#His head upon his knapsack gently lay

[lovelyasfcuk]

Voyager

A Mandalorian Story | Din Djarin x F!Reader

V: Sacrifice

Summary: Din starts to unravel the mysterious shroud you’re hiding under and the legend of the Jedi. In the hope of finding a lead and repairing the Razor Crest for the journey, you make a difficult decision in any possible chance for success.

Word Count: 2,120

Warnings: Mentions of death. Internal struggle. Protective Din.

A/N: Starting to post longer chapters because there is...a lot. 

The gentle hum of the atmosphere in the Crest crept into his consciousness, as he started regaining awareness of his extremities, slowly shifting his body about the small cot. He glanced at the monitor next to him, displaying various readings of within the ship. He sighed, realizing he had only slept for not more than four hours.

The truth was, he couldn’t remember the last time he fully rested; definitely not while the child had come into his life. It also didn’t help there was a stranger onboard. He listened harder, trying zero in on any foreign sound outside of his quarters, but the only sound that he found was the gentle coos of the foundling, deep in sleep. 

The vastness of space was insurmountable. How could any thing exist at all? It had been so long since you had seen the stars so clear. You sat in the pilot seat, legs pulled up into your chest and arms wrapped around them, gazing at the delicate swirl of colors against the harsh black. You had heard the clanking of his boots long before he had quietly cleared his throat in an attempt to make his presence known. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” You quietly asked.

“Had to make sure we were still on course.” He replied.

Realizing your potential faux pas, you dropped her feet to the ground and standing to leave the cockpit. Din watched you gather your cloak, pulling it up to your lips and clutching your text in hand.

“You said this might hold the next clue?” He asked pointedly.

You stilled at his question, watching him sit in the co-pilot’s chair. Slowly sitting back down yourself, you tried your best to read the air.  “I believe so. I believe there is someone in Black Spire that may be able to help me with…”

Hesitating, you glanced up at Din, who made no effort to interrupt your thought.

“How do you know of the Jedi?” You asked him.

“One of my creed told me about them. Some kind of…sorcerers…who can move objects with their mind. Enemies to Mandalore.” 

You chuckled quietly at his assessment and peered down at the text in your hand, gently swiping your thumb over its cover. “Long ago, the Jedi were peacekeepers in the galaxy, but they were deceived. Manipulated like puppets by the Republic. By the time it became clear, it was already too late. They had their faults, to be sure, but I believe they were just misunderstood by everyone on the outside.”

“You sound confident.”

You paused for only a moment, before opening the text to a page. Holding it up to Din, you pointed to the geometric drawing. “That…is the next clue – a Holocron. Said to hold vital information used by the Jedi. If I can find one, it may be able to tell us the location of any that remain. If any survived.”

“Survived?” Din gently prodded, his voice soft and thoughtful.

“Yes. They were all but executed and the few that remained abandoned their lives, going into hiding to protect themselves from the Empire. After that, it’s almost as if the utterance of the word “Jedi” put you in immediate danger. They became a legend. A myth.”

The air around you both seemed to grow heavy, as your voice became merely a whisper. You closed the text, laying it on your lap, becoming self conscious of the weight of the conversation.

You smiled bashfully and glanced up at Din. “…But you cannot kill the force. I believe your little one possesses the talents that would make a very strong Jedi. I have never seen anything like him.”

“Like you.” Din responded.

“No.” You chuckled, “No, I am of no importance.”

“You have the same power that he does. If the Jedi is where he belongs, then you must too. Is that why you have these texts?” Din asked, but received no answer. “Where is it that your people are from?”

“I hardly know anymore.” You responded, looking down at the text in her lap. “I am without a people”.

———

The Razor Crest touched down, landing within a dark hanger. The grinding groans of its mechanisms giving away the tell-tell signs of much needed repairs.

A young man approached the ship’s ramp, pulling his googles on his forehead and grease-stained gloves from his hands, watching as you made your way down alone. A smile broke across your face as you eagerly took his hand in yours. 

“Just where have you been, cuyan?” He asks you, his wide smile matching yours. 

“It’s been sometime, hasn’t it?” 

“…and still getting into trouble, no less.” His smile leaving his face, as his focus was stolen by the beskar clad Mandalorian making his way down the ramp. His eyes met yours again, filled with questions. 

“This is my friend Coltan. He’s the best mechanic I’ve ever come across, and he’s going to get the Razor Crest repaired so we can be off planet quickly.” You spoke to Din, but kept your eyes on Coltan’s, his own gaze still fixed on yours intently. 

“The faster, the better. And discretion…” The modulated voice directed.

“Let me just grab everything I need. If you wouldn’t mind just walking me through the problems? I’ll meet you inside.” Coltan interrupted Din, quickly turning and jogging off to retrieve his tools.

You turned to the man at your side, stepping closer and lowering your voice, though the hanger was empty except for the humming of the buildings generators. “You can trust him. I’ve known him for many years and he’s never once let me down. In the meantime, I’ll head out and see what I can find.”

You looked down at the child in the knapsack slung around Din’s chest, finding him peeking out from behind Din’s arm. You reached down, rubbing the pad of your thumb against his cheek. “I will be back.” You promised, your eyes meeting the wide stare of the child and returning to Din’s visor. 

“And if things go wrong?” He challenged.

“It won’t. There won’t be a Mandalorian with me to give me away.” You smiled. “And with Coltan working on the Crest, I’ll have to be quick.”

His helmet lingered in your direction after you spoke, left you wondering what expression shone through his eyes. He nodded once and made his way back into the Crest.

“What are you doing?” Coltan’s voice appeared from behind you, making you jump slightly while you watched Din disappear into the ship. You turned to him, meeting his inquisitive expression.

“I don’t know anymore.” You sighed.

“No. You don’t. Have you learned nothing? Do you know anything about him? Where he comes from? Who he belongs to? What if he is one of them?” Coltan lectured, his voice in hushed frustration.

“No, I don’t know any of it. But I do know is this - nothing will ever change unless someone takes a stand.” 

“And you’re the one that’s going to change all of that?” He asked skeptically.

You paused, your gaze falling to the ground. “When will it ever be enough? I’m…so tired, Colt.”

He reached a finger under your chin, lifting your gaze. “But are you ready for what this might bring?”

His words stung and you winced as your mind conjured up every possibility laden in his meaning. Before you could dwell on any one possibility, you began to feel a light bloom in your chest, melting any frayed edges of your doubt. 

“I believe he is different.” Confidence ringing in your tone. “I feel it.” You spoke quietly, bringing your hand to your chest, fingers splayed over your heart.

A slight smile played on Coltan’s lips, but failed to touch his eyes. He sighed and nodded, slinging a thick leather band of tools around his shoulder. You returned a single nod and patted his arm before heading out of the hanger into the dimming light of the afternoon.

———

The settlement was calm as the sun began to fall on the dark spires that pierced the orange and red sky, casting a fiery hue against the cylindrical structure in front of you. You took a deep breath and entered the doorway.

Dim lights filled the space below the vaulted ceiling. Various artifacts hanging from the long walls, filled every open space. Mounted heads of trophied kills, murky green water filled glass canisters of ancient creatures - the room was a menagerie of the disgraced and forgotten.

You looked around in awe, recognizing some and curiosity drawing with others. From behind the ornate metal counter within the room, an Ithorian appeared speaking his native tongue.

“I’m…sorry. I do not understand.” You smiled apologetically, approaching him.

The Ithorian continued to speak, deep gurgled sounds filling the room, and waving you closer to him. He waved his hand over the counter, encasing artifacts of higher value, and to the wall behind him. You reached into your knapsack, retrieved your text and laid it upon the counter. 

“I’m looking for one of these.” You said, pointing to the holocron. 

His eyes widened and blinked, as he made a deep grumbling sound from his chest. He disappeared behind the counter, gurgling and rustling items as we went. You reflexively looked over your shoulder but was immediately distracted when you heard the clank of an object set down in front of you. A holocron.

You reached out hesitantly, but was stopped by the Ithorian’s hand, his palm facing upwards. Reviewing your pockets in your mind, trying to conjure up any amount of credits to offer for the relic. Your face fell knowing there was no financial value to your name, until a thought flashed across your mind.

Taking a deep breath, you reached into your jacket and pulled out a delicate silver chain that hung against your chest. Slowly, you unclasped it from you neck.

You draped the chain around your fingers, holding it up for the Ithorian to survey - a long silver, diamond shaped pendant. Pointed at the top and bottom, its flat sides embraced a turquoise stone at its center.

It swayed heavily in the air between you. He squinted his eyes and, after a moment of consideration, nodded. You took the pendant in your hands and brushed your fingers against the stone.

You felt tears well in your eyes, quickly sniffing and straightening your shoulders, attempting composure. You brought the pendant to your lips, quickly kissing it and placed it in the the Ithorian’s palm.

———

“Everything should be running smoothly now. Quick fix.” Coltan called out, making his way off the loading ramp of the Crest, tools in hand. You had just returned to the hanger, meeting him at his work station.

“Too quick, I’d say.” You responded as lightly as you could.

“And that kid is…wait…how could you ever doubt me?” He feigned shock at your assessment, before turning to see your expression. He recognized it immediately. “What happened?”

You shook your head, your eyebrows furrowed in concentration and trying for the best smile you could. “Nothing. Just…focused.”

Coltan grunted in disapproval. “You may be able to lie to him, but you won’t ever be able to fool me.”

You smiled at your old friend but found no other words to offer in your defense.

“You were right, you know - he’s not like them. But that doesn’t mean…just…be careful, please?” He quietly pleaded.

“I will. I have to help him. That child…he’s too precious.”

“Yeah, there’s been a lot of talk about a bounty hunter in town, but I had no idea it was that one. You sure know how to avoid trouble.”

“I’m starting to think that maybe I’m just destined for it.” You chuckled darkly. “How could I ever repay you?”

A smug look flashed across his face, “Well, he already did. Truthfully, I’m just honored that I got to see you again.”

You held steady your trembling lip as your eyes glossed over with fresh tears, threatening to pool. You tightly wrapped your arms around him, hiding your face to quickly clear the emotion that dared to break your visage. 

“If you ever need me, I’m never far away.” He said, holding you at arms length, his hand framing the side of your face.

You nodded, composed again. 

“Be strong, ner kote.” He said softly, before taking your hand in his, bowing his head, and placing a kiss upon it.

.........

Taglist: @babybelou​ @pascalsky​ @ayamenimthiriel​

[screpdoodle]

Duality - Chapter Ten (The Grumbletown)

Kaos struggled to fully unfold the gigantic map in the cramped space he and Glumshanks were holed up in. The two sat crouched at a low, wooden table. It looked to be homemade, with knobbly legs and indented sides. A lone lamp was strung from the slanted mud ceiling, wooden cross beams seeming to be the only thing keeping it up. Even Kaos felt slightly cramped as he wrestled with the huge slab of crumpled parchment, twice the size of the table he sat at, if not more. The sound of crackling fire, rambunctious trolls and electronic music outside was muffled by the poorly fortified clay walls, flecks of dirt falling down from the ceiling with every thump of the beat. Kaos’ attention wandered as he watched stout silhouettes run past the clouded windows, followed by a loud CRASH as one of them came catapulting through the glass, rolling across the floor before coming to a stop, beady eyes spinning in their sockets. The troll shook their head, locked eyes with Kaos, then scuttled out of the room through the unlocked front door, leaving it open behind them. Kaos huffed, then slid off of his stool, peering out into the chaotic street. Trolls of all shapes and sizes looked to be having the time of their lives; some were sprawled out across barrels (the ones they weren’t smashing at least), enjoying bottles of ‘soda’ and other treats Kaos didn’t quite recognize. Others were chasing each other around the winding dirt paths, or chasing what Kaos assumed to be the previous residents of the commandeered village - Rats. Kaos didn’t mean that as an insult, no, they looked like literal rats, with matted grey fur, long snouts and worm like tails. Judging by the architecture, the assumption seemed to track. Kaos pulled his head back in as someone threw a cart of wrinkled produce against the wall, the wooden cart splintering and fruits splattering into a multicolored mess of foul smelling slop. Kaos slammed the door shut, looking back to Glumshanks, who had managed to tame the wild map.

“What in Skylands are they even doing out there?” Kaos asked, brushing a few hanging roots out of his way as he walked back to Glumshanks’ side.

“Christening.” Glumshanks answered plainly, sighing. “They do this every time. Make a mess of the place to show ‘dominance’... or something. ‘Cause running out an entire settlement doesn’t do that already, I suppose.”

Kaos frowned, then looked down at the map, trying to pick out any details he might recognize now that he could more easily look over it. But the more he looked, the less he seemed to recognize. Noted landmarks and island formations he had first thought were possible leads were nothing but red herrings. How had he gotten himself so lost?

“If this one doesn’t work, I should have a few others.”

“No no, I’m sure this one is fine. I can’t have gone that far from home.” Kaos waved Glumshanks off, squinting at the map. He tapped one of the sepia-toned islands, frowning. “This is where we are, right?”

“Uhh, I think it’s here actually.”

“Troll. I’m pretty sure I know the location of a place I’ve never been on a map in a language I don’t know.”

“...please tell me that was sarcasm.”

Kaos just looked up, a deadpan expression on his face, before looking back down without another word. He scanned the map once more, mumbling incoherent words under his breath. This wasn’t right. Kaos winced, rubbing his temples as he felt a throbbing pain start creeping its way in, followed by the feeling of a damp rag pressed against his forehead. Kaos opened one eye, looking up as he watched Glumshanks gently dabbing the dried blood away, a concerned look on his green face.

“What do you think you’re doing, troll.”

“Cleaning the wound?” He phrased it more like a question, rather than a clean cut statement.

Kaos furrowed his brow, but didn’t object, simply squirming in his seat as Glumshanks began inspecting the small, albeit quite bloody, cut in his forehead. It didn’t quite hurt, but the sensation wasn’t all that nice either.

“...Maybe if we go back you can find the route you took?”

“That’s just the issue, troll.” Kaos slouched in his seat, resting his chin in his hand and elbow on the table. “I didn’t take a route. One minute I was in my backyard, the next I was here. I remember falling, but that’s about it.”

“Maybe you fell off the edge?”

“Impossible. I was nowhere near the…” Kaos trailed off, then sat forward with a start, the gears turning in his mind. “Glumshanks, are there any islands above this one?”

“A few, but-”

Before Glumshanks could finish his sentence, the sound of splintering wood cut through the muffled ruckus of outside, the sounds flooding in as the two looked over to see the door hanging off of its hinges, a clearly intoxicated Thropp staggering his way inside. Kaos instinctively got up off of his chair, taking a step back. Glumshanks just sighed, looking down.

“So, this is the-” a small hiccup interrupted Thropp’s sentence, “the boghole mama sent you to claim? Man, and I thought the other ones were bad. At least they had real walls.”

Thropp trailed his massive fingers across the clay wall, scraping a good amount of dirt off with his yellowing fingernail. He let out another hiccup before finally setting his beady eyes upon his brother, a tipsy smirk twisted across his face. He lumbered forward, paying no mind as his bare feet stepped over the shards of broken glass that lay across the ground, towering over Glumshanks. He hadn’t seemed to have noticed Kaos quite yet, despite him being right there.

“It was the best one I could find.” Glumshanks mumbled, trying to muster up an air of confidence, albeit to no avail. “You know how hectic it can get. Especially since you tend to be one of the ones causing most of it…”

Glumshanks’ voice grew quieter at the last part. Thropp’s ears twitched, but he didn’t seem to register it. At least not enough to care.

“You better hope there’s enough room in here, or you’ll be sleeping in the ‘doghouse’ again.” Thropp sneered.

If Kaos had thought his breath smelled bad before, it was nothing compared to the stench now. Sour and sickly sweet, like decay. Kaos couldn’t help but cover his nose, the smell all too familiar to him. At this movement though, Thropp’s eyes darted over to the small human, finally noticing him standing there at Glumshanks’ side. It took Thropp a moment to recognize him, the two merely standing there, locked in an unofficial staring contest.

“What. The hell. Are you doing here.” Thropp seemed to sober up almost immediately, his voice taking on a deadly tone.

“Well, cleeaarly ruining your ‘school project’ just wasn’t enough for me, so I had to hunt you down and ruin your homelife too.” Kaos explained, sarcasm dripping from every word he spoke.

“Kaos, I’m not sure if now is a good time to-”

“I knew we should have dealt with you on that- hic- that stupid ship!” Thropp raised his voice, raising his hands up. “At least I have a chance to fix that mistake now!”

Before Kaos knew what was happening, Thropp slammed his fists down, Glumshanks grabbing the small human out of the way at the last second. Kaos squeaked, his heart pounding in his ears. Thropp barely took a second to collect himself, his glare burning holes in Glumshanks’ skull.

“You dingweed!” He spat, slurring his words. “You two talked like, what, once?? And you’re already head over heels for this twerp! You wouldn’t believe how much he yammered on about you, human!!”

Kaos blinked, opened his mouth to ask what exactly Glumshanks had talked about, but before he could even get a word out Thropp threw a right hook at the two of them. Kaos ducked, pulling Glumshanks down with him. Thropp's fist slammed into the side of the staircase, the entire house practically shaking, bits of clay and dirt raining down. Kaos scuttled out of Thropp's line of sight as he quickly shook off the pain of his bloodied knuckles, shouting something Kaos assumed was in trolltongue. Glumshanks quickly scrambled to his feet, dragging Kaos up with him, practically carrying him to the door before his brother could come barreling after them. The two ran out into the night air, the pathways lit by smoldering embers, the trolls outside too busy partying to notice the scene that had unfolded. All but a few, at least. Glumshanks looked up from trying to catch his breath as a large troll came towards them, heavy feet thundering down the crowded street, three smaller trolls in tow. Three smaller trolls Kaos recognized almost immediately; the three lackeys Thropp had dragged along on the ship, the three ‘other brothers’. Which meant the one in the middle was…

“Glumshanks, thurhaakum duruth gorotu ishoing?? gu’vuth shrakeebag hakookinor azverywheruth guoum gorou!” The stout troll ran forward, the three others clambering along behind her, cooing and cackling about how Glumshanks was apparently in ‘hot water’ and how much trouble he was in.

“Mama, I-”

Glumshanks started, only to get cut off by the woman yet again, grabbing him by the sleeve and dragging him back towards the house, paying Kaos no mind whatsoever. Ascral, Haldir and Zhoark trailed off at the sight of him, on the other hand, words turning into hushed whispers as they followed their mother to the door. Kaos hesitated, then followed after them, a curious tilt to his head as he tried his best to listen in.

“I usholmar gorotu ushug ashtazag shrakzag ushhuth gulouse! gorotu dol-noiz ushhiakun athlacuth guakun ishangerous, thurhaakum thuroulmar thuruth ishug guir gorotu duloakum hakost, inium thurorse!!” The mother’s voice was sharp. He couldn’t understand a word she was saying, but Kaos could tell she was... less than pleased. Glumshanks kept trying to speak, but couldn’t get a word in edgewise. It was almost amusing, if not a little sad. They didn’t even seem to notice the door barely hanging on its hinges, simply walking inside as if they did this every day. The trio of smaller trolls threw their knapsacks to the ground as their mother dragged Glumshanks to the table, sitting him down as she continued to lecture on about ‘ushhuth gumportancuth iniir guamilzag gobalueakun’, whatever that meant. Thropp had passed out in the little alcove beneath the loft, his soda-induced stupor leading to a sound slumber. Kaos was amazed he was able to sleep through the shouting, but then again, if he had grown accustomed to his homelife, maybe this was normal for Glumshanks’ family too? Kaos stood in the doorway, watching the trolls acting like they had lived in this house for their entire lives, the chaos from outside now filtering into the lantern-lit room. Zhoark, Haldir and Ascral raced each other up onto the loft, laughing and jeering as their mother verbally berated her stringbean of a son, grunting and snarling as she threw her hands around to punctuate her sentences. Kaos couldn’t help but watch, picking up on details he hadn’t noticed before; like her graying ginger hair tied in a messy bun, the dirtied apron wrapped around waist, the fact that despite her tone, her cool grey eyes were soft, worry creased across the wrinkles in her face rather than anger. Kaos furrowed his brow, then tensed when he heard her voice trail off, gaze now locked on him. She said something to Glumshanks, then quickly walked around the table, standing before Kaos with her arms crossed across her chest, staring down the bridge of her nose at him. Kaos took a step back, looking over his shoulders as if expecting her to be looking at someone else there, before mustering up a hangdog smile.

“You.” She spoke sharply, jabbing a finger at his chest. “Thurhaakum ishug gorotu ashpeauku.”

“Mama, he-” Glumshanks cleared his throat. “Guluth ilabag ininlzag ashpeauku gulumabag.”

The woman looked back to Glumshanks, scrunched her face up, then gestured to the table. “Ashiakum. Ashiakum.”

Kaos just blinked. Before he could figure out a way to respond, she had taken him by the sleeve, dragging him to the table and sitting him down with more force than really necessary. Kaos winced, then rubbed his shoulders, his discomfort creeping up his spine like a clutter of spiderlings. Glumshanks merely offered him a sympathetic smile.

“Kaos, this is our caretaker, Oyana.” He gestured to the troll woman. “Mama, this is Kaos. He’s my, uh-”

“Ishug gorotu azaakum ashugarbaakum.” She interrupted, paused when she noticed Kaos’ look of utter perplexity, then spoke again. “You. Eat dinner?”

“...yes?” Kaos didn’t quite understand the question, but before he could ask her to elaborate, she had already shuffled off into the back room, closing the moth-eaten curtain that covered the doorway behind her. Kaos let his posture slump, breathing a sigh. “Well, your mother sure is... something.”

“Hm? Oh, she’s not my mom.” Glumshanks rested his chin in his hand, his arms resting on the table.

“But you call her mama? Is this, like, a cultural thing I don’t understand or…?”

“Kinda. I think she’s the equivalent of a human grandma to us? Something like that.”

Glumshanks traced his finger across the table’s surface, drawing little swirls in the light layer of grime that covered it. In the back room, Kaos could hear the clanging of utensils, firelight crackling out from beneath the loosely hung drapery. Up in the loft, he could hear the trio talking in hushed grunts, saying things he could barely hear, let alone understand.

“...I guess I’m staying for dinner?” Kaos managed a laugh. “I’ve never had troll cuisine, so this should be fun! Then maybe after we can give that map another look, eh?”

“Yeah, fun.” Glumshanks chuckled, a hint of sarcasm sprinkled over his words, though he cracked a smile nonetheless.

Kaos grinned back, letting his guard slip, if only a little. From the kitchen, Oyana called Glumshanks’ name, causing him to jump up with a start, calling back before rushing into the kitchen, probably to help with the cooking. Kaos sighed. The pounding techno music outside was almost a comfort now that he was used to it. Thropp let out a shuddering snore, then fell silent again, the three upstairs sniggering at the noise. Kaos looked out the window, to the islands past the edge of the village. He needed to get home, but staying here a little longer couldn’t hurt, right?

***

Kaos folded up the comically large map best he could, eventually giving up and thrusting it against Glumshanks’ chest, letting him deal with the crumpled mess of parchment. This was the spot. Kaos stood before the well, then looked up, glaring at the empty night sky above. That couldn’t be right. He had fallen from one well into another, so surely, his home had to be above this one. Kaos huffed, trying to wrack his mind for any possible landmarks he may have passed, something to jog a possible path to take. Anything to prove he was merely misremembering what had happened. He winced, holding his temple, the bandages Glumshanks’ mama had fixed in place scratchy against his fingertips. Had he really hit his head that hard?

“You’re sure this is the place?” Glumshanks cleared his throat, a frown on his face.

“It has to be. How many odd, intricately carved wells could there be in a single area?”

Glumshanks adjusted his worn jacket, then took another look at the map, peering at it from different angles to try and see if they were missing something. Kaos grumbled under his breath, pacing around the well, his hands folded behind his back. This wasn’t adding up.

“You said you were in a forest, right?”

“Yes. A two-toed greeble stole my scarf so I chased it right into those lumberous leviathans’ lair.”

“Lumberous-”

“The trees, Glumwad. Keep up with me here!”

“...riiight.” He looked down at the map again. “There should be a forest not too far from here, if you follow the path you should come to it in no time.”

Kaos paused his pacing, ten pulled the map down to his height, peering at the section Glumshanks was on. Sure enough, it seemed to portray a densely wooded area, though none of the surroundings seemed to spark a feeling of recollection. Still, it was at least a start.

“Well, I guess I’ll head that way then...?” Kaos tried to hide the hesitancy in his voice, to no avail.

Glumshanks looked up the way of the tread path. “If you want, I can walk you there, but Mama wants me back before ‘moonset’, so I can wash the dishes… and make the beds…”

“Let me guess, if Thropp doesn’t have his pillows fluffed he throws a fit?” Kaos snickered.

Glumshanks managed a dry laugh. “More or less…”

Kaos frowned, then wacked Glumshanks on the arm playfully. “Well, we’ll just have to have you back by moonset then, eh?”

“Before moonset.” He corrected.

“Yeah yeah, whatever. You’ll be back to do your menial labour before you even know it.”

Kaos turned, putting on a brave face as he started down the beaten trail. He lingered as he passed by the well, still slightly suspicious of its carved walls, though he did his best to shrug the feeling off. Now wasn’t the time to let his active imagination get in the way. He picked up the pace, trying his best to keep in stride with Glumshanks, who was managing to overtake him even with his slower, meandering speed. Curse those long legs. It didn’t take long for the two to notice the foliage getting denser, the previously vacant planes of boulders and browning, patchy grass now overtaken by thorny roots and dense, red bushes. Kaos hopped over a small break in the island, his frown worsening. He had a faint sense of familiarity, but it felt like he was grasping at straws. It was a few moments before Kaos noticed the troll was no longer by his side. He paused, then looked back. Glumshanks stood at the edge, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“I… I should be heading back.”

“Yeah- yeah of course. Don’t wanna keep them waiting.” Kaos laughed awkwardly, his spine prickling.

“Stay safe, okay? Don’t go getting eaten by a Gargantula or anything.”

“No promises.”

Glumshanks gave a small, tense wave, Kaos trying his best to reciprocate before turning to face the forest. Knowing Glumshanks wasn’t by his side, the trees seemed to loom over him, branches reaching and leaves rustling like razor blades ready to slice at him if he got too close. Kaos took a step forward, then looked over his shoulder, watching Glumshanks walking away, his heart sinking further with every step the troll took. Kaos took a deep breath, turned to face the path ahead, then began walking.

“Wait!”

Kaos was nearly bowled over as Glumshanks came racing up to join him, branches and dry leaves crunching beneath his bare feet. The troll skidded to a stop, wringing his hands together.

“I-I’m sure Thropp can survive without me for a little longer. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t help out?”

Kaos smiled, his eyes lighting up. “A piss poor one, that’s what.”

Glumshanks laughed breathlessly, then ducked under a low hanging branch, walking along into the looming shadows. Kaos took a moment, then followed, keeping his hand on his rusty pruning shears. Just in case.

[pyrrhicmessiah]

five times kissed -lou obvs

Send Five Times Kissed for a Drabble

one.

They were the last two standing, but there could only be one victor. She knew what he would say before he offered it: just kill me. Clarke shook her head, throwing her axe to the ground with some tangible anger at his suggestion. “ No. ” A thought occurred to her then, and she produced the little knapsack of nightlock berries they’d collected earlier that day. Holding them out between them, she met his eyes solemnly. She would not kill him, they couldn’t make her do it. “ Together? ” Together. The berries had almost grazed her lips when the voice rang out pronouncing them the VICTORS. Plural. She dropped the fruit and pulled Lou into a tight hug, relieved sobs racking her body. But his weight suddenly sagged against her, and she sank to the ground with him, cradling his head. His shirt had ridden up enough with the movement that she could see the wound from earlier --- when he’d taken a serious gash for her --- steadily seeping blood. “ Lou? ” She whispered. “ Lou?! ” Panic seeped into her and she gently lay his head down on the ground so she could move to hold pressure on the wound. “ Please, Lou, please. Don’t leave me. Please. We made it, we won --- together. We can go home. ” The storm of emotions washing over her was too difficult to sort out in the moment, so she just acted on the strongest impulse. Still holding pressure with her hands, she bent and pressed a fierce kiss to his lips. 

two. 

Their mentor stopped them before they went out to review the footage of the Games with Caesar, informing them exactly what kind of stakes they had set for themselves. You have to sell it. You have to convince them all that the only reason you were willing to eat those berries was because you were so damn in love, you couldn’t even think of living without each other. They had crossed a very dangerous line in refusing to give the Capitol what it wanted in the end. Unbidden, she took Lou’s hand in hers, lacing their fingers together and squeezing it softly. Although it certainly served the purposes of fitting with this new script they were expected to follow, Clarke just needed to hold his hand to steady herself. They’d face this together, too. Caesar welcomed them on stage with open arms and his enigmatic smile as everyone cheered for the star-crossed lovers from District 7. Rewatching the footage was hard to stomach, but whenever her heart started to race and that chill crept down her spine, she recentered her focus on his hand in hers. ‘Oh, this moment killed me, Clarke. I cried like a baby watching this!’ They had finally, blessedly reached the end of the footage. But they had captured those moments after they were pronounced victors, where she’d held pressure on his wound and kissed him. She could feel the blush all the way from her cheeks to the tips of her ears as the audience ooh’ed and ah’ed at the video. The sighs of the crowd turned into a deafening cheer when Louis’ free hand gently turned her chin towards him and he slotted his mouth over hers. The roaring only grew louder when she kissed him back.

three.

The Victory Tour was a horrible, awful experience. Having to face the families of the fallen tributes and give a speech full of the ridiculous rhetoric the Capitol wanted to feed the Districts made Clarke want to puke. And she was forced to share a very confined space with Louis, on top of the public appearances. Upon their return to District 7, they’d hardly spoken; everything was just... too confusing to unravel. She missed the days of their easy flirtation, from before they’d ever set foot in the Capitol. At least in 7 she’d had some ways to avoid him, but now they were rooming right next to each other. When she woke up screaming that first night, as she had nearly every night since the Games, she was shocked to see him standing in the doorway. His breathing was as rushed as hers, their chests rising and falling in quick bursts. “ Please stay. ” She blurted, as she noticed him start to turn from the door. He hesitated for a moment, but then joined her on the bed. From then on, they stayed with each other every night to keep the nightmares at bay.  One night, as they lay together in the dark, Clarke found her mind drifting to the kisses they’d shared in front of the cameras. Would it be different, if it was just the two of them, alone in the dark? Before she could really think it through, her lips were searching out his. The kiss was timid at first, but as the dam they’d so carefully erected to keep their emotions out of the situation burst, it grew quickly passionate. When they separated to take a breath, she was trying to find the words to tell him what he actually meant to her when he said: That was... great practice for the cameras tomorrow. She processed his words sluggishly, the heat of the kiss still tingling on her lips. Finally realizing what he’d said, and even more embarrassingly, what he’d meant, she cleared her throat, “ Yeah, uhm, thanks. ” What a perfect reminder that they were both acting.

four.

Except it was becoming harder and harder to piece together when they were acting and when they weren’t. Their tour ended in the Capitol and they were expected to stay for a couple weeks, make appearances at important events and the like. And above all, continue to put on a show for the Capitol to shove down the District’s throats. They surely put on a show, but Clarke couldn’t remember the last time she was faking anything around him. Every touch, every sidelong glance, every time she said something witty just to make him laugh --- it was all real. They'd stepped outside on a balcony to cool off one night, the room full of people drunkenly dancing and laughing abandoned behind them. She was preoccupied looking at the city lights, the swirls of color having captured her attention so thoroughly that she was shocked for a moment when he was suddenly kissing her. It surprised her so much that she took a step backwards, which he matched with one forward. Then in one swift movement, they were out of sight of the party goers, just behind the balcony doors. Hidden from their view, this kiss was just between them. The intensity of it slowed to something sweeter, more precious and tender than any they’d shared in front of a crowd or camera. 

five. 

They kissed more frequently from that night on, especially away from the Capitol’s prying eyes, but they were both too afraid to address anything for some time. So the years passed and they mentored tributes together and they were featured stars in the Capitol every time the Hunger Games season rolled around. They still slept side by side, reassuring one another that their nightmares could no longer hurt them. They kissed on and off screen, but never really addressed how they felt; perhaps they were both too afraid to hear the truth. It was the night of the Quell announcement that proved catalyst enough to force her admission. They sat in the bed that night, holding each other close in a quiet state of horrified shock. The reality that they would be going back into the Games, facing people they’d come to know fairly well over the last few years, made all the dancing around seem so stupid. Still, her voice is hushed, aware that she won’t be able to take the words back once they’re out. Gently, she looked up at him, cupping his cheek with her hand and steeling herself to look into his eyes so he can see the truth written there. “ It’s not an act for me, Lou, it hasn’t been for a long time and I--- ” They didn’t say much else that night as he cut her off with a kiss that, although it was still tender, burned in a way that would inevitably lead to their consumption.

[ma-lemons]

the wolf of the yellow woods (RoseGarden)

@godzillajuniorreborn asked: Oscar finding werewolf!Ruby as a wounded wolf and letting her sleep beside him for the night only to find her in her human form the next day.

note: i really like this prompt, so thanks for being patient!!!

——————————————————————————

Oscar slung his pack over his shoulder, glancing up at the shattered moon above him. Dusk had already fallen before he even noticed it. He had taken a short break to rest his legs but now he needed a place to sleep for the night. The chill wrapped the young boy in a cocoon of harsh winter. And now he needed a secure place, and fast.

How long had it been? Two days? A week? A month? He couldn’t keep track of the sunsets and sunrises, he only knew that he had been wandering the woods for what seemed like forever. What had turned into a trip of finding a special rose with crimson and silver petals had turned into a journey of survival. Oscar had taken up botany, and had began to sketch out the flora of Mistral, documenting them in his leather-bound notebook. He heard rumors of the rare rose in the Yellow Woods, and had decided to take a little trip. He had never ventured into these woods, and found the map he used to locate the patch of special roses was quite outdated. Now, he had no idea where he started from and had to survive off of his supply of carrots and turkey sandwiches. He only had a dry carrot and one sandwich left. It was a good thing he always overpacked, but he had only prepared for a day trip. He was sure he had been lost in the greenery for longer than a day.

You see, Oscar was more familiar with the Jade Woods. The Yellow Woods was much more vast, and much more dangerous at night. And night was coming quickly. But buried beneath the supplies in his knapsack lay a pocket knife, which he’d have no qualms about using if he needed to.

“Oscar, you are incredibly stupid and you will never find this rose,” he sighed to himself.

The moon rose in the night sky, shrouded by wispy white clouds. The air was still sticky and he knew he’d have to find a stream to bathe in.

So the former farmhand trekked along, searching blindly in the dark for trees to steady himself upon. He heard the sound of rushing water and directed himself towards the sound. Guided by the moonlight, he found himself next to a little creek.

“Gods, why does these things happen to me?” And why didn’t he invest in a scroll? Technology was all the rage these days. Stripping off his clothes, Oscar decided that if he survived this trip, the first thing he’d do would be to buy a scroll. His feet crunching over dead leaves, he put one foot into the cold water, before stepping his second foot into it. He prayed that there were no frogs or fish near his toes. This was so icky.

“You’re a botanist. You were a farmhand. Icky is part of the job,” he muttered to himself, trying to rinse his arms. As he bathed, a chill went up in the air. The boy tried to ignore it and continued washing his face. He’d felt fish scales rubbing against his legs and he wanted nothing to but to run away. As he was finishing up washing his hair, a weakened howl sounded some yards away from him. He froze. Wolves. How did he forget wolves dwelled here?

Wolves don’t eat humans.

Wolves don’t eat humans.

He hoped wolves didn’t eat humans.

“SHIT,” he yelled. He just realized that he was taking a bath in a muddy creek, only for him to have to return back into his sweaty clothes. He might as well have skipped the bath. He was now cold and naked, lost in the wood, and a perfect target for any large predators.

Quickly, he hopped out of the water, and used his jacket to wipe himself. Before he finished dressing in his dirty clothes, another howl ripped through the air. Oscar wasn’t taking any chances. He dug through his pack and brandished his knife. This was ridiculous. He just wanted to find a place to rest but he could only see in the moonlight. If he had known he was going to get lost, he would’ve brought a flashlight.

Once you’ve been spooked by something, you usually become hyper aware of all the suddenly movements around you. Oscar found himself focusing on every rustle in the leaves and every hoot of an owl. He’d jump and turn around if he thought something was behind him, only to swing his knife into the air.

“Okay, calm down. It’s okay. Calm down,” he tried to reassure himself. He assumed he was walking in the direction opposite of the wolf’s howls and he wanted to make sure he was thrown off its scent. Eventually, he grew weary of walking and found a large oak tree. He sat at the base of it, breathing a sigh of relief.

“I’m... so sleepy,” he yawned. Stretching his arms, he whispered a meaningless prayer to the wind, that he wouldn’t be devoured come morning time. Just as he was preparing to retire for the night, a piercing call shattered his eardrums. The wolf was closer than he originally thought! In fact, it felt as if it was...

Right next to him. Oscar heard ragged panting and scrambled backwards, while desperately digging through his bag for his weapon. As soon as he found it, he shot to his feet and jabbed it towards the sound.

“W-whatever you are, stay back!” he warned. The panting only grew louder. Oscar stood in the same position, suddenly alert.

His heart started beating, anticipating a ferocious beast with glowing yellow eyes and a terrifying maw. He pushed back against another tree. Paralyzed, he clutched the knife in one hand and his chest with the other. Why couldn’t he run away?

He could only watch as the beast emerged from its dark space. A black paw stepped into the moonlight. Then another. Then a face. The wolf didn’t look ready to pounce. In fact, it seemed docile. Its breathing was ragged, as if it was exhausted. Or injured. Its body rose up and down, as if it was limping. Its silver eyes only held purity, if lupine eyes could possess purity. Almost as if the creature was once a person.

“It’s just a wolf,” he reminded himself.

The wolf slinked towards him, and Oscar shrank back. It moved slowly, until its whole body emerged. From the side, Oscar noticed it was dragging its right hind leg. It was injured. He didn’t waver. A wolf was still a wolf.

At the sight of his knife, the wolf let out a whimper and crept back the best it could. Oscar faltered.

“If you really wanted to eat me, you would’ve, wouldn’t you?”

The wolf paused, as if in understanding. Oscar shoves the knife into his pocket and gripped his hands. He neared the wolf, who started to whimper again.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you.” He felt obligated to help the wolf, mainly because he tried to hurt it. He took a white bandage roll out of his knapsack. He had packed food, work supplies and a first aid kit. But no extra clothes. Still gross.

He neared the night creature again. It had settled on its front paws, and looked up at him with curious eyes.

“I’ve never seen a wolf like you before,” he breathed, kneeling down to it. Granted, he had never seen a wolf, period. He felt brave enough to touch it, and raised his fingers towards it, stroking its fur. The wolf rumbled in what he assumed was delight. Oscar have a tiny smile and neared the wolf’s injured leg.

“I’m going to help you, alright?” he asked the wolf. Of course it wouldn’t respond. He proceeded to tear off a length of the bandage. Carefully lifting up the wolf’s leg, he began to gently wrap the gauze around it. The wolf prickled, seemingly discomforted.

“I am no animal doctor, but I suppose you wolves heal yourself naturally. The bandage might help,” he said to the wolf. The day in the woods must’ve done something to his brain, for he has spent quite a portion of it talking to himself and non-responsive animals.

“You’re vey gentle. I wonder how you got hurt, though,” Oscar wondered. He put his hand back on the wolf’s pelt and continued to stroke it. A yawn escaped his lips. It was going to be daybreak in a few hours; he needed energy for the journey back home.

“I suppose we can sleep here, if you promise not to eat me,” Oscar joked, moving back toward the base of the tree. The wolf rose to its paws and hobbled next to him, settling down once again. Once it seemed content with its sleeping spot, it shut its eyes.

If he wasn’t so tired, he would’ve stayed awake, in an attempt to assure his survival.

————————————————————————-

Oscar woke up to the smell of fish. Fish? He blinked twice, taking in the sunshine above him. His back stiff and aching left him with the impression that the ground would have been a better sleeping option.

He looked beside him; the wolf was gone. Gone? Without so much as a thank you, the glorious beast had left. Perhaps it had healed over night, but why would it leave so early?

A bit saddened, Oscar stood up stretched. His knife still in his pocket, he headed towards the smell, in case someone had come to join him in his time of need.

The botanist entered a little clearing on the other side of the creek. In a little pit of rocks, there was fish roasting on a makeshift spit. A person, clad in a red hood, back faced to him, was rummaging curiously in something he couldn’t see. Oscar stepped further into the clearing, trying to make himself known. “Uh, hello. Have you... have you seen a wolf around these parts? Lean, long, black fur? Silver eyes?”

The person froze, and silence, except for the birds chirping ensued. They stood up and brushed their knees before turning around. They seemed a bit wobbly getting up as well.

It was a girl. A girl with dark hair and silver eyes, quite like the wolf from yesterday. Her eyes were quiet piercing, and most of her hair was concealed by the hood she wore, but she was like a human version of the wolf. She wore an oufit that hid her hands, as if she didn’t want them to be seen. A long black dress that reached her feet.

Oscar was more shocked then anything.

“Hello,” he said again, slowly.

“He... hello,” she drawled out. “Fish?” she pointed at the spit. Oscar was quite hungry, so he nodded in anticipation. “Yes, please.”

The girl invited him to sit on the dead leaves, and handed him a piece of fish. He desperately ripped into it, taking in the texture and the dryness. Certainly could use some salt, but he wasn’t complaining.

“So”, he said in between chews, “do you live here?”

The girl, who was attacking her fish as if she hadn’t eaten in days, looked up at him. “Yes,” was all she said. And then she returned to her meal. Maybe she wasn’t very literate. When she bit into her fish, sharp teeth protruded put at awkward angles. Odd.

“You seem to like the fish,” he smiled, in an attempt to make conversation.

“Deer better,” she answered.

“Ah.” Deer? What kind of person ate deer?

“Um, I’d like to thank you for breakfast... what is your name?” Oscar asked.

“What?”

“Your name?”

The girl’s eyes widened. She was kind of adorable, in a helpless kind of way.

“Name... name is Ruby.” She stretched out every syllable, as if the language was foreign on her tongue.

“Ruby... my name is Oscar. I actually got lost in these woods looking for a silver and red rose, and met a friendly-looking wolf.” At Ruby’s apparent panic, he continued to explain.

“It was injured. I helped it, but it ran away from me. It was strange, because I grew quite attached to it in a short amount of time.”

Ruby stayed silent and stared at her feet.

“Do you think you could help me get out of these woods?”

Ruby’s head looked up. She nodded. “Yes.”

He grinned. “Thank you. Let me go get my things!” He jumped off and ran towards the tree he had slept on, but didn’t find his knapsack. Did that wolf take off with it? It had all his important findings in there!

Frustrated, the botanist headed back to the clearing, where Ruby was turned away from him again. He neared her to see what she was so transfixed by, only to see that she was pawing through his knapsack.

“Ruby! Why do you have my bag?” Oscar hissed, narrowing his eyes. The girl seemed surprised that he had snuck up on her and jumped back. She landed awkwardly on her back; her dress pulling up to reveal a bandaged leg. Ruby howled in agony.

“Oh my goodness, are you alright?” he asked her. He tried to near her, but Ruby didn’t seem to want that. She inched away from him as he stepped closer.

“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you. I’m not mad about my bag...” he murmured. She shook her head.

The more Oscar moved toward her, the more she scooted back. As he approached, he noticed that Ruby was unusually hairy. Not that a woman couldn’t be hairy. Just... this was a lot. Oscar raised an eyebrow, looking into Ruby’s eyes for an answer.

“What... who are you, Ruby?” he asked, again.

Ruby looked down at her leg and sighed. And then the strangest thing happened. Before his very eyes, Ruby began to shift. She shed her clothes and her hair began to grow. Her mouth grew into a muzzle and her body extended... before his eyes, she turned into a wolf.

A howl ripped into the air. Ruby had transformed into the very wolf he had healed last night.

“You.”

Ruby turned around and started running as fast as a wolf with an injured leg could. Oscar snatched his bag and started chasing after her, wanting answers.

“Wait! You promised to take me home! Please, Ruby! If you can understand me, please turn around! I need to get home!” he panted, dodging a thorn bush. Wolf-Ruby stopped abruptly, and panted, seemingly in pain. She turned around and made her way back to him, dragging her foot behind her. When she made it back to Oscar, she laid down, face in her paws.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were a wolf? A werewolf, I see,” he asked softly. He wasn’t angry, no. Mostly curious. He heard stories of mythical creatures such as the Fae, mermaids, and werewolves, but he never though he’d see one in real life at all. Strangely enough, he wasn’t scared.

Ruby whined and came towards him. Oscar kneeled down in front of her and ran his hands through her thick fur. Ruby approached him and sort of licked his face. A very affectionate kiss, or more like her mouth had captured his entire nose. Oscar pulled away and wiped his nose. “Your breath smells like fish,” he laughed.

Ruby cocked her head, as if it say, As does yours.

Oscar tilted his head and burst into laughter. He was talking to a wolf. A wolf!

“Okay, Ruby. You said you can take me out of these woods. Do you know the farmlands? The place with all the big windmills. The silver things?”

Ruby shied back.

“Oh, yes, I read in a novel that werewolves hate silver! Don’t worry, it’s nothing that’ll hurt you. It’ll be kind of interesting have a werewolf friend. There’s so much I’d like to learn about your kind.”

Ruby simply got on all fours and slowly walked eastward. Oscar jogged up to catch up to her. “Maybe you want to rest up a bit? If your leg still hurts?”

The werewolf ignored him and continued her trek. Oscar decided if she couldn’t talk, he’d keep the conversation himself.

———————————————-

At last, they reached the edge of the woods. Over the hills, was his home. Silver wind turbines peeked over the peaks of the earth. The hot afternoon settled upon them, making them both weary and famished.

Oscar had given up talking a long time ago. It was hard to keep up a one-sided conversation. He guessed Ruby lived alone in the woods, and that’s why she couldn’t speak well. But clearly, something had come to attack her. What happened to her pack? Why didn’t she come live with humans? She could pass as one.

Before he knew it, he found himself on the dirt road that led to the old farmhouse. His aunt, getting old in age, had decided it belonged to him. She was off traveling, but was due any day from now. Or maybe she was already back. He hadn’t exactly seen a calendar in the woods.

Ruby followed him, slowly. He considered asking her to transform into her human form so he could at least pick her up, but maybe that was too forward.

Finally, he reached his door. Ruby stopped at the porch.

“Thank you, Ruby. Sincerely. I didn’t know how I’d get out of there all on my own.” Oscar smiled and cracked open the door. He almost closed the door shut, before swinging it back open. He eyed Ruby’s leg and sighed.

“You can’t walk into the woods on that leg. I’m sure you’re tired. We don’t have deer, but we have chickens, if you’d like.”

Ruby seemed hesitant.

“Please consider this as a thank you. My aunt isn’t home yet, so stay as long as you’d like.”

Ruby tossed her head and shifted again—this time, growing taller.

“Thank you.” She limped towards his home, touching the edges of the door cautiously. “I... human homes... are strange.”

“I suppose they are.”

Oscar steadied her, brought her inside, and helped her settle on the couch.

“Are you alright?”

Ruby nodded, but she looked faint.

“Lie down. I’ll bring you a rag.” The werewolf obeyed and waited for the botanist to bring her a rag. Impulsively, she leaned over and sniffed him. “Dirt.”

Oscar laughed. “Yes, I am quite dirty, thanks for noticing.”

He kneeled down on the rug so he was face-level with her. He placed the cool rag on her head. She stiffened, then at the sight of his reassuring eyes, calmed down. Oscar wasn’t used to her stare. Silver was such an unusual eye color.

“You’re not going to swallow my face again, are you?”

Ruby shook her head. She leaned a bit closer, as if she was really interested, however. Something in Oscar’s head told him not to dare, but he did so anyway. Reaching a tentative hand to Ruby’s face, he pushed a lock of thick hair behind her ear. Her sharp features are interesting to look at. She seemed a bit soft, yet fierce at the same time.

“Could I see your hands?” he asked.

Ruby obliged; letting her hands peek out of her sleeves. Her hands had patches of hair on them, and sharp claws at the top. They didn’t frighten him, however.

“Is that why you tried to hide them from me? I think they’re very useful. I like them,” he complimented her.

If wolves could blush, Ruby was blushing then.

“Will you tell me about being a werewolf one day?”

Ruby bit her lip, but didn’t answer. Oscar guessed she was hungry and went to warm up some frozen chicken. Then he went digging through his knapsack for the first aid kit for Ruby’s wounds.

Five minutes later, Oscar had a plate of chicken in one hand and a first aid kit in the other. Ruby has sat up now, her hands pressed against her rag. She had taken off her hood and Oscar could make out her defined muscles, probably from all the running.

“Eat. I’m going to treat your wound while you do. Is that alright?” He took out the rubbing alcohol and ointment to show her. Applying the alcohol on a cotton ball, the botanist cleaned the gash, making sure any bacteria was eradicated. Ruby shook a little, maybe from the cold, or either the wound still stung. He quickly applied the appointment and wrapped a fresh bandage on it.

“There you go, good as new,” he nodded his head. Looking up, he found himself staring straight into Ruby’s eyes. She chewed slowly this time, as if registering his face as well.

“Where,” he whispered, “did you think of the name Ruby?”

Their noses were almost touching.

“In the book,” she muttered back. She then scooted away, taking another bite of chicken. Oscar cleared his throat. Of course. His book contained many sketches of various plants. She was digging through his bag today and probably saw the Ruby Rose sketched in his book. If she managed to pronounce “Ruby” correctly, maybe she was a quicker learner than he anticipated.

Oscar propped his head on his hands. “You can look at the book if you’d like. It seems you’re interested.” He brought the book over and leafed through it. He stopped at the page where a grainy photograph of the silver and red rose was glued in. “I came into the woods looking for this flower, but got lost.”

Ruby nodded thoughtfully. “Seen it.”

“You have?” he asked, ecstatically. She have a nod of confirmation.

“Next time, I plan to have a guide through those woods. Care to take on the role?” Oscar asked mischievously.

“Next time?” she echoed in disbelief.

Oscar barked out a laugh. “Okay, maybe not.” Silence. “You know, it’s hard to believe I’m sitting here, talking to a werewolf, but it’s true. I’ve enjoyed my time with you, and I’d like to get to know you more. I could teach you some human things and you could teach me... how you grab fish.”

Ruby’s lips quirked up.

“I mean, this isn’t a permanent thing, but only until you heal. If you’d like. My aunt would probably be confused, but she’s very welcoming.”

“Aunt?”

“Oh... she’s like my family. Like a pack. Do you have a pack?”

“I... they’re...” she trailed off.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to explain it to me,” he reassured her.

Ruby wrapped her arms around herself. “Yes. I want sleep. Is fine?”

Oscar nodded. “It’s fine. Do you want a blanket?”

The girl shook her head. Wolves didn’t need blankets. He didn’t really mind, but he’d prefer not to find a huge wolf on his sofa the next morning. It was getting late, and Oscar was quite tired himself. He could converse with her more tomorrow. He quickly made himself some oats and went upstairs to his bedroom. The moon rose and in the middle of the night, Oscar swore he heard Ruby howling to it. He thanked the gods it wasn’t a full moon. In the stories, werewolves were attracted to the full moon and unleashed their werewolf forms, running rampant through the land. Rolling over, he found Ruby, in wolf form, in bed next to him.

“Ruby, what are you doing here?” he hissed. The wolf girl had slipped into his bed without noticing and was already fast asleep. He thought it would take some time for her to get used to a human bed.

He watched her with interest, as she curled up by his side, breathing steady and deep. And for the first time in a long time, he understood that Ruby really had no family. No pack. Saddened, he stroked her fur slowly, hoping to give her just a slither of comfort.

He was interested, unusually, in Ruby. Even as part wolf, something about her made him all the more curious. Thoughts ran ablaze in his head, but eventually, Oscar found himself floating away to the dreamland.

————————————————————————

The next morning, Oscar went downstairs hurriedly, his suspenders hanging loosely at his sides. He didn’t want Ruby raiding his pantry so he’d make them breakfast, chat a bit more.

“Morning, Ruby!” he shouted cheerfully. He skipped down the steps, and walked over to the couch, only for there to be no werewolf on there.

“Ruby?” He looked around, in case she was wandering off somewhere.

“Ruby?” He looked outside, worriedly. Perhaps she was running around the farm. It was a lot of open space. Maybe the moon activated her wolf mode and she’d run off. But she’d come back, right?

Oscar searched around the farm again before settling down for a hot cup of tea. “She’s still injured, she’ll be back later.” Ruby probably wasn’t used to sleeping on a bed or a couch. She needed nature. But she’d be back, he kept reassuring himself. Because he was sure that what he felt, the suddenly need to form a connection, wasn’t one-sided. It already took him ages to accept his own feelings internally. He didn’t want to regret bringing the werewolf home, and now he couldn’t help but feeling part of it was a mistake.

Unsure, Oscar lazed on the couch, flipping through books. Every time he wanted to leave, he asked himself, “What if she comes back?”

But Ruby wasn’t coming back. It was 3 pm when Oscar realized. No matter how many silent jokes passed between them, or affectionate gestures they shared, at the end of the day, he was a botanist, and she was a werewolf. There was nothing there, nothing was ever going to be there, and that was that. He was simply a bit curious about her. A curiousity that needed to be extinguished.

At night, Oscar still heard wolf howls from the Yellow Woods. They sounded lonely, and yearning, as if they were beckoning him over. All he had of this time was a constant image of a wolf sleeping by his side that made him feel comfortable in an otherwise terrifying forest. Maybe he was hearing multiple howls and she had found a pack. Her pack.

He still did want to get to know her, and her kind, if she was willing. But those chances were lost to the wind. Now the beings, from separate worlds, would no longer see one another. They met out of chance, and were too different to ever become close. Maybe he was crazy. Oscar would have never befriended a wolf before today, he would be too afraid. Maybe he was just a bit lonely. Just like her. And now she was gone, as fast she came.

—————————————————————————-

I have no idea what I was planning to do with this, my mind kept forgetting Ruby was a werewolf not just a wolf but here I am. I lowkey wanna write more of this, though. This was very long and quite strange, but I hope you like it. Thank you for the extreme patience you must’ve had waiting for this.

[drowsy-quill]

Week 2 of @yourocsbackstory​ is upon us! The drabble (under the cut) is a bit longer than I planned but oh well! You can find my WIP page here.

Questions:

Who were your OC’s friends, when they were young? 

Because she was mute, Gwenivere didn’t have any friends her age growing up. She spent most of her time in the library with the Bookkeeper.

Was it a group or a single individual? 

More like a pair- the Bookkeeper and their husband were really the only people in her life who cared before she met Fey

Where are they now? 

After she leaves her town, they continue to tend to their library, but when Gwenivere restores the temple to the Ancient Scholar, she asks them to tend to the new Holy Archives and there they work and train future Archivists and Bookkeeper.

How did they meet? 

Gwenivere was a regular face at the library, and once she stopped going to school, they took it upon themselves to teach her.

How did they realize they were friends indeed?

Gwenivere realized that the Bookkeeper cared for her when they began to give her lunch when she visited.

The drabble/excerpt below is from about the second month of Fey and Gwenivere traveling together

The two bounced from temple to temple, delighting in the ancient tomes found in the Scholar’s Temple, detailing the creation of the universe and the birth of the gods and the making of Na’asi and all living things on it. She happily translated it for Fey, although there were multiple parts where a word- or maybe a name was almost burned out of existence, multiple pages were torn from the spine. She showed this to Fey who just hummed, and said “Interesting.” She just rolled her eyes and lit the hearth.

That night they bedded down in between the shelves of the massive library, after a dinner spent in comfortable companionship, as Fey poked fun at her being able to read the ancient script. As she lay awake, Deirdre nested beside her she realized with a start that she and Fey were friends. She knew that they were companions, and amicable ones at that, but this was the first time she realized that she had a friend. Her first friend really, not counting Deirdre. She slept that night with a bright smile and a warm heart.

In the morning, as the two awoke and stretched to the golden morning light, Gwenivere asked simply- daring not to get her hopes up- ‘Are we friends, Fey?’

Fey looked at her startled, her heart sunk for a moment before he burst into hearty chuckles, “Of course we are! What made you think we weren’t?”

‘I’ve never had a friend before. So I wasn’t… sure’ She shrunk back in embarrassment, her ears tinged red and hands held close to her chest.

“Well, it's a good thing our internal compasses haven’t started because you and I are going to do all of the things friends do. My sisters taught me how to do hair when I was young and I still remember how to do most of it. Come, sit!”

She blinked once and scooped Deirdre into her lap before settling cross-legged in front of Fey. He undid her messy slept-in braid and began to comb through it, gently undoing the snarls and tangles with a comb.

‘So you have sisters?’ She taps on his foot to get him to look up at her hands.

“Yup, I’ve got six, all older than. My parents were so excited when my twin sister was born- they finally had a son, but they soon found out that that was incorrect. They were fine with it, honestly- and they finally got a son when their youngest daughter turned out to be their youngest son. They threw a full-on party for the two of us, the entire village came.”

‘What are their names?’

“Lienna is the oldest, then its Vanya, Mai, Hannalea, Jiane, and my twin Aneka. They’re all out in the world, most of them are married and have kids, and Jiane and Aneka have their own workshop in the capital city of Acea.”

‘Do you ever miss them?’

“All the time, I try to write whenever I can, but since we move around so much it makes things hard.”

‘I cannot imagine how that must feel.’

“It's alright, most moved when I was rather young, so I’m used to being away from them. Aneka and I were the closest so I miss her the most, but it's not like I’m out here alone. And besides, I’ve always wanted to travel. And there- all done! Look in my bag, I think I have a couple small mirrors in there somewhere.”

Gwenivere straightened and rolled her shoulders and opened his knapsack, finding two small handheld mirrors and holding them up so that Gwenivere could see his work. She gasped as she saw the dozen of little braids swept up into a crown around her head.

‘It looks amazing. Thank you Fey.’ She turned and wrapped her arms around him, tears sparkling in her eyes. He tucked her under his chin and enveloped her in his strong arms. 

“Well now since we are officially friends, there will be more where that came from. Now come on, we can head to town and make a day out of it, yeah?”

Gwenivere smiled, her heart swelling, ‘Yeah.’

[a-deadly-serenade]

Moonlight [Hector/Reader]

“I be fallin’ for you baby and I just can’t stop cause,

I never knew, I never knew,

You could hide moonlight in your hands till the night I held you,

You are my moonlight.”

One of the aspects of living within Castlevania that Hector did not expect was how frequently he’d have to go shopping into town.

It made sense of course, as the lord of the mansion did not require the usual sustenance both Hector and Isaac needed as humans.

Going out into the nearby towns had become a little ritual Hector learned to enjoy, since he often forgot how warm and alive the outside world could be when compared to the cold, melancholic hallways of the castle.

He found out rather quickly that Isaac would very much rather stay as he preferred the cold. Hector did not really understand why, it was always such a nice feeling to be embraced by nature.

To Hector, it was a break from his usual duties, and he would insist on walking there as it gave him a chance to take in the local scenery (plus he would never subject a horse to carrying him, he is perfectly capable of traveling on his own).

Dracula mentioned that the nearest village was not too far from the castle, but that Hector should still be careful to not garner too much attention.

Hector had overheard rumors that his lord’s son Alucard was on the move with a magician and supposedly, one of the surviving members of the Belmont clan.

This was all speculation however, but he still made a mental note in his head to make sure that he wasn’t followed back to the castle. That would surely not end well…

He sighed, a small frown on his face. If they were ever spotted, they’d have to move, and he did not wish to leave this place yet. He loved how they were surrounded by a large forest, one filled with life.

Usually when Dracula moved the castle, it would make its home high on a cliffside, or near the top of a very steep mountain, to assure that no humans would willingly stumble across its doors.

Hector was unsure if they had moved here due to the abundance of wildlife or the close proximity to the village. He was not naive to the fact that the vampire generals Dracula had called upon were growing reckless over the idea of humans becoming extinct, and thus, limiting their food supply.

Hector could care less what happened to the humans in the end, but these petty squabbles were nonetheless irritating.

He adjusted the bag on his shoulder, and pushed aside a stray branch as he made his way through the thick underbrush. Slight confusion crossed his face when he picked up the sound of feint humming, and he felt his eyes widen and a gasp catch in his throat when his gaze landed on the scene before him.

A woman was sitting in the nearby clearing on an aging old tree stump. Animals stood all around her, as if they had been entranced by her song.

Birds pecked at the grass that coiled around her feet, and she cooed down at them as she reached into a knapsack and precured an assortment of seeds.

Her eyes glittered in the sunlight, and an equalling dazzling smile lit up her face as a faun and its mother approached from another part of the forest, intrigued by this visitor in their home.

She plucked out two apples from the same sack, and stretched out her arm for the two deer to smell it.

The mother edged closer before it gave the fruit a tentative lick. Satisfied with what she tasted, she gently took the offering out of the woman’s hand, and her baby bounded behind her to grab its tasty treat.

She gave the mother a delicate brush across its hide, the creature suddenly feeling at ease by her presence, as she hung around for awhile longer, grazing the nearby plants.

Hector was awestruck, amazed that the animals trusted her so much. He felt a small smile tug at his lips, and he was even more impressed when he noticed that a snake had been coiled around her neck this entire time; the shy reptile laying contently across her shoulders as it absorbed both her heat and that of the sun.

It struck him as almost odd that he was so enthralled in watching her, and the thought of going up to talk to her briefly crossed his mind. However… he would not even know how to approach the conversation, and just knew he’d say something that’d scare her away.

A twig snapped as he made an attempt to inch closer, and both the deer and the woman immediately perked up at the sound.

He heard her gasp, and the birds fluttered away as she leaped off of the stump and ran off into the trees.

The doe seemed to stare Hector down, an almost annoyed expression resonating in her gaze before she gave an irritated tail flick and proceeded down a path that had most certainly been made by animals.

Did that deer just try and reprimand him?

He supposed that it was time to start back up on heading into town, but he would be lying if he said that he was not even a little bit disappointed that he didn’t get a chance to speak with this mysterious woman…

❁❁❁

The next time that Hector ventured out, he had hoped to see her again, if not to try and introduce himself and apologize for his literal peeping.

But when he returned to the tiny grove, there was no one to be found.

This happened several more times, and he was saddened to think that he had scared her off for good.

He started to notice that during the times he had waited around, the animals she usually visited stopped by every so often.

The birds would land near the stump, and ruffle their feathers, before they broke out into an occasional song, as if calling out to her.

The doe and her faun would stride up to the clearing and the mother would bow her head slightly, as if honoring the kind presence that once sat there.

It was disheartening each time she failed to reappear, and as the weeks dragged on, he began to exit the woods in a slightly bitter mood.

But he would not give up.

One day, he came up with the idea (and a rather brilliant one, if he could say so himself) of bringing along one of his pets. Perhaps they would give him a bit of luck and she would be in the woods this time around?

He had been particularly critical on who to bring, for although Cezar would surely be the most excited at meeting someone new, it was… rather obvious that he had been reanimated.

Instead Hector went with a blue jay that he had named Azul. He had found him shortly after he passed away, so there were no clear signs that Hector had brought Azul back to life, save for his now bright blue eyes.

The little bird sat happily on Hector’s shoulder as he entered the forest, and he gave him a gentle scratch under his beak.

He gently moved through the weeds and bushes, and he felt his heart skip a beat when his eyes landed on her.

She was running her fingers through the feathers of a small screech owl, several songbirds hopping around the stump as they ate the seeds and dried corn she had brought for them.

Hector was so in shock that she was actually there that his body went completely immobile. He had absolutely no idea on what to do, so he just stood there, and would have remained petrified unless Azul had taken the initiative and flown over to her.

The tiny owl gave an indignant screech when Azul fluttered too close, and almost lashed out with its talons when he decided to stand on her left knee.

She hushed the larger bird with a soft sound, and placed it on her shoulder so that it would stop misbehaving.

“Well hello there, little one,” she said to Azul.

The bluejay gave an elated chirp and fluttered onto her index finger, as his tiny feet curled tightly around it.

She nearly lept out of her skin when she heard the trees be pushed aside, but she stopped for a second when she recognized his eyes. They were the same startling shade of blue that she had seen all those weeks ago.

“You…” she began, and pointed to Hector. “You’re the one that I saw.”

Azul flew off of her finger in response and landed on Hector’s shoulder, a look of slight surprise on her visage.

She looked down at the other birds, and then the owl beside her. None of the animals seemed disturbed by his presence, a couple of the grazing robins even skittered over before they glanced up, as if evaluating him.

After several seconds they stopped, and a few even went so far as to affectionately pick at the buckles of his shoes.  

“Is he yours?” she asked, while her gaze rested on Azul.

Hector smiled and poked the bird on its beak. “Yes, he’s a friend of mine.” She returned the smile, and stood up, the screech owl letting out a surprised shriek from the sudden movement.

“He is quite lovely. I don’t think I have ever seen a blue jay with eyes like those.” she took a step closer, captivated by Azul’s sapphire iris’.

Hector felt his face heat up as she neared closer, and he let out an awkward cough as he mentioned her owl. “Is he yours?”

She glanced up and chuckled. “Oh no, she and I are just rather close.”

The owl nibbled on her hand, before it took off into the trees, apparently annoyed that she wasn’t receiving all her desired attention.

“Are you new to the area?” she questioned. “I had never seen you up until that one afternoon.”

Hector fidgeted slightly where he stood, his right hand going to fiddle with the white glove he wore on his other. “Yes, I suppose you could say that.”

“Well as much as I like meeting new people, making acquaintance with someone I thought was spying on me, isn’t exactly the greatest way to begin a friendship.” she teased.

Hector groaned and looked away from her. “My apologies… I never meant to startle you. I was just so entranced by the relationship you have with all of these animals.”

“Really?” she beamed.

“Of course. I am very fond of animals as well, so it was rather refreshing to see someone else that has a special connection with them.”

She gave a delighted laugh, one that sent Hector’s heart aflutter. “I think I’m going to like you.”

❁❁❁

It quickly became a weekly ritual for Hector to leave the castle to meet up with her, and the two soon became very close friends. It was rather embarrassing that by the third time they had met, she pointed out that he had yet to ask for her name. When she finally told him, he had thought it was so lovely, but only said that,

“It’s nice.” aloud.

They bonded over their love for animals and nature, and when she spoke of interest in the sciences, Hector was delighted to tell her about his knowledge on alchemy.

He was still unsure of how she’d react if ever spoke of the true nature of his work, so whenever she happened to drop hints on wanting to know where it is he lived or how he made a living, he would always direct the conversation to another direction.

However he somehow managed to work up the courage and bring Cezar with him one evening. Bringing up the topic was a little awkward within itself, as he mentioned some alchemic concepts, before he went into the idea of forging.

She initially thought he meant forging… with metal, and was stupefied when Cezar charged at her excitedly, his small tag wagging side-to-side.

It was Hector’s turn to be surprised when she accepted him so eagerly into her lap. He noticed that tears brimmed in her eyes, and he was astounded by how… grateful she looked.

“You save the lives of the less fortunate… the ones who are often forgotten… you are so kind.”

He was starting to notice that it was nearly impossible for him to get her out of his mind. Her laugh was unique, her smile was radiant, and her graciousness was unparalleled. He was unaware of this feeling that he felt whenever she crossed his train of thought, so he was not sure how to address it.

Not wanting to appear like a naive child to Dracula or Isaac, he decided that he would bring this up with the next time they met. She had a knack for helping him with his problems, she was a wonderful listener and gave him very sound advice.

It was a little later than usual when they finally met up, the moon high in the sky as the stars twinkled. There was a very light breeze that would stir up the trees and grass, but other than that, it was a perfectly clear night.

Butterflies danced in his stomach as she rested her head on his shoulder while the both of them sat on a riverbank. Her feet were in the water, and she would occasionally stretch out her arm so that flying fireflies could find purchase in the palm of her hand.

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, not at all. Hector often found himself very calm in her presence, but he was starting to psych himself out of having this discussion.

He cleared his suddenly dry throat, before he said, “Can I… can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I was wondering… I don’t have a lot of experience with this sort of thing, so I was kind of hoping you could help me,” he rambled.

She placed a firm yet gentle grip on his shoulder. “Hector, relax. Just tell me what is on your mind.”

He took a deep breath, grateful to have her there for him. “I… well… I cannot stop thinking about you. Forgive me if that seems at all strange, I do not mean it in any sort of malicious sense. It’s just… I don’t know…”

She blinked, before she tapped her finger against her chin. “I see… what sort of things do you think about?”

“Well…” he began to trace a pattern in the sand to help collect his thoughts. “I think about your laugh, and your smile, and how genuine you are towards nature,” he stopped, and pondered for a moment.

A chill traveled through her body as he turned to face her, his gaze piercing. “And I think about your eyes… and your beautiful hair,” his fingers ran through her locks, and then slid down her neck before they finally rested on her shoulders.

He felt her warm breath against his index finger as he traced it over her mouth. It came out in short, soft gasps, and her gaze landed on his lips as he leaned in to speak.

“And your lovely lips, and how they’d feel against mine.”

She placed her hand on his cheek, and traced the contours of his face. “That’s funny,” she whispered, and leaned closer. “Because I find myself thinking about you all the time too… when I work, when I eat, even when I sleep.”

He let out a gentle sigh as she threaded her fingers through his long silver hair. “Your hair is so gorgeous… its the color of starlight.”

She leaned forward and pressed two kisses to his brow. “Your eyes… they’re what I noticed first about you. They’re just a striking color… they remind me of ice, or crystal clear waters.”

Her arms wrapped around his neck, their foreheads pressed together. “You’re such a gentle soul, Hector… I’m so glad I met you.”

His eyes slipped closed when she kissed him, and he felt his heart soar as she smiled against his lips. He never imagined that someone like him would be deserving of affection… of love, but he felt as though his soul was finally complete as the two embraced under the silver moonlight.

[seachranaidhe]

This Celtic Cross stands in a graveyard in Perth, Australia dedicated to the Irish Republican Brotherhood

“He whispered goodbye to his comrades so dear, His head upon his knapsack gently lay. If you ever see my home, tell my mother I’m alone, and i’m buried in an Irish rebel’s grave.” The second largest Irish National monument in Australia is found in of all places Gympie, a regional country town north west of Brisbane. The towering celtic cross, adorned with the harp, wolfhound and round tower was…

[bath-ironstout]

Passing the Torch

Deep within the mountain known to all as Khaz, buried deeper still within in the bustling Dwarven capital city of Ironforge, many of the city’s denizens slept.  In the wee hours of the night, the night-shift laborers had all but taken over the streets which were only hours earlier crowded and alive.

The Mystic Ward, with its magnificent temple and ever-shimmering azure Pool of Reflection that made up the symmetrical center of the open plaza, was one of the few quarters of the city that enforced any type of curfew.  Because of this, it was deathly quiet.  Save for a few lost, drunken tourist wandering the wrong reaches of the upper-city, the caustic reflections of the pool danced to the distant echoes of hammersong from the Great Forge on the high stone ceiling.

Inside one of the quaint Dwarven apartments carved of the mountain’s very stone, a young Dwarven woman stared pensively at several objects laid out across an otherwise empty bed.  The bed itself was cozy enough.  It too was made from stone, covered in a thick, wool comforter tinged with a thin layer of dust from lack of use.  The sheets were made hastily, and it’s surface was rather wrinkled.  Atop the sea of greyish green fabric, a black leather-bound tome cracked with age, a tall stone-ware beer stein with an ornate pewter lid covered top to bottom in knicks and scratches, and a heap of well-worn amber-brown plate and chainmail armor lay in separate piles

Bathildis Ironstout had mourned the death of her father.  She had been mourning for hours.  Hours turned to days, and when she thought she had nothing left to give, she grieved some more.  Before she knew it, a week had passed, and sadness and denial made way for anger and bargaining.  She sat perfectly still, her slate-gray eyes traveling from object to object as she veiled her nose and mouth with cupped hands.  Alberich had left these three items behind for her, as was evident in a letter found within the book.  

The grizzled Dwarven wanderer had anticipated the risk of his own death due to the nature of the wild adventure he had embarked upon.  Before every step in his quest, he double-checked to make sure that his affairs were in order should something happen.  The thought of his meticulous foresight despite such reckless abandon sickened Bathilids.  She seethed silently.  He could have thought first of his loved ones and avoided such a dangerous undertaking.  A stone formed in her throat as she considered it again.  He knew something was coming.  He could have said something... anything!  But he didn’t.  He knew anyone capable of rational thought would object.

Everyone who knew Alberich, knew of his insatiable wanderlust.  On top of this, Bathildis often caught glimpses of just how clever her father was.  A Dwarf of few words, he was much wiser than he ever let on.  There was always a glint in his eye whenever he was scheming something, and usually she could catch it to protest, but this time he just up and left like he always did.  Only this time, he didn’t make it back alive.

Bath scowled and sat upright, looking toward the closed iron door not three paces to her left.  She imagined it swinging haphazardly open as it always did when he returned home.  She imagined her grizzled father bursting in with that armor on his sturdy frame, and that massive knapsack he always carried slung over his shoulder - the stein, the lantern, the pickaxe, and rope dangling down, the bedroll and layer of road dust along with all of the bag’s unseen clanking contents - always a Khaz damned mystery.  The image quickly faded from her mind as sobering reality once again took hold.

With a heavy sigh Bathildis turned to face the bed again.  This time her eyes locked on the book.  The Clan Ironstout Brewing Journal was as close as her clan could come to having any sort of family heirloom.  The cover was engraved and painted with now faded gold-leaf runes.  It read “Clan Ironstout: Brewing Recipes and Knowledge by Delkas Ironstout and Baerra Firestein.”  Beneath that, in much clearer, newer script, it read, “Additions by Alberich Ironstout” and yet still below that, “and Bathildis Ironstout.”  Inside it’s dusty pages sat scribblings, formal writings, and sketches in all manner of hand.  Clearly a cooperative undertaking, it had contained a plethora of secrets.  It was considered holy to Clan Ironstout, and though she had contributed quite a bit to its contents, she was never it’s keeper.  That was until now.

Alberich had passed the torch - so to speak. He had left her clear instructions as to what to do with it.  Protect it with her life.  Don’t go anywhere without it.  Those were obvious.  What wasn’t so obvious were the instructions paired with the armor and stein that sat to either side of it.  Bath picked up the tome and thumbed through it, past the section with recipes and the journal entries from her Grandparents.  She read of Alberich’s ale-soaked adventures time and time again, but with the last entry blank - save for the solitary title line reading, “A Brew Worthy of Brewhalla”, she surmised she was missing an integral piece of the puzzle.

After a few moments of skimming, Bathildis resigned to exhaustion.  It crashed over her like a sudden wave.  She closed the book resolutely and set it gently back on the bed.  She headed toward the door and opened it pausing only for a stretch and a yawn.  There would be time for this tomorrow.

The common area that connected the apartment’s three identical bedrooms was as she had left it.  The dim hearth practically moaned for fuel.  Books lay strewn out everywhere, and trash was on every surface.  A thick coating of dust lined the edges of the domicile.  In her mourning, she had really let the place get out of hand, but at the moment she was so torn up that she could hardly care.

Her dog, a pudgy little pug, lay asleep on a bag of grain in the corner, snoring away.  The other family pet - a magical elemental made of living stout beer - was nowhere to be found.  This wasn’t uncommon; however, as it would often find some stein to sleep in, giving a fright to anyone mistaking the stein to be full of drinkable brew.

She crossed the room, careful not to wake her pup.  When she reached the door to her own room and opened it, she was in for a shock!  Bubble - the stout alemental was floating there looking up at her!  He quickly dove in, propelled by magical fizzing bubbles, embracing the brewer in a tight hug around knees.  Ok, that’s odd.  He’s never done THAT before.  Must be missing da' as much as th' rest of us…

Unsure what to do, she gently pat the semi rigid crest that made up Bubble’s head.

“Oi, Bathie!  I’ve missed ye lass!”

Bath’s eyes went wide and her jaw slackened in horror.  She stopped petting Bubble immediately, throwing her hands in the air.  Was exhaustion finally catching up to her?  She was delirious?  She could have sworn that she had heard her father’s voice.

“Oof, I ain’t usualleh used t’ this perspective!  Oi, tha’s offputtin’!  Ach... Um Bathie, take a peek a few degrees doon South, would ye?

Curious albeit terrified, she risked a downward glance.  Bubble was staring back at her, that blank faceless expression glued to her own.  Glowing amber eyes seemed to intensify for a moment, but then returned to their normal state - as normal as a living beer monster could get at any rate.

The glow intensified as he spoke again.  “There we go!  Now I can see yer loveleh, freckled face again!”  The alemental did not have a mouth, so Bathildis assumed it was speaking telepathically.  She let go of Bubble and nearly fell down as she scrambled backwards through the door frame!

A million emotions and thoughts passed through her mind as she attempted to make sense of what was happening.  She thought to flee, talk back, strike out, start writing a book on communication with the Alemental species… She clearly wasn’t thinking straight.  The Dwarven woman was all but paralyzed in the middle of the common-room despite having four directions she could run.

Bubble slowly propelled himself forward.  “Oi, sorry lass!  I just realized…”  A familiar grunt could be heard, though Bubble just hovered.  “It’s me!  It’s yer da’! … Alberich!”

Bath lost control of her body.  She sank to her knees and tears began to well up in her eyes.  I’ve lost my damned mind!  My parents are dead, and now I’m talking to beer!  They’ll have me in the feckin’ ward in a matter of minutes when they find out!  She began sobbing and laughing hysterically.

Bubble put out a hand and touched her shoulder.  “Bathie…”

Bath recoiled at the touch and clambered backwards on the flats of her palms, putting a few more feet between her and the alemental.

“I know how this looks, lass, but it’s true!  It’s yer da’!”  Bubble held both hands out to his sides, as if to say ‘ta da!’.

Bathildis shook her head.  “No, I dunnae want any trouble!  Please wha’e’er ye are, jus’ leave me alone!  We’ve been through enough!”

Bubble visibly sank at that.  “...Oi,” after a moment’s pause, “I’m sorry fer wha’ I had t’ do t’ ye an’ yer Grandda’.”  Bubble stopped hovering and just sort of plopped into a puddle on the stone floor, as if mimicking Bathildis’ sitting position.  “Lass, this is bigger than all of us.”

Bath shook her head.  “No!  Even if’n ye are who ye say, ye ain’t gettin’ off th’ hook tha’ easy.”  A fire suddenly ignited within her as anger returned.  She sat up-right, crossing her legs in a way that would allow her to scramble to her feet if need be.

“Aye, I deserve tha’...”  Bubble returned to hover again as the fizz reappeared beneath him.  “But hear me oot, lass.  This even pertains t’ ye.  It’s why I’m callin’ oot t’ ye.  WHICH by th’ way ain’t easy t’ do.  I ain’t sure how much longer I can keep th’ connection t’ Bubble ‘ere.”

Bath quirked a brow incredulously.  “Say wha’ now?  Ye ain’t Bubble?”

“Wha’?  Clean oot yer ears, girl!  I told ye it’s yer da’!”  Bubble plants his fists confidenty on his midsection.

Bathildis’ eyed Bubble skeptically as a hint of cautious curiosity flashed in her eyes.  “Prove it,” she finally resigned climbing slowly to her feet.  If’n he were gonna attack me, I guess it would’ve happened by now.  She started to show confidence again, crossing her arms stubbornly across her chest.

At the same time, Bubble’s shoulders sank again.  “Oi, how am I gonna d’ this?” he pondered aloud as the emotionless alemental scanned the room.  “Oi!” his eyes glowed brightly as the idea struck.  “Go get th’ book!  Th’ tome!”

Bath glanced over Bubble one last time, making sure he wasn’t up to anything.  Finally, fear aside, she beckoned him to follow her to Ablerich’s room.  As the two crossed the common area and back into the empty bedroom, Bubble left a haphazard trail of beer behind in his wake.  Pugpug continued to snooze peacefully.

Upon entering the room, Bubble darted in under Bathildis’ arm.  He looked over the bed and spoke without turning to face her, “Good!  Ye got it all.  Grand work ye lot! I knew I could trust ye!”  The alemental quickly darted to a nigh-empty desk against the wall and opened one of the drawers.  “In here, Bathie.”

Bath furrowed her brow, sighed, and entered the room.  “Ok, ok.  Hold yer rams.  This better be good.”  She pondered as she approached the desk.  She never snooped in it once so whatever lay inside was the key to Bubble’s - or her grief-strickened mind’s - wild claims.  She tentatively reached in and withdrew a stack of papers and three framed portraits.  A family portrait from several years back, a suggestive photo of a young Dwarven woman in skimpy clothing, and a photo of Alberich and his two brothers in their youth laid fanned out in Bath’s hands. She made a show of not allowing the alemental to see them.

Bubble prodded the drawer.  “Ok!  Ye seen those before?”

Bathildis shook her head.

Bubble slowly listed out, “Should be a portrait o’ me an’ m’ brothers, us as a family, an’ somethin’ special yer mum sent me on one o’ m’ trips.”

Bathildis hastily dropped the three portraits on the desk!  “EWWWW Da’!”

A small, drowned chortle escaped from Bubble.  “There, lass!  There’s yer proof!”

“Ach… Gross!  Have ye no shame?”

“D’ ye believe me now, Bathie?”  Bubble tilted his head.

The two stood in silence for several minutes before Bathildis finally nodded.  “Ok. I believe ye, but I still ain’t sure if’n I’m even awake right now…how is this possible?  Yer dead!”

"Ain't dead… ain't completely at any rate!  M' body is, sure, but I ain't reached m' final stop yet, either," Alberich chucked boisterously.  "Bah!  Anyhow, I'm wha' ye'd call an Alemental Laird now.  M' spirits been planted in some magical brew like ol' Bubble here, but… like th' biggun' o' all th' alementals.  I'll explain it all another time.  All ye need t' know is I call on ye like this from time t' time, s' long as ye keep Bubble 'round!"

"Tha's… amazin'!" Bath's momentary astonishment quickly gave way to sorrow, "Why'd ye wait this long t' contact me?"

"Still figurin' this all oot, m'self.  Ain't been made o' magic beer b'fore, lass!" Alberich chuckled through Bubble.

"Ok, but…" Bathildis interjected, but was promptly cut off.

"Bathie.." Alberich interrupted.  His tone was much more serious now. "I understand ye have questions. Khaz knows I want t' tell ye e'erthin', but I'm almost oot o' time.  Listen. This is important."

Bathildis frowned in silent resignation.  She took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly before giving a curt not.

Alberich continued, "Look inside m' armor, lass.  Have ye seen th' inscription inside?"

Bathildis slowly turned to face the bed.  She approached it with reverence.  It seemed to give off a warm glow as it reflected the room's lit sconces on it's ruddy surface.  She reached out and traced her fingertips across the rough surface of the breastplate.  Grabbing hold of the sides, she carefully picked it up and flipped it over, searching inside.  Bubbles eyes glowed in the reflection as Alberich watched in silence.

After about a minute of searching, she felt some scratches within.  "I - I think I found it." She carefully held it close to a light and read it to herself.  "Oi, these are jus' numbers!?"

"Aye," Alberich confirmed.  "Each sequence is a page in th' book!  It ain't a complicated code.  I know ye'll figure it oot. Consider this a gift from yer da', Bathie.  Another adventure fer ye an' yer friends!"

Bathildis glared daggers at Bubble, "Bah, why couldn't ye stay home?  Posh on yer adventures!  Ain't tha' what got ye killed?" She barked!

"Bath, ye cannae rot away in th' safety o' th' Modan yer whole life.  Ye cannae be afraid o’ all th' things the world has t' offer.  Look at all ye accomplished jus' a few years back!"

"S' ye came here t' lecture me?" she pouted defensively.

"Nae Bathildis.  Yer free t' decide what ye do with this… just remember tha' I love ye.  I want ye t' realize yer true potential is all."

Bathildis once again reached the verge of tears.  She stared at the armor for a moment.

Suddenly another familiar voice spoke up.  Bath's deceased friend Burly, a Dark Iron brewing prodigy taken at a very young age, could be heard shouting at some distance. "Alb!  Alberich!  Tell her t' stop bein' a ninny an' just go!"

Alberich chuckled forcing Bubble to gurgle in kind. "Oi, Burly says hi!"

Bathildis shook her head in further disbelief, "B-Burly!?!"

As suddenly as everything had happened, Bubbles eyes returned to normal.  He tilted his head, and started making high-pitched gurgling noises.

"Da'!?  Burly?!" Bath cried out, hugging Bubble tight.  Bubble cocked his head from one side to the other, hurled a stream of brew down Bath's shirt, then collapsed into a puddle and slinked away to disappear into Alberich's mug.  The lid clanged shut after him.

Bathildis snatched up the mug and tried to pry the lid off!  Nothing.  She shook it violently, but Bubble noisily protested within.

She sighed and set it down on the desk next to the family portrait.  Exhausted, conflicted, she turned to gaze upon the armor again.  She studied it in silence for several minutes, milling around in thought.  Finally, she placed it on the desk, picked up the brewing journal, and set to scouring through it's pages.

[lovelawactually]

My One Piece OC

Eek.  Been kicking around the idea of introducing this girl - because someone besides me might think she is cool too.  

So - here goes.  

Name:  Yashima Tori

Affiliation:  Heart Pirates 

Occupation:  Pirate; Ninja, former Mercenary (independent)

Country of Origin:  Wano

Age:  25

Birthday:  October 5

Devil Fruit:  Nagi Nagi no Mi (Calm-Calm Fruit)

Tori woke just before dawn to find the old man missing from his usual spot - the meditation mat where he would start his day.  He was like a grandfather to her, although he often reminded her that he was not.  He always said that he merely found her as an infant on the beach, and he could not just let a helpless brat die.  She knew better than that.

The old man had been a Ninja in service to the royal family of Wano Country, and had a routine that he never deviated from.  He would wake up shortly before she did.  Meditation came first.  He had said that the practice of Seishinteki kyōyō - or spiritual refinement - made a person better in every way.  Then came breakfast, to strengthen the body for the day.  They would head to his small boat for fishing and Sui-ren,  or water training.  He instilled upon her that everything about life itself was a lesson, and that every task - large or small - was either a test, or an opportunity to train your body and mind.  They would spend each day training and performing chores -  the evenings were filled with lessons in medicine.  Most of the learning she did was practical in nature.  The old man had no mercy.  

Tori searched the rooms of their small abode, calling for the old man, “Jiji?”

Tori heard the sounds of battle on the wind.  An arrow shot through the window, and plunged into the wall inches from her face, a note attached to it.  It was written in blood, in the old man’s script.

“Go the place, now.  Do not come.”

Tori’s stomach dropped, and her mind raced.  Who was he fighting?  Why were they fighting?  She and the old man lived in complete solitude - she had never seen any other people on the island.  As far as she knew, they had been the only ones there.  

The urgency of the old man’s message was clear to her - she grabbed her knapsack and weapons and jumped out the nearest window, running as quietly and quickly as she could.   She wanted to go to him, but she knew better than to disobey him - the old man was strong, and a skilled Ninja.   She grappled up a sheer cliff onto a ledge and stepped into a small crevasse carved into the rock face.  Inside, a symbol was etched into the wall - with a touch, the entrance to the secret room became visible.  Inside was a stockpile of weapons, medicines, and scrolls.  A small amount of dried food, and water.  Multiple sets of clothing sat on a rolled futon - folded neatly.  

As the time passed, Tori’s emotions fluctuated from fear to anger - to concern.  Was the old man alright?  She could hear the old man’s instruction echo in her head, telling her to meditate - she needed to calm and strengthen her mind - control her emotions.  She needed to have faith in his abilities, and believe that he would turn up when it was safe.   She struggled to remain patient.  

Tori closed her eyes and steadied her breathing - her mind settled.  She had not been aware of how much time had passed when she heard the sound of the rock shifting.  She stood and readied her weapons.  

The old man fell through the opening, beaten and battered - his breathing ragged.  

“Jiji!”!  Tori lunged forward to break the old man’s fall, capturing his broken body in her arms.  She lowered him down gently onto the floor - quickly assessing his injuries. The old man was covered in blood.   His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow.   “Oi! Jiji! Open your eyes!”

The old man smirked - he opened one eye and rasped, “You are too loud, Kakko.”

Tori released the breath that she had been holding - she started tearing open his clothing to get a better look at his wounds.  She gasped when she saw the severity of the damage that was done.  Her hands moved more quickly, her expression was frantic.

The old man put his hand on hers - stopping her ministrations.  “Tori.”   He coughed up blood.

Tori’s eyes widened in surprise at the old man’s actions.  She wiped the blood from his mouth,  “Don’t talk, Jiji.  I need to treat these wounds before it is too late.”

The old man squeezed Tori’s hand, his eyes trained on hers.  He took as deep a breath as he could, “It is already too late for that, Kotori.”  If the gravity of the situation was not clear to Tori before - it certainly was now.  The old man had never called her by her name - or any variant - that she could recall.  He knew he was dying - and Tori did too.  

The old man coughed up blood again - his breathing becoming more labored.  “Take the supplies to the boat and leave here.  Get far away.”

Tears flowed down Tori’s cheeks.  “I can’t leave you.”

The old man chuckled and smiled through another bloody cough, “Can’t you just let this old man die in peace knowing his only joy is alive and well?  Stubborn baka.”  

Tori tried to wipe the tears from her eyes - but they just fell harder and harder.  “Why, Jiji?”

The old man wheezed and coughed, “Kaido.  He will kill you.  Just do as I say and go before he finds you.”  His eyes pleaded with her.  “Please, Tori.  You have to live!”

Tori wiped the tears from her face again and strengthened her resolve.  She knew in her heart that these would be the last words she would say to him - she wanted him to see her as he had taught her to be - strong.  “Until the day we see each other again, Jiji - I will live.  I promise.”  She reached into her bag for herbs that would give the old man some relief from his pain and placed them in his hand, squeezing it tightly one last time.  

Tori quickly gathered provisions and the extra sets of clothing, shoving them into her bag -  and slung it along with her weapons across her shoulder.  She placed her hand on the symbol to open the entrance, and paused - she turned to look at the old man one last time.  He lay perfectly still, a smile on his lips.  Tears welled up in her eyes again.   She took a moment to regain her composure - she closed her eyes and grit her teeth before stepping through the door.  

Tori sped down the mountain, toward the sea.  The fire of hatred building in her chest with each step. She vowed that she would avenge the old man - she would destroy everyone who had taken the only person she had in the world away from her.  She would not rest until Kaido was dead.  

[lady-hammerlock]

Assassin’s Creed Rogue - The Novel - Chapter 7

24th July 1757

The very next day Liam and Achilles approached me and asked me whether I had made up my mind. I told them that I had. I held my chin high and announced that I wished to join their brotherhood, meaning it with all my heart. Liam and Achilles both smiled at me, and Liam’s smile at least made me think that I perhaps I had found a way to make him proud of me after all.

I thought that perhaps the three of us might sit down then, and I would finally learn what it was that would be expected of me as an Assassin. Liam had explained their creed and purpose to me reasonably well, but what it was that the Assassins actually did still eluded me.

I was not given any answers on that day either. Instead we launched straight into training. Liam took me to one of the fields full of dummies that we had passed through the previous day, and he set to work guiding me through a few basic exercises, in order to assess my current level of skill.

The next two weeks were a blur of activity. Liam helped me brush up on my swordplay and shooting.

For the first couple of days Hope, when she was seen at all, simply lingered near the two of us and watched us, but eventually she began to speak up, giving either Liam or I suggestions on how to improve. Liam’s body had grown in the years that we had been apart, and he was now exceptionally tall and broad-shouldered. My body had undergone similar changes of course, but I was still a bit smaller and more lithe than my older friend, and because of that Hope was able to show me a few tricks that Liam couldn’t make use of.

I used to think that it wouldn’t be long before I could best them both in combat, but as far as I know I have still not surpassed either of them. Perhaps, with enough training and hard work I might do so one day.

I had been with the Assassins for about a week when Hope woke me early one morning. The sun had barely begun to rise and I am afraid that I muttered some rather unflattering things before she roused me properly with a gentle kick to the gut.

“Come on sleepyhead,” Liam’s voice came from somewhere just above my head. He grabbed one of my arms and helped me hoist myself to my feet.

I had been an early riser during my days on board the Cyrene. My father had insisted upon it. I had, however, become used to sleeping in a little later, and my body was already tired from the days of training it had already been through, so it took quite a while for Liam and Hope to get me on my feet and ready to face whatever challenges lay in front of me.

“What are we doing up so early?” I asked as I trailed along behind the two of them. We had eaten a quick breakfast of oatcakes and had then immediately set out on foot, without either of them giving me even the slightest hint as to what we would be doing.

“Today is a special day Shay,” Liam told me, as though that explained everything.

“But where are we going?” I asked.

In response Hope pointed to a mountain in the distance. By my best estimate it would take us a couple of hours to arrive there on foot. I squinted as I tried to make out more about our destination. As far as I was aware there was nothing particularly interesting about the mountain Hope had singled out.

When the mountain gave me no clues I turned my attention to my two companions. Neither Liam nor Hope seemed to be carrying anything that revealed the purpose of our journey. They were both carrying blades but no pistols, so whatever we were doing was probably unlikely to include much in the way of fighting, and they were both dressed as they normally chose, with the exception of a small knapsack that Liam had added to his ensemble, and which I already knew contained a small amount of food and water, just enough to sustain the three of us for the rest of the day.

The thought occurred to me that perhaps this was some sort of survival training. After all, they had mentioned that it would be part of my training regime. Perhaps the two of them were going to lead me out into the woods where I was supposed to survive on my own or find my way back to the homestead without their help. I had yet to meet the man who was supposed to be in charge of this sort of training; perhaps we were going to meet him?

By midmorning we had reached the foot of the mountain, and up close it looked far more treacherous than I had first anticipated. The mountain’s face was made from jagged chunks of pale grey stone, broken up here and there by patches of whatever hardy plants had managed to grab a foothold. A waterfall cascaded down from somewhere high above, creating a large pool near the base of the mountain.

“Are we going to climb it?” I asked Hope and Liam. I glanced over the equipment that they had brought once more, hoping to catch a glimpse of some rope or climbing tools that I may have overlooked earlier.

“That’s the plan,” Liam told me. He dropped his knapsack on the ground beside us, and brought out the small lunch that we had packed.

We ate in relative silence and then, to my dismay, we left our packs behind.

“We’re not going to want those when we reach the top,” Liam told me. “Trust me; they’re only going to slow us down.”

So there was nothing in there that might help us with the climb; no hooks or rope. I stared back up at the mountain again. It looked as though I had a difficult afternoon ahead of me.

I needn’t have worried. While the mountain was by no means an easy one to conquer, Hope and Liam soon revealed their true purpose in having brought me so far from the homestead. Progress was slow, but as the three of us travelled Hope and Liam showed me how to climb and leap like a true Assassin.

I had thought that my time aboard the Cyrene would have taught me everything I would need to know about climbing, but that was far from the case. Even in her elaborate corset and skirt Hope would have left me in the dust if she and Liam hadn’t been so focussed on carefully and gently showing me how to reach every ledge and make every jump.

Now that I’m writing about it, a certain incident that occurred on that mountain comes to mind.

I did not realise it then, but in retrospect I can see that in those first few days Hope was keeping me at arm’s length. Don’t get me wrong. Unlike La Vérendrye she was perfectly kind to me. She was also perfectly professional, the smiles she directed towards me were always painfully false, and I could tell that she had yet to truly warm up to me. It was almost as though she was being kind to me for Liam’s sake only.

Our climb had brought us to a particularly large chasm. Liam demonstrated how I should leap over the gap first, leaving me standing on the other side with Hope. She started to point out certain things about how Liam had leapt, but then suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere her topic of conversation swiftly changed.

“Liam is clearly very important to you,” she said. I stared at her, wondering what the female Assassin could be playing at.

“He’s like a brother to me,” I admitted. Then, when it didn’t look as though she was going to say anything else, I continued to speak. “He’s clearly very important to you as well.”

There was surely no way that Hope could have missed the innuendo in my voice.

“He is,” she admitted, smiling over at Liam where he stood watching us from the other side of the chasm, her manner not giving away anything more about how she might view her relationship with my friend.

For a moment we were both perfectly silent, and then when Hope began to speak once more, it was so she could tell me more about how the two of us were going to manage the leap across.

“Well then,” she said once she was finished with her explanation, brushing off her skirt before gesturing that I should make the next jump. “Considering our mutual regard for Master O’Brien, then I suppose we should ally in our efforts to watch over him and keep him safe.”

It almost seemed as though she was extending an olive branch, trying to find some sort of mutual ground on which we could agree. It was incredibly confusing. I was unaware that we had ever been at war. Hope always was a difficult one to understand however. It was possible that she hadn’t quite accepted me as being a part of their Assassin family until that exact moment.

I nodded.

“Thank you Mistress Hope,” I replied. “I do believe we shall.”

I then made the jump. I only just cleared the distance, and Liam had to drag me up to safety on the other side. Hope of course made the jump flawlessly, and then the three of us were on our way once more.

There were a few other near misses that day. There were a few times when it seemed as though one of us (usually me) was going to fall, but the others were always there to grab me and haul me back up, and together, we slowly but surely conquered every ledge on that mountain.

By the time we reached the top my entire body ached, although my shoulders had the worst of it. It was a deep, satisfying sort of ache however; a sort of ache that I hadn’t felt since I had been working my arse off on board the Cyrene.

And the view on top of that mountain was absolutely spectacular.

It wasn’t the tallest mountain in the area, but its position meant that we were afforded an excellent view of the Davenport homestead, and of the small port nearby and the sea beyond. If I turned my eyes to the north I could see New York as well, the city looking like no more than a tiny settlement in the distance.

“So are the two of you going to tell me what it is we’re doing up here?” I asked Hope and Liam once I had caught my breath. “I mean, the view is lovely, but the way you two were acting made me think there was something more to this.”

Liam and Hope just looked at one another and smiled. Without another word Liam started to walk towards the edge of a nearby cliff. A tree was hanging over the drop. It was a pathetic thing, halfway to falling, and barely large enough to support the weight of a fully grown man. Still, Liam climbed up onto it as though he didn’t have a single worry in the world, and then, slowly and carefully placing one foot in front of the other, he walked out as far as the tree could take him, and perched on the end, surveying the land around him and looking all the world like an eagle about to take flight.

Then, in a way, I suppose that he did. He got back to his feet in one swift movement that was as graceful as anything I had seen him or Hope do in the last few days, and spread his arms out wide on either side, so that his body formed an almost perfect cross.

He turned around just enough to give myself and Hope a wink and a smile, and then he leapt.

I cried out and ran after him. I arrived at the edge of the cliff just in time to watch him twist and turn in mid-air, and then fall into the water below with as small a splash as possible. For a long while I was afraid that he wasn’t going to surface; that his showing off had all been for naught and he had either killed himself or been horribly injured.

And then I spotted him, his head and shoulders having just broken the surface of the water. He let out a cry of joy and waved his arms up at Hope and me.

“Come on in you two!” he yelled. “The water’s lovely.”

I glanced over at Hope, barely able to believe what I had just witnessed. Sure, there had been plenty of water at the bottom to break Liam’s fall, but everything about his movements seemed so deliberate and calculated and fluid, and there was clearly some other significance to the act that I was missing.

“We call it the Leap of Faith,” Hope explained. “You will no doubt find many uses for it in your work for us, but over the years its true significance has come to be as an initiation rite. When you take that leap you are committing yourself, body and soul, to the Assassin cause. It used to be that your first Leap of Faith would be into nothing more than a bale of hay or a large pile of leaves, but we thought the water would be a little safer for now, at least until you get the hang of it. Here, I’ll show you how to move your body during the fall. With any luck the movements will come naturally to you.”

“Hasn’t Liam told you?” I said to Hope as she started to move my arms into the position she desired. “I make my own luck Mistress Hope.”

“Of course you do Shay,” Hope replied, with a wry grin on her face. “Which is why you’re going to practise this with water until your movements are completely perfect, before you use it out in the field, correct?”

Hope guided me through the motions, using her hands to twist my hips or adjust my stance. Her hands were warm, even through the thick fabric of my coat, and even though the many layers of her dress hid the subtleties of her own movements from me, I couldn’t take my eyes off her. If I missed a single point of her instruction, it would have been my own blasted fault for letting my mind wander to places it most definitely shouldn’t.

She walked me through the movements as thoroughly as was possible while on solid land, and then, once she seemed satisfied, she walked over to the tree and performed the same leap that Liam had, albeit minus his smile and wink.

The fact that Hope had managed to climb the mountain in the many layers that she wore had impressed me. The fact that she was able to twist and turn so elegantly in mid-air while wearing them had me completely dumbfounded. She landed in the water with even less of a splash than Liam, and surfaced far quicker.

Liam had been treading water the entire time Hope had been tutoring me. Hope joined him, and the two of them began gesturing for me to perform my first Leap of Faith and join them in the water.

I stepped out onto the tree, terrified that it was going to break beneath my steps. I was sure that if it did break, if the Leap of Faith went wrong or if I sustained an injury, that Liam and Hope would do everything that they could to save me, but the last thing I wanted was to look like a fool in front of them.

My balance was, alas, not nearly as excellent as Liam’s or Hope’s had been, and I wobbled a little, but I eventually made it to the end. The wind suddenly felt stronger than it had before. I closed my eyes, spread my arms wide, and took a deep breath, before performing the Leap of Faith.

Calling it a leap is a little misleading. I have always found that it is more like letting yourself fall, and trusting that the gentle waves, or leaves, or whatever it is you are falling into, will protect you. I suppose that it is why it is called what it is. You must have faith that the world is on your side. I twisted around and curled my body up, just as Hope had instructed, and plunged back-first into the water below.

It stung. I won’t pretend that it didn’t, but the triumphant feeling of having successfully performed the Leap, and the loud congratulations of Liam and Hope swiftly banished any pain or cold I might have otherwise felt.

I don’t remember whether it was Liam or I that started splashing the other first, but soon we were playing around as though we were children once more, and by the time the three of us actually pulled ourselves out of the water we were all half-drowned and all the happier for it.

It was nearing night by the time we made it back to the Homestead. I was glad that it was not winter, because our wet clothes had already chilled us far more than was comfortable. By the time we spotted Achilles standing out front of the Homestead, we were all well and truly ready for the warm fire that we knew waited within.

The three of us ran towards our Mentor with wide smiles on our faces, and when I approached Achilles he looked almost as happy as the three of us. He was also wearing his formal Assassin attire; not something that happened very often, especially when he wasn’t on a mission.

“I take it everything went well?” he asked Liam.

“It did Mentor,” Liam replied.

The two men shook hands and then turned their attention towards me. Achilles always smiled at Liam. It was clear to me at least that he loved Liam as though he was his own son. I very rarely received the same sort of attention, or the same proud smiles that Liam did, but on that night Achilles directed a smile towards me; one that, to me, seemed far brighter than the sun.

“Then I suppose I should formally welcome you into the Assassins,” Achilles said to me.

Achilles reached into the folds of his robe, and pulled out something. At first I didn’t realise what it was, but then he gestured for me to come closer and take it, and I realised with no small amount of joy that he was presenting me with my hidden blade. I had no idea of the weapon’s true significance, but I did know that all of the other Assassins wore at least one wherever they went.

Achilles then had me recite the tenants of the Assassins Creed, and I promised to stay my blade from the flesh of the innocent, to hide in plain sight, and to never compromise the Assassin brotherhood. I think that I was just so excited to belong that in that moment I would have promised them all anything that they wanted me to.

I am slightly ashamed to look back on that night now and think of how I have broken those promises. I am not ashamed of why I did, and I am sure that I would make the same choice again, but sometimes I wish that events did not turn out the way that they have. I joined the Assassins so blindly, and without fully understanding their true purpose, or the things that they would come to ask of me.

Of course I knew that I would be killing for them, and when Achilles helped me to strap the hidden blade to my wrist I couldn’t help but smile, both at the thought of the power that I now wielded, and just because I was so happy to have been formally welcomed into the Brotherhood.

“So, I guess all that’s left is the uniform,” I joked with Liam once the blade was firmly strapped to my wrist, and Liam and Hope had shown me the basics of how to operate it.

“You’re wearing it now jackass,” Liam joked, grabbing my hood and pulling it rather roughly over my head.

While I would learn later that other Brotherhoods, especially those in Europe, tend to have at least something that vaguely resembles a uniform, each of the Colonial Assassins had their own unique look. While Achilles might have possessed something resembling formal Assassin robes, the only thing about our dress that marked the rest of us as Assassins at all was our hidden blades, and the fact that all of our outfits had hoods; great for hiding our faces when on missions, and, I have to say, a damn sight more subtle than some of the elaborate robes of older Brotherhoods that Liam and Achilles have shown me, if a lot less stylish.

That night was a night of celebration. My joy would have probably been enough to keep me warm all on its own, but the three of us were soon changed into warm clothes and had all but forgotten the cold walk back.

Abigail Davenport had prepared an amazing meal in honour of my being officially inducted. It was practically a feast, and the Davenports, myself, Hope and Liam all ate heartily and laughed. La Vérendrye was off on a mission, so even his sour demeanour could not ruin the night.

Things seemed to be looking up. I had a place where I could belong once more, and the chance to make a real difference.

I was such a fool; such a young, naïve fool.

Previous chapter

Next chapter

[berjhawn]

Lost Lothlorien Princess - Part 8 - The Road Ahead

Warnings: None Really

Pairings: LOTR X Reader

Parts:

Part 1 - High School

Part 2 - Rivendell

Part 3 - Concerning Hobbits

Part 4 - Merry and Pippin

Part 5 - Bree

Part 6 - Aragorn

Part 7 - The Council

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That next morning while I was getting ready for my new adventure I turn at the sound of someone knocking on my door. “Yes?” I say and turn to see Elrond walk through the door a smile on his face. “What can I do for you?” I say as I grab my knapsack and start shoving things into it. “I came to return this to you,” He says as he hands me my backpack from when I lived in my old world. 

“Where did you get this?” I ask as I take it my eyes wide in wonder. “It was found the same day you were, Gandalf thought it best if you were to have it now that you must take this journey.” I pull it to my chest and fighting back tears say, “Thank you so much!”

He smiles and I instantly pull it away and opening it start to empty the contents out onto my bed. I smile as I move the schoolbooks around until my eyes fall upon my binder with pictures of my other parents taped to it. Tears threaten my eyes as I slowly reach down and picking the binder up gently touch the pictures. “Are these the people you spoke of?” He asks and I nod as I say, “Yes,” 

“You look like a happy family,” He says gently touching my shoulder. I suddenly feel anger fill my body and tossing the binder back onto the bed say, “Yeah, well looks can be deceiving.”

I can sense he wishes to know more but he doesn’t ask. I spot a familiar shiny object and my eyes light up as I instantly reach for it. “I can’t believe this still has power?” I say as I turn on my IPod smiling as I see that the battery is completely charged. “What is this?” Elrond asks his eyes full of wonder. I smile as I hand him a earpiece and say, “Put this in your ear,” Raising an eyebrow the elder elf slowly places the earpiece into his ear and I smile as I say, “Now let’s find something less hardcore,” 

Swiping through my music I find “The Parting Glass” sung by Peter Hollens and smile as I press the play button. As the song begins his eyes widen and he stares at me confused.

“Where I am from we have thousands of singers and millions of songs. So the smart people of my world invented this little device to record it all on. That way when you need a song to make you feel better you have one at the touch of a button.” I say as I turn the IPod back off and take the headphones from him. “It is a interesting invention I must say.” He says as he turns back to the contents of my bag. I gently place the IPod into my pocket for safekeeping and then return to my backpack.

Picking up my sketchbook I smile as I flip through the pages. “Who is this?” Elrond asks once I land on a drawing that even I didn’t remember who it was. “I don’t know, I’ve seen him in my dreams but I’ve never actually met him.” Elrond nods as he reaches down and picks up a algebra book. Closing the sketchbook I quickly place it into my knapsack and glancing over at him smile. “I don’t think you’d like that book, and then again you might.”

I smile as I pick up all my school books and handing them to him say, “You might like all of these, it’s the history of my country, great literature, and science. Well maybe the science will be a little out of your league; but hey have at it. I’m not going to need them anymore.” He nods as he gently lays the books back on my bed as he says, “I wish that you would change your mind, but knowing you like I do I know better.” I smile as I turn and wrapping my arms around him say, “Na lû e-govaned vîn.” (Until next we meet) I feel his arms tighten around me and tears threaten to fill my eyes.

Pulling away I grab my knapsack and giving him a quick smile head off to where the fellowship was supposed to meet. When I arrive I am greeted by the smiles of Merry and Pippin who instantly wave to me. I quickly walk over to them and letting out a grateful sigh say, “Finally I get to wear pants.” Pippin chuckles and I glance over to see Merry blush as he says, “I thought you looked very beautiful in your dress.” I smile brightly as I lean down and gently placing a kiss on the Hobbit’s cheek say, “Thank you Merry Brandybuck.”

I turn away from him as his face turns even redder with embarrassment. I giggle as I walk over to Frodo who is trying to hide his amusement. “Was that really necessary?” I hear Gandalf ask and I giggle as I say, “What I was only having a bit of fun?” 

“I thought it was mildly amusing; however I doubt your fiancé feels the same.” Gandalf says as he motions with his eyes toward Legolas who was staring at me along with Aragorn and Boromir. “I am not engaged to anyone and I will not be getting married anytime soon. Besides I’m only eighteen I have hundreds of years left until I finally decide to settle down.”

“My dear you may be only eighteen where you are from but here you are centuries old.” Gandalf says and my eyes widen as I say a little loudly, “WHAT?!” Everyone in the courtyard suddenly starts to stare at me as I stare at the wizard eyes wide with confusion. “Okay let me ask you one thing, was I born before or after Sauron’s demise?” 

Gandalf clears his throat as he says, “Before,” My heart drops as I suddenly feel faint. Was Sauron my father? It would explain why even when I didn’t hold the ring I could hear it and feel everything Frodo did. I open my mouth to ask Gandalf but instantly close it shaking my head.

“Are you all ready?” I hear Aragorn say and without looking at Gandalf I nod. I knew that along our Journey I would end up meeting my mother so I made it a mission to ask her and see if it was true. Waving goodbye to Arwen and Elrond I start off after everyone as they start off leaving the city of Rivendell. The Fellowship climbs the long steep path out of the cloven vale of Rivendell. I remain quiet as we travel south of Rivendell. I didn’t want to learn the answer as to who my father was but I couldn’t help but wonder. We trek through a land of deep valleys and turbulent waters and I smile as the misty mountains rise sharply to our left.

“We must hold to his course west of the Misty Mountains for forty days. If our luck holds, the Gap of Rohan will still be open to us. From there, our road turns east, to Mordor.” I marvel at the mountains as we finally make our way to the Eregion Hills. I look out over the hills as the sun starts to set my mind full of unanswered questions. I sigh as I look down to see the rest of my company laughing and enjoying themselves and I smile. I knew the outcome for each of my companions, all would live save for one. My heart tenses as I see how close he was getting to Merry and Pippin.

I knew I should tell Boromir but I also knew that I couldn’t. Biting my lip I pull out my IPod and placing the earphones into my ear I grab my sketchbook. I quickly turn on my Lord of the Rings playlist and smile as the “I See Fire” cover by Peter Hollens fills my ears. Pulling out a pencil from my bag start drawing the scene of my companions smiling faces before me. I subconsciously start singing along with the chorus as I start to get deep into my drawing, completely oblivious that they were now watching me.

                                     “oh should my people fall then

                                           surely I'll do the same

                                       confined in mountain halls we

                                          got too close to the flame

                                             calling out father, oh,

                                             hold fast and we will

                     watch the flames burn auburn on the mountainside

                                  desolation comes upon the sky

                                                  now I see fire

                                           inside the mountain

                                                     I see fire

                                             burning the trees

                                              and i see fi-i-ire

                                              hollowing souls

                                              and I see fi-i-i-ire

                                           blood in the breeze

                               and i hope that you remember me

                     and if the night is burning I will cover my eyes

                     for if the dark returns then my brothers will die

       and as the sky is falling down it crashed into this lonely town

 and with that shadow 'pon the ground I hear my people screaming out

                                                 and I see fire

                                            inside the mountain

                                                     I see fire

                                               burning the trees

                                                and i see fi-i-ire

                                                hollowing souls

                                               and I see fi-i-i-ire

                                            blood in the breeze

                                                 and I see fire

                                 (oh you know I saw a city burning)

                                       (feel the heat upon my skin)

                                                       (oooooh)

                      and I see fire burning auburn on the mountainside.”

As the song ends I glance back toward them for another reference and I see them all staring at me and my eyes widen when I realize I was singing out loud. Pulling the headphones from my ears I say, “Um I don’t suppose you heard any of that did you?” I see the looks of recognition in their eyes and I am about to say something when Gimli says, “T’was beautiful my lady, my father would have loved to have heard your song.” I smile as I remember that his father was one of the fourteen that were originally from Erebor.

“Thank you Gimli, that’s very kind of you.” 

“How about another song, Princess?” I hear Gandalf say and my eyes widen as I say, “Oh I couldn’t, and I wasn’t even meaning to sing the first time I was just so into drawing that I forgot where I was.” 

“What may I ask were you drawing in your book?” Gandalf asks and I grin lovingly as I say, “Our fellowship. One day when they tell stories of Frodo and his Fellowship of the Ring, I want there to be pictures of you all.”

I laugh as Merry and Pippin instantly run over to me and say in unison, “Can we see them?” I smile as I say, “Well it’s not finished yet but if you want I can show you a few from when I was back in my world.” Merry instantly plops down beside me causing a giggle to escape my lips. I am instantly surrounded by all of them as I slowly flip through the book making sure that I don’t show them something too modern for them.

As I flip through the picture I stop on one and instantly hear Legolas say, “Is that my father?” I glance down at the drawing and my eyes widen as I realize that it is in fact a drawing of the elven king. “It is,” I say disbelievingly. “But I don’t see how that’s possible, I’ve never met him.” You instantly flip the page and see the picture from before of the mysterious man from my dreams and I instantly hear Frodo ask, “Who is he?” I narrow my eyes as I say, “I don’t know, he appears in my dreams sometimes so I figure he’s just my own creation.”

I flip the page again and my eyes widen as I realize I am staring at the drawing I did of Kili and Tauriel staring lovingly into each other’s eyes. Clearing my throat I instantly close the book and say, “That’s enough for tonight, excuse me I’ll be right back.” I say as I put the book under my arm and quickly walk away into the woods. Once I am alone I let out a sigh of relief. “I completely forgot about that one being in here.” I say to myself as I open it back up to see more drawings of middle earth and sigh as I realize that my visions of each one of my companions were all spot on. After a few minutes I head back to the camp to find everyone calming down and starting to sleep.

I sigh as I walk back over to my pack and placing my sketchbook back inside I lie down beside it and holding it tightly to my chest instantly fall asleep. The next morning I am awaken by the clanking of metal. Sitting up I look over to see Sam at the campfire, while Aragorn and Boromir are giving Pippin and Merry Sword tuition. I smile as I run a hand through my hair smoothing it. This was always one of my favorite parts of the books. “Get away from the blade, Pippin...on your toes...good, very good...I want you to react, not think.”

“Should not be too hard.” I hear Sam say and I chuckle. “Move your feet.” Boromir says as he waves his sword at Pippin who roughly blocks his attack. “Quite good, Pippin.” Merry says causing his cousin to smile as he says, “Thanks.” I glance to my left to see that Gimli has Gandalf cornered, “If anyone were to ask for my opinion, which I note they have not, I would say we are taking the long way round. Gandalf, we can pass through the Mines of Moria. My cousin, Balin, would give us a royal welcome.” 

I instantly stand and interject saying what Gandalf is thinking, “No, Gimli. We should not take the road through Moria unless we have no other choice.” I visually see Gandalf relax and I sigh as I turn just in time to see Boromir thrust his sword, catching Pippin on the hand. Pippin throws down his sword, kicks and lunges at Boromir, tackling him to the ground causing everyone to burst into laughter.

I instantly look to my right to see that Legolas' eyes are fixed on a distant Dark Patch which darts about the sky, like flying smoke in the wind. Walking up beside him I follow his gaze a knot filling my stomach. “What is that?” Sam asks making everyone else turn toward us their gaze following ours. “Nothing...it's just a wisp of a cloud.” Gimli says and I groan inwardly.

“It's moving fast...against the wind.” Boromir says as he sheathes his sword. “Crebain from Dunland!” Legolas cries out making Aragorn cry out, “Hide!” We all scramble under what little cover there is. I hide under a rock lying next to someone who I was too panicked to even check whom.  I watch as a regiment of large crows fly low overhead at great speed, wheeling and circling above. As their dark shadow passes over us, a single harsh croak is heard; and the crows suddenly wheel away, back towards the south. Gandalf staggers to his feet.

“Spies of Saruman.  The passage South is being watched.” Gandalf says giving a heavy sigh. I suddenly realize I am lying next to someone and looking up see the familiar blue eyes of Legolas and my heart starts to race. My eyes stare into his as I suddenly become aware of how close we actually are to each other. His eyes dart from mine to my lips, making butterflies fill my stomach. 

Then right as I think he is about to kiss me I hear Gandalf say, “We must take the pass of Caradhras!” I watch as Legolas blinks and clearing his throat climbs out from under the rock leaving me there to try and calm my body.

‘What the hell was that?’ I say to myself as I force myself out from under the rock and taking a deep breath avoid eye contact with him as I grab my bag and follow in sink behind the rest of the fellowship as we head toward the Misty Mountains.

Will Continue in - Moria

Tags:

@renner-hawkeyeloves

[drades-lair]

Black Hawk down

Author: Drade666 

Rating: T

Warnings: Just some gore and mild language

Pairing: BlackHawk (Clint x Natasha)

Fandom: Avengers/Marvel

This was very, very bad! Natasha managed to fend off two more of whatever these creatures were. Shield had sent her as well as Clint off to the middle of the Sahara desert to look into some strange readings out there but what they found was not what they’d expected too. Turned out that the readings were being caused by these strange creatures that apparently live in the desert sands, lizard people of some kind that fought like gladiators. Natasha grabbed one of the spears dropped by the one creature she’d killed a few moments ago, as bullets appeared to not really work too well against the creatures hard hides. Three more of the creatures approached Natasha who could really careless about them, what she really cared about was getting to Clint who was lying on the ground behind the creatures bleeding into the sand. Natasha’s mind raced but in a calculating way as she measured distance then wind velocity before taking off towards the creatures, burying the spear end into the sand allowing her to pole-vault over them. Natasha landed on one knee a couple feet behind the lizard men with a huff before getting back to her feet, running towards Clint where she hesitated momentarily upon seeing him struggling with his wound. Shaking her head the assassin focused again searching Clint’s pockets for the lighter he had there then finding the small thing of lighter fluid he had packed as well, quickly emptying it in a semi circle 2 feet from Clint’s body and lit it on fire. Natasha heard the creatures shriek as the flames created a temporary barrier between them allowing her to grab up Clint then take off into the dessert unfortunately eventually the creatures found a way around the flames but by the time they caught up the pair had vanished. Thankfully the creatures appeared to be none too smart cause they looked around aimlessly for a few seconds before walking off in to the dunes leaving the pair alone where they’d ducked down behind a shifting dune with a sheet over them covered in sand to keep them hidden.

 Black widow flung the sheet off with a gasp causing sand to fly everywhere however there was no time to rest she needed to get Clint somewhere safe not to mention semi clean to treat his wounds. Clint was breathing heavily as blood still flowed from the wound to his side caused by one of the spears the creatures had been wielding, he’d been stabbed at an upwards angle meaning the damage could be extensive. Gently as she could manage Natasha picked up Clint under his arms to haul him off towards a cave she’d seen on the way up while running from the creatures. Once inside Natasha laid Clint on a fairly flat part of the stone floor finally allowing her a good look at the wound instantly not liking what she was seeing. The blood had been caked with sand that was contaminating the wounds that were clearly agonizingly painful at this point for him cause Clint hardly ever expressed pain like this. Natasha took the sheet she’d used to hide them then ripped off a couple pieces, gently pressing several to the wounds before tying larger strips around to apply pressure.

 “Stay with me,” Natasha whispered in a begging tone

 “Nat…ugh!” Clint managed upon coming too slightly

 “Please…stay with me,” Natasha pleaded as she leaned in close to Clint, cupping his cheek in her hand.

 “I…I’m not…promising…anything…” Clint trailed off

 “Clint! No, NO! Don’t you dare! Come on! COME ON!” Natasha cried out as Clint lost consciousness again. Natasha shook Clint’s shoulder trying to wake him to no avail that’s when she noticed that her cheeks were becoming damp and her vision was blurring as tears spilled from her eyes.

 Natasha wanted nothing more then to just stay by Clint’s side but she knew that the only way to save them both was to get word back to Shield that they needed help. Standing up she grabbed the one piece of fabric that was left to wrap around her head then took off out of the cave towards the place where the creatures had first attacked them, where all their gear was. Ten minutes past before Natasha found the site quickly yet gingerly she began to filter through the items flung all over the sandy land until she found a satellite phone and Clint’s bag that hadn’t been opened yet meaning the contents would be intact. The red head threw the knapsack over her shoulder then started walking back towards the cave while simultaneously dialing on the phone with a prayer that someone got it. After getting back to the cave Natasha instantly tore open the knapsack to find the first aid kit and found a cantina filled with water that she knew should be saved to drink but didn’t bother instead she pulled the already blood soaked bandages from Clint’s wounds then started pouring the water over them to clean them out a little. After washing the wounds Nat grabbed to rolls of gaze out of the first aid kit but instead of wrapping the injuries, knowing it would do no good she held down Clint with one hand while pressing one of the gaze into the first wound. Clint screamed out in pain but was too weak not to mention out of it to do much all he could do was claw aimlessly at Natasha’s arm.

 “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…Sshh,” Natasha cooed after finishing with Clint’s wounds now gently cupping his sweat soaked cheek.

 There was nothing else to be done all Nat could do was wait for her call to be answered while trying to keep Clint alive. Several hours passed with no response on the phone and Clint’s condition continued to get worse as his breathing became labored, skin turned clammy while his life slowly slipped through Natasha’s fingers. The red head had tended her own wounds but even hers would begin to hinder her if they weren’t treated pretty soon as infection would soon settle in. Nat laid down next to Clint on the cooler stone floor letting another tear fall as her hands gently card through Clint’s sweaty short hair, her body slowly giving out as thirst set in as well as hunger. If this was going to be it she was going to die next to the man she…loved.

 ~*~

 The call from Natasha’s satellite phone had come in almost 8 hours ago meaning time was swiftly getting thin on the rescue. Fury lead the rescue in the huge marine helicopter as Captain America along with Iron man followed in a second one both equipped with medical personal on board cause Natasha had specified Clint was injured pretty badly. The blades of the helicopters stirred the sand as they set down near where the transmission was sent and with in seconds of getting out of the helicopters they realized that where the transmission had come from was not where their comrades were. Luckily Steve had great tracking skills following the trail of bloody sand as well as some items scattered here or there to a cave. Steve held onto the outside of the cavern with one hand as he swung around the corner instantly seeing the two missing comrades they’d been seeking.

 “I found them!” Steve called over his shoulder then ran over to kneel beside Natasha’s unconscious body. Gently Steve rolled Natasha onto her back as she had been curled into Clint then pressed two fingers to her pulse point luckily finding a pulse while Tony took a knee next to Clint doing the same.

 “Is he…?” Steve trailed off upon seeing Tony’s depressed expression

 “No, but he’s not in great shape either.” Tony corrected not getting excited

 Gently Steve slipped his hands under Natasha’s body while Tony picked up Clint in a similar fashion. As the two Avengers carried their companions out Fury stood by the choppers with the medical personal already preparing everything inside them to retrieve the injured. Fury’s face dropped upon seeing the two but he remained silent as Steve took Natasha into the second helicopter while Tony takes Clint into the first one where once on the secured gurneys the medical staff swarmed the two. Fury gave the pilots the go ahead to take off instantly taking them into the skies back towards the Avengers base before heading into the back of the chopper to see how Clint was. The head nurse had her staff running all around Clint and although Fury couldn’t get close enough to actually see what was going on, Clint’s vitals told most of the story and it wasn’t good. It took 3 hours to get back to the base but even though the second choppers medical staff radioed Fury to tell him Natasha was stabilized, Clint was still in bad shape with no signs of stabilizing. After landing Clint was taken first straight inside to the critical care area while Natasha was taken to a basic emergency treatment area to have her wounds cleaned, treated and to have her dehydration taken care of.

 Natasha’s vision slowly slipped back to her as the haze of unconsciousness began to clear bringing the large round treatment light to come into view from over top of her. Moaning she shifted her head away from the too bright light then slowly took in the environment around her realizing it was the treatment wing of Avenger base. Suddenly remembering Clint the red head jolted upright, swinging her legs over the edge of the treatment table she’d been lying on instantly giving a wince as her leg throbbed.

 “Natasha?” Fury’s deep voice sounded from a few feet away followed by his heavy boot steps moving quickly towards Natasha.

 “Nick? Ugh!” Natasha tried to get off the table but her leg refused to carry any weight causing the red head to fall into Fury.

 “Easy…here,” Fury stated in a gentle tone as he eased Natasha back onto the table then tried to get her lay back down but she refused.

 “Where’s Clint? How is he?” Natasha insisted placing a hand on Fury’s chest with panic in her voice.

 “Natasha you should rest,” Fury advised still trying to get her lay down

 “No! Where is he?” Natasha’s voice held more desperation now

 “He’s still in the critical care unit being treated Natasha, now just try to relax” Fury insisted this time

 “But how is his condition? Is he going to make it?” Natasha asked as both her eyebrows knitted together in concern.

 “I don’t know,” Fury finally said after a long pause

 “No…NO!” Natasha cried out suddenly letting everything go causing tears to pour from her eyes. Fury gently pulled Natasha close while rubbing her back soothingly as the young woman sobbed uncontrollably into his shoulder, fisting her hands in his shirt. Fury noticed the nurse who had entered the room on the other side of the treatment table clearly she could see how distraught Natasha was cause the nurse was already grabbing a syringe and filling it. Fury gave a small nod while still keeping Natasha’s attention but even when the injection was given she didn’t even acknowledge it then slowly it took effect, calming the distraught young woman as her body went limp in Fury’s arms he gently laid her down. Fury gave Natasha a sympathetic look then moved a piece of red hair from her tear stained face as tears still fell until the injection caused her to fall back asleep.

 “I’m so sorry Natasha,” Fury apologized then left to go get status on Clint

 ~*~

 Natasha awoke several hours later or so she figured as night had fallen outside plus she was now lying in a recovery room. After checking that no one was around Natasha stood up, pulled the IV out of her arm then began limping down the hallway towards the intensive care unit where Clint would be if he was still…Natasha shook her head to get the idea of him being dead out of her head. Quickly not to mention easily Natasha picked the lock on the intensive care unit to gain access but as soon as she entered she froze. Clint was in the first bed with tubes as well as wires coming out of him, machines everywhere then there was his appearance of being so pale.

 “Clint…” Natasha trailed off in a whisper before finally being able to run to him

 Natasha cupped a hand to Clint’s face while shakily placing a hand on his shoulder, bottom lip already quivering. Suddenly a nurse noticed that there was someone by Clint’s bedside who wasn’t medical personal however as she was about to go confront Natasha Dr. Banner stopped the young nurse. Banner gave a small nod to the nurse who immediately began to walk off leaving the situation in Banner’s hands as he made his way over to Natasha. Banner gently placed a hand on Natasha’s shoulder causing the red head to whirl around in surprise with tears in her eyes.

 “Banner?” Natasha breathed out

 “Natasha you should be resting,” Banner scolded lightly in a tender tone

 “Is he…going to make it?” Natasha asked after taking a breath to stabilize her voice    

 “He’s in very bad shape, Natasha…but he is already improving…it’s small and slow but it’s there,” Banner informs Natasha who visibly relaxes a little

 “That’s Clint alright,” Natasha breathes out while lightly closing her eyes

 “Now let’s get you settled over here,” Banner suggests gesturing to the bed next to Clint’s.

 “Thank you,” Natasha whispered as she allowed Banner to help her over to the bed.

 “Mmm-hmm,” Banner hummed with a smile

 Natasha watched Clint for the next 5 days as slowly the tubes as well as the wires were removed from his body however Clint remained unconscious. Natasha tried to occupy her time but just couldn’t stop watching Clint then after 7 days of waiting he made the slightest of moans but Natasha caught it. Instantly Natasha jumped up to hurry over to Clint, carding her fingers through his short hair while running her other hand over his chest encouragingly.

 “Clint…Clint, can you hear me?” Natasha asked in a gentle voice

 “Ah…Nat?” Clint moaned out, his words muffled by the oxygen mask over his mouth.

 “Sshh, yes…it’s me,” Natasha whispered back, gently reaching up to remove the oxygen mask.

 “Good to…see your…face,” Clint rasped out giving a weak smile up at Natasha

 “I’m just glad to see you awake…” Natasha responded, trailing off as she bit her bottom lip trying to hold back the emotions.

 “You’ve…been crying…” Clint trailed off reaching up a hand to cup Natasha’s cheek, swiping the tear streaks with his thumb. Natasha gave a huffed laugh, bringing up a hand to cover Clint’s then leaned forward to place a kiss on his forehead before burying her face in his shoulder.

 “I thought…I’d lost you…” Natasha mumbled while breathing in Clint’s scent

 “Nat…please…” Clint whispered while weakly pressing against her shoulder causing Natasha to pull back.

 “What?” Natasha whispered back as Clint’s hand moved up to cup the back of her neck then pulled lightly.

 “Don’t cry…I hate seeing…you cry,” Clint informed Natasha as his breath ghosted over her lips. Natasha smiled then closed the last inch between them to press a kiss to Clint’s lips.

[arc-rchk-blog]

FICTION: In a bleak landscape

By Sabine Lee

As maturity ripens you, freedom picks you up, cradling you in its warm embrace, honey voice pronouncing the words of a lullaby that cannot be emulated nor heard by anyone but yourself. This warmth, fireplace heat in its body is a toasty blanket. A tangy, sweet taste comes to life in your mouth, and gushes into your mouth. You feel yourself fall asleep, cozying up to that feeling and savouring the ebb and flow of it into your body, eyes fluttering, and you feel a rippling breeze on your skin.

And then you wake up in a bleak, frigid place. You’re freezing, and all you have are the clothes you wear and a knapsack with the bare necessities. A hollow canteen, around 30 packets of preserved food, two water bottles, flint and steel, and a sleeping bag.

You have a damp photograph in your hand, crystals sprinkled onto it. You look at faces, the features of the faces clear like the surface of water. Scribbles in your mind prevent any attempts at recognition.

All you know is that you have to make your way out of here. Your voice echoes as you bellow for help.

You now remember: This is a rite of passage. Everything slowly trickles back into your memory, the lectures and crosses on the calendar, the night you bade farewell to your parents with a heart wrenching embrace. You remember their hot breaths, scorching your neck, their touch still smouldering, burnt into your skin. The glistening night sky, soaked with glittering stars, is vivid in your mind. Those who have reached the age of fourteen were to prove their worth by surviving in a tundra. It was so that only the strongest would pass on their genes.

You know there is no other way out of this icy wasteland, and the sole method of escaping is trudging through kilometres of snow. So you heave a sigh, rub your hands together, and remember that this journey would last for long. So you put your knapsack on, the crunching of soft snow beneath your boot-clad feet, the hissing in the landscape. You make your way onward.

Makeshift sundials helped you keep track of time. Time drowned in the mist that descended from the sky. Soft and murky, and when touched it rippled,  bearing a fluid consistency. On one night, as you sifted through mist, you just about saw a tree — naked, stripped of its leaves.

As you lean upon the barren tree, you hear snow crunch like pebbles and gravel. You see branches sway slightly. Jolting to your feet, your idle mind went alert. Your ears quivered at ice being trampled. Instinct kicks in, muscles constricted as your toes clawed the inside of your skinny boots. Weariness, once a foe, becomes an ally. Bare fists, both rugged with calloused patches of skin on fingertips and palms.

The dingy shape of a person, alit by a creaky lantern, emerges into existence. They  wore a cheap wool sweater laced with beads of ice. The person looks at you, lantern swaying and creaking. They shivered, blue tinging their lips, eyes wide and struggling to grasp what was in front of them. After a haste inspection with darting pupils, you slipped your jacket off and handed it over to them.

You spend the next few nights travelling with this person. Before they were brought here for the rite of passage, they spent time studying herbal medicine with their grandmother. They had a croaky voice, which recovered over the span of a week, with warm water boiled by the weak plumes of flames. The water was infused with some odd leaves they found.

You bond with them. Dialogue was often brief, with no trails of words tacked together. Over the course of the journey, you meet five more people, all of them with unique skills  that aided you on the journey. Our spirits were revitalised with cheery folk tunes crooned from one of our crew.

Some nights lie somber in the crannies of your mind. On one fine afternoon, you almost plunged into a crevasse, and if it weren’t for the reflexes of Isolt, perhaps rot would have draped your body for five years. When that peril sent tremors through your grounded feet, all your mouth could do was shape words as Isolt wrapped her tattered jacket around you.

At the end of your journey, you find yourself at a beach. There’s a docked boat, and two old men, skin gleaming rich brown beneath the sunlight have toothy smiles on their faces. One of them had a gap between his two top teeth, and he handed us all

Only then do you notice something about the people you’ve met. You take out the photograph, now worn down, bearing creases and small tears scattered on the frame of the image. Six other faces next to yours, beaming softly, bright and blemished with smiles. Your finger drifts on faded grins, the ghosts of their cheeky faces now on this boat with you.

As the boat, rocking gently on the sea, went onward, you look back at that distant island, the waves forever beating gently at its shores. You taste salt in your mouth, as your tooth snagged your lip, and your hands grasp the guardrail. Dripping down snow white knuckles, the photograph, once soddy and now parched, is crumpled up and stuffed into your knapsack.

White skeletons lurked in the snow. They were mourned with fleeting glances. You remember one of your companions approaching the skeleton, laying down a shred of his red coat, flossed with the character for fortune. Then you carried onward, the low whistle of wind brushing you all on your way.

I remember the way your silent tears splattered on the photograph. Our fat is gone, our bodies somewhat lean. It’s been five years. Even now, I catch you gazing in the direction of the island, your body now inclined in its direction, internally tugged towards it, and sometimes, I catch you with bloodshot eyes. Lost in murky thoughts, I sit next to you and wait until your eyes glisten once again, even when your grip is taut on the wrinkled photograph.

I speak up. “Perhaps Spring will come to that island soon.” I bounce the football off my knee, skin clammy from perspiration and heat. We both are teachers at the nursery on the island now. The sand in my shoes is itchy, scratchy against my feet.

“I hope so.” Your breezy voice musters, as you toss a garland of white iris’ into the sea, the currents here yearned to lap at the shore of the sea we were both found at.

I walk over and watch the flowers, afloat and bobbing, flowing in that direction, and lean my head on your shoulder. It’s become so much harder to read you, and at times, damning myself, I would wish that we could be brought back to that wasteland, and meet you once again with my blue lips.

[readbookywooks]

`So I came back. For a long time I must have been insensible upon the machine. The blinking succession of the days and nights was resumed, the sun got golden again, the sky blue. I breathed with greater freedom. The fluctuating contours of the land ebbed and flowed. The hands spun backward upon the dials. At last I saw again the dim shadows of houses, the evidences of decadent humanity. These, too, changed and passed, and others came. Presently, when the million dial was at zero, I slackened speed. I began to recognize our own petty and familiar architecture, the thousands hand ran back to the starting-point, the night and day flapped slower and slower. Then the old walls of the laboratory came round me. Very gently, now, I slowed the mechanism down.

`I saw one little thing that seemed odd to me. I think I have told you that when I set out, before my velocity became very high, Mrs. Watchett had walked across the room, travelling, as it seemed to me, like a rocket. As I returned, I passed again across that minute when she traversed the laboratory. But now her every motion appeared to be the exact inversion of her previous ones. The door at the lower end opened, and she glided quietly up the laboratory, back foremost, and disappeared behind the door by which she had previously entered. Just before that I seemed to see Hillyer for a moment; but he passed like a flash.

`Then I stopped the machine, and saw about me again the old familiar laboratory, my tools, my appliances just as I had left them. I got off the thing very shaky, and sat down upon my bench. For several minutes I trembled violently. Then I became calmer. Around me was my old workshop again, exactly as it had been. I might have slept there, and the whole thing have been a dream.

`And yet, not exactly! The thing had started from the south-east corner of the laboratory. It had come to rest again in the north-west, against the wall where you saw it. That gives you the exact distance from my little lawn to the pedestal of the White Sphinx, into which the Morlocks had carried my machine.

`For a time my brain went stagnant. Presently I got up and came through the passage here, limping, because my heel was still painful, and feeling sorely begrimed. I saw the PALL MALL GAZETTE on the table by the door. I found the date was indeed to-day, and looking at the timepiece, saw the hour was almost eight o'clock. I heard your voices and the clatter of plates. I hesitated--I felt so sick and weak. Then I sniffed good wholesome meat, and opened the door on you. You know the rest. I washed, and dined, and now I am telling you the story.

`I know,' he said, after a pause, `that all this will be absolutely incredible to you. To me the one incredible thing is that I am here to-night in this old familiar room looking into your friendly faces and telling you these strange adventures.'

He looked at the Medical Man. `No. I cannot expect you to believe it. Take it as a lie--or a prophecy. Say I dreamed it in the workshop. Consider I have been speculating upon the destinies of our race until I have hatched this fiction. Treat my assertion of its truth as a mere stroke of art to enhance its interest. And taking it as a story, what do you think of it?'

He took up his pipe, and began, in his old accustomed manner, to tap with it nervously upon the bars of the grate. There was a momentary stillness. Then chairs began to creak and shoes to scrape upon the carpet. I took my eyes off the Time Traveller's face, and looked round at his audience. They were in the dark, and little spots of colour swam before them. The Medical Man seemed absorbed in the contemplation of our host. The Editor was looking hard at the end of his cigar--the sixth. The Journalist fumbled for his watch. The others, as far as I remember, were motionless.

The Editor stood up with a sigh. `What a pity it is you're not a writer of stories!' he said, putting his hand on the Time Traveller's shoulder.

`You don't believe it?'

`Well----'

`I thought not.'

The Time Traveller turned to us. `Where are the matches?' he said. He lit one and spoke over his pipe, puffing. `To tell you the truth . . . I hardly believe it myself. . . . And yet . . .'

His eye fell with a mute inquiry upon the withered white flowers upon the little table. Then he turned over the hand holding his pipe, and I saw he was looking at some half-healed scars on his knuckles.

The Medical Man rose, came to the lamp, and examined the flowers. `The gynaeceum's odd,' he said. The Psychologist leant forward to see, holding out his hand for a specimen.

`I'm hanged if it isn't a quarter to one,' said the Journalist. `How shall we get home?'

`Plenty of cabs at the station,' said the Psychologist.

`It's a curious thing,' said the Medical Man; `but I certainly don't know the natural order of these flowers. May I have them?'

The Time Traveller hesitated. Then suddenly: `Certainly not.'

`Where did you really get them?' said the Medical Man.

The Time Traveller put his hand to his head. He spoke like one who was trying to keep hold of an idea that eluded him. 'They were put into my pocket by Weena, when I travelled into Time.' He stared round the room. `I'm damned if it isn't all going. This room and you and the atmosphere of every day is too much for my memory. Did I ever make a Time Machine, or a model of a Time Machine? Or is it all only a dream? They say life is a dream, a precious poor dream at times--but I can't stand another that won't fit. It's madness. And where did the dream come from? . . . I must look at that machine. If there is one!'

He caught up the lamp swiftly, and carried it, flaring red, through the door into the corridor. We followed him. There in the flickering light of the lamp was the machine sure enough, squat, ugly, and askew; a thing of brass, ebony, ivory, and translucent glimmering quartz. Solid to the touch--for I put out my hand and felt the rail of it--and with brown spots and smears upon the ivory, and bits of grass and moss upon the lower parts, and one rail bent awry.

The Time Traveller put the lamp down on the bench, and ran his hand along the damaged rail. `It's all right now,' he said. 'The story I told you was true. I'm sorry to have brought you out here in the cold.' He took up the lamp, and, in an absolute silence, we returned to the smoking-room.

He came into the hall with us and helped the Editor on with his coat. The Medical Man looked into his face and, with a certain hesitation, told him he was suffering from overwork, at which he laughed hugely. I remember him standing in the open doorway, bawling good night.

I shared a cab with the Editor. He thought the tale a `gaudy lie.' For my own part I was unable to come to a conclusion. The story was so fantastic and incredible, the telling so credible and sober. I lay awake most of the night thinking about it. I determined to go next day and see the Time Traveller again. I was told he was in the laboratory, and being on easy terms in the house, I went up to him. The laboratory, however, was empty. I stared for a minute at the Time Machine and put out my hand and touched the lever. At that the squat substantial-looking mass swayed like a bough shaken by the wind. Its instability startled me extremely, and I had a queer reminiscence of the childish days when I used to be forbidden to meddle. I came back through the corridor. The Time Traveller met me in the smoking-room. He was coming from the house. He had a small camera under one arm and a knapsack under the other. He laughed when he saw me, and gave me an elbow to shake. `I'm frightfully busy,' said he, `with that thing in there.'

`But is it not some hoax?' I said. `Do you really travel through time?'

`Really and truly I do.' And he looked frankly into my eyes. He hesitated. His eye wandered about the room. `I only want half an hour,' he said. `I know why you came, and it's awfully good of you. There's some magazines here. If you'll stop to lunch I'll prove you this time travelling up to the hilt, specimen and all. If you'll forgive my leaving you now?'

I consented, hardly comprehending then the full import of his words, and he nodded and went on down the corridor. I heard the door of the laboratory slam, seated myself in a chair, and took up a daily paper. What was he going to do before lunch-time? Then suddenly I was reminded by an advertisement that I had promised to meet Richardson, the publisher, at two. I looked at my watch, and saw that I could barely save that engagement. I got up and went down the passage to tell the Time Traveller.

As I took hold of the handle of the door I heard an exclamation, oddly truncated at the end, and a click and a thud. A gust of air whirled round me as I opened the door, and from within came the sound of broken glass falling on the floor. The Time Traveller was not there. I seemed to see a ghostly, indistinct figure sitting in a whirling mass of black and brass for a moment--a figure so transparent that the bench behind with its sheets of drawings was absolutely distinct; but this phantasm vanished as I rubbed my eyes. The Time Machine had gone. Save for a subsiding stir of dust, the further end of the laboratory was empty. A pane of the skylight had, apparently, just been blown in.

I felt an unreasonable amazement. I knew that something strange had happened, and for the moment could not distinguish what the strange thing might be. As I stood staring, the door into the garden opened, and the man-servant appeared.

We looked at each other. Then ideas began to come. `Has Mr. ---- gone out that way?' said I.

`No, sir. No one has come out this way. I was expecting to find him here.'

At that I understood. At the risk of disappointing Richardson I stayed on, waiting for the Time Traveller; waiting for the second, perhaps still stranger story, and the specimens and photographs he would bring with him. But I am beginning now to fear that I must wait a lifetime. The Time Traveller vanished three years ago. And, as everybody knows now, he has never returned.