#The weights of the dozen of swords I had with me made me drown and I woke up

[duncanor]

One time I dreamed I had a wife and I needed to save her. So I went on a quest to do so. I knew nothing about my wife beyond the fact that I loved her.

When I ultimately failed, and woke up, I felt a devastating sentiment of loss. I missed my wife so badly I started to cry. She didn't exist, never even had a name nor a face but it didn't matter.

I often think about this experience. I don't know what to make of it but damn,

I miss my wife..

[batmanqa12]

The King of Flowers

"What is it?" asks Thorin one day, when he notices Bilbo standing above him whith outstretched hands and something looking like a circle made of flowers.

"Ermmm... It's a crown. For you." answers the hobbit nervously. He is afraid of the king's reaction. What if he won't like it? Oh, how stupid of him to even try giving him the flower crown. What can he think of Bilbo?

"And where is gold and rubies?" dwarf asks again, even more confused. He has never seen in his long, long life a crown made of flowers.

Bilbo starts shiftint his weight from foot to foot.

"This is a different kind of a crown. Would you like to try it on?"

The dwarf nods and kneels on one knee. Bilbo carefully puts a flower crown on his head and makes a step back to admire his work. Indeed, the flowers he had chosen were perfectly made in aspect of colors and pattern. It was worth it to stand up earlier that morning and go to the nearest meadow near a rivulet. Dozen of ceratostigma willmottianum, a bunch of striped squills, two cornflowers and a nigella damascena in the middle surrounded by amaryllis and daisies.

"Why did you give this to me?" another question comes out of still surprised dwarf.

"You will be a King, and every king deserves a crown. You especially, my lord."

Thorin laughs softly.

"Thank you for such a noble gesture, I will keep this in my heart." he takes off the flower crown and puts it into his pocket. "I don't want to damage it." he explains to the questioning look Bilbo gave him. Both of them look at each other with hints of sparkles behind their eyes.

°°°

"TAKE THIS HOBBIT AWAY! I will never again befriend a wizard or a traitor." while saying that, he pushes halfling away.

Bilbo with his eyes full of tears, climbs down the rope. He notices that Thorin is taking something out of his pocket and throws it onto a ground, into a puddle.

The flower crown.

Bilbo runs quickly, takes damaged wad of flowers and squeezes it hard, keeping it close to his heart. His back is hurt after hitting a hard rock but it is nothing compared to the pain of his soul. Ruined hobbit rushes to Gandalf.

Thorin is watching a whole scene feeling baffled.

°°•

He wants to grab for flowery crown just as always when he needs to make a decision. In his pocket there is nothing but a golden coins. He is walking on a gold floor, sees golden ornaments, watches golden sapphires.

Gold is crushing him. It becomes cold, this kind of yellowness unbearable.

In the blink of an eye, he starts to drown in the floor, collapsing into it, getting covered by gold from everywhere. He wants to get away, he doesn't need gold anymore. I don't want this chains, take them off me!

He would give anything for the blues and whites of flowers!

He drowned.

°••

"Forgive me, my dear Master Burglar."

Thorin smiles despite the pain and blood in his mouth. Bilbo is holding his friend's hand, full of sadness. He pulls out an old flower crown and tangle it between their wrapped hands.

"You don't have to apologize for anything! It was the greatest honor any Baggins couldn't have ever dreamed of!"

Thorin knowing he doesn't have a lot of time, looks at their locked hands.

"If everyone cherished music, food and happiness above gold and power, the world would be a merrier place."

He once again squeezes Bilbo's palm harder.

"Farewell, Friend!"

"Nnno, Thorin, no!" Bilbo starts nodging the dwarf in vain. He can't do anything.

Thorin... is gone.

•••

Bilbo stands next to Thorin.

His tears stream down his face.

He takes out a crown and places it on dead dwarf's head.

Crowned in flowers, a sword and an arcenstone, ready to rest. Beautiful like a King of Flowers, deadly as a dragon. Dead as a Death itself.

Oh why does it have to hurt so much?

[miss-choco-chips]

Drink and make merry, my friend (you'll be gone come morning)

Day four: historical- pirates // sci-fi- space

There are three pirates chilling in the dungeons. None seem overly concerned about the fact that they’ll be hanged come morning.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Bartholomew H. Allen. Bart for the friends. ‘The red nuisance’ for everyone else. Wasn’t the first time he’d been inside this very same prison cell; probably won’t be the last. The guards stationed in front of his door were the quickest on their feet, so maybe they’d have a minimum chance of catching the fucker should he escape again. Probably not, but the Arch Duke had been particularly displeased the last time he’d weaseled his way out of their prison, so they had to at least pretend to try.

He’d been unconcernedly chewing on dried meat for hours now. How did he manage to smuggle it into the cell, no one knows, but after he bit the first few hands that tried to take his treasure away, the general consensus was to let him be.

Similarly, anyone who held any notions of spending a fun afternoon with the only woman among the sea bandits was quick to be corrected, either by a broken hand or a kick that stole the air from their lungs like it was gold from a ship’s treasury.

Her name? Cassandra Sandsmark. She did not fuck around, and really, considering she would be dead by that time the next night, it was’t worth it to punish her for ‘prisoner misconduct’. That was why they left her be. Not because she scared their balls back into their bodies. The fact that she was Princess Diana’s wayward niece and, death row or not, the noble Lady would murder them all for even breathing in her direction, was a notable plus.

The last pirate, well… He’d chosen to spend his last night on earth doing push ups. It was probably better to leave him to his own devices.

Conner Kent. Whether or not he had any relation to Crown Prince Kal was anyone’s guess, but they did look startlingly similar; something the younger man had taken advantage of to avoid capture multiple times in the past.

To catch any of them wasn’t an easy task. The fact that they were all there thanks to the same man was beyond amazing.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

An auburn haired boy ran through busy port streets, his form almost a blur between passerbys. Jumping over crates, avoiding street vendors, sliding over banisters and landing at the very last step of any stair in his way, the youngster made a truly astounding escape.

Tough luck his opponent had accounted for that.

Just as he was rounding that last corner separating him from the port (and his freedom), a foot struck out. Quick thinking saved him from face planting on the disgustingly dirty streets, but his surprise and momentum cost him precious seconds of stumbling.

The swords pointing him from every direction when he straightened weren’t as threatening as the lone young man standing behind the National Guard, unarmed but from the cutting edge on his glare. Without breaking eye contact, the runner threw both hands up in surrender.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The guards barely even glanced up when the servant girl let herself in, softly pushing the trolley. They did, however, when the scent of food caught their attention.

“That for us, pretty lady?”

Blushing, the girl looked at both men from under her brown fringe.

“The… the prisoners…”

Elbowing each other, they smiled, sharks smelling blood in the water as they eyed the delicacies on display.

“It’d be a waste to let people who are gonna be fish food by this time tomorrow eat such an amazing feast.”

The girl hesitated again, her duty to feed the prisoners at war with the populace general unwillingness to disobey their military enforcers.

“Come on, pretty lady”, the other one edged on. “Who’s gonna tell the higher ups?”

Something flashed behind her beautiful blue eyes, and she nodded, gently pushing the trolley in their direction.

From within their cells, the three pirates watched in silence.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

If anyone were to ask, he’d been minding his own damn business when shit went down.

He had only wanted a beer. Really, life just wasn’t fair to wanted criminals.

It was just his luck that his crew chose this particular tavern to drink and make merry. Though, Kon supposes, it wasn’t their fault either. How would they know that the Lavender Throne pirates favored the same establishment?

He’d only been a member of the Renegades’ crew for about two months now, but he already knew how this fight would turn out. He was easily their best fighter, and the Lavenders were all about the same level of well trained; so here he was, alone in a circle of enemies, fist held high and feet doing their best not to trip over fallen crewmates.

Or maybe not so alone. A smaller back pressed against his, and he could see from the corner of his eye how the men trying to get his blind spot fell like flies. Not one to doubt his blessings, he doubled his efforts.

When things died down, Kon relaxed, marveling at the fact that just two of them were enough to deal with a full tavern of enemies. The bar maidens started to rise from under the tables they chose to hide behind, and Conner was about to turn around and thank his surprise saviour, when the feeling of cold metal against his neck stopped him in his tracks.

Uniformed men started bleeding into the room, dragging unconscious pirates away. When one approached him and his mysterious capturer, he almost felt the man behind him shaking his head.

“This one is high risk. I’ll take him myself.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Are you sure? There’s plenty enough for all of us”, asked Dumb Guard Number one again, words almost unrecognizeable under his chewing.

The girl, sitting primly in the chair they oh so gentlemanly had offered for her to wait on until they finished their impromptu dinner, shook her head.

Dumb Guard Number two didn’t need to be told twice and snagged the last piece of bread.

“Is it just you two for the night?”, she asked, apropos of nothing.

The more sharing of the two nodded. “Yeah, until the morning shift guys come and take them away to the plaza for their sentence.”

She whistled softly.

“Seems kind of mean, having only you two to guard three of the most wanted pirates of the last few years.”

The second one smiled a bit. “Nah, we got dealt a nice hand. We get to eat and laze around, and as good as they are, they can’t weasel their way between those bars. No excitement here. The day guards are the unlucky ones here.”

“How so? Aren’t them, like, a lot more? Seems like it’d be easier, sharing the weight of it.”

“Yeah, but Lieutenant Drake will be with them, ‘s going to personally oversee the executions. Can’t exactly slack off with the favored son of Archduke Wayne breathing over your shoulder, now can you?”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

“Cassandra!”

“Go! I’ll hold them off!”

The older woman, holding desperately to the other’s hand, made a sound of profound distress.

“But-!”

“Donna, just go! If they catch you- just how much do you think Diana is going to suffer?”

“It’s the same with you! We can run together, there’s space in the spare boat”

They were running out of time. She knew convincing her older sister figure to leave her behind was not going to end well or happen quickly, so the blonde pirate shot a look to vice captain Artemis. They both knew Donna was just too important to risk like this, her relationship to Diana recognizable enough to use her as leverage against their Princess. Cassandra, as beloved as she was by the women who took her in, had spent the better half of her childhood hiding her real identity and running amok where few would be able to point her out as Princess Diana’s protegeè.

Ignoring her mistress’s screams, Vice captain Artemis’s arms went around her waist, lifting her clear off her feet and dragging her away, her strength forcing Donna’s hand free of Cassandra’s arm.

Soon, Cassie stood alone in an empty ship, sword in hand as she watched the sun setting over the horizon, the distant figure of dozens of escape boats a mere shadow in the distance.

When the sound of boards and then feet hitting the deck reached her, her hand tightened on the sword’s hilt, but she didn’t turn to see.

“It was a bold move. Brave, though.”

The words made her startle, spoken so closely to her ear, the approaching presence absolutely unnoticed until that exact second.

Breathing in deeply, Cassandra spun on her feet, sword raised. Her enemy was already a few feet away, safe from her board attack. His cold stare clashed with her feral growl, an ice prince facing off against an amazon fighter.

No other soldier dared approach them, as the sound of their clashing swords echoed in the quiet of the night as thunder.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Just as a distant clock was about to point both arms to its highest point, both guards fell asleep. Literally fell, face planting in the dirty prison ground.

Sighing tiredly, the young serving girl rose to her feet. Walking towards Dumn Guard Numer 2 (stopping only barely on her way to nudge Dumb Guard Numer one to the side, so he wouldn’t drown in the puddle his face had landed on), she crouched down and took the keys from his belt.

When she stood again, all three pirates were on their feet near their doors, waiting.

“Who’s first this time?” asked the youngest, voice vibrating in his excitement, smile bright.

“Me, for sure”, crowed Conner, hands on his hips.

“What are you talking about? I made him fight for it. Drew blood, even.” Cassandra, proud smile and raise hand, threw back in challenge.

To all their surprises, the maiden went straight for Allen’s door.

“What? Me?”

“What the fuck?”

“Are you seriously telling us IMP is the one who gave you the most trouble this time?”

The girl shrugged, but a small smile could be spotted under her calm facade if one cared enough to look for it (which they all did).

“I had to chase him all through Star Port city. I was tired afterwards. The two of you made me fight, but it wasn’t nearly as exhausting.”

The boy jumped out of his cell as soon as the door was opened, fist raised in victory.

“Yessss! Free booze!”

“It’s a stupid bet”, the girl shrugged at the other two’s upset frowns. “None of you are an actual challenge, after all.”

“Oh, shut up, asshole. Get us out of here before those dumbasses wake up.”

Before long, all three pirates and the young castle maid were running through empty streets towards the port.

“The ship is ready for you to take. I made it look like you stole it from a very drunk, very unsuspecting crew of beginners.” As they all ran, she… he, took his hand to his head, snatching away the brown wig. Hair, black like a raven’s wings, fell over his icy blue eyes.

Cassandra, keeping pace with him, accepted the disguise. “Where to, after?”

“There’s instructions on your next mission already written down on the back of the map, on the captain’s cabin. I left the key to the cellar as a paperweight over it, so there’s no way you’ll miss it.”

Behind them, the other two boys crowed in delight. Bart even makes a small little jump, never slowing their pace.

“Is it fully stoked?”

Turning to look at the bigger man over his shoulder, the maid-turned-criminal rolled his eyes.

“Half. I do need you all lucid enough to do your chores. But whatever you find along your way that doesn’t slow your progress on the mission, you can loot for yourselves. There’s an empty treasury on the right side of the ship just for that.”

Another jump, this time from the other pirate. The two running ahead shared an exasperated, though fond, look.

They reached the promised ship before long. It sat there, beautifully tilting this way and that thanks to the gentle waves reaching shore.

They stopped there for a second, the three pirates facing their rescuer.

“Will you be alright? Won’t anyone suspect?”

He shook his head, hands demurely raising his dress a slight inch from the ground in a small courtesy.

“Caroline Hill has a perfectly solid cover, and there are lots of people who’ll vouch for her if she’s ever suspected for tonight. Also, the guards chosen for the night shift are known for slacking off in their duty. Falling asleep close enough to the cells for one of you to snatch the keys and free themselves won’t be too much of a stretch for anyone to imagine.”

They smiled back at him.

“Do try to catch some sleep before going back there as Lieutenant Drake. You’ll need your beauty rest to give a convincing ‘I left those criminals in your care and you LOST THEM?!’ show.”

“The laughable state of the kingdom’s military is perpetually infuriating to me. Don’t worry, I’ll be believable. And I can use this as an excuse to fire the most incompetent guards in the history of ever.”

“Do you ever do anything without at least two different reasons and multiple plans banking on it?”

“Why would I, that just sounds like a waste of my time. Now go, run off, before someone sees four people hanging by the port and gets curious enough to remember faces.”

“When will we see you again?”, asks Conner, hand catching his friend’s shoulder before the man in the dress can turn around and leave.

“This mission should last a month or so, and after you hid the objective in the safe place I designated for it for me to pick up later, you’ll need to scatter. I’ll catch you again soo after that, so in total… maybe two months? Three if any of you give me an actual challenge, but I’m not holding my breath for that one.”

“Bastard. See you soon.”

“Make sure to take us drinking next time, Tim. We barely see you now that you have to play good lawful boy with your dad.”

“Only if you idiots take good care of the ship. The Red Bird is a delicate lady and I’ll hang you myself if there’s even a scratch on her beautiful shell.”

“It’s almost as if you care more about a bunch of wood and metal than us.”

“Because I do. Now fuck off.”

[In which Tim is a privateer (Basically a pirate with papers. As the name suggests, privateers were private individuals commissioned by governments to carry out quasi-military activities; in this case, Tim does illegal things for the greater good. As a military agent, he’s hiring himself lol) and the other three are pirates working for and with him, because they like to help him do good things and they also get a chance at fighting people, drinking and looting treasure outside their missions. Tim catching and then freeing them is how they exchange information or he gives them his orders.]

[cevans16]

Choosing Between Two Loves Part 7 ~ Endgame - 3

Summary: You were a Goddess named (Y/N), who had powers similar to Thor and even stronger, you joined the Avengers back when Loki had tried to take over New York. You were great friends with most of them. Tony Stark was someone you were always in love with even though you knew you could never have him. However that all changes when you get to know a certain super soldier....

You woke up with your head pounding, you felt a heavy weight on your chest, when you opened your eyes you saw that it was all debris that surrounded you, something had gone entirely wrong. “Thor?! Tony?!” you called for anyone to hear you but you were met with silence. You pushed the debris off of you, you weren’t severely injured thankfully, you had minor cuts that would surely heal up within the hour, the benefit of being a goddess. You dusted yourself off, grabbed your gear and walked around to see if you could find anyone. 

You spotted Thor standing on a small cliff looking down focused on something. “Are you okay?” you asked him, “Mhmmm”, you looked to see where he was looking, you felt your blood drain to your feet, it was Thanos, this wasn’t supposed to happen. 

“Ehhh you mess with time and it’ll tend to mess back” you heard Tony say behind you being followed by Steve. You sighed in slight relief seeing these two alive as well. “What has he been doing?” Steve asked, “Sitting and waiting” Thor replied, “let’s kill him properly this time” he added. You took a deep breath walking first towards Thanos, you had to kill him, no matter what. 

“I’ve seen you haven’t been appreciative of what I have done for you all” Thanos spoke when you walked closer to him. “We should appreciate half of a world?” you snickered at him, “Would you like me to destroy it like yours then?” he remarked, “Not this time” you gritted running towards him with your sword. You heard the boys behind you following your lead, each of you fought against Thanos. You were gaining advantage until he knocked out Tony, throwing him on a boulder. It was Steve, Thor, and you fighting against Thanos, he pushed Thor against another boulder, he wasn’t unconscious though, now it was you and Steve. You ran back towards Thanos, he picked you up by your neck, almost squishing you, you felt your feet dangle, “You...will ....never...be a god” you gritted at him between the breathes you were taking. That pissed him off, he was about to punch you straight on when you heard a swishing sound beside you, causing you and Thanos to turn to see what it was, Steve had caught the Mjolnir! You felt excitement, you knew one day it would happen just not when exactly. Steve ran towards you and Thanos, Thanos threw you onto the floor in order to avoid Steve, this gave you leverage in catching your breath. You ran towards the two of them, Steve and you double teamed, he threw his shield at you so you could hit Thanos harder while he tried his best to attain the lightning against Thanos. Unfortunately you caught a hard hit from Thanos, knocking you out unconscious

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

The sound of someone yelling woke you up, turning to your right Thor was laying down passed out, Tony was still out. You turned to your left to see Steve limping towards something, you looked up to find Thanos and his entire army walking towards you all. You got up slowly to make sure you didn’t have any serious injuries, not that it mattered any way with Thanos and his army outnumbering you. You walked to Steve’s side, you both knew what was to come, didn’t mean you wouldn’t go down without a fight. This was it you thought, the end of your life, you were so close to beating him. You looked up to Steve, staring into his blue eyes, “It has been an honor to be by your side Cap” you said as your voice broke, Steve didn’t say anything but he gave you a sorrowful smile. He hadn’t heard you call him Cap in so long, he wasn’t ready to die but he was glad to have a great friend by his side not turning against the fight. You turned back towards Thanos, “let’s give them hell” you said. 

You made one step forward when you heard a faint sound in your earpiece. “Cap” it buzzed again, “on your left”, it was Sam’s voice. You quickly turned to look at Steve in astonishment, there was no way that could be Sam. You were wrong though, it was, you saw a portal open on the top left, sure enough Sam flew out over you and Steve. You then saw more portals opening one by one, each revealing everyone that had been dusted away. You let out a breath when you saw the kid from Queens that Tony had brought onto the team. You were looking for two more faces, Nat and surprisingly, Bucky’s face. You saw Bucky from a distance, you could tell it was him because of his hair and the type of gun he had, you felt an odd sensation of butterflies in your stomach seeing Bucky. You turned to look at Steve, he had tears in his eyes this time, he gave you a wink, you smiled back to him, tears were falling out of your eyes. 

You all formed up in lines, the biggest team of Avengers ready to take on Thanos and his army. You heard Steve yell, “A-VENGERS.........” you saw the Mjolnir fly back to him catching it, “assemble”. You all ran forward; you, Steve, and Thor being the fastest you took the lead. You had so much anger in you, you felt like you were going to explode. You ran into the fight first, pulling out your spear to throw it at one straight ahead and then pulling out your sword....it was hunting season. “Ahhhhh” you gritted through your teeth every time you cut one of them through, blood was splattered all over you, you didn’t care, your mission was further ahead. You were deep into the fight when you heard someone call your name, it was Bucky, “Did you miss me doll?” he smirked at you, you rolled your eyes at him, “Don’t shoot at me this time Bucky” you teased. 

You don’t know how long you were fighting but you were all getting closer to the quantum realm machine, you needed it to snap away Thanos and his army. You were about a dozen feet away from Thanos when you were thrown back onto the floor, someone landed it front of you, it was Wanda. “You took EVERYTHING from me” she said angrily to Thanos, “I don’t even know who you are” he replied. To say that Wanda was the most powerful one was an understatement, she had Thanos in the palm of her hand like nothing, it was too much for him apparently because he had his own army attacked to get Wanda to let him go. 

You were close to Peter when you saw a bunch of debris falling towards him, you ran to his aid, using your own shield to cover him mostly. “Thanks” he gasped, “No problem kid”. You ran back towards Thanos but he kept throwing things to people you cared about to get you to cover for them. At one point you weren’t sure who you were covering for when you saw Tony move closely to Thanos, you knew you couldn’t move until the debris stopped falling all over. It was getting heavier by the second, all you could do was see Tony get a hold of the gauntlet.  “Tony NO!” you yelled, it was too late, the gauntlet formed around Tony’s hand, you saw him mumble something and then snap his fingers. In doing so, the winds picked up causing everything to fall down. 

You sprinted towards Tony, holding him up, he looked up at you giving you a tired and sad smile, you looked down to see the damage on his body, it didn’t look good at all, half of it was completely burned. You placed him gently down, kneeling beside him, “Tony it was supposed to be me” you whispered to him, “you can not leave Tony” you said, your voice was breaking, Tony heard that, he didn’t say a word, only pointing a finger towards your heart. You caressed his face softly before placing a kiss on his forehead, you turned back to see Pepper, you didn’t say anything but your face told her everything, she had to say goodbye to the love of her life. 

You got up, looking to face the others, you were trying to hold it in to look strong for them and Tony. “Where’s Thor?” you asked practically pleading to find him, you felt a pair of hands grab you pulling you into their chest, you thought it was Thor until you looked up to see Bucky. He looked at you, he had never seen you this way, you looked like you were going to break any second, the strongest warrior was going to break. “Shhh shhh doll” he said trying his best to soothe you, you didn’t realize it but you were almost hyperventilating, the last time you felt like this was when you lost your world, you were having a major panic attack. You opened your eyes again, trying to see through your tears, you caught back a glimpse of Tony, sitting there, his arc reactor was still on and then it shut down. You felt yourself drop, Tony Stark was gone from this world. Bucky held you tighter, rubbing your back while you let the tears drown out. “(Y/N)” you heard Thor’s voice right behind you, Bucky let go of you, as much as he wanted to sooth you, he knew Thor was a special person in your life. “Thor” you were sobbing once Thor hugged you, “he’s GONE”, you said, Bucky caught your last sentence to Thor, “It should have been ME” he heard you say.

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

You were beyond exhausted, Thanos and his army were dusted away but you lost another great love in your life, Tony had become such an amazing friend, you couldn’t imagine your life without him, you never had. You were doing everything you could for Pepper to not worry about anything, “I just need you and Morgan to be okay” you would say to her, “thank you (Y/N)”. She was more than grateful to have you there, it gave her a sense of peace in knowing that you would watch over Morgan as if she were your own. 

You guys walked down the steps of the Stark cabin towards the lake. You held Morgan’s hand while Happy guided Pepper ahead. Bucky wasn’t sure whether he should attend the funeral due to the situation with Tony but Steve had convinced him to go since everyone would be there, he even used you as an excuse. He saw you walking with Morgan, Tony’s daughter, you looked exhausted, sad, angry, everything was bottled up inside you. You saw Bucky at the far end looking at you, you smiled softly at him. Pepper and Happy arrived at the end of the dock where she let go of Tony’s original arc reactor that she had saved. You knelt down to be right next to Morgan, giving her a kiss on her head, Pepper reached her hand down to squeeze yours. 

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

Thor was planning on leaving with the Guardians, he and Rocket had asked you to come with them but you refused, “This world needs a suit of armor” you explained to them. You gave Thor a hug, “You know where to find me” you said, “And you’ll know where to find me. You be safe” he replied. 

You walked away to head toward Steve, he had to return the stones so the timeline wouldn’t get weird again. You knew Steve was going to return but you also knew Steve would not entirely return as Steve. You walked up to him, Banner, Sam, and Bucky saying their goodbyes. “I’ll be okay” Steve said to you, “You be safe” you replied hugging him harder, “live that life Tony always talked about” you whispered, “Okay but give Bucky a chance” he whispered back causing you to chuckle. You pulled back to give him a kiss on the cheek, “I will miss you Steve” you said tearing up, he smiled at you and then walked over to say goodbye to his lifelong friend Bucky. You gave them their space, walking over to stand next to Sam, you and Sam didn’t really talk to each other but he rubbed your back, “You good?” he asked genuinely, “Hanging in there Sam” you replied. 

Banner counted down to Steve leaving, then he was gone, he counted down for him to return, nothing happened. Bucky turned behind you and Sam, calling Sam over, you turned around to see someone else sitting on the bench a few feet away. You saw Sam walk over to him, it was Steve, you knew it. You heard the exchange between Sam and Steve, Sam looked over to you in confusion, Bucky nodded his head, you smiled at him, you could feel the tears again, you hadn’t cried this much in your life. You then saw Sam pick up the shield, it was time for a new Captain America, you knew Sam was the perfect choice. 

You were sniffling quietly, “Are you crying again?” Bucky asked you, you avoided his gaze, wiping your tears away fast so he wouldn’t see them, “No” you muttered, “It sounded to me like you were” he said trying to make you laugh, “Shut up Barnes, lets go” you said pulling him with you, his eyes opened wide at you doing that, “Hey now let’s be nice” he teased you, you let him go but he did walk by your side towards Sam and Steve. 

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

After working a few things out in New York, you had gone back to your home in Europe, you weren’t done with being an Avenger yet. You had stayed in touch with Bucky, he had asked for your number a few days after Steve handed over the shield to Sam. Bucky had been going to therapy and he was pardoned from his past crimes of being the Winter Soldier. You planned on staying in Europe for a while, as much as you had grown to like Bucky, you knew it wasn’t the right time to fall in love. You had to work things out on your own and you knew that Bucky had to work on his own things too, you guys however spoke on the phone a few times a week to check in on each other. One evening you were watching the news when you heard, “Breaking News, Avengers own Sam Wilson has come to the decision to turn in the shield over to the Smithsonian museum”, “SHIT” you said to yourself. You knew that Sam turning in the shield to the museum didn’t mean shit to the government, they were going to try to replace him in no time. You didn’t understand why Sam did it, only one way for you to find out....head back to the States. 

[deactivatedpermanently]

Fat Bastard Girl | Robb Stark

Could you maybe do a Robb Stark imagine where the reader is insecure about her weight and he comforts her?

Requested by: Anonymous

(A/N: I really hope this was alright; I’ve never really written anything based on a request before, but there’s a first time for everything I suppose! Also, if you’re offended by explicit language (which I doubt you are if you like Game of Thrones) then probably skip this one.)

Summary: When you, a swordfighter loyal to the Starks, follow Robb to war, many of the soldiers manage you feel insecure about yourself. Robb steps in and comforts you.

By the age of 3, you had a sword in your hand. Sitting idly by and simply just marvelling at your half-brothers and their immaculate swordsmanship wasn’t enough to satisfy you. So, with your father’s permission, your second eldest half-brother (Gared Laurent), the legitimate son of former knight Lord Regalt Laurent, taught you to how to fight. He was just 15 at the time, but he, like you, was a prodigy with a sword. However, unlike you, he wasn’t Lord Laurent’s bastard.

You had been raised in the keep of Herely Heath since infancy, following the death of your biological mother during childbirth. Luckily, Lady Juliene Laurent (the woman you knew as ‘mother) didn’t resent you enough not to raise you; with 6 boys, she was happy to raise a girl. Unfortunately, her dream of dressing you up in pretty gowns and styling your hair in a beautiful way was soon dashed when she realised that you were different. You wore your brothers’ old clothes  due to loathing the long, girly dresses your mother insisted you wore. Your hair was often made messy by the wind and rain in which you insisted in playing. Your personality was more brash and confident than what was expected of a young girl, and the daughter of a lord. 

The commoners, unlike your family, seemed to judge you and mock you to themselves for who you were. You heard their whispers about you, the chubby bastard being raised like the legitimate child of a lord and lady. Most other lords and ladies would be disgusted that their daughter, illegitimate or not, wanted to fight, but, instead, your father and mother were surprisingly supportive of your choices, even when commoners and several other lords and ladies passed judgement upon you.

As you learned how to fight with a sword from such a young age, you became easily one of the best sword-fighters in Westeros. Though you weren’t as good as Jaime Lannister, you could certainly give him a run for his money. Like your half-brothers, your skills were on par with that of an accomplished knight. That’s why when you turned 11, instead of marrying you off to a wealthy prospective lord, your father decided to send you off to Winterfell to begin serving his old friend, Ned Stark.

Though you were a bastard, you were still the daughter of a Lord. Your father insisted that you were escorted to Winterfell, less than a day’s travel on horseback away from Herely Heath, by three members of his guard, but you insisted he let you travel alone because, in your words: “A true fighter need not be protected.”

Your arrival at Winterfell was a welcome one by all of the Starks. You were the same age as Robb and Jon, both of whom initially doubted your abilities as a sword fighter. With Lord Stark’s permission, you engaged in combat with both of them and won within half a minute. While Jon revered you as a worthy opponent, Robb was mesmerised by you. With the tip of your blade to his throat and your foot resting on his torso, Robb looked up at you with complete admiration. From that moment, you were close with both the Snow boy and Stark boy, even if one viewed you in a whole different light to the other. The fact that you were a bastard always helped you relate to Jon and be close with him and have a strong, platonic bond, but you could surprisingly connect with Robb, especially when he requested that you teach him how to be a better fighter.

When you and Robb were 14, Robb gained a better understanding of you than he ever had before. He learned why you were the way that you were.

It was late at night, and you and Robb were training by fire light. Yet again, you had him pinned to the ground.

“Your stance made you lose balance.” you informed him, extending your hand to him to help him up. “And, you were holding your sword too low down, so I could kick it out of your hand. If I wanted to kill you, I could’ve killed you. Imagine: Robb Stark killed by a fat bastard girl.”

“Alright; no need to keep bringing it up.” Robb muttered, sitting up and taking your hand. “You always do that.”

“Do what?” you asked bluntly, pulling him up with a little bit of difficulty.

“Tell me that you could’ve killed me and that you beat me and then say you’re a ‘fat bastard girl’.” Robb answered.

“You’d be smug about it too if you were a fat bastard girl defeating the legitimate son of a lord.” you said, folding your arms. 

Rob frowned and looked at you, a bemused expression on his scuffed-up face. He was silent, something in the back of his mind telling him that you weren’t finished talking.

“If I wish to wield a sword and pierce the flesh of my enemies instead of be forced please a wealthy man in a loveless marriage and produce a dozen children, I have to prove myself as more than Lord Laurent’s fat bastard girl to everyone whose watching me.” You glanced up at Rob. “What’s the eldest son of Lord Eddard Stark got to prove when nobody’ll judge him for what he was born as?”

Robb was silent still. Yet again, he sensed that you weren’t quite done, and he was alright with that. He’d never thought of you, the brave and cunning (Y/N) Laurent, as just a fat bastard girl, but he knew, deep down, he’d never be able to prove to you that you weren’t just that.

“I was born as a fat bastard girl, but I want to die as more than that.” you responded. “When I die, I want to be remembered as something more than just Laurent’s fat bastard girl.”

You were done, Robb thought to himself. It was his turn to speak.

“Is that why you picked up a sword?” Robb asked.

“Of course not. I was three; I didn’t care about honour and victory when I was three. I just thought sword fighting looked better than drinking tea with mother.” you replied, causing Robb to snort a laugh.

There was a brief moment of silence.

“You’ll always be more than a fat bastard girl to me, (Y/N).” Robb stated.

“I know that.” you said in an unconvincing response. “It’s getting late. We’d better go back inside before your mother shouts at us.”

From that day on, Robb was aware that, in spite of how you presented yourself, you were insecure. You weren’t as self-assured as you acted, but you only broke down in private. That was until you had followed Robb to war.

Robb had appointed you second-in-command after him, knowing you could and would be a good leader.

However, the incredulous men who gawked, sneered and laughed at you didn’t share the same idea. For one, you were a woman. Somehow, your lack of testicles meant that you were unworthy of having any authority over them. Two, you were fat. Being fat meant that they just couldn’t resist the urge to not mock you. They didn’t even have to know you were a bastard to make up their minds that you weren’t good enough to lead them. Even when you’d slaughtered one of your foes before their eyes, they didn’t take you seriously. To you, they represented everyone, which meant that no one would take you seriously as a fighter.

They’d literally snort at you when they thought you weren’t listening. They’d roll their eyes at you when they thought you weren’t looking. Within weeks, you were sick of it.

You snapped.

“Any man to show me any disrespect regarding my appearance gets his heart torn out by their own sword! Do I make myself clear?” you yelled.

They all cackled at you. You clenched your jaw. 

A young man sat close to you made a pig squealing noise, causing a louder eruption of laughter.

You stormed over to him, effortlessly unsheathed his sword and pointed the tip of the blade at his chest, now rapidly rising and falling in panic. The laughter was drowned out by silence. The young man looked up at you, his eyes filled with the fear of a man about to die.

“Didn’t you hear me?” you demanded. “Or could you just not understand me?”

“I-I...Um-um-” he stammered out. “I-I...W-well-”

“I’m sorry; am I not making any sense? Am I speaking in Valyrian?” you demanded.

“N-No! I-I-I’m really s-sorry, m’lady-” he stuttered out, tears spilling from his eyes. “P-Please, don’t-”

“I could skewer you and make an example out of you, or I could show you mercy and be weakened by your pathetic display of grovelling.” you said, pretending to think aloud. “Laurents, legitimate or not, are never ones to spew empty threats. If I don’t tear your heart out with your own sword, I wouldn’t be a very good Laurent, would I?”

“P-please, m’lady. I beg for mercy!” the man pleaded, body wracking with sobs.

“Only the weak show mercy. I told you that anyone else to show disrespect towards my appearance would have his heart extracted by their own sword, did I not?” you demanded.

“Y-y-yes, m’lady. B-But, I was only j-joking-”

“Oh, my sincerest apologies then, sweetheart! I didn’t realise you were only joking.” you responded, thick sarcasm laced in your voice. “Joking or not, it’s still disrespect. All my life, disposable, loathsome fools like you have disrespected me because of my weight. Even when threatened with death, idiots will still do all they can to wrench a laugh from those around them. When I explicitly stated defiance would lead to death, why should I spare you?”

“Because, I forbid you from doing so.” an authoritative voice said, approaching you from behind.

“Robb? What are you doing?” you questioned, trying to sound as confident as possible.

Robb looked at the young man whose chest was being prodded by the sword in your hand, then looked up as if to address anyone with a cold look in his eyes. “If any of you refuse to show Lady Laurent your respect, you’ll have to answer to me. Is that understood?” Robb loudly demanded.

“Yes, Lord Stark!” the soldiers shouted in unison. 

Robb grabbed the sword from your hand and threw it to the ground. He grabbed your wrist and practically dragged you in tow as he marched you to his now-empty tent.

“What was that?” he demanded, folding his arms as he glared at you.

“They were all being cunts to me, making pig noises and commenting about me behind my back, so I threatened them with death. That scrawny little prick disobeyed me, so I was prepared to skewer him.” you shrugged, suppressing the urge to just break down about everything that had been overwhelming you as of late.

“You can’t just kill people who mock you, (Y/N).” Robb sighed irritably

“Why not? I have a sword, skill, authority and a general disdain for those expendable cunts. I could massacre half of them if I pleased.” you sneered bitterly, looking Robb in the eyes.

“I know you, (Y/N). I also know you weren’t going to go through with ending that boy’s life. You don’t have to act like you can choose if those men out there live or die.” he said, approaching you as he placed his hands on your shoulders.

You looked away from him, folding your arms. “Shut up.”

“If you think they’re just expendable cunts, why let them get into your head?” Robb questioned.

You felt tears brim your eyes as you bit your bottom lip and said nothing. 

“(Y/N).” Robb said firmly.

You exhaled. “I’ve been treated like shit since I was a kid because of who I am. I thought having authority would earn me some respect, but still they view me as nothing more than a fat bastard girl.” you explained, tears falling. “If they can’t see that I’m not just a fat bastard girl, how am I supposed to convince myself that that’s not just what I am?”

You felt a firm grip find itself around your waist, the warmth of Robb’s furs warming your freezing cheeks. Reluctantly, you wrapped your arms around Robb’s torso. A few moments later, he pulled away just enough so he could look at your face.

“(N/N), you’ve never just been a fat bastard girl.” Robb assured you, softening from the stoic facade he’d worn to intimidate the soldiers. “I learned that when you beat me in that fight when we were kids. (Y/N), never let those people make you feel anything less than what you actually are.”

“What am I actually, then?” you asked incredulously, damp cheeks heating up. Robb holding you so firmly made you feel a little more secure. Of course, you didn’t need Robb to protect you, nor could he raise your self-esteem. But, he’d always been good at making you feel a little better than crap. 

“You’re a confident fighter, a strong opponent, a beautiful woman.” Robb responded. The sincerity in his speech and the emotion in his eyes that bore into your soul was enough to melt any reluctance to accept his words as anything other than true.

“Don’t use my vulnerability to get me into bed, Robb.” you insisted jokingly in an attempt to show him that what he’d said had made you feel a little better.

He chuckled and smiled faintly as you, wiping away your tears with the back of his fingers. Of all the people you’d met in your time away from home, Robb had been the one to see you in this state the most. He was never annoyed nor inconvenienced by it. In fact, he felt privileged to be the one you trusted enough to come to in times of distress. 

“I’ve been in love with you since the first time you pointed a sword at my throat. Did you know that, (N/N)?” Robb said, not entirely thinking. Still, he was bold enough to speak such words. 

You shrugged, masking your surprise and childish urge to fangirl. “I suppose so.” you responded. “Before I say that I love you too, can I tell you something else?”

“Of course.” he replied.

“Don’t ever undermine me in front of anyone again, or I’ll skewer you like a pig being roasted over a fire.” you said with a smirk, half-joking.

“Understood, my lady.” he replied with a smirk, half-frightened.

[auxiliarydetective]

Whump-/Flufftober - Day 4: Trust Fall; "Do you trust me?" | taken hostage | pushed

TW: hostage situation, near death, drowning

“Zoro! Zoro, I’m scared!”, Inari screamed.

She dangled at the edge of the rugged cliff, her hands cuffed together, the only thing keeping her from falling into the deadly, rumbling waves below being the man behind her who was holding her hostage.

“Put away your swords, Pirate Hunter Zoro!”, the man yelled as dozens of soldiers lining the cliff cocked their guns and pointed them right at Zoro. “One false move and you’ll never be seeing her again!”

Zoro cursed quietly. Those people were no opponents for him. But no matter what he decided to do to try and free Inari, it would just end up hurting her. The only thing he could do was slice those bastards from below. But depending on how he did it, he would either hurt Inari or make her fall into the depths, sealing her fate by making her drown because he would be too busy dodging bullets to save her. That was when he heard someone land on the rocky ground behind him.

“Damn it, marimo”, a familiar voice said. His hands in his pockets, smoke trailing into the sky from his cigarette, Sanji stepped next to him. He looked up at what was happening atop the cliff, looking disturbingly calm. “What kind of mess did you make this time?”

“It’s obviously his fault!”, Zoro retorted, pointing his sword at the man atop the bridge.

Immediately, Inari shrieked. The man had let go of her cuffs, making her fall a few inches before he grabbed her ponytail to stop her again. Her heart thumped in her chest. Her knees had grown weak, her head and neck ached from the weight dangling by her hair. It was hard to keep her feet on the edge and not fall off by accident.

“Help me!”, she screamed.

Angrily, Zoro sheathed his blades. But just as he did, Sanji grabbed his wrist.

“Do something right for once”, he said. “Do you trust me?”

“I have no other option, so yes”, Zoro replied.

“Attack.”

“But she’ll fall.”

“Exactly. Slice them, but make sure you don’t hit her. Trust me, I have a plan.”

“Fine.”

Sanji let go. At the same time, Zoro unsheathed his blades again and, before anyone could react, sent a powerful slice to the top of the cliff. The man let go of Inari. With a scream of terror, she started tumbling through the air, flipping over multiple times as she spiraled down. Zoro’s eyes widened when he realized Sanji wasn’t moving a muscle to save her. He tried pushing him, but Sanji resisted. With a loud splash, Inari hit the surface and sank into the sea.

Zoro lashed out: “What the hell, stupid cook?! Are you trying to kill her?!” He tried to run to the ocean and save Inari, but was stopped by a bullet landing right in his tracks. The soldiers had started firing.

“Shut up, I know it’s a risk!”, Sanji retaliated, ducking out of a shot aiming for his head. “What kind of monster do you think I am?!”

Inari, meanwhile, was sinking deeper and deeper. She could feel her strength fading, the sea water draining her of her power. Her lungs ached. In her chest, her heart thumped so hard that it made her feel like her ribcage would burst apart. But as the water weakened her more and more, it also slowed her heartbeat. She felt that she was close to fainting. Once the water had weakened her far enough, she would drown if the urge to breathe did not hit her first. She would die. This was it and she knew it. Just as her lungs gave out, as she gasped for air and water rushed down her throat, she felt a large hand on her waist, grabbing her. Her lungs burned and she coughed heavily, trying to get the water out of her system but only inhaling more in the process. Slowly, but surely, the pain faded. Bit by bit, she coughed out the water. But how was that possible? She was still under water. Confused and on the edge of fainting from the exhaustion and the water, she opened her eyes and noticed she was being pulled through the water at incredible speeds. Blood was coming from her upper lip and two weird objects had grown out of her lower jaw. Finally, she realized what was going on. The large hand that had grabbed her. Someone had saved her. Judging by the colorful, patterned fabric of the person’s clothes, their build, their blue skin and the dark black locks curling down their back, it had to be…

“Jin...be…”, she croaked, before passing out completely.

[hawksmagnolia]

The Depths Part 4

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,184

Author’s Note: Sorry this is a day late! 

This is Part 4 - Links to Parts 1-3 are HERE.

THIS IS NOT ENDGAME CANON. Sorry, not sorry. It’s my world and I can do what I want. 

Please reblog and leave me some love. It really does mean the world to me! This has been an absolute labor of love and I can’t wait for next Friday. -xo- Allie

Despite Thor’s timely arrival, Bucky knew they were struggling. He’d long been out of ammunition and had taken to using the serum in his veins and the sharpest knife he’d been able to find. They’d learned Stark was battling Thanos somewhere in space so they had to defend Earth on their own. 

Suddenly the Outriders stopped. All of them. Every beast on the field locked in place.

They went from feral, violent beasts to near catatonic with their heads tilted. 

“What the fuck?” Bucky looked towards Steve who looked as confused as he felt. Around them, people were slowly getting to their feet and checking each other for injuries while warily watching as the sky to the west erupted into black boiling clouds and when everyone looked to Thor, he shook his head.

“That is not my doing.”

The crack of thunder was enough to make them all wince but the outriders continued their stillness but they slowly began to sway to some unheard music.

Bucky stared at them and then realization dawned over him. He turned back to the swirling mass of clouds that was over the area of his Wakandan home and the nearby village. 

And the lake.

The pearl on his wrist felt hot, throbbing like it was alive. 

He looked back at the hypnotic sway of the beasts and grabbed Steve’s arm. “This could be very good or very bad. We have to get over there. Keep everyone else here.”

“Buck…”

“Don’t ask. Not yet. I just need you to trust me.”

Steve stared at him for a moment and then nodded. The two of them took off towards the storm, Steve relaying for everyone to stay in place and on their guard while they investigated.

Bucky’s blue eyes never left the twisting clouds as they covered ground super soldier fast. 

“This is completely unsettling.” Steve glanced at Bucky as they passed another pack of non-moving outriders.

When they crested the hill that overlooked the valley where the village and lake were, Bucky grabbed Steve’s arm to stop him.

The grass beneath their feet had frozen and crunched under their boots. Both of them stared at the piles of bodies, some human but most were the frozen remains of the invading aliens. At the concentric circles that surrounded a tiny specter in white with her hands to the sky.

“Oh shit.”

I stood on the banks, a water wraith in all her glorious fury. I pulled down the clouds, draining them of their moisture until it filled my hands…and then filled the lungs of the monsters that dare attack the people I now consider mine. 

You don’t have to be in the water to drown, the water just has to be in you.

I made my way towards the heart of the village, each beast that attacked gave me more anger to use against the next. 

It was one of the smaller villages, only housed a dozen or so families. Those still alive were hiding in the largest home.

“Go.” My voice was soft but harsh, but I didn’t want risk raising it and accidentally using the power building up inside me. “Go to the water.”

They ran past me, filing to the lake’s edge. 

The lake shallows now filled with creatures of all shapes and sizes from friendly faced otters to massive ancient turtles. They waited patiently to ferry the survivors towards a small island towards the center of this side of the lake. The last one was the village elder, a soft spoken woman, bent with age. She stopped and put her hand on my arm. When I turned to face her, she tapped her ear. It was packed with bees wax and cloth. She smiled knowingly before she climbed onto the back of a turtle who began to slowly make his way away with her. 

Above me, the sky was an angry bruise, black as pitch as the power in my veins built. I closed my eyes and began to hum, just enough to still the creatures as they poured over the hill. When I opened my eyes, I was surrounded by them. They formed multiple ring around me, swaying hypnotically to the beat of my music. 

I shift my weight, still unused to the sensation of legs, of feet planted onto soil that is splattered with the blood of innocents mixed with the black blood of evil. I feel the air around me grow colder, my breath pants in plumes of steam. The creatures began to shiver, I raise my voice enough to hold them locked in my thrall. 

It doesn’t matter the species. If they have blood, they have liquid in their veins. 

And all liquids freeze.

“What the hell is that?” 

“It’s not a what. It’s a who.” Bucky clenched his fist as the temperature continued to drop. He was more than a little shocked at how fast it was plummeting around them. He could feel Steve’s eyes on him and when he met his gaze, Steve’s blond brows were almost at his hairline.

“Is…she?” Bucky nodded and Steve continued. “Is she on our side?”

Bucky’s gaze was back on the figure. “Yeah. She is. She’s fighting for us. Even though I told her to hide.”

“You know her?”

“She saved my life.” He glanced down at the pearl on his wrist, feeling it thump in tandem with his own pulse as her words echoed in his head.

“The world is not a safe place. I accept this. I am not running away scared. I can fight.”

My Tear begins to sing, its twin is near. Which means Bucky is far too close.

But I can’t stop now.

Tears begin to stream down my cheeks as I try to dam the coming tide within me. The tsunami of rage that will destroy all in its path.

Including him. I stagger, unbalanced on unsteady legs. Ice blooms like lace under my bare feet. To some it might be pretty.

People often forget that ice is also so very deadly. 

I drop to my knees, tilt my head back and lose myself in the song.

“Cover your ears!” Bucky shouts as soon as she begins to fall. “Warn the others!”

As they clap their hands over their ears, the sound hits them. Both of them drop to the ground as soldiers are trained, face down in the grass as the Outriders around them began to shriek followed by a wet, crunching sound. Over and over, each of them wincing at the muffled sounds until a silence so abrupt follows that it’s almost a physical ache in their heads.

Bucky tilts his face to the side. All he can see are the contorted carcasses of dead outriders. As  he sits up, he’s shocked to find that they’re all dead. They look as if something…someone had exploded them from the inside out. Each of their bodies is flayed open and the hollow cavities inside are white with frost. Both he and Steve are covered in gore and damp from the grass that is no longer frozen. 

Both of them sit on their heels, knees in the muck as their twin blue eyed gazes towards the village where the bodies have formed a gruesome fence for the tiny white figure who is curled on her side in the fetal position, white hair fanned away from her. 

It’s then he notices how silent, how still the pearl on his wrist is.

“Fuck. No!” Bucky lurched to his feet, boots sliding on the melting entrails as he dashes towards the village, Steve right on his heels.

As they vault and weave their way towards their hero, Sam’s voice comes across the coms.

“I don’t know what happened but half these guys exploded with ice and the other ones turned on each other…Stark just radioed in. They’ve got the stones. Guys?”

In the dark, I hear my mother’s voice.

“Do you want to know a secret? It’s not a song my sweet. It’s a scream, one that drives men to their deaths not because of it’s beauty, but because of the horror is causes. And you, my beautiful daughter, were doubly blessed with the touch of winter. You can command the flow, the sound even the shape of water as a siren. Little fish, you have the ability to wield it like a sword. Never forget you were made to be a warrior.”

I have never felt pain like this before. I feel as if my skin has been peeled from my bones.

My throat constricts as I try to cry out, the muscles spent from the rush of power. My lips are cracked and bleeding.

Sirens bleed red too.

I can hear the faint echo of a heartbeat and I wonder briefly if its mine.

I am so very tired. 

Bucky drops to his knees at her side. She looks so tiny like this. In her siren tail she’s almost double him including her tail but now she’s small, almost fragile. She’s lost the color she’d gained while here, her pearlescent ivory now back. The only color on her body is the scarlet stain of blood across her lips.

Scooping her up he strides towards the shore cradling her against his chest as he makes his way to deeper waters. When she is submerged to her neck, her head lolling against his shoulder. Her pale hair swirls around them like a lacy net and the wet fabric of his shirt clings to her body.

“Is she alive?”

Bucky turned and saw Steve standing on the muddy beach. His best friend looked exhausted, was covered in muck and blood but still his earnest face held questions.

“I’m not sure.”

“What…was that?”

Bucky shifts her in his arms. He isn’t sure if she’s alive. But her gills had flared open when he’d brought her here and then sealed shut. It gave him hope.

“She saved me. I fell into the Bering Sea, figured I was dead. Accepted my fate. And then she swims up. Steve, I thought I was back in cryo. She carried me to the life raft. When I asked to see her again, she gave me..

“The pearl.” Steve finished. “But how did she get here? We’re a long way from Alaska.”

“She followed the pearl. When they put me in cryo here, she thought I was dead. So she swam.”

“From Alaska?”

Bucky nods, continuing as he watches her face for any sign of life. “Eight weeks ago she shows up here. She’s been here ever since.”

Realization dawned on Steve’s face. “She’s the mermaid. The villagers were being serious when they said there was a mermaid in the lake.”

“Siren.”

“What?”

“She’s a siren, not a mermaid.” Bucky is able to hold her in one arm as he pushes wet strands of hair away from her face and behind her delicately pointed ears. He hadn’t even known they were pointed. 

“Whatever she is, she just gave us enough time to win. She’s got a lot of heart in that tiny body.”

Bucky swallowed a hard knot in his throat as he surveyed the wreckage that was the aftermath of a siren’s song. 

When he looked back into her face, he found her eyes the ones that were the exact same color as his own looking back up at him. 

Tag List : @nano–raptor @cchellacat @eurynome827 @jobean12-blog @book-dragon-13 @aesthetical-bucky @marvelgirl7 @sallycanwait68 @buckys-broody-muffin @softpeachbarnes @godofplumsandthunder @azurika-writes @ikaris-whore @this-kitten-is-smitten @randomfandompenguin @bucky-plums-barnes @bugsbucky @littleredstarfish @emilylyoness @hailmary-yramliah @daughterofsteven @crushedbyhyperbole @theycallmebecca @nomadicpixel @bluebell-24   @sevans-is-my-weakness @sebastiansloserclub @justvnash @worldofmarvelaficionado @undiscovered-misunderstood @throwmyheartawayagain @jewels2876 

[theharellan]

To Feel Another’s Woe

Set in early Inquisition, in the heart of the Mage-Templar War. Featuring Thora Cadash from @ourdawncomes​. Content warning for gore, descriptions of battle, and mild illness.

Now available to read on AO3!

He counts the battle in heartbeats. Every rush of blood through his veins is another spell from his fingertips, every sixty seconds counted it another sixty seconds survived. Minutes count more in this Veilless world, where the tide may turn in an instant.

Everything is different, even war.

Bowstrings slap the air, signalling a fresh volley of arrows. “Shield yourselves!” the Seeker cries. Solas blinks to Varric, stopping short of his shadow to draw a barrier over them both. His magic resists his dwarven companion, drawing more mana from his fingers before the spell completes, and with little time to spare. Arrows skirt by them, falling harmlessly to the earth, cutting only magic upon their descent. Varric wastes no words thanking him, vanishing in a cloud of smoke to retreat to a safer distance.

Tangled in the midst of half a dozen Templars, their Herald draws every last eye on the battlefield to her. Every blow is preceded by a shout, often followed by another torn from their enemies’ throats. Swords point towards her back, posed to pierce the gaps in her armour. Their wielders hesitate to join the fray, uneven grips a telltale mark of fresh recruits, but they will not wait forever. He seizes upon the moment, hand gripping his staff and grinding it into the dirt, its focus drawing his intent into the world. A thin orange line burns in the grass, smoke heralds flame which bursts to life at Thora’s heel, a harsh curtain drawn between her and half her enemies.

She does not flinch, nor shrink from the flame. Solas watches as her leg hooks around a rogue Templar’s ankle and trips him. He falls headfirst into the fire, inhuman shrieks silenced by a killing blow to the head. As she lifts her hammer from the bloody pulp of a skull, another soldier lunges. Solas slams his staff against the earth, calling winter to a warm August day. Ice crawls up his target’s leg, erupting from the damp grass stamped down by war. In an instant it claims him, sword aimed at their Herald’s heart now suspended harmlessly in ice. Cassandra arrives, blade red with archers’ blood, and slams the tapered end of her shield against a weakness in the ice. It shatters, the boy’s body falling limp in the grass, joining his fellows.

The hairs along the nape of his neck stand on end, an uneasy premonition answered by an unseen force reaching across the Veil. It parts the fire, reducing it to a ribbon of smoke that coils in blue Fereldan skies, and through the ashes steps a Templar, his shield held aloft. Spells glance off him, rolling ineffectively over his armour. Thora’s hammer fares better, shield straining against its face as they come crashing together. Sparks fly from where their edges scrape together, forcing his guard down for an instant. Long enough for the Herald to find her advantage.

She strikes her with the heel of her hammer and he staggers, stumbling forward with the grace of a drunkard on his sixth tankard of ale. “Now, Solas!” she shouts. He stops, stares. There are only seconds to discern her meaning, no wisdom floats to him from across the Fade to deliver her meaning. Visions of a war long since finished return to him, memories of dwarves that cleaved dreams. He decides, then acts. Solas stretches across the Veil to find his own truth, a different reality than the one these Templars seek to reinforce. The air around the Templar expands with dreams, then dissipates.

The effect is instant. Beneath his helmet he heaves, lungs flooded with magic like water in the lungs of a drowned rat. Thora brings down her hammer on his breastplate. Metal made brittle by magic crumbles at the impact, leaving a hollow crater in the center of his chest.

From a distance his eyes meet Thora’s, her head nodding in his direction. Behind her, the remaining Templars gather their strength and prepare their onslaught, but her attention remains divided. Her gaze darts to his left. Brown eyes widen in their sockets, alerting him before she can cry out: “Look out, Solas!”

He catches the greedy glint of steel against sunlight from the corner of his eye, thrusting towards him. In the space of a breath he surges backwards, Fade carrying him from the Templar’s reach. All the air rushes from him, back crashing against the trunk of a tree, stealing the air from his lungs. Skull cracks against the bark, vision blurring as the Templar advances. Dark words seethe from bloodied lips, cursing him in the name of her fallen brothers and sisters.

Solas’ grip tightens around empty air, realising only then that his staff was lost in his retreat. It matters not. Energy pools into his palm as easily as through a focus, but stutters in the presence of the cleansing aura. Sparks fly, grazing the Templar’s breastplate, earning him nothing but seconds. Once the task of dispatching her would be as trivial as crushing an ant beneath his thumb. Now, his magic wanes, flying further from his reach with every step the Templar takes. What a cruel joke his life would be if this is its final note.

But he has been backed into tighter corners than this by worthier foes. Undeterred by the fear which lays claim to his heart, he grasps desperately for more power, summoning every last scrap of ambient magic in the air. A hopeless thought eats at him as he wonders how it came to this, shooting cinders from his fingertips like a child conjuring their first flame. They fly from his hands, aimed at the dull human eyes which blink out at him from behind a helm.

Every muscle in his body tenses, unsure if he had missed. A shout of pain tears from her throat, and he has his answer. Gloved hands yank her visor back to reveal red-rimmed eyes, tears already streaming down her face to fight the ashes suspended in her eyelashes. “You’ll regret that,” she spits. The glow that wreaths her sword bursts, and he braces against the tree. Blinding light tears the colour from the grass and magic flies from the Veil to places beyond his reach. She purges the song from the sky, all the weight of the world seems to fall around his shoulders. He grips the bark at his back with white knuckles, until the grooves bore into his skin. If not for it, he might have collapsed. His lungs ache as though they are new, throat closing around unyielding reality.

The Templar sloughs off the dispel from her blade, now trained to kill. Somewhere beyond his field of view, Solas hears a shout. “You wasted precious time taunting me,” he says, words straining against empty lungs. Amusement flickers in his eyes, lips too tired to form any semblance of a smile. “I would be dead were it not for your pride. Now it is too late.”

He sees the question in the soldier’s eyes. Solas counts the seconds. He hears his rescue upon the wind.

Bones crack with a sickening crunch as the Templar’s knees snap backwards, crumbling from the force of Thora’s hammer. She falls like lead weight at Solas’ feet, legs bent at an unnatural angle. A feral cry chokes her, whimpering like a wounded animal which has not yet accepted its end. “Mercy,” she moans, the plated hand which moments ago reached out with violence now stretches imploringly towards his feet, desperate for the healing touch of magic. “Please.”

It isn’t Solas’ mercy, but Varric’s, which ends her life. The bolt pierces her helmet, puncturing it like paper, killing her instantly. “Poor bastard,” he hears the dwarf say, but in the heat of the moment Solas cannot find his pity. His heart hardens as the Templar’s life oozes onto the grass, and he thinks to himself that her blood and bones will do the world more good than her deeds ever had. The bitter thought goes unspoken, Varric’s remark remains unacknowledged.

In an instant, the chaos of battle is over. As he recovers his breath, he looks out over the field to see it riddled with fresh corpses, all of their making. Cassandra stoops in the dirt, wiping her blade in the grass as Varric retrieves his ammo from the bodies of their enemies. Thora’s hammer stands alone by the Templar’s body, its face crusted with a thick layer of blood, its handler nowhere in sight. In the grass beside it lies his discarded staff, its crystal focus shining dully, unaware the danger has passed. Solas bends to claim it, magic coaxing it the rest of the way to his fingers. The exertion proves more taxing than he envisions, the back of his head throbbing with the memory of his collision with the tree. He winces, nursing the back of his head, capping his fingertips with ice to soothe the growing ache.

“You alright there, Chuckles?” Varric asks, concern overshadowed by the hint of amusement which laces his question. “You hit that tree pretty hard.”

“I will manage, thank you,” he says. “Were it not for our Herald’s intervention, however…” He looks for her again, eyes darting around the area. This time he sights her in the shadow of a tree, one arm supporting her against its trunk. “Excuse me a moment.”

Solas steps out of the reach of his would-be killer’s corpse, winding towards the battlefield’s outskirts where their intrepid Herald lingers. “You fare better with a hammer than a sword,” he remarks as he nears her. Thora’s shoulders tense at the sound of his voice so close, and he stops short, uncertainty tinges his words. “After Haven I was unsure what experience you had in battle. I see now I was too quick to judge.” She had been clumsy in the snow, swinging at demons as though she had never held a sword in her life, and maybe that was the case. What she’d lacked in skill she more than made up with strength. The demons fell, though she made quicker work of the Templars today. 

Thora doesn’t answer, and for an instant he wonders if she’d taken offense. Dwarves of old were proud warriors, it may be that not everything he remembers of them has been bled from them by the Blight. She turns her face an inch towards him, the rest cast in the shadow of the tree. “I—” One hand flies to her face, fingers pressing against her mouth in anticipation. He watches, uneasy, as she swallows thickly and fights back whatever had threatened to escape. “Sorry.”

Before he has a chance to reassure her, Cassandra’s voice rings out behind them: “We should press on if we want to reach Redcliffe Farm by nightfall.” She stands where he last saw her, sword sheathed and shield shining, bearing no mark of the battle that came before. He does not linger on her, eyes returning to Thora whose attention has shifted as his had, allowing him a glimpse of her face. An ill look haunts her, grey tinges her usual warm complexion with dark lines drawn beneath her eyes.

A sharp intake of breath pierces the air as Thora readies her answer. He reaches out, hand brushing her shoulder before he interjects. “Another moment, Seeker,” he says. “I believe it best I examine the Anchor first. There is no telling what influence a Templar’s abilities have on it.”

The Seeker looks at him, her mood impossible to discern from beneath a dark, drawn brow. A small sigh that sounds like frustration escapes her lips. “Very well. Do what you must.”

“Thank you,” he says, inclining his head towards her. As he turns to the Herald, he sees emotion shining in her eyes as she looks up at him, perhaps trying to decide what to make of his diversion. Solas is not certain what to make of it himself. The easy answer is that it is in his best interest to protect her image, even if only from their companions, but it would be a lie to insist it’s the only answer. In her discomfort he saw a glimpse of the familiar, recognition of a feeling he had once grappled with himself— or so it seemed. He did not know. The Veil mutes all emotion, from the most fervent passions to the most tender sentiments. It may be a reflection he sees in her eyes, his own hopes and fears echoed back to him.

Whatever he sees in her he pushes aside for the sake of their present problem. Cassandra could not be held off forever. Lowering himself to one knee to accommodate her height, Solas extends one hand towards hers. “Give me your hand, please.”

She peels the glove from her left hand, offering it forward to Solas as she did on the day they first met. This time it lands in his waiting reach, rather than being yanked forcibly towards a Rift. He’d studied it well while she lay motionless in her cell, and then again in bed, but conscious it is a different creature. Her fingers flex and bend, clearly unaccustomed to the careful attention afforded to them. He strokes his thumb across her palm, smoothing them back to allow him an unobstructed view of the Anchor. It runs like a fissure in the earth across her skin, an otherworldly green occasionally flashes in the center, and through it he catches a glimpse of the infinite. “Does it pain you?” he asks. This examination is a façade to buy them a moment’s respite, but there is no telling what effect the Mark will have on her in the coming weeks. Already he fears there will come a day where his knowledge of it will fail him, powerless as he is now.

“No. At least not since you last looked at it. I... don’t think the Templars could touch it if they’d tried.”

“Curious.” Although he ought not be surprised, the Anchor and the Templars share more than a few similarities, tied together by a Titan’s heart and blood. “Regardless, I would advise caution. This may have been an anomaly.”

“I’ll be careful. I’ve had it described to me by mages before, doesn’t sound like something I’d want to invite on myself.”

Her comment sparks a question, one which has plagued him since she called out to him in the midst of battle. “You’ve fought alongside mages before, have you not?”

“Yeah,” her response is strained, and punctuated by a second heavy swallow, “how’d you guess?”

“You signalled for my intervention when handling the marksman. The uninitiated would not have thought to ask.”

The observation catches her off-guard, eyes darting from his face to her hand before she remembers who she’s addressing. “The Carta’s been known to hire apostates. Some jobs just needed that magic touch, you know?” A small smile turns her lips, weary eyes shining with a hint of mischief. “I’ve, uh, been known to smuggle a mage or two out of the Circle, too. Back in Kirkwall. Don’t... don’t tell Cassandra.”

He blinks, surprise registers upon his face as no more than a mild arch of his brow. “You believe she would be displeased?” Solas asks, working a barrier into the surface of her skin. It accepts the magic more readily than Varric, the Anchor glittering like an uncut peridot, recognising the spellcaster.

Thora shrugs. “They’ve got enough to deal with from me being Carta.”

“True, but there is more than the Chantry to consider,” he says. From his perspective (and in his experience) there will be little pleasing them, presenting an obstacle to be worked around rather than through. Even Cassandra seems to realise that. “The rebel mages may look favourably upon someone who has helped them in the past.”

“Maybe.” 

A frown tugs at his lips, her dismissal rankles despite telling himself she is not at her best. “If I may ask, how did you find yourself in their employ?” He imagines the children of families blessed with the fortune to be born into money and magic, with coin enough to make the Carta think it was worth the Templar’s scrutiny. “I cannot imagine it is work you find yourself in by chance.”

“It’s not. I volunteered. I ran the same tunnels as the Mage Underground, and it— well, it seemed like the right thing to do.” She pauses. “It was the right thing to do.” 

“I see.” He doesn’t see, at least not entirely. Like the many lies he has told since walking into the Inquisition’s midst, it is woven with truth. Solas knows well the impulse to do good, or try to, whatever the cost to oneself may be, and he’d seen it in Thora before. Thanks to her, the people of the Crossroads will sleep with full bellies and warm blankets, but the world will thank her for helping them. The same cannot be said of the mages. Suddenly the promise made to him in Haven does not seem so empty. Her oath to guard his freedom from those who sought to take it no longer rings as a hollow platitude. “Whatever Seeker Pentaghast may think, I believe your conviction is admirable.”

She shifts self-consciously, the hand in his grasp straining against his gentle grip. “I’m glad you think so.” The simple effort it takes her to accept his praise seems a laborious undertaking, he wonders to himself if the sweat on her brow now shines fresh from the endeavour. Her acceptance is punctuated by a sharp inhale. “Listen. I… I wanted to thank you, you know, for this.” She looks pointedly at their joined hands. “I didn’t want anyone to see me like this. It’s…”

“A natural reaction.” Their eyes meet, but it’s her gaze which falters first. “They were our enemies, but where we saw a threat to be eliminated others would have seen friends, family.” He does not look back, but his mind returns to the felled Templar behind him. No pity nor guilt moves his heart at the thought of her passing, she laid in a pool of her own violent choices. Still, he spares a thought for the woman her family will mourn. A woman who undoubtedly bore little resemblance to the one Solas briefly knew. “Our duty to ourselves and Redcliffe’s people demanded we face them, but it is not weakness to be affected by their deaths.”

A weak smile spreads over Thora’s lips, thin and touched by lingering unease, but it shines true in her eyes. “Thanks,” she says for the second time. “For understanding, I mean.”

He acknowledges it with a mild bow of his head. “Does it bother you, knowing that I have seen how this affected you?”

“A little,” she admits. “Better you than—” Her head nods towards the others, brow arched in their direction.

Solas looks towards them, catching sight of Cassandra as she paces aimlessly around the field, throwing glances towards their destination, always mindful of their journey’s end. Varric shows no such concern, reclining upon a rock, an unfamiliar tune whistling from his lips. He turns back to Thora with a question upon his. “And what have I done to earn the distinction?”

“Nothing.” The confession is quick, as though speaking it without hesitation will spare her his offense. “Cassandra’s put such faith in me, I’m just counting the breaths until I let her down somehow, and Varric…” She pulls a face, nose wrinkling. “I’ve read one or two of his books. I’m not sure I like the thought of making into one of them.” Thora at last looks up at him again, searching for something in his face. What quality she seeks, he’s unsure, though he is reluctant to grant it. Every piece he surrenders is a piece he cannot get back. “You? You’re just… odd.”

A surprised laugh chokes him. He does not need to look behind them to feel the Seeker’s head whip in their direction, discerning eyes measuring their progress. “An honest assessment, and perhaps well-deserved,” he says, amusement wrinkling the corners of his eyes. “Should I take offense?”

She fixes him with a challenging stare and smiles, though this time the gesture spreads her lips wide, revealing two rows of white teeth. “I suppose that depends on if you think being normal is something to be proud of.”

To his surprise, he feels himself smiling back, her playful grin reflecting in his own. “I suppose it does.” He looks down at her hand, ears angling back as he realises any pretence of examination had since been forgotten. Seconds counted for more in this world, true, yet it remains remarkably easy to become lost in conversation. “Do you feel ready to move on?” Solas tries to discern the answer for himself from her expression. The long, drawn-out look has faded, forgotten as the excuse which kept them here a moment more. Recognising that settles uneasy in his stomach, raising questions better left for dreams.

“I think so.” She takes her hand back from him, flexing her fingers before she fits them into her glove. “I don’t know how much longer Cassandra will buy that excuse of yours, anyway.”

“You underestimate me.” There is a humour in his remark that surprises him, a wry twist to his words which he did not expect to find in the company he keeps. “Were I less adept at wasting the Seeker’s time, I would not be stood before you now. Still—” He rises, mindful of the wet patches of mud which now darken his knees. “We would not want to keep her waiting.”

She gives him a knowing look, the faint smile creasing the corners of her eyes fades as she turns back to the rest of their party. Varric is the first to notice their business concluded, or the first to acknowledge it, behind him he hears his voice call out, “Hand treating you any better?”

“Never better, actually,” she replies in a chipper tone, a friendly veneer which masks the unpleasantness of a moment ago, but Solas notes how she averts her gaze from the carnage they left in their wake. The shadows of war still seem to haunt her steps. She tilts her head towards Cassandra, deference clear even from behind. “Sorry for the hold up. I’m ready to go now.” Deference aside, it is at Thora’s word that their party picks up and moves, mere moments passing between her signal and the resumption of their journey. Solas alone trails behind, forgetting his feet beneath him. Only his eyes follow her, mind wandering, wondering, doubting if the Mark upon her hand is the most remarkable thing about her. She senses his absence, looking over her shoulder with a question upon her brow, saying nothing, but somehow he hears. Questions pile like snowflakes on a rooftop, building around him with no easy remedy to relieve their mounting pressure, but he picks up his feet and follows the answer into Ferelden’s hills.

Surrounded by the voices of his companions in the thick of conversation, the seconds lose their urgency, the minutes slip by without notice. As a joke in the air draws a new smile to his face, sixty seconds starts to resemble not another minute survived, but rather another minute lived.

[dhwty-writes]

Chapter 17 - A Broken Journey

Aaaand I'm back with another chapter! Given the time I made you wait, I won't distract you with any of my ramblings. Thanks to @spiffingtea for betaing this chapter. Enjoy!

Geralt is on bard protection duty while on the way to Goldfurt, the seat of Janina's "beloved" husband. What could possibly go wrong? 

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The stink of rot filled the freezing cold air, accompanied by a piercing scream, and Geralt cursed as he wheeled not-Roach II around. "What's happening?" he demanded, but didn’t get to finish his question before a muffled cry from the back of the column announced: "Nekker!"

"Geralt—" Jaskier began, but he paid him no heed.

"Fuck," he cursed, not quite sure if he was talking to the Viscount or his rear guard, "stay where you are!" He dug his heels into the horse's sides, trying to get to them. It would have been an easy feat if not for the damned carriage flanked by guards blocking the whole bloody road, filled to the brim with Pankratz sisters reeking of sour vinegar fear.

More faint curses and strenuous grunts reached his ears as he snapped at the Kerton guards to give some fucking way. "Oh fuck, oh shit," he heard Borys' strained voice, "no you won't, you damned beast- shit, Geralt!"

A beat of silence followed as the Kerton guard finally moved his horse off the road, so Geralt could pass. Finally, he could see the beast when Borys shouted: "I'm fine! We're fine."

"Shit," he grunted and slid off the horse's back.

"Shit indeed," Borys agreed. "Where's Marin?"

He crouched down to get a better look. "Scouting ahead." His inspection of the body was accompanied by incessant talking: "Fuck, let me through, for the gods' sake! He's my witcher, let me through, I need to see—"

He tried to tune it out and turned back to the beast. It was very dead. Unfortunately, Borys wasn't done with his interrogation: "And his lordship?"

"Apparently coming this way." He poked it with his silver sword. Not so much as a twitch. 'The idiot.'

Just that morning he had dressed whilst the Captain of the Guard had knocked on his door. "So, about that oath," he had said with a deep frown. "You don't leave his side, yeah?"

"Wouldn't think of it." The way to Goldfurt wasn't a dangerous journey, nor even a long one. But apparently the annual soiree was known to draw in every lord, knight, and magnate  of the area.

It was an easy enough target for any roving band of well-armed bandits worth their salt. 'Or nekkers, apparently.' And the safety of their buttons and purses was not the worst thing thieves could relieve them off. Not with Ciri travelling in the carriage.

She was the reason Jaskier had taken the additional precaution of an escort of half a dozen guards—additionally to Marin and a witcher. She was also the reason why Geralt's only duty was to look out for the Viscount. With him taken care of, the rest of them could keep all eyes on the bulky box that loudly rattled through the countryside.

Not that he minded. He liked having an excuse to stay close to Jaskier. His not-friend had even taken up his usual chatter in lack of another conversational partner. That and to hide the chattering of his teeth, Geralt suspected.

Geralt got up with a sigh. Borys and his colleague had done quite an impressive job, considering they were only human. "That one won't rise again anytime soon."

Borys wiped sweat off his brow, smearing the blood on it in the process. "Well, that was easier than expected. Watch out, witcher, or I'll give you a run for your money. Was that all?"

"No," Geralt answered as a voice behind him cut in: "Not in the least, I fear. Nekker, you said? Nekkers seldom travel alone, there's a pack probably right around the corner. Am I right, my witcher?"

Geralt whipped around to see a far too smug looking Jaskier on Pegasus' back and bit back a growl. The damned bard knew better than to get this close, knew better than to talk, so that Geralt couldn't hear a bloody thing--shit, they were close.

"Right," he barked and heaved himself up into not-Roach II's saddle again, "and they're close. Get the women and children—"

He was interrupted again: "—to safety, have the other humans clear the road—hand you the bombs and the ogroid oil—yes, I know. I have neither bombs on my person, but the rest has been taken care of." The scuffle behind them was proof enough. The noble ladies abandoned their wheeled prison and were led by the guards to the underbrush, further away from where the fight would inevitably take place. "You two, too,” he motioned at Borys and his companion. “Go and help the others."

The two guards were quick to oblige, still shaken by their recent encounter with a monster. But Geralt had no eyes for them. "Then what," he growled at Jaskier, "are you still doing here?"

The stubborn bastard squared his shoulders and put a hand on the pommel of his useless ceremonial sword. "I am coming with you."

"No." The thought alone was enough to send ice water coursing through his veins.

"Yes, I am. This is dangerous--”

"Which is why, you're going to stay with the rest. I'm a witcher, I've handled this before. And I will handle it again. Now. Go!"

"But--!"

"We don't have time!" Geralt roared, though it wasn't loud enough to drown out the sound of the unspoken words: 'But you had Roach. But you had your potions. But you were prepared.' He couldn't allow himself to think too much about it.

"I won't die today," he promised, stupidly. "Ride on, Jaskier. We both know you can't fight for shit." He turned not-Roach II around, ready to charge at the approaching nekkers. For some stupid reason he hesitated.

"My witcher--" 

"My lord--" they said simultaneously. For a moment they just stared. Then, they nodded in silent agreement. 'Stay safe,' he thought as he spurned not-Roach II on.

Clearing his head of concern for Jaskier and Ciri alike was harder than Geralt dared to admit. So, it should be no surprise that when the first nekker appeared, an arc of silver sliced through empty air.

'Get a grip, Geralt,' he thought angrily as he tugged on the reins to bring the horse to a halt. 'Making friends gets you talking. Talking gets you sloppy. Sloppy gets you killed.'

The next strike hit home and cleaved the bastard's neck clean off his neck. 'Two,' he made a mental tally. He only hoped it was a small pack.

Not-Roach II’s ears flicked, the horse as so often aware of a beast's presence long before the witcher. It was pure instinct that made him turn around and knock the beast back with Aard before it could take a bite out of the poor animal. He slid off its back and sheathed his silver blade in the nekker's gut with the same motion. 'Three,' he thought and clapped the horse on the flank to send it off to the others.

The next ones he could smell and feel as the earth rumbled beneath him. He spun away, bringing himself between the beasts and the humans, as three of them broke free from the ground and shrieked horribly. "Scream all you want," he growled, "all you'll find here is your death."

They charged at once and Geralt desperately wished for a bomb as he backed up. Or even a dose of Swallow. His Aard didn't throw them back much, but at least it gave him time to relieve one of them of its left arm before they swarmed him.

The world moved into a blur as he ducked and slashed and stabbed, guts and blood splattering over his face and newly-cleaned armour. He wasn't quite sure how much time had passed or how many of them he had killed when he came back to himself, panting and sweating, his sword still buried deep in a nekker's gut.

With a grunt he wrenched it free and took in the destruction around him. 'Ten,' he counted and wiped his sword on his pants. 'Not bad without assistance.' He stabbed the nekker below him again, to make sure it was really dead, while he did his best to stifle his surprise.

He was still checking he had killed them all when he heard it: "Geralt?" a too well-known voice called meekly. "Are you done yet?"

With a snarl he whipped around. "How many times, bard? I fucking told you to stay back!"

"Ah, yes, you're done." With a sigh the Viscount stepped out of the underbrush, the heady scent of sour fear mixing with honeyed happiness and soap. Relief? Was Jaskier relieved? "Though I might remind you that neither am I a bard anymore, nor do your commands bear any weight against me now."

Uncaring for his bloodied appearance, he stepped into Jaskier's personal space and growled: "You are an idiot, my lord. I—"

Without so much batting his lashes he smirked. "You're not the first person to say that, nor will you be the last," he replied completely unfazed. "Probably not even today."

"I do not command you for my pleasure, I do it to protect you!" he bellowed. The words rang through the woods incredibly loud. Long after he had spoken the truth into existence, they still echoed in their uncomfortable silence, as they stared at each other.

Jaskier was the first to glance away, but he did not back up. "Well, I'm glad we've settled that particular question." He wet his lips nervously, his eyes flickering about. It made Geralt's skin crawl. "You should cut their heads off."

"What?" It took him a while to break out of his paralysis. Still not moving away he turned his head to follow Jaskier's gaze. Right. The nekkers. "Why?" he asked, irritated. "There's no contract."

Jaskier scoffed and finally took a step backwards. Geralt felt like he could breathe again. "Oh, there will be," he promised. "We will be resting for a bit," the Viscount decreed. "Marin should be back soon enough, we can continue then. Here." He tossed him a satchel. "Come back once you're done."

With that he vanished in the thicket again. Soon the blue velvet vanished even from a witcher's gaze and Geralt was forced to turn back to the task at hand. 'Fuck, Jaskier,' he thought while he was chopping off heads, 'what are you doing to me?'

He was quick to complete his task and stored the heads in the satchel, now dripping with blood. Together with the other guards he cleared out a spot near the road, where they piled the bodies onto each other, so they could burn them. No use in them coming back to life in any way, shape or form.

After a quick Igni the air filled with the unpleasant scent of charred flesh, and Geralt went back to the group of waiting nobles. With the danger passed a jovial atmosphere had settled in.

A high-pitched screech of laughter fluttered through the air. Ciri and Daria swept past him and leapt into a nearby pile of leaves, fleeing Miss Nina's watchful eyes. He couldn't help but smile. It was oddly calming to see children just play. 'Ciri deserves it.'

Even the adults seemed to enjoy the clear late autumn day. The three Pankratz sisters stood in front of the carriage, chatting amiably. The governess was with them, too. She was currently talking  to Julek, who covered his ears and stared at her with wide fearful eyes. He was a strange boy, Geralt thought. He pitied him. The world was no kind place for strange children.

He almost went over to take a closer look, when he was distracted by a pristine white kerchief that was thrust into his face. "Here," Jaskier said, "at least clean your face, will you?"

Geralt raised a curious eyebrow. "That's hardly necessary. I wouldn't want to soil your precious cloth with... nekker guts."

"I insist," Jaskier insisted. A hesitant smile danced around his lips. "There are some luxuries you may indulge in in my service. A clean face after saving my life is one of them."

"Hmm." He took the soft cloth with careful fingers and wiped at his face under Jaskier's watchful gaze. "Better?"

"Not quite," he murmured. "Here, let me..." He gently took the handkerchief from his hands and stepped closer. It was a fine, soft cloth, the initials J.A.P. embroidered on the corner with which Jaskier dabbed at his skin. It felt softer still in the Viscount's nimble fingers.

"Better," he decreed finally and snapped Geralt out of his calm state of mind.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

Jaskier smiled, before his eyes widened as if he just realised how close they were standing. "Oh, um. Better. Here. Take it." He thrust the handkerchief forward again.

"My lord—"

"It's got blood on it, now. I don't want it anymore."

"Hmm." Geralt took it from him and stuffed it into his sleeve when he heard hoofbeats in the distance. His head snapped around to see a rider heading towards them at full speed.

The Viscount de Lettenhove cocked his head with a pliant smile on his face. "What is it?"

"A rider." He pushed him behind his back with his free hand. "Too far away to make out any details."

Jaskier laughed. Geralt knew it was supposed to sound light-hearted, but it didn't. "Probably just Marin."

"Hmm." He wasn't about to take any risks. Not after what had happened earlier.

Geralt exhaled a white puff of frozen breath and strained his eyes. Slowly, he lowered his blade. "It's Marin."

"See?" Jaskier smiled triumphantly. "I told you it's just him. No need for you to worry about me."

"And here I was, thinking worrying about you's my job." Jaskier's smile fell as the one on Geralt's face grew wide.

Before either of them had a chance to deal the finishing blow, the Captain of the Guard bridled his mare in front of them; a cloud of frozen dust flew up in their faces. "My lord," he greeted with a curt nod, "the city gates are less than an hour away. They have been informed of your impending arrival." Marin winked at Geralt as he dismounted and handed his reins to one of the other guards.

After that first tumble in the hay, there had been others--some quite literally so. Marin had been right; he had a knack for stress relief. So, Geralt had no qualms about falling into bed with him. Not every time there was a bed involved, sometimes it was just a stable wall or a tree in the woods--but it was all the same to him. It was fun and easy, and they both got to blow off some steam. It seemed like a sensible enough arrangement for the winter.

It was a nice change, too. Normally the cold season meant that he had to take matters into his own hands, which was easier in Lettenhove than in a witchers' keep. He was fairly certain that Jaskier wouldn't be able to hear him and he knew that he couldn't smell him. But Geralt could and that was perhaps even worse.

He was glad for the excuse Marin offered him to escape from the Viscount's immediate proximity. With him, at least, he had a say in setting the boundaries.

"Thank the gods," Jaskier sighed and flexed his gloved fingers to get rid of the cold. "I might get to keep my extremities after all."

Geralt resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Jaskier never dressed appropriately for the weather and his return to a noble life hadn't improved that vice in the slightest. "You could have ridden in the carriage, my lord," he informed him quietly. 'Or just donned a proper coat,' he thought. Silks and satins were not made for days when the midday sun could barely thaw the hoarfrost.

"And how would that look?" the Viscount scoffed. "Speaking of appearances, fetch my sister, will you?"

He chanced a glance back at the giggling cluster of ladies. "Which one?"

"Why, the Countess of Goldfurt, of course! She desires to be seen when returning home. Marin, you can go."

"Thank you, my lord," he heard Marin answer as he walked over to the large carriage. Geralt furrowed his brows. 'Seen by whom?' he wondered. 'Seen at whose side?'

If the past two months had taught him anything it was that nobles never did anything without a reason. Their whole life was a show, a shadow play to make them seem larger than life. A glittering display of wealth and might to blind the common folk to their true nature. 'They don't have power and they know it,' he thought bitterly. 'And they're terrified of anyone else finding out.'

As a witcher he knew what could happen once the people understood they outnumbered those they blamed for their worries. It had almost meant the extinction of his guild. He didn't doubt the day when nobles' heads would roll would come, too. Strangely, he found himself hoping that that day was still in the far future. 'Let it be centuries after Jaskier's death.'

His sombre thoughts were interrupted by Miss Nina's shriek, as Ciri and Daria reappeared within her line of sight with dirty dresses and dirtier hands. "Master Julek, you stay where you are," she ordered the already immoving boy and marched over to the two whirlwinds. "Miss Kerton, Miss Nowak, what kind of behaviour is this?"

Geralt snarled quietly but tore himself away. As far as anyone was concerned, he was just 'Fiona's' fencing master. That wouldn't keep him from having a word with Jaskier, though. Or better yet, with Justyna.

As little as he liked to admit it, he couldn't help but like what he'd seen from the Lady Kerton so far. She was sharp-tongued and quick-witted with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. Since her arrival he almost imagined that the same had returned to Jaskier's face, too.

So, when he walked over to them there were two smiles greeting him, and just one frown. "My ladies," he offered as a greeting.

"Witcher," Justyna answered. "I think, thanks are in order."

He shrugged. "I'm just doing my duty, my lady."

She smiled politely. "Still, I thank you for defending our life so valiantly. I'm sure my brother will craft the most wondrous tale of this encounter."

"No, he won't," Janina scoffed. "He doesn't do that anymore. What do you want, witcher?"

He nearly growled. As much as it was the truth, he didn't like having it rubbed in his face. "We're due to arrive in Goldfurt soon," he replied tersely. "Your brother told me to fetch you."

It earned him a laugh from all three of them. "Well, if his lordship commands so," Justyna replied; it was a tease he didn't understand. "Better hurry up, Janka, you don't want to keep him waiting."

"Actually, I do," the Lady Goldfurt replied. "Especially with this weather."

Geralt did his best to keep a straight face. "He claimed it was at your behest."

Justyna chuckled. "Well, he's got you there, Stokrotka. You did ask to ride at his side."

"The gods know why," Józefa muttered and stared intently at her gloved fingernails. "It's freezing."

Janina reached over and patted her hands. "Get married. Then you'll understand."

Józefa looked just as confused as Geralt felt in face of the silent communication that transpired between the oldest Pankratz sisters. "Well, you're right," Janina broke the silence, "I'd best be on my way. This Lord Lettenhove is certainly not known for his patience."

"Was there ever one who was?" Justyna sighed and rolled her eyes. "I for my part am glad that the worst outcome is a pout with this one."

"Or the occasional threat," Janina remarked.

"You know what I mean."

"I do. At least we don't have to wake to frog spawn in our beds anymore. He's a horrible brother."

"The worst. Do witchers have siblings?" Justyna turned to him unexpectedly.

Geralt cleared his throat uncomfortably. He felt like he was listening in again, just like on the courtyard a few days prior. He didn't feel quite comfortable with having attention drawn to him either. "We do, of sorts," he answered diplomatically. "I consider the younger witchers of the wolf school my brothers in arms as well as blood even though they're not."

"How cute," Janina snorted and waved her hand. "Hand me my hat, Józefa, will you?" It was a ridiculous thing, ridiculously small with a ridiculously large feather on top. The affinity to ridiculous clothing seemed to run in the family.

Justyna rolled her eyes as her sister went to join their brother. "And your siblings, are they just as obnoxious as mine?"

"Hmm." Usually he tried to avoid thinking of Kaer Morhen. He didn't want to admit how much he missed it. How much he missed Eskel with his warm smiles and his stupid infatuation with that goat. Or Lambert with his filthy mouth and constant complaints. They were nothing like the nobles. And yet, their relationships seemed strangely similar. "I wouldn't dare insult your family by comparing it to mine," he answered with a sly smile.

She laughed heartily. "I might have to revise my earlier statement, witcher. You might be no fun, but you're certainly funny. Surely one of the many qualities why our brother kept you around for so long."

He frowned and evaded her gaze. 'It wasn't like that.'

Before he could come up with a proper answer, Józefa cut in: "I believe it was the other way around, Justynka." Geralt couldn't help but stare at her. He had completely forgotten she was there.

"Justyna!" Jaskier's indignant voice called over to them. "Janina called me Lord Lettenhove again. Come over here and help me get her to stop!"

She sighed exaggeratedly and caught Józefa by the arm. "Come on, it's high time you get roped into this sibling warfare. You're on far too good terms with all of us for a Pankratz."

"I just don't understand why he hates it so much," she mumbled as she was dragged along. "Or why she insists on doing so."

"The same reason why Janina does not care for being called a Firkalt of Goldfurt, the same reason why he does it anyways,” Justyna explained. “It's half the fun."

"Oh no, it's all the fun," Janina contested immediately. Geralt watched with bewilderment as a small debate broke out between the three of the oldest siblings, with Józefa standing on the sidelines.

Geralt retreated back to the guards and horses, who just shook their heads. "They're like infants," Borys complained and they all nodded in agreement.

"So," Marin said and nudged Geralt with his elbow, "I heard I missed quite a fight. Tell us about it."

He rolled his eyes and began recounting what had happened. As brief as humanly possible, much to the protests of his listeners. Luckily for him, Borys needed no prompting to fill the gaps with his own imagination.

Beside them the argument grew even louder—they were talking about something entirely different now. It was strange seeing all of the siblings together. All of them were very loud, with Józefa as the only exception. While only Jaskier and Justyna seemed to be truly noisy, Janina was no less obnoxious. All of them were very direct too, always demanding, always ordering, always judging. Their ugliest insults were wrapped in the prettiest comments. It made them no less obvious, though—on the contrary.

Józefa was very quiet in comparison. And kind. She always smiled, was always courteous and gentle. She was the softness of all the Pankratz siblings, the silk and silver and flowers with none of the secrecy, the edge, the poison. Geralt could see why Ciri liked her so much.

"Done!" Janina declared and shook hands with Justyna. Geralt raised his brows but said nothing.

Borys leaned in closer to Geralt. "Five crowns says it's about who can annoy her husband more."

Marin laughed loudly and clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't fall for that, Geralt, you'll lose. I--"

But whatever he wanted to say next was interrupted by Miss Nina. "Your ladyship," she huffed angrily, dragging Daria with her, "I think some harsh words are in order."

"Daria," Justyna chided once she saw the dirty dress. "What have you done?"

"Fiona and I were just playing."

"And what will your father say when he sees you like this?"

He didn't miss how she froze at the mention of Lord Kerton, quickly followed by an unintelligible mumble. Geralt cocked his head. 'Curious.'

"And Fiona?" Jaskier asked, not unkindly. "Where is she?"

"She's with Titan," Daria mumbled meekly. Sure enough, there was a dirty child standing next to the gelding.

'Poor Daria,' he thought as he got up with a sigh, 'she probably thinks she's betraying her friend.' He raised his voice and called over to Jaskier: "I'll take care of it."

"Thank you," Jaskier answered in a normal volume.

The guards all stared at him in confusion. He just shrugged. "Witcher hearing. Need to talk to Fiona."

"Right," Marin announced and got up, too. "Gentlemen, we should see to it that this party gets underway again."

Geralt nodded his thanks for the distraction. He was sure Ciri would appreciate it, too. He approached Ciri from behind, careful to walk noisily. As much as he'd loved to startle her, she took to that worse than a horse. "You need a bath," he noted when he was still a few feet away.

"Geralt!" She turned to him with bright laughing eyes. He could see her fighting the urge to hug him. 'Not in public,' was what they had decreed.

"You had fun, cublet?"

"I did!" She bounced on her feet excitedly. "We were looking for Fir Cone Sprites."

"Hmm, did you find any?" Geralt smirked and glanced at the deciduous woodlands around them.

"No, we didn't."

"Couldn't fathom why," he jested and mussed up her hair. It was windswept already; he didn't add too much damage. Only belatedly he realised he should be telling her Fir Cone Sprites didn't exist. But he couldn't bring himself to be so cruel as to dull a child's creativity. He couldn't bear Ciri turning into the empty hull Jaskier was so often now.

"Geralt, will you help me look for some?"

He snorted. "Absolutely not. I know what you're doing, you menace. Quit stalling and tell me why you are here."

She gnawed on her lower lip. "Miss Nina is really angry. I feel sorry for it, I was the one who told Daria about the Fir Cone Sprites. And now Lady Justyna is chiding her for it."

"Hm. And you got off with a warning."

"No." She cast one quick look at him and a blush crept up her cheeks. "She told me to go speak to Jaskier. And explain why I dirtied the dress he gifted me."

"And did you?"

She shook her head.

"You should go to him. It will only get worse if you wait."

She didn't answer.

He crouched down to be at her level. "You told me. What's the difference?"

She frowned and for a moment Geralt's heart beat faster. Of course, there was a difference. There was no reason to think there wasn't. But the words were out there already, so he had to roll with it: "You know he likes fun. He did all kinds of crazy things when he was young," he tried to reassure her. 'He still does. We're in the middle of one.'

"I'm not scared he'll be angry," Ciri admitted finally. "I'm scared he'll be disappointed."

Geralt heaved a heavy sigh. He knew that feeling well enough. "I know he won't. Even if he is, it will only be to keep up the facade."

Her voice was scarcely more than a breath when she answered: "I don't even want him to pretend to be."

He sighed. "Would it help if I went with you?"

"Maybe?" She gifted him a quivering smile.

He stood up and took not-Roach II by the reins. "Come on, then."

She didn't move. "I wish I could ride," she sighed.

"I bet you do," he answered with a laugh. 'Not least to get away from Miss Nina.' "But you're a lady, madam, so the carriage it is."

She stared at him with large puppy dog eyes. Gods be damned, now he knew how Eskel had worked his charm on Vesemir. He hated it, too. "Can't we swap?"

He huffed a breath and messed up her hair. "Not today, cublet. Now quit stalling."

Side by side they walked over to where Jaskier, Janina and Marin were waiting with their horses. The others had walked back to the carriage already as all were getting ready to leave.

Jaskier and Janina were dressed quite similarly, he discovered, both of them equally ridiculous. Lady Janina was dressed no less frivolously than her brother, wearing a bright green cloak and black dress beneath with red gemstones. It was part of a joke he didn't understand, no doubt. 

Jaskier was petting Pegasus lost in thought when Geralt cleared his throat. Despite Geralt's initial doubts, Jaskier was quite good with Pegasus, as he demonstrated since their departure. They all turned to them. Jaskier gasped. "Great gods have mercy, cublet! What happened to you?"

She looked at her feet sheepishly. "Daria and I went looking for Fir Cone Sprites."

"Fir Cone Sprites," Jaskier huffed angrily as if that was the most audacious thing he had heard in years. "Did you find any, at least?"

"No." After a short pause she added: "I'm sorry I dirtied the dress."

"No, no, none of that, dear child. It truly is outrageous that you have found not a single one. Geralt, I believe you must teach them to track."

Janina clicked her tongue in disapproval. "Julian, do you really think that's what you should be worried about right now?"

"Oh, absolutely. Not found a single Fir Cone Sprite, can you believe that, Janka?"

Marin snickered. 

"Julek!" Janina scolded. Jaskier shot her a pleading look. "No, I can't believe it either," she gave in. "Truly, child, you should chastise your teacher for his failings."

"Oh, maybe we should teach her. What do you say, Janina? Get Justyna in the boat and we'll have a search party."

She sighed. "Fine."

Jaskier turned to Ciri with a triumphant smile on his face. It didn't take long for the cublet to reciprocate. "Better get back to the carriage and tell Daria and Julek about it."

"I'll take her," Geralt offered and took Ciri by the hand as she was skipping along. "Now, that went better than expected."

She nodded excitedly. "It did." Suddenly, she grew serious. "Do you think we'll be able to eat together again? I miss you during the mealtimes."

"Hmm," Geralt answered. "We'll see." He missed her, too, if he was honest. But Jaskier had excused him from the table and he knew enough about nobles that such a dismissal was synonymous with a sacking.

Still, guilt gnawed at him. He felt responsible for her and he cared about her greatly—so much it often terrified him.

She was his child surprise, and while that might be like having a daughter of his own, it didn't mean she had to see him as a parental figure too, he had to keep reminding himself. No matter how much Vesemir was the closest he or any of his brothers had to a parent, it probably wouldn't be the same for Ciri. The Princess had had a true family, much longer than either he, or Eskel, or Lambert could claim to. It was also why he had hesitated so long to fetch her.

She'd had parents, at first, and a grandmother and a grandfather later. Her life came with all the comforts money, fear, and power could buy. She was sheltered, warm, and loved. What had a witcher to offer her besides shivering nights next to campfires and hate directed to a mutant devoid of any emotion? That was no life and he had nothing else to spare.

But it wasn't so much his neglect of the affection he felt he owed her; more so her straying along others that had kept her from his side. Not that he could fault her for it.

"Geralt!" Marin called to him. He sighed. He knew it was high time for them to continue their journey.

When he looked back at her, she stared at him with wide eyes. "Geralt," she whispered, "do you love him?"

"I—what?" he spluttered. "No! No. I do not."

"Then why did he kiss you?" She frowned. "My grandmother and grandfather used to kiss each other a lot and it was because they loved each other. And I know some people need to pretend to be in love because they married. Like Jaskier and Lady Alina. But you and Marin are not, right?"

"No, we aren't." Normally he had no problem keeping his emotions in check, but he could feel a blush creep up his cheeks. 

"Geralt!" Jaskier called now, too.

"I'll explain it to you, but not right now," he promised and pulled himself into the saddle. "Go back to the carriage." He watched until his child surprise vanished inside, then guided not-Roach II back to the head of the column.

Geralt quickly caught up to Marin who looked at him bemusedly. "What’s got you so flustered?"

"Now it's definitely no more kissing in public," he hissed. After that first embarrassing escapade at the breakfast table, he had been quite adamant about setting some boundaries. Not staying the night was one of them, and if Geralt hadn't been convinced on the no-kissing policy earlier, he was now.

"Sure." Marin shrugged. "Why?"

"Because Fiona saw you and asked why. I am not ready for that conversation," he mumbled, still deeply embarrassed. He vividly remembered Vesemir giving Eskel and him a very similar talk, unbeknownst to the poor man that they had already found out what their dicks were for. That time he hadn't had to do the talking, at least.

Marin blinked at him for a few moments. Then he broke out in bellowing laughter, doubling over in his saddle wheezing. It even extracted a chuckle from Geralt.

A quiet huff came  from in front of them. "Are you quite done, yet?" Jaskier asked, annoyed.

"Yes, my lord," Marin answered, struggling to stifle his laughter. The only answer Jaskier dignified that with was kicking Pegasus into a trot.

The rest of their journey they passed in relative silence, only interrupted by the occasional peal of laughter by either Marin and Geralt or the carriage.

Only when the city walls appeared on the horizon, did Jaskier break the quiet. Pegasus fell in step next to not-Roach. "You should go and ride forth to greet your husband," he hissed, too quiet for any human to hear.

She gave a heavy sigh. "Oh really?" The sarcasm was enough that Geralt could feel her eye roll. "You don't say. You see, I'm not exactly eager to get back here."

"I know. But do you have to flaunt it like this?"

"Yes. Yes, I absolutely do. This is my home. Back off, Julian." 

Grumbling, the Viscount brought a bit more distance between him and his sister. Surprisingly, he didn't utter a single complaint after that; not when he swooped his cloak over his shoulder, brandishing the ceremonial sword; not when the city guard made a move to stop them before seeing Janina and bowing deeply;not when the gates finally opened for them. And certainly not when they entered the narrow streets of Goldfurt.

With the first hoofbeat on cobblestone Geralt tensed up immediately. For the first time in his entire life he longed to wear his sword at his side instead of his back. Gripping its hilt would definitely add to his menacing scowl.

He hated cities. The fact that they were headed straight towards the castle didn't make it any better. He suppressed an irritated growl, wishing he had taken Ciri up on her earlier offer to trade places. 

Geralt disliked towns for a lot of reasons. They were loud and stinky, and altogether they irritated his senses a lot. And they were prejudiced. Maybe not in the way the countryside was, but in rural areas he was at least a necessary annoyance. In cities he was just that: an annoyance. But most of all, he felt out of place. He felt even more out of place riding at the front of a procession that paraded the Viscount de Lettenhove around for everyone to see.

Marin moved his horse a bit closer to him. "Relax," he hissed, "they're not staring at you, they're staring at him. He needs to show off his new station and status."

Geralt growled darkly. He had a suspicion that by station and status what he really meant was 'currently unmarried and up for grabs'. The thought sat uncomfortably with him.

"You don't like it."

"Not one bloody bit," he spat out.

"It'll be over soon. Keep your head up high until then and keep glowering, then nobody will touch him for sure."

So Geralt did. He glowered at everyone in sight. At the liveried servants and velvet-clothed merchants, at silk-clad maidens and lace-shrouded widows. But most of all he glowered at Jaskier himself. As if that could make the blank expression on his face go away.

In the end, it did, but only to darken to a terrifying scowl when they found the courtyard of Goldfurt Castle deserted. He could practically feel the temperature drop as the expression on the Pankratz siblings' faces grew icy.

"I can't believe you wanted to come back here," Jaskier whispered to Janina, too quiet for anyone but her and Geralt to hear.

"I didn't," she replied just as quietly, "and now I remember why." She took a shuddering breath and sat up straighter in her saddle. "Well," she said louder, "it is good to be home. Is no-one present who might assist their lady in her homecoming?"

As if through magic a gaggle of servants manifested on the far end of the courtyard. They hurried over to hold their reins and offer them stepladders to dismount gracefully, and held the carriage door open as well. Justyna stepped out, and surely the others as well, but Geralt paid them no mind.

Even as he untied his satchel from the saddle, his gaze was transfixed firmly on Jaskier and the strained expression on his face. 'Please,' his mind begged, although he did not know for what. 'Please.'

Ciri was helped out of the carriage, too, looking rather lost before hurrying to Jaskier's side. Geralt wished once more he could trade places with her, only that he could soothe his child surprise.

'And Jaskier,' his mind supplied unhelpfully. The Viscount was fidgeting again, and there was a slight tremor to his feet. Geralt knew that to be particularly worrying. It meant that Jaskier was either about to fill his senses with alcohol, fuck his energy away, or punch someone. 'Or he could break down.' He couldn't even decide which was the worst option.

The last was the most gut-wrenching, though. It didn't happen often, but often enough for him to notice a pattern. Restlessness was common enough for Jaskier, but combined with anxiety it almost always ended badly. Jaskier would then do his best and try to get the energy out of his body, and from there, there were only two ways to go: either he wouldn't succeed and at one point his mind would burst with all the excess thoughts to come streaking down his cheeks in the form of tears.

Or, he would succeed, and that was even worse. Sometimes nothing happened after that, but most of the time what Geralt called 'The Numbness' followed. A couple of hours, days, or weeks Jaskier would be completely empty, the gaze in his eyes hollow and unfocused, while his empty interior seemed to fill up with every sensation around them. On those days he seemed almost as perceptive as a witcher, his mind reacting to the quietest of sounds. Much less focused and refined, of course. But then the worst part came, and that was when Jaskier's mind was finally filled to the brim. Geralt could always tell when that happened, for Jaskier's smile died on his face and the stink of vinegar, misery, and something else that smelled like candle wax he could never put a name to, wafted off him in horrible waves.

Most other people didn't notice, of course. To them the bard seemed just as cheery as always. Geralt did, though. He would then try to gently pry Jaskier away from the crowd, to get him somewhere private and do for him whatever Jaskier allowed him to. It was never much. But eventually they would both fall asleep only to wake in the night to the sound of Jaskier's quiet sobs. Geralt would pretend he wasn't listening and Jaskier would pretend he wasn't aware.

Jaskier snorted and muttered something unintelligible under his breath. Janina took his hand and squeezed it once; it was a strangely intimate gesture for the warring siblings. "Come." She let go again and gathered her skirts to climb the grand staircase that led to the main entrance. "Time to greet my beloved husband."

Geralt didn't know much about the pomp and panoply of the wealthy, but even he noticed that Goldfurt was significantly more luxurious than Lettenhove. Where Jaskier's home was a keep at best, this was a palace with all the opulence that demanded. Janina had definitely married above her station.

Somehow, it was her who fit the least into that excess. She didn't wear shimmering silks and satins like Jaskier, or a multitude of petticoats like Józefa. And he definitely couldn't imagine her with glittering bejewelled hands like Justyna. In comparison to them she dressed almost modestly.

Still, the air of self-importance with which she carried herself left no doubt as to who was in charge. "No," she ordered the servants sharply when they wanted to get the door for her. She shouldered past them and threw the gullwing doors herself.

Three men sat at a table in Goldfurt's Great Hall, although one was hardly more than a boy. "Filip," Janina said icily and they all froze. "Lord Damian. Dominik. I see you're enjoying yourselves."

The man at the top end sighed and stood up. "Janina," Filip Firkalt of Goldfurt greeted his wife, "we did not expect you so soon."

"Then our guards are slow and lazy. You should replace them."

His lips quirked to the tiniest of polite smiles. "Of course." His eyes passed to the rest of the party. "I see you have brought the rest of our family. Julian Pankratz!" He spread his arms to pull him into a brotherly hug. "What a surprise, Lord Lettenhove. Honestly, I thought I'd seen the last of you after you got abducted by a witcher."

"I'm sorry to disappoint.,” Jaskier said with a light voice. "Alas, Lettenhove won't pass to my sisters after all."

"I see you're still the snot-nosed brat that got sent off to Oxenfurt.”

"Not quite, my lord. If nothing else, I did learn to use a handkerchief in the past twenty years."

The joke coaxed a laugh from the other man. He rose to his feet and the boy was quick to follow. "And honed your silver tongue, I see," Lord Kerton said. "As sharp as any dagger."

"Good brother! I've been dying to see you again." This time Jaskier did spread his arms for his approaching brother-in-law and hugged him.

"Julian. It's been quite a while. Have you met Dominik yet, my son and heir?"

"I have not." He nodded sharply. "My lord."

"Uncle." The boy's voice cracked as he bowed obediently. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Lord Lettenhove."

"As am I. I apologise for my prolonged absence from your life." He gifted his brother-in-law and icy smile. "Justyna's told me so much about Kerton, I'm sure we have a lot to talk about. After your joyous reunion, of course."

"Joyous indeed," Kerton muttered and slouched off to greet his wife. Daria and Julek bowed stiffly before their father and elder brother. There was no warmth on Justyna's face and even Daria's ever-present grin vanished as soon as she noticed her mother's rigid expression. Geralt hated it.

Before a snarl could disfigure his face, a disgusted sneer caught his attention: "What is that?" Goldfurt demanded to know, pointing at Geralt and his dripping satchel.

Jaskier didn't hesitate to jump to his rescue: "Not what, Goldfurt, who." He said curtly and beckoned him closer. "His name is Geralt of Rivia, and he would like to be paid."

Geralt felt quite self-conscious at that. "Jaskier, we're guests," he hissed. He didn't know much about courtly etiquette but he was sure as hell that this was considered impolite.

"I do not see how that keeps them from giving you your rightful due. I think I know more about my family's inexhaustible wealth than you do," he quipped for everyone to hear. Turning to Lord Goldfurt he continued: "Thanks to him your woods are safe again."

The Count was visibly unimpressed. "We were unaware they were ever in peril."

"Well, now you know." Janina cut in, much to Geralt's surprise. "You should thank him appropriately, my lord."

He barked a laugh. "Don't be ridiculous, woman, he's a witcher! I'm surprised you let him set foot in the city at all."

"He's my brother's guest who saved my life today. If you value it, you should show your gratitude."

The expression on Goldfurt's face made clear he didn't value it at all. Still, he said: "Very well. I'll take it up with my chancellor."

Geralt closed his eyes, thanking the gods that this farce was finally over. Too soon, unfortunately. "Is that him, Julian?" Lord Kerton demanded to know. "Your white wolf?"

"He is," Jaskier agreed with a bright smile, seemingly oblivious to their insult as he wrapped an arm around Geralt's shoulders. "My lords, may I present: the witcher, Geralt of Rivia, the white wolf and my very best friend in the whole wide world."

The words, once uttered so carelessly, made Geralt's gut churn now. 'It's all an act with nobles,' he reminded himself. And right now, he himself was nothing more than a strategically placed pawn.

"Friend, huh?" Goldfurt laughed and the others joined in, too. "Well, I suppose it's true. They do call dogs man's best friend after all."

Geralt looked at Jaskier pleadingly. Normally, they'd leave at this point. With some people there was just no convincing them. They were far too lost in their bigotry.

But of course, they couldn't leave. This wasn't a random noble, this was Jaskier's family and they were their guests. They would have no other choice than to suffer through banquet and ball before they could mercifully leave.

“I do not appreciate that sort of joke,” Jaskier said, his right hand flexing nervously, while his left gripped the hilt of his sword tightly. “Geralt is my witcher. He's my friend, my sword, and shield, so I advise you to watch your mouth." 

"Careful, Pankratz," Goldfurt said bemusedly. "Are you really willing to break my castle peace for a mutant?"

"Yes."

'Fuck.' He knew what would happen next. Next, he would have to drag a kicking and screaming bard out of town, followed by guards with halberds and peasants with pitchforks because the idiot punched another noble in the face.

He put his hand on his shoulder. It was all he could do to keep from grasping his flexing hand tightly. "My lord," he said quietly. "Jaskier—" That got his attention finally. He could deal with the reprimand later on. "It's been quite a day, don't you think? I'm sure your sisters and the children will be glad to retire to their chambers."

"You're right," Jaskier said hollowly. "Lord Goldfurt, I trust that you have quarters to offer for a band of weary travellers such as we are?"

"Of course we do, darling," Janina stated flatly and gestured for a servant to come over. "Lead my siblings to their chambers."

Geralt breathed a sigh of relief as they all slowly turned around to be led to their quarters—all except for Janina, whose husband had wrapped a tight arm around her waist and tried to kiss her despite her averting her face. At that moment, he almost felt pity for her.

They had made it almost to the door, when Goldfurt raised his voice again: "Oi, Pankratz! What about your pet? A rug in front of the fireplace will do, I reckon?"

Geralt wanted to keep on walking, but Jaskier whipped around before he had even time to process the words fully. "No, it won't," Jaskier answered, each word ripping through the tension like lightning. 

"What is it, Goldfurt? You flaunt your wealth for anyone to see, yet you are too stingy to provide my guest with a room for himself?"

"Don't be ridiculous.” The Count laughed, apparently oblivious to the unbridled fury he faced. “He's a witcher, his previous hosts were drowners and cockroaches, he'll be fi—"

"—And I shared them with him, so trust me when I say I'd prefer their company to yours at any time." 

The Hall was quiet enough to hear a pinprick fall. Jaskier raised his head and squared his shoulders, every inch of him emanating that arrogant air of self-importance all of his peers shared.

"A room, Goldfurt,” he commanded. “That's all I ask."

With that he turned around and Geralt followed him. The rest of their party were visibly shaken, which meant that Jaskier had seriously trespassed on some unwritten rule. He didn't care. He knew Count Goldfurt was lucky the verbal slap in the face was all he got.

[dusky-dancing]

The Prince and the Pirate - CH 2

For SoKai Week - Day 2

Story Summary: Sora finds himself far away from the walls of the Radiant Garden he's known his whole life, kidnapped by a rowdy group of pirates whose captain is as alluring as she is mysterious. What he thought was a simple hostage negotiation turns into an adventure that Sora couldn't have anticipated. He doesn't know which is worse, not knowing what's up ahead, or liking it that way.

Rating: T

Genre: Romance, Adventure, Pirate AU

Length: ~ 2k words

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Links for story navigation:

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

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"Kairi…"

He involuntarily breathed her name, and a playful smile grew across her face.

"That's my name," she nodded.

Despite the authority she obviously possessed, she remained kneeling at his eye-level. A show of acquaintance and equality. If she wasn't trying to intimidate him, then what could she possibly be after? Maybe she didn't want anything malicious from him, and this was nothing more than a hostage-for-money negotiation.

Or maybe it was all intentional. Nothing more than a trick, a warm and smiling cover to weaken his defenses.

"Who are you all?" he asked. "What do you want? Why me?"

"All questions I will answer in due time," she said. "What do you say we move this conversation somewhere more comfortable?"

"What, you have a cushier prison cell?"

She laughed, "Do you want to remain a prisoner?" Before he could respond, she turned to her two subordinates. "Take him to my quarters."

They both turned in surprise. "But captain-"

"It'll be fine," she nodded.

It wasn't until they hoisted him up, hands still tied behind his back, that she herself stood and led the march up the stairs. Her graceful steps didn't cause a stir from the worn wooden steps, but they creaked endlessly under every other boot.

"Don't try anything funny," Jessie mumbled in his ear.

Biggs laughed. "Where's he gonna go anyways? Swim all the way back?"

Clear blue skies soon greeted them, and the ocean air hit him in full force, not that the sensation was unwelcome.

Though Sora knew what a pirate ship was supposed to look like from stories, the true scale of a pirate ship surprised him. He craned his neck in order to see the sails, and even then he couldn't find the top of the mast from his position. The creaking and groaning of the ship were drowned out by the crew's work on the deck and the wind flapping the white sails.

All active work within Sora's eyesight, however, ceased once he emerged from his makeshift prison cell. He felt their eyes on him. Eyes of strangers, possibly more of his assailants. The bright sunlight kept him from taking in too many of their details, but he made out another woman and a few other men of varying sizes.

Sora must have been standing frozen for too long, because Biggs pushed him along. To the back of the ship they walked, where large wooden double doors stood decorated with plain glass. The Captain's quarters, where Kairi wanted to talk. Alone.

More questions clouded his mind as she pulled open both doors and disappeared into the room. It was comparatively dark inside, much easier on the eyes than the raw sunlight he'd just endured.

The room resembled less of a captain's living quarters than a decorative dining room. A single large table stood in the very center, enough to seat a dozen people. Various shelves, plants, and decorations filled the room comfortably, but Sora found himself too distracted to notice their details. The woman who'd ordered his kidnapping stood opposite of him, framed by a large glass window that put the entire ocean on display for him.

Again, she never held herself too high or with too much authority. Everything about her welcoming posture seemed intentional yet natural.

Biggs secured Sora in the chair across from her and left. Not a moment after her door closed did he begin unleashing his thoughts.

"What do you want? Why me? Is it money? Resources? Do you have any idea who you're messing with?"

Kairi held her hand up calmly. If his bombardment of questions annoyed her, she didn't show. Her dress pooled around her hips as she slowly took her seat opposite of him.

"Money is of no interest to me. I chose you, Sora, because you're the only one who can help me. Help us." She gestured around her whole ship.

"How?" he asked.

"I know who you are, Sora," she smiled. "You're the key to our success."

Her subtle emphasis on the word 'key' sent a shiver up his spine. It'd been years since he'd publicly called upon his abilities. His father had done well to keep them a secret from the outside world, but it was inevitable that someone, either the dark forces that plagued the seas or a hiring mercenary group, would find him eventually. The woman before him seemed to occupy the later group, though her methods were a bit more forceful than that of a simple business negotiation. On the off chance she belonged to the former motive, however, he instinctively scooted back. His hand twitched within his restraints.

"Don't be afraid." She said, and he was inclined to believe her despite his earlier instincts. "Our goal is for the good of everyone who lives on the ocean. You must understand that some missions don't allow the luxury of asking for help."

"What's this goal?" He thought back to rumors he'd heard within the kingdom. "Is this about the monsters in the ocean?"

She hummed, placing a finger over her lips. "I'll tell you more when we arrive at our destination, I promise."

Sora relaxed a bit in his chair, taking his eyes off of the woman before him to examine her quarters. Like the rest of the ship, the room had been carved entirely from wood, though its polish was much finer than his previous holding place. Naturally, the large window framed so intricately behind her drew his attention first. Scattered among the many shelves were various trinkets: a jewelry box, carved or sculpted animal figurines, atleast half-a-dozen plants he didn't recognize, nothing violent or overly extravagant. A small desk facing the window held an open ink well and dozens of papers secured under a large seashell weight. A discreet door off to the side likely led to her bed chamber.

The way natural light reflected off of the crystal chandelier above them made the chamber appear much brighter. It was...welcoming.

"So if I'm joining you on this secret mission, do I get a cool pirate code name? Or a pirate hat?"

He turned back to her, only to find her patience waning.

"This is serious, Sora," her eyes narrowed. "If you're to treat this like a fairytale, then it is clear you're not ready to know what we're after."

"I won't have to know," he said, "because the navy will find me first. They've got the fastest ships, you know."

Impatience gave way to a playful smirk as she leaned forward and rested her chin on her fingers. "Your naive overconfidence precedes you, Sora, but I wouldn't worry about them," she winked. "We've got a couple of tricks up our sleeves."

Sora sensed the pleasant tone leaving their conversation. "Don't hurt anyone," he pleaded. "We haven't done anything wrong to you."

"Relax, Sora. Our tricks are evasive, not confrontational. We won't hurt anyone who doesn't get in our way."

"And if I get in your way?" He smirked.

A soft playful smile pulled at her lips. "You are our way, Sora. None of this can be done without you."

Sora avoided her gaze. He was inclined to believe her again, though he didn't have much of a choice.

"What about after? When I've helped you with whatever this quest is."

"Well, we can return you safely to your castle be long gone before anyone notices. But I sense we won't be doing that, Sora."

"Why not?"

"Because I think you're not satisfied as being a trophy for your king, playing a hero prince but with nothing heroic to fight for." She leaned forward intently. "I understand, because I too have a gift."

Sora straightened, his heart stuttering. "You mean-" he looked to her hands, picturing her wielding a magical sword herself. It would explain why she hadn't carried one on her hip like the rest of her crew. "I thought I was the only one."

She shook her head and laughed, "You are one of a kind, Sora, that much is true. While your gift is more combative, mine is more…" she glanced to the side in thought, "elemental in nature."

Sora remained still, taking her and her words in. Even if their magic was the same, to meet another with an unnatural gift felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. Perhaps that was why he'd been drawn to her from the start, how she'd found him in the first place. Had she been like him, kept within the confines of some kingdom or government, or used as a show of power?

He relaxed in his seat before meeting her gaze again. She watched him, waiting for an answer or a reaction.

"Well," he said, "you can't just drop that bomb on me without atleast showing me."

Her smile brightened. "I was beginning to fear you'd never ask." She then rose from her seat, made her way to the door, and gestured outside. "You'll see soon enough."

At her command, Biggs stepped through the doorway and lifted Sora to his feet.

"Is this really still necessary?" Sora asked. He looked towards Kairi, sure that she'd order his hands freed, but she'd already made her way to the deck.

"For now, it is," the man said as he led him along.

On the upper layer of the deck where the helmsman was positioned, The full size of the ship revealed itself. About half-a-dozen crew members, both men and women, worked away all around the deck. Sora's eyes followed the central mast to the crow's nest, where another man focussed through a looking glass out to sea.

"Are we all set, helmsman Wedge?" Kairi asked, though it was more of an affirmation than a question.

"Aye, Captain," the man nodded.

Just on cue, the man in the crow's nest shouted, "Captain! Kingdom ships in sight!"

She quickly shot Sora a knowing glance. "I guess you weren't bluffing about your navy." Her playful smile and wonder-filled eyes held no hint of fear or worry. "What say you to a little demonstration?"

Every crew member around them jumped, and they soon filled the air with excited cheers. Biggs patted Sora's back and said, "This never gets old."

Kairi made her way to the railing that separated the two levels of the deck. Meanwhile, several crew members began loosening the lines to close the sails.

"Wait," Sora said. "I don't know anything about sailing, but aren't you supposed to, you know," he gestured wide with his hands, "expand the sails to move quickly."

Jessie joined his other side. "Aye," she said and held up a finger, "if you're using the wind to move."

Sora raised an eyebrow. "But what else would you-"

His voice caught in his throat when a sudden swell in the gentle waves rocked the ship with more force than usual. After catching his balance, his attention turned back to Kairi.

She stood tall with her hands outstretched to either side, palms facing up. Her eyes remained closed, but the rest of her face expressed pure bliss. The waves seemed to follow the direction of her hands, and Sora thought he'd begun to understand her gift.

Mine is more...elemental in nature,

When the ocean felt calm and steady, she slowly brought her palms forward. Sora was too mesmerized to notice the rest of the crew bracing against whatever they could hold onto.

In one fluid motion, not unlike the very waves she commanded, she thrust her arms behind her, and Sora went flying onto his back.

The sudden speed of the ship would've sent Sora back into the captain's quarters if it weren't for Biggs and Jessie stopping him. The embarrassment tempted him to stay hidden and red-faced, but his newfound fascination with the captain won out. He stood to look over the side, and sure enough the navy ship pursuing them was now a shrinking form on the horizon.

Kairi was focussed, though he swore she shot him a side-eye smirk. Jessie stepped in his way and broke the trance.

"Okay, newbie, enough staring. Let's put you to work?"

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A/N: Thank you for reading! We've reached day 2 of SoKai Week, and I hope you're enjoying it so far.

Kairi's design, abilities, and motivation were inspired from a number characters, including Avantika from Critical Role, Captain Amelia from Treasure Planet, and the historical Irish figure Gráinne Ní Mháille (Grace O'Malley), 'The Pirate Queen'.

[pagiecakewritesstuff]

Falling in love (Arno Dorian x reader)

Summary: Just a little one-shot about Arno falling in love with you... literally. 

Warnings: little angst but nothing more

Arno was fast. Probably one of the fastest assassin in the french creed. But he was also reckless, pushing his luck with bigger and bigger jumps. Miraculously you never once saw him with a broken bone, not even a bruise. Either he was exceptionally talented or very lucky.

Until that one day.

The frenchman went on a solo mission. His task was rather easy. Assassinate the target and then go back to the base. Nothing hard, he thought, and he was right. His target wasn't strong or heavily armed. Arno got to him quickly. However, nobody seemed to inform him about the half dozen guards who were about to kill him. Fleeing was his only option.

But at the outer districts of Paris that wasn't easy. The roofs were further away from each other, but the buildings were almost as tall as he got used to. He only realized that after one particular jump.  

He ran towards the edge of the roof, continuously looking back, searching for templars with his eagle vision. Arno had no time to think about how impossible the jump that he wanted to attempt.  A dirty canal between the buildings made the distance bigger. But stopping only would've meant that the guards reach him within a second. So he jumped.

For moments it seemed like a good idea. That window was soo close, a great hiding spot for the assassin. He almost caught it, but his fingers merely brushed the ledge. And there was nothing under him to cushion his fall. Hardly reaching the ground he heard a loud crack and felt a stinging pain in his right leg. Arno almost couldn't hold back his painful shouts. Knowing that the templars can reach him at any moment he crawled towards the canal. He couldn't stand up, he tried but he couldn't. That made him a bit scared.

Arno got to the canal just in time, ungracefully descending into the water. At least it was shallow. Above his head, the guards run by, not understanding how he got away that fast. The assassin finally could take a look at his wounds. He cut open his trousers with the help of his hidden blade, revealing a big area of bruised, black, swollen skin. It was definitely broken.

"Merde..." The frenchman cursed silently. "No way that I can go home like this." He attempted getting on his feet again, failing miserably. He had to wait for somebody to come and save him.

Its been almost two days since Arno left, you couldn't stop wondering about what happened. His task was fairly easy, he should've come back a long time ago. You were concerned, he never done something like this before. Also the two of you came close in the past few months, however, he looked like he only wanted a solid friendship from you, that didn't stop you to fall for him. Asking the council about the location of his mission you headed to the outer city of Paris. After some interviewing, you knew that somebody did die here by the hands of a mysterious hooded figure. But where the killer went, nobody could tell. It happened at night.

You almost gave up when walking along a wide canal you discovered a body of a man, lying in the water. He wore a blue hood and carried a sword.

"Arno? " Not believing your eyes, you jumped down into the dirty water. "Arno!"

He seemed to be unconscious, almost dead, but to your words, his eyelids fluttered.

"(y/n)?" His voice was raspy, dry.

"What happened to you? I thought you died or worse!" That's when you discovered his bruised leg, in an awkward pose. "How did you do this to yourself?"

"I fell." Pointing to the tall building below the two of you he answered the question. "From there."

"No man would've been able to make a jump that big. What were you thinking?" Realizing, scolding him wouldn't help the situation you took a few deep breaths to calm yourself. "I have to get you back to the base."

"I think I must inform you that I can't walk."

You looked at his leg again. It was definitely broken if he's not lucky enough an injury like this possibly could end his career as an assassin.

"We have to try. I'll catch a carriage for us when I see one." You promised him, then climbed back to the street level. "But now I have to pull you out from there. Why did you jump down into the canal in the first place?"

A faint smile crossed Arno's features. He was delirious, mainly because of the medicines he took to ease his pain.  

"I had to hide, the canal was close."

"Well, if you have any open cuts those are probably infected by now, this water is full of dirt."

"Je connais."

As gently as you could you grabbed his robes, hauling him up next to you. Only a small yelp escaped his mouth, other than that Arno kept his emotions at bay. Standing up was rather hard, but leaning on you he managed to keep his balance. He almost blacked out, with you barely being able to hold his weight. Looked like that the painkillers weren't effective enough, they made him sleepy but nothing more.

"Concentrate, because if you fall I don't think I'll be able to catch you." You warned him. Arno answered with a slow nod while limping next to you.

Finding a carriage was harder than you thought. By the time you reached the river, you still walked on foot. The medicine in Arno's body started to wear off, making him tremble in pain.

"Stop." He pleaded... again.

"Arno we literally just did that ten minutes ago!" You were annoyed and tired but laid him down to the ground nonetheless. The two of you were struggling along the riverbank for an hour at least.

"You should leave me." Arno's expression was pained, it looked like he already gave up. He knew well that an injury like this could demand his job as an assassin. No more missions, no more sunsets with you on top of the Notre Dame. He wasn't ready for that life.

"No way, I'm not leaving you." Glancing around you spotted a few boats nearby. You were way below the street level, nobody would notice you taking one. "I got a ride for ourselves."

"What? A carriage?" Arno was genuinely surprised since he saw nothing that would've been suitable for travel.

"We are going to use a boat." You helped up the male assassin and got closer to the water.

"Are you sure that this is a good idea?"

"I'm not, but if you don't fall into the water and drown nothing bad will happen."

"Génial..." Arno sat in the boat awkwardly, the uneven movements of the river made him nervous. He was a good swimmer, but not in his current state. Climbing next to him you cut the ropes and headed to the base. Traveling that way was faster than limping through the city, so by the evening, you reached your destination. Two assassins waited for your arrival, they pulled the boat to the shore and then helped Arno to get inside.  He had some problem at the stairs, leaning on the novices, completely guided by them. You headed to your chambers, knowing that Arno wouldn't want you to see him weak while he getting his leg fixed. He was a master assassin, after all, let him keep some of his dignity after a fail like that. You'll visit him the next day, but for now, you needed a bath and some sleep. A lot of sleep actually...

You woke up with the rising sun. First, you couldn't quite recall what happened last afternoon, but after a couple of seconds, you remembered. Visit Arno, that was the main point of the day, everything came later. Gathering your (f/c) colored gear, you changed clothes then left your chambers. Arno was probably in the medical area still. You hoped he didn't need to pay too much for his injury that he could have prevented.

After asking one of the nurses where your friend could be located, you entered the right room inside the medical area.

"How are you holding up?" You looked at Arno, who laid motionlessly in his bed, his broken leg between two wood boards to keep the bones in the right place until they heal.

"I've been better." He answered with a light smile playing on his lips.

"Will you be able to climb again?"

"If I lay here for three months without moving an inch."

"Mon Dieu..."

"It's not that bad, after all, we can spend a great amount of time together if you like me oh so much, as I hear." Arno's smile only grew bigger as he looked at you dead in the eye.

"Who told you?" You froze in place.

"I figured."

"And... do you feel the same?"

"I think... I just fell in love. Quite literally." Then he grabbed your wrist and pulled you close to plant a small kiss on your lips.  

[looking-for-wisdom]

Bleeding Hearts (chapter one)

a/n: this was a fic I did for the @grishaversebigbang! It ended up being roughly 33,000 words, the longest fic I’ve ever written. I loved participating in this event and working with my gang as well as the tides :)

Corporalki: @villainofthepiece​, @dregstrash 

Materialki: @bucumber​ X, @koelsong​ X [art may contain spoilers]

Summary:   Zoya has spent her life learning to survive a world of fairy tales. She knows better to rely on wishes and fate; those things only protected the nice girls, the ones all the stories were about. She was used to doing whatever gruesome task was needed to get by, but now, with her aunt’s life on the line, she has finally met a monster she’s struggling to beat. A monster that comes in the shape of a kind prince she can’t help to grow attached to. 

But that’s always been the case. The monsters are what you find when happiness is just within reach. But she’s strong and she won’t falter— she’ll do what’s needed, as she always has before, to save the only good woman she’s ever known. Even if it means plunging a knife into the heart of the first man she’s ever loved. Even if it means becoming a monster herself.

Ao3 Link: Bleeding Hearts

(chapter one under the cut)

What becomes of the girls whose parents do not teach them unwavering kindness and whose fairy godmothers are not magic enough to keep them from harm? What becomes of the girls the slipper doesn’t fit and the prince does not steal away from drowning in cruelty? There is no happy ending promised at the close of their story. So they learn, learn to swim through the abuse and lift a sword themselves, lest they become another maggot filled body in the graveyard.

Zoya had read the kind of stories where young women overcame their evil stepmothers with their obedience and compassion. Unfortunately, Zoya had no stepmother, just one horrible regular mother who had birthed her and spent every moment after shaping her daughter into an equally horrible side character in someone else’s story. It wasn’t that she was immune to draw of fairy tales and their promises of futures with a prince who called her lovely, but not every girl had that in her cards. Zoya glanced over the hand she’d been dealt. She was not sweet or innocent enough to be the damsel in distress. The game of fate was rigged— with every girl who was saved from misery a hundred others suffered in her stead. 

Shivering but far too afraid to risk asking her mother for a place by the fire, the childish part of her hoped. Winter’s might be less harsh if she was not so alone and unloved. But compassion was a rationed resource, like medicine and wheat. It might have been nice to have, but girls with no one to fight for them had to choose their battles, and unlike bread, kindness didn’t keep her alive. 

Sabina Garin had been wealthy once, many years ago, and like most who had never seen sacrifice, she underestimated its sting. It was easy to be fearless when one had never felt real fear in the first place. 

When her father had passed his inheritance had been split equally between his two daughters. Lilyana, the eldest sister had invested in a plot of land at the edge of town where she kept a small garden and a chicken coop. She built a home there, selling vegetables and eggs in town when she was in need of money, and she was happy. 

With her own cut, Sabina enjoyed the same luxuries she had in her youth. Seeing no appeal in farm work the way her sister did she resided in the house that had belonged to her father. At nineteen she married a handsome man with nothing to his name but a winning smile, and for a while, she was happy as well. At least, until the debt hit. 

Marriage for love is an appealing prospect, but the stories never talk about the bloody endings. No one mentions the way he yells when the money runs out. No one mentions the way she hoards the few jewels she has left because they’re the only thing that makes her feel like herself. No one mentions when the house is taken and she’s bloated and raging from the parasite inside her but he is nowhere to be found.

Sabina’s episodes began not long into her pregnancy. With no trace of her husband and no place to stay but an abandoned stone cottage at the edge of town it wasn’t long before she became unpredictable. It was a miracle that the child made it to its due date in the first place, though one could say it would be the first of many times Lilyana Garin would come to her niece’s aid. 

She had offered her sister help on many occasions, but Sabina had repeatedly refused Lilyana’s generosity. Pride, after all, was the only thing she had left. When Sabina became a danger to herself, however, the older daughter could stay away no longer. Though Sabina had no way of paying the housemaid who had worked for her father, Lilyana ensured she stayed the nine months until the child’s birth, hiding knives from the expecting mother and restraining her hands when she desperately clawed at her body until the skin was nearly gone. For months Lilyana held her breath, praying that her sister might be stabilized and the child would survive. 

And against all odds, her prayers were answered. 

The midwife said the birth went by with relative ease. The mother and child both handled the process exceptionally well. The only oddity was when she asked the mother for a name. Sabina had only sneered. “Call it what you will. It makes no difference to me.”

For the sake of simplicity, the midwife had given the child a placeholder name of sorts, at least until her mother came to her senses. She’d call her Zoya, just until Sabina saw fit to name the girl herself. 

She never did. 

So perhaps if it had been Zoya’s mother who fell ill, she wouldn’t have agreed to the witch’s terms. She couldn’t have cared less for her absentee mother, but when a letter reached Os Alta it brought news of the closest thing to family she’d ever had. 

Her young cousin, Lada, had written of her mother’s condition-- Lilyana had grown feverish and weak. The town’s medics estimated she had two weeks to live.

Desperation had a strange way of sending people deep into the woods where good, honest people lost their morals somewhere in the darkness. It had a way of turning skeptics into the arms of witches. But when it came to saving Lilyana’s life, nothing was too high a cost. Kill the prince. Carve out his heart and leave his body bleeding on the floor. Zoya wasn’t a killer, but a few towns away one of the few good people left in the world was dying. Zoya would have given her soul away a thousand times if Lilyana lived. 

The main square of town jittered with anticipation. The feeling filled Zoya’s chest, clamping down on her lungs and stealing away her breath. Gossip was sweet on the lips of housewives and young maidens, like the juice of an apple after taking a bite. Zoya was no fool; she knew what was on their minds. A few months earlier, the young prince Nikolai had proposed-- but not to a distant princess or nobleman's daughter. He’d given the ring to an orphan girl with no prospects or riches. Faces lit with hope and perhaps a bit of envy whenever they spoke of the prince’s fiance. She’d been from a town just carriage rides away from Os Alta. It could have been any of them. But yesterday, news had come that the girl had left Os Alta for good, leaving the promises of riches and romance behind her. Not a single person could figure out why. 

She’d been given a shot at a storybook ending. Zoya wasn’t gullible enough to believe her life would have been perfect, but when she thought of what her own future held, even she couldn’t help a pang of irritation. She would have taken wealth in a heartbeat over her fate. She shifted the basket she carried up onto her shoulder, the weight of it exhausting her arm at a rapid pace. With her other hand she lifted her skirts in a futile attempt to keep the mud from seeping into the fabric as it dragged along the ground. As she walked she overheard elated conversations.

“They say she was beautiful-- hair like starlight and a smile like the sun. It’s surreal, honestly, that some everyday girl won over a prince. She must be quite something,” said a girl she’d met only in passing, to a young blonde woman at the baker’s stand. Then, with a cheeky smile, added, “Maybe I'll find myself a princess soon with my winning looks.” 

Across the way a middle aged woman shared her own thoughts on the matter with her daughter. “Perhaps if you spent less time fooling around that could have been us! We’d have been rich, you idiotic girl!—”

Despite herself, Zoya felt a familiar chill go down her back.

Tiny people, wrapped up in their tiny lives, bound to accomplish tiny things. For perhaps the first time ever Zoya envied them. At the end of the city’s main road, after dozens of wooden merchant stands and civilians homes, were the woods. Travel in Ravka was unavoidable, but most families stuck within the cities borders as much as possible. The forests on the outskirts of town were places of darkness and witchcraft beyond the understanding of the standard civilian. However, there were ways to make navigating the woods less dangerous. Old wives tales said to carry black tea leaves in one’s left shoe or bury a lock of hair in the dirt before beginning your journey. Most nonbelievers opted for a professional guide. 

Zoya had no guide as she found her way between the brush and trees, though, nor was her shoe supplied with tea leaves. Her travels through the woods were not a situation of point A to point B. 

Zoya intended to find a witch. 

An hour in, Zoya had acquired a multitude of new cuts up her arms from low hanging branches and nearly destroyed what was left of her skirt by snagging it on thorn coated weeds. She’d also come across at least fifteen new types of bug she’d never seen before and honestly could have gone her whole life without. Zoya had learned to hold her own against all sorts of dangers growing up in Pachina, but that didn’t make her any less disgusted by the grimes and grudge of the Ravkan forest. 

She dragged onwards, a cool sweat gathering on her forehead and regrets filling her mind. Of course— hundreds of people go missing every year without any explanation and yet the one time she goes looking for trouble the death forest decides to be a normal lot of trees. Typical. 

“Don’t know how to handle someone who doesn’t fear you? Is that it?” She called out to no one in particular. “I didn’t realize witches were such cowards.”

Or perhaps she was just a stupid child, looking for magic where it didn’t exist. Perhaps those people had simply been mauled and eaten by bears and she was the idiot trying to be the next. 

The sun passed over the sky as she became more and more hopelessly lost in a forest where she seemed to be the only inhabitant. Honestly, witches had no respect for willing customers these days. She only realized just how much time had passed when dusk began to fall. Night was coming, and she had no idea how to get back to the city. It was one thing to be in the forest during the light of day, but trapped in the darkness with no food or water was something else entirely. 

The moon shone a sickening white glare onto the black dirt floor, seeming to take all the pigment from her skin. Zoya hadn’t been afraid of the dark for many years, but there was something… off about the way the darkness felt here, as if it was alive and feeding on any sort of life. Goosebumps rose on her skin, and she tensed, waiting for something horrible but not knowing what. 

She stood, frozen, listening for any sound other than her own shallow breathing. But nothing moved, not even tree branches in the wind. She was alone. 

Which made it all the more terrifying when someone spoke. 

“What could possibly bring a lone girl to the woods at night?” said a molasses smooth voice from behind her. 

Zoya spun around and was greeted by a pale faced man with dark hair who was far too close for her to not have noticed his approach. Every instinct in her mind screamed to back up, but she forced her legs to stay in place. She would not be intimidated. She met the man’s void black eyes with a fearsome stare. “I’m searching for a witch with the kind of magic to help me,” she stated, voice like steel. “Tell me, would you fit that description?”

A sly smile curled across his face and sent a chill down her spine.

 “That depends,” he crooned, “what can you offer me in return, Zoya Nazyalensky of Pachina?”

Zoya felt a certain sort of dread sink into her chest. There was something wrong with this man-- he knew things he shouldn’t. She should have been afraid, but a morbid part of her was drawn to it. 

She wondered, despite herself, what would it be like to be him? She’d never feel small with a power like that at her disposal. She’d never be made a fool of. For a moment, the swell of her envy almost overpowered her reason, but then she thought of Lilyana. She was not here to find a way to be rid of her own weaknesses. Zoya shook the initial fog of his presence from her mind and reminded herself that for once, she would not be selfish. 

“What is it you want?” she retorted.

His smile did not falter as he considered. He slipped past her, like an ink spill with legs, so that she had to turn to keep sight of his face. Her eyebrows furrowed together in confusion as he walked away from her, but just as she was about to call out for him to stop he paused and glanced back at her. “Well?” he asked. “Are you coming?”

Her mind was empty of a response, perhaps still caught up on the absurdity of what she was doing. Her legs, thankfully, had instincts of their own and carried her forward when he began walking again so she didn’t lose sight of him in the darkness. He led her through the trees, as if he was navigating a maze for which only he had the map. As lost as she’d already felt, it was nothing compared to the lack of an internal compass she had now. The forest had consumed her completely. 

This was insane. Her mind ran rampant with possibilities as the silence between them grew longer. She’d be murdered by this demon of the woods and no one would even hear her scream as he dismembered her. She should run while she still had the chance. 

Except, if she ran Liliyana died. 

So, she kept walking. They entered a clearing of land. At the center of the plot was a looming mansion of black stone and though Zoya was no expert on the woods, she had spent the day wandering its depths and knew for certain the building had not been there before. This man’s magic was dark, but it was also powerful-- she needed powerful. The dark haired man led her to the tall doorway of the structure and held open the wooden door. “We can discuss terms inside.”

She hesitated for just a beat. This could very well be the room in which he planned to butcher her and bake her liver into a pie. She considered this man she knew nothing about and what he was offering. If there was even the smallest chance he could help her, she had to take it. 

There was no going back. She stepped through the door frame and into the home of a witch.

Whatever she had expected, this was not it. She remembered the tale of witches with homes of candy to lure in naive children. She had thought she’d see cages filled with starving creatures and cobweb covered jars holding various gruesome substances. She had thought there would be a cauldron to brew potions that would cure dying aunts. To her surprise, though, there was nothing of the sort. The floors were a sleek black tile and the walls were covered in bookcases filled to the brim with titles in languages she didn’t understand. Golden lamps hung down from the ceiling, casting a warm light onto the sleek table in the center of the room filled with well kept paper and an ink well. Tapestries of the night sky made with painstaking care hung as the rooms most prominent decor. 

If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought she’d wandered into the home of one of Ravka’s most wealthy nobles. 

She swung around to face the man, who had been observing her carefully since her first step into the room. “First things first, who exactly are you?” She asked, eyes narrowed. 

“Names are a powerful thing, Zoya,” he answered as he walked towards the desk at the center of the room. Something about the way he moved reminded her of black silk. “For now, you can call me The Darkling.”

Her lips pulled together in a tight line and placed a hand on her hips. For a moment she considered calling him out on his pretentiousness-- what kind of title was “The Darkling”-- but she restrained herself. In the grand scheme of things his name hardly mattered, and angering him didn’t strike her as the best way to get what she wanted.

He took a seat at the desk and gestured to the chair directly across from him. Smoothing her skirt as she sat down, she felt almost like she was at a business meeting in the town square and not trying to make a blood deal. “I’ve heard that magic can do things science can’t. Buildings are created without any regard for physics and wounds that normally kill are healed in a split second,” she began, an authority in her voice that she hoped hid the fact there was no real power behind it. “My aunt is ill. The doctors say there’s nothing to be done, but that is the opinion of a medic, not a magician. Can you save her?”

A certain rage sparked within her when he didn’t look her in the eye. She didn’t have the time to waste on a man who could do nothing for her. She had already lost a day to the woods, and here he sat, unimpressed and hardly listening. Part of her wanted to get up and leave right then and there if he wasn’t going to give her request the dignity it deserved, but she stayed seated, waiting. 

He spoke then. “I can,” Zoya’s breath caught half way in her throat. Hope crawled into her lungs and left no room for breath, “but it will cost you.” 

“I don’t care,” she responded, not missing a beat. “I’ll trade my life for hers, just name the price.”

He wasn’t smiling, but Zoya could almost see the grin in his eyes and felt like she’d just walked into a hunter’s snare. “I know you’re afraid of me, Zoya,” he said, and though she wanted to insist that some stranger in the woods didn’t scare her, her words fell flat, “but I have known you for much longer than you believe. Your familiar with a blade, aren’t you?”

Zoya swallowed the lump rising in her throat and nodded. When she was young she’d studied swordplay when her mother was away. Soldiers left home to begin their training at fourteen in Ravka, and for a girl whose home had been anything but stable, it had been an appealing opportunity. The issue was, the army was for men only. She’d hoped they’d see her skill and immediately make an exception, but when she was finally old enough to enlist she’d been turned away at the gate. 

How this witch knew that was beyond her. “I believe we can help one another. For you, I will not only return your aunt to health, but also give you the chance to pursue your dream,” he continued. “All I ask in return is that you rid Ravka of what is standing in our way. The Lantsov line has held this country back far too long-- I plan to lead us into the future, and I’ll need a general by my side. The only thing you need to do is get rid of the old crook’s heir.”

Zoya could barely breathe. It was all too good to be true-- first he’d claimed he could help Liliyana and then he’d promised her what she’d dreamed of since childhood.  She would have taken the deal in a heartbeat if he wasn’t asking her to commit treason in return.

“Vasily,” she breathed, but he only shook his head. 

“He’s not nearly competent enough to be a concern. Talents like yours should be spent on a real threat. The king’s second born, Nikolai, is much more clever than his brother,” said the Darkling. “I know you don’t trust me yet, but my intentions are good. You, of all people, have seen the state of this nation-- the hardship it’s people face. You and I are very similar: ambitious, strong,  and intelligent. We can change things.”

She chewed her lip and shifted in her seat, weighing the pros and cons. Zoya was many things, but she wasn’t a murderer. 

At least, not yet. 

Her rejection from the army had allowed her to keep her hands blood free until now. It wasn’t that she had any compassion for the prince, but there was nothing noble about slaughtering an unknowing victim. The honor of serving her country and protecting her people against an enemy who would kill her if she didn’t end them first was vastly different than what he was asking her to do. 

In the end, the morality of the proposal didn’t matter. If it was one life to save another, Liliyana was more important. The only question was whether or not The Darkling had any credibility to his offer. It was true she barely knew him, but for the first time since she had first encountered him he seemed fully sincere. A tug in her gut told her he was right. She didn’t know if they were as similar as he claimed, but something deep inside her made her believe his love for Ravka was as real as her own. 

And if he was telling the truth about that, then he was probably true in his claim that he could heal her aunt, too. Or, at the very least, she had to believe it was true. She feared she would not be presented with another opportunity like this.

It was the best chance she had, even if it would make a killer out of her. She stared him down, taking in the room that had appeared from nothing. “I’ll do it.”

She could repent her sin later by aiding this man in his journey to lead Ravka into an age of prosperity. That was for later, though. For now, Zoya just needed a plan.

The Darkling smiled knowingly, but as far as she could tell it was not mocking. Looking away for only a moment, he pulled a quill from somewhere she couldn’t see and handed it to her. 

“Find your way into the castle and get close to the prince. Trust will make him foolish. If you need to contact me, use that quill. The ink will find its way back to me. When it is time to put the plan into motion I will contact you. Until then, keep your wits about you.”

“Wait--” she interrupted, afraid he’d simply dissipate after giving his orders. “How am I supposed to infiltrate the palace? They don’t just allow anyone inside.”

“Nikolai has been in need of a new Etherialki for a few weeks now,” he answered, unphased. She tried not to wonder what kind of spies he must already have under the Lantsovs’ noses to have that kind of information. “You will be filling the position.” 

The servants of the Lantsov family were divided into three orders: Coporalki, Etherealki, and Materialki. Coporalki had a tendency to remain in the palace. They were responsible for keeping the palace functioning properly and were trained in the art of medicine. Materialki was the class of any sort of specialist working within the Lantsov’s walls. From chefs, to tailors, to blacksmiths, each played their part in making up the artisans category. 

Etherealki were traveling companions to the royal family and whatever rich guest happened to be staying with them. They accompanied their charge from dawn till dusk, braving and complication of man or nature along the way.They were known to think on their feet to quickly amend any problem their employer might encounter. It was, without a doubt, the most fitting role for Zoya’s skill set.

 “What about my aunt? She might not last long enough for whatever you’re planning to be ready.”

“There’s no need to worry-- deliver your end of our agreement and I swear to you that your aunt will live.”

He extended a hand towards her and she examined him one last time. Growing up, she’d been told to never trust witches, and here she stood, going into business with one. If life had taught her anything, it was that the worst monsters aren’t always supernatural in nature. For all intents and purposes, the Darkling seemed to have good intentions. More than that, he had the power to save her aunt. 

From every angle, Zoya came out of this deal with what she wanted. 

She held his gaze and took his palm in a firm handshake before gathering her things and heading back into town.

[ask-runaan-anything]

So…the cat is out of the bag!  A little shadowhawk has informed us that when you were first all smitten with Ethari, you were An Awkward Gay Disaster about it and just had SO MUCH TROUBLE with your weapons that resulted in you having to go back to him time and time again to get them “fixed.“  This is adorable and I need details.  What’s the most desperate move you pulled to end up back in his workshop?  Snap your own arrows?  Break your own bowstring?  Shatter your own knife?  Did anyone ever catch you?  Did anyone call you out because Ethari’s craftsmanship is so superb that it just made NO SENSE that his stuff “just kept happening” to break on you?  How did you end up finally confessing the truth and that you had a crush?  What’s your best story (stories?) about this?  We must know.  :)

__________

Little shadow, I have so many stories from this part of my life. And most of them are horribly embarrassing! Is it truly so amusing to ask me to relive those weeks of existential agony by retelling them? *sighs and smiles* It has been quite some time, though. And my affection was, in fact, returned. And I’ve been ridiculously happy with Ethari ever since. So, really, it’s just the first chapter in a long and beautiful story.

Very well. I will tell you some snippets from those days, if it truly pleases you to hear them. I do hope you’re comfortable, because this will take a while.

I hadn’t been living in the Silvergrove for very long before I realized that I’d caught feelings for Ethari. He was always so patient and capable, and the way he just hung on my every word, absorbing my very existence… it was intoxicating. I could barely think around him, and that was a new experience for me. I was absolutely a disaster. And I needed to be sure of him, sure that he felt like I did, and I do mean sure, before I said anything. Because some elves are just nice and helpful, and Ethari was definitely one of them, and I couldn’t just assume that he meant anything more by his attentiveness to me than to others, like Lain and Tiadrin. So the games, as they say, began.

I had to be very careful with my plan. I couldn’t be anywhere near as obvious as breaking arrows and bowstrings, no. I had to work my weapons into needing his help the hard way. And since I was new to the Silvergrove, it only made sense that I’d want to prove myself worthy to the other assassins. I trained so hard that I dulled and dented my swords on a wide variety of surfaces for which they were not intended. Rocks and other swords often, but not too many times in a row. I’d jam them into the ground at an angle and practice landing on the handle without falling off, which always bent them eventually. And I pushed everyone I sparred with, hoping for the odd bit of damage as well. It made all of us sharper, as it were. And it offered a far more legitimate sprinkling to my visits to my favorite craftsman.

It never hurt when I got to traipse into Ethari’s workshop with a bandaged arm or a cut on my cheek and explain that I’d just plain been sparring so hard because I was really good at what I was doing, very very dedicated and honorable, and now I desperately needed his help to continue my training, because my weapon had basically bent or chipped under the weight of my amazing prowess and could Ethari please very kindly take the tiniest moment to use his astonishingly accurate skills and set me right again, because I just can’t seem to be amazing without the work of his hands tenderly caring for my weapons.

Please understand, that was all subtext. What it really sounded like was this:

“Do you have a moment, Ethari?” I lingered at the doorway, waiting to be invited further in.

Ethari waved me closer with a welcoming hand. “Of course! How can I help you today?”

I approached him with my damaged sword held on my palms. “I… seem to have damaged my sword in practice today. An intense bout of sparring.” So he knew I didn’t do this every day, and that I had a perfectly logical reason for seeing him.

He kept his eyes on the sword. Very professional. “Oh yes? Let me take a look.”

His fingers always seemed to brush mine when he took my damaged weapon from me, and it always made me feel warm. But he never seemed to notice, even when his hands literally cupped mine and lifted the sword higher so he could study its damaged handle or blade more closely. Looking back, he knew exactly what he was doing to me when he’d touch me and pretend it was only for the job. I swear, I felt like a big, obvious, stammering mess most of the time. I can’t imagine how the whole village didn’t know how I felt about him. I really am a very good Moonshadow, though. All of my disaster chaos stayed on the inside. Most of the time.

At first, the repairs I needed would take some time, so I’d get to come back and see him the next day. But sometimes, the repair was quick, and he began to invite me to stay and watch. That let me hover over his shoulder, where I could admire him as he worked if I wanted to, without him catching me at it, and that opportunity nearly drove me to distraction. So I tried to damage my swords more lightly–dings and dents. And then he complimented me on improving! Ooh, he knew what he was doing there too. Ethari has such a light touch on me, in so many ways, and I’m shamelessly responsive to it, I admit.

Let me tell you, the day I finally caught him catching me staring at him nearly killed me. He has a little mirror that he uses to see customers come in behind him when he’s working. It sat on his work table the whole time I visited him. But I was so distracted by his shoulders, and his voice, and his hands, and did I mention those shoulders, that I didn’t really notice that he could see me staring at him instead of the work he was doing. He’d been fully aware of my gaze the whole time. Weeks and weeks. And he said nothing! He went still one day while he was retooling the pattern on my sword blade, and his sudden halt dragged me out of my admiring reverie. I jerked my eyes off his shoulders and they landed on the mirror, where our eyes met. And then there was no more hiding. He knew, and I knew he knew, and he knew I knew he knew. 

I nearly panicked. I’d been so careful, and everything we’d done had been perfectly professional and orderly, and no one could point to any one moment and call me out for it. I thought that my falling head over heels for this elf had happened in perfect solitude, with none the wiser. Except then Ethari noticed.

And he wasn’t even surprised. He already knew. I nearly left right then. I had an excuse on the tip of my tongue–something casual, something easy. Something I’d said a dozen times before for perfectly legitimate reasons. But somehow, I managed to understand that, yes, sure, he had known I was staring at him admiringly–and he had let me do it. He’d let me come round with my perfectly reasonable excuses again and again. He’d touched my hands and pretended he didn’t see how I liked it. He stood close and pretended it was just business. He’d invited me to stay with him for an hour or two as often as he could, and then he’d pretended that he didn’t notice any of my admiring looks after he stationed me right behind him, where he could keep an eye on me. Because he didn’t want me to know he knew. He wanted me to keep visiting him. 

Ethari’s all about eye contact. And when I stared into his sunset eyes that day in the mirror, I saw his heart. He smiled softly at me when he saw that I’d figured him out. He didn’t run, he wasn’t panicked. He knew his own heart and he accepted that for the truth it was. And that, that is what gave me the courage to reach out to him. Literally.

I rested a hand on his shoulder as I stood behind him at his work table, with my thumb pressing against his bare skin, and squeezed. hnggh so muscular And I told him, in a soft voice that was barely proclaimy at all, “Ethari, your work is beautiful.”

And he simply said, “You deserve my best, Runaan.” Then, very slowly, he reached back with his hand and took mine.

I couldn’t feel the floor. I could barely remember how to breathe. If you’ve ever had a deep love be requited, you vividly remember that first ethereal moment when you understand, believe, and truly trust that it’s being returned, that you are seen as more than just another ordinary person in your beloved’s life. We didn’t fall into each other’s arms and drown in passionate kisses–yet–but that moment in the mirror was the very first moment when we acknowledged each other’s hearts. 

He finished repairing my sword and handed it back with the same gentle precision he always used. And I thanked him for his dedication and skills, as I always did. And then we stood there, smiling at each other like a pair of total idiots. He reached up and tucked a stray wisp of hair behind my ear for me. And I nearly fainted. I blurted that we should talk soon, and when he asked me what about, I immediately decided that I needed a new and better weapon, and maybe he could help me with its design.

It was the best bullshitting I’ve ever done in my life, because I believed it myself. What I wouldn’t give for a weapon Ethari designed just for me! What a good way to have to spend lots of time with him! He was instantly excited by the idea, and we stammered our way through some plans to meet up outside the village and discuss it.

Those plans involved a picnic somehow. Ethari’s idea. He cooked everything himself. We rode together to a private glade with an ancient massive stump and a loud waterfall, which meant we had to sit close together to discuss this new weapon of mine. After a few hours of honest brainstorming, I called for a break and asked him if he wanted to see the understump ruins nearby. 

Understumps are like the basements of the Silvergrove. Large underground wooden rooms with several rooty hallways that connect them in a subterranean labyrinth, lined with glowing mushrooms for lighting. They’re usually for shadowy and secretive rites and meetings. But this one in the glade had been abandoned for centuries. And I wanted absolutely no prying eyes for this next part. Ethari readily agreed to join me, and we trekked down under the ground and deep beneath the ancient stump.

And there in that sacred silence, surrounded by soft glowing mushrooms and no one but the peaceful hush of Moonshadows long past, I took Ethari’s hands in mine and spoke one of the scariest truths I’ve ever uttered: “Ethari, I’m in love with you.”

When he replied, “I’m in love with you too, Runaan,” I nearly felt my soul ascend. I slid my fingers up along one of his arms, and he slid his up my other arm, and we pulled each other close and held each other. He smelled amazing, and he was soft and strong at the same time, and so very warm. That was the very first hug I got from Ethari. His arms were even more comforting than I thought they’d be. It took me several moments to get my breathing under control, I was so overwhelmed by this beautiful truth about this beautiful elf. 

You can be as certain as you wish about anything, but until you actually hear and feel the truth you believe in, there’s always that tiny doubt that you’re just completely wrong. And in that moment, I knew: I wasn’t wrong. Ethari loved me just as much as I loved him. Having his warm, strong arms around me, finally, after all that time, felt…

It felt like coming home.

When I finally lifted my head from his shoulder and met his eyes–and his eyes are glorious up close, you have no idea–I lost all my breath all over again. I’d never stood that close to him before. He filled every one of my senses with euphoria. Well. almost every one of them–

“Can I kiss you now?” he murmured. “I’ve been waiting so long to do it.”

I managed a rather delirious gasp before his lips claimed mine. Ethari’s kisses are just as soft, warm, and strong as the rest of him, and by the end of that first kiss–not my very first kiss, but my first kiss where anything meant anything–he had to hold on tight so I didn’t fall over. It’s a good thing he’s so strong.

We left the grove holding hands, we started dating, he gifted me my bowblade, we got married, and the rest, as they say, is history.

[multisfabulis]

The Road to Forgiveness Be Damned

Freed (Chapter 7/7)

Word Count: 8737

TW: Referenced child abuse

And with the release of this chapter lies the end of this story.

This took me almost a year and nine months to finish and it’s been a rollercoaster. Despite the mental and emotional highs and lows, I’m glad I committed myself to working on this until its completion and I can’t wait to work on the other projects I’ve got lined up!

As a final note, I apologize for the word vomit that is the architecture/interior design descriptions. It was in the middle of writing those that I realized this is a major weakness of mine because my mind cannot comprehend something of that scale. I also have no artistic sense at all so a lot of set drops are based off what I'm visualizing in my mind so there's bound to be many mistakes.

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     The sound of rolling waves was like music to Ven’s ears. Water ebbed and flowed along the shore as she breathed in the salty air. She opened her eyes to see fluffy white clouds scattered across an endless sea of blue, both above and below. An early spring breeze blew through, ruffling her hair and clothes. She took a deep breath and, steadying herself, tentatively walked towards the ocean.

     It had been a little over a week since her and Ferreth’s return from Thal Esari. They left mere hours after Filaurel’s ruling, not wanting to spend more time than they already had by staying an extra day. She managed to finish reading Thessalia’s journal during the trip back and she had more questions than answers. The final entry was dated a day or so before her death and she still hadn’t made a decision on what to do with her. Rereading the last words she wrote felt weird, the image of her mother writing in her journal whilst not knowing it’d be the last imprint she’d leave in the world present in her mind. At least she knew that she’d never know what her fate would be if Thessalia survived and it may never be completely okay.

     She also learned of something that shocked her. Something she had honestly never thought of but made so much sense looking back on it. It wasn’t just because of her hatred for Vlixeoxs, her contempt for her ran deeper than that. She was meant to be a second chance but it was dashed the moment she saw what she was. She was still coming to grips with what that bombshell revealed and it scared her to know how cruel someone could be to a child.

     She shook her head to stop herself from going further. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about those dark thoughts. What she really needed to focus on was the limits in which her power could go. She never gave much thought as to what she could really do until she began wondering a few nights ago. Were the things she did just part of a dream or were they real? It was hard for her to believe she was that strong but she kept itching to try and do the marvels she had done in the dream. Today was the day she’d find out if there was more to her power she believed possible or not.

     She stopped walking when the water reached her ankles. She nervously swallowed as she let out a shaky breath. Looking behind her to see if anyone was watching, she closed her eyes and held out her hands.

     She thought of how her glaive looked, the weight and feel of it. How sharp its blade was, how tall it stood, she even remembered the tiny scratches on its hilt. She then willed her power to try and recreate her beloved weapon. She felt a weight in her hands almost immediately after she ordered it and opened her eyes. In her hands was a pitch black glaive made of darkness.

     Her eyes widened in amazement as she examined the glaive. It felt solid and was light as a feather, not like the one sitting at home. She ran her fingers along the edge of the blade, realizing just how sharp it was. It even had the ribbon she tied around the top end of the pole. This was a glaive, a weapon she made with her power, something she could do all along but never the courage to do it.

     She arced it up in the air, a fluid motion she hadn’t experienced before. Then she spun it above her head in one hand and passed it on to the other. She was beginning to really enjoy how smooth her regular moves flowed so effortlessly. There was just one more thing she needed to try out.

     Tossing it high up, she waited for the perfect moment to show itself. Once the blunt end of the pole faced her, she kicked it forward with all her might. It was sent flying several feet ahead and, right before it sank into the ocean, she attempted to summon it to her hand. It came back like a boomerang, the force and surprise at how easy it was causing her to stumble back a bit.

     She held the glaive up above her, looking at it in wonder. This was incredible to her, being able to create anything she set her mind to and with such ease! It may only be the first thing she planned on testing out but she was excited all the same. She dismissed the glaive and it dispersed into dark wisps from her hand.

     Now it was time for the second thing she remembered doing in the dream. She closed her eyes again and imagined a wall behind her. The wall had dozens of daggers, swords, and whatever else she could think of trained up at the sky. Once the image was etched in her mind, she raised her arms. Barely any sound was made as she finished summoning the wall and turned around to see it.

     Shock and awe filled her being as she marveled at her creation. The wall was tilted up towards the sky and it spanned the width of the beach. There were spikes protruding out of the surface, appearing about ready to fire. All she needed to do was lift a hand and wave it.

     So she did just that. She turned back around, raised a hand up, and pointed two fingers at the sky. Her mouth curled up into a playful smile as she eagerly braced herself for the magic that was about to happen. Like pulling the trigger of a crossbow, she shot a barrage of dark bladed weapons high into the sky. They flew ahead in an arc and landed in the ocean, dissolving into wisps once more.

     Adrenaline coursed through her body as she tried to keep herself calm. Her hands shook, butterflies fluttered around in her stomach, and her heart pounded against her chest. This may have been becoming too much for her but she wanted to keep going. How she wasn’t bouncing all over the place was anyone’s guess.

     Time for the third and final phase. The thing she never ever thought would be possible, even if she knew how the other two worked. This was something she’d been looking forward to the most and, if she could do it, it’d be a miracle. It didn’t take much for her to remember the image because how could she forget such a sight? A weight was placed on her back and she wanted to squeal in delight.

     She glanced over her shoulder. Two giant black wings were attached to the middle of her back, beads of darkness dripping off them onto the sand below. They weren’t feathered but they didn’t need to be to look beautiful. They were like a smooth onyx gem that shone a slight purple tinge when the light hit them right. She had only caught a glimpse of them in the moonlight from the dream so seeing them on a bright day like today made this moment all the more special.

     She took in a deep, shaky breath, excited for what was happening next. Her wings lifted themselves higher and higher before coming down with a tremendous whoosh. Sand blew away from her as she flew up in the air.

     She stopped just above where the trees’ canopy was. Her wings flapped behind her as she took in her surroundings. It was breathtaking to see the beach, the forest, the ocean, everything from a new perspective and she loved it. Now she could start to really have some fun with this newfound ability.

     She flew under the rocky cliff that overshadowed the beach, weaving through the crags rising up from the ocean below. Then she soared on up to the clouds, bobbing in and out of them and feeling the wind and dew on her face. She swooped down to the sea and glided above its surface, sticking her hand in to feel the cool water go through her fingers. This was everything she could’ve ever dreamed of and she could do this at any time she wanted.

     Then she had an idea. It was, admittedly, a very dumb and very risky idea because of how much danger she’d be putting herself in but the chance of it working was there. If it panned out, it’d be extraordinary.

     She drifted up several feet above the water. Anxiety began to grow in her stomach as she realized just how dangerous her idea was. She could very well drown if this went poorly, due to her inability to swim. It could be hours or even days before someone found her and it’d be too late at that point.

     No, she couldn’t think like that. This might work after all and she’ll have been worrying over nothing. She attempted to settle down her nerves before steeling herself for what was to come. Then, after relaxing her shoulders and steadying her breathing, she dove into the ocean.

     It was like being in the swamp again, except she could see this time. Light filtered in from above, giving the underwater a crystal blue hue. There were many different plants and coral and algae and they were all so vibrant and colorful. Schools of fish quickly swam away when she glanced at them. It was so pretty to look at but she needed to get back up to the surface.

     Her wings managed to stay with her after her dive and they were beating as hard as they could to help her. Her lungs began to burn from the lack of air as she tried to swim up, her arms and legs feeling like lead weighing her down. Fear started to set in, her heart about ready to stop at any moment. A burst of strength came to her once she got close to the surface and it gave her wings the power they needed to break through.

     She shot out of the water like an arrow, sailing up several feet. Water droplets clung to her wings, trailing down till they fell back into the ocean. She drew them in and quickly unfurled them, shaking the last few drops off them. The sun cast her shadow across the water and she couldn’t help liking what she saw. That was her, her and her power, and she didn’t feel ashamed.

     She flew back to shore, an exuberant smile on her face. Her idea worked, it wasn’t a failure. Heck, everything in her dream wasn’t a dream, it was all real. She had done those things and they were all her.

     All her life, she had been shamed for being a Vlixeox. Her eyes, her power, they were things that alerted others of her race. She could only do so much with her eyes but she could hide her power. She could pretend it didn’t exist, it wasn’t a part of her, until she got home, where she felt safe enough to let the mask fall. She hated having to hide it but she also hated having it.

     Every time she looked in a mirror, she was reminded of it. How she, a Vlixeox, was living among people who were normal, elves. The mirror reflected back everything she wasn’t. Even if they tolerated her existence, just seeing them go about their daily lives made her aware of how different, how other she was. It was a constant struggle to hide the parts that gave her true nature away and pretend to be like one of them and it almost killed her.

     It was only when she took a chance and helped Eric with her power back in Brinegarde she didn’t have to hide anymore. He accepted her as she was and treated her like she was his friend. Her once tiny world grew after meeting him, he brought her out of the darkness and into the light. It’s because of his kindness she found people that didn’t care about what she was and she was happy.

     Maybe it was because of her time here she felt comfortable knowing her power was a part of her. There was no need to conceal it anymore. She never allowed herself to have fun with it but today changed all that. It felt so nice and wondrous and…liberating to enjoy this and having this and being this. She didn’t know if she’d ever be completely okay with being a Vlixeox but she figured she was on the right track.

     Her wings faded away once she was safely back on land. She looked over at the forest beyond the docks and her smile dropped. There, just before the trees made way to the clearing, was Ferreth.

     A surprised scream escaped from her mouth and she jumped back, her butt landing on the wet sand. He started laughing as she drew her hood up to hide her face. Her face felt warm, no doubt from the blush she knew she had. She heard him quiet some before seeing him crouch down in front of her.

     “H-how long were you standing there?” she asked, flustered.

     “Just enough to see you flying around everywhere,” he replied, resting his cheek against his hand and a teasing smile on his face.

     She let out an embarrassed whine. She felt mortified at how he may have seen everything she did and that was humiliating. It wasn’t that she was now regretting ever doing this or letting herself enjoy it as much as she did. Having someone see her act so…childishly was something she felt uncomfortable with.

     “Hey, it’s not that bad,” he said, dropping his hand. “It was adorable, seeing how much fun you were having.”

     Answering him with another whine, he continued on with, “I think that was my first time seeing you act so…openly, I guess. You’re a lot more withdrawn normally so it was a nice surprise to watch. It’d be nice to see you like that more often.”

     She finally looked up at him, staring into his light green eyes. They were warm and full of love, her heart fluttering the longer she peered in. He placed a hang atop her head and petted it, her cheeks still warm as she pouted.

     “Come on, let’s get you up.” He stood up and held his hand out to her.

     Sighing, she let her hood down and took his hand. He helped her up easily enough and she tried to wring the water out of her cloak. It may have been stupid to hope it hadn’t gotten too wet, considering how she literally dove underwater earlier, but she would be devastated if it was ruined. It was too important to her so she needed to be more careful from now on.

     They climbed up the steps and were east of town. Her blush cooled down as her embarrassment from earlier gave way to anxiety. Today wouldn’t just be her unshackling herself from the hate people imposed on her when she was a child. She was taking a leap of faith, trusting in the hope he wouldn’t think differently of her.

     “Hey, Ferret?” They had just passed the first building when she called out to him. “Is it okay if you come with me to see Eric?”

     Confused, he asked, “Sure, but is there something you need me to do with him?”

     “No, it’s… I’m planning on telling him.”

     That was all she needed to say for him to understand. She was going to tell Eric everything that happened in Thal Esari, both in the past and present. Even her crime, something she wasn’t looking forward to. The prospect had been brought up before when they were there but she wasn’t sure if she’d ever do it. Her fear of him becoming scared of her was still a real possibility in her mind.

     As she said back then, Eric was the first person to befriend her, show kindness to her. He was the reason she lived in Aurora Zenith now, the reason she and Ferreth met, the reason she was finally coming around to accepting herself. She didn’t want to imagine him hating her over what she did. If their friendship shattered after everything was revealed, it’d just kill her.

     Even so, he deserved to know what happened. She struggled with keeping the bad memories from overwhelming her when he first asked her about it. Now, after all she’s been through the past several months, she felt brave enough to tell him.

     She was asking Ferreth to come with her so he’d give her courage. That was why he came with her to Thal Esari and he’d serve the same purpose here. If it somehow went badly, she’d also need him there for comfort. She hoped it wouldn’t end like that and it would go smoothly.

     “What made you decide on telling him?” he asked.

     “I’ve had a lot of time to think about it and I feel like I’m ready. At least, I think I do, anyway…” she replied with a nervous laugh.

     “Hey, if you think you’re ready, then go ahead. Just know that I’ll be there for you, okay? I doubt Eric’s gonna suddenly hate you or be scared of you so…”

     His words were all that she could rely on for this. Even if he turned out to be right and Eric didn’t think any differently of her, it didn’t stop the thought of it actually happening from plaguing her mind. All she could do was hope and pray that things would be all right in the end.

     They arrived at the plaza, busy as it would be after the start of a new season. It was strange how, even with Aurora Zenith being more condensed yet bigger than Thal Esari, she liked the ambiance. Maybe it was because she had felt welcomed and not terrified for her life like she thought she’d be. It was nice to have people actually accepting her instead of shunning her for being a Vlixeox. She missed this while they were gone and she was going to enjoy it.

     The plaza was generally regarded as the marketplace, as evident by the many shops and stalls open for business. It was also the place for people to gather around and socialize, something she still wasn’t used to yet. The smell of freshly cooked food made her mouth water as she overheard the chatter and laughter all around her. A small smile rose to her face; she considered this place to be her home and she wouldn’t trade it for anything else in the whole world.

     “By the way, there’s something else I wanted to tell you.” He leaned his head over to listen. “I decided to forgive Lady Filaurel for what she did.”

     As if he swallowed something and it went down badly, he coughed a few times before exclaiming, “What?! I’m sorry, but what the fuck?”

     “Okay, hear me out.” She took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to phrase what she’d say next. “All my life, I’ve been told that I was a monster. I was a monster because I was a Vlixeox, which meant I didn’t have the right to exist. I believed them, especially after what I did. I still believe them now but I want to prove to both everyone and myself that I’m not. To me, I think forgiving Lady Filaurel would be the first step to doing that because monsters wouldn’t know what forgiveness was. That’s just what I think, though.”

     It may have been strange to those who didn’t understand it but that’s what she believed. The “monster” she faced in the swamp, seven of the people she killed, forgave her when she felt she didn’t deserve such a thing. She was the reason they weren’t alive anymore and they still showed her forgiveness. If they could do that to their killer, then she could forgive Filaurel for all she did to her. It was a choice she knew not many would agree with but it was still her decision to make.

     “Am I wrong for doing that?” she asked. His feelings toward her had been made very clear so she had an idea of how he’d take this.

     Running a hand through his hair, he replied, “You already know how I feel about her. I absolutely despise that bitch for all she’s done to you and, if it were me, I never would’ve forgiven her.

     “But--” he placed both hands on her shoulders-- “you’re not me. I may disagree with your choice but it’s not my place to tell you what to do. If you wanna forgive her, then I’ll support you, no matter what. Who am I to judge on how you want to heal?”

     “Thank you, Ferret. I appreciate it,” she said, smiling softly. “Just so we’re clear, I don’t mean that people like me should forgive those that have hurt them. It’s just how I see things.”

     “I figured that’s what you meant.”

     They walked up the stone stairs that led to Eric’s house. It sat nestled in a gathering of elm trees just growing their leaves back and on the cliff she had flown under earlier. The front was painted a faded silvery white and had a porch of the same color that spanned to both ends of the house. The front door was in the middle, two small windows on its left and a large on its right, the nailed-in shutters black. The porch steps creaked under their feet as they stopped at the door. It was a beautiful mahogany door with a simple bronze knocker sitting atop it. Above the knocker was the emblem for Aurora Zenith inscribed in gold.

     She tapped the door with the knocker’s handle a couple times. As she waited for someone to answer, she looked up at the emblem. It depicted honeysuckle vines crawling up towards the sun, its ray of light shining down on the town below. This was meant to represent her home, the place she swore to protect. She hoped it’d still be her home after all was said and done.

     The door swung open to reveal Delrelle. They were Eric’s housekeeper and, though she’s only met them once or twice, they seemed nice, if a bit stoic. Their face held no emotion as they greeted them with a bow.

     “Lady Venlithea and Sir Ferreth, what business have you here today?” they asked, standing upright.

     “We’re here to see Eric, we have something we wish to speak with him about,” she replied. “Could we see him if he isn’t too busy?”

     “Let me check in with him.” They closed the door and, after a moment passed, they opened the door and stepped aside. “I’ll see you to his office.”

     The two of them were then led to where Eric’s office was. They passed by a white staircase leading up to the second floor on their right and the archway that served as the threshold to the living room on their left. A white trim divided the light blue walls in the middle and a long white rug covered the hardwood floor, stretching from the foyer all the way down to the double doors in the back. Paintings of Brinegarde, Thornewind, Mapleshear, and Ravenstrand decorated the walls, what were once Eric’s sketches given life. Small side tables had trinkets such as a seashell, a windmill sculpture, a maple leaf preserved in resin, and a small bowl full of gemstones from the towns he visited over the past ten months. It felt homey.

     When Delrelle knocked on the door, a second wave of anxiety swept over her. It was only a matter of time now until he learned the truth. A pit began to form in her stomach, growing wider and winder as she let out a shaky breath. Her heart pounded against her chest and she was finding it hard to breathe---

     Ferreth’s hand took hold of hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. No words had to be said for her to remember. He was going to be in there with her, be the beacon of courage she so desperately needed right now. She took a deep breath and squeezed back, letting him know she was okay.

     After hearing a muffled “Come in”, the three of them walked inside. Eric sat at a maple desk with stacks upon stacks of paper piled all over, half read books sitting on top of some. Bookshelves filled with history, law, art, and story books lined the walls. They stood on a grand, ornate rug that blanketed the floor, the only thing in the room that carried some sense of sophistication. The whole room fit someone who valued simplicity over complexity but still had something to show for his position.

     Bowing, Delrelle said, “Master, Lady Venlithea and Sir Ferreth have some matters they wish to speak with you about. I’ll leave them in your care.”

     “Thank you.” Eric stood up from his chair to stretch as they went back out to the hallway, closing the door behind them. “Ven, Ferreth, what brings you two here?”

     “Were you in the middle of something?” Ferreth asked.

     “Nah, I was just taking a break before--” he raised his arms above his head, a soft pop echoing in the room-- “getting back to work. You had something to talk about?”

     “It’s more like I had something to tell you,” she spoke up. “Something important.”

     “Well, what is it?”

     She swallowed nervously, the moment of truth finally here. The moment in which everything could change between them. Ferreth put a hand on her back to push her forward, his way of telling her to go through with it. Refusing to let her resolve be shaken, she looked Eric dead in the eye.

     “Do you remember when you asked me how the people of my old village treated me back on the boat ride here?” she asked, trying to not let her anxiety show.

     “...Yeah,” he replied, regret flickering across his face for a split second. “Am I finally gonna hear about that?”

     “I’m finally ready to tell you everything. I’m honestly scared but you deserve to know every last thing that happened.”

     “Ven, you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to. Don’t feel like you need to tell me unless you want to.”

     “You’re the last person I ever wanted to tell this to because you mean so much to me. It’s because of that that I’m telling you.”

     Then she told him everything she could remember. From how she’d commit petty thievery to survive to the horrific torture she endured. He was never good at hiding how he felt and the anger on his face was plain to see. She really should’ve known what his reaction would be upon hearing her story from the start.

     She hadn’t told him the worst thing yet. The hope was that maybe, just maybe, he’d show mercy to her after learning of what happened that fateful day. He wouldn’t fear or hate her if he knew the reason behind it all. It’d still probably scare him to know she had killed fifteen people but he’d understand why. His kindness knew no bounds, even if it was shown to someone who didn’t deserve it.

     “God, it sounds horrible, what happened to you,” he said, rubbing his hands over and over.

     “There’s still more to tell you and it’s worse than everything else,” she added, the hairs on her body standing on end.

     “What could be worse than what I’ve just heard?”

     “Something not good. Something really bad.”

     She looked to Ferreth, silently pleading for him to give her the strength she needed. He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it. She laid her hand over his, mustering up the courage to tell him.

     “When I was eight years old, I was banished from Thal Esari.” A chill overcame her as she struggled to breathe. “The reason for that is…that I---”

     There was a knock at the door. Delrelle cracked it open and said there was someone who wished to speak with Eric immediately. A pit of dread began to build up in her stomach as she anxiously wondered who was here. Her heart sank and her eyes widened in shock at the person coming in.

     Filaurel walked up towards them, looking her absolute best. Her gray hair was down from its usual bun, styled to where it rested atop her chest. She wore a stunning floor length pearl white dress with a white and gold cape flowing down to her waist. She had her cane with her like always, though she seemed to be using it for its intended purpose rather than as decoration. Her chin was held up high as she sneered at her, standing before Eric.

     Ferreth attempted to shield her from her but it was no use. He was probably wondering why she was here, much like she. Did she just arrive in Aurora Zenith? What reason was she here for? Did their actions on the day of her ruling play a part into why she was here? The biggest worry she had was what she could possibly do.

     “I don’t believe we’ve met, my name’s Eric Travere, lord of Aurora Zenith.” He came around the desk and held out his hand. “Might I ask for yours?”

     “Ah, yes, I’m Filaurel Crawraek and I’m what you’d call the ‘lord’ of Thal Esari,” she replied, gingerly shaking his hand. “Though I prefer being referred to as ‘Lady’.”

     “So, what brings you all the way here to our little town?” he asked, leaning back on the desk with legs crossed.

     “Well, I unfortunately come bearing bad news about your subordinates, especially concerning Venlithea.” She shot a cold glance towards her. “Has she told you of what she’s done in Thal Esari, both the past and present?”

     It was as if a great weight crashed down upon her. She knew what she was going to tell him. She was going to reveal her crime to him and how she had selfishly asked for forgiveness, all because she questioned her authority. If he heard of it from her, that would be it. Their friendship would be over, he’d drive her out of town, and she’ll be all alone again.

     “I mean, I know some of why she was there a couple weeks ago but I don’t know much of what she’s done in her childhood other than what she’s told me,” he replied, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why?”

     “Then it’s of great importance I tell you this. You see, when she was a child, she---”

     “Don’t tell him!” She grabbed onto her arm in desperation. “Please, I beg you, don’t tell him!”

     “Unhand me at once, Venlithea!” She tried to get out of her grip but she held strong. “He has a right to know of what you did.”

     “Please don’t tell him! I’ll---I’ll do anything you want, just don’t tell him!”

     “When Venlithea was a child, she---”

     “My Lady, please…!” Tears stung her eyes as she fell to her knees, still holding onto her.

     “---took the lives of fifteen people. Cut them down mercilessly.”

     Her heart stopped as she let go of her arm. She would’ve collapsed entirely on the floor if it weren’t for Ferreth gently lifting her by her arms to stand her up. His hands remained on her shoulders to steady her. It felt as if the floor had gone out from under her, the world a blur.

     That was it, her secret was out. Eric now knew of the horrible deed she did. He had to be scared of her now, terrified of her hurting him. Maybe he even hated her and wanted her out of his sight. He was probably beginning to regret meeting her, befriending her, helping her. She was nothing more than a monster in his eyes, the very thing she wanted to prove to everyone she wasn’t. If he wanted her to leave and never come back, she’d do it. If he so desired that, she’d do it. She’d do anything he’d ask of her because she loved him. How tragic was it for a monster to love the person who wished he never saved her?

     “Really?” he asked in disbelief. “What reason would she have to do that?”

     “I honestly can’t fathom why,” she replied. “All I know is, she was sentenced to public lashing after committing yet another act of thievery and she just…snapped.”

     Not even bothering to hide the anger in his voice, Ferreth retorted, “That’s bullshit and you and I both know it.”

     “Ferreth...” Eric warned, attempting to quiet him down. “Could you tell me why Ven would do something like that? I just find it hard to believe that a child at the time could do such a thing.”

     “Venlithea was always a troublesome child. She’d keep getting into skirmishes with the other children, pickpocketed others for their money, the list goes on. She got into trouble so often, I had to resort to the extremes to try and correct her behavior. I thought the multiple lashings would be enough for her to desist but…I was wrong. It is because of my pride that I paid the ultimate price.” She sniffled as if holding back tears. “She’s lucky I only banished her when I could’ve had her executed.”

     All she said were lies. She never got into any fights nor did she steal money from people. She stayed as far away as she could from others and she only stole food from the marketplace; everything else she scavenged for. How could she stand there and lie through her teeth like it was nothing?

     “Funny you say that, because Ven gave me a different version of events. She said people often spoke down to her and she would be threatened with a lashing if she didn’t exactly do what they said. There were days she’d starve or had things she found taken away from her for no reason. If she asked why, it was because she had broken a rule that had been set but she hadn’t heard of the rule until that moment. So, tell me--” Eric placed his hands on the edge of the desk and tilted his head-- “which of you are lying?”

     Letting out a chuckle, Filaurel replied, “Well, you know how Vlixeoxs are. They’re well-renown liars. They’d say anything to make themselves seem innocent and Venlithea’s no exception. After all, she hadn’t told you of her crime and you saw for yourself how much she didn’t want you to know. How do you know she’s not using your kindness against you to suit her agenda?”

     “Oh, you’re a real piece of work, you know that?” Ferreth’s hands tightened on her shoulders. “She was gonna tell him about that until you came in and she was begging you not to tell him because she knew you’d twist the truth of what happened to make her out to be the bad guy. You’re the liar here, you old crone.”

     Why did it matter as to who was lying? What’s done was done and she had been outed as a killer. It can never be taken back. What point was there in defending her when it didn’t erase what she did?

     “Another thing, your subordinate here--” she gestured to Ferreth-- “has quite the mouth on him. Let’s just say that, during our last meeting, he took it upon himself to call me very vulgar things, words I’d rather not repeat. I figured to let you know so you could decide on the best course of action to take.”

     “Ohh…” Eric sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Ferreth, is she telling the truth?”

     Letting out a breath, Ferreth replied, “Yes. I admit, I lost my temper and said some pretty…not so good things but I’m not apologizing or taking them back. I couldn’t just stand idly by while she tore into Ven with her remarks. I accept whatever punishment you give to me, my lord.”

     “I see…” He took a moment to think on what he wanted to say next. “Well, as much as it may upset you, Lady Filaurel, there’s not much I can do. He was out of my jurisdiction at the time and, since he hadn’t broken the law over there and was considered a mere visitor, I’m not responsible for his actions outside of Aurora Zenith.”

     “You mean to let him walk scot-free?” she asked, a tinge of anger dripping into her voice.

     “The best I can do is a stern lecture but I’m sure you wouldn’t have wanted to hear that.”

     Huffing, she asked, “And what of her? What do you mean to do with Venlithea?”

     “From what I’ve gathered, she hasn’t done anything to warrant disciplinary action. Whatever she did back then doesn’t matter now and even if it did, she was already tried in your court of law.”

     “She’s a Vlixeox, my good sir. It’s far too dangerous for you to let something like her wander around unsupervised. I’d suggest putting in some preventative measures to ensure that a massacre on the scale of Thal Esari’s doesn’t happen again.”

     “Ven’s lived here for about a year now and no one’s had a problem with her, as far as I’m aware. I think we’ll be perfectly fine.”

     “You’re underestimating her. Sooner or later, she’ll take matters into her own hands and you’ll be left with several people dead when their deaths could’ve been prevented. All I’m asking is that you don’t let a repeat of what happened in Thal Esari happen here.”

     “Okay--” He pushed himself off the desk and stood up to his full height-- “forgive me if I’m out of line but you keep going on and on about this tragedy that occurred yet you’ve provided next to no explanations as to what her motive could’ve been. Have you ever thought that you might share part of the blame? Have you ever tried to take responsibility for her actions, since you were her guardian, I’d assume?”

     “Y-you insolent…” She recognized the tone of her voice. It was the tone she’d use if anyone seriously crossed her. “How am I the one to blame for what Venlithea did? I’m not the one who tore their bodies asunder while others ran and pled for mercy! Do you have any idea how hard it was to raise a child such as she and it turn out to be a complete failure? I’m still paying for the mistakes she made! You clearly do not deserve the title bestowed upon you if you won’t heed my advice.

     “Only a fool would trust someone who committed mass murder in the past. I’d only ask you don’t come crying to me when she inevitably kills again because you refused to see how dangerous the beast really was. You’ll be just as much a monster as she is for letting her do such a heinous thing.”

     Time seemed to freeze at that moment. Her mind kept replaying what Filaurel said with so much clarity. Eric, her light, her savior, would be considered a monster for what she did if the time where she’d kill again ever came? That wasn’t right; someone as kind and sincere as him could never be a monster.

     A deep seething anger began to stir inside her. It was one thing to call her a monster when she already knew she was. She gritted her teeth and clenched her shaking hands into fists. It was a whole other thing to call Eric, someone that reached a gentle hand out to her, someone she loved with every fiber of her being, a monster. The words spilled from her mouth before she could stop herself.

     “What did you say, Venlithea?” she asked indignantly.

     Whirling around to face her, she heatedly replied, “I said shut up!”

     She took a step back from her sudden outburst. “W-where do you get off on speaking to me like that? Have you forgotten who you’re speaking to, Venlithea?”

     “I think the better question is, where do you get off on speaking to him like that? He’s a monster for whatever I do? How dare you… He saved me from the darkness you put me in, he gave me a reason to live from the hell you put me in, he gave me a home I’m happy in, and you call him a monster for helping me? You should be ashamed…you no-good, lying bitch!”

     A resounding crack rang clear in the room. Her cheek burned from Filaurel slapping her as she stood there in shock, realizing what just happened. She only had one question on her mind: was that it?

     A sense of extreme hostility overcame the room. She could hear a hiss followed by vicious growling beside her. Eric was warning Ferreth not to do anything stupid, which she figured to be bloody murder. Her eyes wandered over to Filaurel, hand still raised in the air after striking her. She touched her cheek and let out a short breathless laugh in utter amazement.

     “Huh…that’s the best you can do?” she asked, a brazen smile on her face. “That’s what I was afraid of all this time? I used to be so scared of you but now I see there wasn’t any reason to be…Grandmother.”

     She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. “This is hardly the time for jokes.”

     “In one of the last entries Thessalia wrote before her death, she talked about how she had to swallow her pride and beg you for help because she was so lost on what to do with me. She thought you’d have a shred of love for her to know that she was scared, especially since the time I would be born was coming closer and closer. Instead, you told her she was on her own and left her all alone.

     “I read all the ways you tried to control her and when she got away from you, you disowned her. I was your second chance at getting the ‘perfect’ child you always wanted but I turned out to be a Vlixeox. You couldn’t stand knowing that your grandchild, the baby you waited so long for to mold into someone you deemed perfect, was a Vlixeox. You took all your anger and hatred out on me and I didn’t know any better.”

     “I tried my best to raise you but you refused to behave!” she exclaimed, tapping her fingers against the curve of her cane. “If I had known you’d turn out like this, I wouldn’t have wasted so much of my time trying to care for you. If you had just listened to me, I would’ve treated you better.”

     “It wouldn’t have mattered what I did!” She kicked the cane out of her grip. “For years, I believed what you and everyone else said about me. I thought I deserved all the suffering I got because I was a Vlixeox and that meant I was bad. I tried so, so hard to be good and it was never enough. You hurt me over and over and over, even as I laid on the ground bleeding, wishing that I could die so the pain would stop.

     “I was wrong to ask for forgiveness from you because I should’ve known you’d never give it to me. I didn’t have a chance in hell because your mind was set the moment I asked for it. You’re just a sad, bitter old woman that loved breaking me if it brought me a step closer to being your obedient pet.”

     She took a deep breath and glared daggers at her. “I refuse to let you control me for the rest of my life. Both of us may believe I’m a monster but I did something I know you’ll never live down. I’ve forgiven you for all you’ve done to me but you better believe I will never forget it. Now get the hell out of my home and never come back.”

     The room fell into an eerie silence. Filaurel looked at her in shock, as if she never expected her to finally stand up to her. If she was honestly speaking, it was a surprise to her, too. She probably would’ve stopped halfway through if it weren’t for her outrage at Eric being called a monster and the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

     Alek came in just as the quiet began to wear out its welcome. Eric asked for him to show Filaurel the way out, promising to explain what happened later. To everyone’s surprise, she went along with it, only stopping to pick her cane up off the floor. It was when she crossed the threshold she did it. She tossed parting words over her shoulder, seemingly directed towards her.

     “I was wrong to think you were nothing like Thessalia. You got the rebellious streak I despised her for having.”

     That wasn’t something she ever expected to hear. She never once thought she was similar to her mother in any way and reading through her journal seemed to confirm how different they were. Maybe she had more in common with her and it was just a matter of figuring out when and what.

     “Holy shit, Ven, that was amazing!” Ferreth said excitedly, picking her up by the waist to hug her. “You finally told that bitch to fuck off!”

     “Ah, yeah, I…I guess I did, huh?” she replied, her cheeks warm from the sudden hug. “Could you put me down, please?”

     “Yeah, you did.” Eric put a hand on her head and started petting her after she was back on the ground. “I’m proud of you. You finally stood up for yourself.”

     It made her happy beyond words to see pride in his eyes. There was no fear or regret in his voice, only a fond warmth she heard so rarely. Ferreth was right; he wouldn’t think differently of her and it was silly to believe otherwise.

     She was lost in thought as Ferreth dragged her out to “celebrate her victory”. She never imagined her life would be like this when she was a child. She only had a day of no punishments to look forward to back then. She didn’t think she’d have friends, a home she was happy in, people who had love to give, a life. It was because of Filaurel banishing her that everything happened the way it did and…it was the one decision she made that turned out to be good for her.

     If anything, it was thanks to Thessalia she even had a life. She may not have had much choice in the matter but she was still grateful to her for giving her life. She wondered if the voice she heard back at the graveyard was her, letting her know that she was watching over her. She liked to believe it was possible. She held the amethyst ring she kept around her neck between her fingers and smiled.

     Would she be proud of her daughter and the kind of person she was becoming? Would she not need to worry over her anymore now that she was surrounded by people that truly cared about her? She had a home she belonged in. She knew if things ever got tough, she’d be okay. She still believed herself to be a monster but…she was beginning to think she was less of one now.

[fire-the-headcanons]

Gungnir's blast rolled like thunder through the trees, electric Dust round streaking toward the Ursa Major in a glowing trail of sparks. The massive Grimm stumbled and collapsed as smoke billowed from cracks in its faceplate. Another shot felled a second, smaller target.

 Raven darted forward straight at the remaining five. Alerted, they searched for the source of either the noise or the thin scent of apprehension in the air.

 One spotted her, rearing on its hind legs with a powerful roar and exposing its unarmored belly. Without thinking her hand squeezed the trigger of the Guillotine's sheath and a blade shot out with a ringing crash. Great spikes of ice erupted from the bear's fur, twisting its form into a grotesque pose before it faded to nothing. Three dead.

 A second barrelled toward her, bellowing in rage or hunger, and Raven lashed out with her sword. The air split, and the bear vanished.

 Gungnir sounded again. Four.

 Qrow's shotgun echoed the blast, almost drowning out the snapping of branches and roar of the Ursa as it plummeted fifty feet from his treetop perch to the forest floor below. The fall wouldn't be enough to finish it, but Tai was waiting. Five...

Follow the Beacon Raven—Golden Dragon

[Link to Masterpost]

Gungnir's blast rolled like thunder through the trees, electric Dust round streaking toward the Ursa Major in a glowing trail of sparks. The massive Grimm stumbled and collapsed as smoke billowed from cracks in its faceplate. Another shot felled a second, smaller target.

Raven darted forward straight at the remaining five. Alerted, they searched for the source of either the noise or the thin scent of apprehension in the air.

One spotted her, rearing on its hind legs with a powerful roar and exposing its unarmored belly. Without thinking her hand squeezed the trigger of the Guillotine's sheath and a blade shot out with a ringing crash. Great spikes of ice erupted from the bear's fur, twisting its form into a grotesque pose before it faded to nothing. Three dead.

A second barrelled toward her, bellowing in rage or hunger, and Raven lashed out with her sword. The air split, and the bear vanished.

Gungnir sounded again. Four.

Qrow's shotgun echoed the blast, almost drowning out the snapping of branches and roar of the Ursa as it plummeted fifty feet from his treetop perch to the forest floor below. The fall wouldn't be enough to finish it, but Tai was waiting. Five...

They needed a second to ensure it wasn't getting up. Raven flipped back, away from the last two—make that one, as Summer fired agai—

Her side erupted in agony, and then a blow to her left shoulder, right knee, her head. The world was nothing but red and she screamed, and louder as something clamped her neck and the arm thrown up to protect it. Weight slammed into her back, the vice wrenched, tightened. Her aura drained like blood from an artery and with the last of it she reached for her brother—

One final, smaller impact and the pressure released. She crawled away, still blind, screaming again at the searing heat of cracked ribs knitting together—and the world cleared as her aura failed. A pace behind, the Ursa Major growled at Qrow and snapped its teeth, smoke still trickling from its skull.

“RUN!" he screamed, eyes locked on the bear. It roared and swiped at him with a paw larger than both of Tai's shields. Raven scuttled backward as he dodged and it ploughed into the dirt with a heavy thud. "DEAL!“

"Wait!" Lurching to her feet, Raven turned and staggered away. He must not have seen her aura break or he wouldn't dare boost his Semblance now. "It was playing dead! It's older than we thought!" Raven clutched her side as she ran. The thing had dragged her halfway across the clearing and Guillotine was back where she'd started.

"They can do that?" Tai demanded, smoke trailing from his gauntlets as he tore past. Gungnir's arrow sank into its shoulder before pulling free a moment later, unable to dig in far enough to get purchase.

Raven seized her scabbard and took aim. Qrow swung at the thing's neck, sword bouncing off its matted fur and barely cutting in at all.

"FOLD!" Raven shouted, giving him a chance to shut off his Semblance before firing. It shattered on the bear's armored hide, clumping ice on its pelt, and the Grimm whirled to face her with a snarl. Tai leapt forward, directing all of his momentum into its ear.

Summer dropped from the tree, emptying her magazine of electric rounds one bullet at a time. "What are you doing?! You're out of aura!"

"We've got this!" Tai kept attacking, golden flames licking around him with every blow, pouring down his back almost like wings. It gave up trying to bat at him and just lunged, slamming into him—the fire dissipated instantly as staggered.

Qrow took the distraction as an opportunity to spray its skull with buckshot. The Grimm roared again, charging forward blindly, and he disappeared under its paws with a surprised yelp.

"NO!" The last ice blade clicked into the handle and Raven drew as she charged back in, right knee throbbing with every step.

Tai slammed all his weight into the thing's chin, smoke swirling around them both, and it staggered back. Qrow gasped as its foot lifted from his chest and then screamed as a foreleg landed on his bad shoulder. The Grimm seemed to notice he was there, blinking down with its three remaining eyes, opening its mouth to bite.

Raven leapt forward, ramming her sword as far down its throat as she could reach, trusting her vambrace to keep her arm from being shredded by its teeth. The hilt disengaged with a brush of the trigger and she jumped back. She couldn't activate the Dust without aura, but it would have to break as the bear moved—

—but Tai followed through, ramming one gauntleted hand into the end of the blade. Ice erupted through the Ursa's fur to mingle with the bony spines, stabbing it through in a dozen places. Raven grabbed her brother and dragged him back as it roared in pain. Icicles snapped as it shook violently, smoke pouring from the wounds.

Summer turned away from the Grimm to scream at the twins. "Get ba—"

"What do we have to do to kill this thing?!" Tai shrieked, catching a paw on his combined shields before it could flatten her. She dove around him to jab Gungnir's point into another glowing eye and stepped smoothly back behind his shield as it retaliated.

Qrow staggered to his feet, sword in his left hand, and swung at the thing's neck. The shotgun barrels rotated into position, and he pulled the trigger at the last moment to drive the blade home with the recoil. It cut much deeper than before despite his weakened state.

It turned toward them, but Raven was ready. A bolt of lightning—blinding compared to the sparks of Summer's bullets—struck its side from the scabbard, shattering on its thick skin, and she yanked Qrow back again as the beast seized.

Tai leapt forward, shields folding away, and slammed a fist into its cracked faceplate.

Flames roared from his hands as he kept up the barrage, easily dodging its exhausted swipes and snaps. His wings reignited with a flash, whirling around the pair of them, and he brought both fists down on its head. The bone finally split and the Ursa disappeared in a haze of smoke and sparks.

Qrow froze where he'd sprawled on the ground, staring wide-eyed at the Huntsman and still clutching his shoulder. "Whoa."

“Well, that’s my Semblance," Tai said cheerfully, stretching. Golden flecks faded from his eyes with the last of the flames. “The more hits I dish out during a fight, the stronger I get—especially if I can get a rhythm to resonate. But it resets when I take dama—”

"What were you thinking?!" Summer demanded, stepping him and the two of them, hands tightening on her spear.

Oh gods. Oh gods they knew and they were just waiting for their chance and now her aura was gone and Qrow couldn't use his right arm—she couldn't open a portal and they'd never escape the Huntress on foot, she didn't even need to chase them when she could just shoot them both before they even made it out of the clearing—

Summer's eyes widened. "S-sorry." Gungnir collapsed with a flick of her wrist.

"The fight's over, Raven." Qrow took her arm, gently pushing it down. Her sword—she was holding her sword up like she was going to fight the Huntress. It fell from her hands with a gasp like it had burned. Wait—no—she'd just threatened them, given everything away, she needed her weapon—

Tai rubbed his eyes. "We shouldn't have sent you in there alone. Sorry, that was a stupid idea."

"And I should have put both rounds into the Major like you said…"

"Raven?" Qrow's hand moved to her other shoulder, wrapping his arm around her back, pulling her toward him.

Coddling.

“I'm fine," she snapped, stepping out of his half-embrace to collect her fallen sword, shoving it in the sheath with a quiet snick before turning north and striding away. "We should get out of here before we're attacked again."

"Wha— wait!" Tai shouted, leaves crunching under his boots as he ran toward her. Raven reached one hand into her belt, to the concealed handle of her knife— "At least let us walk in front, come on!" Her step faltered, and he passed before turning to face her again. "I'm really sorry. We won't ask you to do that again."

What?

She'd always gone in alone. Ever since she was seven, it was logical. She could get out of danger with a single step or summon backup if she got pinned. It's what she was for.

"Hey, don't look like that! I'm not gonna get us lost when we're following that ," he laughed, pointing up at the cliffs just barely visible through the canopy above them. "Give me some credit!"

"I'll bring up the rear," Summer said, re-extending her rifle but clipping the arrow to her belt so she could use the stock. "You're pretty beat up too, Qrow. You okay? What's going on with your shoulder?"

"Eh, I'll be fine in a few minutes," he said, casually clipping his sword to his back left-handed. “An Ursa kind of landed on it."

"That sword upgrade sure came in handy."

"Well…" his voice lifted like it always did when he talked about the damn thing. "It's not really an upgrade since it's an entirely different sword. We used the old one as a blueprint 'cause I liked the shape."

Raven stared him down, expressionless. "It still seems overcomplicated to me."

He fell silent.

Next Chapter: Summer—Hint

[ythmir-writes]

Hey hey! Is it still okay to send in an ask for the 182 prompts? If it is, I'd really love it if you could write reincarnation with Ieyasu Tokugawa from Ikemen Sengoku (which... MC is from the modern world but like... I just really like the reincarnation trope so if it it's still okay... >...

A/N: hello! Thank you for requesting! I would just like to apologize for taking too long (youknowwhatimean) but i am here and i have written something! please refer to this post for the full explanation and some insight and just me uhhh generally rambling again so~

here it is, that reincarnation AU that turned into multichaptersevenifno one literally no one asked for this except my brain\

edit! i can’t believe it wasn’t included (again,damnyoutumblr) but hey i would just like to give my sincerest thank you for saying you love what i do! i try my best is always and i hope you continue to enjoy what i write as much as i enjoy writing them :> thankyouthankyou i really LOVE my midcin gods piece i think the suitors would all be badass gods

REINCARNATION

fandom: Ikemen Sengokucharacter: Ieyasu Tokugawa

Prologue / ??

Ieyasu Tokugawa never knows when it will happen.

He had been standing by the sink debating with Masamune about the practicality of growing their own garden on the roofdeck of their building. Masamune had reasoned for fresh produce for spells and cooking. Ieyasu had countered that it was exactly a chore none of them needed, what with the restaurant already enough work for three pairs of hands. When all of a sudden the morning light was too bright for Ieyasu’s eyes, the air too hot for his lungs to take.

He felt his knees buckle under him as he tried to stay upright; one hand gripping the ledge of the sink, the other gripping (extra tightly) the plate, and precariously placing it down so it would not shatter and cause more problems like his brain was causing problems like how he couldn’t hold it all together and Masamune was looking at him funny and he needed he needed –

I will find you!

“Ieyasu…?” Masamune sounded like he was ten feet away.

“I just need… a moment.”

Washing heavy futons and bringing them out to the veranda to dry. A wide backyard filled with nothing but clothing lines and kimonos swaying in the wind. A hat. A balloon. A blade. A burning plane crashing towards them.

Breathe.

Laughter and guffaws as people raced through abandoned castles. Fireworks by the lake. A huge birthday party like none of them had ever seen. A needle thrust into his arm. Fifteen needles. Screams.

Breathe.

I will find you I will find you I will find you.

Breathe.

First through his teeth. Then through his nose. Ieyasu may not know when his episodes will happen but he knew what he needed to do when they did: keep breathing, keep breathing. Take in gulps of air as the pain that gripped him ever so slowly began to let go.

All of a sudden, he felt weightless and realized that Masamune was carrying him, saying some gibberish Ieyasu could neither hear nor understand. He tried to make him stop, tried to tell the idiot that he was just fine, he did not need any special treatment, that this – him falling to the floor with no apparent cause or reason – was just his usual.

Ieyasu was just remembering a bit of his past lives, after all.

+

The first time he had experienced it, Ieyasu thought he had gone mad.

It had been lifetimes past, during a minor scuffle; adolescent teasing turned into a semi-serious contest of who could knock the other one out faster before the adults could intervene. He could remember the half-circle that formed around him. The jeers. The taunting. His own labored breathing and the way his nose was dribbling blood.

The way the other child spat at him and made indecent gestures towards where he should place his head and for how long. He had taken it all in stride. But the other child had spat again, this time on the names of his friends who lost and were nursing their bruises behind the line. That had not gone down so well.

Ieyasu, even when he had temporarily forgotten himself, always did have a particular kind of temper.

He had shouted something equally indecent, taking two thunderous steps to approach his opponent close enough for a punch. But just as he was about to connect his vision blurred.

The kid before him was no longer just a kid but had somehow grown into an adult. No, two adults. Three. A dozen. A hundred. A mass of bodies before him suddenly, impossibly so. And he was no longer just a child but a grown man. And he was no longer just holding out his fists but a sword that he gripped like it was his lifeline and which he swung and twirled and used like an extension of his arm.

The soldiers before him swarmed him but he fended them off, his body moving almost on its own, his steps measured and exacting to keep him upright. For how long he was fighting, he did not know, could not tell. Only that he needed to ward them off, only that he needed to buy time until –

“Ieyasu! Here!!”

Who?

“I’m coming!!”

A hand grabbing his shoulder and pulling him backwards tore him from his vision; one moment he was valiantly defending his keep, the next he was being shoved down on the ground, the screams of dying men fading to give way to the delighted screams of children having seen their first real fight.

“Get a grip, Ieyasu!” someone shouted at someone else but the slap was all his and his cheek burned for it; for a moment, he felt the same warm sensation in his chest rising up, felt the hilt of a katana in his hands where there was nothing but air and –

Another slap. Harder this time, and his vision focused on his playmate – no, a man now – holding him. A very familiar face with raven hair and red eyes. A friend. A comrade. An almost brother.

Not a soldier trying to betray him. Not a spy sneaking into his chambers and trying to kill him.

“Kotaro!” the man shouted at him, and the children around them were fleeing now and some were crying. What was he thinking making a scene surrounded by children? “No, Ieyasu!”

The name felt like a hard blow to his chest, pushing him down. Ieyasu’s vision blurred again. And he had gripped the arm holding him as memories he had never experienced flooded into his mind – memories no fifteen year old boy should have any right remembering.

Too much scenarios. Too much experience. Too much life. He writhed in agony and the hand on his shoulder both kept him down and held him up as he struggled.

It was as if someone had flipped a switch. One moment he was a boy, ignorant and innocent and powerless, wanting to prove his own worth against a world that spat on commoners, and then the next moment he was a conqueror, a ruler of clans. And he knew things; he remembered things so different and stark against his own – truer? more recent? – memories.

He felt his jaw hurt. He felt his arms and legs hurt. He felt like his entire body was being crushed under the weight and the gaze of something judging him from heavens and something else scratching the back of his skull. And all of these caused by the two differing visions he could see at the same time.

Two sets of memories that seemed to blend and mix together. Two sets of memories that fought inside his brain to be recognized as reality. Two sets of memories that hurt. Two sets of memories that made him feel hurt.

“Stay awake.” The friend he could not yet quite remember urged him. “Stay with me. It’ll pass. I’ve seen you do this before.”

Ieyasu struggled and could only barely bite down on his agony, hoping through tears that the man was right. And as he screamed through phantom pain, as he shouted and struggled and tried his damndest to make sense of things as quickly as a fifteen year old boy could, an unsettling and frightening sense of certainty slowly overcame him and told him that the set of polar opposite memories both undeniably belonged to him.

+

Ieyasu does not know if he will ever stop having these visions.

But to be honest, vision was not the proper term. It was more a recollection, a remembering of things gone by.  But if he was already being exacting, it was also not just a simple matter of recollecting either.

It was more a sensation in his skull that his brain was somehow (impossibly and impractically) shifting to accommodate unearthed memories. And more often than not, it was as if his entire body was remembering what it had gone through all at once at the same time.

Pain. Joy. Sickness. Lethargy. Uneasiness. Nausea. Fear. Elation. All his wounds and all his triumphs. All his births and all his deaths. Dreams, and nightmares. A gallimaufry of emotions and sensations. He felt them all, felt himself drowning in them; the moments in which he lost his grip on reality stretching into hours and days as he re-lived whatever it was the he had somehow remembered.

No one had any explanation as to why his body decided to remember everything else that came with his memories. Timeshifters were rare but his case even rarer. It was probably his own little curse. Or an equivalent price. A way to balance his talent.

Ieyasu did not want to look too closely for fear of what might look back. Some people might find the idea of not forgetting things to be of comfort. Ieyasu knows for certain those people have never really experienced what it was like to remember it all.

By the time he regained consciousness, Ieyasu was already on his bed. The room was quiet and dark. A cooling pack was on his forehead, his body weighed comfortably down by a thick blanket, and all his closest friends in the room, asleep and keeping vigil.

No, not all.

One was still missing. The one dearest to him. The one he would never stop looking for.

I will find you! I will find you!

We will meet again!

It was a bitter memory amongst sweet ones, a parting too abrupt. Like a cloth cut haphazardly into a thousand torn seams. Ieyasu knew as long as they were not complete, nothing would ever be the same. Not just their ultimate aim, which was altruistic, but also their everyday life, which was closer. More his.

How long has it been since he had seen her? How long since he had been able to trace the stars on her back? How many lifetimes had passed since she had last held him in her arms as he bewailed the inescapable fact that his fate had no clear end?

Too many to count. Too many to really forget.

And as he sank back down into sleep’s embrace, Ieyasu misses her all the more. He wonders to himself yet again where she could be now, and if they could find her soon. And with his last wisps of consciousness, he wishes not for the last time, that she was there with him, in the dark, with their friends, to help blunt all the pain.

24/182