#I do hope this gets addressed in tears of the kingdom

[yoroshiu]

Isn't it funny that most of the games in Kingdom Hearts end in tragedies, or very bittersweetly, AT BEST. And even the handful that are technically happy endings have the underlying pressure of the upcoming battle, so nothing is ever truly "outright happy."

[miihho]

"𝑫𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒊𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆"

— 𝐒𝐲𝐩𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬: If you don't want your butler to reach a breaking point and take matters into his own hands by 'disciplining' you, perhaps refrain from behaving like a spoiled brat next time.

— 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: rough sex , unprotected sex , brat!reader , overstimulation , bttm male reader , blowjob , smacking , swearing , dirtytalk , praise , manhandling , dirty talk , age gap , virgin!reader , making out , degradation , petnames , non con , public sex.

PART 1 , PART 2

You sat at the long, luxurious dinner table while the maid nervously watched you eat the food prepared for you. As you took a bite, the maid grew anxious, eyes fixed on your every move. Moments later, a displeased expression crossed your face, and the maid seemed to brace herself for what was to come, as if she had expected it.

"blech!" you spat the meal you were eating. "This is disgusting! Make me another one!" you shouted, throwing the plate of food to the ground, shattering it into pieces. You glared at the maid, who nodded and hurriedly began picking up the broken fragments from the floor.

As the maid cleaned, your impatience mounted. "Move faster!" you demanded. Startled, she flinched, causing the shattered glass to prick her skin, blood seeping from the cuts.

You didn't care. The sight of her blood, her pain—none of it mattered to you. You were a just brat after all.

"Hurry up! I'm growing impatient, you vermin!" you scolded, your harsh words causing tears to well up in her eyes. She nodded quickly and, once done cleaning the mess, ran off to get your new food.

"He wants another dish." the maid announced to the weary chefs. It was the fourth meal you had dismissed.

"Again? What does that brat even like?!" one chef groaned, exasperated. "He's just toying with us. He enjoys seeing us suffer because he has all that power," another chef complained.

The butler, Kyzer, heard their conversation as he passed through the hallways. The chefs and maid flinched when he entered the kitchen. "S-Sir Kyzer!" bowed the maid.

"Oh, Kyzer, what brings you here?" a male chef inquired.

"Pardon me but I accidentally overheard one of your discussion regarding the unfortunate incident with the prince. It saddens me that the boy has, for the fourth time, squandered your hard-prepared meals. I intend to address this matter with him personally, in the hope of curbing this unacceptable behavior." Kyzer declared, his words resonating deeply with the maid and the chefs.

"Kyzer, we appreciate it, but you don't have to do that! We can handle him... I think?" another chef responded, though his voice wavered with uncertainty.

"I must. I don't want your hard work and efforts to go to waste," Kyzer said firmly, his resolve clear.

"K-kyzer, you're so kind to us!" one of the chefs exclaimed, clearly moved by his actions. "I just don't understand why M/n can't be more like you—polite, kind, and well-mannered, instead of such a brat!"

"Well, he's been surrounded by abundance and luxury his whole life. His parents never taught him proper etiquette, so I suppose that's why he turned out that way," another chef remarked.

"Hm... Would you also like me to teach him a thing or two?" "

"Yes! That would be wonderful, Kyzer! Please change his behavior if you can," the chefs pleaded, bowing deeply in gratitude.

"I'll do my best. Now, if you'll excuse me," Kyzer said, bowing before leaving the kitchen. He walked purposefully through the grand hallways of the kingdom toward the dining room where you were waiting.

A few minutes later, Kyzer arrived and opened the large door to the dining room. There you were, sitting alone at the long table, surrounded by empty chairs, waiting impatiently for your food with an annoyed cute expression on your face.

You turned to look at him, his long white hair and piercing yellow eyes sending a chill down your spine. "Who are you? And where is that maid? Why is she taking so long? Ugh!" you grumbled, sounding like a spoiled child.

"My name is Kyzer, your highness," he introduced himself, bowing deeply with one hand on his chest and the other arm behind his back. "The maid is in the kitchen, and it takes time to prepare a new dish for you, your highness." he explained, maintaining his respectful bow.

"Then make them cook faster. I'm getting impatient here!" you demanded, scrutinizing Kyzer from head to toe.

"I'm afraid I cannot your highness. I'm here for other reasons," Kyzer replied, straightening up.

"What?! How dare a lowly butler like you defy my orders?!" you exclaimed, shocked by his refusal. "What even is your reason here?" you demanded, glaring at him.

"You."

"W-what?" you responded, disbelief evident in your tone.

"I'm here because of you, Your Highness," he said, his yellow eyes boring into yours.

You felt a twinge of nervousness under his intense glare, but you weren't one to back down. Crossing your arms defiantly, you retorted. "Me? What for? If it's something insignificant, you get out of my sight!"

"Oh, Your Highness, it's far from unimportant because it's about you."

"About me!? Just what are you trying to say?" you replied while staring at him with perplexity and fury.

He was starting to get on your nerves.

"It's about your behavior and manners, Your Highness. They need to change—"

You snapped, standing up abruptly and grabbing a wine glass. You threw it at him, but it missed and shattered against the wall instead.

"Don't try and give me lessons about behavior and manners, it won't work on me you imbecile!" you shouted, your voice echoing through the grand dining room. As you met his gaze, you flinched at the intensity of his icy glare fixed on you.

You were slowly getting on his nerves.

Somehow, you felt a twinge of regret for your actions, but what was done was done, and there was no turning back. "I'm giving you a chance. I'll let this slide for now!" you scoffed, striding towards him and 'accidentally' bumping his shoulder as you headed for the door. "Tell the maids to clean up the mess." you ordered, but he said nothing.

Weird.

Just as you were about to open the door, he grabbed you roughly by the hair, eliciting a pained sound from you. He threw you to the floor, and you landed hard on your backside, hissing in pain.

"What the fuck are you doing!? If my parents hear about this, your head will be cut off!" you yelled, staring up at him, though part of you wished you hadn't. Behind those intense yellow eyes, you sensed something ominous lurking. Something telling you that something bad was about to happen.

"This is your last chance."

"Change. Your. Behavior."

You chuckled, "And why should I?" you raised an eyebrow, smirking defiantly.

"People are suffering because of you. Your crude and mean comments, your filthy mouth—they need to be purified. And I know you didn't receive proper etiquette, so I'm willing to teach you." he explained.

"Purified!? fuck off! They deserve it. I don't care whether I hurt their feelings or not, they're lowlifes! They don't deserve to be treated the same way. And those chefs and maids? They're just servants, working for us. They're poor, probably came from the gutter, ew! They don't deserve special treatment like us royals!" you retorted venomously.

And then he finally snapped.

As he walked towards you, confusion clouded your expression. "What are you doing—" but your words were cut off as he grabbed you by the collar and dragged you onto the table. You struggled to pry his hands away, but he was too strong.

"Get your dirty hands off me!" you shouted at him, but he ignored your protests. With a swift motion, he threw you onto the table, and you cried out in surprise. Landing with a thud, you quickly placed both palms on the table, using it to support your weight.

As you tried to regain your composure. He forcefully stripped off your pants and underwear, leaving your lower body exposed. Your eyes widened in shock and embarrassment. "Stop! What are you doing with those filthy hands of yours!" you cried out, feeling utterly vulnerable and violated.

You found yourself facing away from him, your exposed backside vulnerable and humiliating. As you attempted to look back at him, he forcefully shoved your head to the ground with his hand, preventing any movement. Struggling to rise, you found yourself pinned in place, utterly helpless.

"S-stop this instant! Someone could walk in here at any moment, you idiot!" you pleaded desperately, but he only inched his face closer to your ear.

"Count." he whispered.

"W-what?"

Smack!

"Wah!" you gasped in surprise as the sharp stinging sensation of his hand striking your exposed ass jolted through you.

"I said, count." he repeated.

"H-how dare you tell me what to do—"

Smack!!

A sharp gasp escaped your lips as he delivered a firmer blow to your backside, the sensation igniting a mixture of pain and arousal that pulsed through your body.

"If you don't count, Your Highness, it'll only get worse and harsher," he warned, caressing your slightly reddened ass. "So please do as I say." he urged, his voice soft yet commanding.

Smack!

"O-one," you stammered, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

Smack!

"T-two..."

Smack!

"T—..three." you breathed out, your face pressed down onto the table. Each smack sent a jolt of sensation through you, a mixture of pain and a strange, exhilarating—....pleasure?

He seemed to be truly enjoying your reactions, relishing in the cute gasps and flinches you let out. A smile spread across his lips as he gently paused the spanks, caressing your ass for a moment before resuming with renewed vigor.

Smack!

"f-four!"

As the spanking continued, it eventually came to a halt when you ceased to respond. Sensing your exhaustion, he removed his hand from atop your head, understanding that you had no energy left to fight. Your rear end was now red and throbbing, you had lost track of the count. With gentle care, he soothen your reddened cheeks, offering a moment of relief and comfort.

"How many was it, Your Highness?" His voice was tender as he sought to ground you in the moment.

"I... I don't know," you murmured weakly, your voice barely audible over the echo of pain.

"It's 26, Your Highness," he informed you, his fingers coaxing your face to meet his gaze. As you turned to look at him, he couldn't help but feel a surge of desire. Your flushed cheeks, those endearing hiccups, those captivating eyes, those cute lips...

Fuck... Every aspect of you stirred an undeniable attraction within him, you were turning him on.

He gazed at your lips, inching his face closer to yours, slowly, deliberately. You tried to turn away, but he held your face firmly in place. He was so close, close enough to feel the warmth of your breath on his skin, close enough to taste your plump lips...

Knock, knock!

The sound jarred him from the moment, a surge of frustration coursing through him. Damn it, he had forgotten they were at the dining table.

"Your Highness, your food is ready," the maid's voice came from outside the door.

"Now, if you cause another disturbance, you'll face another punishment. You don't want that, do you?" he said, his eyes locking onto yours with an unwavering intensity.

"F-fuck you... L-let me go and get my pants! T-this is an order," you demanded weakly, still exhausted from the pain and the effort of keeping your screams contained so the maids wouldn't become suspicious and barge in.

Kyzer was going to follow your orders, but his eyes darted down to your shaft, which was standing up confidently. "Are you sure, Your Highness? You're quite... hard down there. You wouldn't want an uncomfortable erection, would you?" he taunted, his hand lowering from your ass to your shaft.

"N-no, it'll go down. Stop!" you stammered, but a moan escaped your lips as he touched you. "Look at this cute little cock, so pretty, just like its owner," Kyzer murmured, beginning to stroke you. You let out a loud moan and quickly covered your mouth.

"Your Highness, may I come in?" the maid called from outside, oblivious to what was happening inside the room. Kyzer continued to stroke you slowly, the deliberate pace heightening your frustration.

"H-hurry up!" you ordered, your voice strained with urgency.

"You want me to hurry? Then beg for it, Your Highness," he smirked, his hand engulfing your tiny lil sensitive cock.

You were embarrassed and humiliated at this point. You, a prince, begging for something? It infuriated you, but the thought of your reputation being ruined drove you to comply.

"P-please hurry up, please let—hng!...M-me cum." you begged, your teary eyes locking with his mischievous yellow ones. He licked his lips, clearly enjoying your submission.

"As you wish, Your Highness," he said, his pace quickening as he stroked you up and down, causing your back to arch off the table.

"Mmhp!?" you moaned, drool seeping from your mouth as you tried to stifle your sounds with your hand. He began to tease the tip of your cock with his index finger, swirling it clockwise.

"Your Highness, please let me hear those beautiful moans... Please let me hear how good I’m making you feel," he whispered. Lost in the pleasure, you obliged, moaning louder, no longer able to control yourself.

"That's it," he breathed, his lustful eyes fixed on your flushed face. Drool was seeping from your mouth, your cheeks were a deep shade of red, and your eyebrows were scrunched up in pure ecstasy. The sight of you like this almost made him cum in his pants. "That's a good boy." he grinned, his own arousal evident as he continued to bring you closer to the edge.

"Are you gonna cum for me, Your Highness?" Kyzer's voice dripped with seduction, his smile widening as he saw you lost in pleasure. "Fuck... You're so adorable when you're messed up." His face flushed as he leaned in, licking the tears streaming down your cheeks. The sensation made you shiver, and he grinned, quickening his pace.

"Nngh—!... Ahh! I-I'm gon' c-cum!!" you cried out, your body trembling as you threw your head back.

"Cum for me, Your Highness. Be a good boy and cum for me."

"A-ahh~!" Your cute little cock spurted, painting the marble floor with streaks of white as you panted heavily, sweat glistening on your skin.

"Well done, Your Highness. I'm very proud of you~♡" he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "I knew you could do it." He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"Your Highness? Are you there?" the maid called from outside the door, her voice filled with concern.

"Let's get you dressed up, yeah?" Kyzer said softly, his voice a mix of amusement and authority. He retrieved your discarded clothing, his touch gentle but firm as he helped you back into your garments. His fingers brushed against your skin, sending shivers down your spine as he adjusted your clothing with meticulous care.

You were still trembling, the aftershocks of pleasure making it difficult to stand. Kyzer's hands were steady, though, guiding you through each movement as he redressed you.

"Remember, Your Highness," he murmured, his lips close to your ear, "I will change your behavior. This is just the beginning." He smirked.

Once you were fully dressed, he took a step back, his eyes scanning you with satisfaction. "There you go, presentable as ever." He straightened his own attire, ensuring he looked impeccable before turning towards the door.

As he opened it, the maid stood waiting with your meal. "Your food, Your Highness," she said, bowing slightly.

Kyzer gave you one last meaningful glance, his eyes lingering on yours. "Enjoy your meal your highness." he said smoothly, before stepping aside to let the maid through.

[mikashisus]

KID AND LEVERET

synopsis: ❝ i was the leveret in hiding ❞ ❝ kid among beasts of metal and malice. ❞ the years in which you and kinich found each other, lost each other, and found each other again in a world riddled with conflict that was intent on keeping you apart.

taglist. @wystiix @pneumosia @kazuinvocation @pixelcafe-network

word count. 4.5k ( contents : angst, conflict, implied alcoholism, implied abuse )

notes. im so glad i was able to get this done in time, i was rlly scared i wouldn't be able to :') this is my secret santa gift for @knnichs !! i hope u like it zira!! <33 i put in a ton of effort to make it as enjoyable as possible despite my less than satisfactory writing 🤕 also, this was loosely based off yaelokre's song "kid and leveret" which i will literally sell my soul for. gonna loop that song for forever when it finally releases, mark my words

The first time you decided to run away from the castle had been when you were seven years old. At the time, your parents had sent every general they could out into the vast fields and forests to search for you.

A lost, small child would be extremely hard to find, but they were confident they would be able to find you. You couldn’t have gone far— after all, you had always been afraid to go outside the royal city’s gates by yourself. 

General Capitano, one of the most elite soldiers in Eirene’s military and one of your father’s most loyal men, had been the one to bring you back within the castle walls. You had kicked and screamed when he found you quite far from the kingdom’s gates. However, your tantrum did not phase him in the slightest. He simply placed you upon his horse and made haste back to the castle to return you to your parents. 

Your mother— bless her soul —had been weeping tears of joy upon your return, and immediately had the maids draw you a bath to rid your skin of the dirt and grime, and your hair of the leaves and twigs. She hadn’t left your side for days after that, for fear of her baby once again slipping through her fingers. 

The second time you attempted to run away from home had been when you were thirteen years old— seven years after your first attempt. It lasted longer than the last. You managed to get to the far outskirts of the kingdom’s vast land before your personal guard (and babysitter), General Capitano, once again found you. You kicked and screamed again, reminding him of the first time you both had gone through this scenario. 

However, just like the last time, he was not phased. He picked you up with ease and perched you on his black horse, taking you back to the castle. 

Your mother paced back and forth in front of the bathtub, her hands on her hips as she bit her lip. The two maids who were washing you eyed her nervously out of the corner of their eyes. One of them even shared an uneasy glance with you. You simply shrugged and stared at your mother, waiting for another one of her long lectures. 

A few tense moments passed, the only sound being the sloshing of the water in the tub and a soap-filled sponge making contact with your skin. Finally, the excruciating silence was broken as your mother turned to face you, her visage riddled with resignation. 

“Leave us.” She addressed the maids quietly, and without a word, the two of them stepped back and fled the room, most likely sensing the oncoming lecture. 

Your mother pulled up a chair next to the tub and sat down, folding her hands neatly into her lap. She nervously fiddled with her fingers as she took a deep sigh. “I’m not angry with you for sneaking out,” she told you softly, “I just want to know why you are so intent on leaving the castle without a guard. You could be hurt, or— or worse, you could die out there! Do you know how many times your brother had left? And what it did to him in the end!?” 

You resisted an eyeroll and a groan of frustration. You heard that story many times. The story of how your older brother, now long gone, had snuck out of the castle in his youth and wound up dead in a river a few weeks later. When your parents had you, they were insistent on never letting you leave the castle under any circumstances— unless you were heavily guarded. 

Understanding their worry, you put up with it for a while. That was until it got to a point where you felt claustrophobic. Being watched at all times was draining, and you felt as if you couldn’t even go to the bathroom without a guard breathing down your neck. You had enough— so you attempted to leave your unhappy life, only to be dragged back. 

“Yes, Mother. I know. You’ve told me this story many times.” You told her, avoiding her worried gaze. 

She grabbed onto one of your hands and held it tightly. “You understand why we worry, yes? You nearly terrified us half to death the last time you slipped away from us.” 

The previous attempt had been because you were curious of the world outside the city’s walls.

“I know, Mother. I’m sorry for worrying you.” You felt a little bad for the anguish you caused her, but deep down, you still had a desire to leave the life your parents were planning out for you. That, and you wished to wander freely without the daunting stone walls caging you in and without an annoying guard to watch over you as if you were a baby. 

You promised your mother that night that you would be reasonable in the future, yet, that was also the last night you ever talked to her. Because that night, you escaped for good. You left the royal city, posing as a guard, and finally, finally tasted the sweetness of freedom that you had been dreaming of for what felt like forever.

Life outside the royal city was harsh, and the weather was even harsher, yet you weren’t completely useless. General Capitano had taught you enough so that you could successfully survive on your own and protect yourself against foes. 

The first village you stumbled upon for solace was a riverside village— one with a number of fishermen and lumberjacks. They welcomed you with open arms, happy to have a new addition to their cozy little home. You didn’t stay long, but their hospitality had always stuck with you. 

One person that always stuck with you was a boy a year younger than you who went by the name Kinich. 

Kinich had been taken in by the others in the village when he was very young, shortly after his parents had passed away. At the time, he had been living in a small hut on the outskirts of the village. When he came stumbling over after all food in his home had run out, the elders of the village took him in with open arms and raised him. 

Kneeling by the riverbed and gathering water into a flask, you spotted something laying in the sand just underneath the shallow water. Your curiosity took over, and you reached forward to pick it up. Your fingers smoothed over its surface as you turned it this way and that, trying to make out what it was in the dying sunlight.

“It’s a seashell.” A voice behind you said.

You jumped and turned, almost falling into the river as you did so. The boy acted quickly, pulling on your arm to prevent you from falling in. As soon as you were safely back onto the riverbed, he let go of you and pointed to the object in your palm. 

“That’s a seashell.”  He repeated.

Your eye twitched and you sent him a look. “I heard you the first time,” you quipped, glancing down at the shell in your palm, “what’s this doing here, anyway? I thought the closest oceanside town was on the other side of the region near Seameet Port?” 

He wasn’t phased by your nasty tone. “It’s from Augustbury. By the shore.” 

Your eyes widened at the name of the desert-side town. “Augustbury is far South… How did you get this? Are you from there?” 

He wordlessly shook his head. “Another nation.” Well, that explained his foreign name. “Came here when I was young. What about you?” 

Looking away from his striking green and yellow eyes, you looked back down at the shell laying in your palm. You turned it over, silently admiring it. You always wanted to see the ocean. Instead, you had been forced to live in a castle in the mountains far up north. But now… you could do whatever you pleased, whenever you pleased. 

You didn’t have a guard breathing down your neck, and no parents to lecture you anymore. You were free. You could roam the continent and see the wonders the world had to offer. You could go to Augustbury. 

Realizing you hadn’t answered his question, you stood up and met his gaze head on, a determined look in your eyes. You made up a lie, claiming you were from Northpass— a small village located on the outskirts of Eirene’s land and a bit north of this one. It was a renowned hunting village, but considerably poor. 

Kinich, who’s expression hadn’t changed from one of stoicism this entire time, took in your words. Whether or not he believed your lie, you didn’t know. But he never asked any further questions, and instead leaned down to pick up another shell laying in the sand. 

“This is a conch. If you put it up to your ear, you can hear the sound of ocean waves.” 

The following two months, you met Kinich at the riverbank, and he told you stories of all kinds of relics he had found in Augustbury by the shore. Each one he picked from his collection had a story behind it. You listened attentively as he entranced you with his voice, and he’d look away from you nervously, not used to such attention being directed his way.

It was only when a herd of royal guards had raided the village that you decided it was time for you to leave. The screaming of the townsfolk as the guards ransacked their houses and threatened to kill anyone who was incompetent rang in your ears for days to come. The sight of blazing fire was burned into the back of your eyelids and the smell of smoke lingered heavily in your nose for weeks. 

The once lively village that Kinich had called his home ever since he was a child had been ransacked and torn, burned completely to ashes by knights who you had once sworn oaths to protect your family. A bitter hatred settled deep in your gut as you witnessed their destruction. 

The last time you set your sights on Kinich had been amidst your escape. His figure was aglow with the light of orange flames, and tears had been streaming down his tan cheeks. The look of utter despair had been one you never saw on him until that moment, and the guilt eating away at your heart never ceased. You had to leave without him, lest the guards find you. 

You never saw him again. The hope you held in your heart for years to see him once more had been snuffed out. 

“Thanks for yer help, Sir!” A sailor saluted Kinich firmly, stumbling on his own feet as he set the barrel of goods down onto the musty deck of the ship. “Without another pair of hands, we might not’ve been able ta load this here ship by sunset!” 

Kinich nodded curtly, taking a glance at the rather old and decrepit ship. “It was no trouble. I’m sworn to help those in need.” 

The sailor waved him off. “Whateva ya say, kid. Hey, ya need a ride back to Eirene?” The sailor wiped off his forehead with a dirty cloth and set it down on the barrel. “We’re headin’ tha’ direction on our way back to Alryne.” 

Kinich mulled over the offer. He wasn’t in a hurry to get back to Eirene by all means. He wasn’t expected back for a few weeks, as he was still on the quest the King had sent him on a month prior. 

The quest had sent him on a wild goose chase to find an ancient relic stolen from the King’s vault by a master thief with no fixed appearance. How he was supposed to find and capture the criminal when he had nothing to go off of regarding their appearance eluded him. 

All the information he was given was that they were last seen here, in Augustbury, and bought a treasure map off a merchant. Kinich had searched the town high and low, asking all around and even finding the merchant who sold the map, only to come up empty handed. 

No one could give him any details. Strange. 

On top of that, the lost royal highness, the King and Queen’s only child, had been spotted in Aeris— right outside the royal capital —just a week ago. Because of that, the kingdom had been bustling with activity and uproar. If someone located and found the missing royal, they would be paid handsomely by the royal family for their efforts. 

Kinich didn’t care much for a rumor, but he did care about the reward. Whatever it was. He’d gladly take the money and flee the continent to the piece of land bordering this region by sea— the northern, barren lands of a mountainous kingdom called Cairnfelle. 

He’d leave the guard and live out the rest of his life there, free of stress or worry. Knowing him, he’d still take up mercenary work. He couldn’t stay still for one moment, after all. 

“I’m not expected back to my post for a while,” he finally answered, “but there is someplace I’d like you to drop me off. It should be on the way.” 

Without another word, he handed a small pouch of mora to the sailor and hopped aboard the ship. 

The Island of Kairos was once said to be home to a magnificent goddess who ruled over time and wind. The legend stated that once, long long ago, the ancient people of Cairnfelle had erected a glorious temple to honor her and sing her praises. 

As the years passed, the temple deteriorated and the people slowly forgot their goddess, leaving the island in a state of disarray. It slowly became a place unwelcoming to outsiders, draped in a thick fog and drawing many ships to shipwreck ashore from the storms raging just on the outskirts of the fog. 

The island was said to have been in a perpetual state of early morning. Whether or not that was true, Kinich was about to find out. 

Many adventurers in their lifetimes had attempted to reach this island, only to get caught in the swirling protecting storms and meet their untimely demise. 

Kinich was risking his life to reach this island. All for a wild goose chase that he was sure was futile. But he had to do this. He was indebted to the royal family, after all. 

The captain of the ship stepped up next to him, a wary look in his eyes. “Are ya sure ya wanna brave that storm, kid?” 

“Yes.”

That was all he said on the matter, and the captain left him alone for the remainder of the trip. 

“We’re nearing the storm, Cap!” A sailor shouted. “What should we do? We’ll get caught up in it!” 

Kinich turned to the crew. “Do you have a rowboat? I’ll go through it on my own.” 

“What!?” One of them cried incredulously. “You’ll die! It’s too risky!” 

He simply shrugged. “I’ve been through worse. Ever fight monsters from the Abyss head on? A dragon, by chance? A god?” 

The crew was silent. He clicked his tongue. “A simple storm is nothing compared to the foes I’ve faced. Now, do you have a rowboat?” 

Bracing the storm was a feat of skill. But he had spent long enough with Eirene’s Naval fleet to get by just fine. 

It was as if the storm was alive. As if it was trying to push him back and prevent him from reaching the shore. But he persisted, despite the amount of saltwater he swallowed and the coldness of the water drenching his hair and armor. 

Finally, in a last ditch effort as he steadily approached the sand, he stood and launched himself off the rowboat and into the shallow water, paving his way to the shore with heavy arms. He coughed, choking up the saltwater that had gotten in his mouth from the swim, and took a few moments to catch his breath. 

He looked up, meeting the sight of looming pillars and the presence of an eerie wind. He had made it. Successfully. 

He laid on the sand for a short while, staring up at the foggy sky with half lidded eyes. All of a sudden, he felt tired. His whole body felt heavy, as if it was being pulled into the earth. His eyes, struggling to stay open, fell closed unwillingly, and he slipped into a deep sleep. 

The image of his parents filled his head, both of them working in tandem in the same one-room house. Confused, he looked around, taking in the sight of the house he had lived in as a child back in Seameet. 

His mother was cutting up their last stash of grainfruits in the kitchen, her hands working diligently as she absentmindedly hummed a tune he hadn’t heard in many years. 

His father stumbled through the doorway, a beer bottle clutched tightly in his hand. His eyes were glazed over with drunkenness, his words slurring together in a mix of something incoherent. 

Kinich felt his stomach drop. His mother’s eyes sharpened as she set down the cutting knife and rounded on her husband. The two began yelling, and he couldn’t hear a word of it over the ringing in his ears. He went rigid, watching the scene play out before him, his lip trembling at the sight of his mother. 

He remembered now. This was the day his mother left and never returned, leaving him alone with his father. 

He knew how this would play out. His father, in a fit of drunken rage, would raise his hand on Kinich’s mother, and leave her sobbing on the floor. She’d continue making dinner, only to stop midway and retreat to the backyard. His father would leave the house to take his anger out elsewhere, and Kinich would be left to cry alone. 

Then, when his father came back, they’d look for his mother, only to find her gone. 

He jolted awake in a panic, clutching his chest as he heaved and tried to make sense of his surroundings. He was still on the Island of Kairos, right in the sand where he had been when he arrived. 

He sighed heavily, his body shaking ever so slightly as he calmed himself down from the memory he relived. Scrunching his brows together, he turned to look up at the gargantuan, deteriorated temple behind him. 

Had that been a lingering effect of the island? 

He stood, his legs a little wobbly, and began his trek into the ancient temple. He searched the place high and low, but it was no use. There was nothing here— no relics, no treasures from a bygone era, just dust and rubble and the lingering scent of dandelions. 

Strange. Dandelions were Cairnfelle’s trademark…

Had someone been here recently? He decided to do one more check of the perimeter, just to be safe. He scanned the walls, looking for anything out of place that could give away a hidden room of sorts. He pressed along the stone, his patience running thin the more he searched and came up empty handed. 

There had to be something here. He could feel it. 

He slammed his fist against the wall in frustration, only to hear an eerie creaking of stone. He looked up, his eyes widening as the wall opened and revealed some sort of ritual room. It was filled with incense, freshly picked cecilia flowers, and dandelion seeds laying on an ornate plate on the altar in the center. 

He took one step forward, only for his vision to go dark. 

“Are you sure about this?” Leena questioned, glancing over at you as she leaned over the unconscious body of the man you knocked out in the temple. 

You shrugged. “Not really, but this sword’s incredible!” You gently ran your fingers over the blade. “This’ll sell nicely! Imagine the reward they’ll pay for a captain of the royal guard’s weapon! Lady Kairos is smiling upon us today!” 

Leena sent you a deadpan look and sighed heavily. She stood up straight and placed her hands on her hips. “You’re insufferable, you know that?” 

Despite the insult, there was a fond smile on her lips. She took the sword from your hands and slid it back into its scabbard. “And stop touching it with your grubby hands! If you really want it to sell, then you can’t smudge the metal!” 

You raised your hands in surrender and took a step back. “Alright alright!” You snatched the sword from her hands and smirked as you gazed down at the man laying on the deck of your ship. 

Leena glanced at you. “What are we gonna do with him?” 

“He came all the way out here for our heads. I’d love to return the favor by cutting off his, but he’s useless as a dead man. We’ll send a ransom note to their royal shitasses.” 

She winced. “Will that even work? The King and Queen of Eirene don’t really care about their captains. The only thing they’ve ever cared about is finding their lost child.” 

“It’ll work.” You said confidently, gazing out at the pristine sea. 

The island was far from view now, only a speck on the horizon. A small part of you felt empty upon leaving. You had done your utmost to start rebuilding the temple to its former glory, starting with that ritual room. Ever since, you’ve received nothing but good luck. 

Fate, and Lady Kairos, was surely smiling upon you for your good natured efforts. 

“It’ll work because this man’s no ordinary captain,” you turned to glance at him again, his face ringing a bell in your mind, “he holds a beast within him. One that could destroy everything we hold dear. He’s Eirene’s ace in the hole— the one thing they care about.” 

Leena searched your face, a look of uneasiness in her verdant eyes. She bit her lip. Her orange-brown skin glowed under the dying sunlight.

With a huff, she let out a hesitant, “Fine. I trust you, Captain.” 

Your well thought out plan was in full swing, and it was only a matter of time before your prisoner awoke from his beauty sleep. Tasking your best friend and trusted right hand to look after him, you tended to that stubborn cannon down below the deck with another one of your crew. 

Leena sat next to the prisoner, tying knots into ropes and occasionally tossing a grape into her mouth from the bowl sitting to her left. 

The man next to her stirred, and she jumped as he began to struggle against his binds. His striking eyes met hers, and a chill ran down her spine. He clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing at her. 

“Release me.” 

“I’m sorry. I cannot.” 

They stared at each other for a few long and tense moments, before a small voice called out. “Auntie Leena!” 

She panicked, her eyes widening as she spotted her nephew running towards her with a full plate of food in his hands. He dodged past the other crew members, the food almost slipping off the plate. 

“Yanqing! Stay away from here, you’re supposed to be in the Captain’s quarters!” She jumped forward, stopping the little boy from getting any closer to the prisoner. 

He held the plate up, sending her a wide-toothed smile. “Look! I made you food! I made it all by myself!” 

She took the plate from him and ruffled his blonde hair. “Very good! I’m proud of you.” She sent him a warm smile. 

He basked in her praise, before his golden eyes landed on the prisoner behind her. His eyes sparkled as he saw the intricate gold armor, the same shade of his very own eyes. He stared at the man in awe. 

You swung down from one of the masts, skidding onto the deck with practiced ease and waltzing over to the prisoner with a confident stride. 

The man’s eyes widened upon seeing you, his mouth falling open in utter shock. As you opened your mouth, he interrupted, your name falling from his lips. 

The smirk on your lips vanished, replaced with a tight-lipped frown. Leena glanced between the two of you, her eyes calculating as her brows furrowed. 

“Do you know him, Cap?” 

You didn’t  answer, staring the man you once knew directly in the eyes. He had changed. He was no longer the scrawny kid with an air of despair around him. He wasn’t the same kid that collected seashells and could talk for hours about the stories behind each one. 

There was no fire in his eyes. Not anymore, at least. 

He was firmly built, with defined muscles and a set jaw, and a bandanna wrapped around his forehead. He was cloaked head to toe in Eirene’s standard Sunfleet armor. He had joined the very people who tore down the village he once called home. 

You had nothing left in you but disgust. How could he join them when they took everything from him? 

If there was a deeper reason why, you wouldn’t hear it. You wouldn’t listen to reason, not when Eirene had taken everything from you. Well, almost everything. 

Yanqing gripped your leg, and you placed a comforting hand on his head. “Go with Auntie Leena. I have work to do, okay?” 

The small boy of eight nodded and took Leena’s hand. The woman next to you sent you a look that screamed ‘we’re going to talk about this later’, and followed the little boy to the other end of the ship. 

“Long time no see, Kinich.” 

Kinich nodded ever so slightly. “Where have you been all these years?” 

You gestured to the ship. “Saving up enough for this. I see you’ve joined Eirene.” You crossed your arms over your chest, the scowl on your lips a sharp sight. 

His expression softened. “You still hate Eirene…” 

“They took everything from me. And they did the same to you.” You spat. “Why on Kairos’ green earth did you join up with the enemy!?” 

A small silence passed as he glanced around the ship, avoiding your gaze. “After Eastlily fell, the Captain of the Guard showed up. He slaughtered the remaining men who burned down our village and offered us a safe haven within Eirene’s royal capital. I’m indebted to not only him, but the King and Queen who showed their kindness to us.” 

The mention of the King and Queen ruffled your feathers, and you slammed your fist into the wall above his head. His eyes wandered back to you, and he shuffled in his binds. 

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the rising anger. You stepped back. “You’re not going back to Eirene. Not unless I get what I want.” 

“And that is?” 

You leaned down, your face inches from his. His striking eyes took in your features, lingering a little too long on your lips. 

With a smirk, you giggled softly. “Revenge.”

footnotes. i procrastinated so hard with this piece, but im happy with the ending at least!! i'll definitely write a part 2 in the future since we haven't even scratched the surface of the mc and kinich's relationship in this au 😭 i might make it a bunch of small oneshots and turn it into a series that way! idk we'll see (mc is around 27-28 in the last timeskip, and kinich is 26. at the age of 19, mc fell in love with someone from cairnfelle and they had a child together. a few years later, that person was killed in the war between eirene and cairnfelle.) yes, yanqing is the same yanqing from hsr!! he'll be showing up as the mc's son in my neuvi fic as well bc the mc from this fic and the one from my neuvi fic r almost the same person! the only difference between them is that THIS mc is royalty and also gn, while the mc from "abandon ship" is the daughter of a sailor and specifically said to be a woman. and YES, our lovely leni made an appearance!! <33 it'll be mentioned later on in "abandon ship," but leni's real name is leena! she switched it after people in fontaine kept mispronouncing her name as "leni". tired of correcting them, she decided to go by the name leni instead. it's kind of a nickname now :))

© 2024 mikashisus. do not plagiarize, copy, repost, feed to ai, or translate my works to any other platforms.

[interestingplan]

In Time of Need

Jorah Mormont x F!Reader

a/n - i decided to write this on a whim because we all have our moments and times and i just needed mine, hope you guys enjoy

Summary: After finding out your brother has passed, Jorah comforts you in a time of need.

Warnings: fluff content, emotions (literally), romance, a bit of angst

You've been working alongside Daenerys for a while now, helping and attending to her every need during her time of trying to take back the iron throne. However, when you decided to attend alongside Dany your brother was well off-away somewhere. Before you decided to serve Daenerys you had always been with your family in some way, tending and taking care of everyone else's needs but your own. Your brother and you ended up getting separated as he feared the idea of the iron throne and the corruption of the seven kingdoms. Both of you having polar opposite opinions, he took off a while back ago sending you letters whenever he could. Recently, he hasn't sent anymore letters too you which has made you worried and tiresome, until today.

You hear a faint knock on the door to your chambers, you opened the door to see one of the fellow guards out-front. He hands you a sealed letter that was marked with light green penmanship addressed to you personally.

"My Lady, please forgive the intrusion but this letter is for you"

the guard hands you the letter.

You take the letter from his hands and nod him a farewell before you turn around to close your chamber doors. Standing behind the door your hands started to feel clammy as you noticed the familiar writing. You slowly open the letter revealing it's contents as you read. Your body becomes shaky and uneasy, the letter revealing to you that your brother had been killed out near the Doarthraki Sea. Clenching your arms you drop the letter to the floor along with yourself as tears began to weep from your eyes. You where always so close with your brother and it brought you immense grief, knowing he was no longer out there. While letting yourself grief amongst the cold cobblestone, you hear a faint knock on the door. Picking yourself up quickly you wiped the tears and redness away from your face, afraid you where summoned for a meeting. You opened the door to see Ser Jorah standing there before your quarters.

You and Jorah have had a weird type of relationship, you couldn't understand how he felt about you mainly because his behaviors confused you at times. Daenerys would constantly tease you about noticing how Jorah looks over and stares at you at times, but tending to shrug it off because you didn't know how to feel. However, feelings started to arise for him after he handed you a small wildflower and said that it reminded him of you. This started the feelings which continued to grow and grow even more, he tugged on your heart-strings so many times with every small encounter and interaction you had with the knight.

"Ser Jorah..!" You exclaim still wiping your face a bit from the tears

"My Lady, may I come in if that's alright?" Jorah seems to ask hesitantly

"Why yes of course," You open the door for him a little more while covering your face with your arm to try and hide the redness in your eyes

You close the door as Jorah faces you and notices your eyes seeming red and irritated. Removing your arm from your face you sniffle a bit and fix the bottom of your trousers

"What may I do for you Ser. Jorah?" You ask

Jorah felt a bit hesitant to even ask you, he knew exactly why he came into your chambers in the first place. Overhearing your sobbing taking place as he was walking by, he quietly listened hearing every tear-drop on the cold cobblestone floor. Jorah ultimately wanted to make sure that you where okay and that nothing was wrong, but going about asking you was much harder than anticipated. Jorah cleared his throat and decided to ask you the question.

"My Lad- well.. Y/n, are you alright?" Jorah asks you trying not to break eye-contact

Your face becomes a bit numb as you feel yourself starting to well up with tears again as you unexpectedly started crying once more about your brother. Jorah's face becomes concerned as you walk towards him out of emotion, you start to fall down to the floor one more as Jorah reaches your level to ground you. He gently takes your hand in his and lifts you up and guides you over to the bed in your chambers. He sits down with you on the bed still his hand in yours as you wipe away your tears with your arm.

"Y/N, what's the matter? Did something happen?" Jorah asks so softly and reassuring

Clearing your throat once more to try to speak you gather yourself to tell him what had happened

"My.. brother.., I just received word that he has.. died." Speaking while looking down at the floor

Jorah looks at you so sympathetically, he truly felt bad for the way you where currently feeling. He wanted to do something for you, anything. He decided to ask you then in there, what you needed in the moment.

"Do you.. need anything, from me right now..?" Jorah speaks suddenly

You look up at him in shock, you became so surprised by his words and how he seemed to genuinely care about you.

"I guess.. yes.." As you still began to weep your tears

Jorah decides to take you close to him and embraces you into his arms. His hands resting gently on you, as your head rests onto his chest. Jorah's heart-beat was fast and very quick as you could hear his heart pounding in his chest. You enjoy his embrace as he enjoyed yours, he wanted you to feel safe in that moment letting you grieve your sadness and loss. You look up at him for a moment feeling your tears subside as your eyes and cheeks felt flush and red.

"Jorah.." you speak as your voice sounds raspy

"Yes?"

You pause for a moment still looking up at him into his eyes as he looks down back at you, never breaking the eye contact. You get closer to Jorah's face as he looks a bit confused and puzzled by your actions, you place your forehead on his as he looks even more confused along with feeling flushed at the same time. His embrace around you tightens even more as you both where now staring at each other faces just inches apart. Jorah gently places a small kiss on your forehead, he knew in such a vulnerable moment like this that turning it into something else wouldn't be wise. You look up at him as he removes his lips from your forehead and in that very small moment of loss and grief, you felt some love restored in your heart. Still looking at him you smile a soft and somber smile, he felt relieved at this moment as he looks at you and smiles.

"Jorah.." you continue to still look up at him

"Thank you again, for being with me when I need it.." you speak softly

He still looks down at you as he wipes some remaining tears away from your eyes, he knew this moment was to beautiful

"Anything for you.. my love.."

[rainbowolfe]

Could ya do shamura with someone who makes poisons and potions

Title: An Olive Branch So Fragile

Warnings: None

Notes: Anon, I. I lost the plot on this one XD Enjoy disgruntled, freshly-introduced Bishops with a cameo of potion seller.

Shamura sighs for the umpteenth time. They gaze up at the moon peeking through the trees, and it gazes back down at them with pity. They’ve been wandering aimlessly for almost an hour. It's cold and they don't particularly wish to be outside, but it was the only way for them to get a break from the stressors within the walls of “their” kingdom.

The worm with a maw of fangs he can’t seem to keep to himself. He who claims to be this group’s founder despite being the youngest of the four—so young he has yet to even complete his metamorphosis. Leshy. At least, that's what the frog keeps calling him.

The frog that verbally rips them to shreds if Shamura dares to even raise their voice at either of her dear companions. She who has deemed herself judge, jury, and executioner on all matters. They're fairly certain the only thing keeping her from tearing them apart physically is their ability to keep her and her two parasites fed. Her appetite would be impressive if it weren't so insatiable. Heket. A name taken, not given.

The squid with a reputation that precedes him. He who acts as if he’s too pretty to do anything that requires any amount of effort. He does not cook nor hunt nor clean, and he looks upon Shamura with quite a bit of disdain if they ever ask him to do those things. They don't speak to him much, but he talks at them at all hours of the day. Kallamar. A name he seems to begrudge despite answering to it.

The spider. Not themselves, but the spider before them. Allocor. The name was still fresh in the Crown’s memories. They who carried the torch of the Old Faith after a bloody fallout, and hoped to reignite the hearth with what was left: two traitors and a child.

Perhaps it was less that that abomination fell into their web, and more that it jumped into it on purpose to escape this train wreck. Shamura noticed early on that any thoughts of abandoning this project were met with splitting headaches and fevers from the wrath of an unknown entity. Whatever deal that'd been struck was bound to this Crown, thus Shamura inherited it when they chose to be its bearer.

Their pedipalps tuck closer to their face when they sense smoke. Following it to its source, they come across a little shop built into the bones of a long dead monster. They raise their hand to flick a bell hanging in the doorway as they enter.

“Is this establishment manned?” They idle just inside the doorway.

There’s a long pause followed by the scrape of a chair against wood. “Shut the door. Cold as the tundra out there.”

Shamura is happy to oblige. Lit candles line each aisle of the little shop, working in tandem with the roaring fire to provide sufficient lighting. They listen for the breaths of another who may be hiding in the shadows; feel for the vibrations of a Beast trying to creep unseen.

But there’s no one else in this morbid domicile. No one but Shamura and an anteater that towered over them as well as the shelves and carousels housing their products. Potions. Potions, poisons, balms, and salves; crowding every available surface.

They can feel her heavy steps and hear her tail dragging against the floor as she moves through the aisle next to them. She’s making no effort to hide her movements, nor is she moving with any haste, so Shamura remains at ease.

For now.

“Working late on such a lovely evening? Or perhaps your day is just beginning.” They address her as she enters their line of sight.

“The evening? Lovely?” She chuckles slightly. “You Beasts of the night are funny things. Just like the serpents that slide on their bellies with pride, you have no idea that you’re being punished.”

“The hours of darkness hold as much wonder and beauty as the daytime. Such sights are not accessible to the cowardly, however.” Their eyebrows quirk upward as the woman brings down a slat of wood in front of the door, it’s end fitting neatly on a metal shelf opposite of it. “Is there a problem?”

“I don’t feel like babysitting, Crown Bearer.” She gives the apparatus a firm pat. “Gives me a chance to catch up to you if you decide you’re too holy to engage in commerce.”

Shamura simply hums in response and returns to wandering the aisles of the shop. They’ve already spotted another exit they can use if the need arises. They have no intention of stealing or purchasing anything, they came in here to reap the benefits of the fire.

The shopkeep returns to her work station on the far end of the modified remains. In it’s skull is a kitchen of sorts, multiple pots boiling over an open fire. Some give off arcane energy. Some give off unpleasant smells. Others give off both.

Shamura catches a glimpse of this work station when they work their way down the aisle closest to it. Their curiosity quickly takes hold of them. They complete one more aimless lap around the store before approaching the shopkeep once more, as casual as one could be.

They remain a respectful distance away while they watch her work, taking in the many on-going projects and assortments of oddities. From organs and bones, to cloth and flowers. They can identify tails, hands, and eyes from various beasts as well as they can identify the bundles of dried flora. They manage a glimpse into a cabinet filled with dozens of small, pear-shaped flasks full of unknown liquid when she pulls out one that is particularly viscous with a color that seems to perpetually shift.

“Ah, you are not a merchant. You are an alchemist.” They comment. Explains the excess.

“Mm. Beasts usually call me a witch and leave it at that,” She responds. “Full marks for you, silk-spinner.”

Shamura bristles at the ‘nickname’ and returns to watching in silence. For as chaotic as it is, it soothes their nerves. The steady drip of a retort flask into a beaker. The delicate preparation of each ingredient before it is added to the appropriate mix. Some cut into even slices, others ground into an unrecognizable form in a mortar. The occasional sound of pages turning when she references her worn, yet ornate book. She’s as enamored with her work as they are.

She soon forgets they’re even there, at least until she turns around to pull a potion off the shelf. She freezes, a swathe of emotions crossing her features. She seems inclined to tell them to leave, so they interject with more small talk to distract her from the idea.

"How quaint," Shamura scratches the back of their leg with the opposite foot. "A colleague of mine dabbles in potions—poisons, primarily... Solely."

They tap their finger in their elbow a few times. That wasn't a necessary detail to share, was it? It's not as if this alchemist would know.

They shake their head to clear away their inner monologue, "His methods are far more occult, however. He draws venom from the heart. Shapes intent. Not always his own. Makes, ah… How did he put it?"

"Makes real what was once intangible?"

"Yes, that’s right."

There's a pause, Shamura expecting her to continue. When they realize she doesn't intend to, they're inclined to fill the silence themselves before it went on too long.

"You are familiar with such methods?"

"Indeed, I am," She turns back around to add the potion into a bowl to be mixed. "Will you be purchasing something this eve?"

"I'm considering it." They lie.

She grunts at them.

“Why stick to such traditional methods if you know of better ones? Cuts down the clutter, the costs, the labor… He cannot make more than poison but… he says it is possible to produce other substances.”

“Curious. I would think a venomous creature such as yourself would appreciate a more natural method.”

“That is the reason, then? Fear of what is considered unnatural?” They roll their eyes. “How… boring.”  

She scoffs. She moves the four pots towards the edge of the fire to simmer, then turns around in her chair to face her ‘customer’. They had her full attention now, though she was starting to lose theirs.

“Perhaps it’s a bit different for you blessed types, but normal beasts of science such as myself must ere on the side of caution when it comes to curses and spirits. It is a volatile craft that bites back as it pleases.”

“Tell me more.”

-/-/-/-/-

Shamura spends almost an hour chatting with the Alchemist, maybe more. Once they found a topic that got her riled up, it was easy to keep her going. They learn of all her very strong opinions regarding the haphazard mixing of alchemy and magic that's been happening as of late. They intended to drag this out for as long as possible, as once she kicks them out, all that is left to do is to return to the Old Faith’s compound.

But alas, a timer set for one of her brews reminds her of the time of night and the tasks she needs to complete.

“By the light of the Sun, have we truly been talking for so long?” She tsks. “No offense, night dweller, but you'll have to make your leave. Ahh, so much time lost…” she stands and begins to get back in the rhythm of things. “Last chance to purchase something.”

“Right…” Shamura figures they could buy something small in exchange for taking up her evening. “What will five coins get me?”

“Coin? I have no need for coin.”

“Then what?”

“Resources.” She leans over and reaches into a drawer whose contents clatter noisily when she opens it. She holds out an empty, pear-shaped flask to them. Its opening is covered with thin cloth rubber-banded onto it.  

A sigh. “Of course. Resources.”

“I have need of venom. As little or as much as you’d like, and you may take one potion of your choosing.”

Shamura rolls their eyes then grabs the flask. “First my silk, now my venom. What next? My urine? The bile from my stomach?”

“Tempting, if offered by a different creature.” She titters. “Though I am in the market for eggs, if you happen to lay those. Or know someone who does…”

“By the 'Crates, you people are feral.” Their message is only slightly muddled by the flask in their mouth, pushed up against one of their venom-producing fangs.

A slow drip of venom fills the flask. It's mostly clear with a yellowish tint.

“You cannot re’phoke your offer but, do know ‘ish nothing lethal.”

“Worry not. I can make plenty of deadly things on my own.”

“Then why?”

“What seems worthless to one is gold to another.”

“Vhery profound.”

The alchemist rolls her eyes and decides to throw them a bone. “I know your kind by your tail. Not many of you left, at least not around here… but your venom is very mild. Diluted properly and administered in small amounts, it becomes a very effective pain reliever. One I prefer over poppies and the like.”

Shamura figures they've produced enough venom by now. They pull the half-filled flask off their fang, offering it back to her,

“I never thought venom could be used in such a way… though it does make sense. I wonder…”

“The blade that ends lives is the same blade that slices bread.”

They pause, putting their thought on hold to process what she had said. The corner of their mouth twitches with a smirk. “That one wasn't as good.”

“Mm. I'll workshop that one.” She swirls the liquid in the flask a few times, holding it up to the light. She gives a slight nod, satisfied.

She gestures. “Take your pick. Any three.”

“Oh, I get three now,” They chuckle under their breath. “Seems I overpaid.”

For as many laps as they had done around the little shop under the guise of browsing, they never really took in what was being offered. Even so, its difficult to tell what’s being displayed at a glance. The only potions with consistent coloring are the ones of health and recovery. The pigment of blood is a difficult one to recolor.

Every bottle is plugged with a cork and sealed with a covering of wax, the alchemist’s personal emblem embossed into the lid. They’re categorized by colored ribbons tied around the necks, and further sub-categorized by the symbols painted onto their labels.

They stop in front of a carousel of seemingly like-objects, slowly spinning the display as they call out to the Alchemist.

“These growth potions, are they…? Define growth, exactly.”

Her response is a bit hard to hear from her workstation, “The mark of the thorn are those potions suited for combat, while the mark of the torch will relate to expansion of the mind. Joy marks the potions intended for more… indulgent matters. Matters of the heart, some would call it.”

“Ah. I can only imagine what goes into a potion such as that.”

“Not what you would expect.”

They hum to themselves and continue on. Being that the only potions they have awareness of are those of healing, poison, and strength, they’re quite overwhelmed with the selection at their disposal. Three potions? They hardly have need of one. And it felt a waste to take anything just to throw it away or lose it in a trunk. They… suppose they could give them to their new colleagues.

A peace-offering of sorts. They narrow down their options, make a selection, and confirm it with the Alchemist. She packs them into a simple, wooden carrier that could hold up to four. She covers it with a white cloth, tying a bow at the top that also functions as a handle.

An off-white potion of growth for Kallamar—a boon that not only increases one’s size, but one’s strength as well. For as passive and lazy as he acts, it is just that. Acting. He’s the warrior of their trio. Shamura’s seen as much.

A powder blue potion of flutter for Heket—a boon that challenges Nature and allows previously flightless creatures to hover off the ground. She’s rather stationary for a frog—at least, Shamura thought so. Between Kallamar’s willingness to fetch things for her and Leshy’s inclination not to make her chase him (both concessions not offered to Shamura), they suspect her inertia is due to some sort of limitation rather than personal preference.

And finally, a dark purple potion of energy for Leshy—sweetened and bubbling with constant motion. Not that the kid needed extra energy, but it was one of the few things in here mild enough for a child. Shamura’s fairly certain he won’t be interested in any of the perfumes or cosmetics.  

It’s just as dark and cold outside as it was when they entered the woman’s shop, but it certainly feels colder to Shamura. They hear the heavy chunk of the latch closing behind them. The Alchemist probably wishes she’d done that in the first place.

They flick the side of their Crown with their middle finger, causing it’s crescent-shaped eye to brighten and illuminate their surroundings with a purple-pink glow. There’s nowhere left to go now but home. Well, not ‘home’ home. But it’s their home now.

They hope everyone’s in a better mood than when they left. Or, better yet, they hope that everyone’s retired to their rooms for the evening. They could just leave the gifts at their doors or in the common room.

Unfortunately for Shamura, hope is not a currency Fortune accepts.

Shamura finds their colleagues gathered in the gazebo, as the trio did every evening for dinner. They find it odd that they're still out. Perhaps the conversation was particularly good this evening.

“Good eve, Heket. Leshy, Kallamar.” They nod their head.

They do not receive a response. Leshy goes to, but suddenly thinks better of it. Heket crosses her arms as she turns to face the arachnid, gripping the sides of her arms fiercely.

“How kind of you to finally join us. How was your time in the forest?” She sneers, baring her unnaturally sharp teeth.

“…it was as one would expect. How was dinner?”

“Just grand! As one would expect.”

“I bro—”

“The meal would’ve been better hot, but we wound up eating it warm trying to wait for you. But, at least you enjoyed yourself tonight. Right?”

Shamura clenches their jaw, a click sounding from their teeth slotting into place. They pry them apart again so they can respond.

“You do not typically wait for me, why would I believe tonight would be any different?” Shamura responds flatly. “I cannot read your mind. You won't allow me.”

Heket tenses, fists clenched. Her throat bulges for a second, but she forces the building croak down. “If you cannot read a simple letter, what good is it to let you into my mind?”

“What letter?”

“The letter. I attached. To your door.” By the last sentence she’s speaking through her teeth. “Bright red envelope. Hard to miss.”

Shamura considers going back out into the woods. Maybe they didn't mind trading their bodily fluids with an anteater over whatever was unfolding right now. The neutral mask fails as they suck their teeth in annoyance.

“There was nothing on my door this morning. Perhaps it fell. Or it was—…” They trail off, a memory from this morning suddenly striking them. Something that didn't seem noteworthy at the time. “Leshy.”

“What?” She snaps, cutting them off.

They pretend not to notice. “He was in the hall this morning, shredding red paper. Or eating it, maybe. Which was it?”

“I was just tasting it, I’m not a savage.” Leshy scoffs, with enough offense it almost made Shamura laugh.

“And… what did it taste like?” Heket interjects.

“Paper,”

Shamura cannot hold back the snort of laughter this time. They turn and pretend to be focused on Leshy to avoid her ire.

“But it smelled like breakfast! Isn’t it weird how things smell one way, but then taste like another?”

Shamura blinks once. Twice. “Sure.”

“It was a really good breakfast, but you missed that too.”

“Was I invited to breakfast as well?”

Shamura’s question remains unanswered, Leshy talking over them. “Usually I try to save some to eat before lunch, so I can enjoy it for even longer, but it was too good to save. So when I smelled it, I thought it was my second chance!”

A pause. Leshy stares intently through Shamura, as if he’d forgotten why they were talking about this. His eyes focus on them properly when he remembers.

“But I didn’t get it off the floor. Kallamar gave it to me. And it didn't smell like Shamura, it smelled like breakfast. So there’s no way that was their letter.”

Two pairs of eyes shift their gaze and land on a squid that's been uncharcteriscslley quiet. Then a third. Kallamar keeps his eyes fixed on his nails, which he’d been carefully painting this whole time. Too carefully.

“Yes, I believe I did give him a few documents to entertain himself with this morning. I do so regularly. It's good practice to destroy sensitive paperwork,” Kallamar responds nonchalantly. With a tone that makes one wonder if they’re overreacting.

When he's satisfied with the coat of paint on his middle finger, he slips the brush back into the bottle and looks up to meet eyes with Shamura. “If you misplaced it, just say so. You don't have to make a whole thing out of it.”

Kallamar maintains eye contact for a few more seconds before returning to his activity. He flashes a grin at Leshy as he pulls the brush from the bottle once more to apply a second coat.

“Leshy, while you’re here, why don’t I paint your claws too? With so much space to work with, I could do some lovely designs.”

“Blegh. Keep that stuff away from me!”

“What? Afraid of a little color?” He chuckles. “You’ll come crawling back to me come Winter, begging me to beautify you.”

“In your dreams. I’d never do something like that.” Leshy crouches down to get on all fours, a sort of defensive stance in case Kallamar tried something. “It’s unbecoming of a leader to paint himself like a maiden. Hint, hint.”

“Is that so?” Kallamar leans back in a theatric display of offense. “Well, it is a good thing I’m not our leader then, yes?”

The two erupt with laughter.

Meanwhile, Shamura’s been… thinking. Their first instinct was to push the issue and call Kallamar’s bluff. How is it that they are the one being put at fault here? Their second instinct was to outright pressure him and strongarm him into confessing. A bit of pain is plenty incentive for the average beast.

But they know Heket won’t allow either of those things to play out. It would only devolve into an argument with her, as it always did. It doesn’t ever seem to matter what Kallamar did, or what Leshy did. Only how Shamura responds. Even if their criticism is valid or their annoyance is justified.

Even now, when surely even Heket could see what Kallamar had done. Shamura cannot even comment on it or else—

They stop themselves.

This time it was obvious what Kallamar had done.

wcalm down. As much as it pains them to let it slide, it’s their best option. They clench and unclench their fist to release a bit of tension.

And though the mane covering their neck remained puffed up, and their claws periodically twitched, they manage to go against their combative nature. They roll their shoulders and finally turn their gaze to address Heket.

“He’s right. My sincerest apologies, Heket.” Another twitch, barely perceptible to the naked eye. “I must have… misplaced your letter before I got the chance to read it. I truly did not mean to snub your invitation and keep you all waiting.”

That last part was true, at least.

And just like that, the sparks of conflict are snuffed out. Heket seems lost on how to proceed, having spent the last hour stewing in her anger, preparing to unleash it in full on Shamura. Kallamar becomes so focused on their exchange that he fails to hold Leshy’s interest, and the worm goes to make his leave.

He does an odd little wiggle to settle himself into the dirt, then dives down as smoothly as if he had dove into water.

“Ah, Leshy. Before you go, I have a gift for you.” Shamura calls in his direction.

It makes Shamura wonder how many arguments, how many misunderstandings, how many headaches were facilitated by this slippery bastard. The conflicts with no clear catalyst, where the initial confusion is consumed entirely by their and Heket’s mutual anger with each other.

Heket and Kallamar both give them a confused look. Leshy’s tail disappears into his hole, but the shifting bulge in the earth below makes it clear he’s coming closer.

“I have gifts for all of you, in fact. I ran into an alchemist during my evening stroll.” Shamura trails off, second-guessing if they should explain any further.

 They unwrap the unassuming carrier that has gone unnoticed by the three of them and set the potions on the table for them to access. Kallamar props his head on his hand, feigning disinterest, though he’s really scanning the bottles to deduce their origins. He waits for Heket to say something, but she steps away to the pile of dishes, ingredients, and pots she’ll have to take back inside when she’s done here.

“Mm. Cute,” Kallamar shrugs. “Very thoughtful. But, you know, you shouldn’t buy potions from just any random alchemist.”

“Is that so?” Shamura can’t help but to roll their eyes this time. “What makes one alchemist any less ‘random’ than another?”

“Connections. Quality,” He lazily picks up the rounded flask, swishing around the off-white liquid like a fine wine. “I’ve never seen this seal before and… it seems rather thick for a potion.”

Leshy pulls himself out of the ground and climbs back onto the bench with a level of grace one wouldn’t expect from such a chaotic creature. His tail sways side to side while he works out the meanings of the labels and ‘weird shapes’ on the containers he can reach. Kallamar sets down the flask, then grabs the pear-shaped one to do the same.

“This one is not as bad…”

Shamura narrows their eyes. “Do not feel you have to accept it simply because it is a gift. If you do not like it, I would gladly—”

“Tomorrow, then. Be early.” Heket grunts awkwardly, setting a lidded bowl on the table near Shamura. “And don’t eat past midday.”

Shamura takes a moment to process being interrupted and what she actually said. She prepared a bowl just for them? “…understood.”

With an excited chitter, Leshy lays claim to the potion of growth. Though the powder blue potion glitters in a way that draws his eye, increasing his size (even if only temporarily) wasn’t an opportunity he would dare to skip out on.

“Thanks, Shamura!” Leshy chirps, snatching the bottle and tucking it into the safety of his foliage.

“Leshy.” Kallamar quickly glances at Shamura, then Heket, now urging her to say something.

Shamura addresses Heket with a nod and a quiet thanks before they take the surprisingly warm bowl to retire to their room before they ran out of patience. Their pedipalp twitches with curiosity as they hear the clunk of heavy glass hitting wood, but they resist the urge to turn around. They continue on.

Heket catches the pear-shaped container before it can roll off the table. It survived the force with which Kallamar threw it onto the table, but she didn’t want to test its limits any further.  

“Leshy, hold on—!” Kallamar lets out an exasperated sigh as the worm bounds away. He stands.

“You stay, we need to talk.” Heket grabs his arm as he tries to leave anyways.

“Can we talk after I retrieve whatever concoction that stupid bug just gave our brother?” Kallamar attempts to snatch away, but Heket tightens her grip on his arm.

“Kallamar.”

“You intend to just let him drink tha—”

“Kallamar,”

“What?!”

“Look at me,” She lowers her voice to a deep rumble. She feels him flinch and releases him. “…please.”

Shamura wonders if he’ll do so as they turn a corner and exit listening range.

[humanpurposes]

Just for a moment, part iii

Tom Bennett has a habit of climbing through her bedroom window whenever he's in trouble // Main Masterlist

Tom Bennett x OFC

Warnings: 18+, mentions of war and death, friends to lovers, angst, fluff, smut, Tom Bennett's daddy issues

Words: 5400

A/n: Also available to read on AO3.

Monday 27th May, 1940

The morning starts off with a miserable drizzle. Kitty watches the grey fade to warmth through her shift, until the early evening sun shines brightly through the wide windows of the shop.

The month of May has very much been the same, cold and wet at first, but the weather has been clearing up nicely. Dad is devoted to the garden now, digging up the grass and planting vegetables in every free space he can. It’s on posters all over the shop: Dig For Victory. Live off spuds and SPAM when the rations run out.

Life feels mechanical; most days she doesn’t feel like a real person at all. All week she stands behind the counter, exchanging coupons for pitiful amounts of tea and sugar, stocking up the rack of newspapers and skimming over whatever horrors the headlines are screaming about that day. When she gets home, she pulls together some kind of dinner from what food they have while dad sits by the wireless. When mam gets home from the munitions factory, they gather around the table and eat in silence.

The house is so quiet without the boys. The only time it feels a little lively is when they get a letter from one of them, but they aren’t very consistent, especially considering there’s three of them.

Every so often, she gets a letter from Tom Bennett, but she tends to keep those to herself.

Her life has become a waiting game, she realises, existing between brief moments of happiness with nothing but her memories to entertain herself. She finds herself thinking about Tom an awful lot. It’s not so bad during the day when she has something to do, but when she lies alone at night, her mind can wander. She still leaves her window unlocked and huddles close to the wall because maybe��� just maybe, he’ll come through the window and fill the space beside her.

Once she’s packed up the register and put up the shutters, she waves goodbye to Mr Gregory and leaves him to lock the door.

She runs into the postman at the top of Slade Grove. She feels slightly less guilty for not remembering his name when he greets her as “Catherine.” It’s what her teachers at school used to call her, and it’s what mam calls her when she’s in a particularly foul mood. Now it just puts her on edge.

“Can I give these to you now?” he says, handing her a stack of three envelopes. “Saves me a house later on.”

She flicks through them as she carries on walking. Two are addressed to Michael Wheelan and they look boring, letters from the bank or something official, but upon seeing the third she stops and smiles.

Miss Catherine Wheelan 28 Slade Grove Longsight, Manchester United Kingdom

It’s written in Tom’s handwriting.

She tears it open immediately, her eyes flickering between the page and the street ahead, weaving through any passersby.

Dear Kitty,

Sorry it’s been a while since the last one. Morale hasn’t been the best to be honest. Do you know what they’re calling the last eight months now? “The phoney war”. Apparently things are only going to get worse from here, not that it’ll help your nerves.

Thanks for checking up on dad for me. I do worry about him being on his own, with Lois being away and all. I wonder if she’ll be back yet by the time you get this. Have you heard much from your lads? I hope they’re doing alright.

You’ll be pleased to know I haven’t been picking as many fights, but sure you know me, sometimes I can’t help myself. I’ve been reading over what you said. I know it’s not helpful, I know it’s stupid, but then I’ve never been one to think things through, have I? I suppose that’s not much of an excuse. It’s instinctive. It’s like my head tells me what I’m doing is wrong, but I don’t know what else to do.

And we could die any day. Kitty, the state I’ve seen some of these men in…

The writing becomes crooked and trails off, ending with a smudge of ink.

Maybe I should write about something less depressing? Did I tell you about this gorgeous bird I met at Port Stanley?

Kitty’s heart drops.

Beautiful thing she is. The moment I saw her I knew I had to have her, so I stowed her away and brought her on board with me. She whistles a lot, and she has these lovely yellow feathers that really brighten up the bunk. She’s a noisy eater though, munches on seeds like she’ll never eat again. I’ve named her Vera.

I can see the look on your face now. Don’t worry, pretty Kitty, there’s no other bird that could ever replace you.

“Charming,” she mutters to herself.

I think I quite like these letters really, it’s nice to give myself a moment to think, even if I can’t hear from you straight away. That’s when I miss you the most, right after I’ve sealed the envelope and written your address. I hate the waiting.

She glances up, seeing she’s only a few doors down from her house.

I should have leave coming up soon. I’m looking forward to putting my legs on dry land and sleeping on a proper mattress…

She checks the top of the page. The letter is dated from weeks ago. “Soon” could mean anything.

… and the odd late-night tryst to see my fancy woman at number 28.

She scoffs a small laugh.

I bet you’d slap me for that. God I hope your mum doesn’t get her hands on this before you. Ey up Mrs Wheelan, see what I meant was, your Kitty’s a very well-mannered lady.

She purses her lips in an attempt not to laugh, coming to stop before her own front door.

Take care of yourself Kitty. Don’t spend too much time fretting over me.

Your dear friend,

Tom Bennett

Her smile fades quickly— why shouldn’t she worry about him?

It’s always the same with letters from Tom. Her heart leaps and for a few brief moments she feels so bright, just to have some kind of news from him. She could read pages and pages of his stupid ramblings and his moments of sincerity, but then it’s over all too soon. He signs off as her dear friend, then suddenly the words on the page are no longer new, and he’s still thousands of miles away, picking fights with his crewmates and launching shells at German ships.

The days pass slowly, but when she stops and looks back, the eight months have felt like nothing. Her life is flying past her and she hardly even notices, too caught up in the memory of those nights in September.

All for him to call her his fancy woman and feed her jokes about birds.

She knows better than to get her hopes up with Tom; she’s seen him go through every crush he’s ever had. He used to go through phases of ditching her for whichever sweetheart he was entertaining at the time, only to come crawling back to her when he’d inevitably cock it all up. Because he’s Tom Bennett, and he can’t help but make a mess of everything.

And like a good friend, she always kept her window unlocked for him, always held him when he needed it and did her best to set him straight. Because that’s what friends are supposed to do, surely, and he never said they were more.

Is that truly all she is to him? A dear friend, a listening ear and a convenient shag.

She rubs her fingers over her eyes because she will not cry over Tom Bennett. With the letter back in its envelope, she puts it into her bag and tries to find her keys, when she notices the smell of cigarette smoke. It’s hardly a rarity, but it makes her think of him.

For whatever reason, she glances over her shoulder at number 27. Low and behold, she sees a man with a cocky smile in a tight, white t-shirt, leaning in the doorway, lowering a cigarette from his mouth.

“Alright, pretty Kitty?” Tom says. “Was waiting for you to notice me–”

Suddenly she’s flying across the street and flinging her arms around his neck. She stands on her tiptoes to put her head over his shoulder and he leans into her, holding one arm over her back and one around her waist.

She closes her eyes. His breath is hot against her neck. He is here. He is real. He is more than a memory or words on a page.

Tom presses a soft kiss to her temple and she feels him smiling against her skin. “Take it you missed me then?”

She pulls away, holding back the urge to cry again, hardly able to catch her breath. This close, she can see every detail of him this close, the texture of his skin, the lines around his mouth and brows, the circles under his eyes, the scruff along the sides of his jaw, the little cleft on the tip of his nose. “Maybe a little bit,” she says.

She gives a little yelp of surprise when she feels him pulling her into the house. He closes the door behind them and then her back is against the wall, her handbag dropped by her feet.

Tom shrugs her coat from her shoulders before he surges in to kiss her, fiercely, desperately. Their bodies are tangled in one another, her hands in his hair, his tracing over the curves of her body through her dress.

And then he moves away. She tries to follow him only to realise he’s smirking.

“Missed me just a little bit?” he teases.

She wants to roll her eyes, but she just smiles. “Quite a bit.”

He drags his thumb over her lower lip, pulling it down to watch it come back into place.

Kitty huffs impatiently as she nudges her nose up into his.

Their eyes meet and the anticipation lasts a lifetime.

Tom hums as he leans in to kiss her again, slower and deeper, pressing her a little further into the wall by the firm hold on her waist.

“Missed you,” he utters between kisses, “so fucking much.”

She runs her hands over every part of him she can reach, his neck, the sharp line of his jaw, over his ears and into his hair.

“How long have you been back?” she breathes.

“Since this morning,” he says, coming to kiss her neck, the spot he knows will have her back arching against him.

“You didn’t come to the shop,” she says.

“Wanted to wait for you.”

She glances down the hallway, to the seemingly empty kitchen.

Tom huffs and pulls away from her, leaning with one hand against the wall. “Dad’s flogging his paper. Lois is out. Empty house for a few hours.”

She turns her head back to face him, pleased at the flush in his cheeks and the mess she’s made of his hair.

Tom’s eyes look down to her waist, where he presses his thumb into the fabric of her dress. “Come upstairs,” he says lowly, “I want to fuck you properly.”

She nods mindlessly, closing her hand around his as he leads her up the stairs, to a bedroom with two single beds, separated by a curtain. The room is about the same size as the boys’ bedroom in her house, but with only two beds, there’s enough space for two separate wardrobes. Her brothers make do with sharing everything.

Nothing about the room denotes Tom Bennett, not the floral wallpaper or the knitted throws on the beds. Not the books, perfume bottles and silver candelabras on the mantle, and certainly not the lingering scent of hairspray.

He leads her to the bed furthest from the door. She follows the stream of sunlight coming in from the window, and then she notices the details that are his. The ashtray and the empty beer bottle on the bedside table, the ditty bag and the pairs of boots at the foot of the bed, and the sailor’s hat left on the floor by the wardrobe.

The door closes and his footsteps tread softly behind her. His hands snake around her waist and turn her to face him.

She places her hands on his chest, running her hands over his torso, mapping his body through the soft cotton t-shirt. He feels firmer than he used to, a consequence of loading shells into guns and living off rations. She feels along his arms too, over muscles, veins, tendons and the scar below his bicep.

Tom presses a kiss to her forehead before he starts to undo the buttons on the front of her dress. A familiar restlessness rises in her belly, and suddenly she thinks she can’t bear to wait another moment. With the buttons undone, she puts her hands over Tom’s as he slides the dress down to the floor, along with her stockings and quickly slips out of her shoes.

She wastes no time unclasping her brassiere and muffles Tom’s awestruck groan by pressing her lips to his.

Somehow he manages to rid himself of his t-shirt and slacks without parting from her for too long, and he guides them both to the bed. She giggles as he lands on top of her and the metal bedframe squeaks.

“Now,” Tom says, pressing a delicate kiss to her neck. “Don’t have to worry about being quiet like we usually do, do we?”

“No…” Kitty breathes as he moves down, dragging his lips and tongue down her body. When he comes to her breasts, he cups one with his hand, and takes the other nipple in his mouth. Her head rolls back against the pillows but she brings her eyes back to him. She wants to cling to every moment, every sensation, all the movements of his tongue against her skin and his hair falling in front of his face.

“Eight fucking months,” he half growls as he moves further down, kissing along her stomach and running his hands over her hips. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

She instinctively bites her lip when he ghosts his lips over her clothed cunt.

He tuts. “Don’t hold back on me now, sweetheart. I want to hear how much you missed me,” he says, curling his fingers around the hem of her underclothes before dragging them along her legs, leaving them somewhere on the floor.

He trails teasing kisses along her thighs. She squirms and whines every time he edges closer to her centre, until finally, he drags his tongue through her folds, from her entrance, up to her pearl with a deliciously agonising pressure. She doesn’t hold back the moans that sound in her throat, curling her fists through the bedsheets.

He works over her pearl with his tongue and lips, groaning against her as he does it and squeezing his fingertips into the flesh of her thighs.

It’s been so long since she’s felt like this, even on the nights when she felt herself getting too desperate, she can never quite match the feeling.

In a way it infuriates her that he can make her feel so good, but what’s worse than that is that he knows it. She can see his smug, half smile as he mouths at her cunt, so pleased at the noises she makes and the way her hips are starting to move against him.

She curls in on herself as her peak washes over her, but he manages to hold her down, right where he wants her, and keeps going until her whole body shudders and her legs are quivering.

“Fuck,” she breathes, “Tom…”

Even then he doesn’t give her much of a reprieve. He moves back for a moment before he positions her legs over his shoulders. His tongue is against her again, only now he moves lower, teasing over her entrance.

She whines impatiently.

“Fucking greedy, aren’t you?” Tom chuckles. He licks over her again— too much and not enough. “Just take it, take what I give you.”

But it doesn’t take long for him to slip his tongue inside her while his nose nudges against her. His name is a dreamy chant on her lips now. The pleasure rises and burns until she’s sure she can’t take anymore. She threads her fingers into his hair, gripping at it, urging him on, just a little more, and she’s sure she’ll fall apart.

Then he’s gone without warning, but he soon compensates the loss by replacing his tongue with a single finger.

Tom gazes up at her through his lashes. He keeps his eyes on her face as he pushes inside of her, deeper, deeper, until she takes a sharp intake of breath when he finds her sweet spot.

“Give me another one,” he groans, lowering his head down to circle his tongue over her. “Come on, pretty Kitty.”

She follows it like a command. Her second peak is sharper than the first and has her gasping for breath as she feels herself come undone around him.

“There you go,” Tom grins as he brings her legs from his shoulders and starts to make his way up her body.

He props himself over her, one hand on either side of her head. His silver chain, usually hidden below his shirt, dangles in front of her as their eyes meet. They breathe together, chests rising and falling in perfect unison.

He hesitates for a moment, before he places a lazy kiss to her lips. “God,” he utters, “you’re so fucking gorgeous, do you know that?”

“Just keep saying it,” she says.

He takes one of her hands and guides it down to his briefs. She traces her fingers over the hem before she slides underneath and wraps them around his already hard cock.

“Fuck—” Tom hisses through his teeth, his brow furrowed and his jaw tight. He reaches for the bedside table and hands her a condom. “Do the honours for me,” he grins.

She tears it open and reaches back down to slide it along his length.

Slowly, he lets his weight fall against her as he slides inside of her, burying his face into her neck and letting out a shaky breath against her skin.

She brings her arms around his shoulders as he rocks into her, gently at first, but she can feel that it’s not enough. His breaths are getting sharper and his thrusts harsher as he whimpers into her neck.

She holds him as tightly as she can, hoping it will somehow soothe the ache in her heart, because she still feels the absence of the last eight months. Because she can already feel the time slipping away.

Tom withdraws from her neck. “Look at me,” he pleads.

She does, and he brings his forehead to hers. His nose presses into hers and their lips barely brush over each other.

“You feel so good,” he says. His expression fades into something darker and more determined as he fucks her harder and faster, “so fucking tight.”

She feels it too, the urgency to make up for the time and the distance with a carnal need.

They reach their climaxes together, moaning into each other’s mouths and keeping their bodies tight together. It never feels close enough.

Once they’ve caught their breath and they feel their desire mounting again, Tom lies back on the bed and brings her to straddle him.

While the position isn’t unfamiliar, the movements are, but she’s eager enough, gauging both of their reactions as she grinds her hips against his. She goes slowly, at first, bracing herself against him while Tom keeps hold of her waist to guide her movements.

“Nice and slow, just like that,” he whispers, gazing up at her with a slight smile, “show me how much you missed me.”

She doesn’t care how the bed creaks under them, that she’s breathing and moaning too loudly. There’s something freeing and unashamed about how they fuck. Seeing Tom’s face twisted in pleasure and hearing his needy whines as he starts to buck his hips to match her movements.

And when another climax tears through her, she wishes she could drag the moment out forever.

Tom takes her in his arms as they collapse back on the bed.

She feels like she’s dreaming, not quite awake but still aware of whose arms are cradled around her, whose heartbeat she feels against her ear, who reaches for a packet of cigarettes and flicks his lighter.

They talk about things they’ve already discussed over letters, the bloody war and all the misery that comes with it. Life in Longsight seems dull in comparison to Tom’s tales of sea battles and antics on board the Exeter. But even in the middle of the Atlantic, in the midst of a war that’s consuming the whole world, he still found time to wind everybody up. She can’t tell if she hates him or admires him for it.

There’s something different about him. Where he used to sound so cocksure and carefree, his voice is duller.

Tucked under his shoulder, she shifts her head to get a better look at him, propped up against the pillows, taking drags from his cigarette, pouting his lips as he exhales the smoke and tapping the ash into the tray. Her eyes tell her it’s the same person, the same jaw, the same nose, the same lips, the same shade of blue in his eyes.

No… he looks different in the way his face falls. He seems less smug than he used to be. He seems tired, older, colder.

Of course he’s different, how could he not be? The war has reached every corner of the world, but he’s been in the thick of it.

“Your dad must be glad to have you back,” she says quietly.

Tom’s body tenses underneath her. He brings his cigarette to his lips again, giving a little irritated huff as he exhales. She wonders if that’s a thread she should avoid tugging on, but it already seems to be unraveling. He reaches to stub the cigarette out in the ashtray.

“I didn’t want to go back,” he mutters, his expression stern and sad. “I thought I was doing the right thing by going. I’ve spent enough of my life making a mess of everything, I thought if I did something good then…” he glances down at her, then shakes his head. “But I was so fucking scared—” his voice breaks his eyes are glistening.

Kitty sits up and clenches her hand around his. He’s trembling.

“You’re alright,” she says, softly, “you’re alright.”

He breathes quickly and she can feel his heart thundering in his chest. His descriptions of the attacks on the Exeter and the aftermaths had been brief, which she thought must have been a way to protect her from it on his part. Maybe he didn’t want it in writing, maybe he didn’t want to think about it once he had lived it, to be surrounded by fire, smoke and death at every turn.

“I thought dad would help me. I told him I didn’t want to go back, I thought he could help me somehow.”

“And what did he say?”

His nostrils flare as he huffs again. “He thinks it’ll be a bad look for the movement. He doesn’t think I’m genuine.”

Kitty strokes her thumb over his knuckles and his fingers tighten around hers.

“For a moment I thought he’d be pleased,” he says, his voice thick and coarse, “just for a moment.

She breathes through the tight feeling in her chest. “Maybe if you spoke to him again—”

“No,” he says bitterly. “Made up his mind now. Sure, what does it matter either way? I’m not much use here.”

The light feeling in her limbs is starting to fade. She feels solid and heavy where her body meet the mattress.

“Your dad needs you,” Kitty says, “and Lois.”

He scoffs.

“Don’t tell me you’re upset with her too?”

Tom frowns. “Stupid fucking mistake. What does she think she’s going to do now?”

“She told you then?”

“She sent a letter.”

Lois had called in a few weeks ago to tell them the news. Mam already had her suspicions, even though Lois was barely showing. She and dad were horrified, but of course they didn’t make that clear until after she had left. “A baby on the way and no husband, for shame.”

“She knows it was stupid, but she’s not asking anyone else to deal with the consequences,” Kitty says.

“All because she wanted to mess around with some posh boy.”

Kitty swallows down the dry feeling in her throat. “I don’t think what she did was much different to me and you.”

Tom looks down at her with wide eyes. “Me and you are different,” he says.

“How so?”

His lips shift, like he might say something, but he doesn’t. “I don’t know, I thought Lois was more sensible than this.”

“She’s certainly not done herself any favours, but you won’t help by being angry at her.”

“But she’s always been the responsible one, you know?”

“That’s not fair, Tom, she’s your sister not your mother.”

Tom stares up at the ceiling with his lips parted. “No… I suppose not.”

He turns his head into her. “I should never have gone in the first place.”

There’s lots of things that she thinks she would want to change. Sometimes she wishes Tom wasn’t so reckless and impulsive. She wishes he’d find an interest that wouldn’t end him up in trouble with the police. She wishes he really was a pacifist, and that way he would be here, and the only thing separating them would be a single street and two windows. It hurts to think of what could have been.

But those things cannot be changed, and even then, he wouldn’t be him. He wouldn’t be the Tom Bennett she’s adored for as long as she’s had memories of him.

She shifts against him, hooking her arm over her chest and her leg over his hips. “I know things are hard,” she says. “Just don’t leave them on a bade note. You’ll regret it if you do.”

They don’t speak for a while. The evening drags on, the sun dips lower in the sky, voices and the shouts of children sound from the street and Kitty is content lie beside him, listening to his heartbeat and his slow, controlled breaths, while he plays with her hair.

“I love you,” he breathes, so softly she thinks it might be a voice in her head. “When we got hit, it was all I could think about. That I might die then and there, and you’d never know.”

She feels her mouth break into a smile. “You love me?”

“Oh leave off, I’ve said it now,” he says with a grin.

They dress and he leads her downstairs to the kitchen. While he fusses with the kettle, Kitty takes a seat at the table.

“You’ve not met Vera yet,” Tom says over his shoulder, nodding at the small birdcage on the table. Inside, a little, yellow canary with black, beady eyes tilts her head and chirps.

“Hello, Vera,” Kitty says.

Vera chirps back.

Tom turns back around with a single cup of tea and a plate of toast. “Have to be stingy with the butter and milk, obviously,” he says setting them in front of her.

“Oh,” she says, “no, I won’t have any, don’t waste your rations on me.”

Tom angles his brows at her. “It’s not a waste.” He takes a seat in the chair opposite and lights a cigarette. “Come on, you’ve been on your feet all day.”

She hesitates before she reaches for the milk, spilling the smallest dash she can manage into the cup and skipping the sugar. Then she takes a cut of butter no larger than her thumbnail and spreads it across the toast. She takes a few tentative bites, ushering some back to him and tearing off a few crumbs to feed to Vera. Even the most mundane parts of life have become luxuries now.

“How long are you back for?” she asks.

“A week.”

“And then?”

“Off to Dover. They’ve got some big operation planned.”

“And will you be back after that?”

He draws his tongue between his lips. “I don’t know.”

Before long, the front door unlocks and Lois’ heels click through the hallways as she comes into the kitchen. “Dad not back yet?” she says, tossing her coat over the banister. She stops at the head of the table and looks between the two of them. She’s holding a brown paper bag. “Hello, Kitty. I’ve just been in to see your mum.”

“Oh she’ll be wondering where I am,” Kitty says, glancing across to Tom.

His chin is tilted down, and he looks up at her through the smoke with pleading eyes, like an injured puppy.

“Tell ‘em the Gregorys invited you up for tea,” Lois shrugs. She reaches into the bag and pulls out tiny pieces of clothing that are vaguely familiar to Kitty. “For the baby,” she says. “Thank God your mum kept all your old stuff.”

“Make do and all that,” Kitty says, briefly catching Tom’s eye.

She downs her tea and hurries to the hallway. Tom had left her coat over a sofa in the front room, and her bag is still on the floor. She tuts at his carelessness and shouts a farewell to Lois as Tom comes to see her to the door.

“Thanks for stopping by,” he says formally, with the corners of his mouth curled.

“Of course,” she replies, peering round his shoulder to see if Lois can see them.

Tom looks round too and smiles back at her as he leans into her ear. “A pleasure, as always, pretty Kitty.” He catches her lips in a quick peck before he opens the door for her.

She hurries across the street and finds her keys in her handbag. Before she opens her own door, she looks back to number 27. The glow of the spring evening beams off the red bricks of the houses and Tom looks golden, watching her through the haze of smoke from his cigarette.

It’s like before, all those months ago, before he first went away.

Each night, Tom steals into her bedroom. They kiss as quietly as they undress each other and set themselves down on her bed.

It gets more unbearable with every day that goes by. Each hour is an hour closer to carrying on with her life without him, when he’ll become another person to wait for, another reason why she wants this war to end.

On their last night, he fucks her from behind, keeping her mouth covered and muffling his own sounds in the crook of her neck. His breath and the hold on her mouth only makes her more desperate.

If anything, that first evening has ruined her, going back to gentle lovemaking is excruciating.

She quietly pleads for “more… more…”

Tom clamps his hand tighter around her mouth. “No, no, no, be a good girl,” he whispers harshly, “just be a good girl for me, Kitty.”

Once they’re both too tired to carry on, he wraps his arms around her. He tells her he loves her, and she says it back.

Dover is closer than the Atlantic at least, but the distance is all the same. He’ll still be gone.

She watches him as he dresses and follows him to the window. Before he leaves, he kisses her, deeply and desperately, pulling her still bare body against him.

When they move away for breath she gazes into his eyes. She could never forget them, the storm of blue and grey rings around his pupil, but he already feels like a memory, something intangible, there but not quite.

He presses a kiss to her forehead and his lips linger there. “When I get my next leave, I’ll come straight to you,” he says.

She doesn’t doubt it’s a promise he’ll keep. Tom Bennett doesn’t often make promises to her, but so far, he’s never broken one.

Tags (comment to be added to either)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya

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[queenie-official]

Chapter Sixteen: ‘Great big Race’ Bridgerton Au!Anakin

previous chapter: 15

The royal heart series masterlist

a/n: who’s ready for a race 🏇🏇 honestly took me forever to figure out how i wanted it to go😭 otherwise all these chapters would of been out like yesterday but i couldn’t write 🥲 anyways enjoy huns Xx<3💋💋

you were honestly glad you’d told Anakin to stay with his family for the day because it took you way longer to finish going over everything then you initially thought. you didn’t even get to eat dinner with everyone. instead eating in your study as you looked over paper after paper. who knew a race would take this much work to put together.

at the very least you’d finally finished for the day, slouching back in your chair to take a much needed moment to yourself. letting your mind run blank before your anxiety took over.

tomorrow was the big day, the entirety of Alderaan would have their eyes on you and Anakin. only it wasn’t just Alderaan, with the unity of the two kingdoms for the events youd now have the additional eyes of Tatooine on you.

thousands of people watching your every move. thankfully the race would keep them occupied but the ball- maybe it wasn’t your best decision in all honestly. not only would you have to do a welcome speech but everyone will be expecting you to address what happened however brief it may be. you can only hope you don’t tear up as it would probably undo all the progress of showing the Ton all was well you’d put in.

if you can get through without crying, then perform the first waltz with Anakin you could call the entire day a success. silently you prayed all the work you were doing for this would pay off and there would be no slip ups.

to say you slept good that night would be a lie, in all honesty you found the bed felt rather empty without Anakin in it alongside you. the previous night was only the second time he’d shared a bed with you and somehow you’d already grown used to his company. you couldn’t blame him for sleeping in his own room though, not when you were up so late and he’d probably been too occupied with his family to notice.

just when you finally thought you’d be able to rejoin everyone for the day you found yourself isolated once more. Three carriages had been waiting in front of the castle, you’d almost forgotten about that stupid safety protocol rule. but now here you are riding alone. Anakin was in the second carriage behind you, Ahsoka and Obi-wan with him. his parents were riding in the third together, lucky them.

the carriage ride there felt everlasting, bored out of your mind with no one to talk too. it felt like the universe was playing a cruel joke on you, mocking the fact you weren’t truly a part of their family by physically reminding you of the space between you and them. at least when you arrived at the racing grounds you’d be with everyone, then you could pretend like that wasn’t the case.

despite all of the negative thoughts and feelings that plagued your mind there was an overwhelming excitement that tingled throughout your body. Anakin had gone on and on about the races throughout the whole preparation period. he’d explained each rule, and even had his old race horse from Tatooine brought over so he could use it in the race. R2-D2 was the horse's name, you found it an odd one but didn’t want to question him. R2 was a beautiful horse, and looked strong. no wonder Anakin always won.

there was three rounds overall, the fun part was even if you won the first round there was no guarantee you’d participate in the final round. the winner of the first round gets put into the second round alongside a whole new set of people and if they lose that’s it. of course it was also optional if they wanted to participate a second time or not to begin with.

Anakin had said he’d participate in the first round before and won all three a few times, which didn’t surprise you with how passionate he was about the hobby. you both agreed that since he was the king however, he shouldn’t participate till the last round in order to give people of the Ton a chance to win.

looking out the carriage window as the sounds of a crowd began to fill the air, the excitement bubbling even more as you saw the racing grounds come into view. you knew there would be a lot of the Ton here but to see just how many had shown, both warmed you and scared you. you could hear the booming voice of someone announcing your arrival shortly followed by cheers of the Ton.

Braeden had opened your carriage helping you out and onto the ground, you’d actually grown quite fond of him. it was still odd to have someone constantly five paces behind you but you couldn’t deny the convenience, plus after what happened with Valorum it brought you a feeling of safety.

“y/n” Anakin’s voice drew your attention away from your valet, turning to look at him instead. Ahsoka was at his side but seemed to linger behind and stay with Obi-Wan when she’d noticed he was walking over to you, it was a little disheartening but you did your best to push the feeling away.

“are you ready for this?” he asked you, a big goofy smile on his face from how happy he was as he now stood in front of you. you couldn’t help but mirror his expression, he has such a perfect smile. one that always seemed to brighten your own mood, he held out his arm for you to link with yours so you two could walk together.

you didn’t hesitate to link your arm with him, now walking side by side as he gushed about the race and who he thought would win each round. of course confidently bragging about how no one would beat him come the third round. god did you love him, you could listen to him talk for hours about any subject you were sure.

as you guys walked through the back of the stands to go to the special stall designated for the royal family you couldn’t shake that feeling again. like someone was watching you, obviously your people were but this was different.

looking briefly behind you to see if you could spot the source, and sure enough a familiar pair of brown eyes were locked onto you.

you turn back to Anakin refocusing on him but this time you weren’t really listening to what he was saying, your mind was too busy wondering if Ahsoka really disliked you so much. anytime you were in the same place her eyes were on you, tracking your every movement. honestly you felt more judgment from her then you have most people in your life.

the sound of a gun going off rung in the air to signify the first round of the race had begun, silencing the crowd but only for a moment before everyone began shouting and cheering for the respective player they were rooting for. the track was huge, some points of action would be covered from trees but only briefly.

if you thought the crowd was loud you couldn’t believe how loud Anakin was, somehow his voice managed to boom overtop of everyone’s.

well him and Ashoka’s, though even her shouts where significantly quieter than his. it was almost more amusing then the race, Obi-Wan seemed to be more of a silent enjoyed along with Qui-Gon. both men standing silently and only cheering when the contestant they where routing for managed to surpass the other players. Shmi was silent in general as she watched, that didn’t shock you considering how Anakin said she never really was a fan of the races to begin with.

from what you remembered Anakin also said that both Qui-Gon and Shmi disproved of him participating in the races so you could only imagine what their reactions would be like when he’d leave to go join in the third round.

you flinch back slightly as everyone’s voices raise, the first round coming to an end and the first winner of the day emerging. it was nice to see both kingdoms getting along so well for this but boy did you not take into account just how loud the whole event was going to be.

your ears would be ringing for the rest of the night that’s for sure. shockingly Anakin seemed to have noticed, you truly thought his attention was solely on the race but he always seemed to find a way to surprise you. pulling you to stand in front of him and gently cupping your ears to block out the noise of the crowd as the next round was being set up. it was still loud but definitely more manageable than before, everything muffled just enough for the ringing to stop. it truly was the little things that had you falling helplessly in love with him.

the next round began just the same, another gun shot to the air and off all the players were. the difference this time was Anakin didn’t cheer, looking up to see his face he was definitely watching it. a big smile still plastered on, occasionally puffing his cheeks out when he wanted to cheer. he was holding back for you.

Ahsoka’s cheers still went on, now cheering for both herself and her brother since they were routing for the same player.

you lean back into Anakin, resting your back against his chest and he moves forward slightly. resting his chin on the top of your head, his hands still pressing firm but gentle on your ears.

there it was again, the feeling of eyes on you. you didn’t bother to check this time, already knowing who it most likely belonged too. at this point the only thing you wanted to know was why.

to say that Anakin’s family was shocked when he left the stands, walking down to go join the third round would be untrue. if anything you were more shocked by their lack of reaction, you didn’t show it though.

he hadn’t told them you knew that for sure, he’d said it himself he wanted it to be a secret. but you suppose they were probably used to this from him.

the crowd was probably the loudest they’d been all day when Anakin joined the lineup on his horse. the previous winner from the second round wasn’t competing this time, probably having seen Anakin’s name on the list and decided to take the win he had not wanting the possibility of losing to the king.

you wanted to cover your own ears to block from the noise as Anakin had been doing before but decided you’d much rather cheer for him and clap. it would only be for a small amount of time after all, Anakin had done a test run of the course when first trying to find where the race would take place.

he’d taken three minutes to complete it and that was without R2, you had a feeling he’d run through this one much faster with his favorite horse.

the cheers were so loud as the gun went off, to your surprise the entire crowd was pretty much rooting for everyone but Anakin. it was all good fun you could tell, still you couldn’t help but laugh.

you, Ahsoka and Obi-Wan being the only people to cheer for him. his mom and dad watching quietly, though to be fair it was already clear who was going to win. Anakin was significantly ahead of the other contestants, his brows were furrowed in focus. occasionally glancing behind to check if anyone was catching up. there was one person who’d somehow managed to get close but just as quickly he managed to go even faster, R2 getting a second wind as he galloped along.

Just like that he’d won. a bright smile on his face as he held up both arms in a cheer of his own as everyone else cheered, screamed actually.

you were elated. this was definitely the most fun you had in a while, you almost wished it could go on longer or happen more often. of course once a year was still better than nothing. the day wasn’t over yet though.

you now had a ball to get changed for.

Part 17

Tag List: @luvvfromme @gatekeepingirlboss @bimbo-baggins86 @iluvanakinskywalker @bby-imasociopath @curlycarley @burnthecheshirewitch @misscaller06 @sweetcheesecakesblog

alright and that’s three 🤭🤭 next chapter is going to be the ball 😋 it’s going to be out soon but not as fast as the previous three chapters where posted- but don’t worry cuz i promise it will be out today lol💃 anyway hope you all enjoy the cute moments happening between reader and Ani🥰 love you all 💋💋

[katkrisis]

Beneath Bonds and Blades

Prologue

“If I had to guess,” came a warm, raspy voice from the other side of the table. “You got word from home.” “What gave it away? My sunny disposition or the lovely way the note was addressed?” she asked, referring to the back of the letter where “Bird Brain” had been scratched in a dark indigo ink after it had been folded and sealed with wax.

Summary:

After plans to stop the Dread Wolf from tearing down the Veil go sideways, Antivan Crow Rook De Riva meets Lucanis Dellamorte, the Demon of Vyrantium, for the first time and requests his help to fight the gods that threaten to destroy their world. Rook quickly learns that underneath the stories of the contracts and assassinations is something else entirely.  “Beneath Bonds and Blades” is an expanded retelling of Rook and Lucanis’s romance from the game Dragon Age: The Veilguard.

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“Idiot:

I hope you're reading this. If the trail really has led you to Tevinter, it'll be harder to get messages through. The Antaam in Antiva are prickly about anything to do with our neighboring kingdom.

Back home, things have cooled, but they are not forgotten. Killing all those Antaam may have felt righteous in the moment, but the Talons are still complaining that your actions have ruined weeks of setting up a larger, more effective strike.

I am one of those Talons still complaining. Consider this trip with Varric a contract. Crows don't fail contracts, especially Crows from House De Riva who may need to improve their judgement. But there is more at stake than honor. Whatever this Solas is up to needs to be stopped. I've seen enough of his handiwork to know that. 

Don't get careless out there. Don't fail, and don't get yourself killed, or I will come after you in the fade myself.

Viago.”

Codex: A Letter Dated Six Months Ago

Rook sighed and leaned back in the booth as she dropped the letter to the old, worn-out table. Around her was the usual bustle that accompanied the inns she had been frequenting in recent days – boisterous laughter, an adequate bard playing in a corner, the smell of alcohol and smoke, the clinking of glasses, and, if they were lucky, a pretty barmaid to serve them.

“If I had to guess,” came a warm, raspy voice from the other side of the table. “You got word from home.”

She looked up from under her hood to the dwarf sitting across from her. His clothes were dark and unassuming like hers, patched up and stitched together in spots where they had begun to wear down. His hood was pulled up as well but his salt and pepper hair still peaked out from underneath and fell against the tops of his shoulders. Around his neck was a gold, circular pendant that glittered in the light from the single candle on their table.

“What gave it away? My sunny disposition or the lovely way the note was addressed?” she asked, referring to the back of the letter where “Bird Brain” had been scratched in a dark indigo ink after it had been folded and sealed with wax.

The man chuckled and leaned on to the edge of the table with his arms crossed over it. “He writes to you because he cares.”

“He’s got a funny way of showing it,” she muttered, picking up the half-finished glass of ale in front of her. Rook knew that he cared but the Crows were strict. They had to be, in order to become the assassins they did. He had every right to still be furious with her. 

“Relax, kid. Things will calm down once we stop Solas,” the dwarf said.

“You’re really confident we can stop the Dread Wolf,” she said after setting the heavy glass down with a dull thud. She still wasn’t sure that they would, but now that Viago had made this a contract, she would either finish the job or die trying.

“Chuckles isn’t as ruthless as he makes himself out to be.” His voice was a little softer than before and laced with nostalgia.

The Dread Wolf. Fen’Harel. Solas. The elven god of treachery and rebellion. Friend of the Inquisition. He planned to tear down the Veil; the only thing separating the world from the Fade, a realm of spirits and demons. If he succeeded, countless lives would be lost and Thedas as they knew it would cease to exist. 

Rook was an elf. Whether she had been born to a Dalish clan or not, she didn’t know. Her earliest memories were of an orphanage that had been located somewhere between Antiva City and Treviso. She had been purchased by the Antivan Crows when she was young. Because of that, her knowledge of elven history and language was sparse – her education with the Crows hadn’t required it. What she did know, she had learned from fellow elven fledglings who had been told the stories by their parents beforehand, or from local city elves she would talk to on her outings.

Nearly ten years ago, a war had broken out between Mages and Templars. It was temporarily halted thanks to a peace conference arranged by Divine Justinia V, the leader of the Chantry. An ancient darkspawn mage known as Corypheus attacked the conference and there had been only one survivor who walked away. She was a Dalish woman who would become known as the Inquisitor, and much to her chagrin, the Herald of Andraste to some who followed the Chant of Light.

The blast Corypheus had caused left the Inquisitor with a mark, an anchor, on her hand that connected her to the Fade. This had allowed her to close many of the tears in the Veil that had appeared in the south and, with the help of the Inquisition they had formed with their allies, stop Corpypheus.

It was during this time that the Inquisitor had met Solas. Back then, he had only been known as a skilled apostate mage and expert in the Fade. After Corypheus had been defeated, however, it was revealed who Solas really was and what his intentions were. The Inquisitor had vowed to stop Solas. More recently, she had asked for the help of Varric Tethras and Lace Harding, old friends of hers from the Inquisition, to track him down. 

Varric had been one of the captives Rook had saved when she impulsively stopped an Antaam patrol one night three months ago in Treviso. At the time, she hadn’t known who any of the Antaam’s captives were. She had simply had enough of their occupation and wanted to do something about it. She’d been on her way back to report to Viago about a contract she had completed when she saw the commotion. 

After she had rescued Varric and the others, she had sat on her cot in her small, dimly lit room, unable to make eye contact with Viago as he paced and shouted. She glowered down at her hands instead, looking at her bloody and bruised knuckles, and the superficial cuts up her arms. With her head bent down, she could feel the pull of the bandages wrapped tightly around her neck, but the hot, throbbing sensation from a cut she had received had passed. Luckily, one of the Crow mages had been able to tend to the wound but wasn’t able to heal her completely. It would likely leave her with a scar. 

Viago was the head of House De Riva, the Fifth Talon of the Antivan Crows, and the closest thing Rook had to a family. He was one of the many bastard sons of King Fulgeno II and, to protect the line of succession, was given a choice between exile and joining the Crows. As one of the Antivan Crows’s eight Talons, Viago had become even more powerful than his father.

He had taken Rook under his wing when she was still a fledgling shortly after he had become Talon. He was well versed in the art of poison and had taught Rook everything she knew on the subject. Those lessons often ended with Rook being poisoned herself but it had allowed her to build up an immunity to many poisons over the years. 

“What were you thinking?” Viago’s voice had begun to go hoarse after yelling at her for what seemed like hours. “You went in alone? Against nearly twenty Antaam?”

“Someone had to do something,” she argued back, finally lifting her chin defiantly to look at him. Viago had a dark beard and curled moustache that exaggerated the angles of his cheeks and jaw, and wide black curls that fell around his face. His dark blue eyes bore into her with a fury she had never seen before. 

“We were doing something!” he shouted, throwing his arms up in frustration. “You just compromised a Crow operation that has been going on for weeks!”

“And what about all those people, Viago? Are we supposed to just turn the other way while –” 

“Yes!” Viago threw his hands up in the air. “Maker’s breath! Did you hit your head this morning? Or are you really just that stupid? You know what the rules are!”

Rook stared up at him with narrowed eyes and a scrunched nose. She barely registered the movement in the doorway behind Viago. They stared hard at each other for a long moment before he placed one hand on his hip and pinched the bridge of his nose with the other as he sighed.

“Take the rest of the night to get some sleep,” he said in a more even tone. “In the morning, I want you to gather your things and go.”

“What?” She asked, her expression melting into shock. “Go where?”

“The other Talons are outraged,” he explained, moving his hand away from his nose to motion vaguely behind him. “For your sake, it’s best if you disappear for a while. I’ll try and smooth things over in the meantime.”

“But… ”

“Maybe I can help,” said a gruff voice from the doorway and Viago turned to look. It had been Varric with Bianca, his beloved crossbow, strapped to his back. It hadn’t been hard for him to convince Viago to allow Rook to join him and they left before dawn that morning. She hoped that if she could help and prove herself, the Crows may forgive her actions. 

Rook looked at Varric sitting across from her at the table. He somehow looked older in the low light of the bar. He was clearly exhausted. She wasn’t sure exactly how long he had been chasing after Solas before he had found her, but she knew it had to have been more than a year at least. It had been a little over three months since she had left Treviso with Varric and she knew it would be several more before she could return. She wondered how much more Varric would age, physically or mentally, before this was all over.

When they first began travelling together Rook treated Varric with indifference. Viago hadn’t specified her trip as a contract when she left, so he wasn’t technically a client. She’d learned that Viago had met Varric not long after Solas had begun his quest to tear down the Veil. That was why Varric had been in Treviso; he was on his way to talk to Viago. 

It all worked out in the end. Rook needed to get away and Varric needed the help. As the weeks went on, she began to see him as a friend. He was surprisingly easy to get along with and he scolded her far less than Viago. He was full of stories with his adventures with the Champion of Kirkwall and the Inquisitor. He’d led an exciting life and enjoyed telling his tales to anyone who’d listen. 

Rook looked down at the frothy liquid that lingered at the bottom of her mug. “It’s been… what? Almost a decade since you last fought alongside Solas? He may have changed since then, Varric.”

Varric let out a tired sigh, knocking his knuckles against the wood table a couple of times and lowering his head. “I have to believe the man I knew is still in there somewhere.”

She raised her gaze to look back up at him. Rook knew Varric cared for his friends but she doubted Solas held him in the same regard. Either way, she would help him, and not just because she had a contract. She pushed her empty mug away from her and raised her hand to flag down the barmaid.

“All right. What do we do next?”

[tillimatis]

In an Innocent World

Little did they all know, years later they will meet each other again, endure through a wild adventure to Xadia, and will be there for each other.

Word count: 782

Author's note: Young Rayllum AU fanfic written back in September 2020. Idea by a friend of mine. English is not my first language but I hope you enjoy :D

It was merely a week after Callum moved into the mighty uneven towers of Katolis. His mother, a skilled warrior, had decided to start another new chapter of life with the crown prince of this particular human kingdom. Little did he know the future responsibilities that come along with the title of a prince, the hardships of being a brother, the twining hatred between Xadia and the human kingdoms, and the cruelty of this world — he was only three. 

Being a kid like the same age, the castle took Callum in awe. He had never seen such magnificent buildings, with maroon tapestries filling up the glamorous interior built of stern, gleaming golden bricks. Everywhere Callum went, his widening eyes beamed with excitement and curiosity. And it was no different when he was first introduced to the royal family’s winter lodge.

Sure, with the rich bushes and soothing sounds of flowing streams, the Banther Lodge is anything one would want for a nice, quiet little break from their works and duties. Yet being deep in the forest can easily become an assassin’s target, especially if you are from a royal family of a human kingdom. And they are no typical assassins — Moonshadow elf assassins are famous for their stealth and sudden attacks. These trained elites would do anything to get rid of their human targets, and doing so will bring honour for avenging their homeland, Xadia.

One of them, a toddler, in particular, quietly sneaked out of the assassins’ campsite just then, and decided to have a little walk in the woods. The young apprentice was annoyed with the adults constantly being on and off from the site. Have they not found their new target yet?

And that’s when she heard some soft sniffing sounds. Moonshadow elves never cry. Who could that possibly be?

Rayla tip-toed a bit more forward, fearing that she would be discovered for wandering off the site. Trying to hide her emotions written on her face, she came across none other than a human boy of similar age, curled up on the grass like an adoraburr, with helpless tears to address his current situation.

“A human boy?” Rayla wondered. The adults have always described how filthy, greedy humans are. And worst of all, she had nothing to protect herself but her legs to run back for her dear life. While thinking carefully for her next action, the sniffing noise eventually died down. Rayla looked down at the human, her mysterious violet eyes met the watery emerald eyes of fear and confusion, seemingly begging her for something. Before Rayla could react, Callum had already rambled about how he got lost from a lunch walk around the lodge, and unfortunately ended up drifting further into the forest.

Rayla sighed. Dumb human. Did he not notice my pointy ears and growing horns?

Just this time, Rayla. Just this time.

She kneeled down on the same level as Callum, slowly brushing tears off his chubby cheeks. Looking at the stunned face in front of her, Rayla offered her palm, four-fingered palm. “Let’s get you back.”

“Really?” “Come on! Why are you still sittin’ there?” Rayla gestured to Callum, who was still trying to sniff away his fear of getting lost. Rayla softened her tone, and slightly patted Callum’s hair. “You will be fine.” 

After helping Callum back on his feet, the two toddlers held hands together, fingers locked, while venturing through the sea of greenery. No one, not even one, would have believed humans and elves could get along, if it wasn’t for Callum’s lack of knowledge on how humans viewed elves.

“My name’s Callum. How about you?” “Rayla. And stop talking so loudly in the forest! Someone may find us.” “Then we won't talk.” Callum whispered, letting out a playful grin. Little did the four-year-old know, her cheeks were painted with soft red tints.

Not long enough, the lodge is within their sight. Rayla pulled Callum aside to stop him, silently warned him. “I could only help you til’ here. Be careful with where you’re goin’ next time!” 

“But, thank you for walking with me. Can we play together next time?” 

Rayla hesitated. Callum’s whispering invitation did sound genuine, but elves were supposed to hate humans. To their guts. It took her a while, still, she looked back to him, and gave him a little nod back. Before she sprinted back to her campsite, she took a few more moments to look at Callum, who reunited into the big, warm hugs of his worried parents. 

Little did they all know, years later they will meet each other again, endure through a wild adventure to Xadia, and will be there for each other.

[skybrushus]

Another moment from my anthro MLP sword & sorcery dreamscape.    Applebloom's story was one of the more tragic aspects of the dream.  

      Originally Applejacks younger sister had hopes of becoming a Wolf Lancer like her big sister was. Link  When she came of age Applebloom enlisted in the Royal Equestria Army. She quickly showed potential and was soon given a small company of infantry to command. 

      It was during this time Al-Conikkrall the great lich/necromancer made his move to try and carve away a chunk of Equestria's borders to create his own lich kingdom. While other more experienced and stronger forces were sent to directly thwart the dark wizard's ambitions. Applebloom's company was assigned to hold a small, distant mountain pass stronghold. It was believed that this location was far removed from the fighting but was important to assure that commerce continued between Equestria and the lands beyond its border.  

     Applebloom yearned to be sent to the front line, but she accepted her orders and was determined to carry them out to the best of her abilities. However unbeknownst to anypony  Al-Conikkrall had plans to attack several of these passes and the fortifications located there. His objectives were to disrupt Equestria's trade with her neighboring nations. To sow the seeds of doubt amongst those nations that the kingdom could defeat him. Finally he wanted harvest more souls for their power, and to add more undead soldiers to his growing ranks. One of the strongholds his forces attacked was Applebloom's.

    Applebloom's forces put up a desperate defense but were no match for the onslaught that smashed into their tiny stronghold that night. The attackers numbers were too great and in their ranks were several very powerful necromancers and a lich-like construct who Al-Conikkrall could from great distances see through, manipulate, and cast his dark magics. Wielding a Sickle of Harvesting he tore through the mare's forces slaying all in his path and gathering their screaming souls. 

    Finally Al-Conikkrall came for Applebloom. With all her skill, courage, determination she attempted defended herself. The great lich found this young mare's efforts amusing and toyed with her. Slashing her with his sickle. Never dealing a lethal blow. Just playing with his prey. 

   Eventually Applebloom ran out space and found herself trapped on one of the high parapets looking out over a deep mountain chasm. With no place to run and no chance of defeating her foe the mare decided to deprive her enemy of her soul and threw herself over the parapet into the chasm below.

    She plunged into the darkness expecting it to be her end, but after a few seconds she realized she'd been falling for too long? She should've smashed into the jagged rocks long ago? Suddenly she found herself no longer falling and she was standing on solid ground surrounded by complete darkness. Uncertain of what this meant she stood there. The dripping of blood from her wounds was the only sound. However she soon saw a light approaching. A lantern carried by a hooded, elderly mare. The mare stopped a few feet away and addressed her. 

    "My dear foal do you know why you are here?"

    "Uh no ma'am." Applebloom replied.

    The old mare raised the lantern and as if to get a better look at her visitor. Then she lowered it again. "I am Lolinor, Bearer of the Lantern. I am the guide who leads the newly departed from one existence to another. Dear can you tell me how you came to stand before me?"

    Slowly Applebloom realized she was dead. Tears began to pour from her eyes as she told Lolinor of her final moments in the living world. Of the attack on the stronghold. Of watching her forces cut down by Al-Conikkrall's blade. Of her final decision to deny him of her soul. Her tears of sadness slowly turned to tears of anger and frustration as she described being helpless to save her troops from such a mighty foe. They'd been her forces and she'd failed them.

   Lolinor heard the mare's words and rage she had for the great lich. Gently she reached out and rested her hand on Applebloom's shoulder. "I understand your frustration and digust for what that lich has done. He's usurped the Great Cycle and denied thousands the right to pass on to the beyond. Worse he's condemned countless souls to a horrible fate as they are tortured and twisted to perverse desires."

   The Bearer of the Lantern took a step back. "I unable to leave my post. This is my destiny, but I am permitted to send a small number of worthy souls back to their starting point so they can finish some task. If you are willing to serve my needs I will grant you this." 

   So it was that Applebloom was returned to land of the living, but now she was Lolinor's champion in the land of living. Sent to strike down those who would destroy the Great Cycle. To aid her in her quest the Bearer of the Lantern gave the mare several powerful tools to aid her. 

   First and foremost is the scythe Wailing Vengeance. When swung the great blade howls like a legion of souls crying out for justice. With single stroke Applebloom can mow down great swaths of undead beings. The blade perpetually drips blood and if you look at the puddles that formed you can see tiny faces in the blood silently crying out to be avenged. 

   Around her waist is slung what appeared to be an old, worn cleaver. This was Spell Hewer. With it Applebloom can hack through many of clever spells and wards lichs and necromancers use to keep their souls out of the Great Cycle.

  Finally there is the Flames of Fate. These were candles Applebloom carried in a satchel. Each one represented a lich or powerful necromancer. The candle represent that of individual time in the living world. When lit and then extinguished before commencing battle they countered the ability of the opponent's soul to escape if struck down and prevented it form returning to its phylactery or other device used to cheat death.

  To aid in her efforts Applebloom can also call upon the Regiment of Revenants. An army of spirit warriors who have been wronged in the living world and sought to amend an injustice against them. Unfortunately one thing Lolinor cannot dois heal the wounds that Al-Conikkrall's blade has inflicted on the mare. Only striking down the great lich would cause them to finally heal. So they constantly seeped blood. 

  Now Applebloom walks the lands seeking to avenge the deaths of her soldiers and to rid the world of the undead and necromancers. I hope you like what you see. Please help make more art like this possible by supporting me at Patreon

[hellsite-detective]

The door creaks open, and a burly-looking chap stalks his way into your office. He doesn’t speak, instead opting to pass you a simple, handwritten note scrawled on what seems to be a napkin from a coffee shop-

“Requesting information about the “I would fuck Sidon” post for research purposes. I have found myself in desperate need to prove its existence to a skeptical colleague. Forgive the odd presentation of my message. Sincerely-“

The signature has been blotted out- it seems the writer wishes to conceal their identity. A phone number is scribbled beneath it. As soon as you finish copying it down, the man takes the napkin out of your hands, rips it apart, and leaves without another word.

no need to apologize for your oddly formatted request! i've seen weirder. but that's par for the course in this city. shall we get started?

i was bein' asked to find a post about fucking Sidon the Zora Prince from the Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild (as well as Tears of the Kingdom). i went on down to the Search Bar and asked the big fella Google for "tumblr i would fuck sidon." they seemed to perk up at that comment.

"hmmm yeah. i betcha do, doll."

they then proceeded to hand me a link to tumblr "Sidon x reader" fics. i scoffed at them and demanded i see images of what i'm lookin' for. they shot me a spicy look, causin' me to realize my wordin' was a little suspicious. shockingly, however, they gave me what i was lookin' for. well, amidst several images of Sidon, that is. but i finally had a lead to go on. i went ahead and took a trip down to the final address listed in the photograph and snooped around filterin' for "private message" and found what i believe to be the post. i filed it away for safe keepin'.

here you are, my silent client! i hope this is the post you were lookin' for! have a great day!

Post Case: Closed

[tenaciouschronicler]

November 22 2024 2009

Dad kidnapped by the Dark Forces confirmed.

Thats one heck of a kingdom.

Looks like Dad is holding his own just fine. I kinda feel sorry for these imps if Im being honest, like this one here was so resigned to its fate before Dad decked them through the wall.

What I think is really important are these next two panels.

Those look like giant versions of the device in Jades room. Here they look a heck of a lot more like windows and display both Dad and John. This new character here has front row seats to both Egberts and is very displeased by this turn of events.

And then of course is our official introduction to the Peregrine Mendicant.

They were lucky enough to not be trapped in the center for the duration of the flight, however that does but them at a disadvantage regarding thier current whereabouts.

For some reason PM here also seems to have a barcode tattooed on their wrist. The single letter they found is addressed to a Dr. David Brenner in Washington. Although the sender has been torn off, we can see that this is labeled SERIOUS BUSINESS which was the name of Dads messanger app so he potentially is one of the individuals from there. Or it could just be legit mail. He is a doctor after all.

PM has the same sentiments towards mail as WV has towards mayoral duties. Their conviction is so strong they actually reacted with an underlined 'NEVER.' when told to open the letter. Not only that, but PM started on a rant about the mail system, decided this needed added flair and took the time to put on the mail carrier hat, before continuing on the rant, a tear in their eye.

Things the mail is (according to PM):

freedom

life

the fabric of civilization

a righteous crusade to resurrecting a dead planet

Man, now Im starting to feel patriotic about the postal system. That was very beautiful PM.

PM, after that rousing speech, walks over to their own terminal which has similar albeit slightly different order of commands. PM did not type anything to any kid prior to typing =>HOME meaning their terminal most likely was left on this screen before they arrived. Entering =>VIEW, we open screen four and confirm Jade is the protagonist of this feed. Theres heavy green interference as we see Jade now outside holding a gun, and apparently the figure is familiar to PM.

PM has a better grasp of manners than WV had at the start and asks 'Don't I know you?' to which Jade looks at the camera and shakes her head no.

Apparently, this was not the correct thing to do because something goes terribly wrong. The visual interference gets worse as the terminal shakes from the surge of electrical feedback eventually exploding the wall of the still flying craft.

I hope PM is ok.

[a-treatise-on-velociraptors]

OK. Fuck it. More complaining about Tears of the Kingdom. Massive spoilers this time.

TL;DR: Zelda's dragon plan was bad, placing all their eggs in one basket when preparing for Link to fight Ganondorf shouldn't have worked from a Watsonian standpoint and is annoying as hell from a Doylist one, and while not necessarily undoing her development from BotW, Zelda's sacrifice here sets her up for this circumstantial sisyphean cycle of constantly giving up her own agency and personhood for Link.

The dragon plan itself--turning into an immortal being to guard the master sword until her own time--isn't the part of the plan that wouldn't have worked. It's everything else, not just from a story standpoint but from an in-universe, logistical standpoint. Thousands and thousands of years are a long fucking time, even in a fantasy world where the political and cultural landscape seems to be in a bit more stasis. Despite the fact that Hyrule literally has manifest destiny (which is a lot of, uh, thematic implication that's never really been addressed and that I'm not really gonna go into here), to anticipate that the specific set of events leading to the Sages' assistance of Link would transpire exactly the way they needed to is fucking preposterous. Yeah, you could say that it's a bit of a paradox--all of the pieces were already in place for Link and the Sages to fight ol' Ganny, and Zelda was simply retroactively setting them in motion for the future--but that's also stupid, because it would require the Light Dragon and sky islands to have always been there! And they appeared after the initial encounter with Ganondorf, which not only doesn't make sense as a time travel narrative at all, but also implies that before the Upheaval the sequence of events was still wibbly wobbly enough that shit could have gone down very, very differently! It's like the conundrum of how to indicate to future civilizations that certain areas contain radioactive waste--the this place is not a place of honor shpiel, et cetera. How do you leave the ancient all-powerful artifacts that your sages need in order to enact a plan thousands of years in the making, in places that no one will mess with over the millennia between you and them?

Conveniently drop those structures into place--ancient texts describing them and all--right before the second part of the plan goes off, I guess.

And from a narrative standpoint, I think "Thousands of years of meticulous preparation have gone into this One Fucking Super Special Uberguy of Prophecy Foretold getting to defeat the Big Bad. It is foretold that this Super Special Swordsman will be the Only One who can defeat the Big Bad, so we're all going to put our eggs in the Main Character basket in the hopes he actually will" is just. Dumb. it's just dumb. I was going to add the caveat that 'oh well previous zelda games had the reincarnation cycle' but that was a new edition with Skyward Sword. The reincarnation plotline wasn't a thing until the year of our lord 2011, the game that directly preceded Botw/Totk and was by the same director hmmmmm. Before that we had games like Wind Waker, where Link is just Some Kid who gets wrapped up in Hyrule's ancient dusty business while trying to save his sister. Or Twilight Princess, where Link is just Some Guy who gets wrapped up in Hyrule's current dusty business while trying to save the people from his town. Hell, even Ocarina of Time, where Link is the most predestined to be part of Hyrule's dusty business out of all the 3d Zeldas pre-SkSw, is immediately followed by Majora's Mask, where Link only gets wrapped up in Termina's dusty business because he's trying to find his friend. In all of those, Link feels like a generally normal guy who's blessed with strength because of his courage. Even in BotW, Link is just a guy who was Zelda's chosen knight. He nearly died for her, and when he awoke again 100 years later with no memory of who he was, he still rose to the occasion to stop the calamity he had failed to defeat.

In TotK? Link's the Kirito of Hyrule. He's the Special Guy everyone needs to swear fealty to. He's the Special Destined Chosen One. Their last line of defense will be Link.

As for Zelda's narrative sisyphean torture, it just puts a bitter taste in my mouth that after spending so much time giving herself in her entirety to protecting Hyrule, she has to turn around and do it again in a way that she believes is eternal and irreversible.

In BotW, Zelda activates her sealing magic as a personal last-ditch effort to save Link's life. She loves him (I will go to bat for Botw/TotK Zelink still) and she doesn't want to see him die for her and that's enough to finally activate her power. It's a good narrative beat, I liked it--despite my desire for Zelda to have some agency in the narrative that isn't just in direct support of Link, I'm a sucker for some good ol' "powers emerging in defense of a loved one" trope. It's good shit.

But in TotK, Zelda's only purpose is twofold: 1. To be Link's hype man. To set up the aforementioned Dumbshit Kirito Main Character Plan. To set the idiot ball rolling and hope it makes it to the right spot at the end of this cosmic plinko game. 2. To give herself--her mind, her body, her spirit, herself in her entirety--in order to repair the Master Sword and get it back to Link. "Link! Protect them all!" and "Link! You must find me!" are some of what she thinks are her final words. As far as she's come to know and expect by this point, the only purpose she serves now and forever is to pave the way for Link to do his part.

In the moment, meeting TotK where it is as far as her character goes, this development isn't necessarily bad. It's tragic, yes, but from a purely Watsonian perspective it's not the worst solution to her problem, and is the only one presented to her. But from a Doylist perspective it sucks ass. It's the wet fart of storytelling. So many of us have been begging Nintendo for years and years to give us more of Zelda as a character, give us more of her as someone with her own agency and drive within the plot (no, Sheik doesn't count, Sheik is awesome but still narratively only exists in service to Link), but TotK slid so far backward in that regard. Puts a bitter taste in my mouth. (Spirit Tracks had a better Zelda, and she spends most of that game trying to get her own corporeal form back from the BBEGs.)

[loreweaver-universe]

And that's the episode.

That was a very fun one. I wasn't expecting a "everyone's scheming against everyone else because one person is lying and everyone else is being dumb" plot to be that enjoyable! It adds a lot to Hoppop's character that he's so into Anne's show, something for them to bond over. I hope it gets referenced in later episodes.

And hey, as much as that should have melted the phone down or at least fried its internals, now we have an in-universe reason why Anne's phone will never run out of battery again! I like when stories address stuff like that.

That'll be it for today's liveblog! Tune in tomorrow for the start of episode 4 of Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts, or you can tune in to my Twitch channel today at 1 PM EST where I'll be playing Finding Paradise, the sequel to To the Moon (which left me sobbing, I highly recommend it to any autistic people who may be reading this)!

Before I go, I’d like to plug both my blog’s Patreon and my Twitch/Youtube Patreon. Patreon is my only source of income, and while I make enough to cover rent and bills (I make $800-1000 a month) I don’t make a ton of money from it and haven’t been able to save anything up for emergencies (medical or otherwise) in the last decade or so.  Every dollar helps, so if you’re willing, please consider pledging a dollar or two.

Thank you all for tuning in, and thank you to my 44 blog patrons, who make it so I can do this for a living!  I’ll see you next time!

IN OTHER NEWS:

I recently completed my first playthrough of The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom!  You can see the full playlist of those streams by clicking here!

I recently completed my first playthrough of Zero Escape: Virtue’s Last Reward!  You can see the full playlist of those streams by clicking here!

I have an ongoing first playthrough of Final Fantasy XIV that I’ve been streaming on Twitch! If you’d like to tune in when I’m live, I stream it every Saturday at 1 PM EST, and I upload my stream VODs to my Youtube channel!  If you’d like to see that playlist, click here!

If you’d like to help me pay my rent, buy me some food, or help with my bills and medicine, please use my direct donation link!  If you’d like to support me per liveblog completed every month, please pledge to my Patreon!  If you’d like to support my streams or pick a game for me to stream, you can pledge to my stream Patreon too!

You should also go pledge to Gio’s Patreon, or his Sponsus–our Discord server maintenance tech and creator of Rubybot deserves far more than I can afford to pledge to him by myself.

If you’d like more of me and my content:

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It’s your kindness and support that lets me do this stuff, and I wouldn’t be where I am without all of you to do it for.  Thank you all so much for your support, and for tuning in every episode!

[earthgoddesspersonas]

‘The last Earth Goddess.’

Hope addresses her foes in this video, this is the transcript. This is a bit dark even for me… This is the last Earth Goddess, Hope. She exists in a dark future apocalyptic world where no other Earth Goddess exist anymore. She is the last one. Still fighting evil and protecting the humans even when it seems hopeless. Even though she is the last remaining Earth Goddess she is defiant and never gives up. She is the hope fairy at the bottom of Pandora’s box. This is her message to the foes and non-believers of magic. She finds the last remaining ‘golden ones.’

Hope:

“How long do you think this is going to go on? Do you think you can just trap me here in these timelines? In these putrid places? With these putrid people? Do you think it will diminish my spirit , dampen my heart? Diminish my hope? I never lose hope, I’m a goddess! I’m a legit, A-grade, 111%, real deal, in every way shape and form, symbolically, literally, figuratively, a goddess. A real one. The kind that creates the worlds -amazing worlds. And destroys worlds. I’m living on the planet in a society in a timeline; that doesn’t recognise this. At best I could be seen as a witch. But I’m much more than a witch. I’m vulnerable like a witch. Persecuted similarly, in a modern type of way. Attacked by the tribe that i’m trying to protect like a witch. In a world full of fools and pervert‘s and gas lighters and liars, deceivers, betrayers, thieves, sellouts. Even the helpful useful people are manipulative and controlling. People that do acknowledge my uniqueness as a goddess. (Maybe they don’t see it as that label) , either are pathetic types of men that want to be treated like a slave from a mistress or other magic people who want to sabotage me, tear me down, suck my Energy threaten me and abuse me. So it’s been a barrel of laughs. I know who my people are. I know where I stand. I know who I am. I know the conditions in the environment, not natural. Toxic.  doesn’t rub off on me. But I’m kind of getting sick of it, trying to rub me off onto it. So I’ll say it again. How long do you intend to keep up the charade? In this prison dimension? That you’ve disguised the kingdom of heaven in? This is the kingdom of heaven! The lies that you’ve been feeding the people for eons, doesn’t work on me. I see right through it. So keep trying to destroy me. It only makes me stronger. Keep sending me these degenerates and neglecters and useless ignorant people. Because I find the golden ones. I know who they are. And I have a lot of allies on my side and we aren’t afraid of you. Nice little false destiny side path-line there with the infiltrating of the sex industry. Nice. Didn’t work. I see through it. Because I’m a goddess. I’m not limited in my mind like humans. I can see through illusion. Tell your superiors. I’m not going to go away. I’m not going to die. If I’m so bad shit legit crazy bipolar, delusional, psychosis not there, hallucinating… Why do I still have standards? When I’m out in public? And intelligent, sane legit people have no standards. Or pretend to? So does that mean all the crazy people are the only ones who are nice people who have standards? Is that the framework you are looking for? Nice.  It’s not very clever though. Think you might need a new software update.”

[tomyo]

Tomyo's Backlog Adventure: 1 Year Later

How it's going

It's been a little over a year since I made the backlog list. Admittedly I did not get through it much simply because I was extremely busy as an artist all that time. Initially I think I hoped I'd get a decent chunk through the DS games only to really never break through much.

What I got/played since

So what are the games I haven't listed?

Well let's see; Sonic and The Black Knight, Wii Music, Pokemon Pearl, Some Japanese Gameboy games of Hamtaro and Tamagotchi, the Dream Eye, Style Savvy Trendsetters, and as of this week, Tomodachi Collection and a substantial amount of Sim 3's content. (Edit: I can't remember if the islands HM DS games and sonic free riders were added on since) There is also a number of switch content that I just refuse to mentally process. Part of making the list was to address how I had gone feral with game collection but was not actually playing the games. I would say in some ways having that list helped me curb my unchecked spending which as you can guess got widely ignored for switch downloads. The irony is I would say I did a lot of switch gaming as well. Notable releases like Sonic Frontiers and Tears of the Kingdom were some of the games I ended up borrowing from the library and spending way too much time on. During the start of the year I was heavily gaming Splatoon 1 only to fail at my mission to collect all the gear before the servers went defunct. There's also been a part of me that spend the last 6 or so months hyper fixating on Tamagotchis. While not traditional games, they do indeed simply function as mini game systems and part of me sees the progression in them as my "gaming time".

What I want to get

Admittedly the urge to buy is flickering in me somewhat. Why? The rise is 3DS game costs. Now with the e shop closed, there is a renewed interest in content that had gone untouched for a while. The big wake up call for me was hearing Tomodachi life now goes for around $100 these days. My other experience in the last year is hunger for 3 things; The sonic games I missed during the GameCube/Wii era, Cooking Mama, and the Japanese series model debut. So here's my list:

Legend of Zelda Ocarina of Time and Majora's Mask remakes

Legend of Zelda: A link between Worlds

Project Mirai with Cards

Nintendogs 3DS (while I have a digital download, I want physical)

Yet another copy of New Leaf

Story of Seasons

Pokemon Sun and Ultra Sun (the only two 3ds games I don't have from the mainline)

Pretty much every Cooking Mama game

Smash for 3DS and Wii U

ZombiU

Ducktales Remaster

Sonic Riders Zero Gravity

Shadow the Hedgehog

Sonic Shuffle

Loosely a few Japanese games like the soul eater one or the switch model debuts

Fashion Dreamer

Various Tamagotchis and Gigapets

Pocket Sakura

That Sega Eyetoy game

What I want to do

Some of the biggest hurdles are playing through Pokemon and Bokumono games on my list for very different reasons. Bokumono games are always a struggle because the require time being set aside to both plan out the game period and to marathon game days, especially during the 3DS era where this is a lot of mechanics to juggle. On the opposite end there is Pokemon to which most of the games on the list I want to stream my playthroughs as it's in part a ribbon master challenge. Pokemon games will probably stay put aside for an undetermined amount of time but I do want to clear out a lot of Bokumonos.

Right now I have been working through ANB to dizzying results. At some point recently I became very frustrated with the loop and set it aside leading to a hyper focus on FoMT's remake which is super easy and will likely hit my clear in just a day or two more of gameplay(my majors goals are to go through mining and fishing in the upcoming winter season and return to go for endgame houses and achievements at a later time). Admittedly I want to return to the battle that is ANB despite its frustration; feeling like I'm creating the progress is half the enjoyment is the struggle. Part of me even forgets what my end goal reach is for that one but my best guess at the moment is mainline story completion, yuri romancing, and full transition.

Onwards from that would likely be tackling either Trio of Towns or Animal Parade. Animal parade is certainly the harder of the two to pick up since it often requires the most effort to set up but of the two, I find it the more accessible story wise as simply every trio of Towns is overwhelming.

As for the casual dailies; Wild World and My Little Shop have been hard to call finished but also do not really have enough to move forward with. MLS is a pretty repetitive mini game series with a vague end goal of achieving clovers so I might just declare it finished with anyways. Wild World slowed to a crawl simply because I missed certain bug and fish seasons and on top of that is hard to enjoy when there is so little to do in game for progression outside of nonstop fishing/bug catching. Wild World might end up ending prematurely with just the encyclopedia completions since the act of endless money making for a house/charity doesn't appeal deeply to me when it is just an end goal. What might start up instead is a series on Nintendo's (and friends) various fitness trackers; My personal trainer walking, my weight loss coach, Wii fit U, the pokewalker, pocket Pikachu, pocket hello kitty, Pokemon go pikmin bloom, and for funsies the Fitbit and my phone's step tracker cuz it's cute. There's a personal love that Miiblr just exists here there's a good number of fitness things that exists around the miis. Part of me can loose the idea that I enjou watching the meters go up on these devices as the gameify walking. My Wii fit U meter has been carried with me for a while now as the goal to see the distance walked and the heights climbed is a huge enjoyment. Seeing as there are other counters, I see myself wanting to just reach a point carrying all of them for the fun of it.

Some games to stream; Pokemon Channel, Wii Music, Space Channel 5, Sonic Adventure, shenmue, and Time Stalkers all make the cut. As obviously mentioned so would most of my Pokemon games if not for being put on the back burner. Possibly towards the end of the month, I might return to some tiktok streaming with Wii Music and Pokemon channel (especially since this one is pretty camp themed). The dreamcast games are a little more tricky because I have a set up in mind but it's just hard to achieve currently. The other thing preventing streaming is my aforementioned job which takes up most of my nights these days. While most of these games are pretty easy to play in one sitting, the bigger rpgs might have difficulty.

And then finally friend plays; sonic 06 has been long on hold as I keep not visiting the very friend that lent me his PS4. At the same time, the latest game has not been decided for my yearly D trip yet; the choices stand as almost certainly Sonic Free Riders, Time Stalkers, Nintendoland, and shenmue.

As it stands I'd like to get out of the way 14-20 games on the list this year; a bunch already half played, some simply shallow games to begin with, 2-4 with the power of friendship, and about 4-7 requiring actual time investment. Additionally out of the 76 on the OG list; at least 7 of them are going to be shelved for now (the Pokemon ribbon master play throughs). Of that 69 (nice) left, 7 are known hold off, 6 are wrap ups, 3 require additional meddling, and 12 simply required setting aside time to play. There's still tons of games but since my art career is a bit on hold atm, I would like to delve into these games more this year.