thing worth noting, I'd say, is that I do not require extreme historical accuracy. For me it's enough that the biggest things and the feeling of the era are right (so, no "taking showers every day" if you play a pirate character or whipping out smartphones in ancient Egypt basically). Right now the eras I'm most interested in are as follows, though in no particular order: - Ancient Rome/Greece/Egypt - Medieval - Renaissance - Victorian - Vikings! - Any fantasy setting based on the above mentioned In the plot ideas I've used "he" pronouns for my character, but could just as well be a she if you want to. Plot ideas: (YC = Your character, MC = My character) 1) Ancient Rome. YC's people, barbarians, were killed by the conquering Romans some years ago. YC and a few others were taken as slaves, ending up in the arena to fight to the death as gladiators for the amusement of Romans. YC thought he's the only one who's survived this far. He's become the champion of his ludus. He's forgotten his past life - until a surprising acquaintance shows up. YC's master purchases a new slave, MC. MC and YC used to live in the same town as free men. Now MC is little more than a simple pleasure slave, which YC comes to find when the master of the house sends MC to the champion, YC, as a reward. Has YC let go of thoughts of freedom like he thought he had, or does MC manage to ignite something rebellious in him again? 2) Ancient Greece. MC is the spoiled youngest son of a prominent and wealthy family. YC is the slave appointed as his bodyguard, so to say. They both know nothing should happen between them, but the attraction is much too strong. Do they risk being found out, or is MC ready to leave the comfort of his current lifestyle to run away with YC? 3) Vikings. MC is a prince in England. YC is a viking warrior, perhaps the son of their leader. They've been raiding England for quite a while now and one of the kings proposes a truce, an alliance of sorts. MC is offered as hostage for the vikings, so they know the alliance will not be broken. YC is appointed to look after MC. The longer MC spends with the vikings, the more his interest in their customs and gods grows and the closer he grows to YC, but what will happen when it's time to return to his real home? 4) Renaissance. YC is one of His Highness' most trusted men. MC is a spy for the kingdom YC's country is at war with - and MC knows exactly how important YC is. In his quest to get closer and learn information from YC, MC accidentally develops feelings that were never supposed to be there. Is he going to keep lying, or is he going to tell YC who he is? 5) Medieval. Marrying someone he doesn't love was never something MC could see himself doing. No matter how important that marriage would be to his family's status, he couldn't do it. So he ran away and didn't know what to do with himself, until he ran into YC. YC is a pirate, young and full of ambition for life, and just so happens to need a quick replacement in his crew. It was obvious MC had never worked a day in his life, but he would do until they get to the next port and YC has time to find a proper replacement. News of MC's disappearance spread, and so did rumours of seeing him on a pirate ship - "held as hostage", after all it was the only explanation, right? What will YC do when he learns who, exactly, MC is? 6) Ancient Rome. MC, a good Roman citizen, finds YC injured and near death's door. It's obvious YC is a barbarian, but MC nurses him to health nonetheless. Romance blooms between them while YC is recovering, but it seems the Roman life is not one for YC - he slips away into the night, to travel back to his people, and MC wakes up in the morning to be heartbroken. Years later YC's people have raided a Roman village and among the people they've taken as slaves is MC. Will YC show him the same kindness MC showed years ago? 7) Renaissance. MC and YC's wedding date has been set. Their marriage was decided on by their fathers, to seal and secure a long and prosperous alliance between their royal families and kingdoms. The problem is... our characters don't really like each other much. YC has a lover he thought he'd be spending his life with. MC isn't in a hurry to get married either. They both try their hardest to stop the wedding, but the wedding day rolls around regardless. It seems they will have to try to get along on some level if they are to spend their lives together - and maybe a perfect time for bonding is when they have to run away and escape together as an elaborate plan to usurp their royal families begins to unfold in front of their eyes. What better way to forge a bond between two people than to plan their revenge and take back the kingdoms rightfully theirs? 8) Ancient Egypt. MC is the lover of the pharao, soon to be wed to him, though perhaps not of his own free will. YC is the eldest son of the pharao. The pharao was a jealous man, not one single man other than himself was allowed to as much as touch MC. What could possibly go wrong when a celebration ends in a drunken tryst between our characters? 9) Ancient Greece. YC is a young Greek god, banished by Zeus from Mt. Olympos and forced to live in a human body with the mortals until he proves himself worthy once more. MC is one of these "lowly mortals", though perhaps not an ordinary one. He has never known his father, but he must have been someone important with how tightly his mother has guarded that secret. Little does he know he is a demi-god. YC can sense it on him, but doubts himself at first; after all, MC doesn't exactly shine with the glory of gods. When YC's final trial is presented to him, however, he finds an unexpected ally in MC to help him clear it. But... will he want to return to Olympos anymore? (This could also be done with Norse gods!) Okay, those are what I had for now. Feel free to give your own ideas and I've left them somewhat vague after the initial idea so we can plot and think about it together more. These plots aren't set in stone, so if you like one part but not another in one of the ideas, we can always fix things :) Or if you have a plot idea of your own, don't be shy to ask me! I roleplay via email or google docs, and prefer not to use Discord etc.

Please do mention in your email whether you'd like to play M/M or M/F. Send me an email at: [email protected] Hope to hear from you soon ;)

#indie rp #indie roleplay #independent roleplay #oc rp #multiple paragraph #long term #email #submission

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lesbianmonsterlover · 5 years

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Waterfalls and Whirlpools (2)

In which we meet the orc Urzash, our main love interest for Erin.

---

Urzash Firetamer was the only child of her parents. Thusly her father, the infamous Shamrol Skullcrusher, trained her the same way he would have trained a son. Urzash was an imposing orc by any measure, nearly eight feet tall and full-blooded with deep green skin and impressive tusks, many beads decorating her mane of dark hair. This newest conquest would earn her the second band around her tusks, a high honor denoting her prowess in combat. Her pouch was heavy with gold and gems, mostly honestly gained but a few pilfered along the way, and her pack had two new additions, a blessed warhammer and an ancient looking leather journal the sorcerer they assisted assured her connected with other universes.

Alys, the cleric, pulled off her helm, running her fingers through sweat-matted brown curls before gesturing with her chin at the book Urzash had slapped down on the wooden table. “Have you looked at it yet?” Alys’s voice was always thick and dark, like a rare fall honey, it matched the caramel tone of her skin and the intense amber yellow of her eyes.

Urzash just shakes her head, running one huge thumb over the cover. She got her name, Firetamer, because she showed a proficiency for not only brute strength but fire magic. She was a well known berzerker because of this uniqueness, able to coat her fists and body in a suit of fire in the midst of battle. As useful a skill as her fire taming was, it still made her feel like an outsider in the orcish community. That’s why she left in the first place, joining an adventurer’s guild and striking off out into the vast wilderness of Auren and beyond.

The first thing she notes when she opens the book finally is that it is partially filled, and the writing is possibly the tidiest she’s ever seen. The neat, loopy script fills the first six pages of the book, front and back, and each entry is signed off with a mysterious “EC.” The writing is mundane talk about feelings, activities, days, but the wording is odd… It’s written in common, which isn’t so strange, but talks about things she’s never heard of. Cars, television, internet, meaningless words.

Urzash scoffs as she reaches the first blank page, and the party’s halfling rogue giggles. “Betcha that sorcerer stiffed us by giving us some worthless junk ‘n calling it magic or whatever. That just looks like some crazy ramblings.” Urzash was ready to agree with Penny, but they’re both interrupted from beginning a rant by the slim hand of Lithwe, the sorcerer declaring that there was indeed some deep magic within the book. The argument itself though is stopped when words begin to appear on the page before their eyes.

Hello again

It’s hot here today, hotter than usual, but I’ve managed to find my way to a secluded little waterfall in the forest behind my house. It’s really beautiful, idyllic and inspiring, you know?

The loopy font is slowly blooming to life on the page, and as Urzash rubs at it nothing happens, the ink doesn’t even smudge appearing on the page bone dry. She digs through her pack to produce a quill and ink, quickly scrawling out a message at the bottom.

Are you there?

Urzash isn’t sure what she’s expecting to happen. Nothing maybe?

Who What is How Yes?

It’s like Urzash can see the thought process as this is happening, mirroring her own. She didn’t think this through, did she? What does she say now? Who is this? Where are they from? Are they really from another universe or is this some kind of magic trick? Hesitating over the page, a splotch of ink drops from her quill onto the paper, as she keeps thinking about what to write she watches as whoever is on the other side turns the ink splash into a flower, complete with stem and leaves. So, probably a real person on the other end and not some magic script. Urzash smiles at that, eyes bright with curiosity.

You’re actually real. Tell me, where are you from?

Erin isn’t exactly sure what to do with herself when words start appearing on the page before her randomly. Writing and scratching out and writing and scratching out a few times before finally settling on her response, which felt a little weak now that she sits back and looks at it. As she waits for a response she begins nervously doodling around an ink blot that appeared on the page in the same sudden blooming manner. She isn’t sure how specific she should be, so she settles for some vagueness. Although, realistically, if whoever was on the other side could read her writing they’d know enough about her to come and find her which sent a sudden surge of icy terror down her spine. Still, it was too late to do anything about it now.

Washington state, in the US, what about you?

Urzash is hopelessly confused, the us? The who? And Washington? That’s an odd name for a place. A town where you wash things?

Washington where?

The response is a crudely drawn map of a place Urzash has never seen, a land that looks wholly unfamiliar to her in terms of coastline. Some rough lines are drawn in along the left side and then circled, as if that should clear anything up. A little arrow pointing to it fills in Washington State and is followed with another set of lines circled towards the right side with an arrow pointing to say Washington DC. Urzash wonders briefly if this DC is related to EC, perhaps an older relative or ancient ancestor?

“That map makes no sense.” Alys’s voice draw’s Urzash’s eyes from the page. “No discovered land has a coastline anything like that, and we’ve had sailors circumnavigate the globe.” Her fingers begin drumming on the table, brow furrowed. “I mean, nothing even close to it, look at that peninsula right there sticking out from the bottom right, nothing like that has ever been mapped.” As they’re talking more text appears beneath the map.

Where are you from?

Currently Greenbriar’s Landing, in the country of Auren.

Auren isn’t a country I’ve ever heard of?

Urzash hums to herself, scratching out a map of her own of the land and a few landmarks such as mountains and the main rivers. Lithwe interrupts again, their light voice cutting through the chatter around them. “The magic is being channeled through some sort of portal at a level so intrinsic as to not be seen. I wonder...if we could mold and use this magic to somehow draw ourselves or the other through this portal to the other side…” They trail off, muttering to themselves as their eyes glow a faint blue while they channel and work to break down the spell to its most basic components.

So, it seems as though the journal is authentic, and does connect elsewhere.

What’s Auren like?

Urzash purses her lips in thought.

A lot of open land, mostly. It’s fairly peaceful, although bandits are a problem as I’m sure you know. The cities and strongholds are well protected, but raids on smaller hamlets are sadly common. Traveling can be dangerous but it’s getting safer as alliances between larger cities mean more patrolling along roads.

Erin, in fact, did not know bandits were still a problem. Still, if this is some kind of writing exercise for whoever or whatever is on the other end of this, that’s fine. Either that or this is the start of her descent into madness, and she’s actually the one writing all of this and not remembering it. Really, at this point, she isn’t sure which of the choices is worse, especially considering the implications of the former.

What is Washington like?

Erin’s reverie, or spiral into a panic attack but who’s asking, is interrupted by this.

We’re way West and North, with a lot of forest still despite the US’s propensity for cutting down nature to make way for man. I live in the forest now at the base of some mountains, it’s nice. Quiet town, not a whole lot to do, but I like it that way.

Alys breaks the silence of the group. “Men destroying nature in favor of their own desires, some things are the same everywhere.” Urzash hums in agreement, penning a response that says as much, before their table is joined by a face she was hoping to never see again.

“What do you want, Rolgar?” The growl of Urzash’s voice would be enough to send most scattering, but Rolgar just gives her that leering smile she’s always hated, tusks flashing in the dim firelight.

“What? A guy can’t come check up on an old friend?” One of his thick arms is slung across the back of her chair, and she stands abruptly to shove it off, glaring down and growling at the presumptuous orc. Rolgar for his part just grins, standing languidly and beating Urzash in height by just an inch or two. “You’re right, we really should go for a dance.” Rolgar reaches for her hand, and Urzash slaps his arm away. “You know, I like ‘em feisty.” He breeches her personal space, coming far too close as he reaches for her hip.

Urzash lashes out with her right fist, connecting with his jaw. The resounding crack silences the rest of the tavern, and the clink of one impressive tusk cracking off and falling to the stone ground elicits a gasp from the onlooking crowd. Rolgar lifts a trembling hand to feel the stump where there was once a proud tusk. Yes, it would grow back as all orc tusks do, but considering the size it could be a year or more before he’d be back to his normal self. The impotent roar that Rolgar lets out just makes Urzash laugh. He telegraphs his oncoming attack so hard that all Urzash really has to do is use his momentum against him, sidestepping the punch and grabbing him by the arm to make sure he goes down to the floor.

She’s standing on his upper back and has his leading arm by the wrist, twisted and pulled behind him as she moves her foot up until she’s putting pressure on his neck. “What do you want, Rolgar?” Urzash grinds out her response with the very last dregs of her patience, wondering exactly how much trouble she’d be in if she just stepped a little harder and snapped his neck. Would anyone believe she slipped?

Rolgar is coughing on the ground, staring at his own tusk and still internally raging. “Icewing.” The name is enough to get Urzash to lift her boot just enough to ease his talking. “Icewing has been spotted taking to air again, he’s terrorizing the hamlets around Urgaur Stronghold. The party that had claimed to have defeated him merely pilfered from his hoard and left him sleeping.” Urzash roars but throws down Rolgar’s arm and steps back, sneering down at him.

“Fucking useless! I told them the Golden Helm company was a fraud. ‘We don’t need a fighter’ they say ‘we do everything quick and quiet, like a knife to the ribs.’ What a bunch of fucking tripe.” Urzash is pacing. Dragons...it’s rare a company gets the chance to pit their strength against the terrifying wrath of a dragon. Fire drakes were the most powerful, but there hadn’t been a fire drake known for at least the last four hundred years. An ice drake was still a formidable and deadly challenge.

“They know, that’s why they’re asking for you.” Rolgar stands and cracks his neck, his languid stretch shows off his lean muscular frame. He’s the epitome of male orcish aesthetics, but Urzash has never been interested in men, especially orc men if what she grew up with was anything to go by. Still, Urgaur Stronghold was her birthplace and home, she couldn’t let this stand.

“Fine, sit, but away from me. We’ll discuss terms.” Urzash kicks a chair out from the table and points at it before taking her own seat back and glancing at the book. Whoever was on the other side had written more, but it would have to wait for now. Closing the journal and putting it in her pack, Urzash gives her full attention to Rolgar as he begins discussing the first attacks and current patterns, along with compensation. He may be a dick but his tactical mind was indeed useful and honed.

They talk into the early hours of the morning, leaving only once a fair deal has been hashed out and handshakes given all around. They’ll set out in two day’s time towards the hoard of Icewing. Now, everyone knows that confronting a dragon head on is sure death. You have to lie in wait, and when the dragon’s guard is down you strike. By the time Urzash climbs into her bunk and pulls the book from her pack it’s been several hours since she last looked at it.

It’s true, mankind seems to think that the metrics by which we measure humanity are the only true things of worth. So nature isn’t considered progress, and personal growth is stymied by this greed and lust for power and control. It’s why I left the city to live here, I couldn’t take it anymore.

I’m Erin, what’s your name?

Sorry if that was too personal, I hope I haven’t run you off!

Then there are some half started letters and spots of ink, but otherwise nothing else. Urzash sighs through her nose, feeling a little bad for ignoring the writer on the other end.

Not run off, just a bit of an emergency to handle. You can call me Ash, many do, short for Urzash. I must go for the evening, but I would like to talk again. You write about many things that confuse me but I want to learn. Like what are these unreliable things called cars you hate so much? And this internet thing sounds usefu...

Urzash is truly too tired to think much about what she’s writing, and her handwriting slowly devolves until she falls asleep with the book propped next to her and quill staining the sheets.

#my writing #camp nanowrimo #camp nano july 2019 #nanowriting #female orc #named character #waterfalls and whirlpools #lesbian love #lesbian fiction #lesbian romance

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deathberryhime · 6 years

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in which i say fuck it i’m gonna write it and then i did

warning: angst, character death - you can pry stoicup from my cold dead fingers

...

He still remembers the first time he held his son. Seven months early and unclean from the birth, Hiccup had come unannounced into his life.

He also remembers the look of the midwife. Too small, he probably won’t survive the night. Those words had put fear into Valka’s heart and made her weep for days. But Stoick had seen the sparkle in his infant eyes and hope bloomed in his breast. He’s gonna be the strongest of them all.

“Dad!”

The wound was deep, his blood was pooling around him, and he could feel himself slipping. Still, Stoick forced his eyes into focus. Above him, his only son was trying to keep him alive.

“Dad, please!”

It had been a while since he had looked at Hiccup’s face; Valka’s cheekbones, their eyes, the traditional Haddock nose, and he could see the few freckles that smarted his own face. Alongside them, dread, fear, and blood was on his only child’s face.

Regret burst in his breast. They had lost too much time because he didn’t listen. Time they could have spent together, create memories, and bridge the gap in their relationship that seemed grander than the size of Yggdrasil.

His anger and hate seemed so insignificant now, when he was dying in the arms of his son.

When he had first lost his son (back when he was only fifteen and he had run away because he had failed him as a parent) something had broken inside of him. When the raids had stopped, his rage had dimmed and he’d curse himself because revenge was all he had left.

Then Hiccup had come back, with a horde of dragons at his beck and call, preaching about peace and coexistence, and it had made Stoick spitting mad. They fought and that night he had lost his son for a second time. It took years, many barrels of mead, and Gobber beating him over the head with his hook to finally consider of a possible alliance.

It was also the fact that every time he saw the families around him, tore a bigger hole in his heart. It took a long while to accept the fact he was perhaps wrong, that his beliefs and pride has costed him his only remaining family. That he was an old man, tired and miserable and despite everything, he wanted his son back.

So he reached out. They made terms in tense tones and agreed on integrating dragons on Berk. Baby steps, I don’t trust you lot not kill them on sight, his Hiccup had said with a scowl while Stoick cursed himself for alienating his child so much he preferred fire-breathing beasts first over his own family.

The months that followed were weary and anxious. The beasts were everywhere and the Berkians still itched to their weapons every time a dragon sneezed.

For Stoick, they were of the best. Hiccup was coming and going, spending time teaching dragon riding to the volunteers and having awkward dinners at the Great Hall. But despite the naysayers, Stoick could see that his fantasy of having his son back was able. The spark that had been lost was coming back in Hiccup’s eyes, and Stoick couldn’t but feel proud.

Now, that spark was almost completely gone.

“Dad, please! Stay with me! Dad!”

Stoick could feel Hiccup’s fingers pressing down, trying to hold back the blood. Futile, Stoick knew this was it for him. But first, he had to make sure…

“It’s not your fault.” Stoick croaked and raised a shaky hand to his son’s cheek. “It’s not. You wanted peace. We all did. It’s not your fault.”

After Berk, there was an idea of reaching out to the other Tribes. They had a plan, it had been risky but they both were willing to take it. It had been going great for a while, until old ghosts rose from Stoick’s past.

The Thing that had been for peace resulted in blood and death.

War had been declared. The Hooligan tribe had been outlawed. Stoick knew what he had to do.

“Take them… and go.”

Dragon fire burst from their left and he saw Berkians and Dragons forming a circle around them, protecting them. Someone screamed something over the chaos -Hold the line! Keep them back! Where’s the healer?!- right as Hiccup’s face broke above him.

“Dad. No. You’re fine, hear me? You’re going to be fine!”

He was so much like Valka. Keeping hope even when the world was against them. But they had no time left. He was slipping away and enemies were baying for his head, his Hiccup’s head.

“I’m sorry, son. I wish we had more time.”

As he talked, he drew a shaky rune on his son’s forehead. Hiccup tried to move away, tell him again he’ll be fine, but hands gripped his shoulders and forced him in place.

Stoick saw Spitelout trying to keep his face straight, just like his Generals that were now looking over with red-rimmed eyes.

With a nod to his half-brother, he finished the rune and took a shuddering breath.

“Lead them true. Keep them safe.”

“Dad--”

“I love you. I’m proud of you.” Stoick coughed and felt more blood filling his lungs. “I know you’re going to make me proud. I love you, son. Never forget that.”

Stoick let the darkness take him, giving his final blessings to his grieving son and longing to reunite with his wife.

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ivoryandbonerpg-blog · 7 years

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♔ NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM ♔

( the basics. )

AGE: 18 LINEAGE: Pureblood SCHOOL / ALUMNI: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry HOUSE: Gryffindor ALLIANCE: The Order

( personality. )

✓ / ✗ : introverted, self-conscious, brave, determined, loyal

( biography. )

• No matter how hard he’s tried, Neville Longbottom has never really felt like he’s properly fit in anywhere for the entirety of his existence. Born to two revered war heroes who sacrificed their lives and sanity for the sake of defeating Lord Voldemort at the curtail of the First Wizarding War, Neville Longbottom grew up believing that he didn’t belong in the family he’d been born into. As a chubby, awkward child with a slight stammer and a severe dip in self-esteem and confidence, Neville didn’t think he was worthy enough of taking the great, respectable Pureblood name Longbottom as one of his own. One or two times, Neville considered begging his gram, who remained his fierce, sole parental guardian throughout the duration of his life, to strip him of his title just so he wouldn’t have to bear the shame and disappointment that would surely come whenever someone spotted him and realized he had come from the loins of the great Frank and Alice Longbottom. And when Neville, a perpetually anxious child who constantly feared saying the wrong thing to upset his elder relatives, failed to show any signs of wizardry by the proper age, he knew that he had embarrassed and disgraced his parents’ names. Though his grandmother thought that yelling and smacking magic into him was the sure fire way to kickstart Neville’s magical instincts, and his great uncle Algie strongly believed that terrifying Neville into fatal situations would scare the magic into him, Neville knew he was doomed to a mundane life of hopelessness. He was a failure, and it was a mantra Neville proceeded to chant to himself at night, locked in his room and muffling his tears with his pillow.

• But somehow, miraculously, Neville’s powers showed themselves eventually--and not a moment too late! His extended family was relieved that the magical gene had been passed onto Neville, and none were more pleased than his grandmother when Neville’s acceptance letter to Hogwarts arrived through owl post just shy of his eleventh birthday. But where being magical--a real wizard--should have filled Neville with joy, it instead cursed him with perpetual anxiety. Now that he was as magical as both of his parents, Neville realized he had something to prove--to his grandmother and to his parents--in order to keep the title of “wizard” a valid and well deserved one. His mother reminded him constantly of his parents’ accomplishments and valiant struggles, and told him to never lose sight of what was important--what was lost and what was gained--because people like his mother and father had sacrificed themselves for the greater good. So it was with the courage of his father, Frank, and the optimism of his mother, Alice, that led Neville Longbottom and his little toad, Trevor, traipsing onto the Hogwarts Express that fateful day in 1991. When the time came for Neville to be sorted, he feared he would be declared a Squib publicly by the Sorting Hat and told to pack his belongings and head home where he belonged. But instead, the hat--with a great deal of debate--finally decided to place Neville in Gryffindor...the House of his parents. The House of his family. So overwhelmed with joy and relief, Neville scrambled off the sorting stool and ran to the table before realizing the hat was still placed firmly atop his head (and grumbling the entire time).

• Though sorted into the House of bravery and ferocity, Neville felt that he was anything but. His peers mocked him--even those who were supposed to be housemates--and the worst part was that Neville couldn’t exactly blame them. He was awkward, fumbling, and didn’t seem to understand classes that others, like Hermione Granger or even local bully Draco Malfoy, seemed to handle with grace and ease. He destroyed almost any potion he touched, couldn’t handle flying lessons if his life had depended on it, and struggled with even the most basic lessons in Transfiguration classes. But despite the academic struggles that laid so painfully before him, Neville persevered--year after year. He didn’t have friends, per say, most of the time, but--he had endurance. And the reminder that he was doing everything he could to make his parents proud, in the slim chance that one day, should they come out of the spell-induced cloud Bellatrix Lestrange had placed them in...they would be ready and pleased for him. That he would be ready for them.

• Though school was difficult and Neville’s own repeatedly failing confidence was a constant hindrance in his life, his eventual friendship with Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood proved to be some of the most important of his life. He liked to think he was friends, on a very base level, with the Gryffindors who were often dubbed the Golden Trio--Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley--but with Ginny and Luna, he felt as though he had friends who cared about him, even when he wasn’t around. They became his confidants in every sense of the word; Luna gave Neville the inspiration to be himself without worrying what other people thought of him and Ginny gave Neville the courage to stand up for what he believed in, no matter the cost. So when his fifth year arrived and no one believed Harry Potter’s declarations that Lord Voldemort had returned, Neville Longbottom stood up as a willing addition to what eventually became known as Dumbledore’s Army, if only to soothe his anger and frazzled nerves after hearing that Bellatrix Lestrange had escaped from prison. Neville might have been just a boy, but he wanted to avenge his parents’ for the crimes that had been so foully committed against them. And, perhaps most importantly, Neville wanted to be a part of something that mattered--just like his father and mother before him.

• Though the original Dumbledore’s Army eventually crumbled and fell, leaving Neville dejected and furious with the wizarding government for blindly disregarding what was directly in front of them, he never gave up hope of making a change after that. He had learned he was strong enough--stronger than the child who had mustered all of his courage to stand up to a childhood bully, and even stronger than the boy who cried himself to sleep at night for thinking he wasn’t magical enough. Neville Longbottom’s life had been one entirely about endurance and perseverance, and he refused to let anyone take that away from him. So when the Golden Trio set off in search of horcruxes following the collapse of the Hogwarts they knew and the tragic passing of Albus Dumbledore, Neville started up another attempt at Dumbledore’s Army in Harry’s absence. The 1997 version of Hogwarts was no longer safe, as they quickly realized, and Neville attempted to penetrate the thick cloud of corruption and darkness that surrounded the world they’d once all loved so dearly by rallying members to join him in an effort to support Harry, Ron, and Hermione while they traversed the globe in search of Godric only knew what to stop Lord Voldemort from rising to power fully again. Neville did what he could at Hogwarts, protecting those who were unable to defend themselves and meeting in secret with those brave enough to help, before what remained of Dumbledore’s Army eventually fled through underground tunnels and escaped Hogwarts with as many innocents as they could. The school had turned against them all, and Neville had the scars and marks from standing up to Death Eaters to prove it.

• Now, Neville is a very involved member of The Order of the Phoenix, doing whatever he can to help the war effort and protect those who need proper protection. And while his grandmother has assured him she can take care of herself perfectly fine, Neville grew fearful after she fled from a potential Death Eater raid and has placed her in work at one of the safe houses located in Ireland. She’s farther away than he’d like her to be, but at least he knows she’s safe for the time being. He has grown a great deal since his Hogwarts days and, while he still stammers a bit and struggles with his self-image more than he’d care to admit, Neville Longbottom is now longer a wallflower. He’s in full bloom, and he’s ready for whatever may come.

( sexuality. )

up to player

( connections. )

⚔ Ginny Weasley: Ginny was one of the first people to ever show Neville a shred of genuine kindness and decency at Hogwarts, and for that, he can never forget or repay her. Ginny has grown, over the years, into one of Neville’s absolute greatest and closest friends; he worries for her in the outcome of this war, but knows if there’s anyone who can hold her own against a handful of monstrous Death Eaters, it’s the youngest Weasley.

⚔ Luna Lovegood: Luna Lovegood is one of the only people in the entire world that Neville feels completely at ease and comfortable around. While Ginny showed Neville the power of inner strength and defying what is wrong in favor of what’s good and right, Luna showed Neville that there’s strength in being yourself. While Neville knows that Luna can take care of herself, he’s more concerned about her than any other in this war; he can’t help but feel protective over her.

⚔ Romilda Vane: Romilda is Neville’s greatest despair and regret. While Romilda had been one of the first (and most eager) to rejoin Neville’s revamped version of Dumbledore’s Army back in 1997, she was also the first to skirt away and leave after the tragic death of her mother and sister at the hands of Death Eaters. Neville can’t help but feel responsible for the deaths of her family, and wishes more than anything he could take everything back. But half the time these days, he doesn’t even know where Romilda is--or if she’d even want to forgive him.

the role of NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM is currently OPEN.

#diverse rp #hp rp #hp roleplay #lsrp #lsrpg #neville longbottom #char #male #order #open

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