#It doesn’t use a battle axe or anything it uses a wood chopping axe. This is important

[selfcontainedunivcrse]

cringetober day 3: oversized prop

it’s got a big ol axe

[flowercrown-bard]

35 for Geraskier? :3

thank you so much for the prompt! And also, I would like to apologise. I had the most cursed thought about how to end this and I wasn't going to actually write that, but you know sometimes you have an idea so bad that you just know you would forever regret it if you didn't do it

prompt: Bets/teasing with increasing physical stakes makes character confront their feelings

word count: 5k

kind of inspired by the song "anything you can do I can do better"

content warning: brief mention of injury (no detailed description)

Anything you can do, I can do better

“You know you could help me, right?” Jaskier’s tongue peeked through his lips in concentration. “All you need is a little magic-“ he wiggled his fingers through the air uselessly, letting the sticks he had been holding before fall to the forest floor. “-and we would have a fire. Easy as that. So why, oh, why do you insist on torturing me thus?”

Geralt had to bite back his grin when Jaskier turned his big pleading eyes on him. “I thought you said you were ‘perfectly fit to travel through the wilderness’.”

Jaskier abandoned his fruitless attempt at making a fire for good and his puppy eyes turned into a glare. “I am! Just because you decided to be a prick about it, doesn’t mean I’m useless.”

“You almost stepped into the snare I had set up to hunt our dinner.”

Jaskier crossed his arms in front of his chest and lifted his chin in defiance. “Your point?”

“My point is that you wouldn’t survive a day without me out here.”

“Well, good thing I don’t want –“ Jaskier broke off and his eyes narrowed. “Wait. Are you…” he came closer to Geralt, who barely could keep his shoulders from shaking. “Are you laughing at me? Geralt, how dare you!”

A snorting laugh slipped past Geralt’s lips and he no longer fought back the grin. “I would never dare do such a thing.”

“Oh, no. That’s it.” Jaskier jabbed a finger at Geralt’s chest in outrage. “I am going to prove to you that I am just as good as you are at surviving out here. No, I am better.”

For a long moment Geralt only stared at him. “I am a witcher. I am enhanced and trained specifically to survive out in the wild. You are a bard.”

“And I am stubborn and pissed off. And I know that I can do anything better than you.”

Geralt threw a pointed look at the sad attempt at making a camp fire. Jaskier cringed and shrugged his shoulders. “Magic doesn’t count.”

“Alright then,” Geralt sighed, but his lips twitched up when Jaskier’s eyes lit up with determination. “How about you prove how good you are by setting up the tent?”

“Psh, that’s easy.” When Geralt sceptically lifted a brow, Jaskier added, “I am a travelling bard. Do have some trust in me.”

Geralt watched in amusement as Jaskier strode off to go about his task. At least for the time being the bard would be distracted. Geralt knew there wasn’t a chance that Jaskier would actually succeed in setting up the tent, but it was strangely endearing to watch him bite back frustrated curses as he got tangled up in the fabric. And maybe, just maybe Geralt was preparing his ‘I told you so’ for when Jaskier finally admitted defeat and asked Geralt for help.

Except, that didn’t happen. Against all expectations, Jaskier managed to build the tent and it didn’t even take him too long.

Geralt stared at him, taken aback. Clearly Jaskier noticed Geralt’s surprise, for the smug grin he wore only got wider and he put one hand on his hips, gesturing towards the tent with the other.

“There you have it. I dare you to tell me again that I’m not as good as you are.”

“You are not,” Geralt said, more to watch Jaskier splutter in indignation than anything else.

He wasn’t disappointed.

“I am able to prepare us dinner,” Geralt said, taking out his knife.

“Oh please, now you’re just being ridiculous.” Jaskier rolled his eyes with a huff. “We both know that before I came along, you only used salt and pepper to spice your food. If even that much.”

Geralt shrugged. “I never said it tasted good. I just said I was able to prepare it.”

Jaskier’s eyes crinkled as his grin became triumphant. “Aha! So you admit it. I am better at cooking than you.”

“If you think so, then I’m sure you’ll have no problem preparing these.” Geralt did his best to keep his expression carefully neutral as he held the rabbit he had caught out to Jaskier.

Jaskier blanched at the sight. A hint of guilt battled with the satisfaction of seeing Jaskier give up on his stubbornness and he was just about to take the rabbit back and skin it himself, when Jaskier took it away from him, though he held it in the same way a lordling might hold a wet frog.

--

Over the next days, Geralt started having more and more fun with this. No matter what he told Jaskier to do, he jumped at the opportunity to prove himself. At this point, Geralt wasn’t really sure anymore what exactly Jaskier was trying to prove.

It was obvious that Geralt’s increasingly ridiculous bets were nothing that would prove anything to Geralt other than that Jaskier was a stubborn idiot who would rather attempt to chop down a small tree than give up, though he had done that particular task while throwing glares at Geralt every other second. It had been fun to watch Jaskier grit his teeth and try to succeed in this utterly useless task.

It had become slightly less fun when Jaskier had become so exhausted that he had to shrug off his chemise, revealing his skin that glistened with sweat.

Seeing Jaskier like this – seeing the muscles in his shoulders and arms flex as he swung the axe – was strange. It felt wrong. At least that was the only explanation Geralt had for the strange twist in his guts as he watched his friend. And the only reason why his mouth went dry when he later massaged Jaskier’s sore back to get the tension he was responsible for, was because he felt guilty.

He should have stopped then.

He didn’t. Not when they were making camp and not now that Jaskier was walking beside Roach, humming the same melody for the umpteenth time.

Just to see Jaskier’s reaction, Geralt now said, “I bet you can’t stay silent for longer than I can.”

He threw a glance at Jaskier out of the corner of his eye. Jaskier had stopped walking and was opening his mouth to protest. Geralt lifted his brows and cocked his head to the side, the corners of his lips twitching.

Jaskier narrowed his eyes, but no sound left him. Instead, he mouthed something at Geralt that he was sure must be some sort of insult, before hurrying after Geralt.

It became clear quickly that this might just be the hardest task for Jaskier. Chopping wood and skinning rabbits was one thing. Evidently, Jaskier’s stubbornness gave him extra strength and the ability to swallow his disgust. But staying quiet? He looked as if he was ready to through the towel right then and there, and not even a full minute had passed.

Geralt was almost fully convinced that the only reason Jaskier remained silent was that every time his fidgeting got worse and he looked like he was about to open his mouth to say something, he caught Geralt’s eyes. Within a heartbeat that determination was back in his eyes and he snapped his mouth shut.

Geralt was almost impressed. He should have known that Jaskier would play dirty.

He started to poke Geralt’s legs, pull at his boots and open their straps.

Any glare of Geralt’s was only answered with a shit eating grin and a shrug that screamed ‘You said nothing about me getting you to talk first.’

Too bad that Jaskier wasn’t the only stubborn one between the two of them.

Geralt remained stoic, no matter what Jaskier tried to grate on his nerves. He was content to ignore him. After all, Geralt had plenty of practice tuning out Jaskier’s singing, he would have no problem ignoring the way Jaskier –

Eyes wide and mouth opened into a silent cry, Jaskier stumbled. He fell forward, his arms flailing to protect his lute.

Without needing to think about what he was doing, Geralt reached down and grabbed Jaskier by the scruff of the neck, steadying him.

“Careful,” he growled.

And Jaskier…Jaskier turned to him with the most self-satisfied expression Geralt had ever seen on him.

“Told you,” Jaskier said cheerily. “I anything you can do-“

“Jaskier,” Geralt warned, but he failed to keep the amusement out of his voice. There was too much joy in Jaskier’s eyes to dampen his mood with Geralt’s broodiness.

“Which makes me think,” Jaskier tilted his head in contemplation. “Not that we’ve determined that I can keep quiet for longer –“

“Because you cheated.”

“Because I can keep quiet for longer,” Jaskier repeated, emphatically ignoring Geralt’s protest, “We should see if you can talk for longer than me.”

“No we shouldn’t.”

Jaskier skipped a couple of steps ahead, until he was walking right before Roach, turning around so he was walking still facing Geralt as he walked. “Whyever not?”

“Because this thing we’re doing isn’t about me,” Geralt replied with a huff. “And talking is no valuable life skill.”

The gasp Jaskier let out could put any actor delivering their final monologue to shame in how theatrical it was. Jaskier clutched a hand over his chest and pointed an accusatory finger at Geralt.

“The audacity!” Jaskier gave Roach a long-suffering look, as if she would understand his woe and agree with him. “Geralt. My dearest friend. You can be such a smart man, but what you said just now? That was the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Ever heard yourself talking?”

“Don’t try to distract me with insults. I have lived at court, trading insults is a battle you won’t win. Speaking of which, talking might not be important in the woods, but it sure is invaluable when you want rich people to pay you, which – oh! Wait. That is exactly what you want.”

Geralt grunted. “Your point?”

Jaskier’s lips stretched into a grin. He lowered his voice into a very bad imitation of Geralt’s growl, when he said, “My point is that you wouldn’t survive at court without me out here.” His voice jumped back to its normal pitch. “In other words, you need me.”

Geralt scoffed, though for some reason he liked the certainty with which Jaskier said those words.

“I really don’t.”

“Prove it then.”

“What?”

Jaskier stopped, forcing Roach to come to a halt as well.

“I said prove it. I don’t see why I’m the only one that needs to prove that I’m a worthy travel companion – “

“It was your idea,” Geralt grumbled.

“-so, how about this: I continue to do everything you think I need to be able to do out here and you prove to me that you could survive at court.”

“I don’t want to survive at court. And I don’t have to prove anything.”

Jaskier’s brows rose and he lifted his chin in a challenge. “Sounds to me like you’re scared.”

Geralt glowered at Jaskier. He could just guide Roach to walk around Jaskier. He could just ignore that stupid challenge.

But Jaskier had that look on his face. It was infuriating. Geralt never stood a chance against that look.

He jumped off Roach and walked over to Jaskier, trying to make himself look as menacing as possible, until they stood almost chest to chest.

He could see Jaskier’s throat bob as he swallowed. Geralt leaned in until their noses were almost touching.

“You’re on,” he growled, before he turned away from Jaskier and made to get onto Roach.

He was stopped by Jaskier clearing his throat.

“Actually,” Jaskier drawled. “At court it’s considered very impolite to ride on a horse while your companion is walking.”

Geralt’s brows drew together. “I’m not letting you ride Roach.”

Jaskier let out a short laugh. “Oh, don’t you worry, I am out of practice anyway.” He stepped to the side to make space for Geralt to walk next to him while leading Roach. “But I bet you can’t walk for hours as you make me do.”

--

It became clear quite quickly that Geralt had underestimated Jaskier’s ability to be petty. Obviously most of what Jaskier made him do now was revenge for the ridiculous tasks Geralt had given Jaskier.

Well, two could play this game. And oh, how they did. For weeks they went back and forth, Geralt giving Jaskier a task that he performed with gritted teeth and Jaskier enacting his revenge by making Geralt do all sorts of ridiculous things. One would think that sooner or later one of them would run out of ideas, but Geralt had been walking the Path long enough to know that there were never enough skills to have and whatever could be said about Jaskier, no one could deny that he was creative.

And of course neither one of them was willing to back down from a challenge.

Which was the reason why Geralt disguised his obligatory protest at Jaskier’s newest demand as a clever explanation for why he can’t possibly do what Jaskier dared him to.

“How on earth am I supposed to ‘dress appropriately for court’ when I don’t have any fancy clothes with me.”

Jaskier put his hands on his hips. “You would have, if you had listened to me when I had asked you to come to the tailor with me.”

Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose. “That was back in Touissant. Months ago.” He gestured to the trees surrounding them. “I don’t think there’s a tailor anywhere close.”

Jaskier opened his mouth before letting it snap shut again.

“What?” Geralt demanded.

A blush crept across Jaskier’s cheeks and he averted his eyes. “Nothing it’s just…There are courtly clothes here. Myclothes.”

Geralt’s mouth went dry. “You want…” His eyes drifted to the doublet Jaskier was wearing. Without wanting to, he imagined Jaskier opening the buttons one by one and giving Geralt his own doublet.

When Geralt didn’t resume talking, Jaskier’s eyes darted back to him. For a moment he looked confused before his expression morphed into one of panic. “Oh, gods, no, that’s not what I – no. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t make you…” Jaskier cut himself off and went over to his bags, rummaging through them for long enough that Geralt began to wonder if maybe he was just trying to avoid looking at Geralt. Finally, Jaskier came back with a triumphant sound that didn’t bode well for Geralt and a deep purple doublet.

“No,” Geralt said firmly, as he eyed the garment in distaste. “I am not wearing that.”

“So are you saying that you give up?”

Geralt held Jaskier’s gaze for a tense moment, before snatching the doublet out of his hands.

“Fine,” he growled. “Don’t complain if it tears. This was your idea.”

Geralt felt awkward as he shrugged off his own shirt and donned the doublet. The fabric felt nice enough against his skin, but for some reason, the knowledge that Geralt was wearing Jaskier’s clothes set his chest ablaze. The sensation was so distracting that he fumbled with the buttons, unable to close them on his own.

“Here, let me,” Jaskier offered and suddenly he was right in Geralt’s space. His head was lowered so that he could see what he was doing as he buttoned up the doublet with practiced movements.

Without meaning to, Geralt leaned forward, just a bit. Just enough to catch more of the lavender-scent that clung to Jaskier’s hair.

“There, all done,” Jaskier said and looked back up. His eyes widened when he saw just how close he was to Geralt who sucked in a sharp breath. Their faces were only inches apart and Jaskier’s hands that had come to rest on Geralt’s chest were burning his skin through the fabric.

“Jaskier…” He didn’t know why he said it, why suddenly this name was all he could think about.

His skin was burning and the doublet felt too tight, too hot.

Geralt squirmed and as if he had been shook out of a stupor, Jaskier took a step back. Geralt pretended not to notice the way the loss of the touch left him strangely cold.

“Yeah, no, you were right,” Jaskier blurted, his face burning in a furious red. “That’s not your colour. At all. Just-“ he gestured to all of Geralt, his eyes lingering on the buttons threatening to pop over Geralt’s chest and the way the fabric stretched over his arms, “that looks just utterly unacceptable. You need to get that off right now.”

Geralt barely had the chance to nod, before Jaskier was on him again, practically tearing the doublet off of him.

He turned back as soon as Geralt was free of the garment again. Geralt should have been relieved to be rid of the atrocious thing, but as he watched Jaskier stuff it into the bottom of his pack as if he wanted to never see it again - as if the sight of Geralt wearing it had been so terrible that he wanted to ban it from memory forever - he felt a strange pang in his chest.

--

After that, Geralt wasn’t sure how to proceed. Usually, he wouldn’t have waited a day to give Jaskier the next challenge, but ever since the incidence, as Geralt had come to think of it, Jaskier had been strangely tense.

Geralt wracked his brain, trying to figure out what he had done wrong. Maybe the doublet had ripped after all without Geralt noticing. And who could blame him? It had been distracting having Jaskier so close, touching him.

Then again, nothing had happened. It didn’t even deserve to be called an incident. Still, Geralt couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed that day, that they had come dangerously close to having something happen.

Whatever it had been, it couldn’t happen again.

And so Geralt refrained from challenging Jaskier.

At least he did, until Jaskier looked at him a couple of days later with an unreadable expression on his face.

“I am sorry,” Jaskier said quietly.

Geralt’s brows furrowed as he searched Jaskier’s face. “What are you sorry for?”

Jaskier shrugged and turned his face away. “You are cross with me. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Geralt’s throat grew tight at the way Jaskier’s voice wavered. “You didn’t. And I’m not.”

“No?” Jaskier looked so hopeful, so relieved. “I just thought…you didn’t give me a new challenge and I was worried I had ruined it.”

Geralt’s chest clenched uncomfortably. “So eager to get your ass kicked?” He said as carefree as he could and nudged Jaskier in the ribs with his elbow. “I just needed time to come up with a good challenge.”

“Did you find one?”

“Hmm.” Geralt looked around camp as subtly as possible, frantically trying to find something he could make into a new challenge. As always, his eyes landed back on Jaskier. More specifically on his exposed forearms, where he had rolled up his sleeves.

“Arms,” he blurted out. When Jaskier gave him a confused look, he cleared his throat and gestured between himself and Jaskier. “We should do arm wrestling. As a test of strength.”

Jaskier get out an incredulous laugh. “You want me to test my strength against a witcher?”

Geralt shrugged, a pointless attempt to hide his sheepishness. “You are the one who said you could do anything better than me.”

Jaskier’s arms drifted down to Geralt’s arms, assessing. Eventually he nodded.

“Alright.” Jaskier’s voice was uncharacteristically hoarse. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

And oh, how he did. He stood no chance, of course, even as Geralt held back. Jaskier put all of his strength into it. He used both hands. He stood up and tried to use his body weight.

He let out a noise of frustration and his face scrunched up in an expression that could only be described as adorable.

Geralt didn’t even realise how lost he had gotten looking at Jaskier until he heard a low thud and Jaskier’s face twisted in disappointment.

Geralt forced himself to look away from Jaskier’s face and saw the obvious. He had Jaskier’s hand pinned down.

“I guess you won,” Jaskier said and made a face. “You have found something I can’t do.”

Geralt hesitated. This would have been the perfect moment to gloat, to declare this silly game over. What left his mouth instead was, “We’re even now. I couldn’t wear the clothes and you can’t beat me. I’d say that means we still don’t know which one of us is better.”

Though Geralt knew. When Jaskier’s eyes lit up at Geralt’s words, he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that Jaskier was better – he might even be the best man Geralt knew.

--

After that, the fight was fully on again. Jaskier didn’t hold back. Not an hour later, when the moon had just begun to creep across the sky, Jaskier stood up and offered Geralt his hand.

“I bet you can’t dance.”

He was right, of course, but not once did he mention how Geralt kept stepping on his feet or how his posture was all wrong.

Geralt wouldn’t have cared if he had. He didn’t think his defeat would have even registered. He was too occupied fighting and failing to keep his heartbeat slow as Jaskier pulled him ever closer and let him through the motions of the dance while humming a soft melody.

In this moment, he couldn’t have cared less if he lost a bet or not.

And it appeared that Jaskier cared just as little about winning the bet, just this once.

Neither of them said a word about it and when they finally let go of each other, Jaskier just looked at him with that same unreadable expression he had shown more and more often lately.

“Your turn to make a move,” was the only thing he said, before disappearing inside the tent.

--

Geralt was hurt. It wasn’t a deep or particularly painful wound. Not that one would be able to tell from the way Jaskier fussed over him with worry etched into his face.

“I bet,” Geralt pressed through his teeth, “that you don’t know how to clean a wound.”

Jaskier stared at him in disbelieve. “You’re absolutely right I don’t.”

“Don’t you want to try?”

Jaskier’s brows drew together like storm clouds and his voice was thunder. “Really, Geralt? You’re bleeding. Do you really think this is the right time for this? If I mess this up-“

“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupted him and put his hand soothingly on Jaskier’s wrist. He could feel his pulse pump beneath his fingers and he rubbed a small circle into his soft skin. “You won’t hurt me. This is just a scratch. The drowner barely got me.”

“It wouldn’t have gotten you at all if I hadn’t been in the way,” Jaskier said bitterly.

Geralt’s chest clenched and he squeezes Jaskier’s arm gently, making him look at him. “That doesn’t matter. The important thing is that you didn’t get hurt. And that you know what to do if you ever do get hurt.”

There were implications in Geralt’s words that he didn’t want to think too hard about. He didn’t get the chance to anyway. Jaskier looked at him with wide eyes, before he nodded and set to work.

His hands were gentle and he hummed soothing melodies as he cleaned and stitched Geralt’s wound under his instructions. Geralt wouldn’t have been able to think of anything but Jaskier’s closeness if he had wanted to.

--

“Why on earth would I need to know how to do that?” Geralt said scowling, to the utter annoyance of Jaskier how groaned in exasperation.

“No, no no, don’t do that! That’s the exact opposite of what I told you to do. You should be smiling.”

“But why? Who cares if I smile?”

“I do. I-I mean, people at court do. You need to look pleasant and approachable if you want to charm anyone.”

“I don’t want to charm anyone.”

“Too late for that,” Jaskier muttered, quietly enough that Geralt was certain the words hadn’t been meant for him.

Still, Geralt scowled even harder, just to spite Jaskier and maybe, just maybe to make his own frown turn into a laugh.

“Geralt! Stop that this instant! Truly, sometimes I think you enjoy riling me up.” He threw his hands up in defeat. “This is it. You are a hopeless student. I’d have better luck teaching Roach how to behave at court. She definitely is more charming.”

Geralt couldn’t help it. His lips twitched up. “You’d have to bribe her.”

Jaskier snorted. “I’m already working on it. One day I’ll get her to eat that dreadful old cloak you insist on keeping.”

Jaskier looked dead serious and a by now familiar warmth spread through Geralt’s chest at Jaskier’s unconvincing scowl.

A snort of laughter left his mouth and in the blink of an eye Jaskier’s face softened.

“There it is,” he said in a tone Geralt couldn’t place. If he dared to let himself imagine, he would have called it fond. “You may never again say that you aren’t charming.”

--

“What on earth does this prove?” Jaskier panted as he tried to dodge yet another swing of Geralt’s fist aimed at his face.

“It should prove that you’d be able to defend yourself against bandits or at least hold your own in a bar fight.”

“Why would I -“ Jaskier ducked under a ridiculously slow punch that would have been truly embarrassing to get hit by, “need to do that?” He jumped backwards. “I can always talk myself out of trouble or – careful Geralt! – or you’d be there to save me. I don’t know why –“ his rant ended in a sharp cry as he stumbled over his own feet.

He let out an exaggerated grown when he hit the ground. Geralt was on him within a second, pinning his hands to the ground.

Jaskier huffed, his breath ghosting over Geralt’s face. He went still.

Geralt’s brows furrowed. “At least try to get out of my hold,” Geralt growled. “You need to be able to protect yourself. What if I’m not around?”

“Why wouldn’t you be?” Jaskier’s voice was strangely breathless. “Why would I go anywhere without you?”

Geralt froze.

For the first time it hit him just how close they were, with Geralt’s body practically pressing Jaskier’s into the ground. At some point, Geralt’s hair band had loosened and some strands of his hair had come free, framing his face and tickling Jaskier’s cheeks.

“Geralt?”

Geralt’s eyes followed the movement of Jaskier’s lips. The was so close. It would be so easy to just lean down and brush his lips against Jaskier’s. The feel of Jaskier’s body pressing up against him wasn’t enough anymore. Geralt’s heart was pounding in his chest and he wanted, he needed–

He had no time to think. No time to voice what he couldn’t even comprehend.

Because before he had the chance to do any of that, Jaskier leaned forward and breached the gap between them. He let out a soft noise that sounded almost like a sigh when they lips finally met.

Jaskier’s lips were soft and eager and they moved against Geralt’s as if he had been waiting to do this for a long time.

It took Geralt a moment to respond, but once the shock left him, he returned the kiss with just as much fervour. A low growl rose in his chest as he pressed impossibly closer against Jaskier.

His hands let go of Jaskier’s wrists, instead finding his hands and intertwining them.

Gently, Geralt bit into the softness of Jaskier’s lips, eliciting the sweetest sound from him. He felt Jaskier tug his hands free and Geralt let him, eager to feel Jaskier bury his fingers in his hair.

Instead, they pushed against him. Geralt let out a strangled groan when Jaskier broke the kiss and used Geralt’s surprise to throw his leg over Geralt and switch their positions.

Now he was leaning above Geralt, caging him in with his arms and giving him the biggest and smuggest look Geralt could imagine.

“Why…Jaskier, what…” He was unable to finish the sentence, wasn’t even sure what exactly it was that he wanted to ask. All he knew is that he needed to know. He needed this to not have been only a distraction.

“This, my dearest witcher,” Jaskier announced, leaning in close to Geralt; close enough that their breaths mingled and Jaskier’s fringe brushed Geralt’s skin. “Is a technique I am sure wasn’t taught in Kaer Morhen. The one type of battle you won’t be able to win against me.”

Geralt swallowed thickly. “What kind of battle?”

“Why, it’s called battling for dominance. With our tongues.”

“What?”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Kissing, Geralt. I’m obviously talking about kissing.”

“For a bard you have a terrible way of describing that.”

Jaskier huffed and Geralt could almost feel his smile against his lips. “Are you saying you’d be a better poet than me? Want to prove it to me?”

Geralt shook his head, his throat tight. One of his hands wandered up to Jaskier’s face, caressing his cheek. “I am much more interested which one of our tongues has won the battle.”

“Mine, obviously.” Jaskier grinned. “I have you pinned down, don’t I?”

“Hmm.” A smile stretched across Geralt’s face and he tilted his head just enough that his lips brushed against Jaskier’s with his next words. “Any yet I feel like I have won.”

Jaskier’s breath hitched. “I guess we’ll have to do it some more then. To determine which one is the winner.”

“Yeah,” Geralt agreed, his voice but a breath. “We should.”

As Geralt captured Jaskier’s lips with his own once more, he knew with a fierce certainty that neither of them would be proven a loser in this.

[tony-is-my-daddy]

My Forbidden Fruit

I hit a writer's block a few days ago with the multi chapter Starker fic I'm working on and I thought I'd try writing something else to keep myself occupied. I hope you like this.

Basically, Peter is a farm owner's son and Tony works for his dad and they're not supposed to date but oh well... Also, it's not staded in the fic but Peter is twenty years old here.

TW: one love scene, a bit of possessive behaviour but it's mostly just dirty talk. I think that's it but if you think there's anything else, let me know, please!

------

He placed down the last crate of corn in the barn, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. His hands hurt at this point from how many heavy crates he'd been carrying around all day, but he couldn't complain, his job paid quite well. Working for a well going farm owner meant good payment but also a huge property where Tony had a load of work to get done every day. He'd been up since six in the morning and the only break he had was his lunch time ever since.

The physically tiring work wouldn't have been bad, but this job wasn't just physically tiring. There was this one boy who kept annoying him and distracting him from his work however he could. That stupid game between them felt more tiring than his whole afternoon of carrying crates around the place. And the worst part was - the boy was extremely pretty and he knew how to use that to his advatage.

He walked around in the tiniest clothes ever that Tony secretly loved, short shorts and tight fitting tops that just drove him absolutely insane. It's hard to focus on your job when he's outside, sunbathing on the grass in nothing but a pair of boxers, or doing his morning yoga on his balcony, or when he's coming back from a dip in the lake, milky skin and messy chestnut curls dripping water that the towel wrapped around his waist barely soaks up.

He was only supposed to stay until the end of the summer, but it was now the middle of September and he was still there. Tony didn't know why he was still at the farm but he wasn't about to ask because getting into a conversation with Peter, the son of the owner of the farm which Tony worked on, was dangerous. Peter had his way with words, all syrupy-sweet and tantalizing. Tony did not need that, he wasn't planning on losing his job because he fucked his boss' son.

But he could never avoid the boy fully when he was on the farm, and today was no exception. Peter was already on his tail as he walked out from the barn and towards the pile of wood that needed to be chopped.

"Hi Tony," the younger boy greeted as he hurried after the man. "My mom told me you had a lot of work to get done today so I thought I'd keep you company."

"I don't need company," Tony replied curtly as he grabbed the axe that laid against the wall of the shed.

They always used makeshift stand made out of a huge woodbark that almost reached up to Tony's hip to chop wood on, it was the easiest route. So Tony grabbed a small piece of wood, set it on top of the big bark and with a hard swing of the heavy axe, he split the wood right into two pieces, the axe stopping as it got stuck in the thick bark.

"Stand back, pretty boy, or you might get hurt," he said with a motion of his hand, signaling to Peter to go away.

"I'm fine." Peter smiled as he sat down on a bench not too far away from Tony. He watched the man work in awe, as if he was doing anything other than swinging an axe back and forth. "You're so strong, Tony. I wish I could do that as well."

"Try doing sports other than yoga and maybe you'll be able to lift the axe," Tony mocked him between two hits. "This isn't some game, Peter. I'm working over here, please don't distract me."

"Oh I'm not distracting you, am I," the younger boy asked faux innocently. "I'm just sitting here-" Yes, in those stupid shorts that put his milky white legs on display. "-and I'm not doing anything-" Just talking to me with that voice. "-just watching you work. Because it looks so fascinating, how strong you are."

"Then why not watch the other workers instead? They're probably just as fascinating as I am."

"No they're not."

"Why not?"

"Because you're way sexier."

There it was, again... Tony hated it when Peter did that, so open about what he wanted and always trying to get it shamelessly. Tony felt like a piece of meat under the intense stare of the younger boy, and he started getting more and more uncomforfable. Who did this boy think he was, saying such things?!

"Peter, I work for your father. Hell, I'm over ten years older than you!"

"That doesn't mean a thing, I like men in their thirties way more than men in their twenties. You're more mature, smart, experienced. I like that."

Tony rolled his eyes and got back to chopping wood, that was his work, after all. He tried his best to ignore the younger boy, but it was hard when he was only a few feet away and he looked fucking edible. Tony found himself glancing at Peter more often than not, making him smile triuphantly, which Tony pretended he did not see. It was harder to do his work with the pair of honey eyes (do not ask how did he know what color Peter's eyes were) constantly on him, his hits becoming less accuare until he wasn't even splitting them in half but into thirds and two-thirds. He shook his head, deciding to take a break. He put the chopped wood into a wheelbarrow and manouvered it into the shed, putting them away into the organized pile that stood next to the wall. The next thing he knew, Peter was there next to him, picking up a piece of wood and putting it down next to the ones Tony placed. Tony adjusted it a little so it sat straight, like the rest, and put three more next to it.

"Hey Tones... would you like to come with me to the lake later today?"

Tony scoffed. "It's Tony. And no, if you haven't realized yet, I have a lot of work to do."

"What else are you gonna do?"

"I have to finish chopping wood, lock the animals up and the boss told me there's a car that needs to be checked as well."

"Yes, my car! It doesn't want to start, I don't know what's wrong with it. Ahh, you're gonna look at my car? That's so nice of you Tony, I really appreciate it. Maybe- maybe you could teach me something? Like, I could watch while you work and you tell me how everything works and-"

"No." Tony finished up putting the wood away and lead the wheelbarrow back outside and put it down close to himself as he started chopping wood again. He managed to cut three before he heard Peter's voice again.

"What do you mean no? Why not?"

Tony sighed. "I was told to take a look at your car and fix it, not to give you a car mechanics one-oh-one. And that's exactly what I'm gonna do, no less, no more. Now if you'd please stop distracting me, I'd greatly appreciate that."

Tony heard a small huff behind himself, then saw the boy pass by him and finally left Tony alone. He heard the slam of a door, Peter probably went back to the farm house. So Tony continued chopping wood in peace, but soon regretted sending Peter away because his job was way less interesting without him around. Maybe he did actually need that company...

The sun was starting to set when Tony finally got to checking Peter's car. He put a portable lamp down next to himself as he opened the hood of the car.

"Tell me where it hurts, babygirl," he mumbled to the machine as he smoothed his hands down the engine. He looked through it and found the battery termials. A loose positive cable, of course. Tony carefully removed the negative cable, so he could tighten the positive without getting shocked. Then, he plugged the negative back in, both of them nice and snug in their place. He closed the hood and sat in the car to check if it would start. He turned the key that was still in the ignition and the engine began rumbling. When he stepped on the gas pedal, the vehicle started. Tony laughed victoriously and turned the car off.

This was probably his fourth time that he sat down during the whole day, so he savoured it. He leaned his head back against the seat and took a deep breath. The car smelled like Peter, the most intoxicating scent ever. Tony didn't often get to be engulfed by that smell, but it was so good, he never wanted to leave that bubble he was in, never ever. He knew that's not how it worked, though, and he sighed as he leaned back forward, ready to open the door, when suddenly the passenger door on the other side of him opened, and a very shirtless Peter Parker got into the car, a towel thrown over his shoulder.

"Let's go," he said.

"What? Where?"

"To the lake. You said you had no time because you had work. But this was your last job and now that you fixed my car, we can go and take a relaxing dip together."

"Peter, no-"

"Peter yes. Now start the car, please, I wanna get there before the sun sets fully. It's so pretty, you have to see it."

Tony shook his head again, but when he looked at the puppy dog eyed boy, he knew he lost the battle. He couldn't say no to that sight, he had to go. So with a sigh, he started the engine again and he put it in reverse to back up to the road. Peter told him exactly what direction to go, since Tony hadn't been to the lake yet, and soon they were in a secluded area, nature surrounding them and the small lake. Peter got out of the car and eagerly ran towards the clear water, Tony following in suit.

Peter dropped his pants, now only clad in a pair of tight boxers that perfectly hugged his round ass, and walked into the water. He let out a little yelp as it touched his skin.

"It's a bit cold," he giggled. "But it's still nice, come on!"

Tony shook his head with a slight smile, but started unbuttoning his flannel anyways. He watched as Peter's eyes followed his movements, the boy basically drooling over Tony's exposed upper body. But Tony couldn't say anything, he was no different. Seeing Peter's lean figure was something he was still not used to, probably never will be used to.

He unbuckled and unbuttoned his jeans as well and let them slide down his legs, stepping out of them and his shoes. Now he was also in only his boxers and while he knew he really should not have done it, Peter was irresistible. So he walked into the cool water as well, pleasant against his overheated skin.

At its deepest point, the water came up to Tony's hip, just covering the hem of his boxers, while it reached up to Peter's waist. The height difference between them was so obvious in that moment. Hell, every difference between them was so obvious, Tony's tanned hands against Peter's pale skin, calloused hands on the boy's silky soft sides while Peter placed his own, smooth hands on Tony's chest. They were so close to each other, they were touching each other. And not only that, but the amount of clothes separating them was minimal. It was so much easier to resist Peter on the farm, where people were around them and Tony knew what was his job. Where there was always at least a foot distance between them and an acceptable amount of clothes on them. But now, no one was there to interrupt them, nothing could've possibly made Tony step away from the beautiful boy. He was getting lost in the moment, lost in the honey colored eyes, the endless amount of freckles littering Peter's gorgeous cheeks and the bridge of his nose, the thick eyelases that fluttered so beautifully, like the wings of a graceful butterfly, the deep pink of those soft looking lips. Tony couldn't help his hand that moved on its own, coming up to touch Peter's bottom lip gently and yes, it was so soft, so delicate.

"Just kiss me already," Peter breathed, his usual teasing tone gone, now he was straight up begging. It made that last bit of resistance melt away, the last brick of the wall that Tony built around the two of them smash into tiny pieces, and their lips pressed together within a heartbeat. It was passionate, rough, months of built up tension poured into it. Tony'd hands began roaming up and down Peter's sides and back before one of them finally rested at the back of his neck, pulling him in, deepening the kiss, and the other one just below his ass as it pulled Peter's leg out of the water to wrap around his waist. The younger boy's arms wrapped around his back as well, hands burying into Tony's sweaty hair.

It was perfect, everything about the kiss was perfect and Tony never wanted to stop. Especially not when Peter's other leg followed the one that Tony was holding and he clung to Tony with his whole body. Only then did Tony notice the tent in the younger one's boxers.

"Tony," he gasped between kisses. "Please, do something, please."

And how can a weak, weak man like Tony resist to something like that? He grapped Peter's plump ass with both hands and started grinding the boy down against himself, the sweet friction on their clothes cocks making both of them moan out loud. The kissing came to an end as their jaws dropped in order to let their sounds flow, but they remained close to each other, basically sharing a breath. Their foreheads leaned against each other, half lidded eyes staring into the other's while they moved in tandem, grinding against one another.

"You're so beautiful," Tony said, his voice gravelly. "Skin so pretty and soft... I wanna mark it all up, make it mine. Make you mine."

"Take me. Take me, I'm yours, always have been yours."

"God, Peter. You're so good, fuck, so hot."

"Want everyone to know that I belong to you, Tony. Want them to see that the hottest man in the fucking world owns me. That I'm yours and no one else's-"

"And I'm yours, too."

They shared a few more lazy kisses between loud moans of the other one's name, both of them nearing their climax rapidly. Peter was the first who came, a harsh bite on his shoulder pushing him over the edge. As he came, he let out a scream louder than the ones he had before, which made Tony lose himself as well and come with Peter's name rolling off his tongue like a prayer.

They still held each other close as they came down from their high and tried to catch their breath. Tony was rocking Peter side to side, making the younger boy sleepy.

"Tony," he whispered.

"Yes, baby?"

"Can I tell you a secret?"

"Of course."

"I love you."

Tony chuckled. "Can I tell you a secret as well?"

"Mhm."

"I've loved you ever since I first laid eyes on you."

[kaekiro]

The Taste of Rainwater

Pairing: Eren/Mikasa II Rating: T II Words: 2654 II [AO3] Warnings: none A/N: Because ngl I was disappointed with the short story about EM taking shelter from the rain and also because I like writing first kisses/eren looking out for mikasa 😊

At first, she mistook the droplet that slid from her bangs to her cheek as her own sweat. She felt it run down to her jawline and watched it seep into the clearing of dirt at her boots, thinking nothing of it as she adjusted her grip on the wooden ax and swung it with precision. A slight sting at her palm made her pause to look at it, and she sighed, the red and irritated skin of her upper palm tender as she flexed her hand. Blisters would form if she didn’t stop soon. After setting the newly split logs onto the sizable pile she had going, she lifted a forearm and wiped away remnants of the droplet. As she stood to her full height to relax her arms and back, the pent up tension released and dissipated like steam, leaving behind the beginnings of sore muscles. It was relieving to feel the breeze in her hair, how it rustled the looser parts of her clothing and cooled her skin. But it suddenly got colder, stronger, carrying thicker droplets that splashed directly on the tip of her nose and exposed forearms. The tree branches swayed sporadically, warning her of the kind of storm that was coming but the distinct scent and sounds of thunder rumbling in the air were confirmation enough. She tried to move fast to gather a good amount of logs to keep dry for later, yet it was of little avail. Before she knew it, she was running through the rain with the ax in one hand and a pitiful number of logs clutched at her side. Though it would’ve been ideal to go inside the cabin where the wood was needed, the icy water that was beginning to soak her hair and seep through her clothes forced her to temporarily shelter in the stables housing the few horses they had. 

She had huffed out an irritable breath the moment she stepped beneath the old roof of the stables, both at her small dilemma and at the mix of dirt and rain that left a burning sensation in her eye. She promptly dropped the wood on the ground, trying to blink away the feeling when his voice nearly made her jump. 

She looked over her shoulder, relaxing as she recognized him and said his name in greeting. He stepped forward and pulled down the cloth covering the bottom half of his face, abandoning his broom alongside the pitchfork leaning against a splintered stud. Eren eyed the ax in her hand, then the logs at her feet as he removed his gloves and haphazardly pocketed them, meeting her gaze again when he was an arm’s length away and she turned to face him properly. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I just… got caught in the heavy rain. I meant to go inside but…” 

She falters as the burning sensation at her eye persists, making her close it tight in a feeble attempt to get rid of it. She raises a hand, intending on using the back of her bandaged wrist to rub at it but he stops her before she can, using his grip to lower her wrist back at her side. 

“Your bandages and hands have dirt, don’t rub at your eye.”

“But—”

“Here, I’ll help you.” His clothes rustle, and he produces what looks like a handkerchief. 

“Try to keep still,” he quietly instructs, and though his voice is low, would have otherwise been inaudible beneath the sound of the pouring rain, she seizes up in a way that makes it hard to focus on anything else. He curls his fingers over her shoulder as a way to keep her steady, and through the thin cloth pressing against her face, she feels the paralyzing heat of his hand. Reflexively, she tenses as the cotton carefully swipes over the inner corner and just beneath her lash line, drying her watering eye as gently as possible until it finally soothed. She blinks a few times, relieved until she realizes how close he has leaned in, his bright eyes focused on hers. Involuntarily, her gaze flickers between his eyes and mouth.

“Better?” 

She swallows around the dryness in her throat, opting to stare down at the laces of his shirt and simply nod against the hand at her face, murmuring her thanks.  Seemingly unaware of the effect his proximity has on her, she feels him give a nod of his own. As Eren takes a step back, the bit of warmth she felt moves away with him and leaves her unable to help the slight shiver that goes through her body. 

“Are you also working alone today?” she asks as casually as she can manage, walking towards a stream of rainwater leaking through the roof to clean some of the dirt from her hands. The cold temperature of it hurts, but she bears with it, eventually moving back to her original spot near Eren when she’s done. Her arms cross and she loosely grips her biceps, rubbing them to try and keep warm. Both of them watch the rain come down. 

“I had Connie here with me. But he left a little while ago to grab other tools we needed to take care of the horses… he’s probably waiting out this downpour somewhere nearby.” 

“Oh,” is all she says, half distracted by the messy pile of logs. A lone log sits at her side and she nudges it back towards the rest with the tip of her boot. His snort startles her a bit, and he nods towards the wood when she gives him a questioning look. 

“I’m surprised. Is that all you were able to chop today?” 

She sighs. “No, I had more. But I couldn’t grab enough of them before it started pouring.” 

He does it again, breathing out a small laugh that she hasn’t heard in some time. He seems to be in a better mood for some reason, and she nearly points it out but quickly decides not to.  She didn’t want to make it seem like it was a strange thing to smile and laugh, or make him self-conscious about it. It felt better to just simply witness him act a bit more like he used to.

“I’m not trying to make fun of you, I just can’t believe that Mikasa Ackerman, one of humanity's strongest soldiers, lost a battle to some rain and logs.” 

She hums, amused. “Yeah… I barely made it out alive.” There’s a sense of accomplishment as her remark makes his grin broaden, but it falters completely when a flash of lightning draws their attention back to the storm outside. A gust of wind blows through the stables, causing the old structure to creak at its weakest points. Her eyes screw shut and she hugs herself tighter, fighting off the chill that worsens with her wet clothes. She breathes out shakily once it passes, focusing so much of her attention on trying to still her shivering hands that she doesn’t notice him taking off his hooded sweater. The long black material is wrapped securely around her shoulders and she touches it, looking up at him curiously. He scratches the back of his head. 

“I didn’t realize that you were cold until just now, sorry.” 

She smiles softly, choosing not to pose a question at the kind gesture. Instead, she shakes her head, pushing her arms through the sleeves and tugging the ends of his sweater tighter around her. “Thank you.” 

They lean on opposite sides of a post supporting the aged structure, one that stands just before the opening of the stables, and they talk. They share a few stories of things that happened while the other wasn’t present, talk of upcoming plans for the scouts, stuff they and Armin should do on their days off, make mentions of little unimportant things in between, and to her pleasant surprise, Eren cracks another small joke. They chuckle, and she decides that the sudden storm wasn’t a misfortune after all. She steps over to his side to respond once they quiet down, yet the sight of him struck something within her. This time, there’s nothing to keep him from smiling, and she knows it's completely genuine in the way it softens and lifts his features. The mere fact of it has her own smile widening. She stares at his smile adoringly, stares and wishes she could see it more often until she closes her eyes and notes how sweet it feels against her own lips. The sensation lasts for half a second though, because his initial reaction quickly alerts her of her mistake. His breath stutters and his body goes stiff at her sudden romantic gesture, causing her to drop the hand gripping the front of his shirt. She doesn’t even remember reaching for it. Their lips part and she blushes intensely at the sound. 

They look at one another with wide eyes, her fingers partially covering her mouth in shock. 

“U-um,” she begins clumsily, unsure of what exactly she intends to say or how to explain herself. Should she apologize? Why did she even do that? While she did feel more at ease and comfortable with him at that moment… that’s how she usually was when they spent time together. What was different this time that made it feel so natural to kiss him the way she did? And what was he thinking? Could it be that he was upset at her? 

“I don’t…” she says slowly, shrinking under his gaze. “I don’t know why I did that…” 

His lack of response is anything but reassuring, gives her all the more reason to leave with her pitiful pile of logs. Ashamed, she averts her eyes and takes a step backward, thinking it best to give him space and talk about it later, if he even wanted to see her later after what she just did. But he is quick to stop her by hooking his fingers into the hood just before she moves out of his reach, coaxing her to look at him by tugging on the crook of her elbow when she keeps her back to him. Hyper aware of the single touch between them, the firmness of his grip, she lifts her eyes from the ground and looks over her shoulder. 

“Did you mean it?” 

They do not react to the clap of thunder that begins to agitate the horses, or to the chilled gust of wind that threatens the old structure of the stables once more. She is uncomfortably warm as they simply stare at one another, and her heart beats louder in her ears when she finds that she cannot decipher his expression. He begins to pull, guiding her closer and, being as flighty as she is, she resists. He recoils slightly, hurt glinting in his eyes as he releases her arm. Through her addled thoughts, she realizes that she accidentally conveyed the wrong message. She mentally curses, feeling guiltier and looking even more helpless. His question echoes in her ears again. Yes, she thinks, yes I did mean it. But there is a disconnect between what she wants to say and what she actually does, which has her panicking a bit because she senses that something is beginning to slip away the longer she stays quiet. It’s enough to make her momentarily cast aside any reservations and the need for words, to boldly step out of her comfort zone and back into his personal space. Balancing on her toes, she pushes her lips against his, unmindful of her fierceness in her state of desperation and panic. She gives him a hard and rather quick kiss, immediately pulling back to gauge his reaction and perhaps apologize, but she doesn’t get the chance because his hands are suddenly hot on her face and bringing her back to back to him. 

Bit by bit, the tension within her unravels and she starts to relax, consciously leaning more into his touch and body. Eren thumbs away the trail of rainwater that dripped from her bangs to her face, pausing to comment how cold her nose and hands are before muffling her apology with his lips. He holds each kiss for a long second like he’s savoring them, eventually moving to trail his hands down the column of her neck and across her back. He clutches the dark material of his sweater and breathes shakily against her mouth when she fills the last bit of space between them. As they strike a rhythm, the intensity of their kiss increases as does her sensitivity to his touch, an airy sigh of his name escaping from her mindlessly. He grips her harder at the sound and she’s gasping, both in surprise and for breath. It’s almost too much, and yet she can’t help but reciprocate by slipping her fingers beneath the neckline of his shirt and wrapping an arm tight around his shoulders— 

A loud curse cuts through the air, followed by the noise of items falling into one another in equal volume. She and Eren jump apart, breathing heavily as a lone metal bucket that has fallen on its side rolls into the stables, coming to a stop between the two of them. An irritated Connie trudges in soon after with his arms full of miscellaneous tools and one side of his body completely coated in mud, the other drenched with rainwater. 

“Sorry I took so long, Eren, I was going to wait out the worst of the storm but the Captain noticed and —” he yelps and wobbles, nearly tripping over the logs she abandoned on the ground. He wonders aloud where they came from, kicking them in further agitation until his eyes land on her. All three of them freeze. 

“Mikasa?” 

She jolts slightly when he calls her name, mentally scrambling to find something to do or say to take his attention off of her. 

“Connie…” she starts, looking pointedly at his clothes and evening out her breath as subtly as she can. “What happened to you?” 

To her temporary relief, Connie remembers why he was upset and bitterly explains that he was running through the rain trying to come back, but slipped and fell into the puddle of mud just a few feet away. 

“Are you alright?” she responds, briefly wondering why Eren hasn’t spoken up yet. 

“Yeah, I’ll live. I just don’t know why the Captain is in such...” Connie’s grimace from pulling at his own clothes fades as he looks at her, finishing his sentence a bit absently, “a rush...”

She remembers that she’s wearing Eren’s sweater as Connie stares at it directly, and it takes everything to keep her expression neutral as she awkwardly slips it off her shoulders. She holds it out for Eren to take, and her composure nearly breaks at the sight of him. The tips of his ears are burning red, his mind clearly somewhere other than in the present and she has to push the sweater into his chest for him to finally snap out of it. 

“It’s uh, it’s probably because it’s getting late in the afternoon, Connie,” Eren manages after clearing his throat. “He… probably has other plans for us tomorrow, or something.”

Her heart races as their friend doesn’t reply and instead looks between the two of them with a weird expression. 

“I should probably get those logs inside,” she says aloud, more to herself and as an excuse to escape. It’s so uncomfortably silent between the three of them as she prepares to leave, and she struggles to ignore the weight of Eren’s and Connie’s eyes on her when she uncharacteristically fumbles with the logs and ax. Careful to avoid the puddle Connie slipped in, she eventually makes it back to the cabin, well aware that the speed of her breath and pulse has nothing to do with her running through the rain.

[cicada-bones]

The Warrior and the Wildfire

Chapter 3: Oath-Breaker

Sorry for taking so much longer than I thought I would! But I hope it was worth the wait! Please let me know what you think- your comments are seriously what keeps me going. love you all sm ❤︎

word count: 4108

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

It was fresh, and completely unmistakable. Within the past few hours, Lorcan Salvaterre had passed by Mistward, heading for the sea.

Rowan immediately swooped low, following the scent to where it meandered over the forest floor, his heart pounding in his chest. The trail skirted around the edge of Mistward’s perimeter, following a path that was just out of their sightline, but close enough that in the morning, the scouts would find it immediately.

It almost felt like a message.

Rowan shifted in mid-air, landing hard on his heels and already drawing the wind towards him from all directions, searching for anything, any whisper of a dark form, flitting between the oaks, quick as a shadow –

But there was nothing. Only the memory.

Rowan began to run, following the trail westward. Even though Lorcan had passed through these trees barely a few hours ago, the wind couldn’t sense him. He was already gone, miles and miles ahead. Out of the reach of Rowan’s wind.

As the trail solidified before him, Rowan’s stride lengthened, his footing becoming more sure with each step. And he longed to be able to shift again, to use the wind to propel him over the land.

He could fly so much faster than he could run, but then he risked losing the scent – a chance he could not take. So instead Rowan dug his feet into the earth, tearing through the forest mists. A predator on the hunt.

Only one thought in his head.

Why in rutting hell was Lorcan Salvaterre trying to get his attention?

···

Fenrys wasn’t there when she found out.

He was out on a run, hunting through the forests around Doranelle. Chasing down after whispers of the forest-spirits. He knew they were here: the elemental beings, as ancient as the very stones and mountains and valleys. Older than history – than time itself.

Fenrys would hear them in the night – sounds of crashing rock and tearing metal, the felling of trees when no wind blew. Still fighting their ancient wars, either uncaring or ignorant of the affairs of lesser beings. But Fenrys had never seen them, nor did he know of anyone who had.

Every now and again, he would glance a fairy or two. One of the Little Folk, going about their little-great-deeds. But it was never when he was looking for them.

It was something he and Connall used to do as young ones – charge through the forest, hunting for fairies. For the heroes of the tales their mother would tell them, over glasses of sweet fruit juice on lazy summer afternoons. Stories of battles and warriors and the hidden magic of the land. To this day, Fenrys didn’t know whether the stories were true, or if she had made them up herself.

He knew it was only purposeless distraction, and one that he would likely pay for when he returned. But he just had no idea how much.

So no, Fenrys wasn’t in the palace when Maeve found out.

But Connall was.

···

The trail was nearly a straight shot through the woods, barely deviating for trees and boulders. Lorcan was really hauling ass. And as he drew closer and closer to the coastline, and the little market town that was waiting for him there, Rowan felt his suspicions begin to grow.

It was nearing evening when Rowan finally began to hear little signs of approaching civilization – the neighing of horses, the soft thumps of an axe chopping wood. But the trail pushed on, breaching the edges of the trees, following over the cobbles through the market, out towards the end of the main street, until it came to a stop. Right at the end of the long wooden dock.

Rowan stood at the brink, right where the path met the sea. And he could feel fury coiling in his gut.

Lorcan had left. And Rowan thought he might be able to guess where his former commander was headed. But before he decided anything, before he made a plan, he needed to be absolutely sure.

Rowan turned on his heels, headed back into the village. His cloak was pulled high over his head, hiding much of his face. He let his body fall into a slump, hiding its powerful shape. Evening was coming on, and if he kept his movements sloppy and wide, he could be just another traveler, coming to wet his throat with watered-down ale.

Outside the pub, a young maid was lighting the lamps, her hair neat and apron clean. When she looked up at him, Rowan caught the glint of sharp eyes. Maybe he wouldn’t even need to go inside the tavern.

“Hello miss,” Rowan said, ever so slightly shifting his accent, letting the words fall from his mouth like marbles. “Might you be able to tell me where I could hire passage on a ship?”

Her face twisted shrewdly, and she gave him a quick once over as she straightened and said, “Depends on where you’re goin’. And how much coin you’ve got t’ spend.”

Rowan nodded, making sure to keep his clothes hidden with the cloak, knowing that an accidental glint of silver from one of his hidden blades might be enough for her to call for help from inside the tavern. And that last thing he wanted was trouble. “When was your last ship headed for Adarlan? And when will you be expecting the next one? It doesn’t have to be fast, or comfortable.”

Her expression tightened, but she answered reasonably enough. “We get a fair few ships headed to the western continent this time o’ year – the sheep’ve just been shorn and ships head that a-way bearing wool to trade for furs from the north, and steel from the south. I’m pretty sure we had a ship go through this morning.”

“And the next?” Rowan prompted, his expression schooled into neutrality.

“If you ask around the dockyards, I’m sure you might find another ship headin’ that way – once the tide comes in. And if not, then I’m sure there’ll be another come tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” Rowan slipped the girl a coin. “By chance, you didn’t catch another traveler come through here today, heading the same direction – asking questions? Tall, dark hair, harsh look?”

The shrewd look fell into a scowl. “Maybe. Either way, my answer’ll cost more’n just a copper.”

Rowan slipped her another couple of coins, and she pocketed them. But her scowl didn’t soften.

“I might’ve seen your man. Came through around mid-morning, in a massive rush. Massive man, at that. Huge. Musta been six, nearly seven feet? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man that tall. And he nearly knocked me over coming in the pub to ask after passage to Rifthold. Kept his face covered though, so I couldn’t be sure.”

Rowan nodded again, but before the maid could turn to leave, he asked, “Oh – and do you happen to know a place where I could send a letter?”

“If you give it to me, I can get it to my mother and she’ll give it to the courier when he comes ‘round in the mornin’. You gonna come in for a pint?”

The maid held open the door, and Rowan followed her in, thinking it much easier to just go along with the girl, and far too wrapped up in his thoughts to come up with a polite refusal that wouldn’t leave her even more suspicious than she already was.

The tavern wasn’t bustling, but it was far from empty either. A few farmers sat at a table in the far corner, enjoying a few beers after a long day’s work, while a few younger boys, perhaps their sons, were laughing and joking across the room. There were a few other individuals – travelers like himself, or people who lived and worked in the village. But the majority of the bar was filled with sailors – teasing and joking and climbing all over each other, celebrating their last night on dry ground for many weeks to come.

Rowan headed for a quiet corner, flagging down the waitress and settling onto a creaky wooden bench. He ordered some bread and ale, which she had brought over in mere seconds, and he began to pick at it mindlessly.

There could be no doubt. Lorcan was heading for Adarlan, for Rifthold. For Aelin.

Maeve had sent him to go after Aelin. And she had ordered him to pass by Mistward, Mistward specifically, so that Rowan would be drawn into the conflict. Maybe they were planning on using him to get to Aelin, to follow him in order to find her.

The question was, why only Lorcan? Where were the twins? Gavriel? Vaughan? Would they follow Lorcan? Were they already headed for Adarlan?

Rationally, Rowan knew that Aelin was safe. That she was still somewhere in the middle of the ocean, on her way to Rifthold. But it took all of his self-control to keep himself from shifting right there, in the middle of this tavern filled with mortals, and fly out into the ocean skies to find her.

What really worried him was the idea that he would get there too late. That even if he got on a ship right at that moment, he would get to Rifthold after she had already been found, taken, overwhelmed. The idea that there were already forces there, waiting to seize her.

And no matter what, Lorcan would arrive in Rifthold hours or days before Rowan would be able to, and well before Aelin could read any letter he sent. Not that he even knew where he could send a letter. All he knew was that she used to own a hidden apartment in the slums, and that for the past six months, she had lived in a stone tower in the castle.

It seemed unlikely that she would return to either. Both were compromised, the castle being an obviously insane choice. Unless of course she had something hidden up her sleeve that she had kept from Rowan. Which felt distinctly possible. And Arobynn had to know about the apartment. She had nowhere safe to go, and Rowan had nowhere safe he could send a warning.

So the only way he would be able to tell her about Lorcan would be to go there himself. To break his oath.

Rowan knew that he could, and without much difficulty at that. But it still felt wrong – a violation of trust. If he left Wendlyn without being told to by Aelin, he would be going against her wishes. He would be taking advantage, both of the flexibility of their bond and of her trust in him.

And it definitely didn’t make things any easier that he so desperately wanted to leave in the first place. It felt like he was exploiting the opportunity to be close to her again, no matter how rationally necessary it might be. And there was a chance that she might not forgive him for it.

But no matter how much that might sting, he couldn’t live through following her requests to the letter, and Aelin dying because of it.

So, Lorcan was headed for Rifthold. And soon, Rowan would be heading there as well.

Rowan tore into the bread, newly reinvigorated. He didn’t see any reason to return to Mistward, there wasn’t anything there worth sacrificing another day for. But he did feel bad about leaving without any notice. Deserting Emrys and Malakai, and…Luca.

So as he ate, Rowan dug out a piece of paper from his pack and began to write.

Emrys,

I’m sorry. Something came up. Tell Luca to remember to practice swings off his left side just as much as his right, I don’t care if they hurt more.

When I see her, I’ll tell her you say hello.

Then he folded up the paper and sealed it, leaving it unmarked. Hopefully, even if someone – such as that suspicious maid – opened the letter to see what it said, what he wrote would be meaningless.

He spent the rest of the evening listening to the sailors’ conversation, until he heard mention of a crew headed for Rifthold. The barmaid hadn’t lied – it was a ship bearing crates of wool heading to Adarlan to trade for steel. This was their last night ashore, and they were setting sail sometime in the early morning, just before the tide shifted.

So Rowan waited a few minutes more, then left the waitress his fee, gave the maid his letter, and walked out into the lamplit village, his jaw squared and his shoulders set. Determined.

···

Fenrys returned to broken furniture. Splintered wood and broken glass. Twisted metal and shattered stone. That was the first thing he noticed.

The second thing he noticed was the silence. It stretched its fingers through the walls and corridors and archways, until it brushed through to his skin. Until it was the only touch he could feel.

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

Where there should be sound.

The third thing he noticed was the bodies. Their touch was even colder than the quiet. There was no red, no black. None of the usual gory signs of death. Just nothing. An absence.

Fenrys worked his way through the wreckage, his hands empty of feeling, his heart a stone in his chest. His intestines resting somewhere near his toes.

Until he reached their rooms, and found Connall in a dark huddle across the sea of space, and he was still breathing and it felt like Fenrys could breathe again too, but then Connall spoke and sound returned to the world, “Why did he leave? Why did he leave us?” and his voice was so full of fear that Fenrys felt tears sprout from his eyes like wings.

“Who?” Fenrys asked. “Who, Con? What happened?”

But then the palace stones began to thunder, and the questions that had seemed so important only a moment ago fell from his mind on a scattered breeze.

···

Rowan flitted into a dark alleyway around the back of the tavern, and once he was sure there was no one there to see, he shifted into his hawk and flew out over the small village.

From his eavesdropping earlier, he had learned that the ship headed for Rifthold was an old galleon vessel near the edge of the docks, bearing white and yellow flags. It had a large enough cargo bay that hopefully Rowan would be able to find a place to stow away, but wasn’t so large that the journey would take even longer than it should. Which was already far, far too long for his liking.

Rowan circled high above the ship a few times, making sure that he appeared as nothing more than just another sea bird, hunting for its dinner. Although most of the crew, including the captain and first mate, appeared to be drinking away their pay on the floor of the tavern in the village, the ship wasn’t completely empty.

His winds told him that at least three men were asleep below decks, their rumbling snores echoing through the wooden beams. But a few lamps still shone, and with their light Rowan could see a few flickering shadows just beneath the upper deck that made him think not all of the sailors were yet asleep.

So Rowan would have to be extremely careful in making his approach.

He waited for long minutes for those lights to vanish, and shadows to disappear. And the second they did Rowan was sailing down among the rigging, twisting and turning around the sails and masts until he could be absolutely sure that there weren’t any watchful eyes to mark his presence.

Then Rowan was swooping down into the maze of rooms below decks, making sure to avoid the various sleeping quarters, kitchens, and officers’ cabins. Heading towards the hold at the very bottom of the ship in as straight of a path as he could.

Rowan found a dark corner behind a case of flour and barrel of barley, and then shifted back into his Fae form. Once they passed the halfway mark between Adarlan and Wendlyn, magic would stop working, and he wouldn’t be able to move between forms. He had to find a place he could hide in during the day that was large enough for his Fae body. A task far easier said than done.

A ship like this had a crew in the dozens, and quarters were cramped all to hell. Every piece of available space was used, from every corner to closet and even the toilets. Only the captain would have room to stretch his legs, and even then, it was barely by a few feet. Nothing like the space he would need in order to not attract attention.

Rowan looked over the hold once again, scanning for anything that could possibly be large enough. Then he nearly huffed a laugh when he realized exactly what he needed to do.

···

When morning came, Rowan was crammed into a wooden case lined with wool. The back panel carefully pried out and its nails removed, but then leaned carefully back into place to allow him a quick exit. And the majority of the wool was now taking a trip down the coastline.

He had spent an hour or so that night carefully removing armfuls of the fiber and tossing it overboard, using his wind to propel it from the shipyard and out to sea, leaving only just enough room for himself. It was crammed, scratchy, uncomfortable, and smelled like sheep dung, but it would do.

Now, as the ship slowly meandered its way through the reef and out into open ocean, with the occasional shouts and curses of the sailors toiling above, Rowan had nothing to do but think.

For the next month.

It might just be the longest month of his life. At least he couldn’t complain about not having enough time to plan.

Aelin certainly would have a strategy, and by the time he reached her, she would have been working away at it for nearly two weeks. And while he could only guess at her aims, he knew that when he reached her, he would do whatever he could to help her reach those goals.

The question was, should he reach her at all?

Rowan knew he needed to warn her about Lorcan, but once he was actually in Rifthold, that could be done in many ways – not just by contacting her in person. And deep in his bones, Rowan knew that Lorcan had dragged him here on purpose. That the male had wanted him to follow, to pursue. There were faster ways to travel from Doranelle to the sea than to go by Mistward.

So wouldn’t it be playing right into Lorcan’s hands to join up with Aelin? Giving him exactly what he wanted?

Lorcan wasn’t familiar enough with Aelin’s scent, nor with the city of Rifthold, to track her down by himself. He would be digging in the dark – except for the trail that Rowan would give him, as easily as handing over their lives like so much coin.

Perhaps Rowan could go to Rifthold, warn Aelin anonymously, and track down Lorcan by himself. And the faster he rid himself of his former commander, the sooner Rowan would be able to reunite with his Queen.

The pain of that future made him physically flinch.

And it wasn’t only the idea of being in the same city, or even just on the same continent, as Aelin and not being beside her. It was the thought of Lorcan, Lorcan, his commander of nearly three centuries, someone he had almost once thought of as a brother, or even a friend, Lorcan, as someone he needed to dispose of.

Someone who was his enemy.

It was a heavy, uncomfortable weight. It felt strange, and wrong, to have someone he had so trusted become such a dangerous enemy. No matter how necessary he knew it might be, Rowan couldn’t really think of killing him.

It would be like destroying a part of himself, an old part, but a necessary one.

Without Lorcan, he wouldn’t have become the person he was today, wouldn’t know the things he knew, or understand what he now did. About war and sacrifice and leadership and teaching.

Lorcan had been a pillar in his life when he needed one. And while Rowan hadn’t loved him, he had respected him.

And now they were enemies.

Rowan scowled, the crate somehow becoming even more uncomfortable.

What he did know was how Lorcan worked, how he operated. If Rowan did decided to reunite with Aelin, then he would have to keep his distance. Because Lorcan was expert at finding pressure points, and using them to his advantage.

Lorcan already knew that Aelin had turned Rowan away from Maeve, knew that Rowan had chosen her over his oath, over his life.

Idiot. He was such an idiot when it came to her.

If Lorcan found out that there was anything more, that there were other, deeper feelings –

No, Rowan could keep his distance. He could keep those thoughts under control because he had to. Not only because they did no good, but because they might get Aelin killed. Or worse, captured and taken back to Maeve.

But Rowan knew that he wouldn’t be able to deal with Lorcan without her – that he wouldn’t be able to return to Rifthold without reuniting with her. No matter how much easier it might be to keep her safe if he stayed away.

The only thing that was keeping him sane was the thought that at the end of this journey through hell, stuffed in this tiny rutting box that smelled like dung, unable to lay down properly for weeks, was an image of Aelin’s face. Even if she wasn’t happy to see him, even if she didn’t forgive him breaking his oath.

For the first time in weeks, he was heading towards her, instead of away.

So Rowan curled up and turned on his side, and tried to get some sleep, as the shouts of the sailors above him faded into the rising dawn.

···

Across Wendlyn, Emrys was stirring a large pot of rabbit stew, listening to the potatoes crackling as they fried on the stove. It was a lot of work, feeding this many people each and every day. But Emrys loved it, caring for this large family of his. Making sure they were all fed. Taking in strays.

Aelin Galathynius had been such a stray, and he couldn’t say that he didn’t miss her. But he knew that she was where she was meant to be, doing what she was meant to do. No matter what that prince said, or how much he tried to hide, Emrys knew that Aelin had survived her encounter with Maeve, that they both had escaped. Together. And now she’d moved on to other – perhaps even greater – foes.

Even when she was all the way across the ocean Emrys was worried about her.

The old male just sighed, then shuffled over to the counter to begin chopping scallions to add to the stew.

But before he could start, he was interrupted by the afternoon courier, bearing a letter for him – of all people.

Emrys wiped his hands off on his apron, and took the letter from the boy’s fingers. It was unmarked, but the paper was old and worn. As if it had lived in someone’s saddlebags for some time.

Emrys ripped it open, then read through it. Unable to keep a smile off his face.

That scoundrel.

He began to untie his apron, then headed out of the kitchen to go find Luca. Emrys couldn’t really find it in himself to be disappointed in the prince, even if he had abandoned them. Had left Luca with his grief and his guilt.

The boy had finally told him and Malakai about what had happened, and they had talked and cried together into the wee hours of the morning. Even so, Emrys had really hoped that Rowan might be there to help Luca through that grief. He knew that Luca had too.

But it was not to be. Perhaps they might see each other again, in years to come. Perhaps Rowan might even be their king one day.

Emrys almost wanted to laugh. He could already see the scowl that would twist Malakai’s face when he told him the news. Rowan, gone off to chase the future. Leaving them to tend to this little piece of the present.

When Emrys told Luca what was in the letter, the boy smiled too.

···

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[wisteriashouse]

winter’s warmth.

pairing: kamado tanjirou x sumiyuri hayami (oc)

genre: fluff

word count: 6046

remarks: i’m sorry this took so long but this fic was so!! cute i was melting every second :(( i hope hayami was in character as usual, and thank you for trusting me with your commission @hinokami-s​ 💖

Hayami wakes up to the feeling of cold air biting at her bare toes.

“Hnng…” Eyelids too heavy to open yet unwilling to submit her extremities to any more of the freezing temperatures of late autumn, she feels about the futon she’s lying in with a fumbling hand, searching blindly for a corner of the blanket to pull at. Instead of the cotton of her blankets, however, her hand finds warm skin - and for a moment, Hayami frowns, confused.

Rolling over in her bed, she opens her eyes fully this time - and comes face to face with her sleeping husband.

For a while, Hayami doesn’t move an inch, content with simply watching the person lying before her. Mahogany hair falling over his forehead and a gentle curve to his lips, the rise and fall of his chest a steady rhythm, Tanjirou is a lovely sight to behold in the early rays of this morning’s light. It’s the only sight Hayami wants to wake up to for the rest of her life.

Reaching out, her fingers wrap around a wizened, skeletal hand and bring it to her, her lips brushing gently over the wrinkled skin. “Good morning,” she whispers against it, feeling a secret, tender smile tugging at her own mouth.

“Good morning to you, too.”

Taken by surprise, Hayami glances up to see Tanjirou’s eyes open, a sweet smile on his face as their gazes meet. Although his eyes are still clouded with sleep, the sweetness in them is unmistakable. “You got up early today,” he says, sleep roughened voice like music to her ears. When he gestures for her to come closer, she does so, hand still gripping his tightly as he leans forward to press a kiss on both her eyelids - as gentle as the flutter of butterfly wings. “Did something wake you?”

“Just the cold,” Hayami giggles quietly at the ticklish feeling of Tanjirou’s lips ghosting over her skin. Tanjirou smiles at the sound of her laughter, the expression on his face so tender Hayami can’t help but feel gentle heat burning at her cheeks. Glancing away for a moment to collect herself, she squeezes Tanjirou’s hand lightly. “Do you have anything to remedy that?”

Tanjirou’s smile alone warms her heart, but the slow embrace he takes her in chases the cold out from her very bones. With a sigh of happiness, she settles in her husband’s arms, her back against his chest and his chin resting on her shoulder. They should probably get out of bed, Hayami has the sense to wonder, but forgets it as soon as Tanjirou begins rubbing at her hands gently. After fighting so much, so hard, for so long - isn’t this idleness the least that they deserve?

Sometimes, Hayami wakes up with the urge to pick up her sword again, to train until her hands are numb and her legs are weak. Her mind chants Muzan’s name over and over again, the desire to kill the progenitor demon so overwhelming that it renders her breathless. But now, there is no trace of Muzan left except the weakened state of Tanjirou’s arm that will never heal, and the scar tissue over her left eye from the injury that had rendered her partially blind.

Still, she can admire Tanjirou enough with a single eye, and Tanjirou’s one armed embraces are just as warm as the time he still had both.

The demon slayers have disbanded officially as an organisation - with triumph and grace, after having completed their destiny to defeat the evil that has plagued the world for years. The swords that they had carried with them for so long rest on a stand in the main room of the house, but Hayami hasn’t had need to pick it up since that fateful battle so long ago. Life has been good to them so far-

A gentle kiss to her shoulder blade pulls her back. She’s reminiscing again, Hayami realises with slight horror, in a manner all too similar to that of an old lady. “Thinking about something?” Tanjirou says with a light laugh, and Hayami quickly shakes her head to dispel her thoughts. Why, she and Tanjirou are barely into their twenties - they have their entire lives ahead of them!

And Hayami intends on spending every second of it with Tanjirou by her side.

“Nothing, just thinking about what needs to be done around the house.” To be honest, there was nothing that needed to be done with the house even as winter drew nearer - the current head of the Ubuyashiki, Kiriya, had ensured that every slayer would have the means to live comfortably after the disbandment. This house had been constructed upon the Ubuyashiki head’s command after hearing of Tanjirou’s intention to propose to Hayami as a wedding gift. Hence, it is still relatively new with no maintenance needing to be done, and Aoi has sent them enough hand pickled cabbage to last an entire winter and the rest of the year. Nudging Tanjirou in the side lightly, she asks, “What do you usually do for winter, Tanjirou?”

Tanjirou rests his chin on her shoulder for a moment to contemplate this question. “Well, when I was with the demon slayers, I would make snow bunnies with Nezuko. But before that, when I was still living with my family,” the word family makes Hayami’s heart give a little squeeze, “I would chop lots of wood to make charcoal. People in town would usually buy more around winter, but our house was located in the mountains where it’s colder, so we needed plenty of wood to stay warm as well.”

“Chopping wood?” Hayami repeats, curious. This is the first winter she will spend with Tanjirou, and back when she stayed at the Sumiyuri Estate, the family servants would take care of such household affairs. It’s a little embarrassing to think that she could have forgotten something as important as firewood. Sure, they could always buy from the merchants in town like she’d done while living alone in the mountains (with their inexhaustible supply of money from Kiriya), but where is the fun in that? “That sounds nice. How about we do that today?”

“That sounds nice,” Tanjirou mumbles into her shoulder, and Hayami glances at him to see him wearing a peaceful smile on his face, eyes shut in contentment. “But can we stay like this for a while longer?”

Hayami smiles, and rests her hand on his, lacing her fingers with his. They fit together perfectly, as if this had been their very purpose since the beginning, instead of gripping the handle of a sword. Those days are behind us, Hayami reminds herself.

“Of course you can,” she says. “We have all the time in the world.”

>>>

It’s much colder than Hayami expected.

“You didn’t have to come with me,” Tanjirou frets over her as both of them make their way up a mountain path. After bundling her in an excessive number of layers and asking three times if she needed gloves, Hayami had finally been able to reassure him that she would be fine, and that she would definitely be accompanying him up to the thicket a short walk from their house. “What if you catch a cold? The mountains are cold around this time of the year, and-”

“You’re forgetting that I stayed at Mount Saigiri for a while with Urokodaki-san,” Hayami reminds him with a light squeeze to his hand. The wood axe that they’d found in the shed earlier is hoisted over Tanjirou’s shoulder, and although Hayami had initially worried that he would struggle to accomplish this task with only one functioning arm, Tanjirou had reassured her that he would be fine. “Besides, I could help you.”

“But-” Tanjirou begins to say, before he cuts himself short with a small, slightly embarrassed smile. “Right, I… I’m just new to this idea of marriage. I know your strength, but I can’t help but want to spoil you… is that strange?”

It seems that Tanjirou will never understand how easily he can fluster Hayami, with his simple yet genuinely sweet words that have Hayami melting on the inside. How could she possibly catch a cold in the winter when he insists on making her cheeks heat like this? And perhaps, she too, will never get used to this - the gentle warmth as Tanjirou lays a swift kiss on the eyepatch over her left eye.

“As if I would ever complain about my husband wanting to spoil me,” she says, in an attempt to exact some revenge for her blushing cheeks. The moments those words leave her lips, Tanjirou’s own face colours, bright red against tan skin. Both of them stand there awkwardly for a moment, both too embarrassed to look the other in the eye.

“Well, it’s only natural to want to spoil my wife...:” Tanjirou answers shyly. When he holds out his arm once more for her to take, Hayami takes a moment to look at him in the sunlight and thinks - yes, this is the man she would be with for the rest of her life.

“Mm, of course.” Leaning over, she kisses him on the cheek before taking his arm, and both of them continue through the woods hand in hand. Not too long after, they come across a small thicket that Tanjirou declares suitable for firewood.

As Tanjirou lines up the axe with the tree, Hayami decides to take a seat on the ground to watch him. Overhead, only a few birds remain in the trees, peeking down curiously with bright eyes as they watch Tanjirou at work together with Hayami.

“I haven’t done this for a while,” Tanjirou says over his shoulder, shifting the axe blade as if deciding where would be best to cut the tree. “Don’t laugh at me if I miss it, would you?”

As if he would, Hayami thinks to herself with a quiet laugh and shakes her head. “Don’t worry about that, honey.”

Only with one hand, Tanjirou takes a deep breath and lets loose a powerful swing against the trunk of the small birch. For a moment, nothing happens. Confused, Hayami frowns, squinting at the tree with her good eye. She’s sure she saw Tanjirou cut the tree, and Tanjirou looks just as perplexed as she feels-

There’s a creak, a groan, and when Hayami looks upwards, the tree slants over dangerously - and goes falling to the ground with a deafening crash.

After the leaves settle and the birds have taken off into the sky, startled by the noise, Tanjirou and Hayami look at each other with wide eyes.

Tanjirou begins to speak. “I didn’t mean to-” he tries, when Hayami suddenly dissolves into a fit of giggles.

“So much for not being able to cut it down,” Hayami shakes her head, mirth dancing in her eyes. “Seems like you’ve still got it.”

“I guess some things can never really be forgotten.” Looking down at the axe in hand, he gives a slight smile before turning to another tree, carefully lining up the blade of the axe with its trunk once more. “This brings back memories.”

Hayami hums lightly, placing her chin on her arms so that she can watch Tanjirou more comfortably. “Oh? What of?”

“I used to bring my younger brother Takeo with me when I went into the forest to cut wood for the charcoal,” Tanjirou explains. Drawing the axe back, he swings it again, strength more controlled this time. The blade sinks into the tree and leaves a deep notch in the wood. “But he wasn’t strong enough to swing the axe yet, so he would just sit there and watch me, just like what you’re doing now.”

“From the way you talk, he sounds adorable,” Hayami says. Tanjirou smiles, a gentle warmth in his eyes. “Mm, he was. I miss my family a lot.”

Family. Thoughtfully, Hayami picks up a leaf on the ground in front of her and holds it up. She’s aware of her own desires in life - and having a family is one of them, has been ever since she was still trapped by the name of the Sumiyuri clan. But now, she wonders if Tanjirou would still truly want to start a family, considering the circumstances behind his own family’s death. If Hayami told him that she wanted children, she was sure Tanjirou would agree - but

“Hayami, do you want to help me with loading the logs?”

Tanjirou’s question pulls Hayami’s head out of her thoughts, and she scrambles to her feet. “Of course!”

She’ll have to ask him about this later.

>>>

The kotatsu is delightfully warm.

Sighing happily, Hayami tucks both her legs under the thick quilt, enjoying the warmth of the charcoal brazier as it chases away the cold from their little outing earlier. Not too long later, there’s a creak of the dividing screens that separate the rooms in the house, and Hayami looks up to see Tanjirou stepping in with two steaming cups, one in each hand.

“Here, I made us some sencha. Careful with it, it’s hot.” He places one cup in front of Hayami before taking a seat next to her, their bare feet brushing together underneath the table. With thanks and a smile, Hayami picks it up gingerly with her fingers, blowing lightly over the surface of the tea to cool it. “How’s the kotatsu? It’s been a while since I’ve set one up, so…”

“It’s fine. Lovely, actually,” Hayami tells Tanjirou as she takes a sip of her tea. The hot liquid scalds her tongue in a strangely pleasant way, warming her down to the tips of her toes. Tanjirou smiles from next to her, raising his own cup to his lips, and the two of them enjoy their tea in comfortable silence and the warmth of the kotatsu table.

It is this warmth and the familiar grassy flavour of the sencha that lulls her into a drowsy haze, the atmosphere blanketing her in cozy comfort.

“Don’t you think it’d be nice to have a family?”

Hayami almost spits out her sencha.

“Excuse me, what did you just say?” She barely manages not to spill the contents of her cup all over herself despite the shock, testament to her bygone days as one of the Pillars of the demon slayers. Hayami would have pat herself on the back if it weren’t for the words that had just escaped Tanjirou’s mouth. “I… I…”

Tanjirou’s cheeks are blazing red, which Hayami would have normally fawned and cooed over if it weren’t for the scrambled state of her mind at present, but her husband only coughs to clear his throat before he continues. “I said,” he repeats, more slowly and clearly this time, “it’d be nice to have a big family.” His voice cracks a little at the end, but Hayami is all too willing to overlook it in favour of his words.

So much for asking Tanjirou about his thoughts on having a family, because he’s beat her to it… he can’t possibly have read her mind or something along those lines, could he?

Tanjirou’s good eye is fixed intently on her face, although his good hand is fidgeting with the sleeve of his checkered haori, betraying just how much her answer will mean to him. For a moment, she dreams - of a little girl with Tanjirou’s eyes, the colour of the heart of an ancient mahogany, a young boy with Tanjirou’s smile and laugh.

Hayami imagines waking up in the morning to the sound of pattering feet on the wooden floorboards, the voices of children calling them to awaken and make them breakfast, the warmth of a humble home filled with laughter and love - one that she’s been craving for her entire life.

She can’t help the smile that forms on her face. How could she?

“A big family would be nice,” Hayami muses out loud, more to herself than to anybody else. But Tanjirou, of course, hears every word that she’s said.

The red hue on his cheeks don’t fade. From the way his hand reaches out to rest lightly on hers, however, Hayami knows he’s more than content with her answer.

>>>

A family.

Chop.

A family. Hayami wants a family. With him.

Chop.

The tree groans as it keels over to the side, the sound of branches snapping filling the winter air. Huffing out a breath, Tanjirou watches it fog in the chilly temperature and dissipate before he steps towards the fallen tree, his axe hoisted over his shoulder. Kneel down, check the condition of the trunk, before splitting it into smaller, more manageable logs. Repetitive. Familiar.

He remembers the way Takeo would sit behind him, grumbling that he wanted to have his turn at swinging the axe instead of just trimming the branches off the trunks. He remembers his first time trekking up the snowy mountains, close on his father’s heels as he explained the path to him. He remembers returning home to a hut in the woods, the fire roaring in the hearth, Nezuko and Hanako making fresh rice crackers over the brazier for them all to share.

It feels as if he has only blinked, those strong feelings of affection now laced with nostalgia, those days a tender, yet bittersweet memory.

Tanjirou had been thinking about it for a while. After getting married to Hayami with the Oyakata’s blessings, it had only seemed natural to move on to the next stage - that was, having children together and starting a family. That was until he’d remembered Hayami’s own relationship with her now estranged family. The thought had led to some hesitation on his part - on one hand, he dearly desired a family of his own, but on the other hand, if it was against Hayami’s wishes…

Hoisting his basket of neatly trimmed logs over his shoulder, he turns back to the path leading home, boots crunching in the fresh snow. Hayami had still been asleep when he’d left the house, and knowing her, she’s probably still fast asleep even now.

He hadn’t planned on asking on that day, so abruptly and out of the blue. For a moment, Tanjirou had almost regretted speaking when he’d seen the expression of shock on Hayami’s face, but when she’d smiled and told him that she would like a big family, he had almost felt his heart overflow with emotion - too much for him to convey with words, so all he could manage at the time was a light squeeze of the hand.

The walk from the thicket back to their house isn’t very long, and by the time the sun has just begun to rise over the snow capped mountaintops, Tanjirou is at the door to their house, shaking the snow from his boots.

The house is silent, just as he expects it to be, but what he doesn’t expect is for the futon in which they both sleep in to be completely empty.

Tanjirou’s out of the door before he knows it, heart racing in his chest with worry. Part of the instincts hammered into him after years of battling scream demon, but the more logical, rational side of his mind shuts that down immediately - no, Muzan has been defeated, and no demons would be returning to harm his family. Hayami is strong, strong enough to face demons and survive, surely she is fine.

Still, still…

Reaching for his boots, Tanjirou makes up his mind to go and look for her. She can’t have gone very far, and he’s worried. It’s not like Hayami to leave the house in the middle of winter, and something could have happened to her-

Scent! He smacks himself on the head. His nose, how could he have forgotten? The very thing that allowed him to hunt demons when he first started out as part of the demon slayer corps! Tanjirou has been with Hayami so long that her very own scent is mingled with his. If he can’t see her, he can definitely smell her out!

Raising his head, he takes slow deep breaths to calm himself and clear his mind, before sniffing the air carefully. Almost instantly, he catches a whiff of familiar scent on the wind, the faint floral fragrance of lavender comforting to his senses. The scent is strong, nearby. Tanjirou moves as fast as his feet will take him, circling their small wooden house and following the scent until he sees…

“Hayami!” Tanjirou cries out in shock the second he sees Hayami, slumped over on her knees. He rushes over to her side instantly, his hand reaching out to rub soothing circles on her back. Under his palm, he feels Hayami cough and retch, and panic shoots through him like Akaza’s fist through his chest.

“What’s the matter?” He asks, trying to keep his voice level so as to calm her down. Hayami shakes her head, sucking in uneven, unsteady breaths - and Tanjirou’s heart thumps in his chest with fear.

“I-I’m fine,” she reassures him, even as Tanjirou wipes the side of her mouth with his sleeve as gently as he can. To his concern, her skin feels clammy to the touch, colder than normer. It’s worrying. “I just woke up feeling a little sick, so I went out to get some fresh air. I didn’t think that this would happen… sorry for making you worry about me.”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Tanjirou tells her before she can continue apologising. “Do you think you can walk?”

Hayami nods, looking pale. “Yes, I think I can. Just give me a moment.” The second she tries to stand, however, her knees buckle under her and Tanjirou lunges to support her before she can fall.

“Hayami!’

“Sorry, sorry,” Hayami manages weakly as Tanjirou dabs the sweat from her brow. “Maybe it was the sudden change in weather… or did I eat something wrong at dinner yesterday? I really didn’t mean to fall ill like this… I’m being such an inconvenience-”

“There’s nothing to apologise for,” Tanjirou repeats, more firmly this time. Reaching out, he scoops Hayami into his arm, struggling slightly to hoist her into a comfortable position. “Hang on tight to me, I’ll get you inside.”

Hayami’s hands curl into the fabric of his shirt, and Tanjirou carefully makes his way into the house, careful not to jostle Hayami too much. He makes a beeline straight for their bedroom, settling Hayami on the bedding. Should he call for a doctor? Someone from the Butterfly Estate, Aoi, or Kanao, perhaps? He could send a crow, but in this weather the message would take too long to deliver. He could fetch Kanao or Aoi from the Butterfly Estate himself, but he couldn’t possibly leave Hayami all alone in this state-

A gentle hand touches his cheek.

Tanjirou snaps out of his thoughts, realising that Hayami is smiling at him from the futon fondly. “You’re such a worrywart,” Hayami says, her hand moving up to poke at his forehead. “Go away, go away, frown lines…”

A small smile manages to break through the worry gnawing away at Tanjirou, and he raises a hand to clasp Hayami’s to his cheek, pressing a gentle kiss against her palm. “How can I not?” He says, with a shake of the head. Hayami only laughs, as if she wasn’t just sick and retching into the bushes earlier. Even her scent seems to have changed a little, for reasons that he’s not completely sure of. It worries him.

“I know my body, Tanjirou.” Hayami assures him, her fingers running through his hair in a rhythmic manner. Slowly, Tanjirou feels his taut muscles begin to ease. “I don’t think it’s anything serious, but it wouldn’t hurt to send a crow to the Butterfly Estate. You can stay here to keep an eye on me in case anything happens. Does that sound alright to you?”

“Sounds like a plan.” An obvious one, in fact. Was he really so worried he couldn’t even keep his head on straight for a few seconds? Embarrassing… Making to get up, Tanjirou glances over his shoulder. “I’ll send the crow off with a message right now-”

Hayami’s hand wraps around his wrist, stopping him from leaving. Tanjirou looks at his wife in surprise, but Hayami only smiles.

“Stay with me for a while longer first.”

At her behest, Tanjirou manages a slight smile through the anxious beating of his heart and seats himself next to her bedside, running his hand through the long platinum strands of her hair. In response, Hayami only closes her eyes and hums pleasedly.

When she asks him like that, how could he possibly refuse?

>>>

Tanjirou’s footsteps crunch in the snow as he makes his way back to his home.

In the distance, he can hear the sound of songbirds chirping, the steady dripping of water, the running of a trickling stream as the ice finally begins to melt, winter giving way to spring at last. This afternoon, Tanjirou had been kicked out of the house earlier - by Kanao, who got the message that Tanjirou had sent via crow and decided to make the journey all the way here to give Hayami a medical (and very private, Kanao had informed him as she steered him out of his own house) check up.

Hayami has been getting better, much to Tanjirou’s relief. She’s still sick some mornings, but the number of that happening has been decreasing steadily after Tanjirou picked out the foods that Hayami seems to have developed a sudden distaste for. Perhaps it’s the change in environment, or the change in diet due to the food available in the mountains, Tanjirou reasons with himself, as he continues up the slippery path. All he needs to do is figure out the rest of the things Hayami can’t stomach, and she should be fine once more. Besides, Kanao is here to give Hayami a look over, and she’d trained under Shinobu in the medical department while the latter was still alive. Hayami is strong. Hayami will be fine.

Tanjirou had decided to pass the time by gathering mountain herbs that his mother had used to brew tea with. Now, his basket is laden with an assortment of flowers and grasses, and he sniffs each of them carefully to make sure that he has the right ones - plants can be tricky to the eye, so it’s much safer to use his sense of smell. Satisfied with his haul, Tanjirou walks towards his house, hoping to catch Kanao before she leaves so that the two of them can catch up a little.

“I’m back!”

When he enters the house, the first thing he notices is the scent of something baking in the oven. Mildly surprised, Tanjirou glances at the clay oven in the kitchen as he sets his basket of herbs on the table. He wasn’t aware that Hayami was intending on baking anything today. Perhaps it’s for Kanao to have?

“You’re home, honey?” Hayami’s voice comes from the next room. Tanjirou sniffs the air lightly. It seems that Kanao has already left, her scent no longer as prominent in their house. “Kanao said she had other matters to attend to, so she had to leave first.”

“That’s a pity, I managed to get a few herbs for tea,” Tanjirou lets out a rueful sigh, reaching for the kettle. “Never mind, it’s alright. I’ll brew some tea for both of us, then. How was the checkup?”

“It was completely fine. Nothing’s wrong with me in the least.” Hayami’s answer is a little softer, and Tanjirou has to strain his ears slightly to catch her words. He doesn’t detect any hint of untruth in her words or in her scent, so he doesn’t question the slight change in her tone of voice. Filling the kettle with water from a wooden bucket, Tanjirou moves to put it on the fire when Hayami suddenly pipes up again.

“Oh yes, Tanjirou, could you get the things out of the oven for me? They should be done anytime soon...”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it.” Turning to the clay oven that Aoi had made for their home, Tanjirou pulls the cover aside, reaching for the tray baking inside. When he pulls it out and sets it on the table to cool, he takes a moment to look at what Hayami was baking earlier.

Two simple, round buns sit on the tray. Tanjirou peers at them curiously, mildly confused. Only two buns? Hayami usually bakes in bigger batches than this, since their clay oven is rather large in size.

He turns to call over his shoulder. “They’re out! Do you want me to set them aside to cool?”

“There’s no need for that. Actually put them back in the oven.” The door to the kitchen slides open slowly, and Tanjirou looks up to see Hayami standing in the doorway, a hand pressed to her abdomen and a gentle, tender smile on her face. Her good eye falls on the two buns sitting innocently on the tray, and her smile widens before she looks at Tanjirou once more. “They’re not done yet… maybe, they’ll take another nine months.”

Tanjirou frowns, opening his mouth to comment on how he has no knowledge of any bun that takes a whole nine months to back before something hits him. Nine months… that duration of time sounds familiar, but why…

Nine months… a new dislike for foods Hayami had previously loved… the short bouts of nausea… a change in her scent…

The breath in his lungs seems to be trapped there, unwilling to leave, his heart pounding in his throat. Hayami smiles at him, watching the emotions play out over his face, his eyes fixed on the hand that’s resting on her belly.

“Are you…” Tanjirou’s voice breaks from sheer emotion alone. “Are you… pregnant?”

Hayami’s radiant smile is answer enough for him.

He doesn’t really remember what he does next, all he knows is the next second his arms were wrapped around Hayami, his lips pressing gentle kisses to every inch of her face he could reach. Faintly, he tastes salt on his tongue, Hayami’s tears of joy streaming down her cheeks as the two of them share this precious moment together, just the two of them.

“I…” Tanjirou can’t seem to form words. “I’m not dreaming, am I?”

“Not a dream at all,” Hayami tells him firmly, and that’s when tears finally escape the corners of Tanjirou’s eyes, overflowing with emotion.

“I can’t believe it… I can’t… we’re going to have a family, Hayami,” Tanjirou whispers, his voice rough with emotion. His own throat feels thick, and Hayami looks back at him with wet eyes, shining like the stars with the happiness contained in them. “I… I can’t thank you enough for the gift you’ve given me.”

“No need to thank me, silly, it’s going to be our family,” Hayami teases lightly through her tears, reaching up to kiss Tanjirou’s forehead. Subconsciously, Tanjirou’s own hand reaches down between them to touch Hayami’s stomach reverently, closing his eyes as if that will be able to connect him with the life growing within his wife’s belly.

“A child of our own,” Tanjirou says aloud, as if trying to test out the words on his tongue. To his surprise, Hayami only shakes her head with a little giggle, pointing back to the tray on the table. The two buns sit there innocently, the only witnesses to the joyous occasion happening in the kitchen right now.

“Two buns,” Hayami repeats, emphasizing on the number with a little poke to her husband’s nose. Tanjirou’s eyes widen, before he stares down at her belly once more.

“Twins?” He says, so hushed with shock that Hayami barely manages to catch it. Still, she laughs, nodding indulgently at her husband. Seriously, Tanjirou can really be dense sometimes.

“Yes, dear.”

Hayami squeals in surprise when Tanjirou suddenly scoops her up with his arm and spins her around once, laughing so brightly that Hayami’s heart feels like it’s singing. For all she knows, it probably is.

“I can’t wait,” Tanjirou says when he finally sets her down, his cheeks flushed from exertion and breathless. His arms remain tightly wound around her waist, loathe to let her go for even a second. “I can’t wait to have a family with you, Hayami. I want to be a good father and a good husband, I really do. I swear that I’ll do everything to take care of our family together with you. So,” he presses a kiss to her lips. “Thank you so much for blessing me with your presence in my life, Hayami.”

“You will, Tanjirou.” Hayami whispers against his lips tenderly. “I know you will.”

The two of them remain like this for a while, arms wrapped around each other as they bask in their shared happiness together, until Hayami suddenly takes a step back and twirls a strand of hair around her finger shyly. When Tanjirou looks at her with concern, she only smiles a little embarrassedly, a sight that has Tanjirou’s heart fluttering in his chest.

“So, about children’s names,” Hayami begins, “do you have any ideas?”

>>>

The mountains that the Kamado household reside in are always cold.

“Daddy, give me a hug! It’s freezing!” A little boy with chestnut hair and lilac eyes skips along the path to tug at the hem of his father’s shirt, dragging out the last word to make it as dramatic as possible. The father pauses chopping at a tree to smile at his son, before he sets the axe down and extends his arm to his child. The boy squeals in delight and throws himself into his father’s chest, laughing happily all the while.

“Oh dear, your fingers are all cold, Akihiro.” The father says, concerned as he looks over his son’s hands. The little boy nods excitedly. “Whatever will your mother say? She’d probably scold me if she sees your hands like this… let’s head back home, then.”

Akihiro barely manages to contain his energy long enough for his father to pack away all his woodcutting items before he’s jumping around his father. “Piggyback! Piggyback!” He chants, and his father smiles indulgently at him.

“Come on, Akihiro. Let’s go.”

The little boy clambers up his father’s back, before his father straightens up and the two of them make their way back, down a little mountain path marked with colourful ribbons that his wife had used to wear in her hair, tied there by their daughter so that her father and brother would never lose their way home. In the distance, not too far away, a warm glow lights up the stark mountain air.

The closer they draw to the light, it reveals itself to be a small mountain house. Small as it may be, the light pouring from the windows radiates warmth. As the two of them step onto the porch, the charcoal markings on the wooden pillars show the increase in height of two children every year, taken precisely during the first day of every new year.

At the door, father and son repeat a familiar ritual - take off boots, shake off snow, the father blowing lightly on his son’s fingers to warm them before he opens the door to his house.

“Daddy!”

A small weight throws itself into his arms and the father nearly stumbles backwards from the force. When he looks down, bright lilac eyes flicker up at him with excitement, the exact same shade as that of her twin brother’s. “Daddy, I missed you!”

“Mm, I missed you too, Ayaka.” The father leans down to press a light kiss to his daughter’s forehead, and the little girl giggles brightly. Behind him, his son pouts, waving his fist at his twin sister.

“Daddy missed me more!”

“You were with Daddy the entire time!”

“Both of you, stop bothering Daddy.” At the voice of the master of the house, both children immediately cease their squabbling, both running over to their mother, clamouring excitedly for the freshly baked sweet buns that she’s holding. With a sigh and a contented smile, Hayami steps over to her husband and kisses him on the cheek. “Welcome home, sweetheart.”

Tanjirou smiles.

“I’m home, Hayami.”

[jonahintwstmchybridau]

“I’m not a chicken!” *insert Donald Duck grumbling here*

Jonah the Avian

-Basic Information-

Name: Jonah Argentum

Age: 16

Gender: Male

Date of Birth: 31st October

Status: Alive

Hometown: Leaf Village

A small town underneath the Spring Cherry Mountain. The place is rich with green, luscious trees and the soil is perfect for ranching. The villagers living in this place are quite friendly and very welcoming. Jonah lives in a small vegetable farm three hours away from farm. Despite the hospitality, the villagers isn’t fully on-board with hybrids. As long as hybrids hide their traits, the villagers will tolerate them.

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-Hybrid Information-

Hybrid: Avian - Duck wings

You're a chicken. If you fall, you can glide to safety and you run slightly faster than the average human. However, you need to sleep in high places (so your home is a birdhouse) and you are bound to veganism.

Additional Power: Hasn’t discover anything new yet.

Weapon(s) of Choice: He wouldn’t consider his farming tools (axe, hoe, sickle, hammer) as a weapon. As the story progress, he found a bow and started using it, practicing as the archer.

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-Appearance-

Eye Color: Black

Hair Color: Cocoa-red with a bit of dolly-yellow on a few strands.

Hair Length: Pretty long, even the braids still reach just above his hips. He also has an ahoge on top of his head.

Skin Tone: Brown

Height: 157 cm

Weight: 51 kg

Wardrobe: Despite being a farmer, Jonah looks more like a pilot. He wears a white shirt with camouflage long-sleeve underneath a marigold-yellow short-sleeved jacket, along with camouflage pants. Around his neck is a cocoa-red scarf with a single with line and a tan goggles on top of his head.

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-Personality-

Jonah, at his core, is a nice guy, however he has a hard time to showing it after years being told to be careful around humans. He’s hot-headed and would argue even when he doesn’t understand the full detail of the problems. He wouldn’t back down without a fight and would always believe in what he thinks is right, making him a bit stubborn in nature. 

Contrast to what people believe, Jonah is a good listener. While he tried his best not to get to close, he’s willing to lend an ear and listen to people woes. Bonds is a very precious and fragile thing for him.  He doesn’t want to be called clingy, but he adores touches. Physical affections like hair ruffle or just a simple pat on the shoulders, he adores them. In exchange, once you’re close enough, he would often cups his hands around someone’s cheeks and gives praise. When he got very attached to someone, he would be the most loyal person you could ever find. When the time comes, he’s willing to fight anyone who dare to bother those who he cares. He isn’t the type to seek revenge, but he won’t forget what they had done.

He also has an insecurities inside him. He’s sometimes see himself as something less, especially being an avian among the others, more powerful hybrids. He might feel useless from the lack of special talent and afraid of being the burden in the gang. He hates it when he can’t do anything during the battle because of his lacking fighting experience. That’s why he tried to get too attached. It would hurt less if one day the gang decides to kick him out.

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-Background-

Jonah is born from the pair Benjamin Argentum (human) and Dinah Goldstein (avian hybrid). Benjamin’s parent weren’t the most accepting with hybrid, so the two young lovers often meet in secret. It was until one day Dinah showed up without her duck wings, claiming that she was willing to give up her duck wings in order to be with Benjamin, Thus they got married and moved away to Leaf Village.

However, it seemed that the pain of the wing cutting resurface, leading Dinah to her death after giving birth to Jonah, who grew feathers on his back. He’s also a hybrid, an avian. Benjamin raised Jonah as a single father, calling him ‘little duckling’. They’re always wary when going to the village despite them being nice. Jonah had been taught to not ever show his wings when he go to the village. Because of his avian trait, which means he can’t eat meat, Jonah was taught how to farm and cook by his father.

However, one day, when his father went out to chop some wood, a storm hit and a tree came crashing down, killing him. Jonah was an orphan. Even when the village (who still doesn’t know about his hybrid blood) offer him a place to stay, he decline, saying that the farm needs someone to take care.

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-Relationship-

Benjamin Argentum

Father and son. Jonah is very close to his father who raised him by himself after his mother died in child birth. His father taught him everything. He was destroyed when his father died, however he quickly pick himself up and take care of the farm, his only inheritance. 

The Villagers of Leaf Village

Close acquaintance but Jonah learn not to get too close, afraid that they will find out his wings. One day, he heard some town folks gossiping their disdain to hybrids, which made Jonah wary as he is an avian. He isn’t that close to the kids his age because of that and only come to the village when he need to stock-up or festivals

The Hybrid Kids Gang in General

Partner in travel and his second family. He’s very comfortable with them despite being the only two boys there. Relaxed that he can spread his tiny wings without worrying of getting shun at. Though sometimes, he felt ashamed how the girls can fight better than him. He personally request one of them to teach him in archery, so he ca fight along side them.

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-Like & Dislike-

Like:

Trees

Jonah loves climbing tree despite being a duck. He would often take a nap up in the tree, not really worry about falling down because he can just slow-fall/glide .

No-Mayo Potato Salad

Potato salad is his comfort food and would eat at least once a week every weekend. Because being an avian means he’s a vegetarian, he can’t eat mayonnaise. 

Swimming

He’s a duck, being in a pond is a basic need for him. In addition, his wings has the characteristic of duck wings so it can’t get wet.

Dislike:

Being Useless

Jonah would often try to do something. He just can’t stay silent even for a minute. It make him feel useless and a burden.

Meat

Just don’t eat meat in front of him. It’s very disrespectful.

Being called Chicken

And just don’t call him chicken. He’s a duck, dammit!

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-Trivia-

Because his lack of fighting skill, he make it up as the (future) emotional support of the team and travelling-cook.

When he’s angry, his voice become higher and sounds more like Donald Duck.

When he’s going out from his house, he would be wearing a cape to hide his wings.

He found the bow and arrow when the gang were once again chased, deciding to learn how to fight.

In the middle of the story, he cuts his hair, symbolizing his want grow in defending himself, not wanting to be a burden to the team and learning to trust people.

He’s pretty content with his life before the start of his story, however as he travels, learns new things he never thought of before, and bonds with the others, Jonah doesn’t really want to go back to the silent, albeit peaceful, times. He still wants a peaceful farm life, but he wants to share it with his friends. It wasn’t so lonely now. So, he doesn’t mind if they go on another journey as long as they’re together.

[bread-elf]

Slice of Life

The future is always unpredictable. The battle to fix the Shadowlands continued on, dreaded events happening that could change the entire fabrication of reality. But even so, life continued to tick on for the living, and there was no helping it. The Glaivefall children continued to grow, and with the world of Azeroth becoming slightly more stable since the shattering of the sky, Jiroki decided to return her family back to their home in the Jade Forest. The hippogryphs back at home were expecting new hatchlings, the health of her sister Estal’anar continued to improve with the help of their family as well as their dear friend Moon’s family who lived on the property, and the Glaivefall establishment continued to grow with some unpredictable circumstances.

How could someone so magnificently gorgeous simply exist without care and not notice of all eyes on him? The way Sharpen Jadescythe’s muscles flexed each time he raised the axe with one hand, only to bring it down and split the piece of wood with far too much ease, a light sheen on his coral colored skin as in his other hand he held his precious kitten named Pocky. Like a glorious sunset along a jungle beach, his body glistened like some god of the untamed wild, dipped in honey and kissed by blushing Elune herself. Words written by him himself, Jiroki having once peeked at his secret writings of his romantic fantasies. Yet the fool failed to see the many eyes watching him as he cut wood for the cooking fire. Anorah’lah watched from the window inside the house, peering carefully while her own new kitten rolled at her feet while clinging to her shoe, but the child didn’t care. Since meeting Sharpen for the first time in the Outlands, Jiroki’s daughter had become infatuated with the man, even shy most times. The child had formed her first love. “Dear oh dear…” As much as Jiroki felt happy for Sharpen being around more often, it certainly raised some complications, given her own very personal relationship with the man. Little Taldreath sat on the carpet in the living room with his play blocks, enjoying making a tower and knocking the blocks over. Jiroki herself had something on the stove as she started making a stock, but came over to see two of her children. But as Anorah didn’t notice her presence and continued to stare at the one she admired, Jiroki found herself peering out the window too. Sharpen wasn’t the only one outside. Jiroki’s other son, Vaeren, played outside with his Cousin Andorus, and Andorus’ friend Jaxon. Whereas Vaeren had only just reached the age of four, Andorus and Jaxon were much older. Andorus has the same white sheen of hair as his mother Moon, amber eyes glowing brightly and brotherly towards the smaller Kaldorei. Jaxon, a human boy with a mess of red hair, didn’t seem to mind playing with the small child as long as Andorus did. They all played with new toys received from last Winter’s Veil, toy swords and shields from their father’s. Jiroki knew Vaeren didn’t much enjoy how to properly handle a sword, but Andorus and Jaxon always played Knight with one another, and that was more than enough reason for Vaeren to pretend he enjoyed sword play just to spend time with the older boys. Though Sharpen wasn’t too far off from them, he was not the one watching them. Instead Moon herself is. But that doesn’t appear to be the case as the elven woman lounges on a lawn chair, wearing summer clothes and a wide brim hat to shield her eyes from the sun. A lemonade in hand, though the children were playing she kept casting her gaze to the burly man chopping up wood, a little grin on her lips as she watches the man’s fluid motions as he not only chops the wood with ease, but also tenderly dotes on the kitten close to his chest. “That whore.” Jiroki leers at her best friend from the window. Thankfully Anorah didn’t know anything in Common, but the words slipped out regardless. But her sights are distracted as she sees movement, glancing away and seeing her eldest daughter Merli with her other aunt. Estal’anar has come a long way from how she used to be. Once frail, mentally unstable, constantly confided in her own space, after some time of healing and nurture she blossomed to be close to the person Jiroki once knew her to be. The ordeals of her past still haunted her, wary of just about everyone that isn’t family. Even now, she kept her head down, walking beside Merli as they carried baskets of vegetables from their gardens to bring to Moon’s house to share. Yet Jiroki couldn’t help noticing that even she was casting glances towards Sharpen! Merli was much more obvious, just staring blatantly towards the man. So distracted as to even trip on a small rock, tumbling forward as her basket of produce flings about everywhere, causing others to look at her in surprise. “He’s pretty popular, isn’t he?” Aztook the demon hunter’s voice hums happily besides Jiroki’s ear, having snuck up on her while she spied on her growing family. Jiroki jumps and yelps, causing the kitten on the ground to be startled as well, but Anorah remains fixated on watching her crush from afar. “I told you not to sneak up on me like that!” Quickly putting up a front, Jiroki lightly swats at Aztook’s arm before moving away, deciding now is as good a time as any to wash some dishes. But Aztook follows on along, stalking his favorite prey with a cheshire grin, eyes missing but aware of every single little movement of hers with his demonic gaze. “Riiight, right, my mistake. It’s just, I couldn’t help but notice you staring at him so much…” A hand touches her shoulder, his hand more leathery than calloused, and claw like nails gently drag along her shoulder and down her arm. He’s testing her, trying to rile a reaction out of her, his favorite pastime. “And?” Jiroki tries to remain unphased, but her brow is furrowing, pursing her lips as she tries to focus. But he has such a powerful presence when he wants to, and it overwhelms her senses. “I actually have eyes, unlike you. I like to make use of them.” “Oh gee! Am I missing out? Maybe I should find some spare eyes to use… Is that also why your daughter has been staring at him for nearly the last hour? I could have sworn you two were having one of those like-mother-like-daughter moments.” That makes her whirl out, leering at her husband with a shocked expression. “Excuse me?! Are you trying to mock me?! … Wait, has she really?” Now glancing towards her daughter, surely it couldn’t have been that long. “It feels like an hour but, well, maybe ten minutes.” Aztook keeps on that mischievous grin of his. “You always pull my heart strings when you’re quick to the offense.” “Ugh.” Jiroki rolls her eyes, but she knew this song and dance. Raising a brow at the man, she starts to reach up to lace her arms around his neck. “I’d much rather pull your heartstrings in a normal way. I bet if I wasn’t mean to you at the beginning you wouldn’t even be paying attention to me right now.” “And what, leave you to carry someone else’s offspring?” His sightless gaze remains fixated on her face, but his hands move to her hips, thumbs lightly caressing the sides of her baby bump of their next child. “I think not! No one could be a Mr. Glaivefall better than me! Well- besides your father… Was he a sort of ‘Mr. Glaivefall’ man? Or was that what your father’s father was called? Or maybe your brother likes to go by Mr. Glaivefall, so it would be confusing if I also called myself Mr. Glaivefall-” “Just shut up.” Jiroki snickers, grinning from ear to ear at her mate’s antics. Aztook’s smile gets more gentle, leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers. “I want those pretty eyes on me too.” He says, the fel green orbs focused intently on hers. “Don’t you remember? I have eyes on the back of my head. I always have my eyes on you.” “Wait- really?” He pulls back, looking shocked, taking her own flirt too seriously. “Since when? You didn’t do anything when I ate your rice cake yesterday!” “That was YOU?!” Baby number five is on the way!

[tact-and-impulse]

Anyway, here’s info about my MCs for @shepherds-of-haven​​. I think I dropped enough hints in my Lovelace Day fic to connect who's who.

Name: Erigeron Keernyth / Nickname: E / Callsign: Rimefrost

Gender and Pronouns: Male, he/him / Sexuality: Pansexual

Age: 26 / Heritage: Elf / High Stat: Nerves of Steel / Low Stat: Bright Mind

Weapon: Dagger / Specialization: Elementalist / Education: Circle trained

Tarot: The Emperor / Wreath Day: Ashar 17

Description: A tenacious, self-assured Mage who desires nothing more than vengeance against evil. Tall and muscular, he wears a sardonic face until there’s word of an Endarkened. Then, his green gaze fills with delighted bloodlust before his silver-crowned head disappears out the door.

Fragments from the past:

Climbing up to the treehouse in Vale, letting his legs dangle over the side and kick out at nothing in particular

Bedding down for the night in a dense part of the woods, huddled with his clanmates for warmth and safety

The aftermath: a vow made on the blood he angrily spit through his teeth

Sharpening his dagger in a leaky tent and counting down the days to the end of this job, while the bigoted noble he was escorting snored incessantly in a cushy wagon

The first time he killed an imp, how easy it was to render the limbs apart, and the frustration that it wasn’t enough to make him feel better, that he needed to be even stronger

Art: Picrew

***

Name: Zoegea Keernyth / Callsign: Diamond

Gender and Pronouns: Female, she/her / Sexuality: Straight

Age: 24 / Heritage: Elf / High Stat: Razor Wits / Low Stat: Nerves of Steel

Weapon: Gun / Specialization: Shifter / Education: Circle trained

Tarot: The Lovers reversed / Flower Day: Loa 22

Description: A withdrawn, evasive Mage who is fixated on a dangerous pursuit. Svelte and poised, she has a calculating hazel gaze. Curling ashen tresses are drawn into a high ponytail, nearly to her waist, and out of the way when she’s experimenting with substances beyond her control.

Fragments from the past:

A quiet glade, on a detour the caravan took one summer, but she’s never been able to find it since

Eavesdropping on Elvish conversations, picking up tidbits of gossip and information, mostly for her own amusement

The aftermath: the last time she allowed herself to be horrified, grasping for logic and finding none

Her familiar dorm room in the Circle, the drawers filled with scribbled notes in a cipher of her own devising, desiccated roses, and the wrought leftovers of one project after another

The cold gaze of that smith whose doorstep she haunted for a few weeks, warning her never to get too close as metal scraps were tossed her way

Art: Picrew

***

Name: Kalmia Metella / Callsign: Serenity

Gender and Pronouns: Female, she/her / Sexuality: Demisexual

Age: 21 / Heritage: Hunter / High Stat: Razor Wits / Low Stat: Silver Tongue

Weapon: Bow / Specialization: Healer / Education: Self-taught

Tarot: The Lovers / Flower Day: Ysk 10

Description: A gentle, sensitive Mage who struggles with a definitive place in the world. Waves of dark hair, except for a streak of pure white, cascade down her back and contrast with intense violet eyes. Despite a soft-spoken exterior, she demonstrates a surprising willpower under pressure.

Fragments from the past:

Her childhood bedroom, only adorned with some bundled flowers and herbs that her mother taught her how to dry

After the funeral, Father explained she’d be alive for so much longer than everyone else in Maj would, and his face blurred in a flood of anguished tears

The aftermath: uncontrollable shivering in despair, fearful stumbling in the darkness, wondering if she was going mad

His sticky voice and stickier touch, but at least, all that’s left are memories and those can’t hurt anyone else

The Sweetleaf Shop in Leore, the kind voices of the women living there, the earthy scents of freshly made tinctures, words of comfort and perseverance

Art: Picrew

***

Name: Linaria Enris / Nicknames: Lin, Lina (I recognize the irony and I’m so sorry, if it helps it’s with a short i) / Callsign: Insight

Gender and Pronouns: Female, she/her / Sexuality: Straight

Age: 21 / Heritage: Ket / High Stat: Bright Mind / Low Stat: Razor Wits

Weapon: Sword / Specialization: Enchanter / Education: Self-taught

Tarot: Justice / Flower Day: Leph 40

Description: A sincere, empathetic Mage who yearns for a greater purpose. Her plain brown hair is fluffed around her ears and over almond-shaped eyes the color of chocolate. An earnest worker, she usually has a thoughtful, polite expression, but her laughter can be heard easily too.

Fragments from the past:

Lighting candles by the windows and reading quietly, keeping vigil for Dad until his rough palm awkwardly patted her head

Trying to do chores the way Mom used to, hoping to prove she can take care of the house on her own, no need to worry

The aftermath: essentially catatonic, until dawn came and she realized how cold she was

A bookseller’s stall, of incense and a sour voice complaining about his arthritis and insisting she keep the books he’s stolen, until he abruptly fired her for reasons she still doesn’t know

Scribe jobs in later years, her hands cramped and smeared with ink, her smile fixed on even as she received only a fraction of what she was owed

Art: Picrew

***

Name: Gentian Arke / Callsign: Messenger

Gender and Pronouns: Male, he/him / Sexuality: Demisexual

Age: 27 / Heritage: Ket / High Stat: Silver Tongue / Low Stat: Razor Wits

Weapon: Sword / Specialization: Binder / Education: Self-taught

Tarot: The Hermit / Wreath Day: Kthili 24

Description: A reserved, considerate Mage who hides deep-seated guilt behind a soft smile. His long locks are mistaken for black unless in full sunlight, where it reveals its bluish sheen. The sea is reflected in his kind gaze, and his agile build has been wracked with battle scars over the years.

Fragments from the past:

Running along the shoreline, feet splashing in the retreating waves and a salty breeze in his face, without a care in the world

Joking around with his cousins, winning gonen games, and fishing for the best catch

The aftermath: broken and hollow and worthless

That one time he had to crossdress in a ploy to retrieve his captain’s long-lost trinket from a gambling tournament and his alias became known as a devastatingly infamous heartbreaker, much to his eternal embarrassment

Fighting corsairs on rain-slick decks or bandits on the mail routes, numbly pondering over just giving up someday, but never managing to do it

Art: Picrew

***

Name: Alcea Keernyth / Nicknames: Als, Alci / Callsign: Lacewing

Gender and Pronouns: Female, she/her / Sexuality: Bisexual

Age: 22 / Heritage: Elf / High Stat: Bright Mind / Low Stat: Nerves of Steel

Weapon: Dagger / Specialization: Conjurer / Education: Circle trained

Tarot: Wheel of Fortune / Flower Day: Camoa 35

Description: A bubbly, affectionate Mage who has an appetite for anything interesting. She often dashes to her current destination, wherever that may be, leaving the impression of flying golden chin-length curls. Her gray eyes sparkle with curiosity and enthusiasm, never entirely quenched.

Fragments from the past:

Coaxing vividly colored butterflies into her hands, pretending to wear them as if they were jewels

Peeking her head out to take in every sight they passed by, her parents humming traveling songs, lulling her to sleep

The aftermath: immediate denial, it’s all a terrible dream

The library in Capra, thumbing through so many books and cursing that she wasn’t an inch taller to reach some of the higher shelves, eventually stacking the fattest tomes she’d already gone through as makeshift stairs

A trio of ragtag burglars, barely into their teens, rummaging through some noble’s room, while she kept an eye out for anyone who’d throw them back into jail

Art: Picrew

***

Name: Valeriana Stiln / Nickname: Valia (only if you earn it) / Callsign: Exacter

Gender and Pronouns: Female, she/her / Sexuality: Bisexual

Age: 23 / Heritage: Norm / High Stat: Nerves of Steel / Low Stat: Silver Tongue

Weapon: Bow / Specialization: Battle-Mage / Education: Journeyman

Tarot: Death / Flower Day: Zellea 38

Description: A fearless, practical Mage who nurses a jaded outlook on life. Dark red hair is gathered into a hefty bun more often than not, and long-lashed onyx eyes critically survey everything. She walks with a brisk stride full of intent, her capable hands bearing calluses from labor and old fights.

Fragments from the past:

Mother combing her hair in their morning ritual, “I love this color so much, Valia, you should keep it long”

The poison-dripping fangs of a snake the Westwood kids found in a trough, then its scales spattered with blood as she lifted the nearest axe and chopped it to pieces

The aftermath: repeating no’s, louder and louder, building to a drawn-out scream, until her throat was raw

After so many years, finding some bottles of the cologne Father wore and spending a half year’s worth of her mercenary’s pay, always dabbing a few drops on her wrists and neck

White-blond hair and a tattooed insignia, any tendrils of affection withered by that crystal clear scene of betrayal

Art: Picrew

***

Name: Senna Tulward / Callsign: Guardian

Gender and Pronouns: Female, she/her / Sexuality: Pansexual

Age: 23 / Heritage: Norm / High Stat: Silver Tongue / Low Stat: Bright Mind

Weapon: Gun / Specialization: Diviner / Education: Journeyman

Tarot: Temperance / Flower Day: Coppersun 6

Description: A congenial, faithful Mage who searches for a new place to call home. She has wavy chestnut hair falling a little past her shoulders, and an amiable amber gaze. She typically sports a pleasant, carefree smile, and her statuesque frame is actually very sturdy and athletic.

Fragments from the past:

Singing hymns she knew by heart and clasping her mother’s soft hands in the neighborhood’s temple

Cinnamon and warm honey on her birthday breakfast toast, Father sneaking her an extra slice when no one else was looking

The aftermath: confusion and failed searches, calling out the names of people who would never answer

Magic lessons under a starry sky, her teacher’s careful voice over the melody of crickets, the smell of campfire smoke, her warm sleeping bag

A dry ruin, whirling gritty sands, the sniffling lost little girl and a bleating goat she’s taking cover with, villagers hurling accusations and bullets at her upon their emergence from the storm

Art: Picrew

***

[desperationandgin]

If Only In My Dreams (Fraser’s Ridge Christmas)

Rating: General Audiences

Also Read On: AO3

Summary: Jamie and Claire spend their first holiday together on the Ridge, and Claire teaches him a bit about modern Christmas.

Author’s Note: Merry Christmas to all the readers who celebrate! I've wanted to give you all a little Fraser's Ridge for a while now, and this was the perfect time to do it. Thank you so much to my wife who read it first, who reads all my fic first and encourages me when I'm not very sure of myself.

Also, thank you so much to @smashing-teacups​ for quick reading this before spending the day with her family! I'm so incredibly lucky to have friends in this fandom that mean an incredible amount to me. Thank you all for being here and for reading!

If Only In My Dreams

Their first winter in their first home sees Jamie chopping wood more often than not in order to keep the fire going. The fact that it’s a holiday doesn’t matter; they still need warmth. But after splitting logs for over an hour, Jamie takes a break, letting his axe rest. Eyeing the horizon, he absently rubs one hand over his shoulder, rolling his neck and deciding to consider himself finished for the day. Once he’s loaded his tools and a bundle of wood onto Clarence, they trudge home together, snow lightly falling. The closer they get, the easier it is to detect the smell of something good and hearty cooking, and Jamie clicks his tongue, quickening his pace. Christmas Eve, and all that he wants is to be home now with his wife.

He and Claire hadn’t ever managed to spend Hogmanay at Lallybroch, but here, they can celebrate holidays in the home he built for them, for her, and she can teach him the different ways his daughter enjoyed this time of year. He’s thinking of her as he drops his bundle of firewood by the side of the house, then leads the donkey back to the small stable. Customarily, walking up the front steps of his home would have him removing his boots at the door, but tonight, his wife is waiting. That in and of itself isn’t unusual, but the fact that she doesn’t move to embrace him is, along with the sly grin on her face as she stands just behind the threshold, beckoning him in.

“Welcome home,” she innocently announces, taking a very measured step backward.

For a brief moment, Jamie’s sure she’s about to ask him to remove his boots, but when she doesn’t, an eyebrow arches, one foot tentatively stepping inside their home, damp sole and all. “Ye seem verra pleased to see me, Sassenach,” he begins cautiously.

Barely out of the doorway, Claire reaches out, yanking him down into a hard (and quite thorough) kiss. Without missing a beat, his arms wrap around his wife, yielding to her tongue until he finally parts from her with a shallow gasp.

It’s quite an ego boost, she realizes, to make him breathless with just a kiss.

“No’ that I dinnae appreciate being greeted this way, but what have I done to deserve it?” Typically, a kiss that torrid is immediately accompanied by trying to undress him.

She grins, then simply shrugs innocently. “Do you need to have done anything in particular?”

“Weel, no, but ‘tis a rare day when ye let me on yer floors wi’ muddy boots. Either I’m dreaming, or my birthday’s come sooner than I realized, and I ken I was born on May the first.” Even if he couldn’t remember the date, he’d met her the day after his birthday -- a belated gift he hadn’t even known he wanted, then.

At the mention of his boots, the spell seems to be broken and she shoos him back to the porch. “Alright, you’ve had your time inside with them. Off!”

“Will I receive another kiss when I come back inside?” Jamie asks with a cheeky grin, sitting to unbuckle his boots, then tugging them off.

“Will you?” Leaning against the door frame, she tries to keep a neutral look of uncaring on her face, losing the battle to a grin that wants to turn into happy laughter.

Rising from the chair, Jamie begins unbuttoning his coat as he walks inside again. “ I think I verra well might, even if I still dinnae ken exactly what’s gotten into ye. I’m no’ sure I care.”

She’s laughing when she kisses him again, though this one is much tamer than the last, and when she pulls back, her nose nuzzles lightly against his. “Merry Christmas.”

He hums softly, finding her lips again before stepping back to remove his coat and close the door behind him. “This is a Christmas tradition, then? Cannae say I dislike it myself, but...does everyone participate?”

It takes half a second for Claire to realize he means Brianna. “We were under the mistletoe,” she informs him as she points up at the doorway. “You’re to kiss who you’re with, but, a kiss to the cheek will suffice.” He’s such a father without even meeting Bree, and it makes her heart ache for a moment.

“I’ve heard of hanging it in homes. Weel, that druids do, to ward off evil and bring good luck. I dinnae recall stories of anyone kissing under it, but I enjoy it. Anythin’ to have a reason tae kiss ye senseless.”

When he takes a moment to do just that, Claire gladly allows him to take the lead, melting against his chest until the sound of his stomach growling pulls her out of it. “Come sit down and eat, Jamie. Is it my turn to do the entertaining?” On the evenings they feel up to it, they take turns telling stories over supper; fictional or real, sometimes anecdotes from the past twenty years, and other times they share dreams of the future.

“Aye, though I’ll take my supper by the fire, if ye dinnae mind. My bawls feel about the same as when ye press yer cold feet to them.” He keeps going, even at the look she gives him. “My shoulder’s aching a bit, too. No’ to mention my hand.” The cold weather isn’t kind to his body.

Claire shifts gears immediately, her face softening as she pulls a chair closer to the fire. “I’ll rub your shoulder while you eat,” she offers. “And your hand, after, if holding the bowl and the heat don’t loosen it up first.” She gets him settled, a bowl of stew placed in his hands before quietly tucking a blanket around his legs. Then, she moves behind him, taking a moment to drop a kiss to the top of his head. His curls are still cold, but she lingers a moment before beginning to rub his shoulder.

Quietly, Jamie eats (rabbit stew, one of his favorites), then takes note of the wreath on the back of their door, the red bows and garland over the mantle. “I like the way ye’ve decorated,” he praises. “I’ve seen some of the same in town, ‘tis all bonny. But I enjoy even more that things are the same in your time, that Brianna would ken what all of it is.”

“There’s a bit more, like chopping down a pine tree and decorating it with lights and ornaments,” she explains softly.

“I’ve seen the trees in town,” Jamie perks up, recognizing what she means, but as he looks around their small home, he realizes why she hasn’t asked for one.

“In a year or two, Sassenach, ye’ll have a grand place to put a decorated tree,” he promises.

As her fingers find the place she knows bothers him most, she massages his shoulder, smiling to herself. “What I like about all of this, is that now I get to share these things with you.” Something she dreamed of for years, but never thought would or even could happen.

Jamie hums in the back of his throat, a note of acknowledgment. “What sort of things did Brianna do for the holiday?” he asks, taking another bite of warm, hearty stew.

“Well, we would take care of the tree, then hang stockings over the fireplace to fill with small gifts,” she recalls, still rubbing his shoulder idly.

Jamie imagines it quietly before his eyes narrow and something from long ago clicks. “...Stockings. A nighean, do ye remember three evenings after our wedding, our camp was ambushed?”

Claire looks down as she thinks, mostly recalling their inability to keep their hands off one another directly after their marriage. She’s touched though, that he recalls things from so long ago. “I think so. You said the horses were spooked.”

“Just before that, ye’d said stockings would be hanging by the fire for the Yule. I thought ye meant for laundry but now I ken ye meant somethin’ else.”

Letting out a bark of a laugh, Claire leans down to kiss the top of his head again, pleased to find him warmer now. “You have a memory like a bloody elephant. But you’re right. It’s tradition to find an oversized stocking and hang it on the mantle. The idea is that Santa Claus will come down the chimney and fill it with small toys and candy, you see.”

“Ah, aye, the jolly fat version of Saint Nicholas,” Jamie says dryly. “Did Brianna believe in such a thing?”

“What, Santa?” Claire squints in thought. “Not for long. She’s very clever, our daughter. The first year she was onto it, she was six and tried to stay awake all night. The next year, she very nearly caught me putting presents under the tree, but luckily, seven-year-olds don’t know much about stealth.”

“Clearly she wasna getting anywhere by trying to outlast ye through the night,” Jamie says as leans down to put his mostly empty bowl on the floor beside the chair. “I’ll wager the next year, she did something different.”

For a moment, Claire’s struck by how well this man knows a child he’d hardly had time to realize existed before losing her. But then, he’s only thinking of what he would do, and it’s not a leap to assume Bree would have the same train of thought.

“She did, she outsmarted us. She wrote a letter listing everything she wanted and gave it to me to send to the North Pole.” At Jamie’s baffled expression over his shoulder at her, Claire clarifies. “It’s where Santa lives, you see.”

“I’m no’ sure why it matters, but I’m following,” he tries helpfully.

“Well, really, that letter was a list so that we knew what Brianna wanted for Christmas. What we didn’t know was that she’d already written a letter at school that was supposedly sent to Santa.”

“She wrote two different lists?”

Claire grins at Jamie. “She wrote two different lists.” Sighing contently at the memory, she shakes her head. “Brianna does love Christmas, though. She loves decorating and all of the baking.”

When she goes quiet, Jamie lightly tugs at Claire’s hand to beckon her around, guiding her to sit on his knee. He pauses, not wanting to encourage the sadness, only memories. “What were typical gifts for her?”

Letting her fingers play with his curls, she hums in thought. “Toys, when she was younger, mostly. Clothes here and there that she was only interested in with age.” At five, clothing items were the most boring, but at fifteen, she never minded new clothes for the new year. “When she was older, she would ask for bigger things. One year, she asked for roller skates. I was worried she’d do nothing but break an arm or leg.”

“A dangerous gift?”

“Well, roller skates are a novelty thing for fun. They’re like shoes, but with wheels on the bottom, so that you glide on the ground.”

“Och, I’ve seen such contraptions, now that ye say as such.” They’re not a new concept, but they’re uncommon enough that Jamie has never seen them in action.

“When she was even older, all she wanted was money to go buy whatever she wanted, or to spend time with her friends.” And then, things were much quieter, just the two of them. She’d been at a loss for what to get a young woman who missed her father dearly, and so had settled on simple things, nothing truly sentimental.

Perhaps if she’d known their Christmases were limited, she would have tried harder.

Quiet for a beat too long, Claire clears her throat and meets Jamie’s eyes again. “She was always grateful. That’s the important thing.”

“I ken ye miss her all the time,” Jamie murmurs softly, thumb gliding along the apple of her cheek. “But it must be even worse, right now.”

Absently, Claire begins to rub Jamie’s hand, her thumb massaging his palm. “From October to January she was practically glowing with excitement when she was a little girl. She loved playing in the snow, even if her favorite activities were in the summer.” Claire could keep going at length about Bree, but she worries, sometimes, that it hurts Jamie, to hear of all the moments he couldn’t be a part of. She tries to pull back a bit, to make a connection between him and his daughter.

“She always laughed and yelped when I stuck my cold fingers into the collar of her coat to get to her neck,” she recalls with a smile. “Just like you do, when you aren’t swearing,” she finishes with a tease.

Jamie smiles softly to himself, leaning back in the chair to look up at his wife. “Did ye always like this time of year as well? Even before Brianna?”

“I only ever had a proper Christmas a handful of times,” Claire murmurs, her thumb gliding along his jaw idly. “I don’t remember any holidays with my parents. And with my Uncle, we observed whichever traditions were celebrated wherever we happened to be.”

And she hadn’t really gotten to celebrate a Christmas with Frank during the war, though she doesn’t mention that.

“So, it meant more to ye then, after Brianna,” Jamie notes.

“She made everything mean more.” The first Christmas especially, when Claire was only just coming out of a black hole of grief. Leaning forward, she presses her forehead against Jamie’s. “And now, I get to spend my holidays with you.”

“Aye,” he acknowledges, raising his lips to her forehead to press a soft kiss there. “I miss her, but it’s no’ the same. Ye have the memories, the moments to miss.” He only has the idea of them.

“It might not be the same, Jamie, but it isn’t any less. You love our daughter as much as I do, I know it.” Letting out a soft breath, she closes her eyes and lets go of one more thought.

“I wish there were a way for her to know we’re alright. That you and I are together, and that we’re well.” Brianna wouldn’t even know to look for any history in America. As far as she knows, her mother is in Scotland.

Jamie has no good answer for her, but unprompted, he speaks quietly. “I tried to guess the best I could when ye’d be having our bairn. Couldna move or do much of anything while I was healing, after Culloden. I realized the wean would be born a bit after your birthday. I chose a day and I prayed each year, tried to imagine what our child had accomplished already.”

Of course he tried to calculate their child’s birth, and Claire’s heart breaks all the more with loving him. She kisses his cheeks as he exhales, then nuzzles her nose along his.

“Her first Christmas, she was barely a month old and still so small. I was always worried about her being too cold, that winter. New mother nerves, I suppose. I always held her in my arms, so bundled up that she was more blanket than baby,” she chuckles softly.

“What about that last Christmas?” Jamie asks, thumb stroking her hip idly over her skirts.

Claire takes a deep breath, then lets it out softly. “You mean the hardest one of my life?” She looks at him, eyes soft.

Abandoning her hip, Jamie reaches out to cradle her face, quietly tugging her closer until he can press a soft kiss against her forehead. The crackling fire in the room is the only sound filling the silence until he finally speaks once more.

“Ye gave up so much for me Claire,” he murmurs huskily. “If I could find a way to give ye all ye wanted, I would. I would bring you our daughter--” He stops abruptly, clearing his throat.

She knows if either one of them begins to cry it’s over for both of them.

“You gave me our daughter. And she gave me back to you. I’ll have a hard time topping that Christmas gift,” she says in an attempt at humor, though her own voice is suspiciously thick.

“You were able to give her a good life, Claire,” he murmurs, nuzzling her cheek tenderly. “I enjoy hearing about it, about everything ye were able to do for her.”

Sitting up straighter, Claire reaches out to tug at one of his curls tenderly, sighing softly.

“Do you want to know something else about our daughter?” She doesn’t wait for his answer before continuing. “She would be cross with us for being gloomy right now. She would say ‘Mama, you and Jamie are together and you’re wasting time being sad when I’m totally fine.’”

“Totally,” Jamie murmurs, though the corner of his mouth turns up in a smile.

“Just like that. Only less Scottish.”

She makes him chuckle, and once more, their foreheads press together as he breathes her in.

“Thank ye for remembering her wi’ me.” He plants a kiss on Claire’s shoulder tenderly. Looking up, he meets his wife’s gaze. “Merry Christmas, Sassenach.”

Leaning in, her lips press to his in a soft, tender kiss.

“Merry Christmas, Jamie.”

[thecandywrites]

Of Heaven and Fire Part 17

Where Brock suffers the consequences of his actions. *evil cackling*

@imherefortheforthefanart​ @probablyclever​ @funmadnessandbadassvikings​

Of Heaven and Fire 

Part 17

Brock woke up to feeling more hungover than he ever felt before in his life and his whole body itched as his skin crawled from all the mosquito bites as flies buzzed around him before he sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he looked around at his surroundings then back at the clan’s village where he could see the people hewing stones and moving them into place, in front of the same place that your house once stood before he snarled at it. They really were building an alter to you, a shrine, like you really were a goddess, idiots. You were just a woman, there were thousands, maybe millions just like you all over. 

You weren’t that special. 

He instead distracted himself with going through what he was able to keep. He still had his weapons and his armor. He didn’t need much else. He could hunt, he could use his battle ax since one side was a hammer, the other side was an ax and the ax was shaving sharp as he grinned at the eagle carved into it, this warhammer axe was Binga’s greatest creation and with it he had promised her to be his chief blacksmith. They had been friends since infancy, through childhood and into adulthood, mostly because Binga never wanted anything romantically with him and Binga had been one of his true friends and had an honesty and candor that he appreciated in addition to her talents which had no equal in the clan. 

So he set his eyes on the forest- looking at one particularly good tree, just that one tree would be enough for him to make at least a small shelter. He would show them all that he could be just fine without the clan. How many legends did orcdom have of clans starting from a single orc? Too many to count and history repeated itself many times over. He would start his own clan and it would be the greatest clan ever, it would be a purely orc clan where mouras would have no place in it and he took his moura cloak off and watched as it shrunk down to a collar, covered in leather before he put it in his pack, maybe he could sell it or something. He had lived his whole life without the moura influence, he would live the rest of his life without too. 

As he was in the forest, trying to figure out how to fell this tree he overheard talking, it was from his former suitors, they were talking about how they needed to get to Hurricane Breaker and try to court Bedhu because Brock was obviously impossible to please. 

“I’m not impossible to please!” Brock argued which scared those women shitless as they screamed and jumped away at the sight of him. 

“What?” Brock asked as he noticed they looked at him with alarm, pity and disgust once they recognized him. 

“Come on, we should go.” Vursa encouraged her friends as she pulled them away from him.  

“Wait! Stop, just...if you stay with me and help me, I’ll mate and claim all of you, we can start our own clan.” Brock proposed desperately as his stomach was reminding him that he had yet to eat breakfast or lunch as he began to stare longingly at their food pouches. 

“What so you can rape us when you want, eat all our food and choke us too when we piss you off?! You just want a slave you can beat the shit out of in any way you can.” Vursa spat at him. 

“No! I would never, I… I lost my temper, I was drunk and I just hated Miss Auksa and I was being forced into mating with her.” Brock tried to excuse himself as he flushed with embarrassment at the recollection of the events the day before. 

“Bullshit, one minute you were worshiping the ground Yana walked on and the next you hated her worse than she ever hated you when you first captured her and while she had every reason to hate you, you never had a good reason to hate her. You switch your moods faster than the wind changes. And even before Yana came into your life you were always a stuck up, self righteous pain in our collective asses.” Vursa bluntly revealed. 

“What? Just because I’m not the future warchief, I’m not good enough for you to talk to anymore? Let alone be with?” Brock sneered as the girls simply grinned like derisively at him. 

“Duh, we were after you because even if you were a snore in the bedroll and an awkward dork in the streets, you were still the handsome first born of the warcheif and the promise of an easy life with honor and respect was worth it to us to do whatever we could to try to get at that life. But it’s all gone, you threw it all away for what? So you didn’t have to be married to a moura? Even after she did everything anyone could ever ask of her and more? You just used her the way you have always used everyone else in Stormbreaker, you even used us, just for a flask of whiskey. Yana dodged a missile getting away from you. I can’t imagine the bullshit and fuckery she’d have to put up with being your mate. And you know what? We are too. Because what are you really offering now that you have absolutely nothing?  A new clan? A clan of what? Four? Starting from scratch in the woods and built off of what? Petty jealousy, resentment and hatred? You can chop down enough wood to build us a house big enough for all of us with an ax that’s only ever seen soft squishy bodies instead of stone timbers?” Vursa asked as she began to laugh in scornful amusement as she knocked on the tree next to her, listening to the solid sound echo in the forest around them, the kind of tree was known as a stone timber, since it was the hardest of all woods, and while chopping it down and splitting it was almost as hard as working with actual stone but whatever was built from it would stand for a five times as long as other woods but one look at his warhammer ax, there was no way it would chop down a stone timber. 

“Hell no, I may be a whore in your mother’s opinion, but even I have standards and enough self respect to know that that reward is never going to be worth that kind of work and risk, you have nothing to offer me. Your dick has never worked for me or anyone else, in fact I think it’s a miracle it worked for Yana at all. Your hands are useless and your tongue is trash and if you couldn’t be happy or satisfied with a goddess, we don’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of ever satisfying each other, let alone making each other happy in any sense. We’re done Brock.” Vursa spat before she tried to walk away again. 

“Yana put me under a curse so that none of it worked, now that she’s gone, it’s lifted!” Brock insisted. 

“It doesn’t matter! You’re cursed Brock! Look at you! Your body is ate up with bites, your hair is hacked off, your honor is shredded, you’re disowned from your family and your clan with no hope of redemption and you’re living in the woods like a beast! And you cursed the very clan you came from. All of us watched as eels from under Yana’s house hatched out of a weird nest and just this morning we watched as they began eating their way through the estuary and every little stream they got into, the water turned black and silty. We even tried to damn them up but the fuckers can walk on land and breathe air and they’ve evaded the dams and they’re spreading like a plague through the waters as we speak. And now the clan is filled with legends of a thankless asshole who rejected the goddess and cursed his clan and the eels are sign from the gods Vagla and Zota of destruction. You’ll be lucky if you get malaria and die before you have to watch the very clan your father worked so hard to build and establish gets swallowed by the very eels you unleashed sending Yana away, none of this would have happened if she never moved her house.” Vursa insisted before she and the others turned and marched away leaving Brock seething before he took his warhammer-ax and threw it into the woods, hearing a clank as the distinct sound of metal hitting stone reverberated through the forest before Brock growled again before he went looking for the damn thing. 

He walked for what felt like hours before he finally found his warhammer ax laying shattered in several pieces at the base of a large boulder that was cracked from the impact before he roared in frustrated anger and let a string of curses fly out of his mouth before he tried to pick up the pieces and use those to at least hack some smaller saplings, having to wrap the pieces in cloth and leather to keep them from shredding his hands and the saplings were of paper trees, a tree that was so soft, pulping it was easy and cutting it down was easy but still hard for him with his broken tools since chopping an actual tree down was impossible for him and building a small shelter out of saplings took nearly all his depleting strength and the only thing he managed to kill was a squirrel by hitting it with a small rock and here he sat just trying to make a damn fire out of the dryer debris from the forest floor. 

It was sunset by the time he got the fire going and was able to keep it going enough to cook the lone squirrel as he sat on a rock and roasted the flesh of it as he tried to think of names to suit his new clan but he couldn’t think of anything. 

In the coming weeks, things just got worse, all his clothes tore and he ran out of thread to mend them and his armor fell apart as if he had been fighting in a hundred wars every time he wore it so to keep himself from being naked, he had to put on his moura cloak to make his clothes and even then, all of his clothes either left him cold or left him overheated because he couldn’t get the hang of how to change the outfits other than either an undergarment or a heavy winter cloak before he found something close to what he would normally wear. He ran out of soap to keep himself clean and he couldn’t seem to capture any game bigger than a trash panda and he lost weight and muscle mass because he wasn’t intaking enough food, let alone carbs to keep his stamina up and the water from the nearby stream which wasn’t connected to Stormbreaker’s waterways was sour and he could only catch a crawfish or two and the shame and guilt of his past actions chased his sleep away as he tried to come to grips as to why he had reacted to you the way he did and it was all just a big blank. He cut down every sapling he could to try to make his house more substantial but the walls breathed and the floor was uneven and unfomfortable and if it had not been for his moura cloak, he would be freezing at night because summer had turned to autumn and now autumn was turning into winter and the only relief he got was that the frost killed the mosquitos and his ability to hunt improved with more “barbaric” tools such as a spears and his only company was a pair of birds, one a white dove, the other, a black raven who were always together, who seemed to watch him from a distance and while it was impossible for him to catch them, they seemed to stick around and just watch. The dove during most of the day, the raven, at night. It got to the point that the only way Brock could stay sane is by talking to the damn birds for company. 

Finally after the third hard frost his mother appeared with a basket on her hip, after hearing where he had settled from the hunting parties. 

“Brock?” She called out before he peeked his head out of his little shelter. 

“Mom!” He called out as he recognized her and eagerly got out and rushed over to her, hugging her tight, making her drop her basket so she could hug him as they were both brought to tears as they hugged each other tight. 

“You’re so thin!” Rhos realized as they pulled apart and they got to see each other and Brock could only hang his head in shame. 

“Hunting has been hard for me.” Brock explained. “No big game comes anywhere around here.” He answered. 

“Well game has become scarce since the summer.” She answered as Brock frowned. 

“Come, is there room in your shelter for both of us?” She asked before he reluctantly brought her into it as they managed to sit side by side in it before she showed him what she brought him. Several loaves of bread, one of which he quickly consumed, having not had bread since he left the clan back in the summer. A big block of cheese, covered in wax and some dried and cured meats along with some root vegetables that could be stored along with a few onions and heads of garlic and the biggest hunk of soap he had ever seen and a new comb and a proper ax for cutting down stone trees along with a bundle of medicine herbs and all Rhos could do is watch on sadly as Brock tried to inhale a little bit of everything, having been dreaming about these foods since he left. 

“The warchief of Stormbreaker has a proposition for you.” Rhos began as Brock paused in his eating. To hear of his father so far removed from him in verbage still cut like a knife and instead of being angry or resentful, all he could feel was sadness and regret. 

“We are leaving for Suchi in a week. If you have had enough punishment for your wrongdoing, and if you would humbly consider reconciling with Benyana who is due to give birth in only two weeks or so, you can come back to the clan.” She revealed. 

“And if I don’t?” Brock asked after he weighed her words and couldn’t bring himself to look at her, only consider the loaf of bread in his hands. 

“Then you can come back and watch the house while we’re gone but only while we’re gone, provided you do not cause harm to anything in the house. When we come back from the birth, the only thing you’ll be informed of is how Benyana came through the birth and the outcome, if what she is carrying is really a son or not which seems unlikely that she isn’t carrying one because all tests have proven that she is carrying a son. But those words will be the last words any of us are allowed to speak to you for as long as you live and you will once again be chased off of clan lands and it will be the last time we will ever see you in this lifetime and all others after and this is the last help any of us can ever offer you and all memory of you will be forgotten except for the legends already being told about you, but you are always referred to as ‘the cursed’ in all of those. And no one ever is allowed to be named Brock ever again, in fact no one is allowed to have a name that starts with B in the clan because for fear they would be associated with you. And all those who did have a name that started with B have already changed their names in the clan. Except for Benyana’s name which is always spoken of in reverence. She has been elevated to a goddess and the shrine to her is the biggest in the clan and anyone harming the shrine will immediately be put to death.  She is now the patron goddess of moura orcs, even those in Hurricane Breaker have followed suit and built a full blown temple in her honor and she is the goddess of many more things in their clan, like reuniting, of fortunes, specifically of inheritance, of connecting to your past and prosperous business. And if it wasn’t for her alter and the blessing of her alter, Stormbreaker would have fallen already.” She revealed. 

“What do you mean fallen?” Brock asked. 

“Brock, this year was the worst harvest there ever in the land’s history, after Benyana left, there was a storm that caused a flood that destroyed so much and the hail in that storm knocked all the fruit off the trees before it could grow to any real size and ripen and the hail damaged a lot of houses, then a drought came in the land dried up what was left, we have not had rain since the storm.” She revealed as Brock realized that he too never had rain in the forest and the water level in the nearby stream had dropped since he came in the summer and now late autumn, it was barely a trickle. 

“And if that wasn’t bad enough, the eels ate up every fish in the estuary before they swam out to sea where one of the water dragons was waiting for them before it swallowed all of them whole and once the shrine was built, the silt settled but the water in the wells was never the same, it’s grown bitter and sour and now, the only fish to be found are tiny minnows that hug the edges of all the little streams around the estuary. The only time animals touch the ground of Stormbreaker is before they’re slaughtered for food there, they die overnight if you don’t and something in them spoils the meat quickly when they’re on Stormbreaker ground, the only food and livesstock we have is all on Drauch. That’s where all of this came from because there’s just not much of anything left in Stormbreaker. And every woman in Stormbreaker has since moved to Drauch because they’re afraid that if they step foot in Stormbreaker, they could lose their own pregnancies because those who have not wanted their pregnancies have stayed in Stormbreaker and have lost them overnight and we can’t know what their number is. Now all the women who stay in Stormbreaker are only there to keep from being pregnant, so of course the whorehouse is crammed full of whores from all over, it also means that they’re clean too, any sexually transmitted diseases die on them overnight now and many come to get “cured” but quickly leave again. Now only single men who are helping with guiding the ships through the estuary live there, everyone and everything else has moved to Drauch where we still have food, water and the best shelter the clan has ever enjoyed and the temple to Benyana is the grandest in the city and all roads lead to it eventually. The sale of the fish is the only way the clan has survived so we can buy what we need from the sales and your former percentage of all those sales goes to Benyana to care for her and her offspring from now on for forever and Cugas and Kaive go through all the catches and get the best of everything and bring it to her as food supplements too.” She revealed as Brock’s heart sunk deeper and deeper. 

“How is she doing otherwise?” Brock felt compelled to ask which brought a sad smile to his mother’s face, at the lowly tone he used. Almost like he actually cared. 

“She’s almost lost the baby to grief several times now and she rarely smiles for any length of time longer than a heartbeat, and her state is no different than any other widow I suppose because to everyone, you died in the flames and what sits besides me now is an imposter to the Brock everyone knew and loved before the death in flames. Her parents and her other siblings as well as the rest of the warchief’s other children never leave her side and we have all practically moved in with her to help care for her and the warchief has cried many times, wishing he had a son who was close in age to her and would love her and be the father to her child because suitors have tried to come out of the woodwork because they look at her goddess status and all her blessings and her enormous house and wealth and her sad nature and do everything they can to cheer her up. There is one that comes and goes all the time that she is closest too and they talk often in private. He’s a fae prince, but he insists that we all call him Matae and even his parents and siblings and friends and relatives come to see her every so often, giving her more gifts than anyone can count because she is the single most blessed being any of us have ever known. Every day Matae comes and talks with her, he has vowed to everyone that he will help her through the birth if you are not there and he will claim her child if you do not and he will love her until you are never called to her mind again and her family is pleased as is her colony and even the warchief gives Matae his blessing and he’s a good person. He’s playful and fun yet intelligent, protective and surprisingly sensitive but despite all this, Benyana does not love him. She only likes him as a close friend and nothing more, as if she is holding out hope you’ll come to your senses. She has begged and pleaded the clan not to hunt you like a trophy bear and bring you to her like a caged animal since you are little better than a beast or bring you to her in a heap of limbs with your head on a platter as revenge for the curse you brought to the clan. But she insists that you be left alone to suffer the consequences of your actions since that is punishment enough and that no one is to guilt you into doing anything. And that everything you do must be of your own free will.” Rhos revealed and all Brock could do was hang his head in shame. He treated you like an enemy and you were still protecting him like a friend and he was if anything, the epitome of undeserving but his pride wouldn’t let him admit that.  

“So. This basket is magicked, it can hold much more than it looks like it can. If you choose not to go, you can bring this back when you watch the house and go through what is left of Stormbreaker and salvage whatever you want from what has been left behind, this basket should carry all of it. But know that that will be the last time you walk onto the clan’s grounds because after that, the clan’s houses will be burned and all trace of Stormbreaker will be destroyed so that the lands will return to the way they were before we ever settled there.” She informed him gravely. 

“What?” Brock frowned in disbelief as a deep sinking feeling settled in his gut and on his chest and it made it harm for him to breathe. 

“It’s already been decided. Even now the whores are packing up to leave. When we leave for Suchi, it will be the last time anyone in Stormbreaker will ever touch that ground except for the warchief’s family. And the only things that are to be left behind, are the gifts to Benyana’s temple and alter, and her gifts for you. When we come back, if you don’t take those gifts with you, then we will take them and put them in a museum on Drauch and they will be admired and revered until time indefinite.” She informed him before she got up and dusted off her skirt as she made ready to leave. 

“Come, give me a hug,” she insisted before he did, they embraced for what felt like the final time. 

“Please choose wisely Brock.” Rhos cried into his shoulder before she forced herself to walk away from him, leaving Brock to just watch as she did so, feeling like his feet were rooted to the ground no matter how badly he wanted to follow her, like a duckling or a chick following its mother. But his pride and stubbornness and obstinance would still not allow it. 

Once he couldn’t hear her, or see her, he went back to the basket and pulled out a tent and hastily put it up and found a cot and a bed roll and even more food, even a little wash basin so he could wash himself and his clothes properly other than dunking himself in the nearby trickling stream and inside was a pair of scissors that he used to trim his hair so that it was mostly even and his scraggly beard that had grown along with a simple bow and arrows so he could hunt properly. And he even found mending supplies and some material that he quickly used to mend his old tattered clothes and boots so he could put the moura cloak back on over it and was finally comfortable.  

Six days later he was seen walking back, the basket fashioned into something of a backpack on his back and when he got to the outskirts he stopped where his family used hunting gestures to ask if he was coming and all he could do is cross his arms in front of him which was the universal sign for ‘no’ before everyone just shook their heads and loaded up everything onto Drauch and Brock waited until they were ready to leave when his father signed for him to come with him and follow him but Brock just signed back ‘no’ and shook his head and his mom had to drag his dad back up onto Drauch before the stairway lifted off the ground and the boats themselves lifted from the harbor to dock with Drauch in the clouds before Drauch flew on the breeze to Suchi as a huge gust of wind blew the city to Suchi and only then did Brock get up and go into the abandoned clan village. 

He went around the edges of the village first, harvesting what was left in the gardens, going through the houses, salvaging what was left behind as he noticed a pattern. Every family left something useful in every house. One would have a small sack of one kind of spice and another would have a sack of a different spice, never the same exact thing. One would have a cooking pan or pot, one would have a tool of some kind, one would have a fur, or a cloak, or material, or sewing supplies, as if each household was giving Brock one last tribute and gift and Brock could only weep as he realized the significance of this. 

In orcdom, whenever a warchief retired, either from old age, or injury, each family would give an offering to the warchief as a way for him to live the rest of his life in comfort and peace as thanks for leading them but that there was new leadership, usually whoever the warchief chose to succeed him as successor. It was a proper goodbye and send off and absolutely final. There was no way back from this in any clan’s eyes. 

He finally made his way to his house, where the kitchen was thankfully fully stocked as he set aside all he would want to eat over the next week or so and packed all the rest before he used what he had gathered to make himself his first- last meals at home. It wasn’t as grand as his last meal here was, but it was just as good as any other he had had here. 

Here he sat, at his usual place at the table and ate, feeling like he saw ghosts of his family every time he looked around. Memories of all the fun and happy times spent around this table. 

Then he began to drink. For the first time, he drank to remember. Remember every detail of his life and his childhood here because they were the only happy memories he had left. He was also grateful to be in a house where the cold wind doesn’t come through either the gaps of the saplings or the fabric of the tent. 

Then he heard the door open and someone walk in. Normally he would be defending this place, but right now, he was hoping it was someone who had not listened to you to come and put him out of his misery. 

Instead he found Binga. 

“Just when I thought you couldn’t get any more pathetic, you surprise me and find a new low to stoop to.” She spat as she tossed a handful of blacksmithing tools in front of him disrespectfully. 

“I was waiting for you to come to the shop to gather your last tribute but you never came.” She incited. 

“Shut up and go away.” He grumbled from his stein. 

“No, you have no power or authority to order me to do anything.” She reminded him as she stalked over and sat across from him as she took in the sight of him and could only shake her head. 

“Because the current warchief stripped you of that power, remember? Before he shortly kicked you out of this house.” She reminded him. 

“All for what? Because you didn’t want to marry a goddess?” She jabbed and Brock could feel himself getting drunk enough to lose his inhibitions completely. 

“She was never a goddess! She was just a woman! There’s a billion more just like her!” He roared back. 

“And yet she was the only one who wanted you for you, who actually loved you for you and she will be the only one to ever do either for the rest of your life. And you treated her like garbage after everything she did for you. You told me yourself that she was the love of your life before you were reborn and she is giving birth to your firstborn quite possibly as we speak and you won’t even go! You’re missing it because you’re a pathetic spineless coward!” She roared back.

“She’s not the love of my life, I’ll find a way back into my father’s good graces, and I’m going to be the next warchief of my own clan, I don’t need or even want love, I need a good warchieftess.” He argued hotly. 

“Then you could have picked one of the dozen whores who had been after you since you were 5, hell pick all of them because all of them together will never be as good as she was even on her worst days. Come here.” She dragged him to the living room where all your betrothal gifts were put on display. 

“Look around Brock! She gave you all of this, all those other women working together over five lifetimes will never be able to give you a gift that is even in the same realm as this. This bar that she set is perfect. There are no greater gifts than the ones she gave you!” Binga yelled as she took the clothes and armor off the walls and handed them to him but he wouldn’t hold them, he just let them fall to his feet as he stared at them resentfully as tears flooded his own vision. 

“And you know what? All those girls that had been after you your whole life? Where are they now? If they actually cared about you, they would have scooped you up from the forest and had you live with them or even helped you build a new home or new clan or whatever but they didn’t. Because they’re already gone. They took one look at all this and knew that there was no way they were ever going to top any of this, that there is nothing on this planet that anyone can give anyone else, even if they had limitless fortunes, there isn’t anything they could have ever bought or made for you that would even be close and you know it!” She continued to yell and gesture to everything else as Brock simply winced at her words since he couldn’t argue with her. 

“Why Brock? Why did you reject her?” Binga asked as tears came to her own eyes and Brock couldn’t answer her, he couldn’t even look at her, only hang his head in shame as she put her hands on her hips. 

“The only thing I can think of that would have made a difference is if Benyana would have been a moura orc but the only other moura orcs are in Hurricane Breaker and none of them give a shit about you and will never come to claim you. You really are an asshole because even as perfect as all of this is you still found a way to find fault in it, in all of it! Gods you’re such a stubborn stupid asshole!” She roared, feeling another wave of anger swell. 

“She gave you everything, the clan had never been richer or more prosperous or has ever had this much peace or abundance before because she turned all your enemies into allies, she turned gold, she taught you and your family how to turn mud and rocks into gold, she healed your wounds and bedded you all while she battled her own morning sickness which is a limit that is too far for even our own full orc women and it’s still not good enough for you?! She gave you the best and greatest betrothal gifts anyone could ever give another and you embarrassed her and shamed her and humiliated her into leaving in front of the whole clan and even then she handled it with more grace and dignity than anyone could ever bear it and if I was moura I would have burned you alive myself right then and there.” Binga insisted as Brock still wouldn’t move, wouldn’t react, wouldn’t look up at her. Pitiful thing he was which just enraged Binga even more. 

“Even if you didn’t like her- just the fact that she’s carrying your child should have been enough for you to stand by her and take care of her and do right by her or do you not even have enough honor for that? The answer to that is of course no, because you have no honor! She was the only one not to give a shit that you’re going to be warchief, she would no sooner set you on fire herself than give you the time of day in the beginning and that’s what everyone loves about her because she doesn’t care about standing or hierarchy, only about the person you are and I feel so sorry for her that she fell in love so hard with someone as ungrateful and selfish as you. She fought for you and gave you everything she had even as the rest of her world turned on her and you rejected her. She has more fire in her than any furnace  and she was the only one who called you out on your shit. Even when you were in Suchi she did so with the most beautiful elegance to keep your own dignity intact. And everyone needs someone like that. She was the best thing to ever happen to you and to this clan and you used her and threw her away.” Binga spat in disgust. 

“And now that she’s gone, we’re all suffering, the harvest was the worst it’s been in years, the estuary only has the tiniest minnows now all the other fish are gone. The flocks are dwindling because we’ve eaten them faster than we can buy them and faster than they can breed. And thank the gods for the deal we have in Suchi and the water dragons because otherwise all of us would have starved to death by now. Don’t you think it’s odd that no one has gotten pregnant on this land since she left? No one reaped this fall because everyone is just trying to survive the winter. You cursed us all because of your stubbornness. And if you don’t leave right this second and go after her and bring her and your child back after it’s born, when your father gets back and she and her child aren’t here where they should be, we will create a new moura orc colony of our own further up river and make a new clan without you in it and the clan of Stormbreaker will die with you. For the next week, it’s just going to be you and this empty, abandoned, broken down clan village that could have been something great if you had been a real man and own up to your responsibilities and I hope that they leave these gifts here at Benyana’s alter forever to remind you of her every day for the rest of your life, forever alone and forever haunted by her.  And maybe the biggest reason you rejected her is because you still know deep down in your soul that she’s too good for you, she always has been and she always will be.” She sneered before she left and got on her horse and ran her horse to catch up with Drauch at the next little village to pick up some supplies. 

Suddenly Brock had never felt such a deep and all consuming rage before coursing through his veins like he did in that moment and he took the orb you gave him as a parting gift and threw it as hard as he could against a wall and it shattered like it had been a super thin shell of either ceramic or glass, the thing had felt so strong and solid in his hands before, to see that it was in fact so fragile surprised him. But what surprised him even more was that all that was left from the shattered pieces was a glowing light and it moved as if it had a life of it’s own before all at once it outright attacked him and the moment it touched him it infiltrated his skin, it got up his nose and in his mouth and into his lungs and it burned like super cold ice and all Brock could do is lay on the floor and thrash like he was having a seizure and wait for death and then….

It unlocked his memory and in a rush, it all came back.

[the-overgrowth]

Retrospective: “Faybane” #1

This is where it all started, on July 8th, 2016. Although probably a bit earlier than that, but this is the earliest thing I can find that’s actually written down, so that’s what counts. And back in the day I didn’t let ideas marinate the way I do now, I just started writing pretty much as soon as I got the idea.

Anyway, the document was created at this point in time according to Google Docs, and was last modified in October 3rd, 2016. It’s only 3 chapters long, plus one incomplete fourth chapter, and the whole thing is about 17k words.

Which is a lot for 3 chapters. I would say something about how I’m less wordy now, but the latest draft is like 107k words long, so, like, I will always struggle with shutting the fuck up, methinks.

Also, the reason this is called “Faybane” is because that was the working title I used, and the name of this document. I thought it’d be the proper title but like. It’s bad lmao.

Anywhomst, let’s get into it!

Some background info for those who are new or need a refresher: this WIP became a thing after I read and was disappointed by A Court of Thorns and Roses by SJM, as well as The Iron King by Julie Kagawa and some book by Holly Black, was it Tithe?

ACOTAR was the biggest culprit. I feel that this is important to keep in mind as we go through this mess.

We open on Sidra in the forest with a bunch of men she calls a hunting party. It’s clear she doesn’t want to be there, but since she’s the only decent hunter among them and it’s her sister’s wedding today, she has to make the kill to feed the people attending said wedding.

This is, as the kids say, big stupid, and seems like a very ill-prepared celebration? I guess it makes some sense for them to want fresh meat, but this fresh? What if they didn’t find anything? What if they didn’t manage to kill anything? Is the whole thing cancelled? Stupid.

We find out they’ve been hunting a boar and that this dude named Liam, our Gaston replacement, previously wounded the animal but didn’t kill it, causing it to flee and force the hunting party to follow. It’s up to Sidra to make the killing blow, which she does with an arrow straight into its head. This was back when Sidra was still YA Heroine Extraordinaire and the time period was Vaguely Medieval, I guess.

They begin taking their quarry back home and Sidra thinks about how she normally doesn’t hunt this close to the “Faewilds” because animals closer to the border are said to be bigger and more violent. There isn’t an actual border, people just had to rely on intuition and not wander too far into the forest.

She also mentions a girl named Wilda, who disappeared fairly recently and everyone suspects it was the fae. This isn’t relevant now, but Wilda will return in later drafts, I think.

Everybody, especially my family, knew that I was one of the best archers in town, whether I used a bow or a crossbow.

Shut up, Not!Feyre. Nobody likes you.

I should mention that at this point I didn’t bother googling how big wild boars get and just assumed they were the size of like, a thick medium dog. Which is, if you know how big boars are, very incorrect. Four men pulling the animal seems realistic enough, but then Liam just lifts it up on his own? Not buying it.

Sidra laments how much she hates Liam and we find out that he apparently tried to assault her and she stabbed him? And apparently she’s not happy about his marriage to Sinéad but can’t do anything about it because “Father’s word is law” and Sinéad herself laughed it off when Sidra tried to warn her?

Yeah, gonna call bullshit on that one. No idea why this was here or what purpose it serves, the reason Liam doesn’t exist in the latest draft is because I never figured out what his purpose was so I axed him entirely. 

Current!Sidra would just kill him the moment he showed an interest in Sinéad, and Current!Sinéad would 100% believe her sister about something like that.

Some bloke named Connor strikes up a conversation with Sidra, seemingly worried about being this far away from human civilization. Liam teases him about it and calls the fae “knife-ears”, because I still had brainrot back then and liked Dragon Age and had zero original ideas in my head.

The men make jokes about having sex with fae women and Sidra seems so disturbed by this that she nocks an arrow. This isn’t the first time she makes references to feeling unsafe around these men, I have no idea why I wrote it this way aside from being edgy, I guess.

My village was mostly populated by men, and even though I wasn’t one of the pretty girls there, I knew these men weren’t picky, even with all their talk about beautiful fae women. I’d heard that fae women would kill their men after sleeping with them. I had no way of know it was true, but a part of me hoped it was and that Liam would some day soon get “lucky” and encounter a female fae, so she could end his misery.

Edgy, dude.

They eventually arrive and Sidra goes inside her house, which is a simple cottage with three rooms. I think her family are all farmers? It’s kind of confusing. She goes into her and Sinéad’s bedroom, where Sinéad is preparing for her wedding. Also, she’s blonde.

“Sid! There you are!” she said cheerily. “Killed a boar, huh? Good on Liam for taking all the credit.”

If you know your man is trash, why are you marrying him?

Apparently Liam seduced Sinéad with sweets and baked goods. I mean ... fair enough. Considering how Sidra complains about being hungry and skinny and going without food if she doesn’t kill the boar because this year’s harvest was minimal, I’m assuming y’all are starving.

We find out Sinéad’s mother doesn’t let her do anything around the house or farm, to preserve her “soft and white” hands and pale complexion so she could be married off easily. This makes zero sense, you’d think these medieval men wouldn’t have the same beauty standards as Victorian England, plus having a mouth to feed that doesn’t even help feeding itself is just nuts. 

But remember, this isn’t Sidra, this is Not!Feyre. She needs to be sad and put-upon and a victim. She explains how she was never pretty to begin with and thus nobody considered her to be worthy of marrying off, which then meant she was put to work and became even less attractive because now she was so cool and badass that all the men were intimidated by her.

Yeah, in a village that already doesn’t have a lot of young women? I’m not buying this, lmao. But go off, Not!Feyre.

I’d been the one helping around, instead. Hunting, mostly. Sometimes I’d chop wood or work the farm. Marrying out of the house seemed impossible. Marrying up was practically a dream you forgot upon waking. Had I been pretty from the start there would’ve been a foundation to work from, but I was a lost cause even before my skin became tan and my hands grew veined and calloused. I had freckles which people mistook for mud and dull brown eyes, a long nose that had been broken one time too many and a mouth that made it look like I constantly felt a bad smell no matter what facial expression I made. I’d always been of rather short stature and had brown hair and thick eyebrows, which in combination with everything else made my parents call me their “little goblin”. The scar on my face didn’t help me either: men didn’t like it when their women were more battle-hardened than they were.

Oh god please, don’t go off! We don’t care! Stop going off!

Also what fucking parents call their poor kid a goblin? Yikes.

Sinéad convinces Sidra to get prettied up and Sidra is all “oh I bet all the men will just fall over themselves for my favor now huh” which is just the most annoying fucking thing, prompting Sinéad to respond:

“Well, winter is coming and game is scarce. If they want to survive, marrying the best hunter in the village might be a good bet.”

Yeah! This is correct! I refuse to believe people wouldn’t be into Sidra! Not only does everyone apparently know she’s the best hunter in town, but Sidra herself confirmed the men here outnumber the women and aren’t very picky.

This is fucking stupid. I’m glad I axed it. In my defense, I was very much trying to emulate the YA shit I’d read so far.

Sidra’s grandmother enters the stage. She’s very old in this draft, but otherwise unchanged.

She was a short and wrinkled old lady with extremely bad vision and an even worse grasp on reality. Or maybe an extremely acute grasp on reality, depending on whether you believed her stories or not.

Sidra changes out of the dress again to go out and help her father prepare the boar, all while sulking.

I didn’t envy Sinead, nor any other bride. Despite what most people thought of me, I wasn’t some poor ugly girl longing for the love of a man and the security of marriage. Did I enjoy the idea of having somebody care for me? Sure. But it wasn’t on my list of priorities. I was still trying to figure out what actually was on that list. Not that it mattered. The prospects for a poor village girl were very finite.

Womp womp.

We get some confusing and barely related stuff about Sidra possibly becoming a royal hunter for the king and also about where the village is located in relation to the Faewilds. She speculates that maybe the fae aren’t real, but the way she and everyone else talks about them makes it pretty obvious that they are? This was supposed to build mystery, I guess.

We skip forward to the wedding and Sidra is moping again.

“How are you feeling?” Father asked and squeezed my shoulder. 

I wasn’t sure why he was doing that. I assumed it had something to do with the wedding and the fact that despite there being fewer women than men here, I was still not asked to dance. Though this didn’t really bother me, so I just shrugged.

“It doesn’t bother me. Anyway I will continue to mope and feel bitter about this thing that doesn’t bother me.” Hunny ...

At least Current!Sidra has the self-awareness to admit she’s sad and lonely.

 [Father’s] marriage to Sinead’s mother was never out of love, more out of necessity. It was easier when you had a big family.

Except for when this “big family” is 3 people who work and 2 people who are just being fed, right? See, I knew back then that having a big family helps when you have a farm, but I also needed to make Sidra Special so Sinéad had to sit on her ass to highlight how pretty and feminine she was or whatnot.

Bleh.

They talk a bit about Sidra’s mother, who passed away five years ago, and Sidra reminisces about how she used to tell amazing stories. It’s all very ... whatever, and serves only to make this point for the hundredth time:

I wasn’t like Mother. I wasn’t full of life and spirit like her. I wasn’t loved and respected by the entire village like her. I was just her disappointing child whose existence they’d rather forget except when they wanted something killed.

Right after this there’s a really abrupt scene transition. Nothing about the wedding coming to an end, nothing about her going to bed, it’s just ... some while later?

Sidra’s father comes back home from ??? and tells Sidra he saw a stag somewhere, but it was hours ago so she better get a move on.

I’m not sure what either of them thinks this will accomplish? Like ... what is she gonna do with it when she kills it ... Carry it home? On her little boney ass? Hmm? I guess I didn’t think of that because I had meta knowledge that she wouldn’t get it home either way, so who cares about logic, right?

Sidra kills two rabbits while stalking the deer, and despite telling us earlier that she doesn’t venture far away from human civilization and the boar hunting being the farthest she’d been and that she wouldn’t go this far alone, she has no issue dwelling very deep into the forest this time.

Like. Henlo? Can we have one logic please and thanks you? Granted, she keeps stopping every now and then to Feel Things Out, but this really goes against how careful she was before and at no point do we get an explanation to her sudden boldness. Plot reasons, I guess.

She nearly stumbles into fae territories and finally decides to head back, except when she starts returning, she sees the stag she’s been tracking. It’s abnormally huge and has a “dark brown” coat that she finds odd, but of course she’s too stupid to connect the dots.

She sneaks up on it and honestly? This chapter ending still slaps.

A scream of pain left the creature and I saw it topple. But though my arrow hit a deer, a man fell to the ground.

DUN DUN DUN.

And yeah, the ACOTAR roots rear their ugly heads again. I liked the idea of the protagonist shooting a fae disguised as an animal, but I decided to cut out the middleman and just have her obliterate Val right in chapter one. Don’t worry, he doesn’t die.

[7deadlycinderellas]

In the dark of the moon, I planted 2/4

A03 link

They stay at the inn for not quite two years.

Willow has managed to find her a couple of simple dresses, in nondescript brown, that she can wear over her shirts when she’s helping them inside.

And inside there is always so much to do.

Gendry has taken up clearing out the little forge, and often goes out to fix hinges or pot handles or whatnot that need fixing, when they need fixing. When there’s nothing that needs it, he comes inside. He misses it, but tells Arya it’s no matter, there’s hardly any spare iron so it’s not like he can experiment or make things for fun. Some of the children, the older boys especially, watch him curiously, but most abandon the post when he is discovered to be taciturn and gruff.

Inside, everything constantly needs scrubbing, from the floors to the pots. Linens need washing, floors sweeping. And while she hated the word “lady” Arya was hardly allergic to work, especially work that let her forget a little.

On the third night they are there, Willow drags the copper tub into the kitchen after supper and insists Arya have a bath.

“No offense Arya, but guests won’t want to stay here if you smell as bad as you do now.”

Arya pouts as she sheds her clothes.

“Why only me, why aren’t you getting on Gendry about it?”

“Gendry took his yesterday, he asked for it.”

Arya still grumbles a bit as she strips and climbs into the water, but she admits that Gendry had come to bed the night before smelling better than he often did.

Willow offers her a rag and piece of hard soap and she and Jeyne continue cleaning up for the end of the night. Thankfully, Hot Pie had left to eat his own supper in the main room.

Arya scrubs at every inch of her skin until it is red and tender. She feels as though she could peel her very skin off and emerge a whole new girl.

Wearing a dress and scrubbing floors, she feels like she could transform bodily into this new girl, a girl who wasn’t dead inside. Who maybe didn’t have parents but had long grown used to this fact. Who didn’t dream of heads cut off and throats slit at night and about taking her sword to those responsible during the day, spilling their heart’s blood onto the snow.

When the water has gone dark and murky, Arya stands to dry off and redress. She’s distracted, but the sudden realization of what has become of her own body.

She was pale and gaunt, but she knew this. She had some scars, though she had not examined them. The roundness of her breasts was new, they previously having been little more than flat pink circles on a chest resembling a wall.

She’s poking at them curiously, when she hears Jeyne snort behind her.

“Never seen them before?”

Arya frowns.

“They weren’t here last time I had a chance to look.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll grow tired of them soon enough.”

Jeyne’s not there later that night, when she’s on the bed in just her shift. Gendry’s outside still, making sure the fire in the forge is out and the entrance isn’t being littered with abandoned tools and toys. She takes the few minutes she has to herself, pulls the shift off, and takes a closer look.

The cool air makes her nipples hard, and this shocks her enough she quickly pulls the shift back down to her waist. There’s a slope to her hips now, though the bones still stick through her skin. The thatch of dark hair between her legs doesn’t shock her, though admittedly, it is rather more wrinkly and coarse than expected.

Investigating further, curious about the bits where her moon’s blood comes from, evokes very strange feelings in her. Each tentative touch makes her feel warm and her heart race. Flushed, she finds she enjoys it, and keeps up the clumsy touches until she hears Gendry’s voice downstairs.

His voice seems to make the feelings increase, and Arya has to fight the urge to keep going, to find out where this all goes, but she forces herself to pull her shift back down and crawl into bed.

This new Arya would have to discover herself more later.

A few minutes later, Gendry enters and joins her in bed silently. When his breathing evens, Arya rolls on her side to watch him for a moment, feeling strangely guilty.

They’ve been at the inn a sennight when Hot Pie tells Arya about Brienne and Podrick.

“Big woman she was,” he tells Arya, “Blonde, serious, carried a big sword. Seemed like the sort of woman you might know. She was looking for your sister so I told her I’d seen you.”

Arya wants to yell at him, but yelling at Hot Pie is like yelling at a baby, ineffective and makes you feel like a monster. Arya can’t believe she was once frightened of him.

“When was this?”

“Bout half a year back. I think she was headed to the Vale.”

Arya nods. That makes sense. Maybe she had run into the Hound by now. She hopes he had no idea what direction she had gone.

She wonders where the mystery woman would even take her. Part of her thinks she would have liked to meet a tall, strong woman who carried a sword and traveled with a squire. The other part of her knows she couldn’t have trusted her.

Many days, most of the children stay inside, helping with chores when they can, bickering and running about when they can’t.

The rain keeps up, falling harder and harder, sometimes becoming sleet or hail.

On the rare clear days, the inn empties out. The older girls make runs for supplies, the boys to look for work.

Some of the boys go into the woods near the inn to try to hunt or trap, but they rarely bring anything back. Arya tries to show them how to tie their snares better, but most of them laugh her off. She stuffs down the urge to fight them. It would do nothing but make her and Gendry unwelcome.

At supper time, when most of the inn’s meager guests wander in, seeking either food or a bed, Arya and Gendry eat in the kitchen with Hot Pie, trying to stay out of sight, and listen to the gossip.

Nothing that comes out of King’s Landing is that interesting. King Tommen’s marriage, the rise of the Faith Militant, none of it interests Arya at all.

The rumours from Winterfell interest her more. Interest here, meaning enrage. Some say Roose Bolton’s bastard claimed Winterfell by marrying Sansa Stark, others Arya Stark. Arya’s not sure which one makes her angrier.

The first night she had heard it, she told Gendry she would be out late.

She borrows Jeyne’s axe and takes it a dozen times to a stump out behind the inn. The rain has not slowed that night, and when she returns, Gendry tells her she looks like a drowned rat.

“I don’t know which would be worse,” she admits as she changes and crawls into bed, “If Sansa was really married to him- I can’t imagine it was willingly, not to the son of the man who betrayed our mother and brother- or if some poor girl is being passed off as me and that’s what people are going to believe has become of me.”

He reaches out and gently touches her shoulder. It’s the most physical contact he’s initiated since before, and it makes her shudder.

That night she dreams she’s Nymeria again. If Sansa is indeed in the clutches of the bastard of Bolton, then Arya wishes her all of her wolf dreams, and all of her wolf’s blood.

Arya finds many days she enjoys watching the children play. It’s no surprise to her that lowborn orphans play just like highborn nobles, she should know, she’s played with both.

One cloudy day, she spies Eben and Deren playing at swords with sticks, as she often had. Her heart twinges, thinking briefly of Mycah.

“You’re gripping it too tight,” she calls out to Deren, who’s holding onto his stick as though for dear life, limiting his movement, “No one’s going to yank it from your hand.”

Not in a proper fight, she thinks, though in a brawl it has possibilities. Cutting the sword hand too is a good thought.

“What would you know about it?”

Arya’s muscles stiffen. She doesn’t wear Needle at her hip here, it’s tucked safely upstairs. She wears a dress most days. Most of the orphans don’t think her anything but an ordinary girl. She’ll show them.

It takes her two swift movements to knock Deren off balance and wrench the stick from his hand. He’s stumbled back, blinking in shock. Three more fluid movements, and she’s knocked the other stick from Eben’s hand.

He scrambles to pick it back up, and three seconds later, Arya’s disarmed him again.

By the time either Eben or Deren can keep their sticks in their hands around her, more children have gathered to watch.

“Did you remind them to stand sideface?” Gendry asks later, amused.

“Can’t stand sideface if you can’t even keep your sword in your hand.”

It’s after about six moon’s that they overhear one of the older boy’s saying that Lord Beric is dead.

He doesn’t speak of it as though it was a battle though.

“Thoros could only raise one, and Beric told him to let him go, gave away his life willingly.”

Arya ignores the rest of his words. She mutters to Gendry.

“One more off my list. Good.”

Her list is still repeated, often under her breath, a prayer to chase away the nightmares.

The nights are becoming colder, so Arya takes the axe and chops more stumps. She comes to bed with her shoulders burning, and Gendry already asleep.

She wonders who it was that Beric wanted Thoros to raise instead of him.

Jeyne gives her a look the next morning and tells her that if she’s got that much extra anger to get rid of, she can chop wood properly, in the mornings with the rest of the boys.

The weather turns a bit, and occasionally, the rain turns to snow. The snow is barely even close to what Winterfell got in the summer, and when most of the other orphans shiver and shake, Arya steps out onto the powder and spins around, amazed at how the snow has decorated the landscape. She teaches the younger children that day how to make snow people.

Sometimes the children even come to her with their wooden sticks, asking her to show them how to play fight. She’s nearly sick a few times thinking of any of them having to use a real blade.

Unfortunately, with the weather turning comes the scarcity of winter, even if winter is still only coming. The day comes quickly that Elinor comes back from the next village empty handed, as the mill wheel has quit turning in the river.

And with the coming cold, Arya comes to long for the walls of Winterfell. Even in the depths of the coldest winter, the hot springs would force hot water through the walls, warming the stone. It’s inhabitants might fear a famine or a siege, but never freezing.

The first night that the chill takes its place in the air, Gendry rolls on one side and throws an arm over her and presses his nose into her hair. Arya freezes, eventually realizing from the soft murmurs he makes that he’s not quite awake.

Her heart thunders in her chest all the same. Neither of them say a word about it in the morning, but it happens again and again, eventually nearly every night.

When the snow comes, Arya ignores the other boys and ventures out on her own. She carries Needle, though she knows it’s not a hunting tool and several lengths of rope. She traipes through the snow with careful ease, remembering the snows of summer below her feet.

Snares aren’t too hard to figure out. After setting them, she continues through the wood. Snow hares are about, and she thinks she spies a doe. If she is to become a hunter, she must learn her prey. She thinks on her days of chasing cats, and wonders if it’s much different. She doesn’t even remember the rabbit she’d caught on the way to Harranhal. She thinks she ought to remember a beast she killed with her hands. She has more sympathy for the rabbit than she did for Polliver.

One of her snares picks up a duck. Arya wrings its neck before carrying it back. Ducks are good in winter, with their thick layer of fat.

The fat makes it roast up all nicely when Hot Pie cooks it for supper. When she walks out of the woods carrying it, she sees several of the children scatter.

“You’re getting a reputation,” Gendry informs her, when she stops by the forge after giving the duck to Grace to take to the kitchen.

“A good one?” She asks.

Gendry laughs.

“Some of the girls are in awe of you. Some of the boys are terrified of you.”

“Good,” she responds, though her insides twist. Maybe this new Arya is frightening, instead of frightened. The cat instead of the mouse.

The snow also makes it easier come the days that Willow orders all the orphans into a line, strips them down and bathes them in the big kitchen tub. They have to make more trips to fill it, but the snow doesn’t weigh as much and it takes little more time to melt than it does to heat.

Arya stays as a third set of hands. She and Sansa used to carry Rickon around like a doll, she’s had a fair hands experience in wrangling small children.

When the last orphan has been dried off and sent to bed, Arya goes to join them before Willow grabs her wrist and drags her back.

“You too,” she says,

Arya groans, having been hoping to get her bath in the morning, in water that hadn’t already been run through by all the others.

She strips and runs herself over with the soap and cloth as quickly as she can get away with in the murky water. She’s just standing and drying her hair off when she hears a voice by the door.

She turns, and all she sees is Gendry’s glowing face. His blue eyes meet hers for a long moment and she feels herself blush from her face down to her breasts. She makes no move to cover herself. He scurries away, and she sighs.

Jeyne comes and touches her shoulder as she finishes dressing.

“I try not to pry too much, and the two of you did come in together...but we’re not hurting for room, you can sleep separately if you need to.,”

It’s ridiculous, but Arya’s chest hurts at the idea of sleeping alone again after so long.

“It’s not a problem for me,” she tells Jeyne, “But I’ll have to talk to Gendry to see if it is for him.”

When she returns to their room, Gendry’s lying on the bed flat on his back, but not under the covers, so Arya knows he’s not asleep. He turns away at the sound of her approach, and her ears glow when she realizes his hand had been lingering on the front of his breeches, and wonders if he’d scurried hearing her come upstairs, as she often did in the mornings. Still, she lays beside him in her shift.

She sighs deeply before speaking,

“You don’t need to beat yourself up over it, I know it was an accident.”

There’s a long gap of silence before she continues.

“And it didn’t make me feel bad.” It didn’t feel anything like watching the men in King’s Landing leering at serving girls, in fact, “It...actually felt sort of nice.”

She feels him shift, and his voice demands, a little hoarse,

“Nice?”

She laughs.

“My sister and her closest friend used to call me “horseface”. I grew up always thinking I was ugly. It’s nice to know I’m not.”

She doesn’t get a response from that, so she cuts to the chase.

“Jeyne asked me if we want to sleep separately from now on. I told her I didn’t mind. Do you?”

“No!” he says, immediately, rolling onto his back and sitting partially up. His voice softens a bit when he continues. “When you sleep beside me, she doesn’t appear in my dreams as much.”

Arya’s touched. It never occurred to her, but sleeping beside him, she hasn’t had nearly as many nightmares as she had after the wedding. She puffs up her chest.

“Good. Maybe we’ll get to the point where we can get her out of the rest of your head too, and she won’t poison perfectly normal thoughts,” she pauses, “Like accidentally seeing a friend naked, and being disgusted with yourself for daring to think she was pretty.”

Her heart flutters, wondering if he’ll try to rebuke her words, but he says nothing.

Arya wonders, falling asleep, if he’ll still be willing to hold her at night after this. She gets her answer in the morning, when he’s pressed somehow even closer to her than he’d laid before, from head nearly to foot. She feels something hard pressing into her backside.

It’s not that she doesn’t know what’s happening, Gods know the men on the way to Harrenhal were not even a little shy, with their cocks or their words.  But after last night, she still has trouble connecting their crudeness with Gendry.

Her face goes red, but her mind races. She tries not to dwell on how thin her shift is, how easy it would be for Gendry to lift it over her bum, pull his cock from his breeches and be inside her. She wonders how it would feel. He must know she can feel him, she wonders if he can feel her.

She freezes solid when she hears Gendry grunt, and roll onto his back, throwing one hand over his eyes and muttering about the early sun. He stands, dressing and leaves the room saying something about a bath.

As soon as she hears the door stick, she furtively lifts her shift over her hips and dives her fingers between her legs, finding herself warm and slick and so, so sensitive. Her fingers have, in their time, learned where this all goes, and it’s barely a few minutes before she rolls and presses her mouth into the pillow, grunts and groans threatening to turn into howls.

It’s a few days later, while out hunting, that she thinks she catches a glimpse of Nymeria.

It doesn’t take too much attention, because it’s that same sennight that they hear that Stannis has gone north.

They had looked at each other, curious, in the kitchen when the guest talking had spoken. He had said that Stannis had gone to aid the Night’s Watch.

“Do you think..she went with him?” Gendry wonders, voice quiet from behind the kitchen door, so as to be unheard..

Arya frowns.

“It sounds like he took his wife and daughter with him, so it makes sense.”

Her stomach churns, threatening to upend itself, at the thought of the Red Woman in the same place as Jon. She was nearly sick at it. She can only hope her attentions are drawn away, perhaps one of the other boys of the Night’s Watch, forbidden from touching girls, had the so-called King’s Blood. She didn’t want what happened to Gendry for anyone, but least of all for Jon.

The snow falls more heavily, and the cold seeps in. It’s in everything, the air, the floor, the bathwater, the well-water, the benches. Arya sometimes chops extra wood just to feel the heat it brings to her flesh. Near the only thing it’s not gotten into is the stew.

Which is good, as food is being stretched thinner. When seated in the kitchen, Arya and Gendry watch as Hot Pie shakes his head as he’s forced to stretch the bread dough thinner and thinner. Arya even spies one day when he is forced to mix a bit of sawdust in to make enough for the loaf. Even Hot Pie’s face has gone pale and thin. He makes few pies in winter.

Arya goes out to hunt, but her returns are diminishing. The ducks have flown south, and the hares become better at hiding. Sometimes she swears she hears a wolf howl, and she whispers a prayer for them, her old friend or not.

When the rivers freeze, the number of guests actually begins to pick up, as the river with the broken bridge can again be traversed. Arya and Gendry begin preemptively eating their supper in the kitchen every day so as not to have to hide their faces.

Ends up being a good thing the day that even Jeyne and Willow go out to greet one of the men of the Brotherhood.

Arya and Gendry don’t recognize the voice, but they keep quiet all the same. It sounds young, almost as young as Arya. Neither of them can eat a bite while they listen.

“Is it true Lord Beric’s dead?” they hear Willow ask.

“Aye,” the boy replies, “And it’s not been the same since. We were all for following the Lady’s orders are first. Devoted she is. We had no objections to killing Lannister and Frey men, but…”

Arya feels her stomach sink. She herself would like to spill the blood of as many Lannisters and Freys as possible, but the boy speaking sounds so frightened...

“We caught a squire the other day, boy was barely my age. She declared him guilty and had us hang him same as all the others.”

Arya’s nearly sure she’s going to be sick now. Whatever she’d thought of Beric, he would have never sentenced a child to hanging.

Willow and Jeyne, to their credit, both sound horrified. They offer to let the boy stay here, but he declines.

“Winter is coming,” he admits, “And I know you lot probably barely have enough for yourselves. You’ve sheltered us many a time, even if the others have forgotten you, I’ll do my best to keep around.”

And Arya knows it’s winter, even if the white raven hasn’t been seen.

One night, Gendry sits on the end of their bed, deep in thought.

“What is it?” she asks, changing to her shift again

“Should we move on? Like you said before?”

Arya thinks on it. It might be a good idea, especially with knowing the Brotherhood is still active and more bloodthirsty. But…

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea. There’s food, at least for now. We don’t know how the rest of Westeros is doing…”

It’s winter now, and for all Arya can say about winter as a Stark, she knows she’s a summer child.

“And-” she continues, stuttering, “I actually almost feel safe here.”

The words sound foreign on her tongue. She can’t remember the last time she felt safe.

Gendry nods though, and Arya’s heart swells that maybe he feels the same way.

“We should keep our ears open though,” he says, “In case we need to run. Whatever happens, we’ll do it together.”

With a rush of happiness, Arya kneels beside and hugs him. She can do this now and he doesn’t flinch. Part of her still doesn’t believe that he’s staying with her, will only leave if she does.

The next bit takes a head full of bravery, that comforts Arya that her old self is still under her second-hand skin. All she does is press her lips to the stubbled skin of his cheek. It’s so innocent, childish even, that she doesn’t expect to feel him stiffen.

Her heart sinks.

“Did she take that too?”

It’s pretty dark in their room, but she can still make out Gendry’s closed eyes, his shallow breathing.

She knows she should pull back, but she’s sick and tired of the witch hovering over every single moment between them.

Arya presses her lips to the corner of his eye this time.

“Would it help if I called you stupid between?”

Gendry chuckles, and shakes his head roughly.

“Just keep it up. I’m so...so incredibly tired of only being able to remember touching her. I’m sick of her being able to have such power over me. I don’t want to give her even a little bit more thought. I only want to think of you.”

Arya grins, her blood singing. Even after all of this, part of her still wondered if he’d reject her, still thinking of her as a little girl, covered in mud and with empty eyes, or as a princess he would be gelded for even thinking of looking at like this.

Her lips find his cheek again, then his nose, then the corner of his mouth.

She waits a minute, and raises a single eyebrow in his direction, before finally covering his mouth with her own.

Young Arya never really thought this was something she would want, always thought romance was more Sansa’s wheelhouse than hers. The Arya that is here and now though, knows how hard and cold winter can be without someone beside you.

The snow continues to fall. Game becomes even more scarce. Arya and Gendry both struggle to peer into the other orphan’s bowls, to make sure the little ones are getting more than they do.

During the day they work and chop and spar with the children to try and keep their blood rushing.

At night, they try and kiss that warmth into each other. Gendry’s fingers are as unsteady as ever, but growing more certain. Arya merely giggles, grateful that her own nerves and inexperience won’t hold them back.

The boy from the Brotherhood turns up twice more.

The first time, he merely speaks of the Brotherhood’s Lady, and more of her hangings.

The second time, he talks about how frightening she is to behold.

“Thoros had been certain she was too far gone, had been gone too long, but Beric insisted. Her neck still hangs open, slit from ear to ear, her skin still sags from being submerged in the Green Fork for so long…”

The image drags something to the forefront of Arya’s mind, and it makes her still. She can think of nothing else. The boy does not describe anything else about the Lady, but she remembers those men outside the Twins. Their words are burned into her mind like a horse’s brand, never to leave, to haunt her to the end of her days.

Her mind says it’s such a small chance, but…

“I’m leaving in the morning,” she tells Gendry that night in bed. “I’ll take Nan and follow that boy back to the Brotherhood.”

Gendry shoots straight up beside her.

“You can’t! It’s not safe, not with the snow, and you heard him, they’re hanging anyone now, why would you ever-”

“I think the Lady, the Hangwoman they speak of...I think she might be my mother.”

Gendry’s face goes stony, his words stolen from him.

“I know, I know it’s stupid, impossible to even imagine, but if there’s even a tiny chance, I have to find out…”

Gendry grabs and squeezes both her hands tightly.

“Let me come with you then. Let us find this out together.”

Arya smiles, grateful, and it’s at that moment, that she knows in her heart that she loves him, truly. It’s somehow both monumental and completely inconsequential.

“No,” she tells him, pulling his hands to her heart, “I won’t have you put in danger. Stay here and protect the others if need be. I will come back. I won’t leave you, or let you leave again.”

Gendry’s face is torn, seeking so hard for something he could say that could change her mind, but there is nothing. Instead he kisses her, fiercely.

Pulling back slightly, Arya whispers against his mouth.

“Hold me tight tonight, I’ll need, or I won’t be able to make myself leave.”

And he does. Holds her and kisses her with fire, hands touching with confidence where he’d previously only caressed. He weaves his fingers through her hair, runs his palms down her back, slides his fingers down the front of her shift to her round tits. His hand comes to rest on her thigh, close to the hem of her shift.

She grins, wickedly, against his mouth. She rests her hand atop his.

“For when I come back,” she promises, “I’m going to go seek one of my ghosts. Then I’ll come back, and we can fight one of yours, head on.”

[starlling-writes]

Bewitching Monsters - Orc (Valzok) Part 1

Series Rating: 18+ Chapter Contains: suggestive dialogue Pairing: f/m BeMo Masterlist   ☆  Writing Masterlist

“One teaspoon of lavender flowers, muddled. Three drop of lemon oil. And finally some orange zest,” I muttered to myself as I finished off mixing the potion for a new charm. I was working on a batch of cleaning charms today. Three of them were for regular customers—an elderly couple, a blind naga, and a werewolf family with seven hyper pups—I traded with for food; the others I’d sell off to various shops around my side of town. I poured the potion over the sponges I already had set in a shallow pan, said the enchantment, then cleaned up everything as they set.

Done with work for the moment, I made some tea and settled into my chaise lounge. Behind me came the thump of something falling to the floor. I knew what it was; that’s why I ignored it and continued sipping my tea.

“Mistress, it’s been six days. Are you really not going to look at the elf’s package?” Caera asked.

“Why should I?” I mused. “It’s not something I ordered; I don’t know a thing about that air elf save that he’s a pervert and a courier; and he didn’t even tell me anything about what might be inside when he gave it to me. There’s no reason for me to bother.”

“I don’t think you can fairly use ‘pervert’ as a negative against him, Mistress.” There was a wicked note in her voice. The way she purred my title had me clenching my thighs.

I took a long sip of tea. “I don’t appreciate being called out.” Her chuckle rang in the room. I picked up the box and put it back on the table. I’d deal with it eventually.

 After delivering all the charms, I was making my way back when I saw a figure outside my house. I slowed my approach. It was difficult to see them clearly through the trees, but they were definitely large. I also caught a glint of metal in the sunlight. This could be risky…

My anxieties quickly fled once I passed the tree line and saw my guest was an orc. I’ve had a soft spot for orcs ever since the first summer after starting my certification training. Long story short: I found a dive bar with an incredibly sexy orc bartender.

“Hello. Sorry to keep you waiting,” I greeted him, jumping off my broom.

“No worries, Witch. You have a peaceful place here.”

“Thank you.” It was hard to not be distracted by how thick he was. He had lovely slate grey skin with undertones of lavender most notable around the scarification on his shoulder. I wanted to trace over the designs…

“Done staring yet?” he interrupted with a cocky grin.

I met his eyes with a blush. “What can I help you with?”

“Nothing too special. Just an enchantment to keep my tools sharp.” He adjusted the bag on his shoulder as he removed the axe he had mounted on his back.

“How many tools, and sharp for how long?” I inquired worryingly. Judging by his bulging bag, I had a feeling his tool collection rivaled my book collection. I had a growing suspicion that this was going to be more than he bargained for.

He rubbed the back of his neck and sheepishly laughed. “Quite a lot. How long can you make the spell last?”

“For something like this,” I started and motioned for him to follow me inside. My broom followed behind him and floated to the kitchen where Caera started unloading today’s exchanges. “I would go with a shorter duration with frequent recurring applications, rather than the converse. Most find the cost more manageable that way since it can grow a bit exponentially.” I cleared off my dining table. “Place out all your tools on here.”

The surface quickly filled up. Most of the things I had never seen before and couldn’t even guess the proper names. I did recognize some chisels, files, saws—all in a number of sizes. There were even just blades and belts that were clearly a part of other contraptions. The rest were a mystery.

“I’m a carpenter,” he explained. “I do a lot of hand carving too.”

I hummed in acknowledgement as I looked everything over. At most, I’d set the spell for a year—barter off three months if need be. Now I had to figure out payment. Despite what most might think, a witch doesn’t come up with the cost of their magic; they can filter the type of payment—like money or food—but the overall cost of the magic is determined by the Grand Scales. The Scales manifested differently for each witch. For me, I always saw an ibis sitting on its nest, then it would reveal its eggs to show me the cost.

“A year of perfectly sharp blades,” I mused as my fingers hovered over the orc’s belongings, “for firewood; four months’ worth. Due within six months of the enchantment.”

“I feel like I’m getting the better end of this deal.”

“Winter is right around the corner so it’ll be more than you think. Also, some of these tools you use far less than others. All in all, this is fair. I don’t care for luxury and overcharge my customers.”

“I can see.” He paced around the large open room and looked around. I watched him and noted his eyes lingering on the loft and the stairs/bookcases that led up to it. “Who did your addition?”

“Jealous that I went to another carpenter?” I teased and walked up next to him. He looked down at me and raised a brow. I felt like swooning under that gaze. “Maybe next time you’ll be the one I come to.”

He turned and faced me full on. It was a battle to keep my eyes on his and not drink in every one of his many, many glorious inches. I wondered what he saw, what he thought, when he looked down at me. “So how do you wanna do this?” Wait. Was he thinking what I was thinking? “Would you prefer I started today? I could cut the wood here. Or I can chop everything at my shop and deliver it later.”

“Well…” I started and floundered. Right. Business. I needed to get my mind back on track. Normally I could detach while working but he was just getting to me.

“Let’s start with you showing me where you keep all your wood. I would hate to fill you with more than you can handle at once.” Did he realize how he worded that? He had to have worded it like that on purpose. Surely my face was flushed from lustful thoughts and he was reading me like a large-print book. “The name is Valzok, by the way.”

— — —

BeMo Masterlist   ☆  Writing Masterlist

Story: Previous — Next

Character Arc:  [Here]  Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5

[megamanx1994]

Rise of Smithy Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Geno Rises (Nicholas’ P.O.V) The 4 remaining Axem Rangers were staring at us. “Take no prisoners!” shouted Axem Red. “Let’s do it!” I said. “I say 3 of each of us takes down one axem ranger!” said Cross going in. “Now that’s a plan!” said Bryan, “Let’s put it into motion!” He transformed and went into action. Axem pink was going up against Elma, Asia and Maddi. “You’re all fools to come against me,” she said getting out her ax. Maddi started shooting paintballs as her and she sped past them. Asia closed her eyes to see where she was about to attack next. “Elma behind you!” she said. Elma did a flip and kicked Axem pink in the back.  Asia then pinned Axem Pink down with her Neon power. “Nice shot Asia,” said Maddi. “Thank you,” she said. Steven, Bryan, and Cross were fighting Axem Green.  Steven was guarding himself with the shield. “You can’t hold it forever,” said Axem Green. “You’re right,” said Steven, “Then again…. I’m not really trying to.” Bryan picked him up and threw him down. Axem Green quickly got up and jumped into the air. “Cross, fly me up!” said Bryan. “Got it chief!” said Cross. He picked Bryan up and they followed Axem Green to the top. “Wait for my signal,” said Bryan, “Ready…….. NOW!” He dropped Bryan and he came falling down on Axem Green like a meteor. “That’s how we do it, Xeno Style!” said Bryan. EJ, Denise and I were handling Axem Yellow. He threw his ax around like a boomerang and we evaded it. “That thing does not obey the laws of physics at all,” said Denise. “I’ll say,” said EJ. “I know how to handle him,” I said jumping out of the armor, “With a little Karate!” I came running at him. “Multidoken!” I said. I shot multiple Hadoukens at once at Axem Yellow. He chopped through them all. “Alright,” I said, “Hurricane Kick!” I spun around and kicked him in the face. I did a backflip. “EJ, power move me!” said Denise. “Got it,” said EJ. Denise ran around Axem Yellow enough times to make him levitate. EJ kicked him making him land down. I saw this as an opportunity. I came right below him and charged up for a rising dragon punch and landed it right on him. I then went down with my fist and struck him again. “Nice moves X,” said Denise. “You got some moves Speedbreak,” I said, “Where are you from?” “Queens,” said Denise. “Brooklyn,” I said with a smile. Colleen got out a special device and stabbed Smithy with it. It managed to cut him off from the Smithy drones in the car allowing Chun-Li to take the cradle. “That barely even phased me,” said Smithy. He grabbed Colleen by the neck. “I’m not the kind of person to kill human beings,” he said, “But with you I might make a suggestion.” Colleen grabbed Smithy and forced him down while doing a flip. “Falcon KICK!” she shouted. She did a flying kick at Smithy and her leg was on fire. Smithy evaded it. “You’re a fool if you think you can defeat me,” said Smithy, “I’ll just come in with a new body.” “I wasn’t tryin’ to,” said Colleen pointing to the bottom. Chun-Li got the cradle and jumped into the jet. “Bye-bye now,” said Colleen as she got away. Smithy grinned. “They can’t do anything with it,” said Smithy. Xenoblade, Frosty, and Jet were battling Axem Red. He grabbed his ax again. “Now you die,” he said. Frosty tried freezing him in place but he cut through the ice. “This guy’s tough!” she said. “Not tough enough to stop us!” said Jet. He charged up lightning and dashed at Axem Red. He then punched him hard and he landed on a building.  Xenoblade saw a vision of Axem Red about to throw a car at Frosty. “Micah watch out!” he said. He pushed her out of the way and cut the car in half using the monado. “Alright motherfucker,” he said, “Nobody tries to hurt my sister like that and gets away with it.” He made his monado into two blades and went after Axem Red. He managed to get some cuts on him. “When Smithy created us, he gave us the task of perfecting this world in his own image,” said Axem Red, “And we will accomplish that task, if it means we have to kill you to do it.” They started battling. We were still dealing with Axem Yellow.  Denise ran fast and punched him hard in the stomach. “You’re not gonna stop us little girl,” said Axem Yellow. He grabbed Denise and put her in a bear hold trying to strangle her. “Pardon me,” I said tapping his shoulder. I punched him in the face making him let go. “Why thank you,” said Denise. “Any time,” I said. Captain Falcon appeared on the scene and helped Asia handle Axem Pink. She charged up and did her signature Falcon Punch landing her in a pit of lava made from one of Maddi’s paintballs. “Nice work Colleen,” said Elma. “Thanks Colonel,” said Collen. Steven used his shield to block Axem Green’s attacks. He then did a flip to land behind him. “Try this one on for size!” he shouted. Using his shield he decapitated Axem Green. “Not so tough without a body are you!” he said as he kicked the head away. Xenoblade was still fighting Axem Red. He had a few injuries but he still kept going. With assistance from Frosty’s ice blasts and Jet’s lightning, he was more than a match for Axem Red. “Come on!” said Xenoblade, “Come at me!” Their blades clashed for a second before Axem Red pushed him back. Xenoblade dodged another attack and managed to cut Axem Red’s right hand off. He had the ax in his other hand and tried attacking Xenoblade. He kept dodging everything thrown at him. He then did a combo move before finishing it with a stab to Axem Red’s stomach. “Game over,” said Xenoblade as he pulled the blade out. “You may have stopped us,” said Axem Red, “But you’ll never stop Smithy…..” His eyes went blank and he fell into the water. “That takes care of that,” said Micah. “We got the cradle,” said Colleen, “Its on its way to GSI as we speak.” “Good,” I said, “Let’s get over there quickly.” Smithy was at the lab watching his new body be created. “They’re trying to stop me from ‘poisoning the world’?” he asked himself, “They think they’re better off as they are.” He looked at himself in the mirror. “I’m not the one who’s out of his head,” he said, “Once my world is complete, there will be no more outcasts, no more destruction.” He had more drones and weapons made. Smithy was looking at a map and saw Shanghai as his starting point. “They think they’ve beaten me, but as the saying goes,” said Smithy, “What doesn’t kill me, simply makes me stronger.” His new vessel was complete. “The humans don’t understand what I have in store for them,” said Smithy, “I can save them!” He then threw a knife at a picture of us. “You’re not gonna get in the way of my world Nicholas Shay!” he shouted. Michael and I were looking at the body inside. “Extraordinary,” I said, “It seems as if the gem on the body fused the wood with the labranyum making it a hybrid of machine, and wood.” “Anela what kind of schematic did you upload on this?” asked Michael. “Just some old wood and metal parts,” said Anela, “I didn’t think it would actually make something like that.” “Good thing it was unplugged before Smithy took it over,” said Jet. “Actually,” said a voice, “I kind of had something to do with that.” It was R.O.B. His mainframe was put on another hard drive. “He’s alive?” asked Luna. “Exactly,” said Michael, “Before we left I managed to rewire R.O.B and place him back together. He’s been helping us fight Smithy without any of us aside from me knowing about it.” “So what’s the plan?” asked Denise. “The plan, is to make our own version of Smithy’s perfect vessel, only without the crazy mind of Smithy himself,” said Michael, “With it on our side we just might stand a chance.” “But how are we gonna pull it off?” asked Professor Gadd. He looked at R.O.B. “We use R.O.B as its conscience,” said Michael. “This is a crazy idea,” I said. “I believe its worth a go,” said R.O.B. I went to talk to Cross. “Nicholas I think I realized something,” said Cross, “I like Elma. Like…. I ‘like her’ like her.” “Well then what are you waiting for?” I asked, “Go ask her out.” “Um in case you forgot, we’re at war with a mechanical menace who’s hell bent on creating his perfect world.” “Dude, you can take on an army of soldiers, you can regenerate limbs at an instant, and come back from a battle without so much as a scratch, but you don’t have the balls to ask out a woman?” I asked. “I’m just scared,” said Cross, “I’m not sure she feels the same way.” “I think otherwise,” I said walking away while smiling. Elma was wiping the oil and blood from her blades. “Sooooooo let’s hear it,” said Colleen. “Hear what?” asked Elma. “Colonel stop,” said Colleen, “Almost everyone at B.L.A.D.E knows you have a thing for the Blue Angel.” Elma started to blush. “I…. well…” said Elma. “You can tell me anything,” said Colleen, “I won’t tell a soul. They’ll probably find out by the end of this story anyway, and the audience reading this probably know too.” “HEY!” said Michael banging the wall, “Stop stealing my 4th wall gag!” “Well, I guess it was while I was talking with him at Ken’s house,” said Elma, “He told me that a friend of his was having trouble confessing his feelings to someone he cared about.” She smiled and looked to the sky. “It took me some time to figure it out, but it seemed like he was talking about himself and me, and reminded me of how I was starting to feel for him,” said Elma, “I then realized I started to fall for him ever since I found him in that stasis pod.” Cross entered the room. “Well would you look at the time,” said Colleen, “I should go.” “Is everything alright?” asked Cross. “Yes, your concern is much appreciated, but I’m ok,” said Elma, “What about you?” “Well, I took quite a beating but I’m getting better now,” said Cross, “I do have my ability to regenerate limbs and scar tissue.” The two of them chuckled. Elma smiled at him. “I never thanked you for saving my life,” she said. “Well… I never thanked you for not letting me fall on my head at the party,” said Cross, “So I guess we’re even.” “I should check if my weapons are….” said Elma about to leave but Cross stopped her. “Elma?” asked Cross, “There’s something I need to tell you.” He started moving closer to Elma and she did the same. Their lips were about to touch when Steven busted the doors down. “What’s up?!” he shouted with joy. They both were blushing a dark red. “Boy are you glad to see us,” said Michael. “We are?” asked Cross and Elma in unison. “You’re gonna be once we tell you what’s happening,” said Steven. We explained our plan to Cross and Elma. “So basically we’re downloading R.O.B’s mainframe into this vessel,” I said, “With it on our side we may have a bigger chance at taking on Smithy.” “That’s a genius idea,” said Cross, “Although it was Elma’s to begin with.” Elma blushed and smiled. “I’m happy to have helped,” she said. I heard a crash. “That came form the lab,” I said. Michael, Steven and I rushed in the room where the vessel was. Star was on top of it about to do something. “Star wait!!!!” said Steven. It was too late. She did some kind of thunder magic attack and the force was so hard it blew us all back. A body emerged from the cradle and looked at us. It then looked at Star and lunged at her. She evaded and kicked it from behind. Michael threw his monado at it like a boomerang and it phased right through the body. It then had a one on one fist fight with him. Colleen tried tackling it but the body shot one of its fists at her knocking her back. The body then picked Michael up and threw him at me. “Shit he’s strong!” I said. We all kept fighting it. Chun-Li did the spinning bird kick knocking it into a window. The body looked at itself and then back at us. “I’m sorry, that was…… odd,” it said. It saw the doll that Asia had and made a form based off of it donning a cape and hat, and a wood like body. “I had a vision, where we were all battling against Smithy with the twins on our side, and in the center was him,” said Star. She was pointing to the shiny object around the chest area of the body. “The gem?” asked Billy. “It’s the Mind Jade, one of 7 Cosmic Gems scattered through Earth and Space,” said Star, “They’re said to be the strongest power in the universe.” “So why help create it?” I asked. “Because Smithy’s right, we can’t stop him,” said Star. “Not alone,” said the body. Star recognized its voice. “Why does this thing sound like R.O.B?” she asked. “We reconfigured R.O.B’s matrix into this body to create…. Something new,” said Cross. “You need not to fear me,” said the body, “Despite the fact that I have most of Smithy’s memories and abilities, I am not his pet, I am…..” He looked at the doll again. “Geno,” said Geno. “I saw chaos when I looked in your head,” said Asia, “But I look now and I see…. Peace.” She touched the gem. “Everything that’s happened so far, it all came from the power of the Mind Gem,” said Star, “But now that we have it on our side…..” “But how do we know its on our side?” asked Micah. “Because I am on the side of life whereas Smithy is not,” said Geno, “Whether he wants to admit it or not, his true goal is to destroy humanity.” He looked at us. “And now only one thing stands between him and his goal; you,” said Geno, “I did not wish to destroy Smithy, as I could see that he was in pain, but it will roll over the earth and crush it. So he must be destroyed.” We were listening. “That means every machine he’s built, every trace on the webs, and everything else, and we must act quickly, as a team,” said Geno. “He’s right,” said Michael, “With all of us combined we can stop him before he does anymore collateral damage.” “I do understand that I am not what you intended me to be,” said Geno, “And I understand if I cannot make you trust me, but if we are to have any hope of defeating Smithy, then we must act now.” He was lifting Star’s wand. Needless to say that we were all surprised as hell. He then gave the wand back to Star. “Ok…..” she said. Colleen looked at us. “We got a few minutes,” said Colleen, “Grab what you need.”

[cbouvier23]

Chapter Five - ‘ Revenge ‘

Once arriving on the shores of what was known as ' Northumbria ' the warriors made camp quickly, but my brother's didn't take their time everyone was anxious to fight in the name of Ragnar Lothbrok. The great army was ready, and by now Aelle would know of our arrival so we setted out for the battlefield. I was in the middle and we arrived over the hill to finally come face to face with King Aelle's men and you weren't impressed not one bit. You could see that they surely underestimated us and you smiled knowing that you fooled them thinking this was it for ' The Great Heathen Army ' .

Soon enough Floki emerged with warriors to the left of you, then King Harald and his brother from the right and your brothers come from the back of you with even more warriors. King Aelle's face changed instantly. Your heart was racing, your smile grew sinister, you drew your sword, Ivar and his chariot trotted to the center of our magnificent army. We were ready, this is what we were all made for. War screams erupted from everyone, and soon you joined in because you could not contain the overwhelming feeling that coursed through your entire body. Your brother's war screams joined in with you, you gripped your sword and shield tightly and soon Bjorn took off yelling; " RAGNAR!! "

Everyone started to sprint down the hill towards our Saxon enemies yelling at the top of their lungs, you screamed for your father as you ran down the hill towards Aelle's miniture army that stood before you all. This didn't take long at all, once you reached King Aelle's soliders they were taken down quite easily. You got your first taste of blood when your sword swung and took down a solider that didn't hesitate to lunge for you. You went on to the next one, this time it took a little longer than the first, you danced and got him in his throat and his blood showered your face. You tasted the bitter metallic of this blood that soaked and drizzled down your face, your brother's captured King Aelle with ease.

Once all the Saxon solider's were dead, my brother's tied Aelle to Ivar's chariot and dragged him into the forest. Bjorn told King Harald to take the remaining army back to camp while the rest of us go and deal with Aelle. Only a few warriors followed my brothers, Floki and I. We ran behind Ivar's chariot till we came to a stop, Ubbe unties his legs and Floki and Bjorn pick him up to his feet. Bjorn asks Aelle in our language; " show us where my father died "

Aelle being as stupid as he is doesn't respond to Bjorn and with that Bjorn back hands him with his mighty fists which cause's Aelle to gasp in pain and Bjorn grips his tunic harshly bringing Aelle close to his face and yells; " show us ! "

Aelle doesn't speak, but he motions with his head towards the wooded area and he makes Aelle walk to where he was gesturing too. We all followed him, Ubbe carried Ivar and I walked beside Hvisterk and Sigurd. Aelle brought us just under a big oak tree, there were leaves scattered everywhere, and Bjorn found what seem to be a wooden door, he stomped on it seeing how it was hollow and he looked to Aella and asked; " this .. this is the place "

Aelle being held by my brother Sigurd, he nodded his head terrified. Bjorn unsure if he wanted to see what was underneath the leaves and wooden plac. Bjorn motioned for the warrior's that came along with us to move it and they did. It slide open, Ubbe placed my brother Ivar on the ground and once it was open we all moved forward to see inside. There was nothing in there, Ivar than said in our native tongue; " this .. is where our father was killed "

We all looked around at each other and back into the hole, Bjorn then said in our language as he looked at us and back to Aelle; " how the little pigs will grunt, when they hear how the old boar suffered "

You all looked at Aelle, he then tried to plead with us in our old language; " how much gold and silver do you want to spare my life? name your price. anything. anything! "

Ivar didn't hesitate in answering him; " You are mistaken, my father was worth far more than any gold or silver. "

We never stopped looking at Aelle who looked from Bjorn to Ivar and Ivar added while giving Aelle the coldest most sinister look he have ever given; " that is not the price you must pay "

Hearing this petrified Aelle, just then Floki walked over to him and Sigurd stepped aside and Floki grabbed Aelle harshly making him kneel in front of Floki. He was whimpering like a scared dog, when Floki said; " I've been told your God is a carpenter, and guess what? So am I! "

Just as the night sky was starting to fill with such darkness, torches were being fired up and the discussion of what we were going to do to Aelle was planned. Ubbe, Sigurd and Hvisterk held Aelle down on a log that was placed in front of Ivar and me, Floki hand a hammer and a nail. They spread his arms out and Floki went to his left hand and nailed it to the tree causing Aelle to scream out in pain. Floki then walked to the other side to nail in his right hand into the tree, once he was done he stood on the other side of Ivar. I was on the other side watching as the my brother's stepped back and allowed our eldest brother Bjorn to walk up to Aelle and rip open the back of his shirt.

The look that spread across Aelle's face was horrifed not knowing what exactly was going to happen to him next. You stood there, enjoying the site that was unfolding before you. Just then Bjorn reached for the dagger that was in the fire, the end of the blade was burning bright red as he drove it into Aelle's back causing him to writhe in agonizing pain. The corner's of your mouth started to twitch upward as you watched the man that killed your father, watching your brother peel the skin from this bones slowly, then Ubbe passed Bjorn his axe. He started to chop at Aelle's back making blood go everywhere. Your brother's smiled as the blood hit their faces, and hearing his screams. Ivar taking in the sight, he slowly moved down from the tree that he was sitting on and crawled slowly over to come face to face with Aelle. Watching as the life was leaving Aelle's eyes, Ivar was enjoying every little bit of this.

You inhaled deeply, thinking father would be proud of all of us. Before you knew it Aelle's screams faded, everyone of us taking in the fact that this man killed our father was finally dead. Bjorn finished the bloodeagle and soon morning was approaching, we tied Aelle's hands to ropes and soon he was suspended up into the air for everyone to see. We suspended him up over the place that he had our father killed, my brothers, Floki and I watched as he hung up there. Everyone trying to contain their emotions, Bjorn holding back his tears as were you, Ivar and Floki were breathing deeply and as we watched we could hear our father's voice in the wind; ' how the little piggies will grunt, when they see how the old boar suffered '

After we dealt with Aelle we went back to the coast to reunit with the rest of our army and made plans to carryout our revenge and taking over Wessex. We packed up our camp, got into our ships and headed for Wessex. We were on alert as we were passing through a river, land on both sides and possibly enemy Saxon. A sword, and axe isn't the only thing my brother's trained me on how to use, I have come to realize my accuracy with a bow was quite impressive. You stood in the same boat as your brothers, alongside Floki and his wife Helga.

We beached our ships on the shores of Near Repton, apparently that was the name of where we were. We started to make camp, and everyone was unloading and making themselves comfortable. We were sitting around a little fire, while our brother Sigurd was gutting a boar that was killed. Floki came and sat beside you and Ivar was saying; " It seem's to me that the Saxon's are as timid as frightened women, their heart's are faint I don't think they can truely trouble us "

You didn't like that accussation too much considering he mentioned women but you held your tongue just then Bjorn responded as Ivar took a piece of meat between his teeth; " You don't know enough Ivar, you haven't seen enough. These are brave men, I have fought against them, you havent "

Ivar said; " I can only see what my eyes tell me Bjorn, and what I see is frightened people running before us, I see their spineless God running away from all our Gods "

Ubbe said to Ivar as he was pouring a drink; " For once why don't you listen to an older and wiser brother? Huh "

There was silence for a moment, he looked at Ivar and passed him the cup of mead and continued to say; " These people who are running away are not warriors, they are not the ones who will stay and fight to defend this kingdom "

Sigurd added; " Or their honor . .. what is a warrior without his honor? "

Hearing what Sigurd said made Ivar chuckle, causing him to choke on his mead. He held his hand to his mouth and said; " I don't know, you tell me brother? and tell me again, how many battles have you fought? "

Floki was listening intently as we all were, Sigurd answered Ivar; " Same as you brother, except I didn't drag around a comfortable bloody chariot "

Ivar didn't like his answer, and Bjorn said; " What you have to learn Ivar, is that if you break up this brotherhood you shall not succeed. We have many challenges ahead of us, so if you want to keep arguing and whining like a little girl then i suggest you leave we dont need you "

You hated the way Bjorn always talked to Ivar, both you and Floki looked over your guy's shoulders at the conversation that they were having, your temper was being fueled and you inhaled deeply trying to hold your tongue and Ivar said; " Oh but you do need me, why do you think father chose me to come with him to England he had a reason in doing so. He told me I was the one act for him, who would make sure he was revenged. "

Bjorn mocking Ivar, he grabbed the stag what was killed earlier and held it in front of his face and said in a mocking tone; " If that is what you want to think, then think it "

He looked to Ivar who was not impressed, our brothers laughed at Bjorn's gesture. Ivar shaking his head and he said; " I understand that it must be hard for you to accpet the true heir to the great Ragnar Lothbrok is to turn out to be a cripple and reject "

Ubbe didn't like what Ivar was saying, and spit out his mead to get his brother's attention and Ivar looked at him and Ubbe smiled, you and Floki looked at each other and Floki laughed and said as he looked to the boys; " So this is the grunting of the little pigs this is what it's all about "

They all looked at him, and he gave them a look of disappointment, he looked away and took a drink of his mead and stormed off. Ivar and Bjorn shared looks but they didn't say anything else. You sat there unsure of what to say, you just drank your mead and kept your thoughts to yourself even though you wanted to tell Bjorn exactly what you thought.

Two days have past and we decided to move our army out, we were on our way to Wessex. As we were walking to our destination we had a rider go scout ahead and he was riding back towards us with such speed. Bjorn yelled to our army; " Stop! "

Everyone came to a halt, and men from each section of our great army yelled; " Stop! "

Soon it was just an echo that faded, you walked along side Ivar's chariot your brothers all around and King Harald and his brother were on the side of you walking closely. The scout dimounted from his horse and we all walked around him and Bjorn asked; " What news? "

The scout out of breath said; " The Saxon's are less then a days ride away, they have a large army "

Bjorn looking from the scout to Ivar and the army and he said; " We will make camp here, tomorrow we shall fight in the name of our father we shall overcome "

With that being said, he turned around and whilsted to one of his men to start setting up camp. Movement was happening, the horn was being blown to let the warriors know what was happeing and you leaned against Ivar's chariot and he said; " You can make camp, I want take a look at where we are going to fight "

Our brother's stopped in their tracks and Ubbe said; " What are you talking about? "

Ivar answered quickly; " They will expect us to fight a certain way, why should we do that? Why don't we plan on fighting a different way and surprise them? "

Bjorn gestured for the rest his brothers to come around Ivar's chariot and Hvisterk said as he came beside you; " Our warrior's wont understand what's happening, we fight in the shield wall that how we fight "

You interrupted; " We have a bigger army now, and they have a bigger army brother "

They looked a you and Ivar said before they could say anything to you; " Y/N is right, we can not fight them the same way. .."

Sigurd said; " It's to late to change anything now "

Ivar snapped; " Who are you to say that! Shut your mouth! "

Bjorn argued; " We are all siblings here "

Sigurd smiling as Bjorn's comment in defending him and Bjorn added; " Together, .. why do you want to change the tactics? "

Ivar responded; " Do you want to win brother? "

Ivar and Bjorn stared at eachother, Ivar inhaled deeply, shook his head and said calmly; " Listen, come with me Bjorn let's investigate the battlefield. Perhaps instead of a narrow small space we should stretch out the battlefield across a large area, many miles and use the landscape. ditches, hills, woods. "

You nodded your head in agreement with Ivar, your brother's looking at Bjorn all seem to see that he was making sense and it was a good idea to go look ahead and see what our options were. Ivar then said as he looked at his brothers; " what do you say? "

Bjorn looked down, thinking things through then he said; " If it works .. it is a good plan "

He looked up to Ivar, Ivar smiled at him and Bjorn continued; " And if it doesn't then it is a bad plan "

With that Bjorn backed up and gestured for a horse, Ivar smiling to himself and you said as you got up from leaning on the chariot; " I'm coming with you, I want too see as well "

Ivar looked at you and gestured with his head for you to jump on the back of his chariot with him. You gave him a slight grin and jumped on. As Bjorn got on his horse, your other brother's walked towards the camp that was being made. Bjorn said to Ivar just before he took off on the horse; " What are you waiting for? "

Ivar tilted his head sideways as he always did, and you held onto the side of the chariot and onto one of Ivar's shoulders and he yelled to his horse; " Hiya! "

With that his horse took off after Bjorn, it moved rather quickly and you had to hold on quite tightly. Ivar looked slightly over his shoulder at you and chuckled and he said; " You fall sister, your running the rest of the way "

You hit Ivar in the side of the ribs lightly and laughed at him, you then said; " You were right to suggest this brother, and I agree with you. .. "

Ivar's eyebrows furrowed a tad and he leaned his head somewhat towards you as he waited for you to finish what you were saying and you added; " You are the true heir to our father, you should be leading this army not Bjorn "

Ivar hearing this, grinned the rest of the way to the battlefield. You looked at the surroundings on the way there. The cool air hitting your face was quite pleasant, soon you three reached your destination and looked at where you would be fighting. Ivar moved his chariot all over the area, formations and strategy tactics were coming to him after seeing the landscape. We headed back to camp quickly and discussed our plans and soon we headed out to the battlefield.

We had warriors coming up from the hill to meet the Saxon army that started to show their faces. We walked and stopped in front of them looking down at them, we were ready. Bjorn and Floki exchanged looks and we are started to fall back, our army split and our horn bellowed and we started sprinting back. We knew the Saxon's were confused, the Saxon army marched up towards the hill where we were and they split their army as well trying to outsmart us. Little did they know this was part of our plan, as they reached the hilltop they could not see our army. The other half of our army was behind them and we were running through the woods and they turned around to see our other army. The horn blew and they started to fall back which made the Saxons return to their orginal position.

As they were going back down the hill, Bjorn and a few warriors were in the woods ready to fire arrows at the Saxon's. They dropped like flies and as they held their little shield wall, they noticed no more arrows were being sent their way and their leader emerged from it and walked towards the tree line. One of the men told him to look up the hill and there we were coming over the hilltop once again, Floki and I rested our arms on Ivar's chariot clearly out of breath from all the running. Floki looked at Ivar and Ivar said; " Mmm, four blasts "

Floki still trying to catch his breath said; " If you say so "

He blew on the horn, four blasts like Ivar said. Ivar laughed, Floki stood there for a moment or two and we all moved back once again. The Saxon's raced towards us, we raced through the woods to the other side. You tried to keep up with Ivar and Floki, which was somewhat a difficult task but you didn't want to seem weak and you kept the pace. We came up behind them once again, we waited for Ivar's plan might actually work. Floki, Ivar and I waited to see what the Saxon's were going to do. Floki asked as we seen the Saxon's moving forward away from us; " What are they doing? Where are they going? "

You looked to your brother, smiled because you knew this was what he wanted them to do, Ivar removed his helmet, laughed and said; " To Repton I imagine "

Floki looked shocked and looked back to Ivar, and back to the Saxon's that were headed to Repton and he said; " To the boats, they are going for our boats " Floki's expression changed from being shocked to pure happiness when he said; " Oh you crippled bastard, you were right! "

Ivar and you chuckled, then Floki started laughing and ran to Ivar. Jumped on the back of the chariot and hugged and kissed Ivar on the side of the head. As he was laughing, and embracing Ivar he said; " You bloody mad genius you were right! "

As the Saxon army was racing towards Repton they had to go through a somewhat large ditch that had two large hills on either side of them where Bjorn had archers stop the Saxon's in their tracks causing them try protect themselves. As they stopped your other brothers, Bjorn, Ubbe, Hvisterk and Sigurd came out with the rest of the army and from the other side King Harald and his brother Halfdan emerged with Bjorn awaiting for the Saxon's to come at them. Their leader noticing and yelling to his soliders that the fight was about to begin.

Ivar moved us forward to the battle that was taking place, Floki and you ran on either side of the chariot. You were killing every Saxon that you all came up too, Ivar threw his axe in the back of a Saxon that was running away. Floki cut down a man that was on top of one of our warriors and you came up to a man that he was brave enough to run at you. You manuvered quickly enough and he missed you, and you used your sword and ran the blade over the back of his neck. As we were running towards them the Saxon's were retreating, and our men were running after them including you and cutting down anyone that you came across. Everyone was screaming in victory, shields, swords and axes were raised in triumpth. My brother's ran to Ivar's chariot jumping, and hugging him and you embraced Sigurd in a victorious hug. Ivar was shouting; " Ahh! We won! "

Bjorn was walking towards us and with an upset tone; " What are you so happy about? "

Hearing this, we stopped cheering and looked to him, he turned around and said as he looked at the retreating Saxon; " It is not over yet "

We took a second, then went back to celebrating amoungs ourselves. Bjron yelling for everyone to listen, soon the celebrating was cut short and Bjorn spoke; " It is not over yet, we need to head to Wessex and finish what we have started "

With that everyone started to move forward, we marched towards Wessex. We all marched to the gate of Wessex, both you and your brother Ivar stood there for a moment and remembering the last time you seen this place. Last time we seen these gates, we were with our father and when we entered those gates he was bruitally beaten in front of us without any mercy. The army stood awaiting orders on what our next step was in invading Wessex. Bjorn raised his arms up and yelled; " Charge!!! "

With that, everyone followed his lead and charged for the city. We all ran up to the gate, and Bjorn made us split and down the middle was an battleram that would force the gate doors open. It hit the gates with such force it opened rather easily and everyone followed it, once we all stormed through the gates the village seemed empty. I was standing in the middle of my brother Bjorn, and Halfdan and his brother looking around wonder where everyone was and Bjorn said; " Be careful it could be a trap "

With that Halfdan walked past Bjorn and headed for the other gate, his brother Harald following and yelling to a few of his men; " You and you come with us! "

They followed closely behind Halfdan, everyone searched around Floki decided to go and search the grounds more closely. You stood aside your brothers, until Halfdan emerged and said; " It's empty .. they've gone! "

Hearing that our warrior's cheered, yet my brother's didn't cheer instead they started to walk forward. Some going here, and there going around destroying whatever they could, searching for treasures that appealed to them. You just walked around slowly watching as your fellow Viking's destroyed everything about this Christian city. You walked down a long hallway as your brother Hvisterk was lighting scripts on fire and you came up behind Floki while he was holding one of them, you looked at him curiously and he reached for Hvisterk and lit the script on fire and started to spread it along more scripts. You gave him a half smile and procceeded to keep exploring more, you came out and found your brother Bjorn sitting so you decided to join him. You seen that he was upset but you did not say a word, instead you just sat in silence watching the commotion go on around you both, soon you spotted Ivar on his chariot and walked over to him and Bjorn followed.

As we were talking amongs ourselves, we noticed an old man walking towards us and Ivar and I recongized him immedently. It was King Ecbert, and an archer was about to kill him Bjron ran to him stopping him and yelling; " Stop! "

King Ecbert smiled at Bjorn's gestured, as he tried to walk towards us he was stopped by swords being pointed at him. Bjorn walked towards him, and he said as Ivar and I watched intensely; " This is King Ecbert, I order you to spare him "

King Ecbert looked up at Bjorn and reached a hand out to touch him on the shoulder and he chuckled, hearing what Bjron said about sparing his life infuritated Ivar and I. You were upset and you walked away, soon you heard crying it stopped you in your tracks and you stood still and listened even more carefully to make sure you weren't hearing things. You recongized the voice that was crying and started running towards it, you were down in the dark hallway again that was only lit dimly by the torches and you found Floki crying over Helga. Your heart stopped and you said as you stood frozen; " F..Floki?.. "

Your axe was drawn, and he heard you and he turned holding Helga's dead body. Tears started to fill in your eyes, you didn't know what to say or do or how to react he just looked at you with heartbroken eyes. You moved closer, but didn't want to get to close and you looked to the side of you and you seen the child that Helga kept with a knife in her chest and you put the pieces together. Tear's started to fall and you said through a crackled voice; " No.. no she can't be "

Floki said through tears; " My. ..my sweet Helga "

You didn't move any closer but you stayed with Floki, you crouched by the wall crying along with Floki. Until he decided to carry her out, we took her to a place that wasnt destroyed and I got her one of her beautiful dresses that she always wore. Floki and I washed and changed Helga, the whole process was incredibly hard, you both wept together. While you stayed with Helga's body, Floki went and dug a grave for Helga beside this beautiful tree just outside of the city. When he came back he picked her up and walked out to the site where she will lay forever. You walked slowly behind him, once he laid her down gently, he moved her hair and postioned it nicely around her. You sat on the edge watching, tears falling without control, you were saying a silent prayer to the Gods for Helga.

Floki took a second and looked over her, he reached for the jewerly that he placed out for her. He started to place them around her, and when he reached for the gold braclet he held it for a moment and said, as he spoke he placed the jewlery on Helga's body and continued reaching for more; " When Balder, Odin's beloved son died not only did people weep, but fire wept, and iron and all the other metals wept. The stone's wept, earth wept, farewell .. voyeguer. Farewell my heart, farewell .. for now "

Hearing Floki break as he said his final goodbye to his wife Helga. He tried his hardest to be strong, but he broke and seeing him break caused your heart to break. Floki and Helga were always there for you and Ivar, and for this to happen was horrible. You didn't want to break, you did everything in your power to hold back the cries that you just wanted to scream, you swallowed hard and sniffled till Floki was out of the grave. Before we would bury her, you looked to Floki and didn't say a word you just looked at him asking for permission to say goodbye your friend Helga. He nodded slowly, tears still streaming down his face and you carefully got into the grave and looked over Helga. She was beautiful as always, you sniffled then you said as you lightly touched her face; " Sw..sweet Helga, you were too good for this world. May Freyja welcome you with open arms. I shall see you again, my friend "

With that you gently kissed her hand, got up and jumped out of the grave. You looked at Floki, eyes stained red from the constant tears and you said through sniffles; " I am sorry again Floki "

Your chin quivered, Floki embraced you and held you tightly as you did to him. You to stayed like that for a few moments, then we proceeding into bury her. Floki went off on his own, and you made your way back into the city. You walked into the main hall where your brother's were, with King Ecbert hanging in a cage above them. You went and sat beside Ivar, he looked at you and knew you were upset but he didn't say anything because he knew what has happened. Your brother Bjorn nodded at you and he turned and walked towards King Ecbert and said as he reached for the other side of the cage that he was in; " We have to decide what to do with King Ecbert "

You looked up towards your brother, and King Ecbert and Ivar said; " I don't understand, what is there to discuss? We BloodEagle him, Ecbert is just as guitly as Aelle and we should do the same thing to him. I've told you too many times already brothers. .. "

Ivar quickly looked at all his brothers and you and continued; " We were here, we both saw King Ecbert hand over father to King Aelle. ."

Bjorn spatt out; " We all understand those feelings Ivar! "

Bjorn turned and faced Ivar, and continued saying to Ivar; " No one is denying what you are saying, but sometimes, sometimes, we have to consider things beyond our feelings and think what is best for our people! "

Ivar said calmly; " I know what our people want Bjorn "

He looked to King Ecbert and gestured with his hand and said; " They want what I want "

Bjorn getting frustrated said; " We have to consider our position of strength and use that ..  to our ultimate advantage "

Ivar chuckles to Bjorn's response and said; " You always like to complicate things Bjorn, you think it makes you look clever. "

Ubbe decides to speak up and said to Ivar; " And what if you kill King Ecbert Ivar? Huh, What then? "

Ivar answered him quickly and sarcastically; " Well then he's dead Ubbe "

Ubbe laughs at Ivar and Bjorn said; " We are in the middle of enemy kingdom, how long will it be before his Saxon forces gather up another army and drive us away?! "

Ivar snapped his fingers and said; " Exactly! So we BloodEagle Ecbert and then we move on, we raid this entire land so they never have a chance to assemble another army again, why would we even want to stay here? "

Ubbe responded to Ivar; " It is what our father wanted, he just didn't want to win battles, he wanted land here, he wanted to make settlements here so our people could work "

Ivar unpleased he said; " Hmm, and we all know what happened. .."

Hvisterk broke his silence and spoke up; " Yes, but in those days he did not hold a King for ransom, nor did he have a great army. .. we do "

Ivar shaking his head and he spoke; " What about you Sigurd? You've been very quiet so far, I'm sure you have an opinion. ."

Ivar turned over to look at Sigurd who stood against one of the pillar's looking to King Ecbert then back to Ivar and said; " I agree with you Ivar "

You turned around and said withouth hestiation; " What?! You are agreeing with Ivar? "

Ivar turned aswell and said in a shocking manner; " Excuse me? "

Sigurd looked at you two, annoyed and said looking at his other brothers; " We should BloodEagle him "

Ivar hearing this, he said; " Finally! Thank you .. and what about you sister. ."

Before you could even say anything Bjorn said; " Why even ask, we all know she will agree with anything you say Ivar "

You looked at Bjorn, eyes piercing and you snapped; " Don't be mad Bjorn, I only agree with Ivar because he's the only one that makes the most sense out of all of you .. and I agree with both Sigurd and Ivar that we should BloodEagle him for handing over our father like cattle "

Sigurd then added; " But I am not sure, I'm not sure with what they are saying .. "

Bjorn said as he stood against one of the other pillars; " What I am saying, is what we should do, what our father always wanted. "

We were all silent, then King Ecbert started rattling his chains in his cage. Bjorn hearing his he turns slowly to him and says; " Yes "

Ecbert looked at him and said; " I'd like to speak. .. "

Bjorn allowed him to speak, and we all waited for what he had to say and so he spoke slowly; " Well I understand most of what you say, and I speak a little of your language now. .. "

Ecbert started to move and get more comfortable in his cage, and continued saying as we all looked and listened to the old man; " I loved your father, he was my friend and i know that more than anything he wanted to build a farming community here "

My brother's started to walk and circle Ecbert, and you said; " And you killed him because of this. .. "

Ecbert answered; " Yes it's true, I did but the tables have turned we can make a new deal .. "

Bjorn said; " What are you proposing, "

Ecbert continued to say; " What as you say, it's only a matter of time before your driven away from here  and with no legal right to English lands you have no hope in staying here but I am King of Kings and I can give you that legal right. "

Ecbert moves in the cage as if he's trying to get closer and he continues; " I will give you legal claim to the kingdom of East Anglia, it's a large kingdom and because I am King, no one can question that claim. It seems that you have enough men to enforce it until it holds. That's my offer, you should consider it. "

We all looked at each other, my brother Ivar and I knew the other's were considering it. Ecbert sat back in his cage, and Ubbe gripped the corner of the cage and said to Ecbert; " What do you want in return? "

Ecbert looked at Ubbe immedently and waited a moment to speak until he did; " I'll only tell you that once you agree to my proposal. "

The room fell silent and soon we made out way out to the courtyard. You were out roaming around, you left the side of your brother who was cleaning his helmet and as you were walking away you noticed Bjorn walking towards him and you could only assume what he was going to talk about with him. You smiled to yourself and although you never said it to anyone but Ivar you knew that Bjorn wasn't fit to lead. He was going to ask what Ivar thought about King Ecbert's proposal, anyone with a mind knows we should take the land but it isn't always that easy.

Soon it was time to seal the deal, and we all gathered around to witness it and as King Ecbert and his legal follower sat across from Bjorn and Ivar. The two men spoke to eachother in their own language, after he was done talking he reached for the stamp and marked the deed. He then said as he looked at Bjorn; " Bjorn Ironside, Son of Ragnar, I King Ecbert give you the right to settle the lands of East Anglia and I pray you succeed "

While he was saying that he lifted the deed and presented it to Bjorn, as Bjorn took the deed King Ecbert made the sign of the cross. As Bjorn overlooked the deed, King Ecbert stood from his seat and said; " And now, I have a final journey to take .. "

Ecbert turned and hugged his companion and walked to be met by two warrior guards, they took him back to the back room and watching him walk away made your blood boil. You looked over to your brother Ivar, who was clearly pissed and everyone else came closer as Bjorn got up and walked out. They were looking at the deed and Ivar decided to crawl out. You followed him, he went out towards his chariot and climbed up. You stood leaning on it and said to Ivar; " We should make him suffer, for what he did to father. We shouldn't allow him to die in the way that he wants. .. We should BloodEagle him just as we did with Aelle. "

Ivar obviously angered, and he answered you; " I couldn't agree more with you sister "

Ivar, and you sat there for awhile just trying to think of anything else but all you two could think about was your father when you three came here and everything that happened. If it wasn't for your father Ivar and you would have died alongside him. There was a huge feast that was undergoing, you were sitting with your brothers in the center of the feast, music and chatter was erupting from the town square of Wessex as we all enjoyed our victory. Bjorn grabbed the horn to grab everyones attention and to be settled so he could talk and be heard. Bjorn stood up, finished his cup of ale and said; " Friends! No one will ever be able to doubt what we have achieved, an army of all our people! and we have defeated not one but two English Kingoms! "

Everyone cheered raising their cups in the air, and Bjorn continued; " For us, the Sons and daughter of Ragnar, our first duty was to avenged our fathers death and that we have done! but also we have achieved my father's dream, we have the legal right to the land and to farm here! "

You didn't really like the fact, about farming but it was your father's dream to farm here. No matter how you felt, it was happening and every Viking cheered as Bjorn told them about the claim they on a land to farm and build a settlement. You didn't care for farming, you wanted to fight, to raid that is what you wanted to do and that's exactly what you were going to do. Bjorn continued; " It is up to all of you to use this oppurtunity to send over new settlers and young familes, unfortunetly i will not be here to see this new settlement grow and thrive. .. my fate will take me elsewhere I always knew i had to return to explore the Mediterrian Sea and now i feel free to follow my destiny, but my brothers and sister will be here for you all..SKOAL "

Everyone lifted their cups, and cheered ' SKAOL ' and you slowly lifted yours and cheered in an almost whisper not exactly thrilled that you will be here watching as they try to farm. Ivar then said loudly; " I will be here but not to settle down and plow, who wants to be a farmer now? Hmm? We have a great army and we should use it! there are many other places that I want to attack and raid! and those of you that feel like I do you should come with me and those of you that don't ask yourself who can stand in our way now?! "

Everyone cheered, and Ubbe looked at us and looked back to Ivar and said; " You cannot lead the army Ivar hmm  "

Ivar looked at Ubbe and answered him quickly; " I don't want to lead the army Ubbe, all I'm saying is that for those that still brave enough to raid and find adventure then I will lead them, you can put on an apron and settle down if you want too "

Ubbe smiled at Ivar's response, you couldn't help but giggle at that last statement, and Hvisterk ate his meat and once he swallowed that last piece he said to Ivar; " It will take a great man Ivar, you should take a claim here defend it. "

Ivar amused at Hvisterk he said; " Ahh, that does not sound like yourself there dear brother, the Hvisterk I know would love to raid, hes a real Viking and what you just said is not the Viking way. So. .."

He turned away from us and looked to the people and said loudly; " Who amoung you will follow me?! Who will follow me into battle for the love of fame and for the love of Odin and Valhalla?! "

The people cheered, Ivar sat back down and you smiled along with Hvisterk then Sigurd said to Ivar; "  Don't do this Ivar, we are all the Sons of Ragnar, we have to stick together "

Ivar said; " Frankly dear Sigurd I don't care what you say, the truth is I wouldn't even piss down your throat even if your lungs were on fire "

Everyone listening laughed at Ivar's response to Sigurd, you knew this would end badly and you weren't sitting next to Ivar like you normally did, you were between Hvisterk and Bjorn. You looked between your two brother's on edge and Sigurd didn't like what Ivar said and he retaluated with a harsh response to Ivar; " Well that because you are not really a man, are you boneless? "

Ivar knew what he was talking about, and you said quietly to Sigurd; " Sigurd, stop it "

Bjorn said; " So who's going to stay here and farm? "

King Harald stood and said; " I would like to stay. .. but I have other plans Skoal "

Everyone understood King Haralds decision and then his brother Halfdan stood up and said; " As for me, I want to go with Bjorn. I want to see the Meditterian "

Hearing this Bjorn jumped up and over the table that we were sitting at and walked over towards Halfdan to embrace him and said; " So it seems the only thing that kept the Sons of Ragnar together was the death of their father "

Ivar being already upset he spat at Bjorn, and you threw your head back at your brother knowing this is only going to get worse; " Poor Bjorn it is you who doesn't want to keep the army together, it is you who wants to go away to sunny places, everyone else can follow me "

Sigurd got up from his seat and said; " I do not want to follow you Ivar, you are crazy! You have the mind of a child! "

Ivar seething said; " And all you do is play music Sigurd "

Sigurd answered; " So, I'm just as much of a Son of Ragnar as you are "

With that he took a drink of hs ale, and Ivar said; " I'm not so sure, as far as i remember Ragnar didn't play the lute and he certainly did not offer his ass to other men "

The people laughed hearing Ivar, and you and Ubbe looked at Ivar and Sigurd hoping they would stop this nonesense, you said to Ivar but clearly he didn't hear you; " Ivar, stop. This isn't how brother's treat one another "

Sigurd said to Ivar; " You make me laugh, just like you do when you crawl around like a baby "

Ivar slammed his fist agaisnt the table and yelled; " Shut your mouth! "

Bjorn yelled to the two Sons of Ragnar; " Enough! "

Ivar didn't hesitate to yell at Bjron; " This has nothing to do with you! "

Sigurd pushing his luck said to Ivar; " What's the matter Ivar? You can't take it? "

Ubbe spoke up; " Ivar, do not listen to him "

Sigurd still being foolish; " No I guess it must be hard now that your mommy's dead! Knowing she's the only one that ever really loved you "

Sigurd started to take a drink of this ale, Ivar was shaking with anger and you could see that he was boiling with such rage that he was going to do something stupid like he had done at the blacksmith's shop. This time you were sitting far from him, and you could see the axe and he reached for it you and Ubbe yelled; " Ivar! "

Ivar lunged his axe straight at Sigurd's chest, you watched at it struck him perfectly over his heart. You looked from Ivar to Sigurd in shock, you couldn't believe what was unfolding in front of you. Sigurd fell back a bit, and looked at Ivar in utter disbelief as we all were. Sigurd tried to catch is breath, and he reached up to the axe that was stuck in his chest and pulled it out. Ubbe and I looked at Sigurd ready to stand Sigurd fell towards the table and held himself up for a moment before he raised the axe and started to walk towards Ivar. Sigurd fell just before he could reach Ivar and you jumped over the table, as Ubbe and Hvisterk ran around and we all came to Sigurd, you moved his hair trying to look at him. He wasn't breathing, Ubbe was saying, ' no , no '

Repeating himself over and over again, you couldn't believe it you then looked up to your brother Ivar. Hvisterk and Ubbe looked up to him aswell and back down to Sigurd. Ivar looked to the people, like he couldn't understand what he had just done, and he looked back to you his eyes said everything and you knew he didn't mean it. He he looked down at Sigurd's lifeless body, as me and my brother's tried everything to wake him up but he was gone. Ivar killed our brother Sigurd, Ivar killed his own brother out of pure rage.

Sorry it took me so long to write this, hope you like it! :*