#I almost even took the spear for Berry but I was too slow | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

johaerys-writes · 4 years ago

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Fandom: The Song of Achilles

Summary: During his two month long sea voyage from Phthia to Skyros, Patroclus makes an unexpected friendship.

Chapter 3: Fate, the final chapter of At the Water’s Edge, is up! Where Patroclus finally reaches Skyros, and has an important decision to make.

Read here or on AO3! Or read from the beginning

The sun had set, and the night birds were gliding into the fast-approaching dusk when we finally returned to the ship.

The rest of the sailors had already gathered for dinner, the wide galley filled with the sounds of jest and song, with the smells of the fish stew that was being prepared. I didn’t usually join the crew during their meals, preferring to take them in my room, by myself, but that evening Xanthos had insisted I stay. He was sitting next to me now, with his cheeks still flushed from our trek through the verdant hills back to the port, and the wind that had combed through his locks had given him a wild appearance. There was a gleam in his eye, that I imagined matched my own.

The fish stew was rich and savoury, heavy with the taste of the sea and spices. Not all ships fed their crew this well, but the captain was a generous man, or so Xanthos had told me. After we had both finished our dinner, a nearby sailor treated us to some watered down wine. It was from the northern plains, near Macedonia, I was told, and quite strong, with a heavy aftertaste of berries and honeysuckle.

“Xanthos,” one of the men called. He was a tall man, strong like an bull, with his large head shaved clean. He had a bright and easy smile, which always made me somewhat uncomfortable, especially now that it was directed at both me and my companion. His gaze fell on the bracelet on Xanthos’ wrist. “What’s that you’re wearing? A little too fancy for you, isn't it?"

Xanthos smiled brightly, seemingly unaware of the laughter that broke out over the wide space. He raised his arm to show his bracelet to everyone who had lifted their heads from their drinks to look. “Do you like it, Thaddeus? I wasn’t aware it would be to your taste. I thought the only place you liked to wear jewellery was on your teeth.”

The other men laughed and jeered, banging their mugs on their tables. The jab did not seem to deter Thaddeus, who grinned even more brightly, revealing several golden teeth. “Everyone knows that, boy,” he said, laughing. “Did your friend choose it for you? You and I both know you couldn’t pick something nice if your life depended on it.”

I felt uncomfortable with everyone’s piercing stares that suddenly fell on me. Xanthos turned his body ever so slightly towards me, as if shielding me from the sailors’ crude jests. “He did,” he said, waving his mug casually. “He has a good eye. Which is more than anyone can say about you lot.”

They all laughed again, and Xanthos and Thaddeus exchanged even more jests, some of them crude, but none ill-natured. Before I knew it I was laughing with them too, and soon some of the sailors had come to sit around our table. Talk shifted away from Xanthos’ bracelet and into other matters, the ship’s journey and the highest price the captain had been able to get for some of the oils and herbs they carried, the details of the trade.

“Barley always sells cheaper here than it does in the mainland,” they would say. “Don’t know why the captain bothers with the Sporades.” Or, "Piraeus has raised the cargo tax to thirty three talents. Soon, they'll be charging an arm and a leg just to let ships into port."

I listened to their talk, quietly sipping on my wine. Trading held little interest for me. I had never in my life had to barter, sell or buy anything, apart from the rare occasions that Achilles and I would sneak away from the palace and go to the harbour to watch the street performers and musicians that sometimes ended up on our shores. It was always fun and exciting at first, but I would soon grow weary of the chatter and noise, of the heavy and sour smells of discarded fish and sweaty human flesh, of the rattling sound of the dice games at every corner. We would quickly retreat back to the olive grove, or our small secluded beach, where Achilles could run and throw his spears undisturbed. I would sit back on the warm sand and watch him move for hours, watch as the muscles rose and fell under his skin, as shadows pooled and stretched across his features with the passage of the dying sun.

A pang of longing drove through me at the thought, before I was able to stop it. My memories of Achilles had always been gold- tinted, as if the brightness of his presence made everything it touched resplendent, just like he was. They had always been a source of comfort for me, yet now they just made me ache for him all the more.

“Do you play, lord?”

I blinked at Thaddeus, jolting out of my reminiscing. At my baffled stare, he nodded at the stretch of table between us, smiling. “Do you play?”

I followed his gaze, and there I saw them. Four dice, their pips staring up at me like eyes. They were not white and made of bone like I was used to; they were red instead, made of terracotta stone. The pips were carved on their flat and smooth surface and painted over with dark dye. The shape and colour of them mattered not, though, as I found myself staring at them for what felt like a lifetime.

It was then that I remembered one of the reasons why I never joined the crew during their meals. Sooner or later, the tables would be cleared, and dice would be drawn out for games that lasted well into the night.

My pulse thrummed in my temples at the images that promptly rushed through me in waves; my anger at Clysonymus, at his blatant disrespect, his mockery. His eyes that widened as he fell back, losing his balance; the crack of his head against the stone. His blood trickling slowly on the dry ground beneath him, mixing with the soil and turning it crimson. I remembered how bright it was, as if it were before me just then. My stomach turned.

“Patroclus,” I heard Xanthos say beside me, but his words reached me as if through wool. “Are you well? You are pale as a sheet.”

I think I muttered a brief apology before standing up, almost making my chair topple over in my haste, then half-running towards the deck. My heart was racing; my mind was spinning, spinning. I was shaking like a fish out of water when I finally reached the railing and clutched it with trembling hands, my breath clawing at my throat.

It wasn’t always this bad. The sight of the dice didn’t always leave me this shaken, but my nightmares, ever since I had boarded the ship, were the worst they had been in years. Almost every night I would wake up trembling and out of breath, with cold sweat running down my spine. Those memories, Clysonymus’ face, the dice that rattled incessantly in my head; all those things were part of me, embedded in my bones. Had I honestly thought that one half day of careless enjoyment would be enough to ward off those ancient terrors?

I squeezed my eyes tightly, willing the images that seemed to be lodged there away. The night was dark upon the world now, and I felt swallowed by it, a pebble sinking to the bottom of the sea. It seemed as though if I let go of the railing for even a heartbeat, the waves would rush up and swallow me, drag me into their dark depths.

I jolted when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to Xanthos, who was watching me with evident concern.

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“I’m fine. Really.” I gripped the railing hard, taking in a deep, steadying breath. My heartbeat was gradually getting slower, and I could feel the fear that had gripped me only a moment before easing away. I stared out into the darkness, at the stars that now shone brightly above me.

“Did, uh…” Xanthos started shyly beside me. “Did Thaddeus do something to upset you? I could talk to him if you wish. He’s a rough fellow, but he didn’t mean to—”

“No. No, of course not. He did nothing wrong. It wasn’t… it wasn’t his fault.”

Xanthos remained silent. He didn't press me to speak further, to explain; still, I felt like I had to.

I took another deep breath, this time to ease the words out of me. I had never spoken about my nightmares to anyone but Achilles. Without him by my side, it felt like every memory, every image from my past was a stone, slowly grinding me to meal. The last thing I wanted was to dig them up again, but the need to share the burden, if only for a moment, was what urged my tongue to weave the words.

“There was a boy, once,” I started quietly. “When I was younger. We fought over… over a pair of dice. I pushed him. He fell and broke his head.” My fingers tightened so much about the railing, that my knuckles had gone white, the wood digging into my flesh. “I killed him.”

Xanthos did not speak then, but I could sense no judgement or horror in his silence. Only patience. His very presence there gave me heart, and I continued. “I did not mean to. It was an accident. Yet every time I see dice… they just remind me of him.” I glanced up at him, fearing what I would see in his eyes, but there was only understanding.

“How old were you?” he asked softly.

“Ten.”

He let out a slow breath. “To have seen something like this, so young…” He shook his head, and his eyes glinted oddly in the night, reflecting the light of the waxing moon above us. “I am sorry you’ve had to live with this burden all those years, Patroclus.”

The sympathy in his voice made a wave of bitterness rise within me. I swallowed thickly, but the knot in my throat remained. “At least I got to live,” I said quietly. “That boy didn’t have that chance.”

I had never admitted those thoughts to anyone, not even to Achilles. I wished to stop my tongue from forming the words, to think of anything else, anything at all, but could not. “Sometimes,” I whispered, “I try to imagine what might have happened to that boy, had I not pushed him. How his life would have been, if I hadn’t been in it. He would have been at marrying age now. He might even have had children. He would have inherited his father’s titles, his lands… He would have been a man, in his own right. But he got to live none of that. Because… because of a pair of dice.”

My eyes burned as I spoke. I rubbed them stubbornly, determined to not shed any tears. I did not want Xanthos to think less of me.

Xanthos kept his silence for a long while. When he finally spoke, his voice was gentle, mingling with the sighing of the crisp sea breeze. “The night before I boarded my first ship,” he said, “I was terrified. The priests of Apollo had spoken of a terrible storm that was to come, the worst we had seen in ages. They’d seen it in the blood of a lamb they’d sacrificed, on Apollo’s holy day. I did not want to go. I sat on my bed while the wind blew outside and shook with fear. My father came in and saw me. He told me something then. It stuck with me.”

“What was it?” I asked.

“He said… 'A man whose fate it is to die in a fire, will never die in a storm'.” At my confused glance, he laughed softly. “What my father meant was, every one of us has a path in life. The moment we come into this world, the three Fates spin their threads and decide what is to come. If my destiny was to die in a sea storm, even if I stayed on land and herded sheep all my life, the storm would eventually find me. ‘Meet your fate proudly, boy,’ my father told me that night, ‘because you cannot escape it.’ ” He turned to look at me, his dark, almond shaped eyes meeting mine squarely. “You have your path. So did this boy.”

“But…” My old pains and fears rose to the surface, the dreams that had haunted me for most of my life. I struggled to find a justification for it, for what had happened to me, for what I’d done, something that would make it all make sense. I could not.

“It is cruel,” I whispered. “Is it not?”

“It is life, Patroclus.”

His hand on the railing was so close to mine, I could almost feel the heat emanating from his skin. I thought of his words, turned them this way and that in my mind. I had my path. So did Clysonymus. It did not change what I had done, his life had still ended too soon. His death was still my fault. Yet if I had not pushed him…

I would never have left Opus. I would not have gone to Phthia. I might never have met Achilles. I would never have known him, followed him, loved him. My life, as I knew it, would only be a shadow of what it was, what it could have been. It was still cruel, but it was my life. My path, the one the Fates had carved for me.

The Fates had never been kind, nor fair. But they were absolute. Inexorable.

My hand crossed the distance between us to land gently beside Xanthos’. The waves splashed against the ship’s belly, and the night owls at the shore cooed. We stayed silent, side by side, watching the night stretch endlessly before us.

The following evening, when I went to the ship’s galley for my dinner, none of the sailors were playing dice. It didn’t take long for me to notice that it was Thaddeus’ wrist that Xanthos’ bracelet was gracing now. When I glanced at him, the unspoken question lingering in my gaze, he only smiled and winked.

“Fate,” he jested cryptically, and took a large sip of his wine.

I didn’t see another die being thrown for the remainder of the days I stayed on the ship.

The day that the rolling hills of Skyros came into view arrived much slower, and much faster than I’d expected. The bay that we pulled up on shimmered golden in the early morning light. I could just make out the last of the Pleiades disappearing into the rosy fire of dawn when the ship was pulled to harbour. I leaned against the railing, my bag with my handful of belongings hanging by my shoulder, my heart beating in my throat. Somewhere on that island, perhaps in that palace atop the hill, Achilles was waiting for me.

Xanthos was by my side when the ship’s ropes were tied to the old and worn out palisades of the long and narrow wharf. I had thought he would go straight to his bed after his shift had ended, to get what little sleep he could before they would be setting off again, but he walked down with me, then followed me to the beach, where the wharf ended.

We gazed at each other for a long moment, standing ankle deep in crystal clear water. I found myself tracing the lines of his features, the slope of his nose, his strong eyebrows, his heart-shaped mouth. His eyes were kind and warm as ever, but there was something else hiding in their depths. During those heartbeats that we looked at each other I noticed everything, even things I had never paid much attention to before, as if I was trying to commit his features to memory, keep them safe with me.

“So,” he said softly, “it is time.”

I nodded. “It is.”

I expected him to leave then, to climb back up to the ship and sail to his own destiny. But he stayed there, gazing at me.

“We’ll be going back to Euboea now. To Kymi.”

“I know. The captain told me.” I smiled when I said, “And then you’ll be setting off for the Eastern ports, right?”

His lips widened in a smile that mirrored my own, but it was not quite as bright and effortless as I was used to. It was almost timid. He shifted on his feet, cleared his throat. “It won’t be for very long. Three, perhaps four months. And then we’ll be back.” A light, barely perceptible flush crept up his cheeks as he said, “I was hoping perhaps… I could see you. When I come back.”

I blinked, taken aback. I wasn’t rightly sure how long I’d be staying in Skyros, whether I would be going back to Phthia next. In my heart of hearts, I wished to find Achilles and leave with him straight away, return to Pelion, where Chiron was waiting for us. Yet all of my hopes seemed uncertain and hazy, like trying to grasp at shifting sand. Three, four months… I did not know if there was any way for me to plan that far ahead. Gods, I didn’t even know if Achilles was still where I’d been told he would be.

My stomach tightened as I told him earnestly, “I… I’m not sure where I’ll be in four months, Xanthos.”

“I know,” he said hastily. “I know that it’s all uncertain now. But… You could wait for me here. I could come back for you. And then we could leave together.”

"Leave?" I frowned a little as he spoke, my confusion increasing by the second. “Where would we go?”

“Anywhere. Anywhere at all. We could return to Phthia together, or… or anywhere else you like. Go to the mountains, perhaps. You like the mountains. Right?” His flush brightened, and his eyes flashed with something that I couldn’t quite decipher. Something akin to hope. “After my trip to the East, I think I’ll have enough gold to build a home. A small one. Like... like the one you told me about. With a garden out front…” He let his words trail away, searching my face. His throat bobbed when he swallowed. “We… could stay there. You and I.”

I froze when I finally caught on his meaning. He wanted me to… to go with him. To build a life with him. To be with him. To… love him.

I took a breath, preparing myself for the blow I was about to deliver. “I’m sorry, Xanthos. I… could not.”

I saw the joy and hope that had been there a moment before drain from his features. I saw his smile quiver, and his shoulders slouch. “Oh.”

“It’s not—” I started, then stopped myself. My fists opened and closed by my side, helpless. “I can’t give you what you want,” I said quietly. “This person I’ve come here to find… He’s everything to me. He’s…” I paused, looking about me. My mind worked furiously as I searched for words that wouldn’t hurt him anymore than they had to.

Xanthos spoke the words for me.

“Your fated one,” he said softly. He gave me a wan smile, his eyes kind and earnest as they met mine, but I could still see the hurt I’d wrought there. “I understand.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” The sun was rising slowly over the mountains in the East, painting his sun-bronzed features golden and bright.

“Pepromenon fyghein adynaton,” he said. Fate is inescapable.

I nodded slowly, not knowing what else to say. He reached out and tentatively placed his hand on my shoulder. “I wish you all the best, Patroclus.”

“So do I.” I met his gaze, looking deep into his warm, honey brown eyes. “Thank you, Xanthos. For everything.”

His fingers squeezed my shoulder gently, feather-light, before he turned to leave.

I stayed there for a long while, at the water's edge, watching as the ship slowly rowed away. When its sails were nothing but a white speck on the golden horizon, I turned around.

Somewhere on that island, in the palace atop that hill, my fate was waiting for me.

#the song of achilles #tsoa #patrochilles #patroclus #tsoa fanfic #tsoa fanfiction #at the water's edge #johaerys writes

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tubbyliltuna · 5 years ago

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.The more you learn, the less you know // the hobbit x dragonborn. (1/?)

This here is a story, a rough, horrible, piece of work that needs to be shredded. But I cannot get the idea of a Dragonborn in middle earth out of my head. I can’t, so I’m doing this. It needs work, improvement, lots of work and improvement, but I’m getting this out of my head. Thx.

It’s really long, because i’m a horrible hoe for details and such. Also, Hermaeus is in this, and he does talk, but just remember it’s a slow talk. But he is my favorite Daedric prince, ngl.

Warning: self-hate, PTSD, the usual stuff a person would suffer from what I’m sure we all put our Dragonborn through while playing Skyrim.

Description: It was all suppose to be over - she had sealed all her deals, repaid all her debts, returned all of her favors no matter how dark. Her days of adventuring and dragon slaying were finished. Unfortunately, even after both wars, peace was never to be found in Skyrim. Not with a prince who forever craved knowledge of the unknown, and who a better scavenger than the Dovahkiin herself?

❤️

Chapter One: Radioactive.

It always snowed. It always stormed. The sun never shone through the grey clouds that drowned out the sky like a thick, dirty ocean, except for today it seemed. It was incredibly depressing, though she preferred to stick around this dreadful town. Why? Perhaps because it wasn't the only one practically in ruins these days, and as she bent down to gently run her fingers over a fresh print – a subtle warmth radiating off it – in the deep snow, she hummed in her chest at the thought. They still hadn't cleaned up the wreckage after that civil war. It was also the only place she seemed to really find peace among the world. She cared not for bustling cities, or large crowds, or loud atmosphere's, no, unless she was called to one on duty (not that it would ever happen again. It had been quiet the while since she had been summoned anywhere). Standing back up, she reached her arm to her back and plucked an arrow from her quiver, her pale blue eyes like a bolt of thunder trailed over the tip of the small spear, and the topaz colored glass glistening like a gem in the morning rays that poured through the thinning pine trees. The area was good for hunting, and that was how she spent her time. The forest may have been blanketed in snow ninety percent of the time, but it was still busy with life – new and old – and a variety of fruits even if they were mostly berries, nuts, and ingredients. Speaking of berries, she caught the color of blood peaking from the corner of her eye, and a smirk came over her face as she would remember the path she walked to come back later, but as of now, as her feet sank into the white land with a soft crunch, she continued onwards, gripping loosely to her bow and arrow. She was on a mission. A delicate one.

A snort, a gentle and calming noise came from her side and she stopped, turning her head very slowly, a few flakes of built up snow dropped from her hood, and she saw her prey; a beautiful a healthy Buck, it's rack at least 8 points high. Not only could she get a good amount of stock from it, but she could get a fair price for its head on a mantle. Not that money was a matter, more like a pass-time. She was quiet the collector; gems, ancient weapons, armor, you name it. Settling down further in her spot, she watched with narrowed eyes as the animal's ears twitched backwards, obviously hearing a sound it didn't like and its head shot up, causing her breath to halt and it felt as though everything around her stopped. No, her life didn't depend on this, not at all, but she had her reasons that this was so important to her. Waiting, listening to the sound of her strong heart pounding in her ears, she was so still with her eyes wide that she could almost feel the mixed blood in her veins flow and pump along with her heart, making her whole body feel as though it was shaking. It felt like an hour that she sat with small diamonds glittering down from the sky, and the feel of the warm sun beating down onto her black clothing making her sweat, but it had only been a few seconds, and she heard the majestic animal chewing again. Perhaps it was a good thing she was part Wood Elf, or she would have had to train harder to hear such things. Put into action once more, she quietly docked her bow, and took her shot – a flash of topaz crossed the woods, the sound of the small but deadly shaft buzzing past each tree, and the buck and birds screaming as the beast fell to the forest floor with an encouraging noise.

With a smile, she stood, though she felt guilty as it laid on the ground writhing in pain, crying out for help from its kin or the like. So, with a faster pace, she pulled out a small blackened and worn dagger from her thigh and struck the beast down, silencing it and sending its peaceful soul back home. Sheathing her dagger, she let her hands fall to her side for only a moment, letting the sounds of the forest flow through her pointed ears. Sometimes it was strange to her how things to could go back to moving as though nothing had ever happened, even with the fact a woodland creature had just been slaughtered in front of any surrounding animal's eyes. The circle of life was cruel thing. Reaching down and wrapping her gloves hand around the plush neck of the lifeless corpse, she slowly lifted it up with an inhuman strength, the muscles in her arm rippling and shaking, straining to hold the dead weight in the air before her. She tilted the head to one side, then to the other, examining it with guilty eyes. But it was all for a good reason. "Fear not – you did not die in vain, Beast," she murmured, crouching down slightly and maneuvering so it rested across the span of her back and over her shoulder, and she stood up as straight as she could with a grunt. It would be an agonizing trek, but her destination was not too far from her location.

Beginning her walk, she clutched onto the carcass with a tight grip, dodging trees, roots and, various plants as she slowly walked back down-hill. The tri-blood knew she didn't have to make this journey alone, she could have easily bought a companion with her, but that would defeat the purpose of her 'get-away plan' or her 'vacation' as her apprentice prefers to call it. The poor boy never understood why she felt the need to get away; Winterhold was not even big enough to consider a town (though the boy barely called it a village himself), and the College barely had any activities or anyone new coming. He was a good man, she couldn't deny, Onmund had helped through several things and even when she was a student, she remembered how he fought along-side of her when she needed it. Even now, he had pledged to her, especially the few times she had saved his life when he was reckless with their travels. The young mage had seen things he would never forget, and his blood pumped for adventure like a true Nord, but that was not her… not much anymore. The same could not be said for Tolfdir, unfortunately, as talented as her Master Wizard was, the older man wanted absolutely nothing to do with their childish ways and preferred to stay at the College and keep a watch over the students, the professors and, the town. Though, like the younger Nord, he understood what the tri-blood had been through and the inability to stay settled in one place for too long (even though there had been several times Tolfdir had mumbled under his breath that if he had traveled all over Skyrim and back he would prefer to sleep for a year and never set a foot outside his door unless it was for stock and food, something to which she would always laugh at), but in the end he would touch her shoulder and giver her his blessing, telling her to come back in one piece for several reasons; he was too old to handle the college as Arch Mage, he would miss her far too much, and he certainly didn't want Onmund in charge (the poor boy would always get flustered and defensive at that).

Wrapped up in her thoughts, she realized she had finally arrived at the steps leading up the hill to her small cabin. It was a homey little place, just enough space to live comfortable and keep everything she needed, unlike her quarters at the college that contained … well, all her belongings; her armors, her gems, her books, her weapons, and her … special artifacts. Trekking up the stairs, she stopped dead at the door, squinting her eyes at the sound of multiple thuds inside of the small house. There seemed to be a pause before each one, followed by a disgusted grumble. Looking side-to-side and once behind her, she unsheathed her dagger and gripped It in her hand before kicking the door open. It must have been a sight to see to whoever was in there because they let out a painful noise, followed by the sound of several things hitting the floor; a woman cloaked in all black, a large Beast on her back and a powerful dagger in her hand, and the blinding sunlight flooding the main room. Moving quickly into the room, she shut the door and dropped the Beast. The sound of its skull sent a terrifying crack throughout the room, but before she could act, the dagger was slapped from her hand and thrown into the fire as her vision – no, the room filled with multiple black spots and – "One, I find it absolutely astonishing and quiet offensive you would use a Daedric blade in defense against me, and two … " the monotone voice drug out before it completely cut off, and bright blue eyes bet a single burning yellow one, that of a cat or Kahjit. "Venison, again, Dovahkiin? And here I thought the warrior of the world would at least know a thing or two about a… healthy diet," the voice almost mused, although one who did not know better would guess he did not care at all about the conversation. "Or did that part of yourself die away along with Verulus? Hmmm….?"

To anyone else, it should have seemed strange – scratch that, terrifying, disgusting, revolting, and the list could go on in the Dragonborns mind, to see nothing but a black mass of shadows in the air as though it were stretching across the wall, pale-green tentacles crawling and slithering out and circling around nothing but a large golden eye with a slit pupil. Do not get her wrong, every time she simply laid eyes on Hermaeus, she had to continuously tell herself not to vomit all over a Daedric prince. That would surely end her life into an eternity of being hunted by Hericine himself, or even worse… living her life in Hermaeus Mora's library taking care of his damned books. But aside all of that, the blue-eyed female sighed, turning around to her kill once more, so easily turning her back to one of the most dangerous entity's to ever exist in all Tamriel. "That was once," she mumbled, lifting her catch in both arms with a grunt to throw it up onto the clearing on her wooden table. "I no longer have the ring in my possession anyhow." the tri-blood huffed out, slowly running her hands over the hardening fur on the dead animal, almost as though she were petting it. It calmed her somehow. Maybe she should get a pet…

"It's under your bed, actually. "

She froze, the muscles under her eyes twitching slightly in annoyance at her visitor. Honestly, out of all the dark Princes and Princesses that she had met in her life-time, or the one that seemed to be most interested by her had to be him. Why couldn't it have been someone like Clavicus that was mildly interesting, or Sheogorath the mad who tended to make her laugh, or Vaermina who would want nothing to even do with her after the whole 'skull' incident. No, she got the walking dictionary of all Tamriel, and Divines knows where else. Sighing, she grit her teeth together in annoyance and gripped onto the wooden table a little tighter. "What, do, you, want?" she bit out, holding her tongue from telling him exactly how she felt about him.

It was almost immediately that she felt something slimy and wet slap across the back of her head, and the brunette had to hold back her gag reflexes. "Speak to me in such tone – hold your tongue, Dovahkiin!" the voice seemed almost stern that time, like talking to a child who was stepping over a line that their parent drew. "Or do you forget who so graciously helped you survive Miraak? Or are you already forgetting things in your old age? Interesting, really, the minds of you humans… how important and fragile your brains are…" Then he tapped, the very tip of his tendril poking her temple, and it sent a large shiver down her spine, goosebumps breaking out over her paled skin.

Akatosh, Talos, Divines, help her.

The Dragonborn sighed deeply. "Not that you did it out of the kindness of your heart, because I'm more than sure you don't actually have one – "

"I'm summoning you on a favor," He cut her off immediately, looking over his tendril like he had hands, fingers, and nails he was observing like some high-and-mighty Jarl who was getting bored with the whole situation. She wouldn't doubt if he was, cutting straight to the point like he did. Not many of these Daedric beings enjoyed beating around the bush. A lot of them cut straight to the point, and while she could appreciate that, sometimes these bastards could just be rude-

Wait, what? Favor? A favor!?

Something inside of her snapped, or was it the table seeing as she held a piece of ragged wood in her hand, turning around to face the dazed-off Prince. "What favor!?" she shouted, her voice rumbling in question and the ugly eye slid from the small mountain of books her had created over to her. "I already did your favor back in Solstheim. You murdered it – him, remember?"

If Hermaeus had both eyes, he probably would have rolled them, but no, instead he rolled all of them, even the small ones doting the black mass and it was the second most disgusting thing the Dragonborn had ever watched. "Of course, I remember. He was very useful."

"Then your trip was wasted," she growled, her chest rumbling like thunder. It never failed to sicken her at how easily these beings could murder someone for their own selfish reasons, but what right did she have to act all righteous about it? How many times had she killed simply to live? To make money? Or perhaps even for nothing when she had simply gotten an order? The war… all the men and women she slaughtered in the name of Ulfric Stormcloak and a free Skyrim. Two things she wanted to damn away for so long. Damn the Nords, damn the Thalmor, the legion, all the gods – Daedric or not. Sometimes she hated them all, and it was almost in those times she could understand why Alduin wanted to rid this world of every race except for their own and Akatosh, or enslave the mortals that would serve him. But then, she remembered her friends; the Companions, the College, the Blades, the Thieves Guild, even some of her brother and sisters in armor that battled beside her, and she remembered why she fought for this world. Everything deserved a second chance. Though sometimes she thought the world would never change, no matter what she had done for it. It wasn't that she wanted everyone to know of her good deeds… it was just, she wanted them to realize what could have been and that they need to… well, change.

"You fail to understand, Dovahkiin," came a horrendous whisper that chilled her to the bones, and the fire in her hearth flickered fiercely before dying, and her world was cast into shadows. The only thing she could see was a golden eye staring her down, the iris shimmering in the faint sunlight like a pool of melted gold. Had it been anything else before her, it would have entranced her, drawing her in, but a raging fire burned inside the pit of her stomach and it grew ever more, lapping at her immortal heart. Her icy eyes screamed death, and held no fear as the sound of metal clicked against metal, her long sword unsheathing. The cold steel glimmered in the scarce light from her windows as the tip pointed only inches from his eye. She couldn't kill the bastard, but dammit, she could send the old fool back his library in Oblivion. "It wasn't a choice."

"Fid zey zek wah Sovngarde, Sivaas." (Send me back to Sovngarde, Beast.)

She couldn't really die anyway.

#The hobbit #hobbit #hobbit x dragonborn #hobbit x skyrim #hobbit Dragonborn cross over #bilbo x reader #thorin x reader #fili x reader #kili x reader #bilbo x dragonborn #thorin x dragonborn #fili x dragonborn #kili x dragonborn #the hobbit x reader #hobbit x reader #the company x reader #the company x dragonborn

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calamity-callie · 4 years ago

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The Wrath of Thunder Descends: Part 2 (Wiztober - Trusted Ally)

If you haven’t read the first part yet its not strictly necessary, but it’s right here! Also this entry is a monster hunter crossover bc I adore both games and have wanted to do something like this for ages~

Edited by @spiralcompendium

CW: Strong language, violence. These two wizards have insane potty mouths.

Lamentia sullenly sat on her bed, alone in her dorm room. “I lost?! How is that possible? How could I lose?” She ran the results of her duel with Calamity over and over in her head, replaying every turn and rethinking every possible move. The channeled insane bolt, the medusa, the basilisk: “Maybe if I’d blocked that goddamn stun… Nah, I just needed to hit harder, that’s all.” She got up and went over to her desk, her mind set on one thing - rewriting her off-the-cuff spell to be even stronger. She wrote it down then began examining it line by line.

O wrath of thunder, I implore, descend

‘This line’s perfect, nothing to fix here,’ she thought as she moved on. Scanning the rest of the lines though, she found multiple places where words could be switched around, rearranged, and made to evoke a wilder, more powerful, almost monstrous energy. “This. Now this is perfect. This’ll blow their fuckin minds.” With her modified spell written down on a scrap, she set out to the forests beyond Unicorn Way to test it out.

Once beyond the boundaries of the Unicorn Park, she began preparing her spell. She found a small clearing where, while still shaded by the thick canopy, there were at least no large trunks to cause a disruption. She pulled out her paper and began to read in a commanding voice.

O wrath of thunder, I implore, descend From portal formed of cold, unearthly spark With speed of wolf and strength of glowbug squall Release thy wild self unto this world

Lamentia held her breath as a breeze began to pick up. Static filled the air as, sure enough, a portal to another forest began to open up. This forest was far more alien though, looking almost as if it were a massive above-ground coral reef. “Alright, come on big lightning bolt! Any second now… come on, come onnn…” Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the loudest roar she had ever heard. Just as her poem had suggested, a beast unlike anything she had ever seen lunged out of the portal and directly at her, knocking her onto her back.

It was an incredibly large four-legged creature with silver and gold scales on its body and white fur on its back. Two large yellow horns sat atop its electric blue, dragon-like head, with two yellow ridges running down the entire length of its back and tail. The entire beast seemed to glow with a strange, otherworldly energy. Standing over her, it began to howl. As the sound escaped its large maw, she could see glowbugs from all corners of the forest being drawn to its fur, integrating themselves into it. Once they had stopped coming, the beast howled a second time, while its whole body was momentarily enveloped in a blinding flash of electrical energy.

Lamentia scrambled to get up before the beast tried anything and ran off into the underbrush to hide and gather her thoughts. “Well, fuck, that wasn’t supposed to happen. What the fuck do I do now…” She reached for her bowgun - gone. She must have left it in the tower or in her room. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!” she cursed her forgetfulness silently. She hesitantly peered out through the leaves to see the creature pouncing around the area, sniffing the air as it moved. It was only a matter of time before it sniffed her out. She needed a plan, fast. Remembering her old spells, she began to recite a couplet in hopes of getting a surprise attack in.

O king of deep, o lord of ocean’s maw Arise and with thy trident smite this foe

Upon finishing the second stanza, a small portion of the clearing flooded entirely, allowing a triton to emerge. With a fishious roar, it raised its spear to the sky to call the lightning, directed it to rain down on the beast, then departed, taking the water with it. The impact was so bright and loud that for a few moments Lamentia couldn’t even see what sort of damage her spell had caused. “Fuck yeah, there’s no way anything survived that. I’m totally still the strongest wiza-” Her victory speech was stopped in its tracks as the lightning faded and the beast came barrelling out of the residual smoke. It had absorbed the full strength of the strike and seemed absolutely no worse for wear. Even worse, thanks to Lamentia’s ineffective spell and subsequent boast it now knew exactly where she was.

She quickly rolled out of the way, narrowly avoiding the lunge, but the beast wasted no time re-orienting itself. Spinning on a single paw, it attempted to slam its long, wide tail on the ground. While she was able to dodge these attempts, each tail slam dislodged a few now-agitated glowbugs that proceeded to release immense amounts of energy. Though she managed to avoid the initial impacts, one of the insects discharged a bit too close for comfort, sending her flying. Lamentia hit the ground a few meters away and lied there, motionless for a moment. She opened her eyes just in time to see the creature circling her with a menacing glare on its face. She again scrambled to get up, but this time, upon seeing the movement, the beast pounced.

Using the last of her strength, Lamentia pushed against the ground with all her might and just barely escaped being crushed by the full weight of the monster’s back. It laid there for a second before righting itself, and she took the chance to try out the quickest spell she knew.

O fire of the cloud, of fortune’s hand One hundred, ten, or thousand; your command

At this, a single thick bolt of lightning appeared from the sky and struck the beast square in the head. It didn’t even flinch, and Lamentia watched in horror as it simply absorbed all of the energy from the bolt into its already supercharged fur. She could see the beast readying itself for another lunge, and she uttered what she thought would be her last word,

“FUUUUCK!!!”

Suddenly, the ground began to shake violently. Both Lamentia and the beast looked around the clearing to find the source of the shaking. There, across the small field, was a blonde punk girl who looked all too familiar. Her large gauntlets rebounded off the ground, which split apart at the impact point, and swallowed up anything that was small enough to fit. And the fissure was headed directly for the beast. It tried to get out of the way but didn’t have enough time--its back leg got caught in the crack. As it began to flail and whimper, the girl got up and walked over to Lamentia.

“Ugh, Calamity. Why’d it have to be you of all people.”

“I could have just let that thing kill you, but why would I do that? If you die here, I won’t be able to beat your ass in a duel again, will I!?” Calamity reached into her bag. “Here, I think you forgot this,” she said as she pulled out Lamentia’s bowgun and tossed it to her. “I can’t believe you’d just storm out like that and forget your things. By Spider, what an irresponsible rival.”

Lamentia scowled. “Fuck you, I don’t need this shit. Just… Help me get rid of this goddamn thing, okay?”

“Oooooooh, the high and mighty ‘best wizard here’ with the powers of a god needs MY help? Well, I’d be honored.”

Lamentia scowled even more intensely. “Just shut the fuck up,” she retorted.

“Well, the first thing you should know is that the fissure won’t hold much longer. We’ve already wasted quite a bit of time…” No sooner did her thought end than the beast finally tore itself free. “Looks like it’s go time! Hell yeah, this’ll be good!” Calamity jumped up and down, shaking her arms out as the creature turned its gaze to her. “I’ll keep it busy. Go, like, load your gun or something--whatever it is you do!”

Without saying a word, Lamentia ran back into the underbrush to prepare.

As the monster lunged, Calamity held her hands up and shouted a single phrase.

“BASILISK! LEND ME YOUR STRENGTH!”

Green and yellow energy began to swirl around her gauntlets. She lowered her hands, then squared up and braced herself. She timed her first punch just right to counter the lunge and hit the beast square in the nose. The two danced around each other: the beast lunged and flipped, slamming its tail and swiping its massive claws, while Calamity dodged, rolled, and weaved seamlessly around its every attempt to catch her, throwing punches whenever she had the chance. A hit to the leg, a hit to the face, a hit to the stomach - the location didn’t matter. Every hit not only slowed the beast down, but also infused more and more of the basilisk’s essence into the monster, until finally it fell over on the ground whimpering and writhing, having lost control of its muscles.

She looked over her shoulder and yelled, “You got that thing ready yet?”

“You know it,” came the reply. “Better move out of the way.”

Calamity stepped aside as Lamentia walked back into the clearing. She knelt down, rested the stock on her shoulder, and sent a low, steady pulse of storm magic to the firing chamber. The sound of machine gun fire filled the air as rocks, nuts, berries, seeds, pieces of bark, and whatever other vaguely round materials she could find shot out of the steel barrel at high speed, pelting the beast in multiple locations all over its body. Though the unconventional projectiles seemed ineffective at first, the incessant firing wore away spots of fur, eroded scales, and even broke off one of the majestic golden horns.

Soon, the creature began to regain control of its movements and stumbled to its feet. Calamity shouted, “It’s back, watch out!” as, sure enough, it lunged at Lamentia. Calamity ran after it and landed hit after hit on its legs and tail. Lamentia leapt out of the way and continued firing, reloading with various woodland objects as needed. The beast unleashed its full arsenal on the two, but between the small, repeated blows to its legs and the rain of projectiles on its head and back, it realized it no longer had the upper hand. It fled towards Ravenwood.

“Shit shit shit fuck shit no! We can’t let this thing get to the school!” Calamity yelled. “Lamentia, whatever dumb thing you did to summon this monstrosity, can you send it back?”

“Fucking of course I can, who the fuck do you think I am?” she replied. She indeed did know the way to dispel a summon gone wrong, but the technique was quite difficult - she would have to recite a very complex Counter-Verse, which involved correctly pronouncing many words that didn’t exist in any language. Failing could make the situation even worse, but she knew she had no choice.

She pulled her written spell out as Calamity shouted, “Hurry the fuck up then! We don’t have any time!”

“Goddamn! Be patient--I’m doing it!”

She slowly began to read.

Dlorw siht otnu fles dliw yht esaeler Llauqs gubwolg fo htgnerts dna flow fo deeps htiw Kraps ylhtraenu, dloc fo demrof latrop morf Dnecsed, erolpmi I, rednuht fo htarw O!

Upon completion of the Counter-Verse, another portal opened up, but this time she was unable to see through it to the other side. The beast stopped in its tracks and turned towards the new opening, drawn to it by the power of the spell. It jumped through, and a voice echoed from the other side as the portal closed. “Wha- a Zinogre? Here?? Where did it even come from? Alright, people, let’s drive this thing out!”

Calamity and Lamentia collapsed in the clearing, exhausted. “We fuckin did it,” Calamity gasped, out of breath.

“Damn right we did,” came Lamentia’s reply. She paused. “Hey, Calamity.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re alright. I guess.”

“You’re alright, too.”

“Now, now, don’t go thinking I like you or anything like that. I still wanna smash your fuckin ugly face in!”

“Hah, I’d like to see you try!”

The two laid in the field for a few moments before Calamity broke the silence. “Wanna go by Triton on the way home? There’s this cool bar there…”

“Calamity we’re underage, are you fuckin stupid?”

“Nah, I know the owner, It’ll be great!”

“You know what? You’re crazy. Let’s fuckin do it.”

‘Hell yeah.”

They fist bumped each other, then slowly got up and limped their aching bodies to the bar.

#w101 #wizard101 #wizzy fanfic #wiztober2020 #monster hunter fanfic #mhw #w101 mhw crossover #I think these are my 2 favorite OCs their dialogue is just so fun

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hannahthedragon · 4 years ago

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My favorite part of video games has to be people telling stories of things unique to their playthrough. It's just so magical to hear about all these different memories from playing the exact same story. So with that here's a Fire Emblem Three House's fic based around my experience with chapter 17 of Azure Moon. Changed slightly for story reasons of course.

Warnings: Mild gore, death, and of course spoilers for that chapter.

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The Hill I'll Die On

It was a fight just like the one they had oh so long ago. The battle of the eagle and loins. An odd choice of names since all three houses were to partake in it, and this fight was no different. Almost identical to the last one except this time it was no game, and any injury taken would be more than a trip to a healer. Edelgard sent Bernadetta up to a hillside covered with a wooden fortress, her skill with a bow meant she would be the one manning the ballista as defense against the two armies out to kill them. Bernadetta wasn't sure if she could agree with Edelgard, but she held so much power that Bernie couldn't dare speak against her. She couldn't even speak to her when they were simply classmates. It wasn't long before the blue lions approached, which were the only real threat they had to worry about, as it seemed the deer kept to themselves for the most part if she didn't engage. The Loins seemed to have the same plan of following the namesake of the battle and had eyes only set for their army.

Before she could even get a good look at the enemies Dimitri was engulfed in a blinding light, someone used magic to teleport him next to the base of the hill. She swallowed the terrified shriek that she wanted to scream so badly. She has only heard whispers of rumors about the beast the prince had become, but that could not describe the horrid husk approaching, not a semblance of humanity left on his face, clutching his lance so hard it looked ready to snap in half. He wore an eyepatch under the locks of unkempt hair, finally a physical scar of all the trauma he has gone through. She couldn't find the courage to shoot at him, instead aiming the ballista at only half familiar faces, the pair of green hair and single wyvern indicated it was the siblings from the monastery. Her shot crumbled the ground around them, keeping them in place for sometime. By the time she had finished the shot however Dimitri was already at the top of the hill, she stumbled backwards as tears began to cloud her vision, ready for the beast to end her. But to her surprise he didn't attack, he didn't say a word to her, simply turning and spearing another soldier clean through the chest, dead in an instant as the spear pulled back through their body and returned to his side.

Just now reaching the hill as the rabid prince continued cutting through enemies was Linhardt, someone who once belonged to the same house as Bernadetta. It seemed he was still loyal to the professor even after all these years. Now fighting on the opposite sides of the war. He warped Dimitri ever closer to Edelgard as she continued to think of the past. Maybe things could have been different if she had gone with the professor too. Maybe if she hadn't been such a coward and left her room she would have been invited to join. Now that she thought about it she was invited to join. The last month at the school when everything was in chaos. The professor took time out of their day to sit down and have tea with her, she remembers the berry scent it had, her favorite type. They had asked if she wanted to transfer to their class, an odd question so close to the end of the year. The professor likely understood what would happen to those still with Edelgard. Of course she had to be a coward and reject, any change was too much change for her. But it was too late to regret her decision, and now was the time to protect Edelgard. Bernie spun the ballista around the other way and aimed at Dimitri. Linhardt could be ignored for now, if nothing had changed he was still a simple healer, and likely still had the same distaste for bloodshed. She fired at Dimitri ready if for nothing else to hold him back for a minute to slow his advance. The bolt flew towards him, hitting him right on the shoulder. Yet. He didn't even flinch. Did it not hurt him at all? How strong was he! Or does he truly feel nothing anymore? He kept walking. eyes with nothing but pure hatred on them.

Luckily she was right about Linhardt, when she finally could take her eyes off the unstoppable force of a man he was simply healing a far away ally. However two more people approached, the professor themself and the only person who could rival Edelgard in her hatred of Dimitri, Felix. Before any of them had the chance to exchange anything with each other whether it be combat or words, Edlegard shouted a command to her army. Or maybe a threat to the enemies. It was hard to hear only making out the words crimson flames. Those words were quickly met with an explanation as a hail storm of fire rained upon the wooden structure. It hit with a massive explosion hurting everyone who stood upon the hill, now turned ablaze in an instant. Bernadetta fell to the ground as wooden chips sprayed into her leg, and the smoke made it hard to see let alone breath. The first sight she saw looking up towards the other was Linhardt. His eyes terrified and frozen in shock. Not everything had changed in 5 years, or since he left her class, just as she expected the sight of so much blood in an instant made him quickly lose consciousness, she reached her hands out to instinctively even if she couldn't do anything, luckily he was surrounded in a similar light that Dimitri was and was quickly pulled away from the danger. Now leaned in the arms of the young girl who had not aged a day since the war, trying her best to wake and calm him as her brother already headed towards the fire, safe from the air. Next her focus was brought to the two actual fighters, Felix had shielded the professor from danger as they desperately searched for a way out of the flames. This was it, this is where her story was going to end. Edelgard had sent her up here by herself only to pose as a trap. A sacrifice for what she would call a noble cause no matter what. Suddenly everything didn't seem so noble. Bernadetta's fears turned to rage for what had to be the first time in her life. Rage towards Edelgard, rage towards the church, rage towards every person who fought in the war and most importantly rage at herself. For every little choice she could have made to not be here right now. If only she weren't a coward. Now was her time to finally act. If she didn't she would never get another opportunity. Bernadetta grabbed the bow from her back, stood up ignoring the sting in her leg, and armed it, facing the weapon towards Felix and pulling back. He was defenseless, training his sword everyday would mean nothing from this distance. She wanted to yell something at him, shout her feelings at the top of her lungs, but all that came out was a scream as she let go. Right into his back. It didn't kill him, but the next shot would. The professor reacted in shock, ready to be the one to protect him, but before they could Felix pushed them aside and pulled out a shining bow on his own.

"When… when did he learn that." She thought as he let go. "Things have changed haven't they Bernie? This is war after all." Another thought as the silver tipped death approached. "I'm sorry professor…" She mumbled as it entered the side of her stomach. Her angry scream now turned to a scream of nothing but pain. The loudest anyone had ever heard her. The loudest they ever would. She collapsed to the ground, the crackling wood scorching her half conscious body. Burns spreading across her exposed legs, and lighting the wooden arrow still in her body on fire with it. She couldn't breathe anymore as the smoke and charcoal turned the scene black, or maybe her vision did that all on its own. Her tears evaporated instantly in the heat. "I should have said yes…" was all she had the strength to say, as everything went dark, and the fire turned cold.

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o-daintyduck · 5 years ago

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AWAE 3.08 Reaction feat. MY FREAKOUT

The synopsis is giving me hope kinda.. We’ll see Ka'kwet but she’ll still be at the school so more weeping, Aunt Jo visits and brings a devious scheme,.. is it about Diana?? Will she or won’t she have to go to Paris? But why is it devious? And what about shirbert?????

Here we go.

Bruh Anne looks gorgeous in this still photo. All that fire just accentuates her looks!!!

Like an animal??? I’m angry already.

Mr. Avery is back!!! They’ve certainly hatched a plan of some sorts… But I guess it won’t be successful *sighs*

I knew she was in the barrel… Lol everyone knew that.. prolly.

How long will she hold her breath.. and will that poor boy hold the nun without giving anything away.. she’s going to hit him, isn’t she? WTF

Omg Mr. Avery is a beacon of light in this scene… he’s so pure.

Oh my Gods!! Did the plan actually work? She’s holding on it…

Anne is so happy!! Is she lying to Marilla tho? Lol

Wait did they make up??? Moira won’t let me de clown in the Dianne fight too!! Insufferable… But I’m so happy at the same time.. Wait is Anne imagining this?

Well I figured it out before “Diana” ran away, cut me some slack guys… Normally I’m not this stupid..

Fuuuckkkkkk the SCHOOLHOUSE BURNT TO A CRISP…. I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO SAY…

Gilbert sure loves to think out loud,“ the printing press can’t just up and walk away by itself!!”

Yep the fault of small minds…

Man I really miss the schoolhouse… I’m weeping already..5 minutes in..

Miss Stacy is so hurt… the memories i can’t...

Rachel’s gonna throw a fit too!!! Rachel had memories in the school too.. I can’t -

Yass things will not be the same… I said it once and say it again.. Rachel will go rogue by the serie ends… And I’m living for it!!!

I still can’t believe Ka'kwet actually fled that place… So proud of her!!! And anxious too rn.

Ahhhh Bash’s mom is here!!!!!!!!!!!! I already love her… Finally some of that mother’s love for Bash that he missed and Gilbert too!!!!

It’s a diff actress maybe but don’t care … It’s Bash’s mom y'all!!!!!

Yass someone to keep Bash in check too.. love it!! *chef’s kiss*

Lol Anne and Gilbert talking sooo loud!!! And nobody seems to care… Lol

Okay petition for a new gc name– “Can I borrow your pen?”

Okay so the shirbert scene just ended like for the 5th time… And I was gaping all along… Wtf

I really need to meet that kid of Rachel’s… Such chaotic energy to have burned down the shed multiple times.

Was this how Marilla and Rachel behaved when they lived together in the books??? I know the discussion is serious but so precious at the same time.

Lol Bash’s mom definitely is going through a “cultural shock” atm I CAN’T. Two white women cleaning his house while he was away *no offense* but so so hilarious…

Bash’s face says it all..

This first meeting of Grand mamma- Delli is too much for me too handle… Gonna go hug my Nana..

Wait Hazel is fine!! Mom still thinks that she was only summoned for childcare… Welp

Ruby couldn’t speak in front of Gil b4 if her life depended on it.. but oh look now with the crush gone- she’s a new person!!! And the things she saying have me jumping up the roof!!!!

Well ruby I trusted you too much, didn’t I? Aren’t Anne and Gilbert enough on there for bringing up Winnie and now you too!

Gilbert peeked at Anne, I mean how can a boy be so stupid.. no I’m not saying ooc calm your spears,people. my heart is breaking for Anne I can hear it almost.

Diana is going to fight with Jerry too, isn’t she?

LEAVE JERRY ALONE!! he deserves to be happy!!! Not hating on Diana… But he deserves better ..better than this.

My fav gal Aunt Jo!!! Diana wrote to Cole, maybe..and he told her.

Lol its not even been 15 minutes and I’ve written an essay already!!!

I’m confusion.. why does Diana have no choice??

Bash’s Mom lived all her life like this.. it will take her some time to break free from that. But until then, welp

Bash teasing Gilbert is out of this world!!!! And have you heard that Delphine is cho cho cute.. i cringed myself typing this.

I swear Anne is me!!! Had to take a test just today!!! And I was cramming until the last moment.. Matthew and Marilla are so proud.. and jittery too

WHERE IS KA'KWET????

Diana looks like she’s holding back a flood of tears even while eating.. ohhhh she gonna take the test!!!!!!! YAYYY

Aunt Jo’s happiness and pride knows no bound (mine too)

Moody dude, in the words of the ever so great Taylor Swift, you need to calm down.. Diana hasn’t studied nothing think of her..

Where is Gilbert ?? The gc needs to renamed to may I borrow your pen… To commemorate another one of Gilbert’s shenanigans. Ehh called it ! He didn’t take the test..

I’m all for bromance bw Miss Stacy and Bash but nothing more than that please….

This is the 4th (and presumably last) appearance of Winifred… I want her to remain involved, shes too cool, but just can’t figure her out even now…

Here it is!!! An advantageous marriage.. very few people could have called it b4 the season.. but it is canon.. I’m not worried about shirbert.. but just how far Gilbert is willing to go for his ambitions.

Okay the kids are wasted!!

A drunk Anne and somewhat sober Gilbert, the perfect combo!!!!!! I have read atleast 5 fics head canoning this…*another chef’s kiss for the fic writers*

Okay nobody imagined this …I take that back… That look Gilbert is giving her made my stomach to leap a mile…

What’s holding you back? Ahh the question of the ages… I’m gushing at this so much,like this is serious but the first person Gil wanted to ask was Anne about all of this.. and she’s so drunk but at the same time utterly heartbroken, still encourages him to do it…. Slow burn madafuka.

Okay the PROPOSAL just happened !!!

And I’m freaking out just every bit as Anne!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I’m really not okay and they had to show Ka'kwet feeding off of berries… The poor girl *cries yet again*

They are searching the letters, aren’t they???

No, the dictionary and a wedding ring… And here I go weeping again…

I really went outside to scream at the sky a second ago… But need to scream again!!!! I’ll not be okay this week or this year at all.

Anne needs her bosom friend now… She’s just been PROPOSED!!!!!!! I know it’s gonna go haywire any second now but please let me live this for now… I can’t even imagine this is happening..

Aunt Jo with the best advice… Just hope Anne takes it as we want her to..

Bash has his mother with him.. i’m just happy for him.

He’s gonna propose Anne and I too need to get up for this again…. BASH IS THE WHOLE FANDOM RIGHT ABOUT NOW.

And that’s how you shatter a million hearts!!! “Now I can be happy with Winnie”.. I’m still happy that they didn’t stretch this till the finale atleast.. the heartache would have been unbearable.

Marilla is onto something. Now Rachel has full reign over these old hacks.

Go Rachel Go go Go Rachel!!! They just got vetoed!!! And I love it… Other 2 women will have to be Muriel and Marilla..

SHE’S HOME AT LAST!!!!!

And in her mother’s arms!! Is it too late to give those nuns and that whole school HELL

Poor Minnie May and Diana.. atleast she’ll understand now that she always has a choice to be herself no matter what anybody says…

I love that They’ve made up!!! They are made for each other… #DianneForever

“I’m in love with Gilbert Blythe!”

Aren’t we all? Anne.

It took me 3 hours to watch this episode because i was freaking out so much, tell me if this was comprehensible at all if you came this far…

This episode was different for so many reasons but the proposal...oh the proposal... excuse me gotta scream again..

And “Anne rejected” him... i guess Moira couldn’t stray far from og on this one.

#anne with an e #shirbert #anne shirley cuthbert #gilbert blythe

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the-soulscorch · 5 years ago

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KINGLEY VALE

Along The South Downs Way, near West Stoke and heading towards Stoughton. Passing by the Iron Age Goose Hill Camp. The New Stone Age, 6000 year old, flint mine. The Neolithic Barrows and the Bronze Age Cross Dyke boundary for Bow Hill and the Bow Hill Camp (a particularly well preserved hilltop enclosure) There’s even a possible Temple from the Romano-Celtic period. Keep climbing up to the very top of Bow Hill. Up to the two enormous Bronze Age burial mounds known as The King’s Graves or The Devil’s Humps. These “Bowl Barrows” and “Bell Barrows” thousands of years ago would have been covered in gleaming white chalk and sitting in such a prominent, commanding position could have been seen for miles. Climb to the top of one of The Devil’s Humps. Looking South, Chichester Harbour is on the right. The Bosham Channel, slightly left, leading to Bosham Harbour. Legends tell of King Canute, sitting on his chair to turn the tide at Bosham and of the tragedy of Canute’s drowned daughter buried in Bosham Church. Face North and there, the valley way below, is the mystical Kingley Vale.

Kingley Vale comprises of chalk grassland and woodland. The valleys sides are densely populated by trees and the bottom and entrance of the Vale is a forest too. Oak, Ash, Hawthorn, Blackthorn and Dogwoods grow together but the predominant species is the “Tree Of The Dead” the Yew tree. The Yew thrives in the shallow chalk soil and the valleys slopes are almost pure Yew forest. Arguably one of the finest examples of a Yew forests in Western Europe. The forest contains a large grove of twisted, ancient, veteran trees, that are among some of the oldest living things in the UK.

It’s notoriously hard to date Yew trees. They are slow growing evergreens. They die from the core outwards making it impossible to count rings and Yews can go dormant for years, effectively not putting on any growth. Their branches weigh so much and grow so long they end up touching the ground and putting down roots. Giving the appearance of a new ring of tree’s surrounding an old decrepit tree. A Veteran Yew tree could easily be 2000 years old and possibly as old as 9000 years.

The veteran Yews canopy is vast and dense, blocking out the sunlight. It’s like walking into a tree cave or a domed living building. The birds and other wildlife tend to avoid the darkness underneath the canopy. Whatever the season a Yew forest is strangely quiet and unnaturally cold. The summer sun barely penetrates, just the odd beam, like a flickering torch. In the autumn and winter months, the cracked, twisted limbs are constantly damp and decidedly dank. In spring, the sun just illuminates the fantastic sight of great clouds of yellow pollen drifting through the air.

In pre historic times, the Druids revered the Yew tree, one of the few evergreen trees in Britain. Having great longevity and an ability to grow trees from its own limbs, it was seen as a symbol of everlasting life, of death and rebirth. Yews were landmarks, meeting points and places to gather. They used the wood for their bows, spears, staves and wands. They made carvings from Yew wood, as offerings, left at sacred sites. The poisonous needles and berries were used in ceremonies. The Romans recorded occasions of death by sword or Yew tree poisoning rather than surrender. There are Tumuli scattered all along The South Downs Way, it was a busy area in pre historic times. In Kingley Vale alone, there are a minimum of 14 scheduled ancient monuments. In pre history the area would of held a vast significance.

Themes of eternity, death and resurrection surrounding the Yew continued into Christian times. The early Christians often took over pre Christian sacred sites. Most older churches have a Yew tree, some pre dating the earliest church on the site. Yew boughs, at Easter, were taken into churches as symbols of palm’s and shoots were woven into mixed wreaths.

Being amongst the veteran Yews it’s easy to feel why Kingley Vale has such a reputation for the supernatural.

Vikings ransacked Bosham Church and escaped on the tide. Although the ship carrying the church bell, sank with all hands, in the Bosham Channel. Local legend tells that when the weather is rough, the bell can be heard to toll.

Returning in 859 the Viking raiders missed the notoriously quick tide. They became trapped between the mud flats and the advancing men of Chichester, showed no mercy. The Vikings bodies were taken to Kingley Vale and buried. To mark the victory, Yews were planted, one over each Vikings grave. Legend has it that Yews were planted so their vast root systems would keep the dead in their graves. At night, their restless spirits look for a passage back to the sea but they are forever lost in Kingley Vales “Tree’s Of The Dead” forest. On the summer night anniversary of the Vikings burial, a river of blood is meant to flow past the veteran trees, standing out against the white chalk. Some say the ghosts are the old Druids and their sacrifices gathering around the loan sacrificial Oak, surrounded by the ancient Trees Of The Dead. There are stories of the trees themselves moving, changing their shapes, surrounding the unwise or naive walker.

In the vale, from the medieval period, field boundaries are still visible. Henry V victory at Agincourt was famously won by the mud and the longbow. Its claimed the bows were made from Yews cut from Kingley Vale.

In the 1800’s the valley was used by the military as a rifle range. During World War 2 the West Stoke Home Guard was based in Kingley Vale. An underground control base was at the bottom of the valley and the remains of its observation post can still be seen on the western ridge. Troops also trained in the Vale, particularly in the build up to D-day. Some shrapnel damage is still, sadly, visible on some of the older trees and the odd crater can be found in the chalk grasslands. Amazingly it wasn’t until 1990 that Kingley Vale was properly cleared. 6000 live rounds of various types was removed!

Kingley Vale oozes a strange timelessness. There’s the ancient mysterious past almost everywhere you look. Its Ice Age formed landscape, surrounds and encloses, draws you into a living history with the veteran Yew Grove. It’s been a unique magical place for thousands of years. And the view, above the Vale on Bow Hill is beautiful, especially on a clear day. If you get half a chance I urge you to make a visit.

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journalxxx · 6 years ago

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A Winter’s Tale

"...Oh no." Wilson's blood ran cold when he saw the destroyed drying racks and unearthed berry bushes. A row of thick icicles emerged straight from the earth, each one as tall as himself, disrupting the ground around the northern side of the camp, and nowhere else. He looked around frantically, but there were no other traces of the passage of the giant anywhere. "It was a Deerclops, then." Wendy remarked with her usual detachment towards all things tragic and monstruous. Wilson had to reluctantly agree with her: if it roared from almost a kilometre away like a Deerclops, and left trails of deadly ice in its wake like a Deerclops, it was probably a Deerclops. Webber and Wickerbottom put down their baskets of freshly shaved beefalo fur, and they all moved to inspect the base. "Maxwell? Wigfrid? Wolfgang?" Wilson called out, but he received no answer. The rest of the camp was undamaged, but also completely deserted, the missing survivors' tents empty. "Wilson! Here!"

Webber was pointing at the side of the biggest chest near Wilson's alchemy engine. Crudely scribbled on it with a piece of charcoal that lay abandoned on the ground, there were only two huge words: Don't follow. The scientist recognised Maxwell's handwriting immediately. The way his usually flourished letters were deformed by the clear hurry and the roughness of the writing instrument made Wilson's chest constrict painfully. "...Oh no." "Wilson. I believe we don't have too many reasons for concern, all things considered." "Is that so?" Wilson inquired distractedly, more out of politeness than real interest. Wickerbottom's firm tone was often enough to call anyone to attention, but at the moment he was slightly preoccupied with examining the disastrous scenario of Maxwell and a Deerclops meeting eye to eye. No pun intended. "Indeed. The camp is almost untouched, meaning that the others must have managed to flee before the beast could catch them unprepared here. Some weapons, armor and food are missing. Maxwell even had enough time to leave a message. They must have seen it coming, and thought of a plan to deal with it." "...I guess so." Wilson was squinting at the horizon, trying to spot any sign of the beast. How did such a humongous creature vanish from sight in an area with no mountains or slopes? Maybe he could be able to spot the beacon created by its eye after the sunset... "Your meat statue is intact too. Clearly there haven't been any victims yet, and that leaves them some wiggle room for whatever strategy they may be employing." "That's true." One meat statue. Just one, for three endangered people. Not nearly enough, if things went wrong. And- well, it was both a relief and an anguish to realize that evidence pointed at Maxwell as the most vulnerable element in the trio. He would probably be fine if he died first, but what of the others? Or what if, by some bizarre trick of fate, he were to perish after- "Wilson." Wickerbottom's hand landed on his shoulder, interrupting his spiralling thoughts. "I hope you aren't thinking of looking for them." "Well, what else are we supposed to do?" Wilson blurted out, maybe a tad too harshly, as he was already checking the contents of his own backpack. Not enough healing salve, a damaged log armor, the pan flute- how did it get there? Would it be effective against a Deerclops? "They might need help- hell, who wouldn't-" "They left us a clear indication as to what we should be doing, namely waiting. Moreover, it's getting dark. I'm not going to lead a couple of children into battle against a wrathful monster in the middle of the night." "I would never ask you to do such a thing, but I cannot simply wait here-" "Young man, clearly you are not a fool nor a daredevil, so please refrain from acting as one. I won't let you wander off without direction in the darkness either." Her eyes became more sympathetic. "I'm sure they have the situation under control. Between Maxwell's resourcefulness and Wigfrid and Wolfgang's prowess, I'll be surprised if we won't see them all come back tomorrow by dawn." Wilson had to admit it made sense. He dreaded to think of what would have happened if the monster had targeted their group instead of the camp. A team made up of an old lady, two kids and a scrawny scientist had considerably fewer chances than one counting a veritable Valkyrie, a reborn Hercules and a scrawny magician. He couldn't help but be deeply concerned for his scrawny counterpart, though. He glanced at his surroundings again. The darkness was rapidly falling, as thick as oil, and no red glows were visible anywhere. "...You are right. We should at least wait until morning before doing anything." The evening passed with excruciating slowness, bearing no signs or sounds of ongoing battles from any direction. Wilson forced himself to swallow a sad excuse for a portion of meatballs, repeating himself that he'd need to be in good shape the following morning to search for his comrades. He would also need to be well-rested, as Wickerbottom thoughtfully reminded him, but he couldn't bring himself to sleep just yet. He waited, a spear clutched in his hand and huddled close to the fire, making sure the flame was always as high as safety allowed, at least to provide a visible landmark to ease the trip of whoever might, hopefully, be returning.

"...And this is why I insist you never let your beard grow too much." Wilson jolted awake with a gasp, finding himself exceedingly bent forwards, his face looming dangerously over the warm embers. He tightened his grasp on the spear he was loosely hanging onto when he must have dozed off, suddenly feeling as if he was about to fall, but two hands gripped his shoulders tightly, steadying him. They were as hard as flint and just as cold, their fingers roughly shaped and sharp. They weren't the kind of hands anyone ever wished to be touched by, but in that moment they were all Wilson was praying for. He blindly squeezed their owner's arm, breathing a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God." "I swear, if you manage to die by faceplanting into a fire pit or setting your head on fire after surviving everything I've thrown at you, I'm going to be massively disappointed." Maxwell plopped down on the log beside him with a groan. Wilson quickly scanned him from head to toe, noticing a comforting lack of bloodstains and torn fabric. "Are you all right? Where are the others?" "Yes, and there." Maxwell pointed behind himself. Indeed, Wolfgang and Wigfrid were striding into the camp chatting enthusiastically, a victorious smile on their faces and several huge chunks of meat in their arms. They nodded at Wilson when their gazes met. "Wilsön! Fear nöt, the beast is slain! We thank yöu for hölding döwn the fört." "Ehr, don't mention it. Are you two all right?" "Do not worry, tiny man! Monster was mighty, but we were more mighty!" "They may have a bruise or two on them. Nothing too drastic though, everything went surprisingly smoothly." Maxwell commented, throwing some wood into the fire pit and raising a small puff of crackling sparkles. "I guess I'd better go check on them. Are you sure you're not injured?" Wilson asked, squeezing the man's shoulder, with the tone of someone who didn't quite doubt the certainty of his claim so much as its sincerity. "Not even a scratch. Go do your thing, I'll help myself to some grub." The two fierce combatants were indeed almost unscathed, save for few negligible cuts here and there that didn't even require any stitches. Wilson almost couldn't believe that just the three of them had managed to take down a Deerclops that easily - well, it surely couldn't have been easy, but they seemed to have fared fantastically. Wickerbottom joined them briefly to congratulate them on the heroic deed, and soon they all headed back to their own tents for a well-deserved rest. Wilson, instead, joined Maxwell near the fire, where he was still busy munching on some jerky. "...You're going to be the death of me, you know?" "Curious. I could swear I've already been that. Multiple times. Too may to count." "What did I say about joking on murders? Especially mine?" "'One of these days I'll introduce you to their parents.' No, wait. That was about child abduction." Wilson casually, accidentally, so very clumsily, elbowed Maxwell on the head as he sat down beside him. "Really, though. Don't follow. Talk about ominous. I'm surprised your flair for melodrama didn't compel you to splash some blood around the message." Maxwell snorted, idly tearing apart the jerky into smaller strips before popping them in his mouth. "I'm sorry for neglecting to write you a ten-page essay detailing our current predicament and the several coping options that occurred to me, but I was a tad pressed for time." "How did you defeat it though?" Wilson mused, wrapping his arm around the other's waist. Maxwell dusted some invisible crumbles of food off his hands. "As much as I'd love to boast about my impeccable strategy, I'm afraid our greatest asset was luck. I had just loaded up on fuel, Wolfgang was in top shape and Wigfrid- well, I don't know, I guess she felt especially inspired for today's performance. I kept the beast's attacks focussed on a veritable swarm of puppets while the two brutes merrily hacked at it, et voilà." "Impressive." Wilson smiled. On a whim, he took the liberty of reaching beneath Maxwell's jacket, swiftly slipping the small wooden box from the inner pocket. "This calls for a celebration, I suppose." "Hey, that's the last one-" "Winter's Feast is almost upon us. I'm sure you'll find more in your gifts." There was indeed a single cigar left in the box. Maxwell raised an eyebrow, halfway between surprised and irked, but he didn't move to stop him. Or, at least, he didn't until the scientist brought the cigar to his mouth to cut it. "Not with your teeth, you animal!" Maxwell snapped, snatching it back so quickly that Wilson almost couldn't see it. He turned it over in his hand with a scowl, inspecting the surface to make sure there were no untoward indents. "Could you possibly be more uncivilized?" ...All right, he may have done that on purpose. Wilson barely held back a smile as he watched Maxwell press the sharp tip of his claw to the head of the cigar and rotate it with few rapid, expert movements, neatly piercing the outer layer. When he removed his finger, the hole was almost perfectly circular. He put the cigar in his mouth while he grabbed the tongs and selected a dark red ember from the firepit. He held the tip of the cigar above it, rolling it over the scorching charcoal without quite touching it, just close enough for the heat to sear the outer rim. His lips curled around the base as he drew small, rhythmic puffs to feed the fire, thick whiffs of smoke escaping from the corners of his mouth. It took Maxwell a good minute to light his cigar properly, but Wilson didn't mind: he could have spent the whole night watching that entrancing sight, and he would have called it a night well spent. When he was done, the scientist reached out to take the cigar, but his hand was unceremoniously swatted away. "I changed my mind. You don't deserve it." "Oh, come on." He protested, to no avail. He pouted and moved to stand up. "All right then, I guess I may as well go to bed. Enjoy your smoke." "Hang on, you spoiled brat. I do have something for you." Maxwell simply grabbed him by his shoulder and dragged him back down, almost toppling him over. Wilson watched curiously as he rummaged in his backpack, only to pull out... "Wow. An eye. You really shouldn't have." "Not just any eye. I snagged it before Wigfrid could gobble it down like a common meatball. There are much better uses for this than consumption." "Such as? A pair of glasses for you? Heavens, the lens must be massive..." Wilson took the Deerclops eyeball, and almost dropped it by accident. It was bigger than his own head, and unexpectedly heavy and slippery. His deformed reflection eerily stared back at him from the huge pupil. "No, no, Deerclopes are as blind as moles. I'm talking about weapons. This thing shoots lasers, pal! I'm sure that a genius of your caliber can come up with wondrous applications for such an extraordinary resource." "I'm sensing several things in your last statement. First, sarcasm. Second, prevarication. What do you want me to do with it?" Maxwell grinned. "How about an automated defense mechanism?" "Uh...." Wilson blinked. "I fear you may be genuinely overestimating the 'caliber of my genius'. I don't see how I could turn this into anything like that." "You don't see it yet, but you'll come round to my point of view as soon as you step close enough to an Ancient Station, I'm sure." "You want to go to the Ruins? You hate it down there." "I don't think they're even remotely as intriguing as you and Wickerbottom claim, and they're way too dangerous for pointless sightseeing. But there are valuable materials and knowledge to be found, if one knows where to look." "Hm..." Wilson examined the odd bulb more closely. Maxwell once said that those things were imperishable, and, seeing one from up close, Wilson could understand why. It must have been severed from the beast's carcass at the very least an hour earlier, but it was still warm and vital. A rich network of capillaries and arterioles carried bright red and oxigenated blood to each region of the eye, despite the clear lack of a systemic circulation. The stump of the optic nerve emerging from the back didn't bleed nor it appeared damaged, it just ended cleanly as if it had never been any longer. The whole surface of the eye was uniformly moist, keeping it well hydrated and protected from the outer environment. Maxwell could be onto something, there must still be a great deal of magic coursing through the organ to keep it so perfectly preserved and functional. He tilted the fascinating specimen sideways, admiring the visible crypts adorning the iris and the round recess of the pupil, almost expecting the eye to spontaneously roll between his hands to focus its gaze back on him. "...We'll see. If it can still shoot, it's a good idea to experiment away from the base anyway, just in case." When he finally raised his gaze from the eye, he noticed that Maxwell was staring at him. A hand supporting his chin, a thin strand of smoke rising up from his cigar, a small, amused smile softening his usually sharp features. "...What?" Wilson asked, a faint warmth raising to his cheeks. Maxwell shook his head silently, but he didn't stop studying him. "What is it?" Wilson asked again. "You have a certain look about you, when you put your hands on a new toy." "What sort of look?" Wilson pressed, while Maxwell retrieved the eye and carefully put it back in his own backpack. "...A good one." It always caught him off guard, when Maxwell decided to simply offer him a compliment instead of hiding it behind a barricade of prickly sarcasm. It wasn't terribly uncommon, not any more, but it still felt somewhat unexpected. Wilson didn't quite know how to reply as Maxwell resumed smoking quietly, staring idly at the darkness, the fingers of his free hand tapping an unrecognisable pattern on his knee. It caught Wilson's attention and he stopped to wonder, for maybe the hundredth time, how those dangerously sharp claws didn't accidentally poke holes into the fine fabric, or into Maxwell's own paper-thin skin. He lay his own hand on Maxwell's, his palm curling over his wrist and his fingers barely brushing his lumpy knuckles. "...I'm glad you're all right." He watched in fascination as the unyielding black shadow covering Maxwell's limb quivered and dissolved beneath Wilson's touch, slowly and neatly, like ice melting near a dwarf star. The solid darkness gradually receded completely, slithering away under the cuff of Maxwell's jacket, exposing the warm, pale skin and bony joints therein. Wilson ran his fingertip along the back of Maxwell's hand, following the prominent lines of the tendons back and forth. "As am I." Maxwell murmured, observing the process as well with some sort of languid interest. Wilson wanted to kiss him, he surely would have, but just a moment before he did, Maxwell offered him the cigar. The shadows had retreated from the other hand too, leaving it bare and white and soft, pinching the cigar between two long, lithe fingers. No doubt he intended to simply hand it to Wilson, but it just so happened that Maxwell was holding it just at the right angle and height for Wilson to take a drag directly from Maxwell's hand, so he did. He leisurely let his mouth curl around the wrapper and pulled a generous puff; it was decidedly not by accident that his lips brushed Maxwell's fingers too. He savoured the familiar bitterness of the smoke, letting it warm and tickle his tongue before exhaling slowly. It was an acquired taste, and by far not the strangest one he had developed in the last months. "Thank you." Regrettably, Maxwell didn't seem especially impressed by Wilson's gesture, but he did take his next drag remarkably quickly, almost as soon as Wilson's lips left the cigar. Wilson had no idea how late it was, probably very much so, but neither of them was in any particular rush to sleep. They sat in front of the dying fire for a long while, quietly sharing the smoke and the company. Wilson kept caressing the other man's hand absently, and eventually Maxwell's arm found its way around his shoulders, pulling him closer. His shoulder was just at the perfect height for Wilson to comfortably rest his head against it, and it would have been foolish not to take advantage of such a convenient arrangement. "...It was early. The Deerclops, I mean." Wilson sighed, leaning heavily against Maxwell as the tiredness of the day suddenly caught up with him. "I'm not sure winter has even started yet. And it showed up in broad daylight instead of at night, with no warning whatsoever." "Things are changing." Maxwell conceded gravely, briefly squeezing his shoulder. "I guess the Constant doesn't quite live up to its name any longer." "To be honest, it was never fitting to begin with." "Everyone's a critic." Maxwell rolled his eyes impatiently, then he smirked. "It's supposed to be a joke, you know? And a rather witty one, if I say so myself." "I don't get it, and I'm fairly well-versed in puns and the like." "You aren't exactly the intended audience." Wilson side-eyed him, a sharp retort forming on the tip of his tongue, but he thought better of saying it. Because that, with Maxwell so close to him and so miraculously unharmed and so good-naturedly playful and so delightfully bathed by the faint light of the fire, that was an excellent moment for a kiss. He closed the gap between them, and relished Maxwell's immediate response, as if they had reached the same conclusion at the same time. Their heads were already bent at the right, well-learnt angles when their mouths touched, their lips already parted and inviting. Their tongues were tinged with the same smoky taste, their cheeks equally red and warm. It was Maxwell who broke that perfect symmetry, his hand sliding up Wilson's shoulder, brushing against his neck and cupping his nape, his fingers burrowing through that lush mess of hair to hold him even closer. It felt perfect, in a way that very few moments were allowed to feel, and Wilson, in his remarkable wisdom, eventually interrupted it himself before some other unexpected accident could, as it was inevitable. "Things are changing." Wilson repeated as he pulled back gently, just slightly out of breath, his hands barely slipping beneath the hems of Maxwell's jacket. "But we are adapting too." "And we're making a damn good job at that." Maxwell was, as experience had proved over and over again, almost completely impervious to wisdom. He kissed Wilson again, more fervently, teasing his lower lip with his teeth, tempting him with the prospect and the memory of a much more enjoyable lapse of judgement, and Wilson couldn't help but respond with equal passion. He embraced him fully, almost ready to climb on his lap then and there, to flick the cigar off of that stubborn hand that still wasn't touching him, so that it could be put to better use. The mandatory interruption the universe sent their way manifested as a loud snort coming from somewhere behind them, in the general area of the tents. Just Wolfgang snoring away, Wilson recognized, a very mild and inconsequential hitch in what was turning out to be a very promising sequence of events. Nevertheless, that minor hindrance was enough to make Maxwell positively leap away from him, breaking the kiss and the hug with almost offensive speed. The man had no qualms with discussing the goriest details of monster creation and human dismemberment in front of an audience composed of both children and his own victims, and yet God forbid anyone ever saw him indulging in any sort of softer emotion, not even of the most morally questionable kind. Luckily for him, Wilson was not only wise, but also exceedingly forgiving. He chuckled, earning himself a piqued glare, which he easily defused with a firm caress along the other's thigh. "Have you warmed up enough?" "I have the strong feeling that, regardless of my answer, you're about to delight me with a brilliant double entendre on how I could achieve an optimal body temperature." Wilson laughed and lay a quick kiss on his cheek before standing up. "I'll be with you in a minute." Maxwell gave him a look and stood up as well, stretching his back and walking back to his tent. It was a bit separate from the others, barely within the range of the light from the pit and half-hidden from view from the designated sleeping area by a bunch of assorted machinery. The optimal placement for both solitary meditation and companionable deviance. Wilson threw one of the bigger, greener logs in the pit, so that it would hopefully last until morning. He grabbed a lantern and two hot thermal stones and headed to the tent as well. Maxwell was already getting undressed, swiftly removing his collar in the barely safe glow that filtered through the fabric, and Wilson had to pause for a moment to take in the sudden intimacy of the atmosphere. Maxwell threw a questioning glance at him, and Wilson shook his head with a small smile. He placed the lit lantern on the ground, and one stone at each side of the fur roll, to ward off both the darkness and the late autumn chill. Unfortunately, by the time he was sprawled on the mat, as ready as he'd ever be and as naked as the day he was born, Maxwell had only divested himself of his shoes, jacket, tie, and waistcoat. Wilson groaned in exasperation as, as per habit, Maxwell unbuttoned his shirt with methodical, painstaking slowness, taking care of straightening it out afterwards, and fastidiously draped it on a wire hanger - a wire hanger, of all things. Where had that infuriating man even found a damn wire hanger in a place like that? "If we could conclude or at least start this before dawn, I would appreciate it immensely." "Hush, you." He glared at Wilson, or at least he tried to, as Wilson could see his train of thought derail spectacularly before the full display of the scientist's graces. He did, however, recover his scowl when his gaze landed on the bunch of balled-up clothes Wilson had unceremoniously shoved in a corner of the tent. "...You are wholly undeserving of the few mercies I have bestowed upon this land." "What? What are you talking about?" "Your clothes, you lout! You treat them like rags because you already know every tear and stain will eventually fix itself. The sheer nerve of you lot..." "Wait... You made it so?" Wilson blinked. "I thought it just sort of... happened." Maxwell snorted. He undid his belt and slid it out of the loops with a single, smooth gesture, then inserted the end into the buckle a few times over, neatly rolling it on itself with equally practiced movements that, for utterly unfathomable reasons, stirred a vague turmoil below Wilson's stomach. "Nothing 'just sort of happens' here. I specifically devised a way to make everyone's clothes - just the ones you wore when you arrived here, mind you - somewhat indestructible because I was tired of seeing every goddamn idiot on this existential plane frolick around wearing garments made of foliage or badly sewn ponchos, if not almost completely naked." "...What?" Wilson gaped, unable to believe his ears. Maxwell went on, undeterred. "You heard me. Out of pure kindness, I also granted a touch of color to whatever tasteless hand-made piece of wearable garbage you crafted - or do you really think that beefalo wool naturally turns red and blue the moment you baptize it as a winter hat? This might be a veritable hell of pain and despair, but it doesn't need to be utterly unsightly as well - what the hell is wrong with you, now?" Maxwell snapped, seeing as Wilson had started laughing like a lunatic about halfway through his tirade. And he kept going and going, shaking uncontrollably and holding his belly, unable to even try to contain the noise. He just couldn't help it. He couldn't even see, his eyes filled with literal tears and his facial muscles sore from the strain. When he emerged from his bout of hilarity, gasping for air, Maxwell was glaring at him, fingers tapping in annoyance on his crossed arms. "Are you quite done?" That was all Wilson needed to start giggling again like an overexcited toddler. Maxwell rolled his eyes, motioning to grab his shirt. "All right, fine, I'll be in your tent when you're done with- whatever this is supposed to-" Wilson leapt on his knees, grabbing Maxwell's wrists and preventing him from undoing the hard-earned progress he had made with undressing himself. He pulled him down until they both fell sitting on the mat, still cackling madly, and threw his arms around him, effectively trapping him on the spot. "I actually used to be afraid of you, you know?" He laughed against the other man's neck. "Honest-to-God terrified. I used to think that torturing me was your only purpose and source of joy-" "God, I know. Good times, weren't they? When the mere thought of stealing my last cigar or laughing in my face would have warranted you the most unimaginable pain humanly-" "-While you were actually busy employing the full extent of your dreadful, devious powers to make sure I respected your dress code-" Wilson snickered, before Maxwell decided to put an end to his nonsense by shutting his mouth with a kiss. It was much unlike their earlier kisses: it was fierce and hungry, imposing even, an urgent call to attention that Wilson immediately abided to. Maxwell's hands roamed over his back, swiftly sliding down to squeeze both his buttocks possessively. "Cheeky." Wilson smiled, forcing Maxwell's mouth to redirect its ministrations to his jaw, brushing his lips against that decidedly overgrown stubble that Maxwell loved so much, whether he cared to admit it or not. "Fooling around in my tent at night stark naked, that's cheeky." Maxwell retorted testily, digging his fingers in the dip of Wilson's lower back, massaging it in a way that drew a soft moan out of him and made him press their bodies closer against one another. That reminded Wilson very clearly of exactly how large of a portion of Maxwell's body was still regrettably covered by fabric, namely almost all of it, and he decided to take the pressing matter in his own hands. He hastily unbuttoned Maxwell's union suit and peeled it off his upper half - bare skin, at last! - leaving it hanging around the waistline as he stopped to take in the sight of Maxwell's torso. It always took him a moment to overcome the disquieting sense of frailty that those prominent bones and scarce flesh instilled in him, but he was getting better at it. Wilson kissed the hollow of Maxwell's throat, descending from there along the line of his sternum, nuzzling the barest hint of hair that graced his lover's chest as he pressed his hands just above his navel, against his stomach. He briefly marveled at the clear pulse of the aorta he could feel beneath his palm. In fact, Wilson was sure that one could very well write an entire anatomy dissertation just by looking at the man's body, seeing how admirably exposed and evident so many of his features were. The sharp angles of his clavicles, the jutting chords of his sternocleidomastoids, the defined profile of each rib, the deep blue veins standing out on the pale skin of his inner wrists and elbow pits, the pronounced dip of his anatomical snuffbox that was so clearly visible when he bent a shadow to his will with few precise hand gestures, were only few of the many small delights a keen eye and mouth could appreciate on Maxwell's physique. Wilson let one such mouth linger there, laying kiss after kiss on the slightly sagging skin covering his thin pectorals, worrying the small nipples with playful flickers of his tongue. He spread his hands on Maxwell's sides, letting his palms curl around the outline of his ribcage and following it back to his spine, back and forth, taking a fond note of the expansion of the man's chest with each breath. He felt Maxwell sigh and hold his head close, both hands digging in his hair and lightly scratching his scalp. He had a thing for messing with Wilson's hair, just like he had a thing for messing with Wilson in general, and the scientist, patient as he was, sometimes just let him do that. The diversion was pleasant, but Wilson had yet to achieve his goal. Eventually, he unbuttoned Maxwell's trousers and pulled them down, together with the rest of the bunched up underwear and, after some less than elegant manouvres that earned him a few disgrunted grumbles, he was finally able to triumphantly tear off the garments from Maxwell's legs. "Don't-!" Maxwell preemptively snapped, fully expecting Wilson to add his precious trousers to the untidy pile of his own mistreated clothes, but Wilson knew better. He stood up and straightened up the fine garment, folding it neatly in half and draping it on the wire hanger as well. He even folded up the underwear and placed in Maxwell's personal chest. When he looked back at Maxwell, the unguarded fondness he could read in his eyes informed him of the correctness of his approach. The way to some men's heart was through their stomach, and the way to some others' was preserving their wardrobe selection from creases and disarray. "Come here." Maxwell invited him, and Wilson gladly complied. Finally, finally he could feel the whole of his lover's body bared against him, finally he could relish the riveting friction of skin against skin, all the way down to their most intimate spots. There were more kisses, more and more kisses, hungry and teasing and languid and wanton, kisses that Wilson never seemed to get tired of. He cupped Maxwell's jaws, he felt their sharp outline under his fingertips as he tipped the other man's head at just the perfect angle to deepen the kiss as much as possible, loving how Maxwell's tongue responded in kind to his well-meaning intrusion, loving how other notable parts of both their bodies responded as well to the sweet attention. Unthinkingly, he wrapped his arm around the other's waist and rocked his hips firmly against him, earning himself a throaty groan that would surely come back to haunt him in his dreams. That seemed to inspire Maxwell to move further along the list of the many delightful steps that ought to compose a fully satisfying encounter between two similarly inclined gentlemen. He coaxed Wilson down on the fur roll, his long limbs perched possessively above him, to which Wilson had no objection whatsoever. Maxwell kissed him again, his mouth, his beard, his neck, leaving a trail of tingling wetness wherever he landed, tilting his head in the most comfortable position by lightly grabbing the scientist's hair - heavens, it must be a veritable mess by now, he'd better remember to wake up earlier to fix it first thing in the morning - while Wilson could do little more than enjoy that ravenous attention. Maxwell didn't stop there, apparenly hellbent on tasting every square inch of Wilson's skin, and he then descended to his chest. His mouth spent a delightful eternity toying with Wilson's nipples, while his hands roamed freely on the soft expanse of his abdomen, his fingers carding through the dark hair, first disrupting and then smoothing down the natural trail of the strands. Wilson moaned softly when those clever hands started exploring his groin, tickling the dark curls there too and stopping just short of reaching his erection, deviating then towards his thighs and hips. Wilson was indeed patient, but he was not above pushing that maddening man's head further down the road towards their common goal. Maxwell snorted and smirked at him. "Yes?" Maxwell mocked, resting his chin on Wilson's stomach, gracing him with a look of affected curiosity. As a reply, Wilson unceremoniously thrusted his hips upwards against the man's chest. "Oh. Mh. I see." Maxwell sat up and studied the evident problem with an expression that gave Wilson the sudden urge to kiss him and slap him at the same time. Maxwell had a wide range of expressions that caused that same reaction, in fact, and Wilson was in the middle of recalling a good dozen of them when suddenly Maxwell bent down, licked his lips - no less - and took the whole of Wilson's length in his mouth. "Ngkh- God-" Wilson eloquently declared, grasping at the fur beneath him with both hands. He would never get used to that, he would never be able to take in the sight of his own cock just disappearing into another man's mouth like that without having to remind himself that the act did not, in fact, conflict with any anatomical notion in his possession. That Maxwell could do it without any preparation or without gagging even slightly was a bit harder to swallow - ah! - but he'd rather not question that side of the issue at all. Maxwell stopped, with Wilson's cock firmly slotted in his throat, and looked at him, straight in the eye, as he slowly pulled away, his red, swollen lips sliding wetly along the engorged organ. It felt and looked obscenely good, and utterly sinful, and Wilson enjoyed it fully, daring the heavens to throw him in a deeper hell that the one he'd already lived in, before the devil himself unexpectedly switched sides. He kept watching in utter fascination as Maxwell's lips lingered on his tip, giving it a light suck before relishing it completely. Then they disappeared from the view, dipping lower, lavishing small pecks and quick licks around the base of his testicles. Wilson closed his eyes, already way in over his head, thighs trembling with pleasure and breath hitching with each tantalizing touch of that devious mouth. Maxwell's hands were light on his hips, leaving him perfectly free to move and thrust at his leisure, had he wanted to, and that somehow made the whole experience even more torturous. He kept himself still, letting his pleasure build while Maxwell's mouth toyed with him, producing a variety of wet sounds that seemed absurdly loud in the complete silence. He waited as the warm wetness of his tongue slowly made its way to his cock again, around the base, along the lower side, up to the tip, almost- almost taking him in again, but at that point Wilson realised that he wasn't sure he'd be able to- "Wait." He gasped, suddenly grasping Maxwell's shoulder. "I want..." One day. One day, maybe, he'd work out a fitting way to ask another man to sodomize him, provided he miraculously managed to survive long enough. Until that fateful day, though, he could count on Maxwell to cleverly fill the blanks using the subtle context clues a naked, panting, aroused, spread-legged mess of a man generously offered. Maxwell hummed, giving Wilson a moment of respite as he rummaged into his chest to get the improvised lubricant that Wilson had fashioned out of phlegma and Glommer's goop, and that Maxwell had agreed to try only after much, much persuasion. Soon, too soon, there were slick fingers carefully prodding at his rear. They did not do this terribly often, since life in the Constant tended to drain people of energy and time for leisurely activities at the end of a hard day's work, but it was often often enough for Wilson to abundantly know and eagerly await what was next. Nevertheless, it never failed to give him pause, how he longed to feel Maxwell's touch more deeply than he'd ever imagined he could possibly want to be touched. The first finger was cautious, delicate, not quite pleasant yet, but stimulating, shifting the focus of Wilson's senses from his front to his rear, rekindling the memory of the whole array of overpowering sensations that could be evoked from there. When the second joined, things got more interesting, as the dastardly duo started prodding around, looking for a certain gland that Maxwell located with such prowess and speed that would put a trained professional to shame. Wilson groaned, his hips automatically tilting in response to the strong feeling, and Maxwell's expression, almost eerily observant of each and every twitch and change on Wilson's face, softened into a small smile. With the addition of the third finger, Maxwell started stroking Wilson's cock too, and that was, once again, almost immediately too much. There was something positively devlish about the man's hands, about the way those thin, soft fingers curled around Wilson's member and seamlessly slid along it, barely even touching it and yet eliciting a wave of velvety sensations that made the pleasure in his rear seem almost negligible. Wilson moaned loudly, grabbing Maxwell's wrist to still him. "Keep it down." Maxwell warned him, without any real bite. He did stop stroking his erection though, and Wilson, feeling more than ready, decided to avoid that he might be tempted to resume. He rolled on his stomach, conveniently shielding his dick from further overwhelming attentions between a soft layer of fur and his own body. He waited, legs spread to grant Maxwell full access, back slightly bent as he supported his upper torso on his forearms. As inviting as he knew he looked, he was expecting Maxwell to pounce on him without a second thought, but it didn't happen. After a few seconds of puzzling silence, Wilson turned to look at him and, Lord, Maxwell was staring at the center of his back, giving him that look. Wilson had no idea what wondrous events might be unfolding somewhere between his sixth and his twelfth thoracic vertebra to warrant that sort of attention, but Maxwell was staring at him, as he occasionally did, with the expression a collector who's beholding the most desirable piece of artwork in a gallery - if said piece of artwork was also edible and highly palatable, somehow. There was really no other way to describe it. "...You may be right, you know. It was a foolish idea." He murmured, resting his hands on Wilson's loins and slowly sliding his palms upwards, until they curled around the angles of his shoulder blades. "It just occurred to me that I may have accidentally deprived myself of many exquisite views, in my short-sighted search for aesthetic appeasement." It took Wilson several moments to recall their earlier conversation about magical clothing shenanigans. It felt like it had happened hours before; maybe it had. Once again, words failed him, but luckily Maxwell wasn't expecting a reply. He ran his fingers along Wilson's spine, following the clear trail of his spinous processes, up and down, leisurely, repeatedly, eliciting a wave of small shivers that made Wilson squirm under his touch. He kissed him too, starting from the dip of his lumbar curve and climbing up all the way to his shoulders, lavishing small pecks all over the espanse of Wilson's back. He didn't stop there either, moving Wilson's hair out of the way to mouth wetly at the back of his neck, and on its sides, his hot breaths and tongue going so far as to tease the shell of his ear, his arms comfortably wrapping around the shorter man's torso. Wilson had been surprised to discover, months before, what an unexpectedly attentive lover Maxwell could prove to be. Even though he seemed to make a point of showing the whole extent of his selfishness and utter lack of human sympathy on at least seven distinct occasions per day, he rarely treated sex as a mere mean to achieve quick and strictly personal satisfaction. Wilson couldn't recall a single one of their encounters that had seen him any less than utterly sated and pleased by the end of it, often way beyond his own expectations, and, in all honesty, that wasn't just because of Maxwell's altruistic good heart. One had to be blind, deaf and severely inebriated to miss the sheer pride that oozed out of his every pore when he managed to coax a lewd moan out of his partner, or when he could read the raw need in his trembling limbs. Whether by innate talent or by acquired skill, Maxwell had a knack for guessing exactly what his audience wanted from him, and an equally developed passion for delivering exactly that, and some more. However, his formidable instincts seemed temporarily off the mark, or he must be deliberately ignoring them entirely, since his ministrations, albeit appreciated, delightful, alluring, flattering, tantalizing, arousing, artful, and another dozen of similarly poignant adjectives, were decidedly not what Wilson was craving in that exact moment. Rather prosaically, the object of Wilson's most immediate desires was stiffly poking against his buttocks, now and then, close but not quite exactly where it was supposed to be. It was ungodly distracting. "...Maxwell." He exhaled shakily, when Maxwell pinched his nipple while also sucking at an especially sensitive spot on his neck. He did not beg, most certainly not, although he didn't think he was entirely above that either, as a matter of principle. Maxwell just needed a friendly pointer in the right direction, which Wilson was more than happy to provide. And indeed, that was all he needed to say for Maxwell to move a hand between them, taking ahold of himself and nudging his own erection - yes, thank God, finally - right against his entrance. It occurred to Wilson, very suddenly, that in the whole night he hadn't even touched the damn thing once - hell, he had barely managed to take a good look at it. Very poor planning on his part, he would make sure to rectify his mistake later- They both instinctively held their breath when Maxwell slid in. It didn't hurt, not exactly, not any longer, but it was still a positively overwhelming sensation, more than just physically. There was something about the very concept of anal sex that still resulted deeply offensive to Wilson's most deeply-rooted sense of modesty, as well as to a wide range of his theoretical and practical academic knowledge. Fortunately, his waning reservations couldn't hold a candle to the wealth of discoveries he had made in the process of exploring said topic, and there were precious few things that Wilson valued more than knowledge. Most notably, the discovery of how undescribably rewarding it could be to offer himself so freely and completely to another man, and to be granted the same type of trust and enjoyment in return. Sexual intimacy, per se, wasn't new for Wilson, but his past experiences had never been... quite like that. He wasn't sure how or why, but none of the tepid memories of his past encounters could remotely measure up to how emotionally meaningful and, admittedly, carnally fulfilling his current relationship with Maxwell was. Those two factors alone were more enough to justify, at least in Wilson's book, much worse misconducts than the kind of harmless mischief a couple of deranged gentlemen could accomplish in the privacy of their own quarters. Maxwell waited, still and silent, head comfortably slotted in the crook of Wilson's neck, his measured breaths tickling the scientist's ear. Wilson waited too for his thoughts to gather after their little detour, and eventually he turned his head to the side and kissed the corner of Maxwell's mouth. They kissed again, for the millionth time, and it was just as delightful as the first. He squirmed under the other's body, testing himself, feeling the hardness shift slightly inside him, odd but not unpleasant, and reached behind to lightly squeeze Maxwell's hip. His lover moved then, starting to thrust with slow, regular, round motions, that Wilson regretted not being able to see, because if they looked just half as sensual and voluptuous as they felt, what a spectacular view he must be missing. He closed his eyes, letting that intense rhythm dictate the motions of his body as well, the cadence of his breathing, the involuntary tension of his muscles, the faint rocking against Maxwell's groin. He let his mouth part slightly when the thrusts became deeper, firmer, when the kisses along his neck and jaw resumed, hungrier. He did not bother to restrain a moan, many moans, when an increasing number of thrusts touched him just in the right place, just in the right way, to make his toes curl and his whole body shudder in sheer delight. "Keep it down." Maxwell repeated, a hoarse whisper right against his ear. Wilson could feel his pleasure too, his racing heartbeat thumping against his back, his harsh pants warming his cheek, the increasing force and speed of his pushes, now smacking somewhat audibly against his backside. If only Maxwell put that much vigour into chopping trees, he couldn't help but think, every single goddamn time, and every single goddamn time the thought would make him smile. He gripped Maxwell's hip tightly, encouraging him further, and his other hand palmed its way to cup Maxwell's nape, holding him close, closer, whispering inconsequential nothingness to him. Without warning, Maxwell's hand wormed its way beneath him, straight past his stomach and around his cock. He grasped it and tugged at it and, Lord in Heaven, he did that thing, that unbearable thing that started with a half flick of his wrist and finished with an unfathomable movement of his fingers that made Wilson simply see stars- Wilson positively squealed, but only for a moment, because Maxwell's other hand instantly clamped his mouth shut, sending the rest of Wilson's breath crashing down into a suppressed throaty groan. More groans followed, and whimpers, and few other selected noises his now restricted airways were capable of producing, while Maxwell's grunts were starting to grow more audible too. Wilson held onto the other man desperately, feeling his own pleasure build up exponentially with every maddening stroke of Maxwell's hand and every push of his loins, inching closer and closer to his climax, begging for it - begging now, yes, at least in his head - craving it- His pleasure exploded in Maxwell's hand, thick, hot, sticky. He tensed from head to toe, digging his nails in his lover's hip and neck and drawing the most erotic grunt out of him. He trembled and shuddered for what felt like an eternity, wrecked with the wonderful throes of orgasm, while Maxwell kept thrusting into him, chasing his own release with single-minded drive, until he eventually came as well with a groan that this time, curiously, sounded almost pained. Wilson shook anew as he felt the other's semen fill him, and no, not with disgust, that would have been an easier explanation, surely a more dignified one. They collapsed in a panting heap of trembling limbs, both sated and exhausted, slowly catching their breaths. Eventually, when the delectable fog of the afterglow cleared from Wilson's mind, he became reacquainted with the pleasant weight of Maxwell's body on his own, now wholly relaxed and quiet. His hand was still loosely draped over Wilson's mouth, and the scientist idly kissed his palm, flicking his tongue lazily between his fingers. Said fingers slowly animated in response, and they took to trace the outline of his lips and the prickly stubble around them, softly. Wilson hummed and then, cruelly, Maxwell just sat up, interrupting that most congenial moment. It turned out he had decided to fetch a rag, which he used to wipe the traces of their activities from their bodies as well as, if not especially, from the fur roll that Wilson had accidentally marred. Not that it was a bad idea, per se, but Maxwell's fastidiousness really tended to manifest at its peak in the least suitable moments. Eventually the unsightly stains were cleaned and a warm blanket was thrown on them, and Wilson was kind enough to forgive Maxwell's poor timing, rolling on his back and welcoming him properly in his arms. "How on Earth do you do that?" "Do what?" Maxwell asked, and Wilson gestured, very poorly, as if to grab an invisible member, and then gave it a dubiously pleasurable tug. Maxwell couldn't help but snort. "Oh, that. It takes practice. Months of practice. Years, even." "You don't say?" Wilson smiled, giving him a quick peck on his lips and leisurely stroking his chest with his palm. "How convenient. I think I may just have the perfect willing subject for lengthy experimentations." "How convenient indeed." Minutes passed, or maybe hours, as he idly kept caressing the other man. Maxwell's eyes had long since closed, but Wilson didn't quite feel sleepy, despite everything. There was something nagging at him, something both inconsequential and very, very important, something he was forgetting to- oh, right, right. He casually slid his hand down from Maxwell's chest, over his abdomen, to his groin, until it finally landed on the precious piece of anatomy he had so ungraciously neglected. "...Wilson." "Yes?" "What, in the name of all that is good and holy, do you think you're doing?" Wilson smiled, giving the soft cock a gentle, loving stroke. "If I may speak frankly, that is an eminently stupid question." "Don't be daft." Maxwell's eyes finally opened, and the very first thing they did was staring daggers at him. Typical. "I took down a gargantuan beast today-" "If I understood correctly, all you did was flipping through your book so far from it that you could barely see it." "I helped take down a gargantuan beast today," he magnanimously amended "and I also just finished thoroughly buggering you. I'm spent. Be still and let me sleep, there's a good fellow." As a reply, Wilson kicked off the blanket, sat up, and straddled the dismayed man with a wide, wide smile. "Wilson, seriously, you know that I can't possibly-" "I know that you have certainly been able to, at least once in the past. I don't like giving up without trying, if I have even a small, real chance of success." Wilson's smiled softened, just for a moment. Then he perked up again as he grabbed Maxwell's dick firmly and gave it a studied tug, surely not quite as effective as what he had in mind, but apparently well-executed enough to make Maxwell's breath hitch. "Now, what's the trick?"

#don't starve #maxwil #maxwell #Wilson P. Higgsbury #wigfrid #wolfgang #wickerbottom #webber #wendy #established relationship

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deathbyvalentine · 6 years ago

Text

Prompt Fills

Dancing to the Music Only We Can Hear

These were the moments that made it all worthwhile. The mud and the violence and the lack of sleep and the callouses on his fingers. The room was dimly lit, with gas lamps rather than their usual electricity, adding an intimate air it usually lacked. This was technically the canteen, but the tables had been pushed together to make a sort of stage, and a space cleared. They were celebrating tonight, and low jazz crackled over the intercom, only occasionally interrupted by blaring slogans.

Diesel was a dreadful dancer, but he adored watching it. He sat at the side, cradling some whiskey punch, laughing and immensely proud of his friends. That type of pride was almost too big to bear - it was the pride of a group, not the individual. Flare was commanding the room’s eyes, as always, flashes of her red hair and boots eye catching. The ProCore were taping up some more speakers, so the music could be felt down to your feet.

But it was Petrol he kept looking at. Petrol charming some lucky engineer, with his bright smile and easy charm. Diesel had never quite managed to master that quiet charisma, the way he always seemed so fully in control. He supposed that was one of the many reasons they were each a half of a whole - Petrol hadn’t mastered the exuberance Diesel could show.

Petrol glanced over and caught his eye, and before he could do a single thing to stop it, Diesel was being pulled up on his feet, the engineer forgotten. He laughed, taking Petrol’s hand, allowing himself to be dragged to the dancefloor. He was standing on Petrol’s feet, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. For a long moment, it felt like it was just them, even as a camera bulb popped and flashed.

They had about ten minutes of bliss before the first explosion. But funnily enough, it didn’t ruin their mood. Work too was a form of dancing for them, the way they operated.

Pit Fight

Astrid didn’t fight often. It was not generally her scene. She preferred to watch, preferably on the arm of someone pretty or important, safely away from the action. Always the unofficial brawls too, nothing too high stakes. She didn’t care about the winnings, not a toss. She liked the full spectrum of human experience just as long as it wasn’t happening to her. A few times, she had tried to fight when she was on downers. It didn’t go well. She was dozy, and slow, and couldn’t feel herself being hit. She had been laid up for a week and rather confused about what exactly had happened. Nobody had felt good about it.

On uppers however. Different story. Few people had ever seen her sober, and even fewer people had seen her on stimulants that didn’t just make you feel euphoric. It transformed her, turned her into something sharp and quick. Not cruel. Still never cruel. But predatory. Maybe it was for the best she dulled her senses and her mind with all the other junk. Because like this, she was dangerous.

The bat hit the knee of her opponent almost gracefully, and she didn’t even wince at the crunch it made. She simply observed him, abstractly, the bat swinging gently from her fingers like a pendulum. He was as surprised as her. He had underestimated the girl with the pink hair and shy smile. He wouldn’t again. Nobody would, until the cycle moved on and they forgot all about her and moved on with their lives. She surprised the crowd even more when she wandered off without collecting her winnings, not glancing back behind her once.

Diesel Prepping

He worked best on autopilot. When he didn’t have to think or feel. So he let his training take over. He polished his boots until they shone, and he could see his reflection in them. He took apart his rifle and put it back together, twice, almost with his eyes closed. He sewed a new button onto his jacket, washed his hand-wraps and made sure his beret was correctly shaped. He knew, logically, that he could shape all these things to be perfect. But what people often didn’t understand is that the hard work was important. The act of doing something was important. Taking the easy way out often didn’t have the satisfaction he needed.

He could feel the tug just underneath his ribs. He knew what it meant now. Soon, when he was ready, he would open a door and step through into the Nexus. He wouldn’t be in his safe territory anymore, shielded from everyone and everything. He would watch as these young gods reshaped the world around them, and he wouldn’t feel a damn thing. He wasn’t a part of it. Not really. He was a ghost haunting a possible future.

Oddly, he was looking forward to seeing Flame. Recently, it felt like she was the only one who really saw him. Her being proud of him was worth more to him than any of the medals he had won in a world that was crumbling to pieces. The thought of disappointing her was something he couldn’t bear. What he wanted most of all was to hug her again, bury his face in her shoulder, and be told that he had done enough. Or at least, he would have done enough, soon.

He was as ready as he was ever going to be.

Stupid Mistakes

It had been a long day. The courtyard was littered with broken sticks and spears, and discarded pieces of armour. Like they needed it, really. Sixth round, and she was flagging, as much from boredom as fatigue. His leg swept round in a long arc, too quick for her to counter. He connected with her ankles knocking her to the ground in one fell swoop, landing with an audible thump. “Come on Els, keep up.” She hated that stupid grin he wore, the bottom point of his fangs just indenting his bottom lip. It made him look smug. Because he was smug. He turned to walk away, and with a growl she seized the back of his too-long coat and yanked on it, sending him tumbling to the ground too.

Part of her froze, expecting him to be angry. But instead his laugh echoed off the walls of the yard, surprising her. One day, she would stop being surprised at him surprising her, but today was not that day. He was utterly unpredictable. It was both the best and worst thing about him, and a thing he had in common with Strahd. They displayed it differently though. While Strahd was unfathomable, her plans and actions hard to decipher and their delivery calm... Othello acted quickly, his heart and often his temper on his sleeve. His emotions just didn’t go where you expected them too. What you expected to anger him made him laugh, what you would assume he would like, he would be bored by. He never seemed sad, but also rarely seemed truly happy, though he dearly loved to laugh.

That same laugh now as he pushed himself off the floor, dusting down the coat that had been his downfall. “Should have seen that coming I suppose.” He offered her a hand, hauling her up from the ground. For a moment, he keeps hold of her hand, close to his chest. They’re not even a breath apart, not really. They stay like that, in each other’s space, and Elsie wonders what her heart would sound like right now, if it still beat.

As suddenly as it started, it stopped. Othello dropped her hand and picked up a sword from the ground, twirling it between his fingers and whistling as though he had no cares in the world. “Again.” She sighed and turned around to find her blade, and saw what he had saw. Framed in the window, Strahd, watching them spar with unreadable eyes.

Crushed Berries

The juice was dark and purple and stained her fingers where it spilled from the bowl. She resisted the instinctual urge to press her fingers to her mouth, allow her tongue to swipe at the juice. That would be rather be defeating the point, wouldn’t it?

She strained it in a sieve, discarding the skins, being sure to double bag them so the cat wouldn’t make a fatal error. She half considered burying it in the rose garden outside, but Florence would wonder what she was doing up at two am. Not desirable. Not insurmountable though. Florence would have attribute it to another one of her ‘oddities’. It frankly wasn’t worth the conversation though and she was the one who always emptied the bin besides.

The collected juice she carefully spread at the bottom of the teapot, thin enough it just looked like the usual blackening. There wasn’t much. There would be enough.

Constance didn’t know when the next pot of tea would be made. But that was alright. She was patient. It was one of her best traits, along with her stubbornness and her quick-mindedness. Her sister may disagree, but then, her sister was generally disagreeable. Her sister tended to enjoy finding fault in Constance, and there was a lot of fault to find.

Constance just wanted the house to be quiet. Of the chatter. Of the criticisms. The insults didn’t hurt her, but the noise did. Especially the high pitched scream of the kettle when Florence made her morning tea.

Why Don’t You

She held up the long silk dress to her body, admiring the way it cascaded down her curves in the mirror. She looked back at the pile of discarded dresses on the bed, frowned. No, this one was the one. It looked wicked and this was not a night for modesty. This was a night for decadence and indulgence and not thinking about penance until the morning.

You see, Victoria liked things. She liked soft silks, rich velvet and heavy linen. She liked the way pure silver felt on her skin and the weight and warmth gold added to an outfit. She liked how shoes added height and elegance. She liked the clink of metal, the clink of a good heel, the whisper of a long coat. And she liked perfumes even more, how they told secrets about the wearer without showing their hand. The rarer, the better. She didn’t give a damn if the ingredients were going instinct. Wait, that wasn’t quite true. She cared when they drove the value up.

Finally, she settled. Not on the gold silk. That was for noveau trash. There were unspoken rules that spelt out your position - old, or new. And nobody wanted to let on that they were new. She went for the soft red that flared out at the waist, sweeping down to the floor in a waterfall of colour. A gentler red was reflected in her lipstick, her eye shadow. A slight hint of gold on the wrist, between her collarbones. Expensive, not ostentatious.

She left, leaving the room in disarray. Another tip - old money knew that if you did anything with enough confidence, the maids would clean it up without a single word. Show any sort of caution,self consciousness, wariness ... Well, they would be gossiping before the day was out. Apologising to the staff was a sure sign of a novice.

The function took place in Alistair’s mansion. Private so no paparazzi which Victoria far preferred. Parties were always better at somebody’s house. They had both privacy and an intimacy lacking in hired venues. She greeted the attendees through full eyelashes and coy smiles, accepting a flute of champagne from a passing waiter.

It was unthemed, but it looked like a fairyland all the same. Lights glittered and reflected from wall-length mirrors, the marble floor also glowing with light. The stairs had been subtly cordoned off with red rope - cliche. She managed just about to resist clicking her tongue in disdain. She deserved a medal.

By one am, the party was unravelling. There was white dust on the top of the grand piano. There were several shattered flutes hidden in plants. The good whiskey had been broken into. People were hazy, loud and throwing caution to the wind. Victoria saw intertwined on the sofa two directors she knew to be married - and not to each other.

Time to make her move. Nobody noticed her slipping upstairs, fetching her bag from the abandoned cloakroom on the way. The bedrooms were mostly abandoned, apart from the obvious ministrations taking place. She found Alistair’s wife’s parlour and closed the door with a click behind her.

The watches were off no interest - sentimental things, with carvings and no particularly spectacular design. She discarded them effortlessly. Two dresses were in her size, so the wardrobe wasn’t a complete bust. As she knew it would be though, the jackpot was in the bathroom. Anti-ageing cream that cost thousands of pounds per jar. Three perfumes she knew to be limited edition. And after checking under the bed, a handy, unassuming bag to put them all in.

Nobody stopped her as she walked, even though she was draped in a cloak that wasn’t hers, and a bag she didn’t arrive in. She thought she saw the butler’s eyes flicker over her, and she smiled at him warmly. He wouldn’t tell. They never did.

A Song of Death

Alexei lay beside him, tracing fingers along his side, watching his face. It was one of those restless nights where neither of them could sleep. The sky seemed to press too close, the stars peering at them rather than merely observing. There was no talkative wind, no rustling trees. Just the sound of them, and nothing else. It was common enough for Alexei to sleep badly. It was less common for his husband to be as restless as him.

So Alexei did what his husband loved him for. He told a story. “Once upon a time, there was a shrew. And a very fine shrew it was, with shining eyes and shining fur. It lived in a little nest with all of it’s brothers and sisters who loved chattering and eating fat berries in autumn. Now, he (for the shrew was a he) was often confused. He looked at them, and wondered what on earth they had to talk about. They ventured only to the next few trees over, were always home by dark and only spoke to other shrews. He himself found his thoughts straying to what lay beyond their tiny glade. He was unhappy, though he did not know the word for it.

One day, a great rainstorm came. As his siblings scurried inside, he ran the other way, wanting to feel the rain and cold on his fur, simply because he had never felt it before. Of course, when he turned around, he realised he hadn’t the faintest idea where he was. He began to walk, marvelling at the sights all around him.

He saw two married frogs, kissing each other on the cheek on the edge of a puddle. He saw a bat sucking the juice from an old mango. He saw squirrel babies getting their tails all tangled up until their mothers came out from their tree hollow and scolded them.

In fact, he was so busy looking that he didn’t see as he tumbled right into a hole! It wasn’t very deep, but it was very dark. It had shiny bits of stones embedded into the walls which sparkled and gleamed. It was also sheltered from the worst of the rain and he decided he would sleep here until day time where he could walk home. He also relished the chance to explore it more as he thought it was the most beautiful place he had ever been (though that wasn’t a very long list). That would have been a great plan, had he not stumbled into a spider’s home.

The spider was rather handsome, and the same size as the very fine shrew. And he did not eat him, as one of his kind would be expected to do. Instead, he was so pleased that the shrew admired his home he instead offered to let him stay a while, snug and dry. Over the course of the night, no sleeping was done. Instead, they talked and talked and by the time dawn’s rosy fingers touched the sky, they were very firmly in love. The shrew had rather decided he liked this underworld much more than the upstairs, which was so filled with pointless noise. And he asked the handsome spider if he would mind if he showed this wonderland to his family. The spider had his reservations, but not wanting to disappoint his new bride, agreed.

He wove a net made of his strongest silk and gave it to the shrew. In the daylight and with the help of several mice, it was much easier to find his way back to the nest. His family had been most concerned, and chorused and squeaked their worries at them. Eagerly, he told them of his lover and the new home they had found for them all. He couldn’t understand why they recoiled, why they squeaked in fear. They refused to come.

Angered, he threw the net over the lot of them and dragged them underground, to his new home. All of the little creatures trembled. They refused to see the beautiful stones or the lack of predators, instead only fearing the dark. After an hour or so of them refusing to listen to reason, he released them, and watched his family scurry back to what they knew.

The spider cradled him close. “Dear, you can not make others love what you love. You simply must love what you love as fiercely as possible and hope that will be enough.””

Alexei’s eyes glittered in the gloom. “Is it enough?” “Always.”

The importance of a good hot water bottle

Amelia rolled over in bed, attempting to cling to the last few remnants of her dream that lingered. It didn’t work of course, and the sunshine of the dreamscape faded, leaving her tangled in bedsheets, only grey winter light filtering in through the flimsy curtains. She would remain in bed for another two hours.

What people didn’t mention about being sick was how boring it got. None of the pamphlets, none of the official websites, none of the wikipedia pages. Instead patients shared experiences on message board like gospel - “Hey did you know it was going to be like this? Did you know pain could get old? Did you know you’d get cross at resting?”

Amelia very much wanted to get out of bed. She had chores that needed doing, canvas that needed painting, food to cook. But of course, she couldn’t. Not until her joints had managed to unstiffen, until her muscles had loosened. Not until some of the fatigue had seeped from her.

From that point on, it was a race against time. To pick and choose what needed doing the most, what could wait, what she would enjoy. All chased by her energy levels, constantly dropping with every movement, the siren song of her duvet getting louder with every minute. To this end, you learned to be clever. There were shortcuts.

Shortcuts like baby wipes and dry shampoo. Shortcuts like sleeping in shirts you’d be happy walking around the house in. Like cereal for dinner. Like making take out last three days. You became a master of apologetic emails and texts, of managing side effects and appointments. Strategic naps and food became as crucial as taking your medication. Painkillers with every meal, hot water bottles on every limb, anything to get you through the day while not dropping too many balls.

Because even though you want to stop, the world sure as hell won’t.

Moments of Happiness

Tommy basked in the sun, taking a moment to breathe and look across the ruins. Taking a sip from his water bottle, he stretched, noticing the slight tan that was building on his skin from the weeks here. A little way away, A was leaning on his staff, before crouching to pat the temple dog that was winding around his ankles. Friendly by nature anyway, it had gotten used to them in particular, and had also made friends with Boundaries. It wasn’t particularly surprising. They came here almost every day. The staff just waved them through now, not even looking up from their work.

He was getting better, bit by bit. Less weak. His bruises and injuries healing from a mixture of being Home and Tommy’s magic. He was different here, as he had said he would be, but he was also undoubtedly himself. Tommy didn’t think he could have loved him any more, but he was wrong. He loved him more every day.

He knew, logically, he would be called away from this paradise before long. There would be yet another crisis, yet another problem, the world unable to save itself. Or his Family would start ripping themselves apart again, and require intervention. It would be vampires, or werewolves, or gods older even than his, or magical diseases or demons or - something. There would always be something.

But for the moment, he was here. Alive and immortal. His boyfriend and his dog by his side, Michael alive, regular phone calls with Jones. Sun-drenched walks, magic just for fun, star gazing. He felt like he could be normal, for a little while. Like he could just be here, and exist, and have something he wanted for the first time.

It couldn’t last, so he would appreciate it while it did.

#larp #prompts #prose

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galadrieljones · 7 years ago

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zero: chapter 3

Fandom: Horizon: Zero Dawn | Pairing: Aloy x Nil | Rating: M (Mature)

Content: Existential Angst, Touch-Starved, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Alcohol Abuse, First Loves in the Wild, Slow Burn, Violence

Chapter 1: Zero | Chapter 2: Driftless | AO3

Borderlands

After she finished with the Grave Hoard she took Sickle back to Mother’s Crown and got a room above the tavern for four days. It was stripped to the studs but they had warm milk and hot soup, and she was sick of the rangy creatures she’d been eating in the wild. In a small way it felt fraudulent but it was not for long. What came next, she wasn’t ready for that and she wanted to grease her hinges a little and also she needed to get back to Erend.

In Meridian the second time she had met Avad the Sun-King, and he had been handsome in the same way as Nil. She thought about that now. Every time he spoke she saw Nil and his little eye tattoos and the expansive chest as a plank. But Avad was high up, and he smelled perfumed and this defied her understanding of men. She asked him point blank what he used on his skin and he proceeded to tell her about the chemical formulas of personal hygiene. Meanwhile, Nil just crushed the aloe in his enormous paws and smoothed it into his hair because it felt good. She knew he would be nearby, anytime she was in the Sundom. He would never set foot in the city but he would lurk nearby, because he knew she would keep going back there. And she knew that he was tracking her, somehow, along with the bandits, and this was enough.

I hear you have a companion, Avad had said to her the night she spent in the guest wing of the Palace of the Sun in Meridian. They were having dinner in a grand dining room with golden wallpaper and servants whooshing around on all sides. Some sort of clean and unappetizing white fish. A man who goes by the name of Nil.

Aloy looked up. She was wearing a bright blue silk blouse, given to her by a personal handmaiden she had not requested, poking at a pearl onion with the tines of her shiny fork. I see you've got feelers everywhere, she said, bristling. If you're going to spy on me, Avad, at least have the courtesy not to tell me about it.

I would never presume to spy on you, Aloy. He dabbed at his mouth with a cloth napkin. The reports came independent of my orders. It's more about keeping tabs on criminals.

Reformed criminals, said Aloy, her eyes feeling very mean that day. Nil served his time.

Avad seemed troubled, and also surprised that she knew so much. He nodded, in deference. He had a soft voice that made him seem like a soft man, but no soft man kills his father, Aloy knew by now. No matter how evil that motherfucker might have been. Avad was not a soft man. That is true, he said, I meant no offense, Aloy.

None taken, she said.

Back in the Embrace now she felt like losing her guts. After she left Mother’s Crown, She took a long detour back to her old house where she looked at Rost’s grave for an hour and cried and wondered how the fuck she was ever going to get past this. Sometimes she wondered if it was all meaningless bullshit, and maybe she should just stay here and rot and knit sweaters and be like that old lady Grata and never leave and just sit mumbling at the sky until the day she finally just tipped over into the snow chill and died. But then she remembered the machines and the devil’s voice in her focus, and it made her curl up again and physically shake out her head, and she knew it was a story bigger than her own, and this felt like a trap. She was trapped inside this journey, and there was nothing she could do. She tossed rocks off the cliff and tried to feel close to the old days. But they were getting farther and farther away, even as she sat with her back to the hut where she grew up. Growing up. How many times had she done that now? Or had she done it at all?

She wiped her cheeks and she slept, and then she saddled up Sickle in the early pink dawn and she road for the Sundom once again. Fuck this place, she thought, but she was going anyway. The Carja and all of their baubles. She didn’t know who she disdained more: the Carja or the Oseram or the Nora. The Oseram worked hard but their pride and provincial bullshit was almost as insufferable as the Carja and their shiny silverware. She felt no allegiance to the Nora. This much was now true. And their dull loyalty to a mother who had not served her at all now made Aloy laugh. She could feel herself entering a numb state in which she felt superior to everybody else. It was distasteful and she knew it was wrong and that it would pass. But for now it enabled her to soldier forward without second thought and without regret.

In any case, it was gonna take weeks but she needed to get to Pitchcliff. There was a human element here, and that went beyond Aloy’s ego and her hardened sensibilities. At least she thought it did. She had left Erend waiting for a long time, and he was probably already there, but he also knew she was a fucking spark on the wind, and he expected nothing more and nothing less, but she couldn’t do it to him anymore. Make him wait. He was a drunkard just like all the others, just like her on some nights, and even though he was not soft, he was not hard either, and she saw what all this instability with his personal life did to him. He stood proudly, tending to Avad, but he was not Avad. In fact, she preferred him to Avad, because at least he did not put on airs. He was a fuck-up who got by on his bluster and bravery and in the way he swung his axe alone. But he knew this. He made no excuses for the thing he had become or for the questionable measures he had taken to get there.

She tried hard not to think about Nil as she traversed the burnt out landscapes of the Borderlands. She ate mostly berries and the stringy, tough meat of rabbits and missed the hot food back at Mother's Crown, but this was temporary. She would have to sleep way high up in the canopy cliffs to avoid all the constant activity of the crazed machines, their in-fighting and the wandering cultists, and she even managed to override a Sawtooth to oversee her guard at night. She didn’t give the Sawtooth a name. When she left it, she knew the Ravagers would not be far off, and she knew they’d rip that Sawtooth limb from metal limb, and she did not want to ride away knowing she had abandoned to death something that had a name.

Sickle was a good friend. Aloy had been messing with her programming a little bit and she seemed to be getting smarter. She knew how to bring back rabbits without burning them up and she would stand quietly now as if pleased whenever Aloy would pet her metallic mane. She had sharper senses. She had grown protective. If only robots could feel, thought Aloy. And she would count all the different ways she might one day be happy.

When she finally got to Pitchcliff, she left Sickle to graze outside, and the guy she was looking for was dead and she was getting so damn sick of the irony she stuck her spear into the earth and fell to one knee and closed her eyes.

Erend didn’t understand. “Somebody beat us to him,” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Shit.”

“He made a map, with his own blood,” Aloy said with her eyes closed. “See?”

“Where?”

“Look.”

He knelt down beside her. He saw it now. His vision was always temporarily blurred, and he was always one step behind because he was ruled by his emotions. His only concern was his sister. She thought about Avad then and the way he spoke of Nil as if he knew him. Keeping tabs on criminals, he’d said. What an asshole. Aloy wanted to scream. The upright thrones of men and revered mothers annoyed her to the end of the world. Everybody rubbing scented oils into their skins so they could smell like nature but they had removed themselves from nature long ago. But not Nil. She tried not to think about Nil. She thought about winter instead. She thought about the Embrace, even if she no longer had a home there. She thought about Sickle and her blue light.

They couldn’t save Ersa. Aloy had got clipped in the shoulder by an arrow, and Erend helped her remove it right after the battle, and then he tied it off for her to staunch the bleeding. He watched to make sure she was okay, no matter how she urged him forward. He was tender in these moments. A lot of give. But Aloy had a lot of drugs and salves and things given to her by Nil and by the weird merchants of Meridian that would ease off the pain. She’d heal quickly, she told him. "Don't worry, Erend." Once they got down into that basement place with Ersa, Erend’s retching filled the space with such sorrow, and it was all an invention of his grief now once she was dead. This whole journey. Aloy turned around. She was bruised and battered, and she went back upstairs to give him his privacy, and she went outside, and she saw that it had begun to snow. She looked up and the sky was almost too bright to see. It hurt her eyes. The snow fell on the bodies of the Oseram mercenaries who had killed Erend’s sister. It fell on the machines and their dead body parts, and for just a moment, everything was freezing cold and very clean, and that was all.

She thought of Nil. And this time, she did not push the thought away.

It was always a surprise, and yet it wasn't, finding him anywhere, she thought. Most of all in the back of her mind where he seemed to hide out quite often, rearing his head when she least expected it and needed him most. Listening to Erend cry his tears in a basement dungeon while nature raged on through the mountains in the form of the falling snow, Aloy went back to Pitchcliff, but when she got there, it was a terrible sight. She found that Sickle had been shot down by a flock of Glinthawks, and she didn’t know what to do at first, because it was such a shock, and her instinct was to fix, but the atmosphere was psychotic, and there were metal birds and then the Oseram warriors everywhere demanding she help them, but there was blood in her eyes, and they couldn’t give her a reason why.

“Fuck off,” she said as one of them grabbed her arm.

“Look to the skies, Nora.”

“FUCK OFF.” She threw him to the earth, glared.

But one of the Glinthawks got into her view then, and it was so fucking loud, she took it down out of sheer annoyance. A few ropes and three arrows. That’s all it took. She removed its heart with extreme speed and precision while all the world screamed in her peripheral vision, and she tossed it to that screaming Oseram who didn’t know what to do with it and why the fuck she had given it to him at all amidst the chaos, and in that moment she was satisfied by his ignorance, and she said, “Sell it. Or are you that useless?” Then she wiped her tears and ran away to rip the hearts from as many metal birds as she could with that stupid Oseram still screaming at her back, holding that dumb piece of metal in his hands, like a child, fixated.

It took a while to finish the flock. There had been at least six total, and then the skies were quiet. The smoke rose from the earth. As soon as it all cleared and everybody was out there picking up the scrap and assessing the dead, Aloy was finally able to comb through the battlefield and salvage the pieces of Sickle. She dragged them to a cave in the side of a ravine, all by herself, as nobody offered to help her, and once there she assessed all the problems and their roots, but no matter how she tried in her tearful haste, she could not reconstruct her friend. There was too much missing. The wires were burnt out and crispy. The blue light shattered. She gave up when she accidentally burned her knuckles on something red and hot inside, and the sear made her yelp in pain. She shook out her hand, brought her knuckles to her lips, and she felt so defeated by her false hopes, and by all the men out there and their preening, and in her own defeat, she cried.

She left Sickle in the cave, eventually. The soil was too hard and cold to bury her, but Aloy still marked the plot with a bare, dark stone, and she rigged the entrance with a tripwire. As she left, the Mayor of Pitchcliff tried to reason with her, to make her stay, but she was done. More will come, he pleaded, as if this was somehow her problem. But she shoved him off of her and told him to learn. Learn, she said, and she pointed a finger in his face. He was shocked by this. He was a man and much older than even Rost had been, but he was weak. She did not care. The inane stupidity of a people who claimed such dominion over metal, and yet they could not even defend their own holds?—this made Aloy sick. Learn, she said. Learn. She’d meant it. It was the Oseram who had killed Ersa. In all of their pain leftover from the Red Raids, pieces of them had gone mad. Soft. And everything was so complicated and mixed up by now, and all of the factions were killers. She held allegiance to none of them in the end. She left that place, and she would never go back, and she began her journey to Meridian. Her shoulder hurt, and her bones and all of her muscles were sore. She needed to help Erend, because she had promised she would, and because he had helped her. He had tied off her shoulder and offered her comfort in a far away cold place where his sister then died, and this was compassion. As she traveled, she refused to take another Strider out of respect for Sickle and made herself suffer on foot. She kept an eye out for signs of Nil, but there were none to be found.

She camped often. She took many breaks. She tried to stay as high up as she could so as to avoid the psychotic machines of the Borderlands. Everything in the Borderlands seemed so much worse than it was everywhere else. How could this be?

Where are you, Aloy said to herself while she sat by the fire on the grassy escarpments above the river, all alone, somewhere north of Cut-Cliffs while the Snapmaws lurked in the swamps. Her feet ached. She cried some more. She closed her eyes and couldn’t eat, and she tried not to think about her dead robot. She tried to feel the snow.

#horizon zero dawn #hzd #aloy and nil #aloy x nil #aloy #nil #horizon zero dawn interlude #not da

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xxcowardicexx · 7 years ago

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Dream (Day 8)

*i was steadily coming back to consciousness, i was rather warm compared to earlier. i began slowly opening my eyes, in front of me the fire was burning a low slow burn. The fire’s light reflected off the cave’s natural emeraldesk walls. I could still feel her arm wrapped around my stomach, my ears folded down.*

*She did so much for me, I felt so worthless. i hung my head slightly at all the memories, from when she pulled me up from that pond. Watching over me through all those hours of the night, laying with me to help me not have a heatstroke from the fever or kicking it from hypothermia. Constantly hunting out game for not just her, but myself as well. I definitely didn’t ask for her help.... but without her, i probably wouldn't be around right now and that much I was extremely grateful for. There was a lot to make up for, and i had a few ideas on what i could do to make things a little bit easier for her here...*

*I listened quietly, her breathing was that of almost a slight snore. Which made me smirk slightly. At least she was getting some well deserved sleep, but then my smirk left. Now i had to try and sneak my way out from under her embrace and not wake her. I started thinking, i brought my paw up to my chin when i realized i WAS a furry. I shifted my tail up to her arm, and softly pushed it up off my side as i used my right arm to pull her wrist up. It allowed me enough room to slither my way from under her arm. As I did so i lowered her arm down to her side.*

*Her blackish grey fur was soft, I sighed quietly. Her beauty was quiet remarkable. As she laid on the bed of thick moss, the fire flickered over her. It’s amber and orange hues played along the grey ends of her fur giving her a outline that shined in a way i couldn’t really put it into words its almost like she eclipsed the sun. I slowly sat up, my body was in knots. With a small scoot, i picked myself up moved slightly closer to the fire off of the bed of grass. She didn’t wake which was a small relief, because surely if i woke her without a good reason she would be upset. Hmm... if she awoke and i wasnt there she probably wouldnt be happy either, or as warm as she was for that matter...*

*Thinking, I lightly grabbed the part of the bed of moss i was laying on and covered her with it. It seems with my weight it compressed it all together making it like a makeshift blanket. Lightly tucking her in from my sitting down position my joints wanted to fight me, seems that the cold has put some stress on my body. I turned to try and slowly crawl a little bit closer to the fire when my back popped audibly, it made me wince in more than one way. Physically because it send a jolt down my spine, and mentally as i slowly looked over my shoulder at the fact she was still asleep. With a slight sigh i slowly stood.*

*I stepped lightly across the floor towards the waterfall entrance, my right foot was feeling much better. Still sore, but much better. I stopped against the stone wall that was the entrance of the waterfall. I watched outside. The snow was still falling, the wind had calmed down a considerable amount from the day before. The sun was rising? I couldn’t really tell what time it was of the day other than it was earlyish. I took a couple steps away out into the snow to the closest tree. I shivered as i touched the bark of the old oak.*

*I grabbed the tree with both arms, i held onto it with as much strength i could bracing my upper body with the tree. I moved my left leg carefully shifting the angle of my hips, twisting my spine. My ears folded down from the sound of my disks popping, it sounded like branches breaking... Slowly oh so slowly... i moved my foot back and moved my right leg the same way, popping my back the rest of the way. It was painful at first, my legs were weak for the moment, then were better as i stood.*

“ahhhhhhh” i sighed lightly

“mmmmm” i heard deeply inside

*???*

*i frowned. looking around making sure there wasn’t anything about.*

Whats wrong? Can’t i enjoy the stretches too?

*-_- Must have been that being inside of me*

I am you after all

*With a sigh i continued popping all the joints i could. Holding my hand on my elbow, holding my arm at 90 degrees vertical and slamming it strait releasing an audible pop. Rotating my shoulders and popping my shoulder blades. I bent over, and touched my toes popping the lowest part of my back, right near my tail bone. I then moved to the feet, just rotating them until the pressure releases. I didn’t know how to pop my knees.. so i moved my back against the tree and began to pop my wrists, and my fingers in more than one way. I each one from the base away from the palm, then i grabbed each finger in the middle joint and bent them sideways.*

“*slight gasp* Ew~* i herd

* I looked up and around and saw Beautiful leaning against the cave entrance slightly appalled but intrigued as i moved from my little dewclaw to the next, popping it sideways as well. She cringed as she saw bend in a way that she clearly didn’t like to see. I smirked at her reaction, I was used to it.*

“How can you do that?!” she watched in slight disgust, then moving down to try and make her claws do the same, wincing in pain as hers wouldn’t.

*chuckling* “ I’m double jointed in all of my fingers, even my thumbs” I said popping my middle finger sideways in a way that showed that it clearly wasn’t supposed to.

“EW~ stop thats gross!” she exclaimed slightly looking away.

*laughing now she looked at me as i finished popping my fingers.”

“You done yet?!” she said impatiently with her arms crossed.

*With a insanely large smile, i looked at her knowing i had saved the best for last. It was my favorite thing to pop. With a slight chuckle*

“Not yet” i said cooly

“Hmph.” she said disapointedly

*I turned my head sideways, Putting my chin 90 degrees to the left above my shoulder, she looked at me weirdly. I than snapped my chin to the other side. The sound sounded like a gun rapid firing as stopped pretty much at the same angle on the opposite side.*

“OH EW, EW” she said in horror

*i then slung my chin the other way, pretty much making the same sound on the return. it causes her to shiver and look away revolted*

“DONT DO THAT!!! YOU’LL BREAK YOUR NECK LIKE THAT” she shouted at me

“ Maybe one day, but that doesn’t seem to be today~ tehe” i said back smiling.

“Anyways, how long have you been standing there?” i inquired.

*slowly she looks back at me slightly nervously*

“enough to know you have a nice ass.” she said quietly

*I laughed*

“Trust me, your’s probably looks better” i said as I started walking back

*She looked up at me aggravatedly*

“Ok ok, no probably about it~ Though... i’ve never seen my own ass before.” i said holding my hand up slightly

*she rolled her eyes and smirked at me*

“just shut up already and get inside” she said turning around walking back into the cave.

*by the time I got into the cave she was sitting on the bed of moss, still kinda grossed out i guessed. she had her ears down.*

*I walked over to her, and sat down on the dirt next to the fire*

*she sighed a heavy sigh, I cocked my head to the side as i looked at her*

“whats up?” I looked at her confused

*she was looking at the ground at first, then looked at me like i was an idiot.*

“O-oh nothing, just a little.. hungry. thats all” she said looking back down to the floor.

*My ears shot up, I looked around for my fishing spear as i stood. She looked at me.*

“whats up?” she asked concerned.

“You’re hungry, I should go get you some food then..” I looked at her with the smile equivalent of a “cat face emoji”

*her ears perked up*

*i saw my spear sitting in the corner and walked over to it. I Picked it up and turned around. her face seemed like it lit up, her ears and tail were strait up and her tail was swishing in anticipation*

“C-could you get a couple rabbits? I know i said i was hungry but i did eat two fish last night, so you don’t have to rush or anything... But some rabbit does sound pretty good.” she said looking at me with different eyes. I closed my eyes and smiled a big smile.

“you can count on me!” i replied holding up a paw with a thumbs up

*i started making my way to the exit of the waterfall, when i herd her call out*

“Hey!”

* I turned around and looked at her*

“Yeah?”

“B-be careful out there” she said timidly

“ I will, you rest up and stay warm now you hear?”

*she giggled* “Fine, whatever~” she said as she laid down on the bed of moss next to the slow burning fire.

*as i exited the cave i sniffled through my runny nose, and sneezed, then snorted slightly. Finding them by scent wasn’t going to work. Seems that my nose was still recovering from almost freezing to death. But rabbits live in holes they burrow into the ground. So if i find some bushes with berries on them, then they shouldn’t be too far away i guessed.*

* began thinking about berries. I’ve had some. I know i had. Where? thinking back as i was walking away that i realized that I had some not long after entering this dream realm.. which was like over an hour walk after climbing that waterfall the opposite way i was walking. *

*I walked a slightly longer route around the far side of the waterfall, it was less steep and had some small thinner trees ( though covered in ice) to help me climb the hill.*

*after climbing the edge i began following the creek, my breath was a visible cloud as climbed the frozen landscape*

*I remembered all these trees from when i first walked by. Their leaves had fallen, branches covered in snow and icicles. there was no sound of birds singing their song in the trees. I heard the crunching of the snow underpaw, there wasn’t much really going on. I eventually found the snowcovered bush of red berries. I picked a few and tried to eat one. Frozen solid. I spit it out in fear of it lowering my body temperature. But i was now taking each step slowly, lightly, and quietly. I had my spear set and ready to cast.*

* in my mind i was already saying thanks. I was creeping around the higher bushes and low foliage. after a few minutes I heard the skittering of small paws in the underbrush. I squinted my eyes and looked at the shrubbery. it was moving. I cast it ahead of where was going. There was a squee from the landing. *

* i walked over and picked the spear up. It was a fat fluffy cotton tail rabbit speared through the neck. I shuddered as i put the spear on my shoulder, rabbit hanging from the end. I slowly started making my back. I hadnt realised that my whole way back to this place was all up hill. which is easier to climb up than climb down during this extreme weather.*

* I ended up falling on my ass a couple of times as i tried to climb down the hills, but eventually i made it back to that small brook that leads to the creek. which meant i was close to the cave. It had been quite a few hours and the sun was starting to set, the rabbits fur was kinda soaked in blood and slightly torn from where it bounced around on the stick and got dropped a few times from my impact with the ground.*

*eventually i made it down to the hill to the ponds base, i smirked at the remark that i didn’t just dive head first this time. I walked through the entrance and saw that she was curled up into a ball on the bed. her tail pretty much was a big as she was and she had covered herself up completely with it. The fire was almost dead, so i walked over the bundle of sticks that was wrapped up in vines and crouched beside it pulled out a claw. I heard a slight whimper come from her.*

*my ears folded down, she must be cold... Looking back at the sticks i sliced the vines and they clattered slightly to the ground from its tight bundle. I saw from the corner of my eye that she jumped slightly from the sound. I saw her come from out under her tail and stretch across the moss bed. She laid on her side, looking at me with a big smile.*

“Glad to see you made it back” she said softly

*i blushed*

“D-did you sleep well?” i said looking away adding sticks and leaves to the fire .

“I slept fucking fantastically~” she said stretching even more so across the bed.

*I looked sidelong at her as she did. when she stopped she looked me square the eyes, she looked like she was posing, like “paint me like one of your french girls” which in all honesty, a painting wouldn’t have done her justice. i could feel my heart beating slightly in my ears as the leaves started catching fire, making me look at the fire starting to burn a nice level*

*she got up smiling, and strutted over to the fire right next to me as i put more sticks into the fire, she put both hands on my shoulders and put her mouth near my ear *

“Nice!, thats a fat one isnt it? hehe I can take over cooking it if you would like” she said messaging my shoulders, which she seemed like she was having a difficult time because of how wide they are.

“You can relax and rest, i’ll wake you up when its done i promise...” she insisted

“ok ok, plus i think you know what you’re doing compared to me so ill let the professional handle it” i said smartly

“Oh- such High praise from such a strong, brave, mighty hunter” she said back dramatically.

*we both laughed as she stopped massaging my shoulders, i moved my way over to the moss bed, which was VERY VERY warm from where she was sleeping and i snuggled in on my left side, watching her as she pulled out a claw.*

*I Slowly closed my eyes as heard her go to work, and drifted off*

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imrainai · 7 years ago

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Before the Dawn, chapter one

(aka if greens won’t write stone age fic for me then I WILL DO IT MYSELF)

Warnings: There’s some sickness and blood, but nothing major.

"Eran!" screamed some kind of hobgoblin, before plopping itself down beside his bed. "Eran, it's almost lunchtime."

Eran mostly didn't care what time it was. He curled up tighter, pulling his blanket over his head. The hobgoblin made a small noise of impatience, then began peeling his blanket off. Eran was stronger, but the hobgoblin was determined, and in any case, he couldn't very well sleep while fighting over his blanket. He let go, which knocked the hobgoblin off balance and caused it to fall down a few feet away from his bed.

"Ow! That hurt, Eran!"

"It's your own fault," he muttered, trying in vain to stay warm without his blanket. The hobgoblin had succeeded at waking him up. He was upset about it, but he didn't think he could go back to sleep at this point.

The hobgoblin threw off the blanket indignantly, revealing itself as his two-year-old sister. "Just 'cause you're springing doesn't mean you can sleep all day. It's not a sickness or anything."

"Says you," muttered Eran.

"It isn't! And it's not like you're the only one! Everyone else is springing, too, and you're making things harder for them." Eran glared at her. His sister crossed her arms and glared right back. "I bet if I were springing, I wouldn't be such a baby about it. Especially once I’d had whole entire weeks to get used to it.”

"Pff. We'll see about that, won't we."

"Only if I don't die in the next two years," she said, rather dramatically. "But I think my chances of survival will be fairly slim unless someone makes sure we have enough to eat."

"You're hardly starving."

"I will be soon, if we don't get more food! You promised to show me how to use the sling right, Eran! You promised!"

"Children!" snapped Naji, scowling at both of them from the mouth of the cave. "If you're not going to contribute, you could at least avoid bothering everyone else."

Eran glared at her--being called a child seemed a particularly cruel insult right now--but he decided not to dig himself any deeper. He sat up. "Sorry. Just telling Esi to get her sling so we can practice hunting."

Esi stilled immediately. "Really?"

"Yeah. Gimme a second to eat something, then we can go."

"You are the best big brother ever," she said earnestly, before dashing off to grab her sling. The kid was easy to upset, but easier to make up with. When he wasn't being cruelly snatched from sleep, he generally considered Esi to be one of his favorite people. Her only rivals were his oldest sister, Sadha, and Sadha's second son, Sefre. Sadha got points for being the most eminently reasonable person he had ever met, as well as the group’s official midwife. It was very likely that she would become a grandmother this year. Sefre got points because, as a fairly even-keeled five-year-old, he was the person closest to Eran’s age who wasn’t an absolute prick.

Eran drank some water from his own drinking gourd, begged some stew off of Naji (who was, after all, also his sister, if a relatively less pleasant one), then grabbed his own sling and spear. He didn’t expect to use the spear, but running into something larger and meaner than a rabbit was always a possibility, and it was important to be prepared. Esi had already eaten (had, in fact, spent the morning gathering firewood and generally making herself useful), and by the time he was done, she was already prepared and balancing on the balls of her feet at the mouth of the cave.

“Good job doing your hair up this time,” said Eran, approvingly.

Esi smiled, bringing one hand up to touch the crown of purple braids on her head. She was used to having her hair done up in similar styles, but she was still practicing braiding her own hair. It had come out less lopsided than usual this time. “Sadha taught me,” she said proudly, as if he didn’t know. “It’s good this time? Like yours?”

“Uh-huh. Shouldn’t get in your way at all, as long as you stop poking at it.” She brought her hand down to her sling again, trying to focus on the task at hand. He suspected her hair looked better than his, considering that he hadn’t taken his own braids out in days, but he didn’t expect his hair to present any practical problems. “We should probably go down to the stream to get more ammunition, OK? Then we can bring water on our way back. Hopefully people will be less annoyed with us then.”

“OK!” agreed Esi. “We have to be quiet while we walk through the forest, right? So we don’t scare the game away?”

“Right. See if you can at least spot something without scaring it before we get to the stream. If you point it out, I’ll hit it for you, OK?”

Esi nodded eagerly, then ran for the trees.

“Make sure you return with her before dark,” said Naji, sternly. “And make sure you bring something back. You owe me for the stew.”

“I’ll bring you something twice as good,” promised Eran, before following his sister.

Esi knew the basics of hunting with a sling. She could often hit stationary targets from a distance of ten yards, though her accuracy got significantly worse at longer ranges. She certainly wasn’t good enough to hit anything moving, but this was to be expected. She had only just turned two, and while she’d been rather seriously practicing with the sling for around half a year, she hadn’t devoted as much time to it as Eran had at her age. She wasn’t any less diligent than he was, she just liked to be helpful. Practicing with her sling wasn’t helpful to anyone else yet, so she ended up neglecting it in favor of gathering roots or tending other people’s fires.

Even so, Esi was a good student, and when she did practice, she took it seriously. She took it even more seriously when someone else was helping her, as she didn’t want to waste anyone else’s time. They were slow to make it to the stream, as Esi couldn’t move quickly and quietly at the same time, but they did manage to make it there without making too much noise. He missed the first animal she pointed out--a squirrel that wouldn’t sit still, and which was really too far away besides--but he hit the second one, a green songbird. There wasn’t very much meat on songbirds, but they had time to hit something else, so he figured they were doing OK.

The point of going to the stream was to get smooth stones from the bottom. In a pinch, of course, you could use stones that weren’t particularly smooth, but your accuracy would suffer, so it was best to have the right kind of ammunition from the beginning. Esi knew exactly what the stones were supposed to look like, and she began gathering them without Eran having to ask her. When they had enough stones, he had Esi start trying to hit things. She consistently missed. Since he hadn’t been expecting her to hit anything, it was easy for him to avoid getting frustrated, and he focused on calmly correcting her mistakes. He stressed that it took thousands of attempts at something like this before one was able to really improve, and Esi swallowed her own frustration and accepted this. She no longer apologized for failing to hit things, but she continued to thank him for helping her.

She really was a good kid, Eran thought. He wasn’t remotely worried about her. She had patience, and that was more important than skill, at her age. Eventually she would be a perfectly competent small game hunter.

When they found a berry bush, they stopped to eat. Esi explained to him how she knew the berries were safe, as if he didn’t know. (He didn’t stop her; he figured repeating the information probably helped her remember.) After a moment she paused, thoughtfully. “Is springing actually really bad?”

Eran considered the question. “It kinda sucks if you’re not married yet. But it’ll be less bad once someone has a baby, I guess. And everyone has to go through it, and they mostly make it through OK.”

Esi nodded. “I’m sorry I stole your blanket.”

“Don’t be. I had to get up. I’m sorry you fell.”

“S’OK. Thanks for teaching me stuff.”

“Mhmm.”

He glanced at the sun through the trees, trying to decide whether they ought to head back. It wouldn’t take as long for them to return as it had for them to get here, if they stopped caring about moving quietly, but he didn’t want to be late, either. Esi was young enough not to have official responsibilities, and old enough that nobody was likely to worry about her until it got dark, so that wasn’t an issue. Eran, however, was technically an adult, and while people would tolerate moodiness at the beginning of someone’s first spring, he still didn’t want the rest of the group to be annoyed with him. He figured that sleeping all morning and hunting all afternoon for one measly songbird was a pretty good way to make everyone else annoyed with him. It would probably be best to have Esi wait for a bit while he hunted for something more filling, at which point they could return home and hope that someone else had made enough extra dinner that they could combine it with their own findings.

He was about to suggest this to Esi, but then she suddenly stilled and looked out across the river. “Eran? You hear that?”

There was no sound of rustling plant life to alert him to movement. There was only a dull moan. It sounded human.

“Wait here,” said Eran, getting to his feet. Esi ignored him and dashed off. “I said wait!”

It was a young woman, about his age, lying stomach-down in the mud. She grasped feebly at the dirt when she saw him, trying to get away, but it seemed her strength was too far gone for that. She made a noise that sounded more like a language than like mindless babbling, but he didn’t recognize the words. She was unhealthily thin, indicating that she probably hadn’t eaten enough recently. Her right leg had a bloody gash in it that didn’t look like it was healing properly. He pressed his hand against her forehead, and found that it was hot.

“She’s hurt,” said Esi.

“Yeah. I think she’s pretty far gone.”

“I bet Sadha could help her. Sadha knows a lot about helping people, right?”

“Yeah, but…” he glanced uncertainly back the way they’d come, trying to gauge the distance. “It’s a long way to carry a dying person, and I don’t think she can walk.”

“We can’t just leave her! And there isn’t time to go back and bring someone else before night!”

Eran frowned. He brushed the girl’s tangled, muddy hair out of her face. Apart from the mud and the sickness, she was kind of cute. This struck him as the sort of thing that was probably not terribly relevant information, but he noted it anyway.

Man, he hated spring. Hated the entire concept of spring.

“Eran!” insisted Esi, tugging at his shirt.

“OK, OK, I’ll see if I can carry her back. You run back and tell people what happened, and send some people to meet us so I don’t have to walk the whole way.”

Esi blinked. “By myself?”

“Yeah, by yourself, I gotta carry her. Look, you can take my spear. It’s not like I can use it while carrying her anyway.”

Esi took the spear in her hands and stared at it, as if it were a foreign object that she had no idea what to do with. He really doubted that it made her any safer, but he didn’t actually want to carry it and the girl back the whole way. “OK,” she said flatly. “I’ll come right back.”

Then she was gone. Eran turned his attention back to the injured woman. “I’m going to carry you back to the cave, OK? There are people there who might be able to help.” He assumed she couldn’t understand the words, but he hoped the tone would be reassuring. She cried out when he tried to lift her, but she was too weak to put up more than a token struggle. As soon as he’d gotten her off the ground, she went limp.

“That’s it. Rest. You’ll need your strength later. Like I said, we’re going to the cave. That’s where Esi and I live. There’s our mom, Shasa, and her father, Karel. And our sister Sadha, and our sister Naji, and their husbands, and Sadha’s three children, and Naji’s four. It’s a lot of people. We have enough to take care of someone else for a while, I think.”

The woman’s eyes drifted shut. He went on, telling her about each of his siblings in turn, and each of Sadha and Naji’s children. He really hoped she couldn’t understand him. He wasn’t terribly polite in his assessments of them, and it’d be pretty embarrassing if the girl parroted it all back to them after she came to her senses.

When Sadha and her husband arrived, they instructed him to lay her down and treat her now, rather than carrying her back further. The woman protested as Sadha washed the wound out with river water, but was too weak to stop her.

“Will she live?” asked Eran.

“I’m not sure,” said Sadha. “I think that’s up to her.”

#amenta rp #before the dawn #imrainai writes #will i finish this one? lmao probably not #but I think Eran and Esi are cute enough to post anyway

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dragonageroleplay88-blog · 7 years ago

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Chapter I: Part I: Ashara / Kilian

The day wore on, and Ashara continued through the Korcari Wilds, with little sign of life. It was cold and dank, and Ashara wondered how she hadn’t been terrified the last time she was there.

She cursed herself for not sneaking into a city for supplies before actually making the trek into the wilds; game was hard to come by now that she was so deep in the forest, and she couldn’t survive on berries forever. The ones that she knew were safe to eat would not last forever, especially if she continued wandering into the winter months.

Around midday, her hunger began to get the best of her. With barely a glance about, she closed her eyes and focused, shifting into her cat form.

Of course, a bear or a tiger or some other predatory animal would have been much better, but that was the downside of the circle-- the only animals she got close enough to, to really study were the cats kept to keep the mice at bay.

She wandered to the small stream and lowered herself. She was much faster in this form, and so she watched the fish, waiting and waiting... Then she pounced, catching one of the smaller ones between her fangs.

She shifted back, pulled the fish from her teeth and spit, hoping to get the raw taste from her mouth.

Thankful for having thought to bring her dagger, Ashara took a seat on the ground, started a small fire with her magic, and got to work on gutting the damn thing. It wasn’t huge, or even big. But it would be enough to fill her up, and give her energy to continue on.

Kilian always respected the wildlife of Thedas. He wasn't used to the abundance of it in Ferelden, but he was glad for it. He had not needed to hunt for many years, but the skill was beaten into his head so much from growing up in the Western Approach that it was almost second nature. So when he burrowed his arrowhead into the skull of a boar, started a fire in the shade of the trees, he began to cook the beast as he did as a child.

As he chewed on the undoubtedly tasty creature, he leaned his head back against the tree trunk after taking off the bulk of his armor, letting his skin breathe, trying to assess his next move. He knew that if he followed the stars long enough, he’d make it back to the Hinterlands, but finding his troop once more would prove difficult, especially with the flock of rogue Mages surrounding the area.

He groaned, holding the stick with a chunk of boar thigh over the roaring flames.

One step at a time, Kilian.

Ashara speared the gutted fish with a stick, and watched it. The crackling of the fire was the only thing she could hear, so she hummed to herself, in attempt to make herself feel less lonely.

Perhaps this woman had just been a fever dream, perhaps she had never existed, or maybe she was dead. Could the Templars have found her? There had to be a reason Ashara saw no sign of her.

She was halfway through her meal when she heard voices. “Shit.” She whispered to herself, kicking dirt onto the fire, putting it out.

She grabbed her staff from the ground and slipped behind a tree, just as the men found her clearing.

“Can’t believe we’re sent here while Thom and them get to actually fight the rebels.” One of them mumbled, “Why do we have to miss out on the excitemen--”

“Shh.” The other one cut the first off. “Look, someone’s been here.”

Ashara peeked out at them. The first one stood rather tall, with black hair. The second was crouched by her make-shift fire pit. They both wore the uniform of the Templar order.

“It’s still hot.” The crouched one said, “They’re probably still close.”

“I don’t get why they didn’t invoke the annulment until after they all escaped” The black-haired one said. “Not like anyone would miss ‘em”

Ashara cursed to herself. She had to get away. Slowly, she took a step back, then another. Of course, it was just her luck that she would step on a twig, which would make a comically loud crack.

“What was that?”

The crouched man stood, and caught sight of her.

Ashara didn’t waste time waiting, she turned and sprinted in the opposite direction.

“Hey, you! Stop!”

Kilian’s head lifted from where it began to droop after a full stomach, and he rubbed his eyes. He lifted himself to his feet, his hand curling around the hilt of his blade while he attempted to form an idea as to what was going on.

The voice that hollered wasn’t far, he could tell. It was a man’s, maybe in his forties, gruff… Damn Fereldens. They all sound the same.

It was not until he saw the flash of red again that he outwardly groaned. Of course, out of anyone he could run into out here, it had to be this one again. The Elf Mage from before was sprinting towards his small campsite, and it clearly wasn’t her who yelped into the wood. She was being chased.

“Girl, venex ici!” he called out to her, wishing now that he had his armor to protect him from what was to come.

Ashara felt like a coward, running from the very people she wanted to fight... But she wasn’t ready. She’d seen enough fighting in Kirkwall, she’d seen enough violence when she’d helped with healing those wounded in the battle.

She also wasn’t sure she could fend off two attackers, especially ones trained specifically to hunt down mages.

She heard someone call to her in another language, and she held back a groan when she saw the Orlesian. She slowed and gave him an odd look, not understanding what he was trying to say.

She made her way to him, “Unless you have a way to get those Templars off my back, I really have to go.” She hissed, though she prayed to the Maker or Andraste or whoever they prayed to, that he had a plan.

Kilian rolled his eyes when she came to a slow in front of her, nudging her aside with his elbow. His blade was still gripped in his right fist as he took a few steps ahead, watching two figures take form in between the bramble.

Templars. Of course.

“Take notes, petite fille,” he said over his shoulder as the Templars also came to a slowed pace before stopping approximately ten feet in front of him. “Hello, my good men… What brings you to the wilds on this day?”

The black-haired one was hunched over, hands on his knees. When he stood up, however, he towered over Kilian and the Elf woman. “That… apostate,” he said, regaining his breath. Kilian always thought the armor of a Templar was impractical for ‘hunts’. Far too heavy. “That apostate needs to come with us?”

Kilian raised a single eyebrow, turning towards the Elvish woman. “My, my. Aren’t you popular?”

“The Right of Annulment has been set in place,” the other Templar spoke up as Kilian turned back to them. “That woman is an illegal Mage, and therefore must be taken back to the capital for sentencing.”

“Sentencing?” Kilian said, the corners of his mouth raising slightly. “Is that what they call executing Mages in the wilds these days?”

“I’ve done nothing wrong!” Ashara snapped at the Templars, “Do I look like a blood mage to you? I’ve passed my harrowing. I’ve not even come in contact with a demon since! You have no right to do any of this!”

Ashara stared up at the man. Her anger coiled inside her, she wanted to kill them both... But she knew that wouldn’t be a good idea. Someone would find out, and they would hunt for her even more.

She tightened her grip on her staff.

“It doesn’t matter what you’ve done, apostate.” The shorter one said, “No mage can be left alive. The circle’s are beyond saving. Now face your sentencing with honour.”

Kilian could not help it. He tilted his head back and let out a laugh.

Honour. What a joke in this country.

“And who are you supposed to be?” the black haired Templar asked, clearly angered. “She your whore?”

Kilian shook his head, still chuckling a bit. “If I wanted a woman to keep me company, I would choose one that could withstand more more than whatever the Circle was fucking her with.”

This comment roused a bit of a grin from the shorter of the two men, and Kilian tilted his head. He never played the Great Game, per se, but he was not blind to its tactics. He was Celene’s personal bodyguard, after all. And watching her mingle with other Orlesian nobility party after party, he began to catch on. It also helped that men from Ferelden were about as smart as the mutts that wandered the streets of Val Royeaux at night.

“My name is Kilian Drakus,” he continued while he had their tongues. “Grandson of Tamriel Ruard Drakus of Orlais. Veteran Captain of the Winter Court Cavalry. I am here cleaning up the mess that you let get out of hand, mes amies.”

The Templars were still silent, staring at Kilian as if to figure out his bluff.

“The work you men do it admirable, really, it is,” he went on. “However, I know this one. She is harmless. However, I know you have orders to slay every Mage you come across, non?”

“That we do, ser,” the shorter one spoke up with pride.

Ah, so this is the easily corrupted one.

“Well, it so happens that I have orders to protect the balance in this country,” Kilian replied. “And it would not look very good on me if Empress Celene knew that I let two Templars kill a Mage girl who was not retaliating… I would have to report it, of course, to her Grace directly. And it your faces would not be hard for me to place.” All lies, of course - he would not remember them five minutes after departing, but by the way the looked to the ground in front of Kilian, he knew they took the bait.

The Orlesian’s comment only angered Ashara more, but she kept quiet. He had no idea what the Circle was like. He could not imagine the horrors she had been witness to, how could he? He was an Orlesian with a cushy job.

“I do have to wonder... How many children have you killed because of the annulment? How many babes?” Ashara asked the Templars, not realizing that it was over quite yet. “Oh yes, I’m sure the little ones who you tore from their families were such a threat.”

“They very well could be,” Kilian responded before the Templars had the chance to. He wanted to signal her to hold her tongue, but it was futile. Opinionated Mages. “There have been many cases of young children being corrupted by magic that they do not know how to possess. The Circles are here for a reason, after all.”

“Right you are, lad,” the short one said.

Kilian smiled, clapping his hands together. “But I promise you, men, I will make sure this one does not cause any grief. She will ride with me to Orlais tonight.”

The Templars looked at each other, their brows furrowed in confusion. The black haired one looked a little less corrupted by the game than his partner, who seemed on board with Kilian’s word.

After what felt like an eternity, the black haired one finally let out a huff, sheathing his blade at his side. “Very well, ser,” he muttered. “You watch over that abomination with your life, you hear me?”

Kilian raised his right hand, palm facing the Templars. “Bien sûr.”

With that, the Templars shook their heads and headed off in the direction they came, looking back every few feet as if to make sure the Elf didn’t attack them with a bolt of lighting. When they disappeared from view, Kilian turned back to the woman, folding his arms over his chest.

“Nice fellows, non?”

Ashara’s hands clenched into fists by her side. “I should have killed them.” She muttered, and glared at him, “How dare you act like you know anything about what happened in the Kirkwall Circle!?”

She turned away from him, “So what now, are you going to drag me to your damn Orlais, lock me away in one of your circles?” She asked, closing her eyes. She wanted to go home, but she had no home. Once, it had been in Highever, with her parents and Yara... Hell, even the Circle on Lake Calenhad had felt somewhat like home...

He scoffed at her comment, shaking his head while he stomped out the already dimming fire behind him. He picked up his armor, slinging what he could over his shoulder. “There are a million things I would rather partake in than dragging a Kirkwall apostate back to my home, I assure you.”

With a stretch, he grabbed the branch that the boar meat was attached to. He assessed it, tilting his head from side to side, before handing it towards the Elf. “A bit burnt, but I doubt you find much food out here. Take it.”

She turned back and stared at him, then at the boar meat. She wanted to say no, that she didn’t need his pity, but she’d only eaten half of a small fish...

Ashara took the stick and bite into the meat, ripping off a piece as she took a seat on the ground. She handed it back to him, assuming they were sharing now. “So, what exactly is an Orlesian doing in the middle of the Korcari wilds?” She asked.

Kilian snorted. “Usually a ‘you’re welcome’ suffices after a man saves your life, but that works, too.” He bit into the meat, handing it back to her. “And I didn’t lie about why I am here. That is exactly why I am here, because this country does not know how to control its people. I was attacked, however, and had to take to the wilds for shelter.”

He waved his hand in the air, signaling that he did not want any more food.

“I also did not lie about thinking the Templars are doing good work.” he went on, wondering how far he could push this one’s buttons. “Extreme at times, of course, but not completely out of line. Same goes for your kind.”

Ashara rolled her eyes, “Fine, I’ll level with you. The Ferelden Circle was fine, great even. It was like the golden city compared to Kirkwall.” She said, taking another bite. “But we shouldn’t have to spend our days locked in a tower with no rights. The Templars should not have so much control over the Circle... Especially Templars like Meredith and Ser Karras.” She grimaced at the sound of his name.

It was hard to remember the good Templars, the ones from Lake Calenhad-- That Cullen boy, who used to go bright red whenever he caught people in inappropriate situations, Alicia, who used to sneak sweets for the children-- when she’d been surrounded by nothing but evil for the past... How many years? 6? 7?

Kilian shrugged. “Circles are far different in Orlais,” is all he said.

After the Elf finished eating, he stood, using his sleeve to wipe sweat from his brow. He’d need a hot bath after he returned home. He’d been in the same garments for almost a week now, and his sweat and come and dried at least fifty times a day now.

“I am heading back to the Hinterlands,” he said. “If you need safe passage there, you are welcome to tag along. However, as soon as we reach the clearing, you are on your own. I cannot be seen escorting a Mage around where I am supposed to be fending them off.”

Ashara shook her head at his offer, “Nothing for me in the Hinterlands.” She said, simply. Nothing for me anywhere...

I should have gone to Tevinter, She told herself, This is nothing but a fool's errand. I’ll never find her. “If you were in my position,” She said, wanting some sort of guidance, “What would you do?”

He stuck out his bottom lip, pondering the question.

“I would give up,” he said finally, licking his lips. “If I were an Elvish girl Templars were feverishly hunting to maim, rape, and murder, I would think slitting my wrists is the best option… However, I have never been the best under pressure.”

He took a few steps around the tree, looking up to the sky. The stars were just beginning to come out now, and so his map materialized. It shouldn’t be far now. Soon enough, he would hit the clearing that would be the Hinterlands, and there was only another week or so until his post ended, and he could return to Orlais.

“What I would advise anyone else to do,” he continued, looking back to the girl, “would be to take this as an opportunity for a new life. You can either stay here and rot in the wilds; you can join the Mage rebellion and try to kill me; you could hand yourself over to the Templars and pray for a quick death… Or, you could do the smart thing and follow me to the Hinterlands. Several safe havens have been set up by sympathisers, many close to Denerim.”

He began to walk forward, not looking back to see if the girl was following him. He didn’t much care, but he had to admit: if she didn’t follow, he would always wonder what happened to that Elf in the wilds.

“Your choice, madame” he called back.

Ashara was shocked by his response. She would admit, it was tempting to join the mage rebellion... But she had no way to get there.

She watched him walk away, and with a silent curse, she followed after him. She wanted to find that woman still, more than anything. She knew that that woman would help her, like she had so long ago... But perhaps finding her could wait.

#script #Ashara #Kilian

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