#Saria Writes

[4mrplumi]

( crow choir. entry one ) ── dust of snow ( m.s | prev/next )

author's note at the end

you have three brothers- no, two brothers. you’ve only heard of the third. you can hardly think of them as such, feeling traitorous to your old family… families. but you are also a lonely child, so you give them permission to be props of your plain life.

the eldest, with stark blue eyes and dimples at his near-permanent smiles is named richard grayson. he’d given you a warm grin the day you arrived, that somewhat wavered at the blank look you hoped you gave him. you don’t talk to him, but sometimes you wish you did.

you know nothing of the second, apart from his first name; jason. the usual answers to unasked questions, that piece together via general conversations, don’t form here, and you can’t be bothered to ask. you wonder where he is, does he not come to visit?

the youngest of the three is younger than you too, tim drake the butler says, by maybe one or two years, you never tried to figure it out. he came to the house about a few months after you arrived, but seems far more involved with bruce’s business than you ever will be (ever hope to be). there’s a familiar twitch to his brows, and you relate it to old inquisitive roommates, the ones that tried to figure you out without asking questions and always gave up eventually. 

it's a relief he doesn't even try at all.

it does feel a little odd, to not have to talk to anyone just to shoo them away. you strangely miss it, the feeling of being irritated at bothersome small talk. in the silence of the manor, which had not much for a child to do, you start to feel lonely

you've never felt lonely before. alone, yes, isolated, absolutely, but lonely? you've never wanted company. not from anyone who wasn't... forget it.

and thus, you're in an odd situation. you want to be a part of the family, but you have no interest in talking to them. why, the mere idea makes you sweat all over, and you prefer your few meals in your room.

you don't like it. wanting so badly to converse with your brothers, get to know them the way you knew your old previous foster-care siblings, but not being able to.

in your old houses, the children would be somewhat put into forced proximity, there was no choice other than to call out for company. you'd gotten absurdly used to being reached out to without having to do it yourself. your brothers must be busy, or you must be too quiet for them to notice you around.

so with all the courage you could muster, you crept up to an idle older brother, visiting after so long from bludhaven. you might implode from the short moment where he looked at you with confusion, not knowing who you are, before giving you a awkward smile of acknowledgement. no matter, it's not his fault.

he nods off your subtle attempt at asking for his time, maybe you're not being clear enough? it's enough to put you off, so you leave quickly after he gives you a small promise to talk later, maybe get out of the house for a while.

it's such a small thing, but it makes you embarrassed. you try to build up a little stubbornness, and look to find tim. but when you find him immersed deeply in a book, a journal of some sort, you decide otherwise and leave.

it's okay. you'll try again! when you're feeling better. better and livelier.

livelier.

your patterned quilt does little to keep away the monstrous cold of gotham's winter nights, and does it wreck though your nerves and leave you shivering.

the butler; alfred, had given you a good understanding of the room's systems, yet another thing that'd take time to get used to, and you knew the switches that would connect your vents to the central heating system.

but it feels so surreal, and the familiarity of huddling into your own ice cold limbs for warmth is a comfort you can't let go off just yet. you mustn't allow these new privileges to make you forget who you are. what you are, and what you deserve.

you recall a young boy in one of your old homes, discussing earnestly with your 'sisters' about what he'd do if he had all of gotham's money. the prospect of being filthy rich had always irked you to a small degree, to be well-off when others struggle. was it guilt? 

he'd gone on and on about the different things he'd get. a curly-haired poodle, a shining red bicycle, clothes that made him look like a proper gentleman, from a gentler city. you wonder solemnly where he is now, wishing you could share the fortunes you've been shoved into with him. someone who wanted it, deserved it.

deserving... deserving something is odd. whatever makes an individual deserving of something? the hardships they recieve, and the hardships they pass out?

you don’t remember your mother, having gained metaphorical consciousness at the age of six, when your sister started taking care of you instead. you made out from her teary, drunk mumblings that she was an awfully sophisticated woman. she’d colour herself with red blushes and redder lip stains, wear family jewels she refused to sell to her ‘business’ meetings. thin-framed glasses with the eyes of a vixen’s. 

what your sister muttered most about was her many nights away from home. one-sided conversations that plunged a small anchor to your heart, because you knew you were a product of one of them. 

when she was in a bitter mood, your sister never shied away from berating you for your existence. she, unlike you, was born in wedlock. yes, to an unhappy couple, who threw picture frames and cheap souvenirs at each other before splitting up, but she knew her father.

a ridiculously strange thing to hold above one’s head. “i knew my absent father. no one knows yours.” but your depraved heart and dull mind took it so deeply. so, so deeply. 

were those hardships? did you deserve them? others have it worse, right? so do you deserve this? this wealth?

now that you do know your father, you can’t help but resent the idea of knowing. did he know? that he left his child to an unbecoming family and an irresponsible sister? did he know that the guilt of starving your sister to eat yourself made you so incredibly weak-minded at the idea of being full? did he know that you refuse to switch the heater on in the cold, because you don’t know if your old foster siblings got the same luxury? all while the elites of gotham stay in their glasshouses with their rose gardens and wine cupboards.

you can’t put your finger to it. it’s not jealousy, it’s not resentment, it’s not hatred for his absence so far… is it guilt?

you don't know what to do with this abundance of luxury. you’ve lived a lifetime of pet mice from old caretakers, mice that died from the dust that creeped out of cracked floor boards and owls that haunted your window sills. a lifetime of reminiscing about a sobbing woman in your apartment, thinking about all your promises of providing a better life for her, only for her to die in front your eyes. a lifetime of wondering why mommy didn’t come back. why daddy's never there. who daddy even is.

someone else should have it. someone else should have the option to ask the butler for a piece of chocolate pastry at an odd time. to know about their father after countless days of not knowing him. to feel pretty in new dress suits after years of wearing the same two sets of clothes every week.

someone who deserves it more.

your sister.

you miss her.

small events make you change too fast for even your own liking. small things made you so desperately attached to your big sister, small things made you so frightened, so ill, to try to talk to brothers who barely knew you only by your shadow. small things made you tolerate your father more, and mourn the fact you couldn't ever connect to him the way the others did.

small, small things. that troubeled you too much, made you decide it was time to leave. running away from reality in the comfort of your mind when you zone out, is not much different from physically running away, right? troublesome things are not worth the trouble. so you'll run away, and you'll be free. of duties you were never given.

yet another one of gotham’s teenage misfortunes. who leaves a home of riches with a light mind, with the desires of soaring through lost years in gotham like the daftest of pigeons, with no worries or vows. they leave a home of blood and bonds with a heavy heart, lamenting that this time, the choice to leave a permanent, forever family lay on them. they left unspoken conversations unsaid, and imaginary memories within their imagination.

...but, these conversations, these fake memories, become the objects of obsession, for those left behind.

where's the little crow who stalked the corridors, whose naive, cloudy eyes watched from behind walls?

alfred, where's (name)?

INTERACTIONS AND REBLOGS VV APPRECIATED !! incase it was unclear, the sections jump around in the timeline. i did want to leave it to reader interpretation, but since this is the footer, there's no harm in explaining. "you have three brothers..." and "your patterned quilt does little..." are interchangeable within the plot. both are placed after tim's given the mantle of robin, but before jason's re-entry as the red hood. the last part however, is well after both, and damian's entry. anyway you can consider this entry as like, a vague plot summary? there's a lot that happens in between and after, most of the story is about after, but i like setting the ground for this stuff.

once again, if you are interested in the series, do interact! comments, reblogs, etc are so appriciated, to anyone who posts on tumblr! i'll try to get the next entry in soon, but i can't confirm anything!

thank you for reading!!

[mokadevs]

you've given me nothing to miss

[arkiwii]

ok I'm about to pass out from exhaustion after pulling an all nighter and reading this ~140 000 words long event so allow me to scream a little bit before

AHEM SPOILERS BELOW FOR THE ENTIRETY OF THE EVENT

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEARAAAA

WUEUERUEYTEEEEUEEE????GHHJGHHHGGGGXJJJhjhjwff,,

FUCKING EVAPORATES AND DIES. EXPLODES. IMPLODES. PERISHES ON THE SPOT. DIES A MILLION TIME.

ok good night this event made me cry so much im not alright anymore

[lykieu]

You wonder if you've ever taken the time to watch the sky: white and wanton brushstrokes, colouring the curve of the earth, green sinking into blue.

(Sink you will, into this familiar shape, bowed, curl of her smile, crescent of each embrace. You think of softer thoughts and it shocks you like static, that flinch in the pit of your smouldering heart. You didn't believe in making peace with it. Now you can't remember the war.)

Sink you will, into the soft grassy knolls of the isle, the cliff you find yourself standing on, surrounded by dandelions sprinkled like the land reflecting the stars. You had believed that once, stalwart in your stance, that something so dull could appear so bright in the right company, with the right promise. And you had thought it would last. But as with the dirt beneath your feet, everything returns to dust, and only the ocean could ever come close to mirroring the sky. Deep in your mind, you know you shouldn't have tried to become anything other than what you are: a boulder to step on, stone pillar of regret.

The nature of the isle is blustery and remote. Sanctuary claimed in the aftermath of loss: a cottage by the ocean, she had insisted, for reasons you may never fully understand.

Gusts of wind whip through your hair and your clothes, embedding you in seasalt and the sounds of gulls high above. They soar so freely as you watch, dipping and hovering just out of reach, wings expanded like parachutes to carry them away at a moment's notice. How you've never envied that more.

Hours pass by and you come to lay down entirely. It's simply you and billowing grass tickling at your sides. You and the greying horizon, the incoming storm from across the sea. You and your thoughts and your grief and your newfound joy. Concentrate on what you've held onto with bleeding fists. Concentrate on the present, not the absent; on the catch, not the fall.

Heavy eyelids close to the first raindrops against your skin. They slip down your cheeks, icy beads to join a single crystal tear.

“I knew I'd find you here.”

Ah. The gulls dissipate. The waves pause. Your heart freezes in distant panic.

Above you appears a bright yellow umbrella. And peering down—is Muelsyse. Your pulse settles at the scent of autumn flowers, settles like a great descent, a coming home.

“Hey.” Your voice is hoarse but you smile faintly at her. You don't move.

She crouches down, spinning the umbrella absently in her grip like a watery halo, angel of your heavy heart. She speaks casually, even if you both know the moment is not. “What are you doing out in the rain?”

You allow her to brush your damp cheek, and you know she can tell from just a touch that one particular droplet did not originate from the sky. Her expression stirs, then softens. She runs her thumb beneath your eye, then raises it to her lips.

“I was resting,” you say, watching each motion, content to keep your whole weight upon the earth, where the only view is her and beyond.

“I hope so,” Muelsyse replies. She slides her tongue over her thumb before bending down to kiss you.

It's salty.

“You've needed this for a long time,” she says, tender in your ear. She combs through your hair with one hand as the other releases its grip on the umbrella. It falls to the ground and the sky opens up. Pouring, pelting, soaking. She joins you, drops into your arms, into the green of steady bounds, and buries deep into your shoulder. Still, you don't move other than to pull her close.

Soon, the storm becomes a soothing rhythm, an icy thrum against your skin. You allow another droplet to escape the corner of your eye, then another, and another, until they run rapids down your face, merging into rivers that you hope will drown your sorrow.

You remain as still as you can, as quiet as you can. The only disturbances come from the shuddering of your lungs, and even these sounds are swept away by the wind.

Muelsyse doesn't speak, only holds onto your shirt for dear life. It seems like you would both fall from some unknown precipice should she let go. So she doesn't. Couldn't. And she whispers just above the storm, something that makes the planet halt its spinning.

“I miss her, too.”

You know now that this ache inside may never truly leave.

/

[the-delta-42]

No Longer You

No Longer You

Link stumbled over the rocks, he’d heard of a prophet from the Skullkid. They said that he could see the future, he could tell Link the way back to Hyrule. He had to get back to Hyrule, he had to get back to Zelda, and Darunia, Ruto, Nabooru, Impa, Saria. He had to get home.

He dislodged some rocks, knocking them into a deep, endless pit. Swallowing, Link continued onwards, before coming to a large circle, with someone sitting on the ground, facing away from him.

Link opened his mouth, before the man spoke.

“I am the prophet,

with the answers you seek.

Time, I’ve unlocked it,

I see past and future running free.”

The Prophets voice was almost melodical.

“There is a world,

Where I help you get home.

But, that’s not a world I know.”

“What?” Rasped Link, ice filling his veins.

“I see a song of past romance,

The sacrifice of man.

I see portrayals of betrayals,

And a warriors final stand.

I see you on the brink of death!

I see you draw your final breath!

I see a man who gets to make it home alive,

But it’s no longer you.”

Link staggered back, “No. No, this can be,” He panted, “I’ve suffered and sailed through the toughest of hells and now you tell me, my effort’s for nothing?!”

“I see your kingdom,

Coated in red.

Faces of friends,

Who had long believed you’re dead!

I see the Princess,

with a man who is haunting.

A man with a trail of bodies.”

“WHO?!” Bellowed Link, grabbing his sword, Zelda was going to be in danger.

“I see a song of past romance,

The sacrifice of man,

Portrayals of betrayal

And a warrior’s final stand.

I see you on the brink of dead,

I see you draw your final breath!

I see a man who makes it home alive.

But, it’s no longer you.”

With that last word, the prophet vanished, leaving Link along in the cave.

[prettycottonmouthlamia]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 明日方舟 | Arknights (Video Game) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Saria (Arknights), Ifrit (Arknights) Summary:

Saria gets a birthday present for the first time, and it helps her begin to confront her feelings on the past.

[sleepyy-27]

*insert crappy rushed art here* I decided to write a small fic to go with the day one art so here it is :P

————

Whumptober

Alt prompt forgotten

Warning: mention of death but it has a nice end to make up for some of the sadness ig :P

————

He woke up no idea where he was, actually he didn’t know who he was, was he even a he? And why were his hands transparent? Everything around this strange place he found himself in had been dark except a ball of light.

Has that always been there?

It seemed the ball of light noticed him and floated towards the boy, it glowed blue, he could see it had beautiful wings? Was that what those called? He recalled multiple words but didn’t know the meaning to them except one, forgotten.

Maybe that’s where he is a place called "Forgotten", maybe he didn’t do anything so he was left behind here? He has so many thoughts and he had finally noticed the little ball of light saying something.

“Hey!”

“Look!”

“Listen!”

“Watch out!”

“Hey!”

He recognized her immediately her name was Navi, and for some reason wet stuff rolled down his face.

“Link!”

Was that his name? He didn’t know but she said it again while trying to wipe the tears that rolled down his face.

So that’s his name, Link.

He looked down at his hand, there was a strange shaped rock, no rock wouldn’t be the right word he knew that much at least, cause it was hollow with man made holes in it, there was a point that stuck out and it was a little long. Gold had wrapped that bit and three triangles had been engraved, he noticed that same mark on his own had the bottom right one being darker than the rest.

What was that called again?

“Link, do you not remember me?” The ball of light, no, Navi asked, floating in front of his face.

Remember. Why did he recognize her and that word?

Everything came back slowly but too fast, his vision blurred due to the amount of liquid, no, tears that had came out of his eyes, he expected to be alone in this moment but there was something small and tiny but comforting wrapping its tiny arms around his cheek.

“N-Navi?” He, no that’s not right, Link shakily said he noticed his hands weren’t transparent and instead he had been wearing armor now, he noticed he was much taller and this dark place wasn’t dark anymore.

His legs crumbled under himself as Navi whispered “I knew you would find me again, let’s go home now forest boy.” And all of a sudden he was back as a child in his green tunic, Saria was sitting on her usual stump, playing her tune on her ocarina, he felt a hand on his shoulder, he looked up to see a young red haired girl wearing clothes that gave her away as Malon, the girl from Lon Lon ranch. “C’mon fairy boy let’s go!” Malon spoke voice gentle as she helped stand up.

He knows he wasn’t forgotten in the end and he took his own ocarina and started playing with Saria as Malon sat right beside him, Navi floating around the three glowing brightly.

He may have died and been forgotten physically but he would never be forgotten here.

————

(Sorry if there’s any grammar mistakes I wrote this in the span of like idk almost 40 minutes sorry it’s short ;-;)

[coconi]

Summary:

There are tales of a mortal who was once taken in by the Kokiri: a young boy, orphaned and fairyless, who would one day save Hyrule from a terrible evil. Hero of Time, some call him — at least, those who still remember his journey. Before we knew him as such, however, he was simply a boy called Link. And though he would face much sorrow and hardship later in life, the story behind his name is one filled with wonder, a little chaos, and a generous pinch of cooking.

Or: The Kokiri are given an infant to care for, and he needs a proper name and nourishment. A cooking competition ensues.

— — —

We were given permission to post our Homemade in Hyrule Volume 2 pieces, so here's mine 😊 A light-hearted (and very food-centric!) take on how OoT Link got his name and his place among the Kokiri 🍃🌿Featuring beautiful spot art pieces by @koobiie 🩷

(If you'd like to snatch a copy of the zine, leftover sales are open right now!)

[firstserve]

woe. new fedal fic be upon ye

[leithanienwnt]

I fucking love hearing why people love their favourite characters. People can post huge multi paragraph essays on how they got that character and why they connected with them and I will read that shit every time

[laikaflash]

which soulcalibur ships do you want to see explored more or become endgame? are there any that you want to be canon that arent necessarily so? are there any you have that most people havent really considered before?

(Sorry for the extra long wait. This was partly done back in March, but the rest is on me for forgetting to check my drafts. OTL)

Off the top of my head, here are the ones I'd like to see explored more:

Hwang/Mi-na: This one grew on me after Hwang's Soul Chronicle. (See the end of Chapter 8 where Mi-na tells him "I just... want you to let me help you for once...") I consider it potentially endgame, so I'm hoping they get more time together in-story to build to something.

Z.W.E.I./Viola: Seems to be farther off in the grand scheme of things but I'm hoping to see where the new timeline is going with these two. Especially with Iska Zwei (I assume).

Siegfried/Salia: At full risk of sounding like a broken record... She's been holding their group together since he snapped and dammit, I hope she follows him to Ostrheinsburg. （ ＴДＴ）This sort of bleeds into to the next questions because I don't see this pairing a lot (and I've looked). Again, I'm glad Salia finally got some screentime (aside from Quick Match in Broken Destiny); it just sucks that she was relatively obscure for so long.

are there any that you want to be canon that arent necessarily so? are there any you have that most people havent really considered before?

I'm putting these together because I don't think I'm all that adventurous with shipping. I tend to have a few pairings that I gravitate to; for just about anything else: sometimes I get it, sometimes I don't. I don't have any that wouldn't come off as a stretch in canon (which is one reason my Mitsurugi/Taki WIP is an AU).

A recurring curse that seems to have followed me from other fandoms is that I glom onto a pairing of side characters, which leaves me with a sparse selection of fanwork to check out if I'm lucky. So chances are I'm going to be the one person on Ao3 who posts anything Shugen/Anju (whenever I get around to that), but if I'm the first, so be it.

[4mrplumi]

(concept: redstart) batfamily x reforming criminal reader

tw: vv small description of burning bodies.

> reader, who used to scramble around the depths of another city, homeless, hungry and orphaned at nine. naturally became independent, turning to petty crime and sometimes even violence to survive.

> gets caught in the middle of a brawl between adults and almost dies, then caught again by an unmeaning police officer, who relocates you to a children's home.

> your adoption is coerced by the odd head-lady, who justifies it by claiming a strict, but caring family could reform you from your "unruly behaviour" within the centre halls.

> she was right about the strict, not about the caring. father was a hyper-militaristic, obsessed with proving worth through strength type of guy. even had a whole base of operations dealing in organised crime, without even doing so much as hobby-boxing.

> you were incredibly indoctrinated into "goods" and "bads" and how to solve the issue of corruption by a moralistic, anti-moral man. he was the corruption, but painted himself in bright lights.

> you were a lonely child. you began to look up to him. obsessing over everything he said and did and holding it like a knife to your throat.

> adoptive father never much considered you as much compared to his other two, older sons, and treated you as a tool for some unmade project.

> life was like lucid dreaming. you had full control, but none, none, at all.

> concious enough to feel hurt by his treatment and dismissal, but felt too indebted to ever complain, or speak about it. grew up knowing little outside of subservierence. brothers were shadows in the backgrounds, implied ghosts of what you wish you could've been.

> not allowed to be a part of society. father considered it weakness, a threat, a vulnerability. the one time you did get friends, you were punished for it harshly, and isolated further.

> no personal aspirations outside of hoping, barely, to make the man who so tediously took you in proud.

> trained obssesively, five times harder than the brother's you'd never outshine, with ten times less the recognition or support.

> firmly believes your father's course in life is correct, and wants to support it, but can't because he doesn't trust you enough to tell you his goals.

> completely in a frienzied panic when your father and brothers drop dead. your way of life, your identity, all gone with them. completely. a mere child, with nothing to live for.

> batman bad come originally as an 'ally', to take your father's side jn subduing crime worldwide. but you had identified his ploy to take down your father's plans immently as soon as he earned his trust.

> your father was not a clever man. did not think batman knew of his intentions, his mannerisms. believed himself to always be superior.

> but he didn't believe you when you told him, and you watched as their conversations progressed with desperation. he believed this old bat more in these few days than he had you in your whole life.

> when batman reveals his intentions, an accident causes your father to set off an esplosive he himself had planted incase of emergencies. you couldn't help, watching with raw agony as his skin burnt away to reveal boiling flesh. watched with uncontrolable shaking at the batman trying to put it out, trying to perhaps save him and your brothers.

> lunging at him with such practiced fervour, he was caught off guard for a second. realising that the man had another child (not knowing of their mistreatment), he felt immensly guilty and indebted. to stop you from trying to claw his face off, your weapons hidden away by your father before his death, he knocks you out.

> when you wake up, two days later; not due to the force of his hit, but sheer exhausation from all the gruelling work you did daily, you're suprisingly compliant.

> even as an eldey man dressed in a deep black suit, accompanied by a tall black-haired boy you're sure you don't recognise, you don't struggle or scowl.

> they had expected you to.

> maybe it was slow adaptibility, shock, subconcious relief and unconcious reasoning that resulted in your quiet demeanor. without the antics of your usual routine, you were a little timid, like a little doe.

> the boy takes to you immediately, speaking warmly, introducing himself as dick grayson. the name strikes no bells, and you only stare in response. he talks of friends, family, getting better and getting up, but you listen only to half of what he says, nodding once in acknowledgement.

> and so begins the guilt-ridden journey of the batman, trying to protect gotham, the world, and reform a child whose parent he didn't kill, but couldn't save. you begin shadowing your guardian and his... guards (so you term them) on patrols, stalking behind them at gatherings, make appearences in a civilian identity crafted for you on the media. everything you do feels lost, like a deer caught in traffic.

> later, when they talk to you more about your life before the manor, jason simply says, "bruce didn't not do anything. he didn't do anything at all."

> you think he might be sad.

> you piece together the little memories you have, training, fighting, eating, sulking and sleeping with both eyes open into a big, big story. you look at the family come together atleast once a month, a warmth from them you've felt so very rarely, from a distance.

> you feel bruce's reassuring pat on your shoulder, encouraging you to join them.

> you think you might be sad.

INTERACTIONS & Reblogs appriciated !

gahhh i love this idea thingy in my head. so much angst potential. fluff potential. character expansion, relations, dynamic potential... cass, damian, steph, on your end of the coin. tim, dick, duke, on the other... jason, on the edge. i think the whole concept of wanting but not feeling like you deserve what u want is such a batfam thing, a reader with that attribute would be a puzzle piece locking in, or the exact opposite.

anyway, hoped u liked this little drabble. tell me if u think this is smth worth going after.

thank you for reading!!

[mokadevs]

“The more time passes, the more I'm sorry about it. We shouldn't have done it… We did not learn enough from this mission to justify the death of the dog.”

- Oleg Gazenko on Laika, the first dog sent to space.

-

Saria justifies a world post-Kristen.

[arkiwii]

hey who wants to cry! i have a new fic who just came out of the oven

It's one I had in mind for a long time, because I realized that both Ifrit's and Ptilopsis's operator records had the same conclusion: they're both dying, they both know, but regardless, they both want the ones they love to be happy. And I really really wanted to write something with both bounding over this

prepare some tissues because i cried writing this

[digitalsatyr23]

Ocarina of Time Fanfic (Ch11)

It's taken a long time, but we're finally at the halfway point. Impa tries to escape with Princess Zelda while Saria fights her way into Castle Town, slaying monsters and saving townsfolk. Then, in the Temple of Time, our heroes finally confront Ganondorf, learning of the Gerudo's true intentions. Is it possible to break free from one's destiny, or are we but slaves to the machinations of fate?

[dragonfelling]

Happy Storyteller Saturday! Tell me about a victory, either your characters or your own. I wanna hear about some triumphs

Happy STS!

My small victory this week is pumping out 6500 words on the Azaiah doc this month and over 35000 total on the Amara doc this year

As for characters....

Here is Azaiah's trophy, where he defeated a Nidus https://dragonfelling.tumblr.com/post/761725793859698688/snippet-sunday-azaiahs-trophy

and here is a short about a duel over a woman, where Someone has a Victory :)

Prince Iasis was all over Crown Skalono’s wife when Skalono unlocked the door and stepped into the upstairs common room. Her legs were locked around his hip and Iasis had his head buried in her neck. 

When the door swung open, Iasis sat up from her embrace and stared. His eyes went wide and his hands removed themselves from Saria's body. 

Skalono glared, breathing heavily. He looked so much like their father at that moment. The rage was palpable.

Skals stomach turned at the indignation one could only feel learning your brother had been doing your wife behind your back. 

He searched for what to say to them but only three words made it out in a choked, scathing growl.

“Get cleaned up.”

Iasis assisted Saria in getting redressed, his head hanging in shame. What had he done?... Did he feel guilty for the action, or… he thought about it while he buttoned up his vest. Or was it because he got caught.

He pushed his ruffled, sweaty hair back and mentally prepared himself to face his younger brother in the hall.

Iasis left first, glancing down at Skalono with an uncertain expression.

Skal grabbed Iasis by the arm. His grip was strong, the sinew of his hand was exaggerated by the painful grasp on his older brother. 

Iasis whispers. “Hey- That hurts.” He gives his arm a tug. Skalono grabbed up at the collar of his shirt and tugged him down a couple inches to stare him directly in the eyes. 

“Iasis, you… you fucker. You- I'm challenging you to a traditional Anemoian duel. Old rules.”

He was meeting Iasis on his own home grounds. Iasis blinked in confusion. This was a stupid decision from a stupidly angry man.

“Are you sure?”

“Dont fucking Are you sure, me. Tomorrow afternoon. Training yard. Saria is going to watch me tear you down.”

“That is a bad idea. Think about it before you hand out such a… a dumb challenge.”

“Do you think I'm not serious? Do you have any idea what you just did!?” He shakes his head and shoves Iasis when he lets him go. 

Iasis steps back and stands up straight.

“Skalono…”

“Get my name out of your mouth.”

When Saria steps out, Skalono turns away from her and storms downstairs. 

Saria puts an arm on Iasis’ back, frowning up at him. 

“He has no right to yell at you considering his own unfaithfulness.”

“It is less about you courting another man, and more about who it's with.”

“Did he say he challenged you?”

“Old Anemoian duel. Old rules. No powers and first blood is thrown out the window. it's very serious, It's a submission duel.”

“What's that mean?”

“One round, real wounds are free game. All that matters is that someone ends up on the ground at the mercy of the other. ”

“Then what!? That's really vague, Iasis.”

“Winner's choice to what happens.”

He grips the short sword at his waist, running his thumb along the guard.

-

Saria stood to the side lines along with the rest of the crowd. Doctor Seane, Xavier, Jan and Fluvius stood beside her, watching the two Aeraki men circle each other like territorial animals.

The focus in their eyes was intense. They guided their blades in two hands, the tip pointed towards the chest of the other.

She couldn't lie to herself, Saria's heart fluttered at their expressions. She had never seen either of them look so wild.

Maybe it was the fact they were fighting over her.

Iasis spoke in a low, warning tone. 

“This is your last chance to rescind your challenge.”

“I don't revoke it. Fight me, Iasis.”

Both Skalono and Iasis had their hair up fully, braided tight and tied high to keep their hair out of the way. They both wore minimal leather armor, the typical for this kind of fight.

Iasis’ clothes always fit formly, but Skalono looked completely different without his loose comfortable robes. It was easy to see the size difference between them now. 

Iasis was tall and lean. There wasn't much fat on his bones but rolled up sleeves showed off firm, muscled arms.

Skalono had weight to throw. He was some inches shorter but he wouldn't be easy to bring to the ground. 

The crowd held their breath as the two approached one another closer and changed their grip on the blades to hold them in their right hands.

A challenge was a challenge: there wasn't a thing to be done considering who issued it.

If Skalono died here, then the throne would be Iasis’. Everyone knew that the man was pining for the crown too. 

Jan did not want it, and Fluvius was not eligible.

Everyone also knew that the king realistically had little chance. 

This was proven correct soon enough. 

Skalono stepped forward first, thrusting his blade towards Iasis. Iasis retaliated with a swift swing down onto Skalonos blade.

It was rebuked. Iasis turned his blade and parted the metal. He went for Skalonos arm. Skalono stepped back and guarded again. 

Both men took some distance between each other, their pacing around one another continuing. 

Skalono stepped forward again, faking Iasis out. A flinch to guard opened Iasis up for Skalono to step forward again and slash towards Iasis’ face. Iasis stepped back, growing close to the wall.

Skalono did not let up, and went for him again with two hands on the handle. Iasis stepped forward to take this attack head on. He let Skalonos sword run down his own and locked the blade at the guards. The Crown was strong and tried to force Iasis down. Iasis couldn't support the force brought on the guard with one hand so he lifted his free hand up to support the side of his blade in his palm, before tilting his body and in a mere moment kicking Skalonos leg to get the Crown away from him. 

They gave each other space again. Iasis began to take careful steps to get more room behind him. 

They breathed heavily through their noses, sweat beading on the back of their necks and foreheads. 

Wavy strands of hair loosened from their buns and braids and stuck to their skin. 

Skalono took the first leap again. Iasis’ reaction was poor this time, and he just barely missed a much more serious injury to his cheek. Iasis took a long few strides backwards and away from Skalono. He held his cheek, bringing his hand off to look at the blood. It would surely scar.

He looked at it, before wiping it dry on his tucked waist sash and taking a stable stance once more. It was embarrassing to him that he could let that happen. It wouldn't happen again. 

Skalonos' fourth assault ended in his own mistake. A sloppy chop, and Iasis cut through the meat of his dominant arm.

Blood ran down, trickling into his grip and into the dry dirt below. 

Skal felt dizzy looking at his own blood. In his hesitation, Iasis, two handed, hit his blade with full force. The handle slipped from Skalonos blood soaked, and weakened grip. 

Iasis stepped forward again to get the blade under his boot. He kicked it so it was behind him. Skal was now weaponless. 

Iasis moved his blade to one hand, then reached forward to grab Skalono. He raised his blade and the king cowarded. 

Iasis shoved him to the ground. 

He gave him a rough kick, then dropped down onto his chest. He grabbed Skalono by the hair and pinned him. His braids came loose and piled onto the ground. Iasis kept his blade ready to strike him dead.

Skalono screamed in protest, rasing his hands what little he could while Prince Iasis has his biceps under his knees. 

“NO- No no-”

Everyone panicked, but nobody moved. 

Iasis could do it. He could take the throne now. Why shouldn't he?...

He waited all this time. He trained his whole childhood. He deserved that crown circlet. He shed the blood , sweat and tears to prove it.

His gaze wandered to Saria, who looked horrified. 

Iasis brought the sword down at Skalonos head…

The crowd gasped and moved closer to see what happened.

At, but not upon. 

He moved his grip on his hair to one of Skalonos braids, and sliced it free from his head. 

He got up slowly, and held the braid out for the crowd to see. 

Iasis was the victor. Skalonos' pride was his winnings.

Skalono stayed on the ground, pawing at the rough place that Iasis cut. He let out an audible cry, turning onto his side to sit up.

Saria came to Skalonos side to comfort him, shushing him and telling him he will be fine. 

She glanced up to Iasis, and gave him a thankful smile. He didn't kill her husband despite every reason he had to do it. He was a merciful man.