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milfcodeddean · 3 years

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Memento Moratus Sum

Emma Haunts the Necklace- The Fic <3

Starts more post/concepty and becomes a fic bc I did not plan on this it was stream of consciousness! I have not seen all of the later seasons and it was hard to keep track of what plot points to mention even of all the seasons I have seen!

AO3

Emma dies and Dean keeps her necklace to have something to remember her by, partly out of grief for what could have been partly as an act of emotional self flagellation. He wears it under his shirt, a secret, just like any thoughts he has about his dead daughter.

Emma is a ghost because she didn’t do enough to be a monster and earn her place in purgatory but she isn’t human enough for heaven and she’s anchored to the necklace.

She follows Dean around silently, quickly learning enough about ghosts to know if she reveals herself too soon or ever really then Dean is going to burn the necklace.

During season seven Dean is haunted by two ghosts, Bobby, who is actively reaching out for him, and Emma, who is a silent observer. I think Emma hides from Bobby, he’s a hunter and she doesn’t want him to tell Dean about her, OR Bobby sees her before she knows ghosts can see other ghosts and they talk and he pities her but agrees to not let Dean know

Dean is wearing the necklace when he goes to purgatory. Emma is still a ghost here but it’s different, and she’s been watching this man for months now, he’s her world now. She keeps some of the monsters away, she makes him wake up when there are threats at night, she watches him befriend a monster and burns with pain at the knowledge that maybe she could have had that. Maybe she didn’t need to kill him, maybe he would have loved her not just as a dead hypothetical but as her.

Dean comes out of purgatory with an extra extra passenger. She watches with a sense of smugness as he rages at Sam, she pretends he’s also mad over her. She doesn’t like Sam’s attitude towards Benny either. She gets to see her great grandfather and she sees him die. She talks to his ghost, he calls her granddaughter (forgetting the great) even after learning she’s an amazon, before he gets reaped.

There’s an empty room in the bunker she pretends is hers. She moves objects in there, never quite decorating, but practicing telekinesis where Dean won’t see it and making up a fantasy of a life she could have had. She still never minds being tethered to Dean, especially now as he doesn’t sleep around and spends less time in bars where she’s left uncomfortably watching. She likes going to the grocery store, she likes watching him cook, maybe a few times she’s kept a pot from boiling over or a bag from falling. She’s learning to live from watching Dean, he doesn’t know it, but he’s teaching her life skills. She doesn’t know the names for the dishes he teaches her to make or the parts of cars or guns but she etches the motions he makes into her mind. She likes Charlie, she wishes she could meet her, and she likes larping. She imagines herself as an Amazon warrior of antiquity, armored in bronze.

She tried to wake Dean and Charlie out of their djinn dream but nothing worked, she tried to fight the djinn to no avail either. When Dean and Charlie hugged she wished she could be in their embrace too.

She’s glad it’s Bobby’s ghost they use for the trial, she’s so glad she never revealed herself.

Sam is slowly growing on her, she doesn’t love him but he means enough to Dean that she would try to stop him from dying.

She knows about Gadreel. She hides harder now, afraid too of the new angel in the bunker. Castiel she likes, Castiel she watched in purgatory and she watched beat her father bloody in the crypt and she understood brain washing and the control of authorities. She almost reveals herself and her knowledge of Gadreel when Dean kicks Cas out of the bunker, but her hesitation lasts too long.

She’s tethered to Dean so she isn’t there when Kevin dies. Kevin had been another one she enjoyed observing, she envied him his mother in so many ways, Linda had been everything Lydia hadn’t been. When Kevin dies he’s haunting the bunker too. It’s almost like having a friend. He pities her, but she’ll take anything, he’s sort of her age in some ways and she teaches him how to be a ghost.

Crowley almost gives her away. He knows she’s there, but he saves her presence as a bargaining chip against Dean, a surprise tidbit to bring up later.

The father of murder can see her too. Cain keeps his eyes on her father most of the time, but the spark in his eyes and smirk when he sees her and her bloody pink shirt cut straight through her.

Her father dies. She wants to run to him, to fling her arms around him and greet him with her bloody lips and stained shirt and tell him she forgives him and she loves him and she’s sorry he’s dead but can she at least spend some of eternity with him and she wants to teach him to be a ghost and she wants to tell him so many things she’s noticed. But Crowley does something that locks her voice and powers and keeps her from the room.

Demon dean leaves the bunker with Emma’s necklace ripped off and dropped beside a bedstead.

Sam picks up the necklace. Emma hates him touching it but it’s all she can hope that he doesn’t destroy it. She doesn’t know if he recognizes it, but he doesn’t throw it away, and brings it out to show Castiel as evidence for Dean’s absence. Castiel names it as Amazon gold, recognizes it as Dean’s, but does not know it’s origin. Emma has to hear her story from her murderer’s lips. She almost shows herself, but she’s afraid Sam will cast the necklace into a fire. If they could do that to Bobby, they’ll do it to her. But she doesn’t feel like a vengeful uncontrolled spirit, perhaps it’s the Amazon magic, but she feels calmer than she ever was during her days of life.

Her necklace stays in the bunker, she watches demon Dean from a distance at first, she tries to comfort him strapped to the chair but he calls her a hallucination and lets something between a sob and a laugh out before turning away. She tries, she wipes his brow, she begs him to become human again or to die, she tries to keep the devil’s trap intact. Still she is called a hallucination. It’s almost nice to be important enough that he’d hallucinate her.

When Dean, normal human dean, is back, he fixes the necklace with pliers and holds it staring at it in his hands. He’s alone in his room. Emma gently puts her hands over his where they are clasped around her anchor to him. She doesn’t know if he can feel her. Her name comes from his mouth in a breathy whisper, wet and rough, a word unused to being spoken. He bends over himself, weeping with the necklace pressed to his mouth. Emma weeps as well. He would not weep if he did not love her, but he is a hunter and she has to chose between this silent spectatorship where she can pretend she is living in rooms beside him, or the knowledge that if he knew she was haunting him, he would burn the necklace to send her on.

She doesn’t know if there’s another afterlife for failed amazons, and from what she understands of Heaven, hers would be something pathetic like the day she met Dean before she died, or an eternity as a ghost watching him weep.

She hates watching Dean with Amara those few days. She hates the burning wretched envy risking corrupting her as he holds a baby girl that isn’t her. She hates that Amara loves Dean. And she hates even more that Amara brings back Mary instead of her.

She never realized that she wanted to be brought back and resurrected so badly and that it was even an option until she watches Dean reunite with Mary.

Dean mentions her to Mary- almost - he says he had a kid, and the cut off gesture to the necklace means her. Emma stopped minding that Dean never spoke about her. She didn’t want him to talk about her with Sam, and she quickly realized he didn’t talk about his grief with anyone. But he did wear her necklace, and sometimes he took it out from under his shirt and rubbed his thumb over the metal and she would pretend it was his thumb stroking the back of her hand. Dean didn’t talk about her and she didn’t need him to. But now he had, and with his mother. And he implied he had thought about what he would want for her, that he wouldn’t want his life of violence and moving for her.

Emma likes Mary as a warrior woman, but can’t help but understand Dean’s pain when she leaves. She understands being the surprise child older than a parent wants too much.

She tried to help Dean as she always has, but the British Men of Letters terrify her. She knows they would either keep her to study or destroy her and she can’t trust anyone to keep her secret from their spying.

Later it seems the world collapses again. Cas dies. Angels don’t have ghosts, she can never meet him. And Kelly has eyes only for her son until she is reaped. Emma wishes she could comfort Dean or that she could truly leave him to his grief. She turns away as he ties Castiel’s body with yellow curtains. She stands beside him watching the pyre.

She doesn’t understand Dean’s attitude towards Jack. She’s watched jealously how Dean interacts with Krissy, with Claire, with the orphan boys at the home, and she has her fantasy of how Dean would have treated her had she lived. The jealous part of her doesn’t want Dean to like Jack, but most of her wants Dean to go back to acting like how she expected him to, she wants the man she could pretend was being her father. And she watches Jack enough to be afraid of their similarities. To see herself in him. And if Dean hates him, would he have hated her. Does he only wear her necklace because she’s dead.

She watches silently when Dean finally breaks, confronted, and tells Sam that he sees her in Jack. She hears how he loves her. She watches Sam realize the enormity of his crime and apologize. She accepts the apology, even if it wasn’t meant for her ears. Dean doesn’t see her, but she sits beside him on the opposite side of Sam on that floor.

Something has changed.

Sometimes, it seems like Dean is glimpsing her out of the corner of his eye. He stares at the steamy bathroom mirror while he’s shaving, right at the red smear on the pink of her shirt. He nicks himself, swears, and swipes a hand through the steam, through her image. He does double takes in the rear view mirror, glancing twice at the backseat where she sits, pretending she’s part of his road trips.

Jack brings back Castiel. Jack has powers beyond what Emma could have imagined. And Jack is both nice and not fully indoctrinated into hunting ways. Emma also likes Jack, she understands so much about him, and she likes the shows he watches, she likes the way he’s nice, and in her elaborate fantasy of what if she was alive, she decides he’s her brother.

It’s hard to find a time when Jack is alone but near enough to Dean and the anchoring necklace that she can talk to him, but it happens.

Emma focuses everything she has into appearing, a heavy grounding feeling she hasn’t felt since Dean was a chained demon. The words catch in her throat, unpracticed at speaking, but she blurts out to Jack that she’s his sister, the words spilling fast, that she’s Dean’s dead daughter, she doesn’t tell him that Sam killed her, she’s seen Sam with him, their closeness she can’t decide if she envies or not. She tells him she’s an Amazon, how she’s dead but anchored, how she doesn’t have a heaven or purgatory or hell, how she wants to come back. She tells him that she likes his shows and she tells him she loves Dean and Castiel and she finds things she likes about Sam. He doesn’t look at her with pity. He looks at her with a bright spark to his eyes.

But he doesn’t resurrect her. At least not right away. Apparently he’s been too recently warned off from the idea of asking for forgiveness rather than permission. He thinks she should reveal herself to Dean first, before they decide. Emma hates the idea, she spent all of these years afraid of Dean destroying her anchor, and now she’s afraid of his rejection, what if he resents her watching him all the time, what if he blames her for not doing more. What if he wants her gone instead of brought back.

The Amazons,in their scant days of raising her, taught her to be brave.

Jack asks the family to stay after dinner.

Emma takes a deep breath, more for the instinctive motion than for a need for air, and materializes.

There’s a beat of silence and then a mess of noises. Dean drops a mug, Sam’s chair skids, everyone one is talking at once.

Emma can’t find words to say to Dean, she wants to stare at him as she always does, but she can’t bear to see rejection on his face. She waits and Jack opens his mouth to introduce her but then her name comes from Dean’s lips. It’s like that dark night where they wept in his bedroom again. She has called him many variants of father in her mind in several languages, but it is the most childish “daddy” that slips out.

No one else in the room matters, he looks at her, meeting her eyes instead of the gorey wound, and she gets eye contact without having to pretend she is what’s in his sight line.

He doesn’t ask if she’s a ghost or if she’s dead or any of the silly civilian questions. He only manages “how” before fumbling for the necklace, and she nods confirmation. She wonders if he’s planning on burning it.

He asks how long and suddenly words spill forth, she tells him she’s been here the whole time, watching, she says she sorry about Bobby and Kevin and Charlie and Kelly and Cas and Benny she tells him the ones she helped with being a ghost, she tells him about watching the others move on, she says she’s sorry she couldn’t do more when he was a demon and something in his expression breaks, she says she’s sorry she never showed herself.

He holds up a hand, stopping her before she apologizes again, and says he remembers her when he was a demon, that he had thought she was a hallucination, she nods and cries anew.

She wants to tell him that she’s watched him and loves him and even if it’s embarrassing she wants to say she’s pretended to be alive with him, and she wants most of all to ask if he loves her, to hear it said to her face.

Instead he asks weakly why she’s here now.

She says she wanted to come clean about haunting him, says she’s thought about it for years and was scared he would burn the necklace, says she’s learned about ghosts from him and she’s never felt vengeful, she doesn’t feel corrupted, and maybe it’s because she’s a monster. His face twitches at that word.

Jack interrupts, changing the air in the room and suddenly both she and Dean remember their audience. Sam’s eyes are wet and he looks something close to afraid. Emma hopes the look on Castiel’s face is softness for her too and not just Jack.

Jack offers to bring her back, tells Dean that they didn’t want to do it behind his back. Emma turns invisible again out of the sick swoosh of anxiety that overwhelms her. She barely hears through her ringing ears that Dean desperately agrees and says yes, fumbling to take the necklace off and pass it to Jack.

She’s going to have to wait a few days. Jack is going to bring her back where her body is, and that’s more than 24 hours of driving away, and Dean wants to be there.

It’s a weird car ride, they know she’s there, and she sits between Castiel and Jack in the back of the Impala. They had her pick a set of Jack’s clothes to replace her bloody shirt, they have food and water for her. Emma doesn’t have a name for the emotions she’s feeling and they’re almost overwhelming.

They don’t have to dig her up to bring her back, Jack’s powers allow for that at least, and Emma is glad, she’s watched Dean dig up enough graves to imagine what she’ll look like.

Then Jack’s eyes glow bright gold.

It’s like what she imagines being born feels like. Overwhelming and dark and bright and both blissful and painful. And then she is gasping with real lungs and the sunlight is bright in her eyes and she can feel the textures of her clothing and the grass.

And then arms and hands are on her, Dean is pulling her to her feet and into his embrace in one motion.

She’s never been hugged by him, and it’s better than her jealous imaginings when he held others. She never wants to let go, she feels safe and warm and loved and his hand is on her hair and she can smell him and feel his heartbeat.

He finally lets go and steps back to look at her, keeping a hand on her shoulder and cupping her cheek with the other. There are streaks of tears matching her own on his face. His hands leave only to be replaced by Jack.

Jack’s hug is different but enthusiastic, there are no tears, he is beaming, part proud, part delighted, she can’t help but smile back. He calls her sister and she accepts him as brother.

Castiel does not embrace her, but his greeting his warm and his eyes match his smile. He clasps her hand between his and Emma’s heart swells.

She knows Sam doesn’t know how to look at her or how to talk to her. She doesn’t know what she wants from him either. She knows hes sorry, she’s heard it from his own lips, not to her, but to the only other person to whom it would matter. She smiles hesitantly at him, instead of glaring, and waves.

Then she slips her hand back into Dean’s and lets him pull her into another hug. She feels light and giddy and afraid this is all a dream. If she died and this is heaven then she would accept that too.

But it’s real, she changes out of her bloody shirt and into a blue one of Jack’s, she drinks water for the first time in years and eats fruit snacks from a packet pulled from Castiel’s trench-coat pocket, and a cereal bar.

A few hours later they stop at a nicer diner than Emma usually sees them eat at, and Dean tells the hostess it’s his daughter’s birthday and Emma gets to order foods she’s been curiously watching people eat for years off the menu. The restaurant gives her cake.

Emma’s cheeks hurt from smiling, and Dean’s eyes have not lost their cheerful crinkle and Jack is beaming and even Sam and Castiel look endlessly pleased.

Later there will be harder talks, about the things she’s witnessed, later she’ll talk about haunting their steps, about the years of questions built up, later she’ll realize she doesn’t remember how to sleep and Dean will sit and try to stroke her hair and talk softly and it’s nice but not enough. Later it will be Castiel who explains how to become human, how to adjust to having a body, how to sleep and how to tell if you like a food or not. Later she will argue with Dean about her usefulness on hunts and he will tell her how scared he is of her dying again. Later Mary will come back and die. Later Jack will die and a demon will wear his corpse and she will hate and fear it, later God will tell her she is an interloper in his story.

But for now Emma has a family and a piece of cake and a table of smiles.

#emma winchester #emmanatural #dean winchester #dad dean winchester #my writing #this was not planned this was just me thinking Hey what if Emma haunted the necklace and was there watching events and like the Emma feeling #s spilled over into a whole 3.5k fic so #i might put this on ao3? the start is so weak tho #yes that is a reference to buried ghosts and bitter truths

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sirenprincess15 · 3 years

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Please Don't Leave Me Chapter 2

Title: Please Don’t Leave Me

Author: SirenPrincess

Description: What if Aleksander hadn’t answered the door when Ivan interrupted the war room kissing? What if Aleksander and Alina had a bit more time to get to know each other before Baghra told her his true identity? Alina is the only one who can comfort Aleksander through his nightmares. Will she leave once she knows who he is?

This story is based on the show version and features a soft on the inside, hard on the outside Aleksander with an emphasis on emotional hurt/comfort and angst. If you are looking for lots of hurt!Aleksander thoughts, then this story is for you. Mal exists but pretty much solely to cause Aleksander some angst. Don’t worry. It will be a Darklina ending.

Chapter 2 takes place alongside Ep 5 and then diverges from canon there.

Pairings: Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov, bits of Ivan/Fedyor

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Grisha are oppressed in this universe, and I don’t shy away from showing the horrors of that. There may eventually be mentions of canon-typical torture (Fjerdan pyres), death of family members, and cruelty to Grisha children. It’s not the focus, but that backdrop is definitely there and comes up as characters discuss their past.

Catch up on any previous chapters you might have missed.

Chapter 2

Seeing her in the black, his color, marking her as his, well, it was going to be his undoing. Aleksander could barely concentrate on even pretending to make small talk with the king or his court. As soon as the demonstration was over, their obligation fulfilled, he couldn’t wait to be alone with her. Or was it the power she had demonstrated that was driving him crazy? She was finally showing who she truly was, and now that she was no longer trying to hide who she really was, her strength showed straight through.

No longer caring who might notice, he grabbed her hand and led her to his war room. He’d intended to make it farther toward the bed chamber, but his body decided he’d been waiting long enough … hundreds of years, truly, for an equal. His lips found hers and the spark of electricity, power, warmth that shot through him was indescribable. He tried to go slowly, to kiss her softly as she had kissed him before. When she didn’t pull away, he could not stop himself from kissing her more and more, as if he had been starving all his life and she was finally providing the nourishment his soul needed. He lifted her hips straight up onto his strategy table. Who cared if they knocked a few army markers out of place? She was responding to him, arching up into him, and everything just felt right, as if this was always what was meant to be.

Suddenly, he stopped himself. He was losing himself too quickly, and he feared that if he went much further, he wouldn’t be able to get himself back under control. “Are you sure?” he asked.

A moment of confusion flickered across her face until he spoke, and then she smiled and nodded. That was all the encouragement he needed. Her hands were all over him. Every place her hands touched felt alive, as if her hands alone could burn away the shadows in him.

A knock came at the door. She laughed and started to pull away. “Go away!” He growled. The knock came again. “Not now!” He did not care if the king himself were on fire; nothing was tearing him away from her.

Once he sensed they were alone again, he began unbuttoning her kefta. Why did the fabrikators always add so many buttons on them? His fingers deftly removed each and every one from their loops until he had her to her undershirt. He left the kefta, though, over her arms. It would be a pity to remove the black so quickly, and she would look so amazing with the kefta and only the kefta on. He tore her shirt from her. There was no way to get it off properly with the kefta still on, and he hadn’t the patience for it anyway. He pulled back just a moment to appreciate her beauty. He could have admired her for days, but his body had other plans. He pressed himself to her and felt the power flowing between them, his body calling to the power within her, and hers responding. Her warmth washed over him, through him. It took his breath away.

“Aleksander?” He was so awash in pleasure that he almost didn’t notice except for that flicker of joy he felt in his heart at hearing her use his real name. He ran his hands over her now naked chest, but then there was this flood of anxiety from her. He glanced at her with worry.

“Aleksander, could we just stop for ...”

His heart crushed inside his chest. Of course she was scared of him. He had sliced a man in half using only shadows right over her head. She had made it quite clear how uncomfortable that had made her. There was a darkness to him, not just his power but all of him, that had always been there. He was sure if he could feel her warmth radiating through her touch, then she could feel his blackness. It was so stupid of him to think that just because she was becoming comfortable with her own power that she might accept his. Her smiles and her impromptu kisses had convinced him otherwise, but of course now that she could feel the power and darkness deep within him, she was terrified. He pulled back as he inwardly chastised himself for messing this up.

“It’s okay. I understand,” he interrupted. His voice was hoarse, but perhaps she would chalk that up to his difficulty stopping himself and not the pain he felt at her rejection.

She looked at him with confusion. “I don’t think you do …”

He had gotten so caught up in the potential of their destiny--finding her, her power, the Stag--he had forgotten that she might remain horrified at what he was. “I wouldn’t want to sleep with the monster of Ravka either,” he said, hoping to reassure her that he wasn’t mad. Maybe with time, once she saw how fragile mortals were, once she realized what it was like to see everyone die around you ... “This doesn’t change anything with our plan. Please don’t think that I expect …”

“That’s not what I meant,” she interrupted him.

Now he was the one confused. “What?”

She reached out her hand and caressed his cheek. The anxiety was gone, replaced by a feeling he could only describe as love and concern. “Aleksander, I want to. I’ve been signaling that to you all night. It’s just when we started to … I realized I’ve never …” She was nervous again.

“Are you a virgin?” he asked with surprise. Why hadn’t he considered that? Had it been so long since he had tried to woo a maiden that he had forgotten such things?

“No, not that. It’s …” She stopped herself abruptly. “Are you disappointed?”

“Not at all,” he said with certainty. He reached out and stroked her hair. “You are perfect as you are.”

She leaned into his touch. After a moment, she let her concerns tumble out. “I’ve never with a Grisha … or as a Grisha … and it’s just … is Grisha sex different? Am I supposed to do something differently? My power is so greatly affected by being near you. What will that do if we’re …? I don’t want to mess this up with you.”

He smiled. Such a small worry for him to have gotten so worked up about. Hadn’t she realized she could never disappoint him? “Ahh, that. It will be different. Because I can do this,” he said, brushing his fingers along her arm. “And your power will respond to my touch. Do you feel it like I can?”

She nodded, her breath catching as she shivered in pleasure.

He looked straight into her eyes. “And your body will do that. And I can feel it. And you can feel me responding to how you feel. Before we even bring in anything else, our powers touching alone could be enough to cause orgasm.”

She kissed him passionately, urging him to return to letting his mouth nearly devour her.

“And then, just when you think you cannot hold out a moment longer, I will carry you to my bed and make your body sing.”

#darklina #alina x darkling #general kirigan #alina x kirigan #aleksander morovoza #alina x aleksander #aleksander x alina #kirigan x alina

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bellamyblakru · 3 years

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You caught me doing something dangerous and flipped out (lancelot / merlin)

EKKK I FINISHED THIS OMGGG. thank you so so much for sending this prompt in mor sksksksksk this was so much fun to write and im so happy to get back into writing (for a minute at least 😂). my mercelot heart loved every second of this, so i hope you enjoy it as well🥺💖💖it is very merlin-centric but i hope that doesn’t ruin the experience!! thank you again🥺💖

you can read it here or on ao3!!💖

Merlin stumbled up the stairs into the castle, scarcely aware of his panting echoing loudly in the empty corridor. He knew that he should be throwing himself into Gaius’s room, shutting the door, and sleeping this off, but he couldn’t make it that far. He needed somewhere to go—and fast. He felt the wound pull with each step, the blood soaking his shirt and pants enough that he couldn’t remember what color they originally were.

Lancelot is going to be furious with him.

——————that morning——————

No one was smiling this morning as Merlin made his way to the throne room. A sort of silence had fallen around the castle like a leaden blanket, and Merlin feared that it did not bode well for anyone.

Things have been fine lately, happy almost. Of course that couldn’t last—when could they ever just be at peace?

He pushed open the throne room doors as quietly as he could, peering inside to see most of the knights already assembled staring at the map with matching frowns.

As he walked closer, Eylan and Leon looked up briefly to smile and nod at him before returning to the map, and he realized Gwaine, Percy, and Lancelot were nowhere to be found. Going to his place behind Arthur, who stared at the map with such heat that Merlin was surprised it didn’t burn up immediately, he asked quietly, “Where are the others?”

Arthur jerked up and spun around toward him, surprised evident on his face, “When did you get here?”

Merlin let out a small laugh, “I told you I can be quiet when I want to be, sire.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes and huffed, “And you never want to be quiet during hunts? Even when I ask nicely?”

Merlin gaped, “When do you ever ask nicely?”

Arthur smirked, “Fair enough.” he sobered up before continuing, “The others are coming back from a quick patrol I sent them on this morning. When you were collecting herbs for Gaius, a citizen from an outlying village came sobbing about rampant magic wielders killing everyone they come across in the name of freedom.” He shook his head in disgust, “I sent Percival, Gwaine, and Lance to escort the villager home to retrieve his family and friends to bring them into Camelot for safety. They should be back soon with news.”

Merlin swallowed hard at the thought of more magic being used for evil, for destruction. How can he ever show his friends, especially Arthur, how good magic can be if they only ever see it used for pain?

He nodded sharply in reply, masking his face of any sign of distraught, and calmly walked back to the pillar he normally leans against during audience and council meetings.

Moments like these were the hardest. Where his lies buried themselves so deep in his soul that he could feel himself failing to reach the surface for air. He will dream of the pyre tonight, he knew, and will be forced awake with the sound of his own choking from asphyxiation. He will stay awake for hours after, staring into darkness, wondering how much more of his own kin he will have to slaughter before they can claim true liberation. How much blood on his hands will he need to be considered the monster everyone believes him to be with this power?

He felt himself tremble with the thoughts. Looking around the room flooded with the late sunlight, he narrowed his stare at his friends discussing plans around the table, and begrudgingly felt his panic kick in. The trapping feeling suffocating any breath he had—he was trapped, and it was a cage of destiny’s own making.

His eyes darted from door to door, the urge to run, fast and far away, becoming almost unbearable and inescapable. He was considering excusing himself with some bad reason when the door slammed open—knights and the villager in tow.

Lancelot’s eyes immediately snapped to his, and Merlin knew then that he couldn’t, wouldn’t, run—not when Lancelot’s first look towards him was filled with such a deep understanding and sympathy.

Lance knew everything and didn’t think him a monster, and that is what kept him from darting every time Arthur called him useless, or dumb, or threw something at him. He wondered then if Lancelot would run away with him if he asked. Would the knight’s loyalty be tested or would he simply stand by his King without batting an eye? He would never ask Lance to make such a decision, though.

The knight was his closest friend, his most trusted confidante, and every day Merlin ached with the knowledge that Lancelot bared his secrets alongside him. If Merlin was to burn, Lance would be on the next prye.

Merlin refused to let that happen.

He snapped himself out of the daze he fell into, eyes refocusing on the knights speaking with the King. Merlin watched how Lance’s glance kept flicking his way, and when Merlin met the barely concealed worry within them, he tried to give a reassuring smile. However, Lance’s frown deepened—Merlin sighed, And here I thought I was good at this facade.

“..gathered all the others and placed them in a large tavern in the lower town. They should be safe there,” Percy told Arthur, who nodded in response.

The villager was shaking, Merlin belatedly realized, as he looked at Arthur’s chest to speak next, “M-my family appreciates your efforts, s-sire.”

Arthur grimaced, “No need to thank me. I wouldn’t want any more of my people hurt from these maniacs.” He stepped forwards, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder, “Go now. Rest with your family, I will make sure you are all seen to, properly.”

The man sputtered his thanks and dropped into a clumsy bow before turning around. Merlin, unable to stop his feet from moving, quickly walked forwards to catch the man before he disappeared, “Sir?”

The man froze, still shaking, as he looked up to Merlin with confusion. Merlin continued, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

The man gave him a gentle smile, seeming to relax with Merlin’s presence, “I’m alright, young man, thank you. I appreciate your concern.”

Merlin gave a tentative smile, aiming for charming and warming, “If you ever need any assistance, I live with the Court Physician. Ask for Gaius or myself, and we will be there.”

The man clasped arms with him, a crooked smile forming, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you again—thank you all.”

Merlin watched him go, unease in his gut. He didn’t know what it was about the man that made him uneasy, but it simmered long after the villager left them alone in the throne room.

Merlin turned around to see the others talking amongst each other and he made it to Lancelot’s side just as Gwaine began talking.

“Princess, I’m telling you: no one seemed scared! Only that man’s family seemed a little unsettled, and even then, it seems suspicious to me.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, “Do you expect them all to be sobbing and cowering? Of course they are putting up strong fronts! If my home was under attack, I know I wouldn’t want to show fear. I would rather be fighting against the attackers than hiding away in some strange town.”

Gwaine didn’t reply, but Merlin knew that Arthur’s answer wasn’t enough for the knight. Merlin stayed quiet, though, already calculating when he should go out to take care of this. Arthur ruined his calculations with his next proclaiment, however.

While rubbing the bridge of his nose, the King sighed out, “We will go as a group tomorrow to face them. Gather the provisions tonight, prepare the horses with any protection we can gather in the short amount of time. We will meet in front of the stables at first light.”

And with a ‘Yes, sire’ muttered by everyone, Arthur dismissed them.

Merlin didn’t hesitate to beeline for the door and escape before Arthur ordered him to do anything—he needed to think of something, and rather fast at that.

Merlin found himself on top of the battlements, staring at the horizon that seemed too far and much too close all at once. He usually found himself here to clear his mind. The view made him feel alive, more connected to the world, and, most importantly, he didn’t have to hold such a tight grip on his magic this far above.

No one ever came here besides him.

With a sigh, Merlin loosened his hold and let his magic out through his nose with his breathing. His skin seemed to stop crawling from the inside out, the sky looked more blue, and the air felt sweeter in his lungs. It had been too long since he could let go and he knew part of his trapped feeling had to do with his magic being stifled within his veins for too long. He took a deep breath, willing his magic back in slightly, and he laid down looking up towards the sky.

The sun will be going down soon, and Merlin figured he will be leaving after dinner to approach these rouges himself to handle them before it got the knights killed. He glared at the sky when he realized he couldn’t ask Lancelot to come with him—not again. He has endangered that man’s life quite enough just by breathing, and with his hope to keep Lancelot safe for as long as possible, he just couldn’t bring himself to ask. Lance would say yes, like always, but Merlin cannot—will not—actively put him in harm's way.

Merlin shuddered thinking of a life without Lancelot in it, and, well, it was simply unfathomable.

Lance was his rock, his reason to keep fighting when shit hits the fan, the only person who constantly sees Merlin for who he is and does not cower from it. Lancelot embraces every part of Merlin, flaw and all, and Merlin would be completely lost without him in his life. Lance swears that Merlin is the bravest man he ever met, but was it out of bravery or selfishness that Merlin faced all these threats alone? Merlin didn’t know, and he didn’t want to think too much about it in fear of the true answer (even though, deep down, he knew his answer was one he didn’t like).

So, the plan was rather simple: leave Camelot at dusk, talk or fight with the rouges, and make it back before sunrise.

It sounds easy enough.

A few hours later, after successfully avoiding Lancelot’s knowing gaze and delivering the King’s dinner, Merlin set out to the nearby town. He knew it was only an hour or two away from Camelot, so he snuck out of Camelot, grabbed his mare Honey, and set off briskly. His mare knew the drill by now and obliged easily, especially with Merlin’s magic soothing her with each gallop.

Soon, Merlin entered a clearing close to the town’s borders. He tied Honey a good distance away, leaving her some food, and took a deep breath before walking into the field. That uneasy feeling returned in gut and he knew this wouldn’t end well.

Just as he thought that, five hooded people walked out to meet him in the middle of the large clearing.

“Emrys, it’s good to see you again.”

Merlin squinted in the dark, “Again?”

The man laughed, throwing his hood back, “We met a few hours ago. I hope I left a good enough impression to be remembered.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, “Of course it’s you,” he scowled at the villager he met earlier today, “Why would it be anyone else? Why did you seek aid with King Arthur if you are part of the problem?”

Merlin was fairly certain he knew the answer already, but he needed time to access the power of each person here. The one on the left held the most potential, magic coming off her in waves, but the rest were mediocre at best, if the last person had anything at all but small tricks up his sleeve.

The man was in the middle of explaining what Merlin was sure to be an “ingenious” plan to get close to King Arthur when he interrupted, “How did you hide your magic from me? You know I’m Emrys and all, so you must realize I can read you magical abilities by proximity, but I didn’t sense it on you originally. So, how?”

The man blinked, and then glared at Merlin for his interruption, “I have a pendant that covers my magical scent. It’s been passed down through generations. My mother gave it to me to get close to the King…”

Merlin tuned him out again, pondering such an artifact. It would be useful to him against more powerful creatures, but he wondered if it hurt at all or if he could use that instead of shoving his magic deep down everyday.

When all the sorcerers looked at him expectantly, Merlin frowned, “Did you ask something?”

The powerful one spoke up this time, her voice much stronger than her peer, “We asked for you to join us, Emrys, to bring peace to our lands once more. To restore magic, free our people, make you the rightful King.”

Merlin flinched slightly, “Rightful King? I am no King. Arthur is the once and future King, the rightful heir to the throne and the only man I will serve. But I had a feeling you knew my answer already, so why try this?”

The woman shrugged, a small wicked smile on her lips, “Proving your loyalty in the flesh is a nice incentive to make it easier to kill you—the most powerful warlock or not, you are still a traitor.”

Merlin rolled his shoulders, “Let’s dance, then, shall we?”

It was brutal, to say the least, as Merlin limped back to Honey trying to ignore the blackened, scorched earth and bloodied bodies scattered about. He looked down at the wound in his abdomen and debated whether he should just stay over night or make it to Camelot before light. He completed the first two steps of his plan, he might as well continue with it. So with a painful moan, Merlin hoisted himself on top of his mare, who neighed upset at the smell of bad copper, and willed her to go back home. He didn’t have the strength to hold the reins, not when both hands were being used to staunch the blood flow.

He swayed with the frantic galloping, trying to forget the pure malice on the villager's face when he stabbed him when Merlin was off guard for a second. The villager had taunted to kill Merlin’s knight when he was done with him after he managed to stick the knife and that’s when Merlin’s magic exploded out of him. His magic responded with his emotions—and when Lance was threatened, his heart stopped beating for a second before the world exploded in a blinding white light. No one survived after that blow.

Merlin was barely conscious when he made it back to the stables, but he was able to sneak back in the way he came out—completely unnoticed by the guards, even with his blood loss, Merlin knew how to get in and out of Camelot quietly and quickly.

Lancelot will freak out when he sees him, but Merlin had no other choice. Limping, he blindly remembered the route to Lancelot’s room as he clung onto consciousness with every fiber of his being.

Just a few more steps. Lance will keep you safe—he always keeps you safe.

With his vision narrowing with the blackness crawling in, Merlin quickened his steps and landed in front of Lance’s room. He collapsed, hitting the door with his body, and the last thing he saw was Lance’s terrified expression before he welcomed unconsciousness with a sigh of relief.

——————

Merlin woke up, wincing from the ache in his body, and blinked a couple times at the ceiling before he remembered what happened. He quickly sat up, and then immediately regretted the action when the room started swaying.

When he managed to calm his breathing and dizziness, he leaned against the headboard of the bed and his eyes found a still awake Lancelot, who was staring blankly at the roaring fire.

“Lance?” Merlin croaked out, his voice dry and scratchy like he had been screaming for hours.

The knight slowly looked up from the fireplace, and Merlin saw how red-rimmed his eyes were.

“Lance, I’m—“

He threw his hand up, stopping Merlin, and stood up to start pacing in front of the bed. Merlin watched, heart aching, as Lance tried to work his breathing into something less panicked, less terrified.

He stopped abruptly, spinning to look at Merlin. They held the stare for a moment before Lance started glowering at him, “Merlin.”

Usually, the way Lance says his name gives him butterflies, not that he ever admitted that to anyone, but this time made him look down in shame and he started absentmindedly picking a loose thread in the knight’s blanket. Merlin realized then that he was completely cleaned, in Lance’s small clothes, and there was a glass of water next to the bed. Merlin’s heart warmed at the actions, but when he looked back up to see a still fuming Lance, Merlin scooted forwards to try and grab the man’s hand.

Lance let himself be grabbed, and Merlin pulled him onto the bed in front of him as whispered brokenly, “I’m sorry I scared you.”

Lance huffed, his anger still not dissipated, “Merlin,” and said warlock looked up to see waring emotions in the knight’s eyes, “I was more than scared. I was...terrified.” He shook his head, using his free hand to wipe down his face, “I couldn’t find you after the meeting, so I searched the entire castle for you. I knew you were planning on doing something idiotic, but I didn’t realize you would do it so soon.”

Merlin heard Lancelot’s breathing hitch before he continued, “I thought maybe you went out for more herbs, or that Arthur had you working overtime and that's why I couldn’t find you. I-I couldn’t sleep when I figured out that you must have gone without me. And I know you can handle yourself—Gods!” He stood up again, anger and fear and pain in every movement, “I was so scared, Merlin! Do you know what it’s like to know your best friend left you behind on some self-sacrificing quest for some reason? Is it because you don’t want my help? You would rather risk your life over and over again without me at your side as backup? Am I that horrible?”

At Lance’s frantic questions, Merlin felt the tears falling down his face as he vehemently shook his head no.

Lance saw this, stopped moving, and whispered, “My heart completely stopped for a moment when I saw the state you were in. Merlin,” he let out a small, broken gasp of air, “I thought this time that I-that I would lose you. And I can’t—“ he covered his mouth when a strangled sort of sob escaped him, the anger bleeding out to utter exhaustion.

Merlin blindly reached out for Lancelot’s hand again, pulling him back down to him, and they stayed like that, intertwined, for a few moments before Merlin had regained enough strength to talk.

While rubbing Lance’s knuckles with his thumb, Merlin quietly spoke, “Lancelot,” he waited until the man’s beautiful brown eyes met his, “I cannot lose you.”

And when Lance opened his mouth to say something, Merlin plowed on, “I should’ve told you that a long time ago. You-you keep me centered. You make me want to live, Lance. Not survive, not exist. Live.

I never had someone who looks at me the way you do, who knows all the dark shit about me and continues to look at me the same way. I make mistakes, constantly. I hurt people, Lance, and it kills me a little more each time. I hurt my own kin to keep Camelot safe, to keep you safe, and I ache knowing that I damned you with me. That’s the worst pain of all. I was born damned, but you? I dragged you into it, and I will not allow you to be set aflame alongside me. I refuse.

You deserve a life without this extra burden I force upon you. I am cursed with this life, but you have the ability to turn a blind eye, to not be feared for simply breathing.”

Merlin felt the bed shift, and his brief thought that he finally drove his only true friend in his life away was squashed when Lance sat next to him, pulling him underneath his arm. Merlin’s tears came back when curled into Lance’s side, his hand on the knight’s chest feeling his heart beating steadily.

Lance stroked through Merlin’s hair softly, “Merlin,” and there were those damn butterflies again, “I choose to stay at your side. You are the best person I know. And before you deny it, I know you are forced to make hard decisions every other day, and I know you are the most powerful warlock to ever exist, and, in spite of those facts, who you are, at your core, never changes.

You can burn cities down with a flick of your wrist, you can harm anything or anyone with barely a thought, you can overthrow Arthur at any moment, but you know why you don’t? Because, in your heart and in your soul, you are a good, beautiful person. You see the light when others only see the dark, you defend those who cannot fight for themselves, you love so deeply and unconditionally that everyone you meet can’t help but adore you.

So, no, I will not let you pick for me who I chose to love. I picked you to stand by, with your magic and all, and I will always pick you. If you wanted to leave Camelot tonight, I would pack my bags without hesitation. You did not damn or burden me, love. You are all that I believe in, and I will never turn my back on you.

I will be by your side, for as long as you want me, to whatever end. If we burn tomorrow, then we burn together. I’ve made peace with my decision a long time ago.”

He kissed the top of Merlin’s head when he finished, pulling him closer to let him cry onto his chest while rubbing the warlock’s back. With his free hand, he wiped away his own tears before grabbing Merlin’s loose hand.

“So...” Lancelot said, trying to lighten the mood a bit, “if you leave on some self-sacrificing mission without letting me help you again, I will tell Gaius on you.”

Merlin gasped dramatically, leaning up on Lance’s chest to look him in the eyes, “You wouldn’t dare!”

Lance smirked, “Oh, I would.”

Merlin gaped, the smile breaking through betraying his false exasperation, “Fine. I’ll bring you with me next time, but promise me one thing?”

Lance softened, nodding, and Merlin laid back down listening to the knight’s heart beat as he spoke, “If I tell you to run, you will run without hesitation.”

There was silence for a moment before Lance responded, “I cannot promise that, Merlin.”

Merlin frowned, looking back up to see Lance’s eyes already on him, “I cannot promise that because I would rather die than leave you alone during a battle. Even if the odds are stacked against us, I will never leave you behind. If I run, you run. If you fight, I fight. We are in this together, Merls.”

Merlin couldn’t stop the tears from falling again as words sank in fully, “To whatever end, huh?”

Lance smiled softly, nodding, “Let’s get some rest. After almost scaring me to death, I am completely spent.”

Merlin went still, preparing himself to leave the warmth of Lancelot’s body, but Lance tilted his chin up as he asked, “Stay the night?”

Merlin beamed, wrapping himself completely with his knight. He fit into Lance’s side perfectly, like it was always meant to be the two of them against the world.

And when Merlin drifted off to sleep, with Lance’s hands still rubbing his back, he felt lighter than he had in years. And for the first time in a long time, no nightmares plagued his dreams.

#ashley answers #ashley writes #merlin fanfiction #merlin fanfic #mercelot #merlin x lancelot #bbc merlin #THANK YOU LOVELY 🥺💖💖💖💖i adore uuuu #my first time in mercelot territory....hopefully it doesn’t suck LOL #mercelot fanfic #also lol at me basically writing it all in one sitting 💀

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writing-the-end · 3 years

Text

LoL 48- Cut By Guillotine

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

Doc’s been captured by the Arcane Guard, and sentenced to death by the Council. The hermits aren’t about to let Dolios take their family.

Warning: burning, execution scene

_____________________________________

The low toll of the bell cuts through the heavy mist that blankets Milliara. Louder than any steeple, it’s dark, grim song tells everyone in the city that death comes. And by the size of the crowd, death comes for all to watch. So many eyes, staring at the gallows in the main square of the city.

And so few watching the bell toll. Rocking back and forth, vertex to vertex, and with each clap of the tongue, another figure appears in the tower. Twenty something pairs of eyes, staring at the pyre of wood and the guards surrounding it.

The bell goes quiet, and Ren speaks up. Red illuminates, reflecting off the brass, as he casts his imagination magic. “I don’t see him, dudes. Are we sure this is the right time and place?”

“Who else would the Council set up an entire heap of wood for, in the center of Milliara?” Scar growls, his fingers digging into the stone. He roves his eyes across each and every guard, those who stand between the hermits and their friend. He let the Council take Doc away from them once. He’s not going to let it happen again.

“I see him!” Xisuma points to the massive iron portcullis, teeth opening like the maws of a beast. Glistening metal fangs threatening to bite down on the soldiers. And at the center of the dozen strong squad, Doc’s green skin and tattered clothes stand out like a sore thumb. So many guards, just for one prisoner. All of this, just for one prisoner.

But not just any prisoner. Doc Monster. Criminal mastermind, failed rebel, and now? Enemy hermit. Chains around his arms, holding his hands behind his back, drag him from the walls of the prison. Where he’s spent the last week, while the hermits scrambled for a plan. He had only left the prison once in that whole time, and it was to stand trial.

Not like it was much of a trial in the first place. If there’s one thing the hermits have learned, it’s that Dolios can put on a hell of a show. Doc was brought before the council, each guildmaster a judge, and a panel of citizens for the jury. They ensnared Doc with questions he had no fair answer to, gave him little time to explain his own side of the story. And whenever he attempted to bring up the Magistrate and dark magic, was met with objection and silenced. It was a false trial, the jury unanimously finding him guilty and advocating for his demise. The Council agreed- well, most of them. Surprisingly, Apatia was present for the trial, and dissented from the six others and the jury. He saw Doc’s innocence.

The guards drag Doc to the pyre of wood, and the hermits split apart. A few stay in the belltower, a bird’s eye view. Including Grian and Mumbo, the former hovering in the misty air. The others spread out, peppering themselves into the crowd and at the fringes. Etho, Scar, BDubs, and Beef disappear completely from the watching view.

The metal chains are slowly, carefully removed from Doc, a quiet hush mixing with the heavy air. He doesn’t try to run, his shoulders square and his head raised. He doesn’t fight or flee. But he definitely isn’t going to help his captors kill him either. A guard pushes him forward, and he stumbles over the logs and branches that rise like a mound. At the center of the hill, a stake pierces the mist, splintered into a sharp spear at the top.

For as noble and magical the kingdom of Lairyon is, burnt at the stake was barbaric. But it was exactly what Dolios wanted. For all to see what happens to those who break his rules. Challenge his rule. The guard yanks Doc’s arms behind the wood pole, each jerk of the writhing rope tightening and whipping across Doc’s skin. At some point during his capture, he lost both of his gloves. Despite the rough treatment, the manhandling, the imminent death, and the thousands watching, Doc remains stoic. He doesn’t speak a word, doesn’t lower his head in penitence, and doesn’t break his gaze, across the sea of fools before him.

In the windows and on the balconies of the surrounding buildings, the hermits are prepared. Stress stands closest to the pyre, anxiously bouncing from foot to foot. She knows, somewhere behind the stake, the rescue team is waiting to swoop in and grab Doc. She just has to do her job. She will do her job.

The glow of the fire is soft in the fog, but the flaming torch is anything but gentle. Passed from guard to guard, the soldier at the edge of the pyre raises the flame. Doc glares at the corner of his eye. “Don’t I get any last words?”

“You just used them.” The executioner snickers, and tosses the torch in. It’s a careless throw, as if he was simply discarding an unsatisfactory stick.

The torch nestles into the nest of wood surrounding, propping up Doc. When the first ember hit the pyre, Stress released all her pent up fears into pure ice magic. It froze the fog into shards of suspended ice, the damp cobblestone at her feet becoming slippery, as she throws all her magic and might into freezing out the flame.

But by the time the first ember meets the timber, it was already too late. The wood ignited with such heat and aggression, it might as well have been summoned from hell itself. It vaporized the ice immediately, and engulfs the stake with orange tongues of fire.

“Cinderwood!” Mumbo cries from the top of the bell tower, the burning pile of wood and his friend reflecting off of his eyes. The trees this wood came from grow near volcanoes. They burn faster than anything else in all of Lairyon, even a hot day can cause the trees to spontaneously combust. And now? The flames are engulfing Doc, eating away at him as tongues of orange lick up the wooden pole, dancing against his skin and singing his tattered cloak.

Doc’s face remains emotionless. His jaw still set, eyes staring down the crowd. Not a tear, not a writhing attempt to escape. He’s accepted his fate- and he will not be used as a pawn in Dolios’s game.

While Doc remains calm, the other hermits do not. The flames rise higher and higher, setting his clothes ablaze and charring his skin. Green burns black, metal begins to glow red. The hermits scramble, panicked. Hypno does his best to knock out as many of the auxiliary guards as possible with his magic, but his panic leaves his magic circle weak and stuttering. All of the hermits, even Grian, struggle with their magic.

Except, for once, Mumbo. In the panic of watching his friend burn, his power ignites into a lightning storm. It rolls and rocks through the ice fog, bolts dancing through the suspended crystals, reflecting through the shards like glass. A red bolt sears through the mist, nearly striking Grian as he flutters and flies above the scene. Mumbo swears, trying to regain composure and control of his magic.

The hermits have delved the entire square into chaos. The bolt of lightning. Citizens unsure where to go, who to turn to, what’s the right and wrong way. And in that chaos, Doc’s calm shatters. His anger burns stronger than the fire engulfing him, the pain filling every fiber of his being as he slowly dies. “You have all been lied to! I am not your enemy!”

His eyes lock onto the one person in the crowd not alarmed, not cheering. Dolios, standing calm and cool, amongst the crowd as the everyman’s leader. He waves his hand, and all of the magic around him negates, and the crowd’s attention is forced back to Doc. Wisps of black mist curl around Dolios, disappearing into the grey mist. He smiles, and the crowd cheers.

Doc strains against the rope that pins him to the stake, stranding him in the fire. The burns on his legs grow more painful. HIs head begins to swim. And hiding just below the surface of his anger, fear shakes through his core. “You’re all fools!”

And the smile grows. So genuine, so excited. Doc realizes that the magistrate is enjoying this show. He’s enjoying watching him die. The anger shatters, allowing fear wash over Doc. This entire time, he’s refused to feel this way. To let Dolios see him afraid, scared to die. He’s never been scared of death before. Why now?

He turns his eyes up, and notices blue feathers in the mist. He tries to wipe away the ashen tears to get a better look, but his hands are bound. No matter, the fire evaporates it halfway down his cheeks. He’s afraid to die because he has a family. Scar, Xisuma, BDubs, even Grian, as annoying as he is. Every hermit means more to him than anyone else. He doesn’t want to leave them.

He doesn’t want to go.

But he has no choice. The fire burns his jaw, steaming away the tears as they fall from horror stricken eyes. Each breath from Doc’s parted lips is shaking, wondering which will be the last. His lungs fill with smoke, and his body grows heavy with fear and pain.

Dolios smiles through it all. The pyre illuminating the genuine grin, matching the hungry fire in his eyes. Darkness creeps into Doc’s vision as the pain becomes unbearable. He refuses to let Dolios be the last thing he sees. He turns his eyes to the sky, watching wings dance in the red lightning.

The flames douse, water and sand turning fire and flame to ash and charcoal. The panicked hermits freeze, and look to one another. Look to xB, but he’s not cast his magic. If it wasn’t his waterbending...who else is here?

Doc’s gone still, head tucked to his chest and slumped helplessly against the smoldering ruins of the stake. Smoke makes it hard to see the stage, only the sound of the arcane guard’s armor. They scramble to reignite the fire and find the culprits. As soon as the army sets foot upon the platform, however, they become afflicted. Their faces contort, legs wobble as their feet are frozen to the ground. Fear and panic is written across their eyes. Some abandon their halberds, running as far from the swelling sensation of terror.

“Don’t just stand there !” Dolios shouts, pointing his finger at the smoldering ruins. “Execute him!”

Few guards are able to slough through the heavy weight of the emotions. Those that do are met with only more resistance. Springing forward, cacti grows from the ashen ruin, their spines like weapons defending the unconscious- or is he even alive?- hermit. From the sky, from the grey mist and red lightning, a black figure swoops into the smoke. The hermits look around, but both Tango and Grian are still in the sky. Ebony wings stir up the smoke. In the shadowed smog, ropes are cut free.

Scar is the first to realize something is happening. “We have to get him back! Now’s our chance!”

Smoke clears, revealing an empty stake and two figures in the soot filled air. The crowd gasps and the hermits struggle to get closer to their missing friend. Eyes glued to the wings and purple, joined by a fin and scarf in the blustering air.

Until the world goes white, blinded by light so bright, it burns away the fog and opens the sky to the afternoon sun. Even Dolios and the hermits are forced to avert their eyes from the starlight before them. Shouts of confusion arise from the pandemonium of the botched execution.

Xisuma knows that magic all too well. The light so bright, it even burns away the darkness of his void magic. Where his magic is the end, this is the beginning. Light and energy as powerful as a supernova. Because his magic is a supernova.

He knows Ex’s magic anywhere. As soon as he’s able to see again, as soon as Xisuma spots the red cloak falling to the canals beneath the cobblestone, he grabs the other hermits and gives chase.

Leaving behind the failed execution, the only proof that a man was nearly burned alive was a red bolt of fabric, still burning at the tips. And one furious magistrate.

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft au #hermitcraft fanfic #light of lairyon #wizard hermits #wizard au #lol #wizard doc #wizard scar #wizard ex #wizard stress #wizard mumbo #docm77 #gtwscar #evil xisuma #stressmonster101 #mumbo jumbo #burning cw #execution cw

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nekojitachan · 4 years

Text

Okay, so this is... IDK what this is. I guess this is the bare bones of my take on The Old Guard with the Monsters/AFTG.

Uhm, warning for people dying/violence, not in very nice ways, some of them (Nicky’s is vaguely tied to canon if you think about it).

*******

Somehow, it didn’t come as a big surprise to Anders when he and his twin came back to life after being killed by the raiders who’d stormed their longhouse, along with everyone else. The strangers had sneered at him and Aron, the ‘living’ vessels of their people’s twin gods, then invoked the name of their own unknown god as they shoved their bronze swords repeatedly into their flesh. Anders had a small knife he’d hidden beneath his robes, but he hadn’t been able to put up much of a fight against trained warriors.

(He’d repeatedly asked to be taught to fight, but Tilda had just laughed and ignored him, too busy soaking up the attention she garnished as the mother of a god’s vessels. Too busy drinking fermented berries and milk to care about how Knut, the elder, mistreated them.)

No, unlike Aron, Anders considered being unable to die (well, to remain dead) a curse instead of another sign of the twin gods’ favor, proof that the Fates took great pleasure in tormenting them. They didn’t age and they healed no matter how badly they were hurt, yet they weren’t immune to starvation, cold temperatures or other things which made life difficult.

They had no choice but to constantly move on, with no family to take them in and strangers suspicious of them if they remained in one place too long. Aron soon grew bitter when he realized that no woman would want him anymore once she continued to age and he didn’t, and it was much the same for Anders if he felt an attraction for another man.

It went on that way for almost eighty years, the two of them isolated from the rest of the world by some terrible curse, until they were driven from sleep one night by the image of a teenaged boy with long, dark auburn hair and pale blue eyes, beaten and bloodied, being held down by two men while an older man with similar pale eyes and red hair cut close to his scalp grinned as he slit the boy’s throat.

Only the boy didn’t remain dead, because the next image showed him alive (and covered in blood) as he stood by a pyre with a woman’s body on it, then as he scavenged through the ransacked sheep farm for anything useful he could find before he took off running. Anders stared at his twin as the images faded away, at the shock in hazel eyes the same color as his own, and knew they shared the same thought as well as appearance; it wasn’t just a dream, and they were no longer alone.

They set out to find the redhead, but the young man proved as elusive as a dream. Anders took to calling him the rabbit, because it felt as if they were chasing such a creature through a forest during the night, fumbling along like a bunch of clumsy fools while it vanished with ease into the thick foliage. The occasional dreams were of little help, because as soon as they figured out the redhead’s location in the dream, he always was gone by the time they finally got there.

Anders was going to cut his tendons a few dozen times when they finally caught up to the flighty bastard.

So six hundred years later, when they had another dream of a tall youth with black hair and green eyes being killed in battle, they wasted no time tracking him down to the island of the Celts. Caoimhín wasn’t a runner like the rabbit and refused to leave until he (along with Anders and Aron) almost ended up as a solstice sacrifice.

Funny how almost being set on fire while alive motivated one to see the world.

Anders began to regret the whole ‘let’s save a fellow immortal’ thing after a decade or two, when Caoimhín proved to be an annoying know-it-all. If the tall bastard wasn’t so good at fighting… he did come in handy whenever Anders managed to ‘upset’ the locals for interfering whenever the assholes were selling slaves (especially children) or mistreating servants – which was often. Aron yelled at him for having the subtlety of a raging bull, but the Persians got on his nerves, as did the Romans, and the Huns and the Franks, and… well, any bastards who thought because they had a bit of land and enough people with pointy weapons that they could boss everyone around.

(Caoimhín said he had a problem with authority. Aron said he was an asshole.)

And through it all, the rabbit. Kept. Running. And. Running.

They finally ran into another immortal who’d been ‘reborn’ a couple decades before when in Damascus, of all places, as Salah ad-Din fought Europe’s Crusaders, and learned that perhaps there was a reason why the rabbit kept his distance. Riko was a viper in human form, and after he did his best to dismember Caoimhín, Anders ‘killed’ him in front of some of Salah ad-Din’s men, leaving them to believe that the other immortal was a djinn when he ‘came back’ to life.

The three of them had no problem abandoning Riko in Damascus, wrapped in iron chains and sealed in a cave.

They kept wandering and fighting what seemed to be hopeless battles, especially with the rise of the Catholic Church. There were times when Anders (now Andrew) wanted to retreat from the world, to find an isolated, empty island and never leave it, but there was Aron (Aaron) and Caoimhín (Kevin), who weren’t quite ready to give up, and a damn rabbit with the clearest blue eyes he’d (sort of) seen who haunted his dreams and taunted him by always being just out of reach.

Then in the 1600s, the three of them dreamed of a new immortal born in the New World, one beaten and starved to death by monks. Unhappy about the thought of the long voyage, Andrew and his fellow ‘monsters’, as he’d come to think of three of them, headed across the Atlantic. It took them almost four years to find Nico, the son of a native woman and a conquistador, who’d been killed because of his attraction to men. The young immortal broke into tears to finally be with his ‘own’ kind, to be safe at last, and was a cheerful presence.

He was even more annoying than Kevin.

They spent a few years wandering the New World, but were drawn back to chasing the rabbit once again; he’d gone to ground in China, leading Andrew to hope that for once he’d stand out and be easy to find, but the damn bastard had developed an almost inhuman skill for learning the local language and blending in wherever he went. Kevin grumbled about him being a damn chameleon, while Aaron wondered if perhaps he’d truly died and they were hunting a ghost.

For some reason… that thought bothered Andrew.

Things carried on as they had before, only it seemed that every time Andrew turned around, the world had changed in some manner. A new country had formed, an old government had been overthrown, a new religion had been invented, yet another senseless war broke out, someone created an invention that upended things in a startling way…. He still remembered how for so long everyone had used bronze swords until someone had figured out how to smelt iron, how there’d only been longhouses and small farms until all of a sudden towns and then cities began to appear.

Change was inevitable, as was the fact that humans would twist some of those changes into something bad.

Still, he never thought that those changes would lead to things that would enable him and his monsters to travel the world in days (and then hours) instead of months or weeks, that wars would break out that spanned continents and could destroy entire cities in minutes. The four of them saved what they could, but soon it became impossible to keep up, not just because there were so many lives in danger and so much being destroyed, but because they could no longer fade into the shadows with ease with things like digital records and cameras in existence.

They learned as much as they could about modern technology; Nico (Nicky) and Aaron took to social media without any problems, while Andrew and Kevin picked up some hacking skills. They bought the best fake IDs possible and did everything they could to leave no trace online.

Yet they couldn’t stay in one place very long, not when they kept working, when they used the skills they’d honed over centuries to help people in need. Which was why they were traveling from France to England via the Chunnel; Andrew refused to give up his customized Maserati just yet, so they’d take the car with them on the train.

They didn’t expect any issue with their papers, especially since they’d used them a few days ago, so it was a surprise when a customs official in Calais frowned when he scanned Aaron’s while the machine beeped several times. Then the same thing happened with Nicky’s. Andrew tensed and tugged the cap on his head further down as he prepared to fight while Kevin did the same; their weapons were hidden in the special compartment in the Maserati, but they were good at improvising.

However, before they could react more than that, a familiar voice called out in French to the customs officials, one Andrew recognized with ease from his dreams over the last three millennia; the rabbit, dressed in a customs uniform, his dark auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail that trailed just past his shoulders, tapped the official who held Aaron’s documents and said he’d check it out, that there was an issue with the scanners. He purposely didn’t look at any of them as he did something to the scanner then ran the passport again, which beeped once in an ‘all clear’. Then he went to do the same for Nicky’s as the fool gaped at him.

As soon as Andrew was cleared, he stalked after his quarry, who to be fair didn’t try to run (for once). He grabbed the other immortal by the wrist and spun him around, part of him noticing that the rabbit was only a couple inches taller (which was a welcome change, considering how for the last few centuries, everyone towered over him). About to curse the bastard out for leading him on a merry chase for over three. Fucking. Millennia, he found himself stunned silent when the rabbit smiled.

(Maybe he should have considered what would happen when he finally caught the redhead.)

*******

Yes, Andrew, what does happen next???

I’ve never taken the Chunnel, so sorry if I messed something up there (I wrote what I did to fit the story). It’s a bit vague, but the twins are Scandinavian Bronze age, Neil is England Bronze Age (around Middle Bronze Age), Kevin is Ireland @ 600 BC, and Nicky is Mexico @ 1600′s. I debated having Andrew and Aaron separated, until I saw the twin gods thing. They were together, but per Tilda’s crappy parenting, they had a very rough childhood with Andrew protecting Aaron.

Mary raised Neil (Ram) to be cautious/wary of strangers. I’m thinking Nathan was a sea raider and... well, he came back years later and that time, he wiped out the farm. Neil heeded his mother’s lesson a little too well, but over time he finally came to learn that Andrew and the others weren’t all bad and finally stepped in to help them (and in a way, protected his own hide).

#aftg #aftg au #the old guard au #neil josten #andrew minyard #aaron minyard #kevin day #nicky hemmick #riko moriyama #the monsters #neil is very very good at running #andrew is very very frustrated by that fact #andrew should have thought about what happens next after catching neil #oh boy

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mother-snake · 4 years

Note

🎶Guess whos back🎶 🎶back again🎶

It's me! With more Janus angst! Well, more fluff then anything... It's fluff (did you really think we could pass the 4 year anniversary of sanders sides and I wouldn't send something in?)

So!! The sides are having a huge party to celebrate 4 years. The living room is decked in all the colours of the rainbow. A mixture of all the sides music are playing through the speakers and all their favourite foods are set up. Everyone is in the living room, talking and dancing mostly but Virgil did climb on top of the fridge when Roman took out glitter. Well, everyone is in the living room except for a certain snake like side.

Janus didn't join the party. Hes still in his room in the mindscape. Not from lack of effort from the others. They knocked on his door for half an hour straight with no answer. So they just accept that Janus is going to miss this year.

At least all accept Patton.

Patton snatched Remus from the party and made him lock pick the door open. Patton opened the door slowly -so that if Jan was sleeping it wouldn't disturb him. Patton felt his heart drop when he saw the yellow side's room.

The walls were covered with scuffs and tears in the Victorian wallpaper, almost all the furniture was flipped and destroyed -burns coating some of the edges, Janus' prized record player was smashed to pieces and all of the light bulbs were shattered. Stuttering out a soft curse (holy smokes, fudge, sugar honey ice tea, etc) Patton summoned the others.

Instant chaos. Virgil immediately goes to "oh my god, Janus is dead. I need to pick up a larger work load. Thomas is never going to be able to lie again. Patton is trying to hold back tears and calm down Virgil Logan is looking throughout the room, deducing that there was a massive struggle, some things are burned but only in concentrated places and there is a small pool of blood by some shattered glass. The twins say that they feel some magic from the imagination in the room. The sides decide to follow the clues and go to the imagination to see if they can find anything else.

Luckily for them! The imagination works with a different time! 24 hours in the imagination is one hour irl. So they should be back for the party!!

When they enter the imagination the first thing they see is a bowler hat that is stained with blood and a set of foot prints. They follow it as well with picking up the hat.

Logan notices that the corner is burned and the blood is fresh -still wet and it hasn't darkened yet-

While walking they pay close attention to their surroundings and chat about what movies they want to watch when they get back to the party. The footprints are becoming scarce so they follow the occasional droplet of blood and torn piece of clothing.

They walk for hours with only the birds and setting sun to keep them company. They decide to stop and rest for the night when Logan almost falls in a hole that was hidden by the lack of light. Roman summons a few sleeping bags and sets up a fire while Virgil takes first watch. Switching throughout the night.

The next day continues more or less like it did the day before. Walking and talking.

This time ,after crossing a river, they find a yellow glove soaked in blood, some scales stuck on the fabric. If their hurry wasn't there before it was now. They quicken their pace even more. Leaving the forest they were in and moving into some plains, they thought they heard distant shouting.

"don't let me right now you monster!"

"you have no idea what I'm not capable of when I'm mad!"

"Sooner or later the others won't catch up with you!!"

All with the S' slurred and sarcastic tone that they knew oh so well. They walked up a hill to see Janus tied to a pyre, blond curls a mess and matted with dried blood, clothes torn and some scales torn off. They looked to the insane bastard that thought kidnapping the snake was a good idea to see not just one bastard. But over 30 bastards!!

Janus got kidnapped by a cult.

The cult was very stereotypical; black cloaks, a few sacrificed goats and white porcelain masks with painted scales on their face -wait a sec... Scales? Yes scales. Deceit has a cult devoted to him- and thats when it clicks for them. They want to sacrifice Janus to appease Deceit. This cult doesn't know that Janus IS Deceit. The sides face palmed when they realized how dumb these cultists are.

The cultists seem really annoyed with Janus' complaining so they gag him all while he was yelling at how he was going to skin these fucking people alive to make a skin suit -Remus was proud- but sadly. Threats don't mean much if you're tied to a pole and about to be set on fire. The people continue to prepare the dumbest sacrifice ever while the others try to figure out how to free Janus.

Virgil looks closer at the items the cultists have laid out. A spider corpse, an octopus tentacle, a bulls horn, a cats eye and a few crow feathers... This wasn't a Janus cult. This was a Dark Side cult. Virgil let out a heavy sigh and told the others his plan.

Remus and Virgil turned into their dark forms. Spider legs coming out of Virgil's back along with six more eyes sprouted, his hair also turned purple. Remus had oozing green tentacles rip from his back and his skin took a sickening green tinge, his white hair stripe also turned neon green. They teleported behind the cultists and let out animalistic growls.

The cult turned around to see the people they worshipped having a pissed off expression on their face and instantly knew they fucked up. They fell to their knees and begged for mercy all while Virgil chewed them out for kidnapping the actual Deceit -thats when that threat of a skin suit really sunk in- and how creepy it was to try to burn someone alive and to at least have some class when sacrificing someone- that went on for a while.

The other three snuck behind the cult and untied Janus, the second they untied his hands Janus ripped off the gag and turned into his dark form.

He grew six arms and his eyes glowed with a intense yellow. Golden snakes wrapped around his arms and then he let out a low hiss.

Janus sent the snakes to tie the cultists arms behind their backs and stepped down from the pyre. To be honest; every side there thought that Janus was going to murder 30 people and actually skin them, but that is NOT WHAT HAPPENNED!!!

No one expected Janus to yell at them like a disappointed mother for 2 hours straight and keep their mouths shut with his powers.

"-AND NOT ANOTHER THING! If you ignorant self centered pricks ever, and I don't mean ever, lay a single hand on another side again. YOU WILL ALL BE BURNED AT THE FUCKING STAKE!-" he went on for a while...

The ironic thing was that Janus was the youngest side so this was equal to hearing your toddler threaten arson.

After Janus was done he turned around and snatched his glove from the nearby table and changed back to his normal form all while mumbling about "some insane crazy assholes who fucking kidnapped me in the middle of scale care, fucking pricks." The other sides just followed him. Virgil and Remus changing back as they quickly caught up with Janus.

Remus could not stop laughing, Virgil was shocked that Janus could be a disappointed mother without having children, Roman was just amazed by the fact that the snake was still standing after some of those injuries. Patton wanted to give him a hug.... Ok multiple hugs... Fine he wanted to snuggle. And Logan? Logan just wanted to know more about the dark forms.

The walk was quicker back then it was to rescue the snake all while listening to Janus complaining that the pricks broke his record player and that they had the bloody AUDACITY to kidnap him! All they could think about was when Thomas called Janus the main mean girl and that they couldnt even deny it anymore.

When they made it back they patched up Janus and let him take a shower before sinking back out to join Thomas, who was just watching the office for the millionth time (pick another show sanders, I beg of you) he did perk back up when he realized that the sides were back. Then he saw the pissed off look on Janus' face... and he asked what was wrong. That set JanJan Binks off again as the others were getting a bit tired of hearing this again for the fifth time that day. So like how you distract a child.

They put on 'Chicago, the musical' and let the songs of Roxie Hart distract the snake. It worked, he shut up real quick!

The sides vowed to never let Janus get kidnapped ever again because that was.... An experience, that they DO NOT want to do again!

Thankfully the rest of the day went off well.

~~~~~

And that was an idea from 1am from someone who should be asleep! I was gonna make this angsty but all I could imagine was a pissed of Janus yelling at 30 adults.

I doubt you would want to use this but feel free! I hope this is as funny as my sleep deprived brain thinks it is!

(I'm sorry for any typos, it is very late)

(I got it! Just forgot to post it yesterday ^-^')

One, Yes. I love it. The beautiful angst... And ferral janus is something I absolutely die for.

(would say more but my brain has short circuited and I'm in boi, strict teach... But I'll put more later!)

#Tw blood #virgil sanders #thomas sanders #roman sanders #janus sanders #Roman sanders #Remus sanders #Patton sanders #logan sanders #tw kidnapping

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nbapprentice · 4 years

Note

You said a while back that while Supergiant games (Bastion, Transistor, Hades) was mostly okay, you had some words about them. I was curious as to what those words were, since Hades' full release is soon.

okay. alright. ive been playing hades lately so i definitely want to give my two cents (or dollars by the size this is gonna get). but let’s go Step by Step

the good: i want to throw a whole Endorsement over supergiant games with the art direction and its characters, which is what keeps me coming back again and again, and what i can assume is that most people are attracted to.

gameplaywise, they have a Format they stick to which has become their staple, not to their detriment but to their advantage, like... gameplay tropes, so to speak, that they stick to (such as the addition of special conditions that give a disadvantage in exchange for more long-term rewards)

i fucking adore that they take one concept per game, go for it, and when they’re done they are Done; they don’t bother with sequels, they don’t want to run things to the ground and i fucking respect that. They have their themes, and they stick to them (to various degrees of success).

that said, like every piece of media, they are not perfect and this has to be analysed and spoken about

CONTENT WARNINGS: genocide and ethnic cleansing, antisemitism, misogyny, homophobia, suicide, and mentions of incest, and a general Spoilers warning

bastion: touches on ethnic cleansing, and not in a way i’d say is satisfactory. our narrator and one of our Sympathetic characters is one of the men who worked on a world-ending weapon meant to use against the Ura (a group of people coded as East Asian) which after a bit of googling is literally called “the final solution” if there was ever a war between the Ura and the Cael (who feel like rly tan white people to me). jesus fucking CHRIST.

we also meet more Ura other than our two named characters and we have to kill most of them. so that fucking blows.

the game tries for “being a genocidal monster will get you fucked up and blown up” which duh, but i feel we shouldn’t have had a person responsible for war crimes be one of our friends no matter how bad he feels about the whole thing, or the people victim of war crimes become villains in the latter half of the game. zia’s father could’ve taken ruck’s role ez pz.

transistor: the weakest of their games, imo; the lore and writing are fairly flimsy and i did not come out feeling Satisfied, especially because it had this rly good build-up that did not pay off. not to mention... their villains? 3/4 were gay people. lol. two married guys (not even explicit, you only realize by their shared last names) and the ps*cho lesbian trope (iirc she wanted to kill the protagonist’s lover or something). the female protagonist also ends up killing herself to live forever in a digital paradise with her dead lover. it’s. god.

very Aesthetic, GORGEOUS music, interesting gameplay; had potential, i do not feel like it lived up to it at least as far as the story goes.

pyre: now this one. this one’s BEEFY. where transistor felt flimsy, pyre is rich; lots to sink your teeth into, rich in lore and loveable characters, again w the beautiful music, themes of cooperation and togetherness. my favorite of the cast is volfred sandalwood, the only Black (or, well, Black-coded) revolutionary i’ve ever seen portrayed with this amount of sympathy.

onto the bad: they literally have a Class of character named “Savage”; there’s the “mystical mentally ill person” trope; there is an overwhelming amount of explicit m/f pairs (one of them being. a romance that formed in a single day and then both of the characters were somehow willing to risk it all for each other? PLEASE) while the only hints of gayness are... hints. especially when Jodariel (another of my favs) is teased to have feelings for the player regardless of gender then only gets an ending with a male character with whom she has nothing in common 🙃

hades: and now. this one. music: gorgeous. character designs: spectacular (aphrodite is straight up naked but it’s so... natural and casual, it doesn’t feel sexualized at all). voice acting amazing. character interactions charming and endearing. as a greek mythology nerd, it was nice to see them go for the obscure shit like Zagreus at all, NOT portray Persephone and Hades as a loving couple, AND portrayed the gods as the bunch of petty assholes (some more benevolent than others) that they are. imo they’re too generous with their portrayal of achilles but i’ll allow it.

and finally... it seems all those criticisms about having all the gay characters hidden in the shadows paid off, cuz we got (aside of patroclus and achilles) a bisexual polyamorous protag. Holy Shit! and it’s not even playersexual, romance whomever you want shit without the routes recognizing each other: he explicitly talks about how he’s thinking abt them both (though it’s like “yeah usually mortals take one lover but gods love many huh” polyamory is a human thing too bro!!!!!)

and this is where it all goes, well, at least vaguely downhill lol. ok so the incest warning i gave up there? well. it’s not... outright incestuous. but it has some ugly implications. i want to emphasize: the characters never refer to each other as siblings, nor do they treat each other as such (thanatos, in fact, only recognizes hypnos as his brother, and megaera only sees the other furies as her sisters), but they were all raised by the same woman, Nyx... zagreus and thanatos even grew up together (im assuming megaera didnt meet zagreus until he was fully grown).

this is complicated even worse by the fact that they tried to trick zagreus into believing Nyx was his mother. he realized pretty early on this was not true but like... adoptive mothers, anyone? granted i can believe that bc of the attempt at deception that probably ruptured any attempt at actual familial closeness, and it’s not like hypnos and thanatos saw zagreus as their brother at any point, so they were p much aware of the truth too. with the fact that thanatos even looks like goth miles edgeworth (im not kidding you can google him up right now its literally edgeworth in a cowl) i rly feel they were aiming for Childhood Friend Anime Rival Man than the “surprise kiss bc ur not actually related <3″ shit. zagreus never once refers to nyx as his mother in-game, and also refers to thanatos and hypnos as her sons, never his brothers.

so yeah, like. if one’s feeling generous, zagreus and thanatos are more of a “my father is emotionally closed off and neglects me so my best friend’s mother basically raised me” kind of situation... just pulled off in, perhaps, the worst way possible (why didnt they just say Zagreus was told Hekate was his mom, that’s such an easy fix? or that he was born of nobody other than Hades??? [gestures at athena])

but then, the gods. aaaaaaaahhhhahahahh the gods. demeter shows up! and she calls zeus, hades and poseidon... her foster-brothers. which somehow would make the persephone thing less fucking awful, apparently. they really. really really did not need to do that. she could’ve just said “my fellow gods” or whatever. or my “god-brothers” or something, to pretend it was just a weird god alliance thing??? i dont know but implying that foster family isn’t family is just... bro, the dynamics still exist.

Don’t Like That.

i even contacted supergiant games over this. they reassured me they were even trying to avoid the incest of the original myths bc they didn’t want to mess with such a heavy theme. i believe them... but i really think they didn’t think this through. compared to something like fire emblem fates this is nearly benign, but the implications don’t look good :/

tl;dr of the tl;drs: i admire their artistic philosophy and the heavy emphasis on fresh gameplay, characters and their relationships; i appreciate that it seems that they listen to criticism?; i don’t appreciate that they didn’t think to at LEAST talk to adoptees when making a game about family.

#Anonymous #asks #mod nba #supergiant #supergiant games #bastion #transistor #hades #pyre

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impala-dreamer · 5 years

Text

Things We Never Said

SPN FanFic

~The Winchesters have a hard time getting the right words out at the right time.~

Dean x Reader, Sam x Reader

1,565 Words

Warnings: Super Angst.

A/N: This is for my Fic Imitating Art Challenge! The prompt is entirely based on the graphic created by @because-imma-lady-assface. I hope you enjoy!

Feedback is Gold ~ My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon

Dean wasn’t good with words. They tumbled out of him in emotional bursts that usually got the wrong reaction, causing more problems than they solved.

Sam...he knew how to find the words, knew what he wanted, needed to say, just not how to get them out. Not when it came to you. Neither of them knew how to explain just what you meant to them.

They met you on a Tuesday, which Sam found strange when he looked back later, because nothing good ever happened on a Tuesday. It was raining, which Dean enjoyed, and he always would remember how you looked up from the ground, covered in mud and cuts, lashes carrying raindrops as you blinked at him.

“Thanks for the hand,” you teased, out of breath from the fight, wind knocked out of you as the demon power shot you across the empty field.

Dean gave a short laugh and extended a hand, instantly taken back when your small hand fit so perfectly into his. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

You jumped to your feet and wiped a bit of mud from your cheek. “Don’t worry about it. I’m used to getting dirty.”

Something about the way you winked at him punched him in the chest and that was the end of him. He could feel it right then and there. Maybe he’d never call it love, but it was something, and that something was stronger than he’d felt in forever.

“You got a name, stranger?” you asked, turning a sly smile at his glazed expression.

“Uh…” His lips moved but no name came out.

“Winchester,” Sam spoke up, jog coming to a halt by your side. “I’m Sam,” he said, reaching to shake your hand. “This is my brother, Dean.”

You smiled up at him as you slipped free from Dean’s grip and into Sam’s. “Sam and Dean Winchester? The Sam and Dean?”

Sam blushed and nodded, bit of hair falling to cover his hazel eyes. “I guess so.”

“Well, lucky me.” You bit your lip and smiled, innocent eyes sparkling even in the darkness of the storm.

Sam fell hard in that moment, lost in the twinkle in your eye and the softness of your voice. He felt his heart beat, every muscle coming to life as you held his hand so tight. He was hooked.

“You fellas wanna give a lady a ride back to her car?” you asked, finally letting them both go and turning towards the road. A quick look over your shoulder showed the brothers frozen in place, faint smitten smiles turning their lips. You laughed and let them watch you walk away, swinging your hips a little more obviously than usual.

Dean sighed. “She’s…”

Sam cleared his throat. “Yeah…”

The brothers shared a look and took off, determined to see who would get to you first; a friendly competition for your hand.

Time moved quickly as it always did and the Tuesdays piled up in the rearview.

In the end, neither Winchester made a move, knowing it would only lead to trouble between them. The world gave them enough issues. Bringing one home, even one as intriguing as you, just wasn’t in the cards.

That was fine with you, you weren’t in it for love anyway. Still, there were times when Dean’s lips accidentally met yours after a bottle of whiskey, or his heated admonishments would make your heart swell, knowing he yelled because he was worried.

You never talked about those drunken nights or passionate pep talks, not with anyone.

Not even when Sam slipped into your room at night, curling his long body around yours, nuzzling into your ear, whispering words of comfort. Not when his fingers would brush against yours beneath the table while you both poured over books in the Library.

It was an unspoken thing. They both held your heart, but they pretended all was normal. Just friends, colleagues even. A trio of hunters working to rid the world of monsters and the evil that lurked in the night.

It was a Tuesday when they lost you.

The poetic irony of the day nearly snapped Sam in half when he realized the date, rushing to your side as you fell, the monster’s claws ripping straight through your flesh.

The sun was bright and the sky was filled with marshmallow clouds that seemed soft and calming; your eyes locking onto one that looked a bit like a duck as Dean cradled your head in his lap.

“No, Y/N/N, please…” his voice cracked as he rubbed your cheek with his big thumb, feeling the cold already setting in.

You pulled away from the sky to look into his eyes one last time. You could feel the blood flowing, pouring out even as Sam pressed his giant hands to your stomach. “Dean…” you smiled as he leaned close, tears welling in his green eyes. “I love you.”

He shuddered and pressed his forehead to yours, jaw clenching as he tried to keep himself together.

Sam was shaking, pushing down on your wound, but all the pressure in the world couldn’t hold back the flood. It was too much. It was too late.

You reached for him, a weak hand rising to curl around his ear. “Sam, hey.”

He looked up, face masked with misery. “Y/N, I…”

“Come here.” Dizziness crept in as the sky burned bright white above, but Sam blocked the brightness as he leaned close.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whispered, lifting a bloody hand to your cheek.

“No, Sam.” A cough shook your body and you bit back a scream, determined to make it through one last word. “L-love you.”

It was raining again, but the flames took no notice.

Sam stood at Dean’s left, cheeks flooded with tears, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. His shoulders were tight and his body was slumped, somehow shrinking him down into a shell of a man instead of the giant hero he was. Grief was heavy. His heart even more so.

Dean was calm. He stood like a statue, eyes unblinking as the pyre consumed your body. He was tired of saying goodbye, tired of feeling the heartache of love lost too soon. It clawed at him from deep inside, shredding his soul with every speck of ash that floated to Heaven.

Sam broke the silence, speaking suddenly as if you could still hear him. His voice was strained and high as he choked around the tears. “Y/N, I… I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry we…”

“Don’t do that,” Dean spat, head shaking subtly.

“What?”

“Don’t apologize to her. This wasn’t your fault.”

Sam let out a quick breath as anger began to brew. “It wasn’t yours either.”

Dean nodded. “I know.”

The fire crackled loudly and Sam turned back to the outline of your body.

“There’s no blame here,” Dean said, never looking away from the flames. “It’s not anyone’s fault, Sammy. Shit happens. She died how she wanted.”

“She didn’t want to die, Dean,” Sam snapped.

“No, but she knew she would some day.”

Sam grit his teeth. “Why are you being so calm about this?”

“I’m not.” His voice was too even, too slow, and the tears began to fall at last. “I loved her, Sam. Since the first moment I saw her. I feel...I feel like my heart’s been ripped out of my chest and is burning on that pyre right now. I…” He took a deep breath and licked the salt from his lip, eyes darting between the wood and ash. “I never told her. I could never fucking say it back.”

Sam broke again, letting go of the anger he felt at Dean’s apparent callousness and falling forward. He hit the ground and sank back, bringing his knees up to his chest like a little boy lost in a crowd. “She was…”

Dean looked down and back, nodding quickly. “I know, Sammy.”

“And she never asked for anything,” he went on, words tumbling from his shaking lips. “Never complained about what we were or what you guys were, never brought it up. It’s like...she was happy in the middle. Just to be there. She was she was always there. I should have told her. I should have said it. I…”

Dean took a breath and closed his eyes finally, lifting his face to the sky, letting the heat of the funeral flames lick at his cheeks. “She knew.”

“Did she?” Sam yelled. “Did she!”

Green eyes returned to the fire, barely able to make out your silhouette anymore. “She did, Sam. I know she did.”

They weren’t good with words.

Dean never figured out the things he wanted to say in the way he wanted to say them; substituting an ‘I Love You’ with a kiss on the forehead or a longing smile from afar.

Sam never said what he needed to; fear and doubt keeping his words locked deep inside. He would share his nightmares and wishes, hopes and heartache in quiet whispers in the dark, but ‘I Love You’ was too hard to touch.

They kept your picture in the Library; small framed snapshot tucked away on a shelf with the books you loved, a smile captured and kept forever.

They kept their ‘I Love Yous’ in that same Library, filed away under ‘Things We Never Said’.

2019 Forever Tags:

@akshi8278 @amanda-teaches @arses21434 @because-imma-lady-assface @burningcoffeetimetravel @colagirl5 @cosicas-cuquis @cosmicfire72 @courtney-elizabeth-winchester @covered-byroses @crashdevlin @dean-winchesters-bacon @deansenwackles @deansgirl215 @dolphincliffs @dubuforeveralone @emilyshurley @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008 @eternal-elir @feelmyroarrrr @flamencodiva @focusonspn @gayspacenerd @herbologystudent252 @hobby27 @ilsawasanacrobat @justcallmeasmodeus @katymacsupernatural @lastactiontricia @maddiepants @mariekoukie6661 @meganwinchester1999 @missjenniferb @mrswhozeewhatsis @our-jensen-ackles-love @peridot-rose @pisces-cutie @risingphoenix761 @roonyxx @roxyspearing @sandlee44 @shadowkat-83 @spnbaby-67 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @spnficgirl @supernaturaldean67 @supernatural-took-me-over @thehardcoveraddict @tmiships4life @wegoddessofhell @winchesterprincessbride

#spn fanfic #angst #dean x reader #sam x reader #one shot #fia challenge round1

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vexing-imogen · 4 years

Text

Exit, Pursued by a Bear

-my contribution to @folktalesofexandria also on AO3

He doesn’t know who this strange creature is that’s picking him up, she’s certainly not his mama, but he feels safe cradled in her arms. Even though she’s shaking and her face is wet with tears and she smells like the Bad Things, he feels safe. She presses her face against his snout and starts making noises at him.

“It’s alright, darling, I’ve got you,” she says. She scratches behind his ears, and he growls happily. “I’ll take care of you, I promise.” They’re moving now, walking away from his mama. He whines, starts squirming in her arms.

She holds him tighter and keeps walking, but he manages to squirm out of her grasp and run back to his mama. His mama, who isn’t moving, isn’t making noise, isn’t breathing. A twig snaps behind him, and he turns to see Her kneeling on the ground. “I’m sorry, buddy.” A sob. “There was nothing I could do. I’m so sorry.” She holds her arms out for him and he goes to her, lets her bundle him against her chest again. “I may not be your mother, but I’m going to take care of you. I’ll never leave you alone, I promise.”

He believes her.

Trinket wakes from his dream with a snort. He yawns, shakes the remnants of sleep from his head as he ponders his dream. His first memory of Vex. It’s been a frequent dream lately, and he doesn’t know why. It’s confusing, especially for a bear as old as Trinket.

He’s stretching, trying to alleviate aching bones and popping joints, when the chamber door opens and Vex walks in. She beams at him. “There you are, buddy,” she croons, scratching him behind the ears. He leans into her, but not too hard. It takes her so much longer to get up now if he accidentally knocks her on her rump. “I thought you were going to sleep the day away.”

Trinket huffs and butts against her gently. “I know, darling,” she says through a small yawn. “Like I have any room to talk.”

They take a meandering path through the castle and out into the gardens. Vex is resting on one of the small benches when one of the many young de Rolos approaches, a piece of parchment in his hand. Trinket doesn’t remember this one’s name, there are so many and he is a very old bear, but he looks so much like Uncle Vax that it makes Trinket’s heart ache. Vex’s too. She’s told Trinket so many times.

“Grandmother,” he says, handing her the parchment. “Lady Keyleth’s reply came quicker than expected.”

“Thank you, Hugo, darling,” she says, searching her pockets for something.

The lad doesn’t leave immediately. “Did you want any help reading her letter, Grandmother?”

Vex fixes him with a stern look as she locates Papa Percy’s spectacles and adjusts them on her nose. “I’ve got it handled, Hugo,” she says. “I’m not blind. And even if I were, your Auntie Keyleth writes so large, I’d still be able to read it.”

Hugo flushes and fidgets with his cravat. “I apologize, Grandmother. I’ll leave you to it.” He kisses her on the cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she says, her gaze softening. “Now, don’t you have an archery lesson to get to?”

His eyes go wide as he pulls out a pocket watch. “Shit.” He grins at her sheepishly. “I should go.”

“Make me proud, darling,” she calls out as he runs off.

Hugo’s voice echoes through the garden as he calls back, “I’ll do my best!”

“Dear boy,” she says softly, shaking her head with a fond smile. She pets Trinket absentmindedly as she reads Keyleth’s letter, only pausing twice to cough harshly into a handkerchief. “Sorry, buddy,” she murmurs when he makes a noise of complaint.

Vex reads the letter three times before she seems satisfied. Trinket takes the opportunity to doze in the mid-morning sunlight. He daydreams about the early days with Vex; learning to track and hunt, protecting her from bandits, swimming in rivers, playing in fields, sleeping by campfires. His mind wanders to their days with Vox Machina. To adventures in strange places, the monsters they fought, and all of the strange, wonderful things they did as a family.

He doesn’t realize that he’s fallen asleep again until Vex is shaking him awake. There’s a strange expression on her face. Something tired and sad, but determined all the same. She’s kneeling on the ground beside him, and when he tries to ask her what’s wrong, she simply wraps her arms around his neck, buries her face in his fur, and breathes in as deep as she can.

“Come for a walk with me, buddy?” she asks. “Kiki’s waiting for us at your uncle’s shrine.” There’s concern in her eyes as he struggles to his feet, holding back a groan of pain. “Only if you can manage it, darling. I can put you in the necklace if you can’t.”

Trinket snorts, determined to show her that he can still keep up. She’s barely made it to her feet before he’s making his way toward the Parchwood, toward that familiar path that leads to a clearing and a pretty stone bench.

Vex catches up to him, puts a hand on his shoulder to slow his walk. “It’s alright, Trinket, there’s no need to rush.” She smiles down at him. “We have all the time in the world.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Keyleth, Pike, and Scanlan are waiting at the shrine, talking quietly amongst themselves, when Vex finally crests the hill into the clearing. Trinket, who has been stubbornly struggling to keep pace with her, bellows happily and flops down on the grass next to Keyleth. Vex takes a moment to catch her breath while Pike and Keyleth lavish attention on her bear. She pointedly ignores their eyes on her as she settles herself, curling up next to Trinket like she has for decades.

They’ve all gone silent, though Keyleth is still absently petting Trinket’s snout. Up close, Vex can see that Pike’s eyes are red and puffy, Keyleth’s sleeves are stained with tears and snot, and Scanlan is fiddling with his shawm, as if he’s trying to think of the perfect song for the occasion. Her chest aches, and not from the disease that seized her so many years ago and refuses to let go. She’s never wanted to hurt them, which is why she’s so determined now to not drag this out any longer.

Keyleth is the one to break the silence, shaky and uncertain. “Vex, your letter…” She sniffles, hiccups. “A-are you sure?”

She nods slowly, closing her eyes against the tears that spill over when Scanlan’s sob echoes through the clearing.

Pike’s warm hands close around hers, and Vex forces herself to meet her earnest gaze. “You don’t have to give up, Vex,” she says desperately. “There are so many routes we haven’t tried yet. Maybe Sarenrae can-”

“Pike.” She cuts the gnome off gently. “We’ve had forty years to find a cure for this. I don’t think there is one. And I’m so fucking tired, darling.”

“Vex…”

“Just stop, please.” She draws in a sharp breath. “Just listen. I’m so tired. I’ve somehow outlived my brother and my husband and all of my children, and I’m so tired of fighting. I just want to rest.”

“But,” Keyleth starts tentatively, “what about Whitestone? What about your legacy?”

“Percy was the one obsessed with legacy, not me,” she says. “And I think our legacy is well secured, besides. Whitestone is in good hands, Kiki. And I’m little more than an old woman who sees ghosts in the faces of children.”

“Hey now, don’t sell yourself short,” Scanlan says, sniffling. “You’ve also got the best rack of any 133 year-old I’ve met.”

That gets a watery laugh from Keyleth and Pike, punctuated by a loud snore from Trinket. Vex leans back against her bear, tears dripping into his fur as she listens to his heartbeat.

“This decision isn’t just for me,” she says after a few minutes. “It’s for Trinket, too.”

Scanlan frowns. “How does your death help Trinket?” he asks.

Vex sniffles, her tears falling faster. “Barring external forces, Trinket can’t pass on until I do,” she explains. “His life force is bound to mine. He lives as long as I do. He suffers as long as I do.”

“Wait, really?”

“You really didn’t realize?” Pike sighs. “Scanlan, how long did you think grizzly bears could live?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. In case you hadn’t noticed, bears aren’t exactly my thing.”

“Well, I can assure you that 120 years is not a normal lifespan,” Vex says. She strokes a hand through his gray fur. “He sleeps all the time, he’s in constant pain. He tries to hide it, but I know my buddy. It isn’t fair for me to ask him to keep living like this, but I couldn’t… I could never…”

She dissolves into sobs, muffling her grief in Trinket’s fur until he shifts underneath her, trying to maneuver so he can comfort her. “It’s alright, buddy, I’m alright,” she lies. “You can go back to sleep, darling. Mummy’s fine.” She scritches at a particular spot behind his ears, and after a few minutes, he’s fallen back to sleep.

She looks up from tending to Trinket to find her friends watching her, their eyes full of sympathy. Keyleth is the first one to nod.

“Okay,” she says. “Okay, Vex.”

She wraps Vex in a tight embrace, tears soaking Vex’s hair. “I can’t believe I’m gonna be the last member of Team Half-Elf left.”

Vex laughs. “You always knew you were going to be.” She kisses her softly, then touches their foreheads together. “Kaitiake, Kiki.”

“Kaitiake, Vex.”

Pike approaches next, simply wraps her arms around Vex and cries into her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“Don’t be,” she says. “You did everything you could.” She kisses the top of Pike’s head. “I love you, Pickle.”

“Love you, too, Vex.”

Scanlan has tears streaming down his face when she hugs him close and whispers, “Take care of them.”

“Of course,” he says, and she feels his lips press against her cheek. “On one condition.”

She arches an eyebrow at him. “And what would that be?”

“I get to light your pyre.”

She sighs, thinking back to the disaster that was Grog’s funeral. “Fine,” she relents. “But if you burn my forest down, I will haunt your ass for eternity.”

“Just my ass?” he says with a salacious waggle of his eyebrows. “Kinky.”

Vex shakes her head. “I’ll miss you, too, you perv.”

Once they’ve all left the clearing, Vex sinks back against Trinket, suddenly exhausted. Without Pike’s healing magic coursing through her, she can feel her lungs starting to seize, making each breath more and more difficult. She takes a breath that turns into a harsh coughing fit that ends with her on all fours, dry heaving. She looks up into Trinket’s worried eyes and wipes blood from her mouth. “It’s okay, Trinket,” she manages, crawling towards him. “We can rest now.”

She curls into Trinket’s warmth and closes her eyes.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Trinket wakes from his nap with a loud yawn, immediately squinting his eyes against the bright light flooding the clearing.

“There you are, sleepyhead!” Vex’s voice calls to him from the path back to Whitestone. “If we don’t get going soon, we’re going to miss lunch.”

Trinket gets up, barely noticing that it isn’t the painful struggle he’s endured for years. He takes a few steps towards Vex, then stops, cocking his head curiously. There must be some kind of magic in this clearing, because his Vex is young again; tall and proud, grinning like they’re about to embark on an adventure.

“What’s wrong, buddy?”

“Nothing,” he answers, shaking the last bit of sleep from his head. Something catches his eye, and he looks back over his shoulder. There’s nothing there. Nothing but a very old bear and a very old woman curled up together by a stone bench. He turns back to Vex, who smiles at him brightly.

“Aren’t you coming, Trinket?”

He huffs and walks over to butt his head against her thigh. What a silly question.

Where else would he go, but with Vex?

#critical role #critfic #folk tales of exandria #vox machina #vex'ahlia #trinket #long post #cw character death

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tarithenurse · 4 years

Text

The good Villain - 3

Pairing: Loki x Fem!Reader (eventually) Content: Some gore, slight angst and sadness due to trauma, sexual innuendos A/N: Thanks for all the wonderful responses and reblogs! Please know that even if I don’t answer them individually, I do see and recognize the names of you all.

Chapter 3

… Reader …

The smells are different on Terra. It should not have been such a surprise, really, because the chemical compositions always vary from one planet to the next, and you have gotten used to it after the third place you went to eradicate the Leeches. This planet: here the dancing flames burn with a thousand shades of yellow to red, sometimes a flicker matching your hair near the fuel, lifting up a tauntingly homey scent…like roast trifaerh. Combined with the blazing heat it calls upon memories of your childhood and, from much later, the quiet nights with your crew when a mission had been completed successfully and required celebration. Sinking to your knees, ignoring the oozing dripple of liquids snaking out from under the impromptu pyre, you allow the feelings to surface.

Seven. Each strong, eager, with long lives ahead of them until that last mission. Even now, you can see their smiling faces and hear their voices bantering as every crewmember carried out their duties in preparation for docking.

The research station was little, only hosting a few scientists and their families and you had wondered where the vessels were – had someone left to find help? Still, the distress signal was re-sent rather than looped and without physical evidence from the outside that something was wrong, you tasked the crew to follow you through the airlocks.

A shiver runs down your spine at the recollection and you hug yourself as best you can with the clumsy arm. Every blazing fire is to honour your crew, to prevent others from suffering the same fate as they did, and it brings you a warped calm to acknowledge the small victory. The problem is that as soon as the fire dies the sense of peace is extinguished too.

“I won’t rest,” you croak in a hoarse whisper, “not until I’ve exterminated them all.”

“We were afraid you’d say that.” The answer does not belong to any of the ghosts of your past, and despite the automatic translation the underlying threat remains obvious. “Gimme one good reason not to kill ya…right…now.”

“I can provide several.” Slowly getting to your feet you hear the slight shuffle of other Terrans. “One…” the counting is neatly indicated by a finger, “you have to know if there are more with the same goal.” The reflection in the broken windows shows a gaudy robot behind you with a strangely realistic, Terran face. “Secondly…you want to know why.”

… Loki …

The restraints are somewhat alternative due to the injuries of the Betan, and her quiet compliance sets Loki on edge as much as it intrigues him. She oozes of calculative planning while at the same time offering them much more than they could have hoped for when she tells them where her gear is and allows Thor and Stark to drag her from the derelict factory towards the exit. Only as they reach the threshold out into the rain does she fight them – a brief struggle ended by a well aimed blow to the back of her head delivered by Barnes.

“Huh!” Natasha removes something from the Betan’s backpack. “Salt? What’s that for?”

“Keep looking, there might be tequila too,” someone comments dryly.

Barton ducks in time to avoid the still perfectly sealed ingredient, proving that he was the speaker. At the very least, it is obvious to everyone that the packaging is the original. Maybe the Betan needs it for nutritional purposes? Not much was mentioned of the race in the report and Loki has honestly not payed much attention to the planet and its inhabitants during the last century or nine.

…

A long leg dangles over the armrest, allowing the chair to cradle Loki comfortably as he whiles the hours away. He has brought a book but watching the prisoner is a more welcoming distraction – especially now she begins to stir.

The first signs are the change in rhythm of the chest’s rising and falling, then the little ticks in her fingers. Next instant she is on her feet in a defensive position with the back against the wall as her impossibly dark eyes scan the surroundings without missing a detail of her prison – including the watcher on the other side of the glass wall.

Loki has not moved a muscle and as his composure remains the same it is clear that she relaxes a fraction – enough to push aside stray, ocean coloured hair, and to cradle the broken arm. He sees her tense anew upon realizing that the blade hidden in the cast is gone. Few would notice your observation. Oh, she is subtle in her ways despite the ferocity of the murders she has committed both here on Midgard and elsewhere.

“Your…benign belongings are under the bed.”

There is a second’s delay before she moves, groping in the darkness without leaving him with the eyes. Moments later a white-covered finger disappears tauntingly slow between her lips, the tip of her tongue briefly visible as it circles the digit with delicious accuracy the God can imagine applied elsewhere.

“All-Speak,” she hums upon extraction, “you are Asgardian.”

“Close enough.” The answer irks her, but Loki continues. “You on the other hand, my little devil, are from Sirius Beta.”

A slight nod to solidify the agreement. “Mhm.”

“Your name’s a challenge for me to pronounce, may I call you [Y/N]?” It sounds almost the same, much shorter of course, but everyone on Beta had convoluted names and it was only under the most pompous circumstances that they were expected to be used unabridged – that much he does know.

“Sure.” She has a way of rolling the shoulder whenever she is about to push a wayward strand of hair out of the face. The same strand.

“Grand. You’re formerly a commander of the Rescue Forces, officially discharged without honours after a jailbreak…but of course,” Loki smirks at the certain conviction of having the upper hand, “there’s no need for me to relay your own accomplishments.”

Again, salt crystals find their way past the murderer’s lips without as much as a single grain being lost due to nervous tremors.

“That is a shame,” [Y/N] pouts, finally relenting Loki a pretend victory in the staring contests, “I would have loved to hear your version of my supposed crimes.”

“Supposed?”

“You heard me.”

“You mean…the way you’ve tracked and killed?”

“Yes, the way I have tracked,” the movements punctuate the words when she steps from the bed, “and…exterminated each threat.”

Few are as callous as she. “They were children!”

But Loki’s frustrated shout bounces off the glass separating them, never hitting her back as she squats to rummage through the few belongings the Avengers have let her keep. Children, you monster! Rage is taking over the Asgardian as past and present blends together to extend a crime ignored for too long, even now as many of time’s shadows have shrunk away from the blinding clarity of hindsight. Little ones! Barely started upon life when she came and robbed them of all that might have been.

“Were they?”

Huh? Loki is never one to be derailed by such a simple question.

“Were they? Children?” Finally having found what she has been looking for, [Y/N] holds up a wad of scribbled notes against the barrier. “Look into the last mission.”

The disembodied voice of Stark’s AI guides the Betan to an airlock system set up to transfer items without risking breaching the containment. By the time Loki hesitantly reaches in to grasp the notes she is back on the bed, legs up against the wall and head dangling over the edge, allowing easy access to the stash of salt.

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raja-myna · 4 years

Text

yesterday is long since lost

FINALLY got this thing done!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25070434

Anakin – and he is Anakin, even if that name feels a little bit like putting on a shirt he had thought he had outgrown – knows that he’s messing up. When he first realized what had happened, that he really had come back, he had been grateful that his body had collapsed under the weight of his future memories, leaving his subconscious mind to slowly make the connections and let him wake up again. He had thought he was prepared for it, when he shook off the last of the sleepy haze. The phrase ‘rude awakening’ turned out to fit almost too well.

The two weeks that it had taken for his body and mind to acclimatize to each other proves itself to be so far from enough. He’s jittery, uncomfortable in his own body (and it’s his body again, more flesh than metal, inescapable marks of betrayal (but whose was it really? Not Obi-Wan’s, he knows now, and that thought cuts impossibly deeper than ever) erased) with its lack of aches and pains, and reflexes that no longer match flesh limbs.

Rex knows something is up, but military discipline keeps him from asking, at least for now. Ahsoka knows something’s up, but she’s still too relieved that he’s okay (and hah, if only she knew) to push.

He thanks the Force that Obi-Wan isn’t here, because even though they’d made some sort of peace at Anakin’s funeral pyre and after that, he doesn’t know how he would react to seeing his former Master with them both alive again. Obi-Wan also likely wouldn’t hesitate to call him out on his poodoo. Oh, he’d be diplomatic, and he likely wouldn’t push if Anakin reacted badly, but Anakin still isn’t sure he could take that.

When they had been dead there hadn’t been much to do but make peace. Now, alive and with the Clone Wars barely halfway through, Anakin is realizing that a lot of their peace had come from the fact that nothing they could have done would have affected anything in the end. That calm understanding that had come with being one with the Force is gone as well, and Anakin’s love for and rage at his old Master are dueling for prominence. His guilt wants to land on the side of his love, but his anger has always run hot. He fears seeing Obi-Wan, for he truly cannot tell whether he’ll be angry, snappish and rude, or if he’ll want to fall to his knees and cry.

There’s enough of Anakin wanting to cry as it is.

It had been hard, seeing Ahsoka, seeing Rex when he first woke up and truly getting hit with how he had failed them. But they had been the lucky ones, in that awful future. They had gotten away.

Seeing Coric in the medbay, seeing Kix… that had been worse. Kix had been gone before Anakin Fell and Order 66 was executed, they hadn’t even found a body. Coric had died two years later, two years of living not unlike a battle droid covered in flesh, with only the barest glimpses of the man he really was underneath the weight of orders and grief he wasn’t allowed to understand.

Grief that none of the clones were allowed to understand.

(Vader had seen Bly. He had seen Shocker. He had seen Cody.)

(He had seen all those who had eaten their blasters as the chips died, never actually intended to survive past usage – just like the clones themselves.)

Vader hadn’t cared, or at least tried to tell himself that he didn’t. Anakin does care. And Force, but it hurts.

The first day Anakin just avoids everyone, using Kix’s orders of rest as an excuse. Facing everyone is… something no amount of preparation could help him with, a punch to the gut and a knock to the head that leaves him reeling. The effort it takes to not simply flee for his quarters actually leaves him winded when he finally reaches the corridor, enters the room, closes the door behind himself and locks himself in.

There’s something wrong with him. Anakin is not reacting the way he should – the way he ought to, having seen so many ghosts in so short a time. His mind is a mess.

Meditation does not come easy.

He forces himself into it, in an attempt to reconcile the different parts of himself. He is Anakin, jedi general, student, teacher, husband, lover, twenty years old and so arrogant. He is Vader, sith apprentice, failure, world-weary, beaten down, a monster shackled to a madman… a father, in the end.

He is Ani, slave boy, who cares so much and loves so deeply but doesn’t know how to handle it, never learned how to grow it, only hoard.

(If you love something, let it go.)

(He let Luke go, in the end. Let his son choose his own path and…)

I am a jedi, like my father before me.

Sleep doesn’t come at all.

Vader has spent literal decades hating his past, weak self, disgusted with the man who couldn’t even save the single most important person left in his life, who had lost everyone else along the line. Past-(present-?)Anakin is horrified by what he became, by what his future self allowed himself to be twisted into. Ani doesn’t understand, doesn’t want to understand how it could have even happened.

It’s a good thing self-hatred is nothing new to him, he thinks, because that is the common point that finally allows him to reconcile the different facets of himself.

That’s kind of sad.

It’s also awfully appropriate, in a twisted sense.

The second day he tries to play at normalcy and heads to the bridge. Ahsoka tracks him down when he’s alone during a quiet moment and hugs him until he stops trying to make her let go. Her relief broadcasts in the Force and their bond alike. Anakin… lets himself hold her, and heal, just a bit. Then Kix finds them and sends him back to bed. It’s enough to make Ahsoka laugh and think everything’s back to normal. Anakin lets her believe it.

He heads back to his bunk, and since Kix is a suspicious one, wise to the ways of his jedi, Anakin has company the entire way.

“Forty-eight hours of rest,” says Kix dryly, “and a visit to medical. Neither of these has been completed, and you’re still obviously tired. Get some more sleep, sir, or I can’t clear you.”

“How about just the visit to medical?” Anakin tries to bargain.

“Sir, I know disasters tend to strike like clockwork around here, but please. Nothing will happen if you just get some more rest.”

And despite Kix all but punching fate in the face and yelling ‘come get me’, nothing does happen. Anakin meditates some more and actually manages to grab a nap as well.

When he wakes up it’s shipboard afternoon. He heads down to the hangar, and instead of attempting to work on the Twilight like he planned to, he finds himself drawn into a discussion with three of the troopers (Lyn died on Umbara, Bell was lost on Mandalore, while Flipper had marched on the temple and not died until after more than five years of atrocities in the name of the Empire).

He failed them. The thought hovers in his mind even as he gets more involved in the debate. He failed them like he failed all his men, Ahsoka, Obi-Wan. Like he failed his mother. Like he failed Padmé. Like he almost failed Luke, like he did fail him several times.

The storm of emotions is like a vibroblade to the gut and Anakin claws desperately at it, keeping it from showing either on his face or in the Force. He almost pulls away again, until Bell’s words cut through him like shards of glass.

“-but not this time!”

Bell punctuates his words by punching the air. They’re talking about marksmanship contests now, but Anakin cannot fully restrain how deeply it hits him. His expression must twitch, because Bell turns to him, eyes wide with feigned upset.

“You think I can’t, General?”

Flipper nudges him. “The General simply knows better than to put his credits up on the word of such an… unreliable source.” The grin is contagious, and Anakin finds himself smiling as well, grounding himself in their gentle teasing and free-flowing affection.

His failures feel further away and, desperate to keep that feeling, he does what he always did best – jump without looking. “Well, maybe I can help make it less unreliable.”

“Sir?”

Anakin’s mouth really ran away with him this time, but something tells him that this is good. A comfortable warmth that sits in his gut, the Force whispering in his ear, Bell’s disbelieving – but growing – excitement. “You’re off duty. I have some spare time. There are several training halls available.”

Not this time. He failed them all then, but not this time.

It is with a strange sort of budding contentment that he puts Bell and several other clones through their paces in a training hall. He’s doing something, changing something, and it’s such a tiny difference but it’s a difference. Anakin can’t do a lot from here, not yet, but this – being with the men, helping them – is something he can do.

For the first time since he woke up, Anakin feels like he’s doing something right.

Nearly an hour after they began, Anakin catches sight of Rex by the door. The expression on his face is one part amusement, one part ‘I know what you’re doing’ and about five parts exasperation. It’s familiar despite the years, comforting, and Anakin laughs before he can even register the urge to.

The next moment he freezes because – how long has it been? He catches himself almost immediately and excuses himself from the practice session. They can continue without him anyway.

By the door, Rex’s amusement sharpens into instant hyper-awareness. Anakin starts running through the excuses he’d hoped wouldn’t be necessary.

Rex’s care for his jedi is something Anakin has been in turns awed, perplexed and humbled by. Now, his worry is just as humbling, but it is also troublesome. In the end, Anakin finds himself released to medbay only because Rex too is still shaky after his coma. None of them are fully back to normal, so Anakin’s issues are easier to hide.

They won’t always be, but Anakin will get better at hiding, too.

He runs into Ahsoka again in the hallway and she immediately attaches herself to his side. The last time he had seen her in that other time flashes in his mind – tall, strong, grieving – and he rests his hand on her montrals, his tiny, beloved padawan who the galaxy has barely even started to break yet.

She’s here.

She is here and he hasn’t lost her, not to his own madness nor her iron-clad conviction that he’s gone forever.

The poisonous thinking that came with the Dark Side is still haunting him, and for a moment he wants to drag her even closer, make sure she could never leave – and then the thought leaves him sick, his hand drops down to squeeze her shoulder and then he lets go.

She follows him to the medbay, where Kix clears Anakin. The clone is clearly reluctant, going by the grumbling, but Anakin is free to return to duty. As such, he is free to check out exactly when it is he has returned to.

The answer… staggers him. It’s the early days of the war, that much had already been obvious in the many presences that had been long gone, but… so many of the bad things haven’t happened yet, so many things he can change, disasters he can undo, lives he can save –

Sidious.

And even though he knows he can’t just rush in, the scene plays out in Anakin’s mind. Since he’d learned about Luke, Vader had ever entertained the thought of killing his Master. And even before that, before Padmé and Obi-Wan and Mustafar, Sidious’ survival had never counted in Anakin’s plans. More than once he had tortured himself with what-ifs… and now he has the chance to make them come true.

Still, striding up to the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic and attempting to cut him down, for all that it would be satisfying, would more likely end with Anakin fleeing from the Coruscant Security Forces with his task still not accomplished more than anything else.

It’s nothing but wishful thinking and Anakin waves it away.

A quick talk with Yularen confirms that they’re heading back to Coruscant. They’re still six days out, at current velocity, something Yularen relays with an apologetic look, since Anakin tends to be eager to get planetside. In this case though, it means there’s only six days to prepare for seeing the temple again, seeing Padmé, seeing – Force, seeing the younglings.

“Master?”

Ahsoka’s voice pulls him out of those dark musings.

“Yeah, Snips?” The nickname rolls off his tongue with reflexive ease, and it is not until it already lingers in the air that he realizes how much it grounds him.

“Is everything all right?”

He could lie. She would see through it, and either let it be or keep digging until she thought she had found out every little detail.

“No.” Ahsoka stops dead and he turns to look back at her, her big eyes even wider than usual at his uncharacteristic honesty concerning his own state. “But it’s getting better.” How can it not?

“…If you say so.”

“I do.”

“Good.”

The ringing silence that follows is belied by Ahsoka’s slow reach for him through their bond, and Anakin’s hesitant reach back, to meet her halfway. Ahsoka smiles at the contact and runs ahead. They’ve ended up by the mess hall and, though it’s still relatively early, there’s more than enough people moving around, grabbing an early meal.

“Glad to see you’re doing well, General!”

Anakin looks up to see Echo. The young ARC trooper has raised a hand to wave a greeting, precariously balancing his rations tray with only one hand. Smile tugging at his lips, Anakin raises his own hand in response. Another fate he would hopefully be able to change. Echo didn’t deserve what had happened to him.

Realization comes a second too late.

Echo slides down on the bench by Anakin and Ahsoka, and Fives sneaks up only half a step behind him. Ahsoka immediately vaults over the table and seats herself opposite Echo.

“Going to join us, General?” asks Fives. Anakin almost chokes. For an instant, Fives has all Anakin’s attention, but just as quick, Anakin turns away.

“Sorry.” he says choppily. “Sorry, I- I have something- I need to- I’m sorry. Later?”

He whirls around and practically flees the hall.

Fives. Oh, Force, Fives.

Anakin hears a hesitant “Is… something wrong?” from Echo, but escapes before he can hear Ahsoka’s response. Yes, something’s wrong. Something he’d managed to avoid thinking of entirely, but that he now can’t escape.

You died for the knowledge that might have saved everything and I didn’t believe you.

Fives had been – is – one of his men and that alone would be enough guilt to drown in but… that isn’t all.

Anakin firmly blocks the thoughts from his mind, refusing to wander down that old path of what-if. He had entertained enough of them, after Fives’… death. Even more after Echo had been found. So much more, in stolen moments with Padmé and occasionally Sabé or Rabé as well, staying up late nights with more alcohol than was probably advisable.

Force.

Three hallways down, Anakin finally stops, leans against the wall, and covers his face with his hands. He slowly sinks down, ending up sitting and pulling his knees close so he can hide in them instead of in his palms.

Smooth, Anakin. The internal reprimand takes on Obi-Wan’s voice, which is almost a step too far. Anakin’s eyes sting.

Eventually Anakin manages to gather himself enough that he can paste the mask back on. He can’t quite push the thoughts back into the box where he hadn’t even known that he’d stored them, however, and from that point on he can’t decide whether to run from Fives out of shame or never let him out of sight again. Over the coming days the result of the impulses leaves Anakin looking like a shy adolescent from a holo-drama, constantly keeping track of Fives, but ducking around corners, hiding behind bulkheads, and on one occasion, making a Force-assisted leap up a staircase (accidentally sparking a game of tag with Ahsoka, but he managed to make it look deliberate, so he counts it as a win) to avoid the clone.

Whatever explanation Ahsoka had given the two ARC troopers must have been unsatisfying however, because suddenly it seems like Fives is everywhere. Anakin tries to distract himself, mingling with the troops, burying himself in the Twilight, catching upon the present, but whenever he senses Fives just a little too close, he’s running again.

Anakin fears he will keep running for a long time.

#fanfiction #my writing #star wars #the clone wars #anakin skywalker #fives #ahsoka tano #rex #kix #bell #lyn #flipper #ani5 #anidala #several implied ships

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etaleah · 5 years

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Clichés Turned Upside Down in Good Omens

I took Neil Gaiman’s MasterClass (which is quite good, would recommend) and particularly enjoyed the video about incorporating humor into your writing. His advice was (in a nutshell) to take a cliché and turn it on its head to make your audience laugh. Make fun of the cliché or give it an ironic twist, with characters being more concerned about a little thing than a big thing. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that Good Omens is chock-full of this. It constantly does the opposite of what we expect to create humorous moments. Some examples:

The angel is selfish, a little bit of a bastard, and more than a little materialistic. The demon is nice and hardly materialistic at all (with the one exception of the car, but let’s face it, who wouldn’t cherish a beautiful Bentley like that?).

The angel and the demon are friends instead of enemies, allowing for many odd couple moments.

Armageddon is funny and comical. That alone makes the story unique; end-of-the-world plots don’t typically lend themselves to humor.

The demon is shocked by humans and maybe a little afraid of them too. Other stories about demons may have them laughing maniacally at humanity’s crimes or be proud of having caused them, but Crowley, demon of Hell, is just out here like WHAT ARE YOU PEOPLE DOING and that’s funny to think about.

The witch who is accused and caught in the witch hunt is actually a witch. Think of every other story you know about witch hunts and witch trials. The woman is never really a witch; she’s just a poor sap who gets scapegoated by misogynistic men and ends up dragged to the stake kicking and screaming and begging them not to kill her. The accusation tends to be something “sinful” like dancing naked in the woods or some such thing. Badass Queen Agnes Nutter though? She’s a real witch who gets accused of doing nice things like healing people and then goes marching right in with her head held high and is all “Joke’s on you motherfuckers! If I go down, I’m taking you with me.” This is brilliant because it’s not only a cliché turned into humor but is also effective satire. It highlights the fatal flaw in the witch hunting argument: If these women really were witches with magical powers, wouldn’t they see the mob coming and save themselves?

The omens mentioned are good instead of bad. That’s why “Good Omens” is such a fantastic title. It gets your attention because it’s the opposite of what you typically hear, which is “bad omen.” In any other fantasy book, the prophecies are gloomy and foreboding, predicting big bad things like a villain coming to destroy the world. And here Agnes is prophesying nice little things like “Hey, maybe don’t buy Betamax.”

Instead of a demon, it’s the angel who possesses someone. It’s even somewhat amicable (and consensual? I think?), with the possessed person still maintaining some control. That never happens in stories like The Exorcist and other horror movies involving possessions. It gets even better when you consider that the person he’s possessing is someone the angels and religious bigots might consider unholy.

Also the Antichrist is the one who “exorcises” Aziraphale from the possessed person.

The satanic nuns. Like, as a concept.

There’s a bookseller who will do everything in his power not to sell books.

The hellhound becomes a nice, friendly dog instead of a generic evil monster.

The Antichrist is a normal-seeming kid with friends and not a scary-looking dark-haired child who’s isolated.

The “computer engineer” is terrible with computers.

Peace and food are presented as the things that must be stopped at all costs (from War and Famine’s POV and to some extent from Heaven and Hell’s too).

Angels using profanity. Like, did anyone not burst out laughing when Aziraphale said fuck? It’s funny because it’s the last thing you expect an angel to say.

The demon’s “evil deeds” are just silly pranks, which he himself tends to get hurt by.

The real guns don’t kill anyone. As Crowley said, it wouldn’t be funny if the folks at Tadfield had died. And in the book, the paintball scene is set up like a cliché getting-shot-and-killed scene only for them to realize they were overreacting and are actually fine. It’s a shame the show didn’t do this too because it really is hilarious.

Mr. Dowling doesn’t actually realize what’s important in life when his son is born.

Angels buying pornography. ‘Nuff said.

“Sorry, right number.”

“Get thee behind me, foul fiend! After you.”

“You can’t kill me! There’ll be paperwork.”

The only demonic wrath from Crowley is directed at plants for not growing and flourishing enough. Any other demon in any other show or movie would be like “BOW BEFORE ME! KNEEL BEFORE MY ARMY! KILL YOUR FAMILY! SACRIFICE YOUR VIRGINS ON A PYRE AND WORSHIP AT MY FEET!” But Crowley is just like, “END LEAF SPOTS 2k19!″

Aliens bring messages of global peace instead of threats of conquest or destruction.

And when Newt tells Shadwell about the aliens, he couldn’t care less and is all about nipples.

Someone who can do real magic thinks that fake magic is more fun. Basically Aziraphale is the angel version of Arthur Weasley and that’s beautiful.

Shadwell says “This is where I pop the question” and instead of proposing, he asks Madame Tracy how many nipples she has.

And finally, one of my favorite examples is the seance. Every other seance scene I’ve watched in media is very tense and tearful, with the widowed relative crying and desperate to reach their lover, full of things left unsaid and such, but this lady just wants to reach her husband so she can keep nagging and complaining. It’s like she doesn’t even realize he’s dead. And instead of wanting to hear her voice one more time, he can’t wait to never hear her voice again.

And these are just the ones I could think of off the top of my head. I have no doubt if I went through the book and show with a fine-tooth comb, I could come up with more (and please, feel free to add any I forgot). Can’t wait to read Neil’s and Terry’s works and see what other clichés they turned into laughs.

#good omens #good omens meta #masterclass #neil gaiman #humor #my thoughts #analysis

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the-second-circle-ffxiv · 4 years

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Cocoa and marshmallows

Iris cursed under her breath, as she made her way through the snowy streets of Ishgard towards Silke’s apartment. The midday was knocking on the door, as the women had finally left the Blacksoul manor. Silke had a day-off, true... but if she had left her apartment already, there would be no way Iris and Eva could find her from the city of size that Ishgard was.

The library, Jeweled Crozier, Second Circle... too many chances. Too many places to go looking from. All Iris could do was hope her friend had slept long, and was still at home. High stiletto heels knocked merrily against the stony walkway, as the two arrived to the apartment building. Silke’s small, lowly flat was located up on the third floor. “...The heckin’ stairs tend to be slippery at dis time o’ a day, Cinnabun... So watch yer heckin’ steps. I’m not gonna catch ya, if yer to fall and break yer neck, just sayin’.”

Iris looked up at a narrow stairway, leading up on the outer wall of the building, and with a sigh, she gathered up her long, black dress, and started making her way up, Eva following just couple of steps behind her. The morning had been warm, and the ice on the stairs had melted away, making their climb that much easier, and in no time, the two arrived onto Silke’s door.

Iris listened for a moment, trying to hear if anyone was home. The walls were like paper around here anyway, but she couldn’t pick up any noises. A lonely dog was barking somewhere in the distance. The voice was too deep to come out of Silke’s little puppy, Laurence. Giving a quick side-glance towards Eva, Iris knocked onto the door.

“‘Ey! Silkee! Blackbird, yer ‘ome?! It’s mi! Open tha door, mi ass is freezin’ ‘ere!! Silkeee! Darlin’!”

Silke flinched awake when she heard knocking on the door. “It wasn't me I swear!” she yelped stupidly, before realizing she had just been dreaming and she was in fact in her own apartment, alone. She rubbed her eyes and glanced at the clock. It was nearly midday. Cursing silently, Silke flung her blanket aside, stepped into her moogle slippers which had been waiting next to her bed and was already about to dash towards the door. Then she remembered she was wearing only tiny panties and black, short nightgown, which barely reached her buttocks and was made of some thin fabric that showed more than she would've wanted to.

The garment actually belonged to Lareine, or Iris, who had left it behind sometime. Silke had ended up wearing the thing after deciding to be effective and washing all of her laundry at once, before noticing she had mashed her both own nightgowns into washings and thus didn't have anything to wear during the night. Luckily her pink morning gown with brash turquoise carbuncle patterns hadn't been among the laundry, so she grabbed it from the sofa and wrapped it around her while hurrying towards the door. Her long, straight, ash black hair was messy but she couldn't have cared less. The damn thing was so thick and slippery it was a mission impossible to try and keep it braided during the night. She was equally indifferent about her dark circles. If someone hadn't seen dark circles by now then it was about bloody time.

“I'm poor and I'm not buying anything!” she announced at the same moment she flung the door open. A wide smile spread on Iris’ black lips as her friend opened the door, wearing her silly carbuncle morning gown and the fluffy moogle slippers. Even when not trying to, Silke looked dashing in Iris’ eyes. The mess of a black hair, like that of a demon from eastern tales just enhanced the effect.

“...And Im not sellin’ anythin’, mi star on da night sky!” She stepped up to the woman, wrapping her arms tightly around her, giving her a squeeze, and breathing in the familiar scent of ink and gunpowder... the scent of home.

“...Fockin’ ‘ell, I was afraid ya ‘ad left da buildin’ already! I missed ya, gal!” Iris released her friend, quickly fixing her round glasses, which the hug had tipped on the side, which together with her messy locks, made Silke look bit like she had just survived an explosion. “...I just ‘ave to tell ya everythin’! Ya wont believe whut’s ‘appenin’ back at tha manor... A major shitestorm. I guess... uhh... someone finally dropped a match onto the fockin’ barrel o’ gunpowder dats been sittin’ casually between Grumpy and Lucy... Oh...”

Iris stepped aside, giving some space to Eva, still standing behind her on the narrow stairway. “...Dis is... Evangelin’! I stumbled upon ‘er in tha church, ya know... She was comin’ to look for a goddess, and she found mi instead! Which... in tha end is not too far as a heckin’ outcome, or whut do ya dink? Aniway, we are kinda ‘avin’ a deal... Guess Grumpy is hirin’ her, so she can pay mi for company... ‘Er gal left ‘er to fock ‘round wid sum random lad somewhere, so I’m kinda ‘elpin’ ‘er to fock dat said gal outta ‘er head!”

Then she turned back to Evangeline. “Cinnabun, dis is Silke! Mi heckin’ fallen angel... Isn’t she just dashin’?” A sly smirk played on Iris’ lips, as she glanced towards Eva, before quickly moving her attention back to the viera at the door. “...Ya ‘ave dat tea of yer’s still, darlin’? Guess who’s been almost heckin’ sober for a month!” Iris was chattering up a storm. Though Evangeline hadn’t known her for long, she knew that this had to be unusual for the sarcastic, abrasive woman she had just met a few days ago. Around everyone else Iris painted over herself a veneer of prickly indifference that kept most, if not all, at arm’s length. Even Arsene, who she seemed to be most accustomed to, or at least the most comfortable with, was still held at quite the distance. This though... this was different. Evangeline couldn’t hope to compare to this. Iris was beaming, ecstatic to see this woman... a jumble of words exiting her mouth at neck-breaking speed.

She was almost tripping over her words trying to tell Silke anything and everything she possibly could. Somewhat dazed, Evangeline inspected Silke as Iris spoke, half-tuning out what the slight viera was saying. The woman in the doorway was undeniably adorable. She was clearly frazzled, having probably just woken up to the sound of someone at her door. She seemed bookish, from a combination of her round glasses which sat slightly askew on her nose, her frame, and what Eva could see of her dwelling... which seemed to be crammed wall-to-wall with literature.

This was about to be a long conversation... a visit between Iris, the woman who had Eva wrapped around her finger, and Silke, the woman with whom Iris seemed to be very much in love. At the thought of the word ‘love’ the little green monster struck at Evangeline’s stomach. Its spines were particularly sharp today... Eva didn’t know how much of this she could take. She tried to hide her pensive expression with a smile, waving slightly to Silke as Iris mentioned her name. Evangeline watched with mounting horror as Iris kept talking, though... explaining not only everything that had happened after the incident at the church, but also mentioning what exactly had happened during the incident... namely the carnal encounter the two of them had shared, and the fact that Eva was paying for Iris’ company. She supposed it had been foolish to hope that Iris wouldn’t delight in telling every living soul of their arrangement, but it was still painfully embarrassing. She looked at the ground, her face hot to the point that she thought she might be pressing it against an oven. She could barely extract words, but managed to anyways.

“G-good morning... p-pleased to make your acquaintance”, Evangeline was able to squeak, and accompanied it with a modest curtsy, hands gripping tightly at the skirts of her dress. She was unable to bring herself to meet eyes with Silke, instead choosing to inspect the steps upon which she was standing, waiting for her to laugh... or respond... somehow. Iris let out such a sudden flood of words that at first, Silke, who was still half asleep, couldn't do anything but stare her eyes wide and mouth slightly ajar. She clumsily patted Iris' back while she hugged her.

“Me? Nooo...”, Silke gave a laugh. “If I, for once, get to sleep late, then hells yeah that's what I'm gonna do. I wonder whose voidspawn's ingenious idea it was that everyone should get up while it's still dark? Purely idiotic, if you ask me. Messes up our natural circadian rhythm and probably causes a whole lot of heart attacks and such, geez...”

When Iris started to talk about the drama between Varg and Lucian, Silke couldn't help but lick her lips greedily. She was usually allergic to drama, but that certain one was like straight from some really bad soap opera. Silke had never truly understood people who were too interested in others' business and loved to gossip, but because of this one case she had perhaps started to understand them on some level.

Silke let out a frustrated sound. “You must tell me immediately if something happens, Iris”, she pleaded. “I'm having lots of exams coming up and I'm very very busy, but I'm still willing to halve my cramming time if it means I can witness the outcome. Make your way into my school if you have to, aight? Rather early, so we can grab some popcorn.”

When it was time for Iris' introduction of Evangeline, and description of what they had been doing together, Silke felt an unpleasant sting of jealousy. She had been so absorbed by the delicious news Iris had brought, that she hadn't paid much attention to the other viera until now. Evangeline seemed like complete opposite – at least externally – to Silke. She seemed somewhat older, her body was toned and her face radiated health. Her dark skin and flaming hair reminded Silke of a torch or pyre.

'And the most important thing, she wants to fock', a little voice in Silke's mind reminded.

Its goal had probably been to upset her, but instead of pushing it away like usual, Silke just let it linger there, agreeing with it. Indeed, this woman was able to give Iris what I can't, she thought to herself.

What in the world was going on in Iris' mind, though? Why was she telling her this? Silke was aware of Iris' occupation, but still this wasn't the kind of information one just blurted loudly around like that. Silke both hated and loved her imagination, which was able to paint pictures, like works of art rich in detail in her mind. It helped tremendously with studying. Though, in situations like this it burned some truly unwanted images on her retinas forever. Besides, now her neighbors knew as well. The other two could see very pale pink splotches appearing on her cheeks before they vanished almost instantly.

“That's... interesting?” Silke noted and nodded politely at Evangline, trying to shoo away the mental image while looking at her. Immediately Silke rebuked herself. Who the heck said 'interesting' after someone had been just describing in detail about their intercourse? Well... herself, apparently.

“I mean, um... nice”, she corrected, smiling – while hoping it didn't look too much like a grimace - and slapping her hands together. “I'm glad to hear you're having a good time with each other.”

Silke rebuked herself again. 'Nice' sounded even more awkward.

“Um... yes, I have tea”, she answered Iris, while stepping aside so that the other two could enter. “And cocoa too. Come in, come in. I want to hear more.” 'Oh. My. Gods', she thought. “Like, IN GENERAL.” Silke was acting weirdly, Iris thought to herself, as she stepped past her friend, letting her hand brush against Silke’s rear as she entered the house. Well, Silke was the type who usually acted weirdly, but this? Even for Silke, this would be considered weird. Iris had noticed the slight blush rising on her friend’s pale cheeks, yet fading away as quickly as it had appeared, like a dream you suddenly wake up from. Had it even been there?

Silke did blush, but in the end, it was very rare for the woman. Such thing sometimes occurred when Silke was angry and confused... or wanted to take something cute home. But right now? This was different. Was... Silke jealous? Silke? Jealous of her?

Well, if the situation was so, it was just as Iris had planned it in the first place! But why did she feel a sting in her heart? Like someone was pushing an icicle through it.

Pale viera walked up to the sofa, and threw herself down onto it, next to Laurence who rose his head, giving a quick glance at her, before curling up once again. Iris gave the dog a gentle rub behind his little orange ear. The shiba seemed like he had mostly forgiven what Iris had done back in the day, but still had some mistrust towards her.

“Ohh, cocoa would be just frickin’ lovely...”, she was about to add if Silke could top it with a sliver of rum, but realized it was not the best idea, after she had just told her friend about the month sober... Or well, sober was maybe not the right word to describe it, as Iris still drank. A month without drinking herself under the table, maybe?

All in all, Iris knew Silke never had alcohol at home. The ghostly viera had a bad habit to grab a bottle under stress, and that’s what Silke definitely had with her studies... Stress.

Iris followed Eva, as her companion walked in after her. Keeping her eyes locked onto woman, she gave a quick, meaningful nod towards the armchair, with a blue carbuncle plushie laying on its armrest. The icicle was digging its way into her heart, and having Eva sit down next to her on the sofa, would bring on the hammer, that would smash the icicle right through.

“...Its a fockin’ all out war back dere at tha manor soon, I tell ya...”, Iris started, crossing her legs, while still giving some affection to the shiba inu. The soft fur of the dog helped to ease her nerves a bit.

Keeping her eyes locked on Silke, working on her small kitchen of a kind, Iris went through everything that had happened. From Lucian finding her and Eva from the church, to their arrival into the manor, and from Varg possibly hiring Eva, to Arsene bringing in the hitman couple to guard the property.

“It’s a heckin’ powder keg back dere, sweetie... Dat ding only needs a fockin’ spark, and it’s gonna blow up, wipin’ tha city off tha map.” Iris’ black lips curled up into a devilish grin. “I’ll make sure to keep ya informed of every heckin’ turn, Blackbird... Because dis shite will end up to tha fireworks of a fockin’ lifetime, I tell ya... Blacksoul is pissed off like a heckin’ hog in a heat. Lucy’s gonna eat ‘is meals wid ‘is arsehole for a good while, if he’s to shows his fockin’ smug face in tha manor..” Evangeline ascended the stairs behind Iris, still trying to avert her eyes from Silke, who seemed to have ignored at least some of the comments entirely. She seemed so very different from Eva had thought she would be... in a lot of ways, Evangeline had pictured that Silke would be... much like Iris. Another rough-around-the-edges, prickly dancer that would have loved the opportunity to have a laugh with Iris over Eva’s embarrassment. Not someone who, for every intent and purpose, appeared to be a scholar.

And yet here they were, wandering into the home of someone who probably possessed more intelligence in her little finger than Evangeline had in her whole body. That was... an odd feeling... was she intimidated? Was this the sort of thing that Iris truly wanted? Scholarly discussions? Perhaps that was why Evangeline was so thoroughly bound to the often referred to position ‘second fiddle.’ What an odd sensation... she wasn’t used to feeling like this. Intimidation came in the form of combat prowess, no? Eva hadn’t felt intimidated by anyone in years... Even Andreas, the man who had swept Solenna away, hadn’t intimidated her. Over seven fulms tall... strong as an ox... but Eva had been sure that she could have placed his face squarely in the dirt had he come to fight her. This, though... this was different.

Eva entered the room, taking a seat in the armchair at Iris’ behest. Silke certainly liked... what were these things called... the little green aether pups that she had heard some of the other soldiers in her regiment discussing on occasion. Eva did think they were rather cute... but they must be difficult to hug, given that they weren’t... solid? Or were they? Evangeline looked to Silke again, standing there... damnably adorable still, in her half-awake state. She seemed to be waiting for something.

“Oh... um... tea, if you don’t mind. Thank you for inviting me into your home.”

She managed keeping her best straight face. Her eyes drifted across the bookshelves, packed with literature, with knowledge. Knowledge that Evangeline couldn’t hope to touch... not in a thousand years. She enjoyed reading her history books... but that was another thing entirely. It was just stories of battles and who won them and why. It wasn’t... whatever this was.

Study of aether...of magic, perhaps? That would explain the near ubiquitous presence of carbuncles throughout the apartment. Evangeline’s mind fell back through time for a moment though... to Iris in the church. Mentioning magic. Almost spitting as she did. She seemed so displeased by the practice at the time... so why would Silke be studying magic? Perhaps this was something different... chemistry... biology... who could guess?

“Wh-what is it... that you study, if you don’t mind me asking?” Stuttering again... damn. Why was this woman so intimidating?

Evangeline could hardly stand it, feeling this way. Stammering and stuttering around Iris was one thing... Eva had thought her a special case. She clenched her fists, looking around the room again to try and distract herself when... she saw… A puppy. An adorable little... Evangeline didn’t know the name of the breed... but it had a cute little pointed nose and triangular ears and orange fuzzy fur and it was laying next to Iris and it completely derailed Eva’s train of thought. She looked at it for a moment, sitting there and enjoying scritches from Iris, before blurting out the first thing that came back to her mind.

“C-can I pet your dog?”

Silke shivered slightly when Iris' hand touched her butt. The hells was she first bragging about her intercourses with Evangeline and then right after touching Silke's arse? Sure, Silke and Iris weren't in a relationship and Iris was free to do whatever and with whoever she wanted. Silke had already – bitterly – accepted it. But the thing that baffled her right now was that Iris just had to rub it in. Why? Silke couldn't even imagine being capable of doing something like that to the people she cared about the most. Silke had been having an impression there hadn't been any bad blood left between herself and Iris. Had she been wrong the whole time?

For a fleeting moment Silke felt an urge to yell 'You know what? Fock it!' and kick Iris out again. Maybe even speed up her departure with some carefully aimed lightning bolts. She got a hold of herself almost right away, though. She could never become a revered archmage if she behaved like some wretched punk or let her feelings get a grasp of her.

"Hot cocoa and tea - coming right up!" Silke announced after closing the door and turning around, smiling widely this time. The gesture was forced, perhaps, but at least she felt it wasn't as stiff as it had been earlier. She was getting good at this. Perhaps she should've become an actress instead. "I have whipped cream and marshmallows to put into cocoa, and milk and sugar for tea. Which one do you guys prefer, or would you rather drink your stuff completely without?"

"I'll take frickin' both, sweetheart!" Iris answered. "Like a heckin' mountain o' whipcream... and couple o' marshmallows... Whut ever ya wanna stick onto it, go for it."

"Milk and honey if you have it... or, um... milk and sugar if you don't. Thank you...", Evangeline scratched her jawline reservedly, immediately regretting requesting honey. It was a common food in Gridania, but probably was more of a delicacy in Ishgard.

At least Evangeline seemed like a civilized case, Silke thought. The dark viera didn't seem to enjoy the situation as much as Iris did, which meant she probably hadn't even known about Silke – or Iris' occupation for that matter – before she had agreed to... whatever they had going on right now. Silke had heard the saying 'opposites attract', but had never truly understood it. She still didn't. Silke had had many relationships with very different people than herself and all of them had ended into a catastrophe.

Silke filled a pot with fresh water and threw some firewood into the stove. A bright flame appeared from thin air just above her fingertip, and Silke blew it into the stove, igniting the firewood. While waiting for the water to boil she was digging her messy cabinet and trying to find the damn whipped cream and marshmallows. Meantime, Iris was explaining in more detail what had occurred lately. When Iris started to talk about the incident in the old church, something happened that felt like gods themselves would've decided to spit in Silke's face just for laughs.

She had found some godsdamned huge jar of jam from the cabinet, lifted it with her other hand, and noticed the marshmallows behind it. Keeping an eye on the water, listening to Iris repeating things Silke wouldn't have wanted to hear about, and trying to reach the marshmallow package from the cabinet that looked like an aftermath of some imperial mana bomb, had apparently been too much for her concentration to bear. Her grip slipped and the jar crashed into the sink, making a noise that was probably heard at the other side of the block of flats.

"Shiteberries!" she blurted with passion. "It's all good, no biggie!" she yelled towards the living room. "I've got it under control!"

The jar had broken into three huge chunks. Luckily there didn't seem to be any shards in the jam. 'I must save it!' was Silke's first thought after recovering from the worst wave of annoyance. 'One does not simply throw away food. No, no.'

"Black magic and summoning!" Silke yelled towards the living room again over the sound of boiling water, while grabbing an empty jar and starting to spoon the jam from the sink into it. "And pet ahead, if he lets you, miss Evangeline! He tends to be suspicious towards strangers and warms up slowly!"

Lucian had always given Silke the creeps. That was the main reason she liked to make fun of him. The things one feared tended to lose their power if one was able to make jokes of them. Despite Silke holding up her cheerful facade, and simultaneously containing her rage, a tiny glimmer of genuine amusement dug its way through it all while a mental image of the highborn elezen eating his meal with his arse had formed in Silke's mind. She bit her lip so that she wouldn't have laughed aloud.

"Thanks. Now I can't unsee that one either", she mumbled while spooning and having a race against time: how much jam could she save before it was all dripped down the sewer? “Isn’t she just a fockin’ dashiest piece o’ ass ya ‘ave ever seen?” Iris laid back onto the sofa, legs crossed and one hand rubbing Laurence’s neck. “If the gods are real, dey were fockin’ horny as a rat when dey made dat gal. And I bet dats why dey made her a heckin’ bookworm in tha first place. To keep ‘er all for demselves! Selfish fockers...”

Silke was still acting weird though, and it drove Iris crazy. She knew her friend well enough to tell when something was amiss, and now there definitely was something. Silke’s smile had been forced... faked even. It was the smile Silke had on her lips, when she was in a very unpleasant situation, and just wanted to get through it fast. Eva also, had started to act weird after entering the apartment. What was wrong with everyone today?

Deep inside, Iris noticed she started to regret bringing the two into the same room in the first place. What had started as a perfect plan in her head, had suddenly turned into a weird dream, where she was locked into an apartment with two beautiful women, who she... for different reasons cared for? Yet those women were but a couple of meatsuits, which some creature had possessed.

Iris wanted to wake up. Though, if she had truly been in a dream, a loud crash echoing from the kitchen at the halfway of her story would have waken her up.

“Yer okai back dere, Blackbird?!” Iris shouted towards the kitchen, after hearing Silke’s loud curse, startling Laurence from his sleep in the process. "It's all good, no biggie!" answered Silke’s voice almost instantly.

Iris gave a quick glance towards Evangeline, rising her brow with a shrug, and finished the story, finally getting up to the point where they had left the manor. Silke was still in the kitchen. The sound of a boiling water had rose to company the weird sound of scraping metal on metal. It seemed like Silke had no intention on moving the pot off the flames though.

“Fockin ‘ell, I’ll go see whut the fock is ‘appenin’ back dere... Dats not like ‘er... at all.”

Iris stepped past Evangeline, brushing her cheek with the back of her finger while going, and headed into a kitchen. The sight before her eyes made Iris’ jaw drop for a moment. Silke, scraping jam out of the sink like her life depended on it, and a teapot, boiling over on the stove, sending steaming hot water down on the flames with an angry hissing that sounded like a pit of snakes.

“What tha fock, Silke?!” Iris finally blurted out, as she got back her voice all of the sudden. She rushed to the stove, moving the pot off the flames, but while doing so, her hand slipped on the handle, sending the lid flying off and spilling boiling hot water onto her arm. “Shiteclippers! Fockin’ ghhh...”, her curse turned into a shriek, but she still somehow managed to place the pot onto the table.

Her arm was on fire, and the pale white skin had started to gain pinkish tint and couple of blisters where the water had hit. “Silke, whut the ‘ell is wrong wid ya, sweetheart?! Ya did not get ani water on ya, did ya?!” With the heat still radiating up on her arm, like thousand little needles, Iris took a grip of Silke’s shoulders, turning the woman around, and wrapping arms around her.

With Silke’s affirmation, Evangeline slowly approached the cute little dog and extended her hand to him, hoping he would be okay with her lightly scratching behind his ear. She was as gentle as she could be, carefully extending her digits towards his nose, when a loud crash from the kitchen caused her to start, feeling like she jumped almost a yalm into the air. Her heart rate picked up and she looked around, hoping for something weapon-adjacent to be present in the room somewhere. She settled on the poker by the fireplace, reaching for it slowly, when Iris shouted back to her, seemingly unperturbed by what could’ve been the shattering of a window.

“It’s all good, no biggie!” Silke’s voice sounded off from the kitchen.

Evangeline relaxed slightly, a bit less worried of an intruder now. She wondered how Iris could be so blase-faire about the whole deal, given that she seemed to have more than a few people that would happily see her dead. Iris finished her story regardless, wrapping it up and muttering, “Fockin ‘ell, I’ll go see whut the fock is ‘appenin’ back dere... Dats not like ‘er..at all.”

As she walked past Evangeline, heading towards the kitchen, she brushed the dark skinned viera’s cheek as she passed, causing her heart rate to quicken once more. Evangeline sighed and went to turn her attention back to the dog, when she heard further exclamations from the kitchen, followed by a shriek from Iris. Before Eva could think about what she was doing, she was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, poker in hand, just in time to see Iris throw her arms around Silke.

The pot on the table filled with still-bubbling water and the splash on the ground told the story of what had happened, though. Though Evangeline’s emotions battled in her mind, coming to a head in the face of the two women embracing, it was as if someone had flipped the switch in her head, finally, that said ‘high pressure situation’.

Her emotions dulled, and the world grew grey around her, as her body took over. She took the pot, placing it on a potholder with ease, to ensure that the table wouldn’t burn. Placing the poker in the corner, she moved to Iris, who she assumed was the most injured. Stepping around the two, Evangeline assessed for injuries, quickly noticing the blisters rising on Iris’ forearm and asked: “Silke, do you know how to dress a wound?”

"The hells would I know? Do I look like some damn white mage?" Silke cried out, sounding both frustrated and shocked, but still clearly more of the former.

“Right... very well. I know little of burns, but I will go find someone who does. Run cold water over the burn, and I’ll go find an apothecary for proper bandages and whatever else we need. There is one near here, isn’t there?”

Evangeline stepped back from the two. She didn’t touch Iris. She didn’t touch either of them. It wasn’t like Iris wanted her here, anyways... this was all she could do. Perhaps she could be useful, and the two could be left to themselves. At Silke’s response, she turned and walked from the room, out the door and into the chilly Ishgardian air. Silke twitched slightly when Iris hugged her, but she still wrapped her arms timidly around her, shocked that Iris had just gotten boiling water on her. Silke wasn't squeezing like Iris did, though. The heck was she getting all close and personal so suddenly?

"What's wrong you ask, princess?" Silke repeated, slightly aghast. "Everything was just fine before you came and started throwing the pot around! I accidentally dropped some godsdamned jar, which appeared to be heavier than it first seemed, into the sink. I would've taken care of the pot in a moment! ...And... no, I didn't get any water on me", she added a bit more calmly, when they let go of each other.

Then Evangeline, too, arrived into the kitchen. These two dumbasses were like some damn knights trying to save a damsel in distress, Silke thought sourly. While Evangeline was examining Iris' burns, Silke stared at the two, gritting her teeth. There she was again, with her older and more mature companion, who - without a doubt - already had some renowned career behind her.

Silke took a quick glance at herself; her carbuncle morning gown and moogle slippers. Were they the reasons everyone insisted treating her like a child? Because she liked cute things? Or was it something in herself? Something about her behavior, perhaps? Her absent-mindedness? The farther she got with her studies the more sceptical people seemed to be about her fending. First Asagi, then Silke's school'mates', and now even Iris.

When Evangeline asked did Silke know anything about taking care of wounds, she couldn't help but cry out: "The hells would I know? Do I look like some damn white mage?"

She could put a bandage on paper cut but that was pretty much it. The yell had already left her lips before Silke remembered she had just made herself a promise to be more sophisticated and controlled. Before she got her mouth open again, Evangeline was already on her way and had stepped outside.

Silke stared at the door for a while. At least Evangeline had had a good reason to go, but it also annoyed Silke, that every single time, when she and Iris were spending time with other people than each other, Asagi or Arsene – which was very rare – sooner or later their company vanished somewhere, leaving Silke and Iris alone. Why, why did it always happen? Of course Silke enjoyed spending time with Iris, but she was also craving other friends. She didn't want to be depending on only one person. Yet it was either her or Iris - or worse, both of them - who managed to drive away other people. As Eva had left the building, Iris looked at the blisters on her aching arm, and walked up to the sink. What was left of the jam, was now lazily making its way down the hole. It was unlikely that cold water would do any good at this point, but Iris opened the tap anyway, letting the ice cold water run for a while, washing away the jam, before sticking her arm under it, grimacing.

“Yeah, guess I heckin’ overreacted. The damn pot was throwin’ water around like a frickin’ volcano, and I freaked out, as I thought it boild over onto ya...” Iris looked at her arm, still holding it under the running water. It was not looking pretty, but could have been worse. Maybe it could heal without leaving a scar.

“Just look at mi, Blackbird. I keep destroyin’ thin’s, no matter whut I do. For fock’s sake, I hated mi mother, for being a damn useless wreck she was. And now? Shite. Its almost like tha heckin’ apple surely wont fall far from da tree...”, she gave a quick glance towards her friend, before closing the tap, and carefully drying her onto a towel. “...I’m heckin’ joyful yer alright though. Dink we could still make dat cocoa?” Iris walked up to the pot, peeking inside it, and coming to the conclusion it was still half-full of water. Maybe it would do for three smaller cups.

The burning pain on the arm started to return soon after she had dried it up, but, biting hardly onto her lip, she more or less successfully hided the fact from Silke. “Sssshite...”, viera hissed under her breath, feeling like someone had been spanking her arm with a bunch of nettles for an hour straight.

Years back, when she was still living on the streets of Limsa Lominsa, the guards had caught her from pickpocketing, and rolled her in a huge bush of nettle for it. The feeling on her arm, brought the old memory to life in her head.

“...W..Whut ya gonna drink, Blackbird? Tea maybe? C... Could s...share a cocoa wid ya too... Ya know whut dey ‘ave in dose fancy heckin’ restaurants... Dose straws dat go whirly around each other, and ya can share a drink all heckin’ romantically and shite. We could get one of dose. ‘Aight?”

This was one of those moments Silke found herself once again wondering: how the hells did Iris do it? At one moment she was all sweet and thoughtful, then a couple of minutes later a complete arsehat. And then a moment later sweet again, and so on. Or perhaps the most important question was: why? And which one was the real one?

"I'd rather drink all of my cocoa by myself", Silke explained after a short pause, with a hint of formality in her voice. "I should probably start drinking from a barrel or something anyway, since regular mugs or glasses seem to contain way too little for my tastes."

“Well...”, Iris shrugged, knocking the pot with her fingernail. “Dis thin’ is ‘alf empty, so wont fill a barrel wid dis, but... We should all still get a heckin’ mugful...”

Iris’ voice lacked the energy it had a moment ago, suddenly sounding rather tired. Her gaze traveled in the room, from the door, to the flames still dancing on the stove, and to a carbuncle clock, hanging on the wall. She could not look Silke in the eyes. She very well knew she had once again let down the woman she loved. And that love burned in her chest, hotter than the flames on the stove... harder to ignore than the burning sensation on her arm. Yet why was it she could only bring misery into Silke’s life? Time after time after time.

“...I’m gonna find dat whipcream and candies, if ya mix tha cocoa, okai..?” she finally sighed, moving up to the cabinet, starting to go through the foodstuff Silke had stored. Soon she pulled out a small back of marshmallows, waving it in the air, in front of Silke’s eyes. “Lookie-look whut I found! Lets just stack a mad pile of dese onto tha whipcream! It will be fockin’ beautiful... Like a heckin’ tiny snow castle... ‘Aight?”

*** Evangeline walked briskly down the steps, her goal clear in her mind. A chill sat in the air, the same that seemed to sit permanently in Ishgard, regardless of the time of year. Eva could see her breath, just barely, a vaporous cloud that was constantly being remade and dispersed as she exhaled and strode through it. She wore a wry smile, unsure of what exactly she should be feeling right now. She had time to walk, time to herself, time with her own thoughts. Though this, to her, felt like a punishment worse than death, perhaps she could straighten this whole thing out in her head. Find out where she stood. What she should do next.

Very well... let’s look at the facts, she thought, releasing a sigh inwardly.

Fact: Iris and I just met. We have formed an odd sort of arrangement that has her spending time with me for compensation.

Fact: Iris and I slept together. I enjoyed it and she seemed to enjoy it. Evangeline moved slightly out of the way, angling her body to the side so that she could fit between a merchant’s stand and a heavyset man that was moving in the other direction.

Fact: I pulled Iris from a breakdown. She seems to struggle with another personality of some kind. She seemed expectant that I would leave after finding that out. I did not. Also, she fell asleep in my arms. It doesn’t seem like the sort of thing she usually does. She wiped her nose. It must surely be red at this point, with how chilly it was outside.

Fact: She has shown some level of interest in me. She dreaded stating this next one to herself.

Fact: I have... fallen for Iris. Against my better judgement in every way. She has a pull over me that I haven’t truly experienced before, and I can’t fight it.

F-fact... Iris... I-Iris is in l-love... with S-Silke.

That thought was what did it. That was the one that set the tears flowing. Eva kept walking, her goal still clear in her mind, but with tears pouring down her cheeks. How had she done this to herself... jumped straight from one failing relationship into another one. She had left Solenna... sweet, wonderful Solenna...for this? A pale, thin viera woman... so thin that she seemed malnourished... who could barely manage to give her the time of day if she asked?

And on top of all of that... she was so clearly in love with Silke. The woman was all over her! Iris did nothing but praise Silke... her perfect little angel. The apple of her eye. This begged the question, though... why weren’t the two of them together? Was it Iris? Her refusal to be tied down? Or was there something about Silke that Evangeline didn’t know…? There’s no way...no way Iris wouldn’t have said something. She must have confessed her feelings to Silke.

Evangeline turned a corner, tears still stinging at her face. She wiped at her nose again, and then her eyes, wiping them first and then rubbing at them, hoping that she didn’t look to be too much of a mess. She sniffled, and continued walking, seeing the Apothecary’s sign in the distance. Perhaps she should just excuse herself, and return to the manor. Maybe the two of them wanted time alone.

But... if that was the case, why had Iris invited her? She had seemed fairly eager to bring Eva along... despite her outburst in the bathroom. It was just... so damnably confusing. Did Iris want her? Did Iris not want her? Was she a substitute for Silke? Or was she something different?

All of these questions went unanswered, though, as Evangeline stepped through the door to the Apothecary. She must have looked quite the sight, 6 fulms, 2 ilms of musclebound viera, ducking under the doorway to keep room enough for her ears as she did. Flushed from the cold, tears clinging to her cheeks... not something you would normally see on the streets of Ishgard. She stepped up to the shopkeeper, clearing her throat.

“G-good morning…”, she sniffled again, wiping at her nose. “Do you have anything that would help with a burn? And some clean bandages?”

The merchant, a rather young looking miqo'te man, took a moment to first absorb the sight of Evangeline, and then another to process what she was asking for.

“Uhm... er.. .y-yes. The aloe lotion, over in the corner on the second highest shelf. And we have bandages right here at the counter. Just... apply the lotion, it should help with the pain. Wrap it in bandages, and change them every four hours. You’ll probably want to reapply the lotion when you change them.”

Evangeline nodded in thanks, and efficiently collected her goods, paying for them with gil from a small pouch she kept tied around her waist. She took her leave, waving at the young man, who looked as if he wanted to say something as she was leaving, but decided not to.

She exited the shop, back into the cold air. It was starting to feel a bit more punishing, and Eva could see a few snowflakes starting to dot the sky in the distance. She would be back soon. She almost wanted to drop off the bandages and then leave, but... maybe she should stay a little bit. See how things played out. Maybe she could get a little bit more understanding of the situation... because she refused to let go of Iris without being sure she wasn’t wanted. She kept moving forward, upset, angry, sad, and tired...but a bit more determined than she had been a few minutes ago.

***

Silke gave Iris a small nod, before grabbing a pouch of cocoa powder and starting to spoon it into the cups. She was working near the small kitchen window, glancing at the gray inner court every now and then, and her back turned to Iris.

Overall Silke saw herself as a positive person. She didn't truly hate anything, although she often joked about it. Hate was such a powerful word. But if someone had asked her to point just one thing she could say she truly hated, it would've been mixed signals, messing with her. Most people tended to mess with her in one way or another, and at least with her inner circle Silke wanted to feel safe enough to lower her defenses. Keeping them up constantly was tiring and it ate her from the inside.

'It was supposed to be over', she thought. 'We had our misunderstandings and arguments, we overcame them and we were just fine. Why did she have to continue it? She could've done her thing with Evangeline, heck, even bring her here. But why rub it in? I'm too tired for this shite.'

When Iris found the marshmallows and said they'd make the cocoa toppings like a snow castle, Silke felt tears trying to come out. Stubbornly she pushed them back while biting her lip, before glancing at Iris over her shoulder, smiling and agreeing lightly:

"Sounds fancy. Just the thought of it makes me almost feel our blood vessels blocking up." She turned around and started to stir the drinks. "But still, oh, so delicious. Why must everything unhealthy be so delicious?"

Silke glanced outside again, towards the gray sky. After the exams of this month were over, the students could choose a place to go study more how things worked in practice. So far they had been mostly studying theory of all general subjects, and only doing some smaller and safer experiments while their teachers had been watching them closely. Now was the time for action, and the beginning of specialized studies. Silke was about to dive into the studies of a battle mage and destructive alchemy. She pondered to herself which post could possibly be the farthest one away from Ishgard. “Why? Because tha world is a heckin’ unfair place, Blackbird”, Iris said. “In a damn perfect world, we would be livin’ in a frickin’ castle somewhere in tha mountains. ‘Ave a damn barrel o’ cocoa, a bath’ouse and a fockin’ basement full o’ blastin’ powder and booze to play wid.”

Iris rolled a single marshmallow between her fingers, squeezing it down, and watching it slowly buff back up, as she loosened her grip. “...Yet ‘ere we are. In a fockin’ apartment flat, in a city filled with damn arseplucks who dont get us. Like fockin’ birds in a cage...”, she flipped the candy into her mouth, turning to Silke, who was still working with her cocoa mix.

Silke was so beautiful. In her own, rather curious way, she was stunning. After a while, Iris caught herself staring at her friend, the marshmallow still lingering on her tongue. Viera shook her head, picking up another candy from the bag, and reaching it towards Silke, holding it an inch away from woman’s lips. Silke’s spoon stopped moving, and she placed it down on the table. Carefully, she took the candy from Iris, holding it for a moment, and placing it into her mouth.

Oh, how much Iris had hoped for the woman to pick the candy from her fingers, using her lips. She had almost seen it happening in her mind, but then again... Silke would never do such a thing. What was she even thinking? Most likely nothing. The tears were burning her eyes, almost masking away the burning sensation on her arm, but she kept them in, flipping another candy into her mouth. She missed though, the soft candy hitting her on the cheek, and falling onto the table.

“...I’m workin’ mi fockin’ ass off to make sum cash. It’s... gonna take some time, as yer sissie has cut mi shifts to ‘alf lately, but... I’m gettin’ dere, Silke... And... And when I ‘ave got sum savin’s, I thought I could... Ya know... Get sum own place sumwhere, and I thought...” A sound of door opening interrupted Iris in the middle of the sentence, and she hissed a curse under her breath. “...We are in tha fockin’ kitchen, Evangelin’!” she shouted towards the doorway, her long, sickly fingers gripping the bag of marshmallows spasmodically. Evangeline slid the door open, a paper bag of medical supplies clutched in her hand. She had tried to wipe at her eyes and her nose as much as possible, and though she had cleared them both (or so she thought) she could only assume that her smudged eyeliner and her most likely running mascara would display that she had been crying. She supposed that she would deal with that when the time came-for now, at least, she wanted to focus on the task at hand. Iris’ arm needed to be bandaged... she must be in incredible pain right now. Eva’s feelings could wait.

She startled at the sound of Iris’ shout. She seemed upset... which stood to reason with a burned arm. Eva stepped briskly into the kitchen, noting the two vieras seemed to be casually conversing. Iris must have an impressive pain tolerance... ran through her head as she saw how Iris was standing. When she met Iris’ eyes, though, she was a bit taken aback by the other woman’s expression.

Had Eva done something wrong? Offended her somehow? She shook her head, trying to clear out the stray thoughts. That would be a question for later…

Evangeline moved to the sink, excusing herself as she moved past Silke, and washed her hands. Water, soap, water, towel. She picked up the bag from the side of the sink, wandering over to Iris and removing a roll of bandages, a roll of medical tape, and a small metal container from the bag. She gestured to Iris to show her arm.

“We need to put this cream on your arm. It will calm the burn and lessen the pain. Then we wrap it in this bandage, and change it every four hours until it’s not causing you as much pain. Would you like to sit down so I can get it wrapped up?” Evangeline looked at Iris and gave the brightest smile she could muster. “I’m fine, Evangelin’! It’s just a heckin’ small burn... Will... ‘eal on its own by the damn mornin’...”, Iris looked at her burned arm, which was visibly shaking, like dead leaves in a breeze. She felt the burn, like it was creeping into her bones. On top of that, the arm had started to ache, sending arrows of pain up towards elbow, and down to her fingers, still holding onto the bag of marshmallows.

“...Fockin’ ‘ell, fine! Do whut ya wish... But change every fourth ‘our, ya say? Ya ‘ear dat, Silke? Yer gonna come over to sleep wid mi, and change mi bandages, and kiss da pain awai, hm?” Iris took one more candy out of the bag, before placing the back on the table, right next to Silke, and making her way to a tiny dinner table, which was loaded with books on a dangerously unsteady pile. Viera sat down onto the chair, placing her elbow onto the table, so her arm was hanging on air. “...Do ya mind, if I smoke, darlin?” Why in the seven hells does she keep talking about 'us', Silke thought, stirring the cocoas even more furiously, although the powder had dissolved into the drinks ages ago. Iris was truly hopeless. Silke had explained to her in words of one syllable why it just wouldn't work, and how it would only cause them both more pain. And despite it all here they were again. Should she draw some godsdamned diagram about it next? It probably wouldn't work either. Iris' skull was apparently too thick for receiving information.

Silke felt, oddly enough, somewhat relieved when she heard the door in the hallway and realized Evangeline had returned. At least now she wouldn't have to listen to all this sweet talk, which made Silke remember all the good moments she and Iris had had together, and which were now like acid poured into her reopened wounds. She grabbed the whipped cream container from the table and squeezed so much cream into every mug, that the cocoas ended up looking like soft ice served in mugs.

Meanwhile Evangeline was tending Iris, Silke took one of the mugs and sat on the other side of the table, opposite the two others. She was observing them closely, while poking her spoon into the cream, taking a full load of hot cocoa and cream, poked it into her mouth, into the cream again and so on. Silke noticed Evangeline's reddish eyes. She had probably been crying. Silke had had somewhat mixed feelings towards her, but right now she was mainly feeling sorry for her. Iris was probably just playing with them both.

Silke couldn't help but frown at Iris' comment. For a moment she froze to stare at her in disbelief. 'Are you focking kidding me?!' she was tempted to ask, and to slam her mug onto the table with full force to give her words some more spice. Then she noticed the mug was one of her favorites: a pink one, that had two black eyes, a snout and a little pigtail on the other side of it. She quickly let go of it, and yanked her shaking hand into her lap.

"I'm not going anywhere", she announced in a steady voice. "I have places to be tomorrow morning. And I doubt you need me to tend you, Iris. I'm sure your other hand is working just fine, and you can do it yourself." She scooped a couple of spoonfuls of whipped cream into her mouth, before adding: "No smoking allowed indoors, they say. The stench gets absorbed into the structures. And if they'll find something to complain about this apartment when I'm about to move, guess who gets to pay the expenses?" “Fine... No smokin’ indoors...”, Iris stuffed the pack of cigarettes back into her pocket with her free hand.

She glanced towards Eva, seeing woman’s red eyes and smeared eyeliner. Of course Eva had been crying. ‘What else I do these days than make people cry?’ Iris thought to herself.

Her gaze traveled from Eva to Silke, sitting on the other side of the table with her pink piggie-mug. Her dearest friend. The girl she loved... the only girl she had ever truly loved... sat there, so distant. Acting almost like she did not even know Iris anymore. There was no snow castle of mashmallows on her mountain of whipcream... And that’s when the storm that had been raging inside Iris broke the dam. She coiled forward on the bench, as the tears started running down freely on her pale cheeks. Dripping onto the burn, like a salty summer rain. Evangeline had been doing rather impressively at holding herself together, she had thought. As she applied the cream very gently to Iris’ arm, she quietly listened to the other two talk. Iris doing her level best to whisper sweet nothings to Silke with a megaphone, and Silke seeming... cold. She sounded even less inclined to put up with Iris than when they had walked in the door.

Iris put away her cigarettes at Silke’s behest, and, with a quick glance around the room, seemed to finally give way to the tension that had been building in her this whole time. She huddled over and burst into tears. Evangeline looked up, shaken by the sudden change in mood, and turned her eyes to Silke, ‘what do I do?’ written across her face.

Silke’s eyes, at first, were locked on Iris, seeming shocked by the outburst. They glazed over with sadness for just a moment... so quickly that Evangeline would have missed it, had she not been searching desperately for an answer on the viera’s bespectacled face. The sadness faded, though, as quickly as it had come. She retained control of herself, and took another drink of cocoa, faster now than she had before.

“Ahh...I-Iris…”, Evangeline said, unsure of how to handle the situation given her companion’s preferences. Iris had specifically said that she didn’t want to be hugged. She didn’t want that kind of relationship with Eva. Evangeline wanted nothing more than to take the woman in her arms and be there for her. But that wasn’t what she wanted. Iris wanted... Iris wanted companionship without the relationship. Because the relationship she wanted eluded her, somehow.

For some reason, her and Silke didn’t work. Eva didn’t know what it was, but there seemed to be a mountain of hurt between the two. She didn’t know what could be done to fix things for these two... and... she hated to admit it to herself... but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to fix this. It felt horrible, and selfish to think of. She wanted Iris to be happy. But she wanted Iris to be happy with her. Wanted Iris to fall into her arms. Wanted Iris to come home to her. Maybe Iris didn’t love her now... but maybe she would. Someday. Maybe... maybe it was best to go with the safest option here.

“Iris? C-can... can I touch you?” Eva hoped desperately that she would be able to embrace the woman. That she wouldn’t run. That she wouldn’t disappear. She couldn’t just sit here in silence, though. Silke didn’t seem inclined to do anything about this. Eva looked at Silke again, wondering if her temperament had changed. As she did, Silke finished her cocoa, stood up, and walked out of the room. While Silke marched into the living room, she cursed from the bottom of her heart they were all in her place. Normally she would just leave situations like this, but where could she go now that she was already at home? She couldn't fall apart while there were guests around. She was so tired of crying. She felt she had cried for at least ten or more people lately.

Laurence was still sleeping on the sofa. Silke was tempted to hug him, but she decided to skip that as well. She knew if she hugged something right now, she couldn't probably hold it in anymore.

Silke had been waiting for the damn dinner so much. It was supposed to have been a new beginning for them all. If Asagi and Varg could've just started behaving like normal, functional adults around each other, it would've made everyone else's life easier. Now Silke was no longer certain did she even want to go. If Evangeline lived in the estate nowadays, no doubt she'd attend the dinner, too. And Asagi had announced Ainu, who had just arrived to Ishgard, would join them as well. Silke thought it was a terrible idea. The lalafell was a focking sociopath. And Asagi was delusional if she thought she could cure her with motherly love and care. That case was beyond help.

And if Iris thought she'd make Silke's heart melt by crying, she couldn't have been more wrong. Silke kept repeating 'self care' like a manta in her mind, hugging herself and squeezing her arms with her nails, while looking outside from the window, although there was absolutely nothing interesting there. Iris was just like the rest of them. For a moment Silke had hoped she would've been wrong, but it was all the same shite in the end, just wrapped in a slightly different package. “Don’t touch mi!” Iris screeched through her tears, while cradling herself back and forth on the chair. “Don’t ya fockin’ touch mi! W-We had a d-deal, is it so frickin’ ‘ard to u-understand?!”

Still, somewhere deep in her heart, Iris wanted Evangeline to hold her. She wanted Silke to hold her. The woman she had once been, on the streets of Limsa Lominsa, would have given anything in the world, to have someone to wrap arms around her, telling her everything would be alright. That the morning would come, after the stormy night, and it would be beautiful.

Yet that woman was trapped, deep below the layers of fear, hatred and agony. From the corner of her eyes, Iris had seen Silke emptying her cup of cocoa, and walking out of the room. The sight was the executioner, wearing a dirty, black hood, and pulling the lever, which finally dropped the heavy blade down, splitting Iris’ heart in two.

“I... I just w-wanted to build... a heckin’ castle...”, her voice was barely audible. “Wanted to build a damn castle for... for us to l-live in...” Iris got up, her head feeling dizzy.

It was like time in the room had suddenly stopped onto its tracks. The spring inside the clock had broken, freezing the pointers on the same dead moment for ever and ever. She made her way to the cup of cocoa, still resting on the counter. Her long, pale fingers, reached into the bag, picking up a single marshmallow, and placing it on the huge mountain of whipped cream. After looking at it for a while, she reached for another, and another, carefully piling them on the mountain, with her shaking hand.

“...A-And dis is where dey lived...”, she muttered, while balancing the candy onto drink. “...A h-heckin’ beautiful castle, on a mountains... dat rose above t-tha forest, like clouds... Damn lucky bastards... A poet and ‘er muse. I-I bet ya ‘ave never seen such beautiful woman...” Iris paused for a moment, to wipe away tears that were running free over her cheeks, like small, salty rivulets.

“...Yet da poet had a s-secret... ‘Er words were poison. Drippin’ from ‘er mouth, every time she opened it to weave words. Why? ...Because tha poet was... a frickin’ monster... A creature, which was in love wid tha gal, and ‘ad taken a form o’ a poet to be wid ‘er... Yet tha mask on ‘er face did not keep tha poison from drippin’... And all tha words tha poet weaved for dat gal? Dey just tainted ‘er. Made ‘er sick... And when da gal finally withered awai? Tha castle on clouds came crashin’ down, buryin’ tha monster alive...”

As Iris stopped, the pile of marshmallows on the whipped cream had grown into an unstable little mountain on its own. She picked up a spoon, her hand shaking, and scooped up most of the whipped cream and candies. “...Fockin’ crashin’ down...” She placed the spoonful into her mouth, and the sweet taste mixed with the saltiness of her own tears. Evangeline sat, listening to Iris weave her story. A fairy tale... Eva wondered if this was some sort of response to trauma. Iris’ other self seemed to be lost in a dreamland, so fully steeped in fantasy that she couldn’t recognize any part of reality. This... this seemed to be Iris teetering on the edge. Wavering between reality and fantasy. Because... because she couldn’t bear... to lose Silke. Damnable, adorable Silke.

After a few minutes, Iris’ story ended, the monster that represented her crushed under a mountain of rubble. Evangeline stood up, hoping that she could figure out how to handle this one. Hoping that she could pull Iris from the edge, and not hurl her off of it unintentionally. She took a step forward... and then another. She felt as if her shoes were lined with lead. She reached up, placing a trembling hand on Iris’ shoulder almost instinctively, her mind ceding to her body once again. Iris winced as Eva touched her shoulder, but didn’t seem to react any other way, still poking at the cocoa with her spoon, eyes fixed on the horizon, where dark clouds were gathering.

“Iris…”, Evangeline said quietly. “I may not be much... but I’m not going anywhere. I know I’m not h-her... but I am yours. I’m right here... by your side. And you’re... you’re right here with me. I couldn’t i-imagine how you’re feeling right now... but I’ll stay with you through it. I’m not running away. I...I don’t want to restrict you... or keep you... I just want to be with you…”, she trailed off, biting her lip.

Gods this was difficult. Finding words... she felt like she was just repeating things she had already said. “I-I like you. A lot.” She blurted out. “You’re att... att…”, her mouth couldn’t find the word, caught in her throat as it was. “Att… attrraactive to me for a lot of reasons. Y-you’re strong...and p-perseverant... you’re beautiful… but I want you to be free, still.”

The tears were welling up in her eyes now... wouldn’t be long before she couldn’t hold them back any more. She thought briefly of offering to talk to Silke... but she was feeling a little too selfish to do that right now. Maybe if Iris asked her... “I want to touch you... to hold you... b-because I think it might help... but I don’t want you to feel trapped…”, she said, her breath catching in her lungs as she did. “C-can you let me? I’ll let go... I’ll let go the moment you ask me to.” Silke heard the other two talking something in the kitchen, and as time passed, she became more and more convinced she either had to get rid of them, or she had to get out. She glanced once again at Laurence sleeping on the couch.

That's right. She hadn't taken him out yet. A perfect excuse. She hurried to her closet and rummaged through it, trying to find some clothes that hadn't been amongst the laundry. The fancy dress Iris had given her was there, but right now Silke would've rather walked out naked than worn it. There were also both of her party dresses. They were all black, but the other one was long and fancy, and didn't have sleeves. Silke had planned to wear it during the dinner. The other one was festive as well, but compared to the first one, way more casual. Its hem reached her knees, it had tight, long puff sleeves, and it didn't reveal as much. That would do, she thought.

Silke quickly changed into it, hoping the other two wouldn't surprise her meanwhile. They didn't. They seemed to have much to talk about.

Simultaneously Silke took off her tiny panties and revealing nightgown. She had used them only for one night, so they hadn't gotten dirty yet. She'd return them to Iris before they left. Silke didn't have to go out without pants, since she also managed to find some old leggings that had gotten short for her. She didn't mind. Nobody would notice their length while she was wearing her high heeled, leathery thighboots.

Silke combed her hair hastily and tied the long, thick ponytail on her crown. Her bangs were somewhat messy, but she didn't bother to do anything to them. Meanwhile looking at herself from mirror she pondered maybe she could go to store too. That would prolong her trip to the city, and Iris and Evangeline would've hopefully focked off by then. Though, Silke was too tired to see too much effort for her make-up. She took a black eyeliner and drew even darker circles on the ones already existing. She painted her lips dark pink, so that she wouldn't look like a corpse.

"Laurence? Are you awake, boy?" she asked in a tired voice, while crouching next to the sofa, gently petting the sleepy dog. Iris heard Eva’s words, but it was like they were coming from somewhere, really far away, behind a veil of fog, even though she knew the woman was standing right behind her. Y-You are not well... s-something is wrong... Iris shook her head, trying to make the voice go away... It didn’t.

I... I want my knight... my knight in a shining armor, where is he? I have... I have lost my knight!

“Shut up!!”

T-The castle, it’s... its crumbling. What is happening..? Help me... please...

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!!”

Iris closed her eyes tightly, fingers on her temples, long, clawlike nails, digging in and drawing blood. She took a step back, walking into Evangeline, and leaning back against the woman’s chest.

Evangeline tensed up for a moment. The other woman was struggling, that much was obvious. Eva hoped that she could calm her down. She was digging her nails into her forehead again. Without even thinking about it, Evangeline gently placed her arms around Iris, not holding her back, or restricting her movement, but cuddling up against Iris' lithe frame.

"Iris... Iris you're here with me, okay? It's just you, Iris. Just you and me. You are Iris, nobody else. It's going to be okay... everything is going to be okay. Listen to the sound of my voice... follow me back..."

“...All I wanted to do, is fockin’ build a castle... L-Look at dat!” Iris waved her hands towards Evangeline’s mug, still resting on the counter, untouched. “Dere is no fockin’ castle... W-Where is my knight? I... I want my... I want mi Silke... Cinnabun? I’m.. I’m so...”

Iris felt the arms that were wrapped around her, like a cradle, everything else was hidden behind the deep fog in her head. What was this place? Who was she? And who’s arms were these? She did not really care anymore.

She felt numb, and when the fog finally parted, she was standing on a shore. A shore of white sand, like ground bones reached as far as the eye can see on her both sides. And in front of her? There was a ocean. A black ocean from where the calms waves rolled in to shore, to caress it like a lover’s fingers for just a moment, before falling back into the embrace of the ocean.

Iris took one step... and another. Her eyes caught the arm, where the burn had been only a moment ago. Yet now? There was nothing. The burn was gone, same with the pain it had brought. Tilting her head, Iris poked the skin couple of times, then pinching it between her fingers, and pullin. No pain. Nothing. She kept walking.

The black waves were calling her with a voice she knew, but could not place to who it belonged to. She stepped into water, walking on, until it reached almost to her knees, when she heard another voice from behind her, and turned around. On the waterline, veiled by the fog, she saw three figures. A Three pairs of long ears.

A tall warrior, a woman with long, ghostly hair, and a sickly, corpse-like woman, standing between them. The panic washed over her... she had to walk back, what was she doing? Yet, when she tried to move her legs, they felt like something was holding them from the bottom of the ocean.

Oh gods... You sound like a vulture... They are my favourite birds...

It’s going to be okay... Everything is going to be okay...

S-Something is not right...

The panic washed over Iris, and she jerked her leg again, but instead of getting it free, she lost her balance, falling back into the embrace of deep black. Iris gasped in Evangeline’s embrace, opening her eyes.

Her burned arm looked horrible. Like someone had been ripping out skin from the burned area. She sighed deeply, moving her fingers on top of the burn, and mumbling words under her breath. A faint light, mix of black and shades of purple started dancing around her fingertips, slowly sewing shut the worst of the damage, even though the arm still looked burned and blistered.

“Seven hells, how did this happen?" Iris’ eyes were closed. She seemed stuck... wrapped in a dreamlike state, twitching involuntarily as if she were sleeping. Evangeline’s heart rate rose, as fear gripped at her, clawing at her arms, her legs... she held Iris, still as gently as if her arms were wrapped around the finest glass vase the world had ever seen.

How was Iris suddenly so precious to her? Why did she feel the need to protect her? Some people had baggage...but Iris had wagonfulls. Cities filled with baggage. The smart move would be to walk away from this mess. To set Iris gently down and leave this place... run far away from Ishgard and never return. Maybe she could win Solenna back.

She barely entertained the thought, though, looking at Iris’ face. Pained and thin, weak and scared. Beautiful, pitiful, and now...alone. Eva could leave her no more than she could leave her own legs behind. She would just have to figure something out.

As Iris opened her eyes, gasping for breath as if she had been drowning, Evangeline’s heart leapt from her chest, relief pouring through her veins. She was about to say something... to thank the twelve that Iris was back... but she watched as Iris sighed and healed her arm.

”Seven hells, how did this happen?” ...What? That... that wasn’t Iris’ voice. Iris couldn’t heal herself. This was wrong. Something was wrong. This wasn’t the other, either. The one who called herself ‘Lareine’ didn’t speak like that.

Evangeline felt herself tense up again, her relief pulled out of her body like air from a drowned person’s lungs. Still keeping her arms gently around the body of Iris, she whispered quietly to the not-Iris:

“In response to your question... you spilled boiling water on your arm. It was burned, and I was caring for it. I have a question of my own, though, if you don’t mind... what is your name?” ‘Burned my arm..?’ the pale viera thought to herself, as her eyes caught Evangeline’s arms, still wrapped around her. ‘Must have been wild evening’.

She had no idea where she was. Nothing in this place seemed in any way familiar to her. She had no memory of burning her arm with boiling water... and the whole idea sounded so foolish in her head. And on top of everything. Who the hell was this woman, embracing her, and tending to her injury? The burn would leave a scar by now... Why did she not tend it with magic herself it in the first place?

Maybe this was all just a twisted dream, and she would wake up sooner or later. The not-Iris reached out towards the counter, picking up the cup of cocoa, and brought it on her lips, taking a sip.

“Well, considering the fact you are asking for my name, I guess you are not my mate... So my second guess would be... One-night stand? Either way, I would be grateful, if you removed your arms from me. As much as this looks like some ending scene on a romance novel, with whole kitchen and hot cocoa... Having a complete stranger just hanging on your ass is rather... obtrusive.”

Placing down her cup, the viera studied the arms that were holding her. Strong... hardy... the woman was either a soldier, or maybe a smith. A farmhand was unlikely, considering the overall cleanliness or the arms and nails. ‘Must be a soldier of some sort’.

“The name is Irene... Irene d’Espair... and I guess this is a pleasure. For now.” The other two could hear a silent snapping against the floor, before Laurence appeared from the living room, stretching and yawning, and wearing a red leather collar, decorated with silver colored, heart shaped staples. A black leather leash had been tied to the collar, and soon Silke appeared from the living room after the dog, holding the other end of the leash, and her high heeled boots snapping the floor as well, though more loudly.

"Guys?" she said, smiling warmly with her narrow lips that resembled a rosebud. However, her turquoise eyes were faded like a corpse's, and devoid of any emotion. "I just remembered the last time I took Laurence out was yesterday evening. I need to go. And I'm going to fetch some groceries too, so don't bother waiting for me. This is going to take a while." Irene turned her head towards the voice, as much as she could with Evangeline’s arms around her. The woman was so tall, Irene could barely peek over her shoulder, but when she did, she saw another viera woman on the doorway. Now this was... curious? How many people were there, calling this lousy hole ‘a home’?

The newcomer was a complete opposite to the viera holding her. Pale skin... straight hair pulled up on a thick ponytail, and dead eyes behind those round glasses smeared with black. The overall impression of the woman was apathetic, even with the beautiful dress and red-painted lips. A junkie most likely... and by the looks of it... a prostitute.

“Well... good morning to you too...” Irene said. At this point, Silke's expectations of the other two and especially Iris had sunken so deep one would've needed a shovel... or no, a digger, to dig them back up to daylight. However, this was the new low. This was the peak of insolence. First Iris had the nerve to strut here, bragging about her fock partner, and now she was behaving like Silke would've interrupted their affectionate moment in her own kitchen.

Instead of giving the lingerie to Iris, Silke squeezed them into her leash free fist and hurled them onto the floor, next to their feet.

"Oh for fock's sake!" she could no longer remain polite. "You two damsels better drag your asses out of my place before I return if you value those pretty faces of yours!"

With that, she flung the door open, marched out with the excited shiba, and slammed the door shut behind her with such power that it made the windows jingle. Irene stared at the viera’s sudden outburst, wincing, as the door was slammed shut. Her gaze traveled from the door to the rather slutty lingerie on the floor, and up to Evangeline. “Your wife, I presume?” Evangeline removed her arms the moment it was requested. She was almost immediately overwhelmed by just how much everything had come crashing down in just the last few minutes. Crying... heartbreak... she could deal with that, and take it in stride. Maybe. For now.

But she had thought...she had thought there were only two of them. What in Halone’s name was she supposed to do now…? She could only hope that what worked last time would work again. As Silke left in a huff, Eva called out to her, hoping she would stop, but she was already well on her way down the stairs, the sound of the door slamming most likely preventing Silke from hearing her regardless.

“Wait, Silke! She’s not…”, she trailed off, realizing how fruitless it was to say ‘not Iris’ given that Silke was long gone already. She was upset... not just upset, but fuming. Evangeline hoped she could do something... but for fuck’s sake if this wasn’t more important right now, she didn’t know what was.

Evangeline was taken aback at not-Iris’ statement, wondering how those dots in particular had decided to connect in her mind. She blushed slightly, mumbling: “N-no...she’s...she’s your best friend. You brought me here to introduce me to her.” She shook her head slowly.

“More to the point…” Eva looked into not-Iris’ eyes. Once again... it was so alien. So not Iris. The spark, the flame that sat beneath the lakes of purple was unusual. There wasn’t a hint of Iris left.

“Iris... are you there? Can you hear me? Come back to me...please…”, she pleaded, hoping desperately that it would work. She was afraid of what would happen... Iris had left because of Silke. Evangeline wasn’t enough. Just like she had always been... not enough. Insufficient. Irene kept her purple eyes nailed onto the viera infront of her. This situation was absurd. Quite intriguing, but absurd... ‘This woman is mad as a cuckoo clock’, she thought to herself, while following the other’s pleas, calling for someone named ‘Iris’. Oh, how she wanted to open this lady’s head, just to see what was going on inside it... And if this was Irene’s dream... would the red-head even mind a little poking around her brain? Such an intriguing case...

“Wait, wait, wait...”, Irene said finally, her voice calm, like a surface of a lake after a storm had ended. “...First of all... I dont know who this ‘Iris’ is... I also have no idea who the woman who just walked out was. I have never seen her before. What I think, girl, is that you are going through a mild case of psychosis... most likely triggered by your wife, finding us together. My name is Irene... And I have never been here before. Honestly? I still believe this is some mindless dream, but in case its not... I’m willing to help you out... If I can, that is.”

A weird smile played on Irene’s lips. A smile that did not reach the eyes. The eyes were cold, and lifeless, except the small foxfire looming behind the purple pools. She placed her hand, or Iris’ hand onto Evangeline’s shoulder. “I think we should go, before your loved one returns. Seeing her now, might just mess your little head even more than it already is.” Iris’ eyes didn’t change. She didn’t wake up... or gain control... like she had before. Usually Iris was desperate to fight to the surface. She had such a strong will. Which meant... which meant this time... she didn’t want to come back. Eva wasn’t enough. She was never enough. She was never what anyone wanted.

Her breath came fast and ragged, such that she was almost hyperventilating. Trying desperately to contain herself, she listened to the not-Iris speak. Offer to ‘help’ her. Flash her a lifeless, lightless smile. A not-Iris smile. Evangeline couldn’t help herself anymore, and burst into tears. Sobbing into her hands, she was able to squeak:

“Y-yeess... w-we should g-go…”

Nodding her head slowly, she gasped for breath, trying to see the other woman through the tears. Maybe this was the best way to do things... she couldn’t let the not-Iris get away from her. Maybe she could get her back to house Blacksoul, and seek help from its lord, or at least Arsene.

“I... I have a place... a p-place we can go…,” she whispered between whimpers. “J-just give me a moment t-to... com-compose myself…” Irene reached for her small incredient pouch, but it was not there... Thinking about it further, these were not even her clothes. The style was rather decent, so she could have very well picked them, but... it was not what she would usually wear. Quickly she went through the pockets of a jacket she had over the long black dress, but the only thing she could find was a pack of cigarettes, and a lighter. No sign of her pouch.

She had hoped to give the weeping woman something to calm her nerves, but it was no use. ‘What happened to me anyway? Something does not sum up...’ The pale viera ended up to offer the pack of smokes towards Eva.

“These are yours? ...Wait a moment.” Irene lit a cigarette, drawing from it deep, and muttering words, her eyes closed. The words were barely audible, and did not sound like any language Evangeline understood.

Smoke was running over her lips with the words, and soon it gained a very faint glow. Irene leaned towards Eva, blowing the glowing smoke right into her mouth.

Evangeline was struggling to think straight. She didn't have much control over herself... her emotions were too much to contain right now. So intense were her feelings that she barely even noticed Irene take a drag of a cigarette and blow a lungfull of oddly colored smoke into her mouth. Her breath halted, and she immediately felt her lungs constrict, unfamiliar with the new sensation she was experiencing. Instinctively, though, she took a deep breath in, accepting the strange smoke into her body without realizing it.

Immediately, she felt a strange calm wash over her, as if her fears and worries had been constrained to a place just below the surface of her mind. She could still feel them beating at her, trying to break down the door, but they were restrained for now. She shook her head, and wiped her eyes.

"Whaat... what was that? What did you just do...? And how did you do it? Iris didn't have... she didn't have any magic."

“I still dont know who this ‘Iris’ is, who you keep talking about, but I have few tricks up my sleeve”, Irene reminded. “Just try to stay calm. The effect is rather light, especially as I did not have my own incredients. But at least you are breathing again. Thats good.”

Irene picked up the mug of cocoa, and emptied it, before finishing the smoke. The cold, dead smile was still lingering on her lips, as she threw the pack of cigarettes to Eva, and walked past the woman, and towards the door, Silke had slammed shut only a moment earlier.

“Dont cry for your girl... She will come back to you, if its meant to be. Now shall we?” she nodded towards the door. “You have not told me your name yet.” Evangeline caught the cigarette pack. She felt falsely calm. It was such an alien feeling to her. That she should be so heartbroken and at the same time so controlled in the face of it was highly unusual. Her thoughts moved through her mind, tasting it and testing it as one would test a cut in one’s mouth, touching it with their tongue to see if it hurt. So enthralled was she with her sudden state of being that she almost forgot to answer the not-Iris’ question.

“Hello... my name is Evangeline. Evangeline Cross. Thank you... for whatever that was. As it seems that I have failed, and that we may be together for a time, perhaps I could do my best to furnish you with some information. Let’s... let’s walk and talk, shall we?”

Eva wandered towards the door, already starting to feel the despair creep back into her heart. She needed help... she needed Silke. She needed Silke to help her get Iris back. The viera was certainly gone for now, but perhaps Evangeline could return on another day. She would find a way to bring Iris back to her... she had to. She just hoped that it would be soon.

Eva opened the door, letting in a draft of dry, cold air. She motioned for the not-Iris to exit the building ahead of her, and stepped through the doorway behind her, shutting it behind her with a soft click.

With @lareine-kira & @evangeline-cross :3c

#final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #storytime #silke doomflare #iris ymir #evangeline cross #viera #rp

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