#This has been marinating in my head for a while so I am inflicting it on the world. may or may not elaborate | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bigkyloenergy · 4 years ago

Text

𝙃𝙊𝙉𝙀𝙔𝙀𝘿 𝙑𝙀𝙉𝙊𝙈

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐕: 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐃.

a witcher!kylo x reader fic. dark themes, smut ahead. 18+.

summary: you are a barmaid / stablewoman at an inn in toussaint, kylo ren, one of the last of the witchers from the school of the viper regularly stays at the establishment. you wonder what keeps him coming back.

read on ao3.

Empty mugs piled the tables faster than you could keep up tonight, collecting them in your arms and being forced to inhale the putrid smell of ale that should’ve gotten familiar by now. You wrinkled your nose, hoping no leftovers would splash on your clothes as you journeyed to the kitchen. The first snowfall had hit, and it was heavy, the windows covered in blankets of fluffy white curtains. Men huddled near the fire, booking more days than normal, waiting for it to pass. While your impatience wore differently.

Subconsciously, your mind could conjure the exact days since you’d seen him.

But the last few days have been check in, check out — change sheets, check in again, check out early — is that person even still here?... and repeat, your body was a machine catered to serving.

Seemed like useless tasks now that you knew what it was like to awaken every nerve ending that you possessed. For what seemed like millionth time, you damned the Viper who had found routine passing in your workplace, leaving you with this cursed form, like leftover ash from a campfire.

You counted the keys gone when you slinked back behind the counter, wiping your forehead on the back of your sleeve, grateful when you found only a few missing. The last week they’d been emptied, along with your sanity.

“Pst, missy,” Ruek whispered from behind you, and you turned to see his fuzzy face peeking from behind the heavy kitchen door, “you got anymore orders?”

“No,” you gave him a tired smile, “just checked out ten guys in a row, who I swear were the same person.”

“Beards’ll do that to ya,” his kind eyes squinted as he emerged, and you leaned against your station, giving your feet a slight break, “they make us pretty. Here, close your eyes and open up. I’ve got a surprise.”

Hesitating, you gave him a look, tipping your chin as you tried to see what he was holding behind his back. He clicked his tongue, “Come on, your cheating nature is showing, close your damn eyes it’s not gonna kill ya.”

Finally, you sighed, doing as he said. You could use a bit of a distraction from work anyway, all you did was go home, plant your face into the pillow only to wake up to the same programming.

“Open,” he reminded, which only made you more annoyed. It was Ruek, so you inevitably gave in to avoid the argument. You felt something cold on your lip, reaching your tongue toward the ‘special’ treat, and biting into… chocolate? Quickly, juices poured into your mouth, which urged you to finally open your eyes.

The cook stood, grinning proudly, a dipped strawberry in his hand. “Eck, Ru, you should've warned me, you know how I am about stuff that sweet.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but what followed was not from him.

“I used to think this inn had good service,” Kylo’s voice strapped you to an invisible post, straightening your back, choking on the leftover flavors.

The Viper wasn’t looking at you, he was staring straight at Ruek, exigently demanding a response.

“My fault, thought Miss could use a little break.”

“Hm.”

You wanted him to look at you, your very soul was demanding it, to be drowned, the striking yellow in his eyes two suns that burned everything in their path, and you the phoenix who rose under them.

How long had he been here?

“Do you need a key?” You finally spoke, trying to sound nonchalant, licking the bits of chocolate off of your lips as you reached for one.

“No. I already have one.”

What? Betty wasn’t even here. You had been the only one checking anyone in and out for the last couple days. Your brows furrowed.

“There’s a spill near the gwent tables.” He added.

“Is that why you came over here?” You could feel Ruek looking at you, wondering why the hell you were questioning the man in the first place. Of course, The Viper didn’t answer, nor did he fully acknowledge your presence.

“I got it. If we have no more orders. No problem. Just — uh let Jerrid know if you need anything from the kitchen.” Ruek shuffled away while you were too busy playing stare off with Kylo’s mask.

“You let everyone’s fingers in your mouth, little müna?”

“What? No. He has me taste test stuff all the time,” gods, this man kept you oversharing at any crumb of attention he gave you, still severely irritated with overgrown mutant though you began to smirk, “is that why you came over here? Are you.. are you jealous?”

“You expect me to play cards next to someone’s secretions.”

“It is, isn’t it? You can play Mr. Keepaway all you want, you think you have this affect on me where you can use me to your will. But you wanna know what I know that you don’t?”

He didn’t respond, eye twitching, which only aided you, leaning over the counter that Kylo could very easily hop, and this was when he finally met your eyes. Though your traitor of a body screamed with validation, you only grinned.

“I know this isn’t one sided. What would you do if you knew I fucked him?” You didn’t, of course, but the thought of making The Viper jealous thrilled you to the core, “If I let him cum in my mouth without having to force my jaw open? If he was the one I was fallin—”

Your chin was grabbed, keeping you still over the counter, your feet almost hovering on the floor. Leather squished your cheeks, his gaze scooping your bravery from you in a single second.

“Careful.” The Witcher warned, studying your face, tipping it slightly in his grip, reviving the soreness in your jaw.

“Or what, Kylo?”

He paused, and for some reason you knew you weren’t going to lack a response this time. Dropping you, he left you to land against the bartop, and his broad shoulders turned toward the small crowd.

“Leave.” His voice was a crack of thunder, splitting the customers' relaxation in half.

Most scattered to their feet, afraid of why this King of the Abyss was evicting them, not wanting to take the chance. The men who were brave enough to stay were met with a glint of silver, only to follow, and you heard the silence from valleys away.

Your eyes darted to find Ruek, there was no living thing in that room except you and Kylo.

If he was even living.

“What the hell? What’re you doing? Are you trying to make me lose my job?” He caught your neck again, like it was a new skill he was practicing, then pulled his mask down over his chin.

The whole world stopped. Your breathing was arrested in your lungs, feeling a rush of awareness cut off your circulation and leave you dizzy with the sight of perfect, scarred lips, remembering how earnestly they had caressed your breasts atop of his horse. He was grimacing, wrinkles near his nose as he looked down at you. A lost warning.

He slammed you into the nearest table, not paying mind to any of the silverware that was under you nor the plates he had just shattered on the floor. Standing between your legs that hung off the end of the it, the fireplace triggered the iridescence of his armor, another engligment to why he wore his title so well.

You couldn’t stop studying his face, mapping every curve, and you were needy as you leaned up in an attempt to capture his mouth, find every ingredient of what made up this man that haunted you, possessed you.

Not a ghost, but a demon.

Just as your lips brushed against the tip of his, your tongue an anxious explorer, he pressed you back down into the oak.

“You are mine,” He spat, his lips curling around his teeth as he let the word marinate on his tongue.

“No,” you gasped, “f—fuck you, I’m not anyone’s, and you out of everyone has shown me that.”

“No? So your cunt isn’t soaked for me right now?” Your thighs pressed together, lips parting just at the words rolled off his venomous tongue, yet you shook your head in pure denial. “Liar. I can smell you. Can practically taste it.” The unoccupied hand ran along the outside of your thigh, under your skirts, til he pinched the fat between his fingers.

The way his mask hung at his chin was just as sensual as his voice, you didn’t even know how that was physically possible, then again this man broke the rules of reality every time you saw him. He pulled you down further, pressing his hips into yours, “Say it.”

“I won’t,” your voice broke with a whine as you felt the bulge in his pants, your legs wrapping around him without a second thought, he smacked your calf, forcing them to hang once more. You groaned, yearning to feel some sort of pressure at your pulsing clit, your body’s temperature spiking by the second.

“Hm. We’ll see.”

The Viper plucked the string that held your bodice together, pulling it until it completely unraveled, your blouse the only thing that hid your perking breasts. You looked down to his gloved hand, then back to him, hair skating over his shoulders, gods-made handles for your undoing. You let out a sigh as he thumbed your nipple through the material, keeping his palm wrapped around your throat. Your hips buckled, finding nothing, the beast keeping his hips perfectly spaced from yours so you couldn’t use him for any sort of pleasure. You felt your blood boiling, and not just from the intricate torture he was inflicting. No man had ever had this affect on you, but he was not any man.

A low growl came from deep in Kylo’s throat, and your eyes opened, not realizing you shut them in the first place. He was unblinking, watching your reaction as the stitch of his glove rolled around the bud.

“Please, Kylo,” you begged, shattering every restraint you had just from seeing him so immersed in you like this, still clothed yet utterly hopeless, knowing he was your only salvation.

“Say it.”

You whined, one of your fists hitting the table, not wanting to give into him. But you weren’t the only one suffering. Pulling your top down, he released your tits from their confines, and immediately consumed them. His mouth opened, hot and wet, leaving easy marks as he glided from one to the other, tightening his hand on your neck every time your chittering frame squirmed.

One of your hands found his hair, and you were surprised when he didn’t pull it from his head. You took the opportunity earnestly, digging your fingers through the raven locks, breaking through knots to find a good grip. He sucked on you like he was getting oxygen straight from your skin, popping a nipple from his mouth only to give the same attention to the other.

Your cunt was pulsing so badly it hurt, every flutter mocking the emptiness of it, so much that you had to swallow down noises at every flick of the Viper’s tongue.

Leather fingers danced back down your form, parting your thighs, not hesitating as they peeled your panties from your saturated pussy. The first time you had his cock, you fucked yourself into a rage trying to mimic the way it felt, three fingers wasn’t enough for the fantasy and you knew it. Being so close to that now left you ravenous, forgetting the challenge that was imposed in the first place.

He ran the tip of his finger down the line of your lips, collecting the juices at the end of it with a single scoop before he pushed it back inside of you. Barely spreading you as he toyed with your entrance, circling and stretching it open, already making wet noises in the emptied inn.

“Fuck! I — please fuck me, please. I’ll do anything. Please just — fuck Kylo, please.” The words could barely be made out through insistent whines, he stayed silent, his mouth and finger working diligently to send you over that edge, into the pool of his domination.

He reached his thumb up to press pressure on your clit, never moving it, while the finger hooked inside of you, and your whole body jerked forward. Kylo quickly put your back in your place, mentally and physically, forcing you to remember his promise.

“I’m yours! Okay! I’m yours, puhleaaase, just please…” You couldn’t even properly be convincing, though you meant it, even if you didn’t want to admit it outside of him fucking you sensless.

He yielded both of his hands, lifting his face from your chest and ridding you of the secure grip you had on his head. Honey yellow eyes surveyed you from your heavy lidded gaze, all the way down to your lifted skirts, then back up again.

“Hm. I suppose I need to be more convincing.” In one languid motion, he had your dress above your head, corset falling to the floor with it, leaving you completely bare on top of the main round table in the dead center of your job. Ruek could be watching from the back for all you knew.

Kylo leered above you, his chest filling, consuming your gaze as much as he did your mind. His teeth pinched the middle finger of his glove, pulling it off with his mouth.

Your stomach flipped.

He grabbed the amulet that hung at his neck, snapping it off and rolling it around in his hand, examining it the same way he did you. You could swear you saw his eyes glisten with… something, before his focus was back.

The Viper’s large fist started to glow, and soon so did the metal.

Anticipation tickled the back of your neck, your heartbeat similar to an approaching wardrum as it filled your eyes the more you watched, “what’re you doing?”

“Showing you.” He didn’t blink.

“Showing me what?”

“Who you belong to.”

The metal of the viper face was red hot, smoking nearly. He held it between two fingers, grabbing your thigh in one hand and tugging you as you began to crawl up the table. You obediently stilled.

“Don’t move or we’ll have to do it again.”

You sucked in a breath of air, senses filling with his scent — pine, mint, leather, the very earth. Just as you did he began to line his cock up with your entrance, rubbing against the folds. He hushed you as you squeaked, and began to lower the medallion down between the hills of your chest. He perfectly lined it up, not having to look twice before he dropped his hand down, and you cried out. The flesh boiled and singed, and the entire map of your skin feeling the aftermath.

The pain was quickly distracted by another as he split you open, a growl being spat between his teeth as his cock sunk all the way into you, giving no time to adjust to the overwhelming size of him. Your nails dug at the stained wood, scratching for some kind of stability as your skin bubbled, painting a gift made by the Viper himself, all while the tip of his dick began to wrack against your cervix.

Your eyes rolled back completely into your head, nimble fingers finding straps of his armor to hold onto, which only assisted him in beating his hips off of your cunt. He lifted one of your legs over his shoulder, your knee barely making it to curve, it only helped the Witcher angle you to his pillaging.

The smell of burnt flesh filled your nose, truly you almost forgot about the branding he had just centered on your torso, meeting euphoria with the way his cock worked inside of you. It sent you to another plane, both of his large hands gripping your hips as he forced your smaller frame to bounce off of him. Forks and other leftover dining ware pinched at your back, ridding them off the table the more he pounded you.

His eyes were blazing carnality, encapsulating the definition of primal.

“You are mine,” he spoke through each stroke of his hips, dropping the carved metal to hold your body still with the familiar hold on your neck, “every inch of you… you are a hole for me to fuck. And that is all you are.”

You whined, specks floating in your sight as you kept alert, eyes so heavy with pleasure it was damn near blinding you.

“The next time you let another man touch you,” a sharp smack of his hips, pain crawling up your spine, threatening to quite literally break you, “I will fuck you atop of his carcass.”

Another plunge of his cock and the table was splintering under you, until it snapped in two. Kylo didn’t care — in fact, it was as if it didn’t even happen, the perfect savage beat he was plowing you with was never broken.

He just used his own body as a kickstand for your lower half, the persistent assault keeping you where he wanted, finding no need in his hands other than to appreciate your body.

Kylo twisted your nipple, sliding across the spot he had just engraved, your lips parting in return. You heard another grunt from him, forcing your dazed focus on his face, which would forever be your most vivid memory, and you couldn’t even bring warning for the orgasm that he was inducing.

Just as it creeped up, his bare thumb was circling expertly over your swollen knot, breaking the dam. Your climax poured in, walls clenching and milking his cock in the process.

A gritty groan was dropped into your ear, and it only served as a catalyst to your silent screams, legs shaking while your cunt became much more sensitive. You tried to pull up, away from his relentless motions, he didn’t let you, just chased you along the broken table, filling you to the brim.

Lewd sounds began to echo with the crackles of the fire, and all you could focus on was him — he was watching his cock go in and out of you, holding your skirts above your waist to get a good view of his slickened dick, pushing him toward his own finale, using you every inch of the way.

You could barely tell from his face when he finished, you studied the Viper like it was your true passion, fossilizing his mannerisms, expressions, even his voice. You ate up every moment, the threat of them being memories a looming shadow of presence. The tiny twitch of his nose, deep wrinkle of his forehead, subtle signs he was coming apart for you.

He pulled out of your fluttering cunt, after leaving a lazy kiss on the scabbing mark of possession he’d left, being more gentle with that than any part of you.

Kylo pulled his mask back over his face before he was tucking his cock away. You were almost sad to see it go.

If he didn’t come back after this, maybe you’d be okay. You looked down at the piece of himself that he permanently placed on you, your finger running on the curve of its open mouth. It didn’t hurt, maybe due to the adrenaline pumping through your veins. By the time you looked back up, he was turned.

“What’re you—”

“Sh.”

Your lips pressed together, wanting to reach for your dress, yet something about him told you not to move a muscle.

The door pushed open, a panicked villager entering, tripping over themselves at every step.

“Help, a monster is attacking the town! It’s killing everyone, my family, please!”

#kylo ren fanfic #witcher fanfic #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren smut #ben solo x reader #Witcher AU #witcher!kylo #hv.#dead dove elements #tw branding #tw noncon #tw violence

77 notes · View notes

smol-and-grumpy · 5 years ago

Text

Cross My Heart - CH.01

Pairing: Bodyguard!Dean x Reader; Chuck Shurley x Reader

Summary: After opening up a letter, the life as she knows it, changes forever. Her husband hires Dean Winchester to protect her but is Dean really who he said he was? And is her husband really worried about her safety?

Warnings: Abusive behavior towards a spouse, angst.

WC: 2913

SERIES MASTERLIST

It’s like any other day in her boring life, really.

Chuck, her husband, has already left to do whatever he’s doing. She doubts that it’s work but what does she know, really.

She was still sleeping when he left. He’s mostly up before the break of dawn, something with time zones and new deals. But she guesses it’s also because he doesn’t really want to see her and he’d rather go out early to avoid the awkward mornings together.

Y/N gets out of bed and hops into the shower. Afterwards, she dresses to impress, because that’s what people expect of her. They expect of her to always look presentable and the paparazzi are everywhere.

She walks along the landing, her heels clicking on the marble flooring as she descends the stairs.

While she passes the living room, she sees a stack of mail on the sideboard by the door. Chuck must have taken in the mail and put it there before he left. She stops to look through the stack. There’s the usual letters, bills and mortgages they need to pay, which is not really her concern since Chuck takes care of their finances.

She used to do it, though. But about three years back, Chuck told her that she shouldn’t hurt her pretty head by worrying about bills and he took over. He was adamant about it and there’s nothing she could have said to make him change his mind. Not that she hasn’t tried. She graduated summa cum laude from Stanford and now she’s just a really bored housewife.

Chuck didn’t even finish College. Dropped out and worked his way up at a record label, and when he had had enough, he split from them and opened his own, not without taking all the talents with him which ended up in a big lawsuit and he had to settle the huge bill.

Y/N met Chuck in College, they kept contact after he dropped out and after her graduation, they got married in Vegas. Not really a thing fairy tales are made of, she knows. Chuck was great at first and let her be part of his imperium. That was until he thought that his wife shouldn’t be working so hard. She basically got degraded from being a strong woman who still had her future ahead of her, to becoming someone's arm candy. Became something he can parade around.

Their relationship changed after maybe the first two years. She’s been with him for so long, she can’t even remember when it all really started. His record label took off, everybody was talking about Apocalypse Records, he was praised, had so many articles in magazines about how he’s a self-made millionaire. Little do they know that she was the one who emptied her trust fund in order to support him at the beginning of his career.

Y/N’s still skimming through their mail until an envelope catches her attention. There’s her name scribbled on it, no address, no stamps. She weighs the envelope with her hand, feels something hard and heavy, heavier than sheets of paper at least. She hooks the nail of her pinky finger into the latch and opens it, the content flutters to the ground.

Pictures, she realizes, and then she squats and picks them up. Her heart stops.

They are all pictures of her. A picture of her while she’s out shopping, a picture while she’s having lunch on her own. Pictures of her sleeping in her bed in her own home.

Oh my god.

Her hand’s are shaking as she reads the letter.

MRS. SHURLEY,

THE SAME LETTER WITH THE SAME CONTENT HAS BEEN SENT TO YOUR HUSBANDS OFFICE AS WELL.

WHAT DO WE WANT YOU MAY ASK?

THE ANSWER IS: WE WANT YOU.

PS. IT’S NOT REALLY OUR MODUS OPERANDI TO INFORM OUR VICTIMS BEFOREHAND BUT WE LIKE TO PLAY WITH YOU, SO.

PPS. HAVE A GOOD DAY.

Y/N feels nauseous but she manages to pull herself together enough to grab her keys by the door and walks out to get into her car.

On her way over to Chuck’s company, she tries to call him but it goes right into his voicemail.

She arrives and nods at the security guy before taking the elevator up to the top floor. Chuck’s secretary stops her as soon as Y/N steps out, but she wouldn’t let herself be stopped so she walked right into see something she probably shouldn’t.

Chuck’s bend over his desk, his face buried in the cunt of his assistant.

She slams the door close loudly, for the fucking dramatic effect, which makes Chuck jump and he looks at her, startled, the juice of his assistant still drips down his chin. The assistant screams and scrambles from the table, covers herself up with both her hands.

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I being too loud?” Y/N says, storms in and slams the letter onto Chuck’s desk. It’s soaked in the assistant's wetness. Katy, Kathy, Karen? She can’t remember.

“What the fuck!” Chuck shouts out.

“Karen? Is it?” She turns to his assistant.

“No, it’s Kacy.”

“Awe silly me,” Y/N grins, “I knew it was something with a K .”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Chuck growls and something with a K is getting dressed.

“Read it.” Y/N just says, ignoring the assistant. She wonders if something with a K knows that she’s not the only one. Y/N for her part stopped having sex with Chuck already three years after their marriage, when she found out that he’s been fucking all the other whores he meets. They’ve mostly been ignoring each other since, but they have to keep up the facade, mainly because Chuck can’t afford to lose out on divorcing her.

Something with a K slips out of the door and Chuck sits down on his desk, the swelling in his pants disappeared. Not that there was much to see in the first place.

“Is this a fucking prank? Why do they want me?” She asks Chuck and he’s still frowning while reading it.

“I don’t know? Maybe they want to kidnap you? Get money from me?”

She laughs. Loud and sharp.

“If they are watching me, they’d know that you don’t fucking care about me!”

“That’s not true, Y/N.”

“Oh, please! When was the last time you were here for my birthday? When was the last time we shared a meal together and I’m not talking about the outings we have to boost your fucking company!”

“I might not love you anymore but I still do care about you.” Chuck says, his voice is calm and she wonders if it’s sincere. She can never read him. Well, at least he’s being honest when he says that he doesn’t love her anymore, she has to give him that. Strangely, it doesn’t hurt as much as she thought it would.

“Go wait in the record studio. You’re safe there. I’ll get my team together, see what we can do. Does the police know?”

“I haven’t contacted them.”

“I’ll do it. Go.”

She’s pushing around some buttons as she sits in the chair in the record studio, waiting for Chuck to come get her. Maybe she shouldn’t play with them because Chuck will probably get mad when all the buttons are at the wrong places.

Y/N smirks at the thought that Chuck would be pissed, and begins to start pushing at more buttons and messing the whole studio up. For fucking good measure.

Time passes and she looks at her watch. She’s been in here for almost two hours already. Lunch time came and passed. Maybe Chuck forgot about her? She wouldn’t put it past him.

The door opens with a bang and she has to laugh. Chuck’s always so fucking dramatic. He walks in and closes the door behind him while she gets up from her chair.

“Okay, the police came and confiscated the letter and pictures. They did really send another copy to my office.”

“Crap. Do I need to talk to them?”

“Not yet,” Chuck sighs, “Here’s how it goes. I hired a bodyguard for you, he’ll protect you.”

“This is ridiculous!” Her lips twitch at the anger she feels, “I don’t need a bodyguard! Like really Chuck, who’s going to come after me? This is a joke. I don’t get it, I mean I know that you are struggling at the moment with signing on new talents and keeping old ones, so I doubt that someone can really dig for gold right now!”

She proceeds to walk away and out of here, but Chuck pulls her back by her arm, slams her against the wall and claws his hands around her throat. “If you tell anyone that I’m in a financial crisis, I swear!”

Y/N opens her mouth to protest but angry Chuck is not her favorite Chuck so all she can push past her lips is, “Okay,”

Chuck rarely gets physical with her, so it’s a complete surprise and she’s shocked at the pain he inflicts her.

“Good. Let’s play nice, shall we?” Chuck whispers into her ear and then he lets go of her.

Her hands immediately fly to her throat, and she has to cough.

Chuck waits for her to regain her composure before he opens the door again to call someone in, “Mr. Winchester?”

“Yes, sir.” He hears a voice but doesn’t recognize it. She’s never heard it before but she likes how deep and low it is. Feels that the two words alone soothes her aching soul.

Chucks walks back further into the room, and someone else is joining them too. She almost gasps out loud when she sees Mr. Winchester. He’s tall and broad, wears a black suit. He has a light scruff, the tie is neat and sits right at the center, and when he smiles and nods at her, she can see the crinkles around his eyes. His face is sprayed with little freckles. Mr. Winchester’s eyes are green.

“Honey, this is Mr. Winchester. He’s an ex-marine and he’s your bodyguard.”

Mr. Winchester’s green eyes stay on her before his gaze travels to her throat. He frowns then but he doesn’t say anything.

“Chuck, I don’t need a bodyguard,” She tries to reason with her husband.

“For fuck’s sake, Y/N. We’ve been through this. You will do what I say and you’ll let Mr. Winchester do his job.”

She sighs and rolls her eyes at Chuck before she purses her lips into a thin line, “Fine!”

“You okay, Mrs. Shurley?” Mr. Winchester asks her when she settles next to him. Apparently, she’s not even allowed to drive her own car anymore, “Did he hurt you?”

So, he did notice it.

She shakes her head, “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

Mr. Winchester frowns, the crease between his eyebrows deepens but he doesn’t press any further, just sends her a courtesy nod.

There’s silence between them and Mr. Winchester starts the engine to which she then asks him if he could take her to the next coffee shop.

He answers short, “Sure.”

And with that, Mr. Winchester drives off.

She watches him while he drives, tries to be subtle about it.

“What’s your name?” After a while she asks him bluntly, and she doesn’t know if he’s even allowed to tell her but the silence in the car is killing her.

“Dean.”

“Dean? Can I call you Dean?”

He chuckles, “Of course, Mrs. Shurley.”

His answers are short, quick. He doesn’t look at her once.

“You can call me Y/N.”

Dean doesn’t answer.

She offered to buy Dean a coffee and something to eat too but he said that he wasn’t hungry or thirsty, so she took her coffee to go. It’s best if they get it over with, she thinks. He can drop her off and go about his day. And she can go into sulking. Maybe she’ll call her friend, Meg, and tell her the newest episode of dickhead Chuck.

Back home, she thought that Dean would leave her be but no, he gets out of the car and is right behind her when she unlocks the front door.

“Don’t you have anywhere you should be? Maybe another bodyguard job?” She asks him curiously.

Dean shrugs, “You’re my only priority.”

Wow, it has been too long since she’s someone’s priority. And she doesn’t know what it is but it makes her blush and her heart thumbs ridiculously fast in her chest.

Just when she opens the door to step in, she lets out a yell.

Dean immediately draws his gun, grips her by the arm and pulls her back, acting like a human shield for her. “What?” He hisses while he tilts his head back to ask.

She, on the other hand, freezes when she sees Dean’s gun, “You have a gun?”

He looks at her with one raised eyebrow, “How else should I be able to protect you, Mrs. Shurley. Now tell me, what is it?”

“Look for yourself,” She whispers.

She peeks from behind him, sees the overturned furniture in her home, sees the feathers laying around which spilled out from the pillows, sees that the walls and whole floor have been drenched in some kind of red paint that looks awfully like blood. Maybe it is blood because there’s this metallic smell in the air.

Oh my god . If it’s really blood, who's blood is it?

“Fuck,” Dean mutters under his breath and she guesses that he too, didn’t think when he took over the job, that it’ll be this intense.

“Where’s your room?” Dean asks, as they step inside. Their shoes are sticky with blood and they have to be careful not to slip and fall.

“Upstairs.”

“Okay, follow me.” Dean stretches out a hand for her to take and she places her small ones in his.

Dean’s hand is big.

Together they go up the stairs and to her surprise, her bedroom still looks the same as when she left it. They just made a mess out of the first floor. She thinks it’s shady as fuck and she guesses that Dean feels the same.

He checks the perimeter and calls the police when he comes back empty handed while she still tries to get the sticky thing off her shoes.

It isn’t long before some crime scene investigators arrive to take pictures of her house. They also taped everything and honestly, it scares her. She’s terrified that someone was able to come in and make a mess in her own house.

Unfortunately, it is also not long before the tabloids got wind about it, and began to show up one by one.

After a while, Dean and her had been informed that the blood is indeed real. But it’s animal blood and not human, so at least there’s that. She shudders when she thinks about it.

Who in the fucking right mind would play such a sick prank?

She and Dean are sitting on the stairs as they watch the police work on the first floor. Dean’s on the phone with Chuck for an awfully long time, and when she gets up to go to her bedroom, Dean follows her absentmindedly. That dude sticks to her like glue. She can’t even be alone in her damn house.

“Yes, sir.” Dean says into the phone and then he hands his phone to her, “Your husband.”

“Chuck,” Her voice is all shades of annoyed. Maybe not particularly because of Chuck. More because her life has become a fucking mess.

“Yeah, pack your things, you’re going away for a while.”

“What?” Y/N nearly screams into the phone.

“Our home is obviously not safe and I doubt that any other buildings in the city are safe right now. If it’s not the kidnapper or killer, it’s the tabloids.”

She sighs, feels helpless. This is not how she thought her life would become. “Where do I go?”

“Mr. Winchester will take you to a safe house.”

She eyes Dean when Chucks talks and Dean just stares at her. His gaze is intense, and there’s something in his eyes too. Worry, probably, she doesn’t know because he’s so hard to read.

“I’m safe in my own house.” She replies, knows herself that it’s totally a stupid thing to say.

“Are you?” Chuck has an amused tone in his voice. She wonders how much he really cares.

She sighs, “For how long?”

“For as long as it takes for the police to catch those bastards.” Chuck’s voice changes and he sounds as annoyed as her. He was always a good actor, she has to give him that.

“Fine.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

She hangs up without saying goodbye and hands the phone back to Dean. He pockets it back and then he stands up a little straighter. “Y/N, please pack light, we don’t have much space on the motorcycle. I’ll be back here in an hour. Be ready by then.”

There’s something fluttering in her stomach when she hears him say her name. It sounds good out of his mouth and she can’t suppress the smile.

“I thought you were not to let me out of your sight?” She’s merely teasing him.

“I need to go pack for myself either,” Dean explains and ignores her smile, “A policeman will stand guard until I’m back.”

“Okay,”

With a courtesy nod, Dean leaves.

CH.02

#cross my heart #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #bodyguard!dean #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #nathalie writes

250 notes · View notes

se0kie · 5 years ago

Text

chapter 1: apathy

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: fluff, eventual smut, ANGST (whoo boy)

greek gods au, poseidon!taehyung, marinebiologist!reader

tags/warnings: none!

summary: it’s difficult being a god. what with all the immortality, the decades bleeding into each other and losing every human being you come to care about. and he’s lived, or whatever it is gods do, for a very, very long time. he thinks he needs help but the fates are being the mysterious, useless hags they’ve always been. they think the solution lives in jeju at the blue side marine conservation. turns out Y/N is the only mortal he’s met who’s ready to challenge him head on. of course it’s not like she knows her new intern is king of the sea, maker of horses, the earthshaker, poseidon himself after all.

next ; series masterlist

Taehyung doesn’t know what’s wrong with him.

He knows he’s been feeling weird and detached from the world around him for quite a while, but it’s easy to forget something’s wrong with you when you’re constantly doing... god stuff.

He has so. many. things. to. do. There’s always mortals to curse... and mortals to flirt with. There’s wars to wage and thrones to protect! There’s the occasional thunderstorm to inflict upon foolish people that disrespect him.

Busy busy, y’know?

“It’s ridiculous, it truly is,” he thinks to himself as he waits in the reception area. The walls are grey, so is the furniture, and hey! so are the three ladies beckoning him into their office!

Taehyung suppressed a shudder that threatened to run down his spine. The three ladies really creeped him out. Especially Atropos with her glassy eyes, always snipping some poor old rascal’s thread of life at the most random moments.

He wouldn’t admit it out loud, never ever, but the Moirae gave him the heebie-jeebies.

He got up from his seat and smoothened out the lapels of his smart, dark blue suit jacket.

Clotho gestured at him to take a seat as he strided into their (grey!) office and plopped down into the (grey!) chair.

“So, what brings you to us, Earthshaker?” Lachesis asked, her wispy voice crackling as she measured the piece of thread her sister was spinning.

“Uh... just Taehyung or Poseidon is fine, Lachesis.” he said as he cleared his throat.

The three ladies, or whatever they were, looked on at him as if to say, “Go on now, we couldn’t care less.”

He shifted in his seat as he thought hard as to how to exactly explain what was bothering his immortal brain.

“I’ve been feeling really, uh- I don’t really know how to explain it but well... Y’know I just can’t—” Clotho cut him off before he could find the right words. “Stop acting a blithering idiot and speak up, Taehyung! You’re the god of the sea sitting before the Fates, not a pre-pubescent boy declaring his love to a maiden!”

“This is why the three of you are millenia old and still unmarried,” Taehyung muttered to himself under his breath.

“Tell us, Poseidon,” Atropos asked him with a look he hoped was meant to be calming, “What’s bothering Rhea’s second eldest?”

Taehyung let out a deep sigh and said, “I feel...apathetic. That’s the word. As if nothing is important enough or exciting enough to really bring me out of this slump.” His aura dampening with each word, he continued, “Every day is mundane, every party is the same, every mortal exactly like the one I met the night before.”

“Everything’s in a loop.”

Lachesis smiled, an unusual occurrence but appreciated nonetheless.

“You need a task, Earthshaker.” she said as she crossed her fingers on the desk before her.

His ears perked up as he heard this, quickly followed by a sharp snip courtesy of Atropos.

“What do you mean ‘task’?” he questioned, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, leaning forward with curiosity.

“We’ve sensed a very special soul’s presence down in South Korea.”

“The one with the dictator? Oh boy, I’m not going there, it’s no fun place for a tourist, I’ve heard.” Taehyung says with a cheeky grin.

Clotho sighs heavily at the juvenile behaviour, “No that’s North Korea you’re talking about. I spun a thread about 23 years ago for a life that demanded your presence. Since you’ve got nothing to do now we think it best you go down there and see to what’s needed of you.”

“Really? Another human? Didn’t you hear the part about the mundanity and the mortals? Why must it be me, can’t you send one of the lesser gods? Apollo loves mingling with the creatures, send him!” he whines, trying to escape his fate.

Lachesis glares at him, her eyes beady and glistening, “Poseidon, you will go to the damned place and do your damned duty or so help me Chronos I will throw you off Olympus myself.”

Taehyung gulped so hard it would’ve been almost funny.

Only that it wasn’t funny because he was very close to peeing his immortal pants. Did he mention before how much he was terrified of the Fates? Cause he was really, really terrified of the Fates.

Now he knew there was no escaping a task from the three crones, so he rolled his eyes, grabbed his staff from the floor and rose from his seat.

‘Stupid stiff leather always hurting my delicate tushy,’ he thought to himself.

He was almost out the door when he turned around to begrudgingly ask, “At least tell me where exactly in South Korea am I to go?”

Clotho smiled at him, eerily reminding him of the beastly Alecto down in the underworld, “Why, it’s the Blue Side Marine Conservation in Jeju Island.”

taglist: @btsxdoll @a-kookie-with-my-tae

a/n: hey just a friendly little reminder that all of the info about greek myth and deities may slightly differ from your versions as mythology is complex and the versions we hear and believe are different! i’m trying my best to do as much research around marine biology, greek myths and how the ocean works to create the best possible story to share with you guys but please be gentle if there are any inaccuracies!

#ficswithluv #bangtanarmynet #btswritingcafe #bts smut #bts taehyung #kim taehyung #bts v #taehyung smut #taehyung #greek gods au #poseidon #taehyung x reader #bts fic #se0kie

186 notes · View notes

dhwty-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 16 - A Sister’s Solace

*comes running in panting with scattered notes everywhere* Hi guys, I made it on time! Last chapter before this term hits me with full force, lol First and foremost I have to thank @spiffingtea for that, who kindly agreed to continue betaing this fic (go chech out her writing, there's one witcher fic and I love it). Second of all, thanks for all your comments! That ending caused quite an uproar, huh? For all those of you wondering how Jaskier will react, here's the answer:

Summary: Jaskier has a hangover and wakes up to unexpected news concerning the relationship status of his witcher. Strangely, this isn't the worst thing to transpire that miserable day.

Read on AO3

prologue | previous | next

"And you're certain, Jakub?"

"Quite, my lord," the servant answered with a guarded expression. "The witcher hasn't returned to his chambers tonight."

"Fine," Jaskier said and took a moment to close his eyes and take a deep breath, leaning heavily against the wall. He felt nauseous all of the sudden, and not because of the overindulgence in alcohol from the previous night.

"Are you alright, my lord?" Jakub asked, obviously very unimpressed with the sudden fainting spell his master was experiencing. His servants held seldom any pity for him when they knew him to be the cause for his self-inflicted suffering.

"Just fine," he lied. No, he was angry, and he was hurt, and he wanted to blame someone for it but couldn't. Because there was absolutely no reason for him to feel the familiar burn of jealousy in his chest.

He had never asked Geralt to keep his hands to himself, with the exception of his sisters. Besides, it was a completely unreasonable thing to do. He had his needs, after all. Jaskier should be used to it by now. Slowly, he straightened himself. "And, ah- whose bed did you say it was, that he managed to charm his way into?"

"Marin, my lord. Though I believe it was our esteemed Captain of the Guard that did the charming."

Jaskier grimaced. 'Fucking great.' The only upside to this was that with Marin at least he could be certain that his Captain would refuse if he was averse to the attention. Which, somehow, only made it worse.

"They're the talk of the castle," Jakub kept reporting as he handed him his sword belt, "and the bets have already been settled-"

"Jakub?" Jaskier interrupted him.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Please drop the topic."

"Certainly, my lord. Is there anything else?"

"You tell me. What obligations do I have to try and avoid today?"

"Nothing but the breakfast with your family, my lord. The staff will begin the preparations for your departure to Goldfurt. And on the far end of the town, one of the tenant’s roofs caved in."

"See it repaired, if you'd be so good. Oh, and also check on the construction progress, if you will? I don't feel in the mood for riding today."

He didn't feel in the mood for anything today, to be fair. With his truly spectacular hangover it was a miracle that he had dragged himself out of bed at all. The news Jakub had just dutifully delivered, made the urge to crawl back inside nearly irresistible.

After sixteen years on the path he had experience in walking a headache off, at least. Geralt never took pity on him when he had indulged the liquors a bit too much and neither did his station. 'Your fault if you get drunk,' he remembered Geralt's gravelly voice and winced. This wasn't going to get any easier.

He could hear the clattering of cutlery already when he stepped out of the stairwell into the hallway. 'Great,' he thought, 'now I have to suffer Janina's judgemental glances as well.' As if the smell of food, chatter of three children, and a freshly broken heart weren't enough to stomach before noon after a bender.

A servant hurried to get the door for him. Immediately his senses were assaulted by a plethora of smells and sights and sounds, so many it was nearly overwhelming. Jaskier suppressed a quiet groan. He nodded along with the greetings as he contemplated the viability of at least ordering the curtains shut, so he wouldn't have to deal with sunlight, too.

Before his pondering could be considered even slightly conclusive, he was victim to a different kind of assault. "Uncle Julian!" Daria exclaimed and leapt from her seat. She barrelled into him at full force, nearly knocking them both over.

He regained his precarious balance and heard two simultaneous gasps from the table, rapidly followed by an appalled: "Lady Daria!"

"Good morning, dear," he said and forced himself to smile. "I take you had a good night's rest?"

She nodded eagerly and he would have loved to continue their conversation. Alas, his attention was diverted by the sound of a chair scraping over his parquet and the resolute click of bootheels. "I am so sorry, your Lordship," Miss Nina, the nettlesome nursemaid, said and curtsied as she tried to pry her charge away from him. "Rest assured that such misbehaviour will neither be tolerated nor repeated."

"Fear not, madam," he said calmly and petted Daria's hair, not missing how she stuck out her tongue, "for I assure you that not only do I tolerate this 'misbehaviour', I encourage it even."

She opened her mouth as if she wanted to protest before remembering who she was talking to and quickly returning to the table — which was decidedly lacking some of his guests, now that he thought about it. Janina and Józefa were present, as were Ciri and Julek, and he noticed with delight that Justyna's old chair had been placed at her rightful place. It was empty, though, as was Geralt's.

He wrinkled his nose, about to comment on it, when Janina got the drop on him, clicking her tongue in disapproval. "She's ten years old, my lord," she said in that soft condescending voice of hers that betrayed her insincerity, "it does not befit a lady to succumb to emotional whims in public."

"Precisely, Lady Goldfurt," he teased her, "ten years in which I did not have the chance to spoil the children who share my blood and name rotten." He shot a quick glance to Ciri, who was too engrossed in the excited ramblings of little Julek to notice. "And though it does not befit a lord either, you cannot stop me from succumbing to them."

She huffed but he caught the fond smile on her face, nevertheless. 'You can't hide from me, Janina,' he thought triumphantly.

"It appears we are missing a few of our guests. Pray tell, dear one, where's your mother?" he asked as he messed up Julek's hair while walking to his own chair.

The boy flinched at his touch and just stared at him. He was evidently angry at him for interrupting his conversation.

'Curious,' he thought, but he hadn't enough time to consider it further, because Daria started talking loudly again: "She's ill. She said she wouldn't get up all day, which is a sin, Miss Nina told me so, and that a lady mustn't indulge in laziness. But if mother's a lady, and if she's lazy today, does that mean I can be, too?"

Jaskier regarded Miss Nina with a quizzical gaze, wondering why on earth Justyna had hired such a dour and stern woman. Coming off her own experiences with nursemaids, tutors, and governesses, he would have thought her inclined to a more lenient hand.

“Uncle Julian?” his niece demanded his attention again.

"Well, I suppose you could be," he answered slowly as servants filled his plate with food he wouldn't eat, "but I assure you, your mother won't be lazy the whole day." Talking to children was as worse a minefield as any politician.

“But mother said-” she protested, and he quickly raised his hand to interrupt her.

“No, she won’t,'” he said exasperated, much too tired to deal with this whirlwind. ��I'll see to it personally.” If he had to be out of bed, Justyna had to suffer with him. It hadn't been him who had cracked open that fourth bottle of wine, after all. "Also, if you're lazy you won't be able to train your swordsmanship. I was under the impression you were looking forward to them."

She gasped and nodded eagerly. "I am, I am."

"Good. Then eat up, dear one. You shall start with them today."

Józefa cleared her throat and speared a piece of bacon onto her fork. "If her teacher has the grace to show up," she remarked with a secretive smile, and plopped the food into her mouth.

He furrowed his brow and decided to try the food after all. That way at least he could blame the bile in his mouth on something else than his sore ego. ‘Not that I have any reason to feel like this,’ he reminded himself.

He had almost gotten through a slice of bread when the doors burst open and Geralt stumbled in, still closing the uppermost buttons of the crumpled doublet he'd worn the day before. Silence fell over the room as all eyes turned to him. He looked up from what he was doing and froze. Jaskier imagined he even winced when he saw him, wearing saffron yellow and not even blinking as he raised his chin a little. "My lord," Geralt broke the silence.

Jaskier took his time before he answered, his eyes still raking over his rather dishevelled appearance. Hair unkempt, sleeves uncuffed and the breeches haphazardly tucked into his boots, Geralt was the very image of what he'd liked to jokingly, affectionately even, call 'harlotry'. Fuck, there was even a line of fading love bites disappearing into his collar.

"Witcher,” he answered icily.

This time he did flinch, Jaskier was sure of it. The Viscount didn't care for it, nor did he for the sheepish look on his witcher’s face when he answered: "Please forgive my tardiness. It won't happen again."

“Don’t promise me something you cannot keep,” he whispered, just loud enough for Geralt to hear. He gave himself time to see the witcher tense up before he sighed exaggeratedly. "I fear you must be forgiven. After all, I can hardly fault you for a sin I have committed myself. Now. Shall we eat?"

Geralt stared at him unblinkingly and Jaskier could see the cogs turning in his head. His eyes flickered away from him to Janina and the empty seat next to her that was rather obviously not his. If the nursemaid and two children on its right were not enough of an indicator, the lilies of the valley that decorated it certainly were. His own chair had been transferred to the other side of Józefa and he moved slowly towards it, all muscles tensed. Only when he sat down and began eating in silence, the conversation started up again.

Jaskier tried to stomach at least a bit of the food - he knew it would help him - and drank an entire pitcher of water during breakfast while he entertained all three of his young guests with tales from his youth; pointedly leaving out any details of the particularly vicious pranks in hopes that would help circumvent a repetition.

The whole time he could feel Geralt’s stare burning on his skin, tracking the reflections of the velvet with his every movement as if he tried to scorch the offending garments off his skin. He made a point to ignore him. The shock of the revelation that the witcher liked the bright tones of his clothes still sat deep in his bones, and he wasn't quite ready to process the implications of that confession, yet. Besides, the very same day the witcher had gone and slept with Marin.

Janina was the first to leave, claiming that Jakub had asked her to oversee the repairs of the tenant’s roof. And while she certainly wouldn’t be of any help, the peasants delighted in seeing their lords’ and ladies’ faces from time to time. He was only too glad to let her relieve him of that responsibility.

The children were herded off next, Miss Nina insisting they should change out of their finery for Sir Geralt to teach them. Only Józefa remained, stubbornly trying to incite a conversation with Jaskier, who kept glaring at Geralt just as intently as the witcher. He needed all of his concentration to dodge his gaze.

“-don’t you think, Julek?”

“Hm,” he answered.

"Oh, I see.” She smiled and pushed her chair back. “Good day to you, then, brother."

With that she was gone, leaving him alone with his witcher. The silence stretched on and on and on, as they both stared at each other while trying to pretend not to. He wondered how long it would take this time for Geralt to crack. It had become a fun little game in the past few weeks, seeing how long he could tease the witcher with silence before he just couldn’t take it anymore. He was determined to find out how far he could take it for Geralt to admit he missed his chatter. If only it hadn’t left such a bitter taste in his mouth just now.

The door cracked open and Marta peeked her head through. She paled as she saw them sitting there. “Oh, Melitele have mercy,” he could hear her say faintly. “Please forgive me.”

The door clicked shut again and the interruption was finally enough for Jaskier to rise to speak; "You know, you could at least have gotten changed, witcher. This is no way to greet polite company."

Geralt shot him a look of pure contempt, but said nothing at all. Jaskier wished he would, for he could imagine a plethora of barbed comments he would've gotten as an answer so very long ago. With his never-ending string of dalliances, he had heard hundreds of them.

"Maybe I should be offended,” he said coolly, “that after welcoming you in my home and offering you my protection, you disrespect my sister and her children in such a way.”

His gaze flickered pointedly to Justyna’s untouched plate. “Maybe you should be, Lord Lettenhove.”

The words stung worse than any punch he’d taken, and it was all he could do not to physically recoil from it. ‘Fuck’, he thought and bit down hard on his lip. ‘Janina might think me our father, but I can’t.’ He averted his gaze. “I am not.”

“Are you sure, my lord? You seem awfully prickly this morning.”

‘Don’t test me, Geralt.’ “I am sure.” He wet his lips, weighing his next words carefully: “I know how much you detest mingling with company. So, I gather you’ll thank me that your absence will be excused from any further informal gatherings in my home."

"Hm," Geralt answered.

"Won’t you?"

"Thank you, my lord," he said. For some strange reason he sounded as if it was no favour at all.

With a heavy sigh he stood. "If you'll excuse me now? I've got a sister to tend to,” he said and fled the scene as quickly as possible without running. He could barely keep his balance as it was, he didn’t need an accelerated velocity to further his malaise.

He crossed over the courtyard and slipped into the West Wing, dodging a flock of servants darting from the kitchen. When he opened the door to peek inside, he was glad to find it empty. A curtain lecture from Ana was the last thing he needed.

Jaskier moved inside, collecting a tray as he went. He filled it with a hearty breakfast that made his own stomach churn, complete with a pitcher of water and a bottle of fine herb liquor he knew Justyna would appreciate. Or at least thank him later for. However, when he reached into the cupboard left of the fireplace. “Fuck.” It was empty.

He sighed and opened the next one. ‘There’s no way in hell she’s got none,’ he thought as he began his scavenger hunt for Ana’s magical powder that cured even the worst of hangovers. However, rifling through the cabinets as quiet as possible was a challenging endeavour on a good day. And today was not a good day.

He whipped around when he heard someone clear their throat behind him, wincing from more than just the pain. His head cook stood in the doorway, hands on her hips with a large wooden spoon, tapping her feet impatiently. "Ana, a wonderful morning, isn't it?"

"It is, though not for seein’ you, y’little rascal," she said with a grim expression. He tried his most innocent smile and she sighed. “Y’know, Master Julek, I noticed a lot o’ my powder went missin’ the last few weeks. You wouldn’t know where it went, would ya?”

“I fear I do,” he confessed.

She snorted, not very impressed and stirred the pot that was hanging over the fire. “It’s not that I like to see you suffer,” she said and turned to him with a soft look on her face. “But I’m worried for you, m’lord.”

“Oh, Ana…”

“Stronger men than you’ve drowned their lives in a bottle, lad. Don’ do that to us.” She shook her head stubbornly. "Now, what did I tell you about my kitchen, Master Julian?"

"That I am neither to enter it," he said sheepishly, "nor to touch anything with my dirty mits."

"Out with you, then. I have work to do," she huffed and pushed past him, and he hurried to catch up with her.

"Oh, I would love that, but alas, I fear that is simply without the realm of possibilities for me. You see, it is not me I come searching your panacea for, but my beloved sister - who is in a rather grave condition, and I plan on alleviating her from her ailment. I only need-"

"Take it." She rolled her eyes affectionately and thrust a soft leather pouch into his hands. “Take care of her, then. And of yourself, too, m’lord.”

He beamed. "Right! Thank you so much, Ana, I'll be on my way now." He looked over his shoulder to check for the last time that no-one was around and pecked her on the cheek. "Thank you."

She laughed and shook her head fondly. "Off ya go, lad. Don't come back soon."

"I won't, I won't," he promised and picked up his tray. He was about to try push the door open with his hip like he had seen the servants do, when Ana’s shriek stopped him. “Don’ you dare, m’lord, you’ll break all of the fine tableware you’re carryin’,” she chided and got the door for him. “Foolish lad, thinkin’ he’s got talents he’s got no business havin’- Marta, go with his lordship and help him with the food for the gods’ sake!”

Truth be told, he was glad to get rid of his paraphernalia. That way he could at least be sure all of his offerings would actually arrive unscathed. Marta was able to open the doors with her hip, although, he noticed even more impressed, she didn’t even need to, for she could balance the tray in one hand alone. He felt a bit stupid, actually, that she held the door to the North Wing open for him instead of the other way around.

Upon his return to Lettenhove, he had been quite surprised to find out that the oldest part of the castle had transferred its occupancy to his sisters since he had last lived here. It was also the ugliest, if anyone asked him; that whole eleventh century charm did nothing for him. In his youth, it had been Uncle Albert and his family, as well as a few other lesser cousins who had claimed it, as it was tradition.

In the past, there had been three families safekeeping Lettenhove for the Counts of Hangfelt, each of the wings the seats of these lesser houses. Minus the West Wing, of course, that had always housed the kitchens and servants. But in the aftermath of great-great-grandpapa slaying the heir of Dergetten and thus elevating the Pankratzes to nobility, he had also made sure to tie the other two houses to his by marriage and sooner rather than later, the three families had become one.

The North Tower had at least been able to retain its usage by the noble family, as home to the younger Pankratz siblings and their households once they married and reached maturity. The South Wing hadn’t been quite as lucky, as it now served as a guest wing.

‘And the East Wing is just lonely, home to none but Lord and Lady and heir.’ It always had been, as long as he could remember. But he had been terrified of Grandpa Julian as much as of his father himself. He wondered if it was something within the building that made the Lords Lettenhove so sullen and bitter. He hoped not.

Marta deposited the tray on a table next to Justyna’s door and knocked diligently. No answer followed.

“Go back to your work,” he told her quietly, “I’ll take it from here.” He knocked again, once she was away. Nothing still. "Good morning!"

All he heard was a muffled groan and took it as an invitation to step inside, careful in first opening the door, then picking up the tray and walking through. "How are you feeling on this crisp winter's morn?" he asked, far more enthusiastic than he felt as he put it down on her nightstand. Seeing Justyna huddled under her covers, her hair a mess and looking rather pale did wonders for his own hangover. There was even a little spring in his step when he crossed over the room to close the door again.

"I am dying," she moaned and buried her face deeper into her pillow. "Have you come to deliver the coup de grâce?"

"Something like that," he said with a smirk and poured two glasses of the liquor. "I come bearing more alcohol."

She raised her head and made a disgusted grimace, her face wrinkled by the impression of the embroidered coverlet she hadn’t managed to take off. "You are trying to kill me."

"I assure you; I am not. Drink up. You know it'll help."

"Ughh," she said and struggled to get into a sitting position. "Cheers..." They both knocked the glass back and grimaced.

"Eugh, I hate it…” He shuddered. “Now that that's done, I brought a real cure." He took the pouch Ana had given him and deposited a good portion of it into the pitcher.

"Is that Ana’s?” He nodded and chugged one cup immediately. She sighed and accepted hers. “You're an angel."

"Don't thank me yet.” He patted her hair gently. “For although I am your saviour, I also plan to drag you out of bed. Your daughter and son start their training today, you should be present.”

“Ughh…” She flopped back against the pillows. “You’re a cruel man, Lord Lettenhove.”

“Runs in the family,” he said with a hefty pat on her shoulder as he stood up. “I’ll send a bath up. Feel free to join me on the balustrade whenever you feel like it. Just don’t take too long.”

He didn’t go down to the courtyard immediately, for he knew his legs would grow numb if he truly intended to wait for Justyna there. Instead he tried to kill time in his study, reading a bit, drafting a letter, trying not to think about Gera-

Midday was rapidly approaching when he couldn’t take it anymore and abandoned his hiding place to go watch the training in the courtyard. As much as it made his stomach churn, he couldn’t lecture Geralt about respect if he didn’t display any either.

Maybe it would even help him to see children enjoying the lessons. While Julek didn’t seem quite as enthusiastic as the two girls he shared the courtyard with, Ciri and Daria seemed to have a great time, although Jaskier couldn’t fathom why. But they were laughing and running around and while Geralt wasn’t always gentle when berating them, he didn’t seem cruel either. Exhausted, definitely, but that was on him, and he didn’t use his students as an outlet. That was all that counted in Jaskier’s book.

Maybe half an hour into his silent watch, Janina returned from her trip into the village. He nodded to her when she passed below, hand on his sword and stone-faced. It didn’t take much longer for Justyna to finally join him.

"You look just like him," she announced her presence and passed behind him to get to his left side.

"Don't say that."

She laughed quietly and leaned onto the railing to peer at her children below. They were just taking a break and Ciri and Daria seemed to play a game that involved slapping each other’s hands. "I see you still suffer from selective blindness when it comes to the truth, brother."

"It’s more of a perpetual nausea evoked by the memories of Lord Lettenhove."

"You and me both, dearest... You and me both..."

He glanced towards her. “You look better than anticipated.”

She chortled and played with a loose strand of hair that had slipped from her hairnet. “Is that how you acquired your legendary reputation as a heartthrob, brother? My heart would break, too, if such a gorgeous man would approach me with such a horrendous compliment. ‘You look better than anticipated…’”

“Stop flattering yourself, you menace,” he grinned. “You’re thirty-three years old, forgive me if my expectations towards your appearance aren’t too high after four bottles of wine and half of my best liquor.”

“Four? Now that explains quite a lot…” She groaned. “Are we getting old, Jaskier? Gracious gods, we are, aren’t we?”

“Soon we’ll be shrivelled as a raisin and we’ll be suffering like this after four sips of wine and not four bottles,” he lamented.

“Look who’s talking,” another voice said, accompanied by the clicking of a lock. “What am I supposed to say if you two are complaining already?”

"Janina.” He couldn’t say he wasn’t surprised. “To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Curiosity, if you like." She took her place at his other side, her rigid posture a twisted reflection of Justyna leisurely leaning on the railing. "Worry, if you must know."

He sighed. "We've been here before."

"We have," she agreed, and her expression darkened even more when they heard a sharp call from below as Geralt announced the end of the break.

"I see nothing much has changed..."

"This is not about our difference of opinions, Julian. But these two are not your children, nor are they orphans."

"They are my children," Justyna chimed in, "and I requested it."

She jerked her head around to their younger sister. "And what will their father say when he sees them training with a witcher?"

"Luckily, their father is not Lord Lettenhove. So, within these walls, he will say nothing at all," Justyna quipped. "Please, Janina, do us both a favour and use the eyes the gods have endowed you with. Does he seem unreasonable? Unjust? Cruel?"

"I couldn't tell," she answered calmly, "I am not the one who was trained in sword fighting."

Jaskier could feel two sets of piercing blue eyes resting on him. "He isn't," he said quietly. In comparison to his old teachers, Geralt was almost coddling his three students; he was almost gentle, even, as gentle as one could be, teaching weaponry. It wouldn't spare them the bruises and sore muscles that came with it, but no scars children wouldn't recover from. "He's a good teacher. Lord Kerton is welcome to try to stop the lessons once he decides to give up the comfort of your husband’s home, but I won't have any of that. Neither of him nor of you."

"Don't be glum, Jaskier,” Justyna tried to soothe. “You know old dogs don't learn new tricks."

"I'm neither old nor a dog, thank you very much. And besides, I like the girl well enough."

He bit back a retort about how he had just complained about her own age. "The girl, but not the witcher."

"Don't be ridiculous, of course not the witcher."

Justyna sighed and turned to face them. "Come on, Janka, it's been twenty-four years since mother died. Don't you think you should let that particular ghost rest in peace?"

"How could she," Janina said calmly, "when she lies next to father?"

"Truer words..." Jaskier muttered.

"I'd drink to that," Justyna added, "if I wasn’t convinced it’d be my death."

"Not here," Jaskier groaned, "you'd be interred in the crypt."

They all shared a grimace of disgust. "Gods have mercy on us," Justyna prayed.

"And may they grant us all a death far away from this land,” Janina added.

Jaskier couldn't help but laugh. Before he could stop himself, he pulled them close. "It feels good to have you home with me."

Justyna put her head on his shoulder and nodded, but Janina drew away quickly. "Don't overstep, little brother. I still dislike you something fierce."

"Oh, no, that feeling is definitely mutual," he said hastily.

"We're family," Justyna said, as if that explained everything. And somehow, it did. He hadn’t had a say in who were his sisters, and while he had been able to choose another family on the Path, loving either was not a choice. They didn’t bear much resemblance, he mused as he watched Geralt help Daria to her feet; besides that, he loved them just as much, just as fervently, just as unapologetically.

‘Only that I can’t seem to get rid of them.’ But then again, he didn’t want to either. He had missed Geralt terribly and though he wouldn’t admit it under torture, he had missed his sisters, too. Even Janina. ‘If I like it or not, they are the people who made me who I am today.’

Janina slapped lightly him on the arm. "You're a horrible little brother," she accused him, and he briefly reconsidered his feelings for her. "You dipped my braids into ink and washed my silks with horsepiss. And you," she turned to Justyna and raised an accusatory finger, "slipped me a laxative when I was about to confess my feelings to my first love! And that’s not even the worst of it."

“Now that’s not fair,” the accused answered with a sly smile, “dear Julian gave you the biscuits.”

"Ohh, I remember. I did!" Jaskier grinned. "It was that dreadful young bard father brought here one winter. What was his name again?"

"Gods, I don't even recall." Janina laughed, too. "But he always wore those horrible red boots."

"Who, the one with the mistuned lyre?” Their younger sister furrowed her brow. “Wasn't he called Ian or something?"

Janina gasped. “You’re right! Ian the Ingenious Poet, he called himself.” She made a disgusted grimace. “Come to think of it, I had a horrible taste at fourteen years."

Justyna sighed overly dramatic. "We tried to tell you, dearest sister, but you just wouldn't listen to reason. He was a horrible lyrist besides."

"He was. You ripped him a new one at age twelve.” She turned to Jaskier and poked her finger into his chest. “Another reason why I despise you."

"Oh, come on,” he taunted. “You're not an exemplary sister either. I seem to remember at least one time when you stole the sweets from the kitchen and told Ana it had been me."

"Right!” Justyna jumped to his defence. “Or that you told every maid in the whole castle I was your bastard sister by an incubus and that I’d suck their souls from their bodies with a simple kiss!"

Jaskier and Janina looked at each other and burst out laughing. "Actually," he piped up, "I helped her with that. I was the one who told Marin, and he told his mother. It was a breeze after that."

"What?!" she shrieked. "Julian Alfred Pankratz, you horrible, horrible man! How could you? I expected that kind of betrayal from her, but you?! My beloved brother?"

He shrugged. "All's fair in love and war."

She huffed and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Well, in that case, let me tell you - that it was me who got Józefa to puke onto your first lute."

He gasped. "You didn't! That little menace, if I get her in my grasp..." Both of his sisters doubled over laughing and he joined them with no delay. A strange sight, surely, that earned them curious glances from the servants and garrison gathered in the courtyard alike. And Geralt, too, although he did his best to pretend, he wasn't staring. "Shhh, shhh," Jaskier hissed, "Marta's down there. She'd have a stroke if she saw you laughing, Janka.”

“Right, right,” his sister did his best to sober up. There was still the odd giggle escaping her lips when he looked around searchingly.

“Speaking of Józefa, where is the runt of our litter?"

Janina sighed and rolled her eyes. "Still working on her tapestry, I believe."

"Great gods," Justyna muttered, "does she ever do anything else? Every winter the same old song. You'd thought she ought to be faster by now."

"She's also writing the odd letter or two, I believe. And reading quite a lot."

"Reading?" she asked surprised and turned to Jaskier. "Since when is she interested in books?"

He raised his hands in defence. "Don't ask me. I wouldn't know. What is she reading about?"

"Flowers, I believe,” Janina answered with a frown. “And poems."

"Maybe she's in love," Justyna suggested.

Jaskier shuddered. "I don't even want to think of that possibility. My baby sister, in love..."

Janina snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. You'd already fucked yourself halfway across the continent when you were her age."

He gasped indignantly. "Janina, such language-"

"Also," she interrupted him, "she begged me to ask your leave to visit a friend for a few weeks after the banquet in Goldfurt. She promised to return before the solstice, though."

"Well, she can bloody well ask me herself," he scoffed. "Poems..."

"A few of yours, I believe. Quite a lot of others as well. I have heard the name Valdo Marx more than once."

He groaned loudly. "Dear gods..."

Justyna grinned widely and extended her hand. "Oh, she's definitely in love. Fifty crowns say she's visiting that mysterious lover."

Janina snorted and shook her hand. "You're on. I say, she's too shy for that. Julek?"

"A hundred crowns says it's a girl," he said after a moment of hesitation.

Janina raised her eyebrows and Justyna snorted. "Sure, why not? Janina, you collect the bids?"

"Who else would?" she said and turned around. "I'll go check with the garrison."

"Geralt!" a shout rang over the courtyard and made them all stop in their tracks. Marin just left the guard room and sauntered over to the witcher. They kissed for everyone to see, shoving and swatting at each other, and laughing. Loudly. It made Jaskier’s head hurt.

"On second thought," Justyna said, "maybe do it later."

Jaskier frowned deeply and turned away. 'Now that isn't fair,' he thought. He had long resigned himself to the knowledge that his feelings for Geralt would never be reciprocated. But seeing him with the first man he'd ever fallen in love with? That was a special kind of cruelty.

Janina clicked her tongue in disapproval and shook her head. He was thinking of a witty reply, but before he could come up with anything, Justyna said with a heavy sigh: "What is it now?"

"I can't believe that your witcher really bedded the Captain of the Guard," Janina chided. "It is neither right nor proper."

"Oh, please spare us your bigotry," he replied icily. "Geralt can bed whoever he likes."

"Sure," she drawled, "which is why you're so snippy about it. Besides," she crossed her arms, "he is mocking you. And you know it."

He huffed a breath and shook his head. "I don't want to believe he is."

"Unfortunately, your wishes matter not in these affairs. It is what it is, and that is mockery."

He bit down on his lip, almost hard enough to draw blood, had there not been the comforting weight of Justyna's hand on his shoulder. "Go collect the bets," she said gently. "The depths of our sibling love are quite exhausted for today."

"Thank the gods," she responded. "I thought I wouldn't be able to shake you at all anymore." With that she disappeared inside.

"Jaskier," Justyna began, but he shook his head.

"Not now, please." Thankfully her attention was diverted by the sound of rapid footsteps on the stairs and the recurring image of an energetic ten-year-old girl slamming into him. “Jaskier!” Ciri cried and hugged him tight. “Did you watch me? Did you see?”

“I did, madam,” he answered dutifully. “You seemed to enjoy yourself a lot.”

“Thank you, Jaskier,” she said and beamed at him.

“He speaks true, if I dare say so myself,” Justyna chimed in. You’ll best your master before you know it.”

Her smile grew even wider at that. ‘She’s learning to trust people again,’ he noticed with relief as they conversed almost easily. A bright spot on her head caught his attention. ‘And we need to re-dye her hair.’

“As much as I'd love for this conversation to carry on,” he cut them off, “I fear I have some business to attend to." He hadn't, but she didn't need to know.

"What business?" Ciri asked eagerly and he cursed silently. He should have known he wouldn't be able to shake her that easily.

"Financial matters, dear," he lied, "it's terribly boring."

That still didn't manage to deter her. "Can I come with you?"

"Not now, cublet. You need a bath first." 'And I need to get rid of that hangover.' "Tomorrow you may, if you're still interested. I think I've got a letter or two you might want to help me answer."

"You're the best," she said and her eyes gleamed. After a short moment of hesitation, she added, half a breath, half a whisper: "Uncle Jaskier."

'Oh,' he thought as tears welled up in his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, you won't be able to convince me like that. Run along, child, I believe your cousins are waiting."

‘Waiting’ was a nice term for ‘being herded inside by Miss Nina’; still, she ran to catch up to them. “Wait for me! I want to go to the tunnels, too!”

"Try not to damage my castle too much!" he shouted after them. "Borys, see that they don't." He turned around to Justyna, who was smiling smugly. "Really? Did you have to tell them about the Tomb?" It had been their favourite hideout as kids and now she was apparently sharing their secret with just about any child she could find.

"You're grooming her as your heir," she said in lieu of an answer. "Oh, Damian will be furious when he sees this."

Jaskier chuckled lowly. "Don't be ridiculous, Konwalia, I'm doing no such thing."

"Of course, you are! Father wouldn't even let you touch his letters until you were thirteen and everyone knew you'd be Lord Lettenhove after his death." He frowned deeply, considering her words and she laughed loudly. "Oh, come on. Don't tell me you hadn't noticed."

He hadn't, truth be told. But he guessed it was true to some point. "Hm," he answered.

"But what will your fiancée say?"

"She doesn't have to know about it," he said. "Yet."

"Don't you think she deserves the truth? Don't you think your sister does? Who is Fiona really?"

He huffed and smiled at her. "I'm afraid I can't tell you."

"What, don't you trust me?" A smile danced around Justyna’s lips. It was dangerous and poisonous, just like anything else about her.

"No," he answered earnestly. "No, I don't."

Justyna laughed loudly and patted his cheek affectionately. "Smart lad. I wouldn't trust myself either. But don't think you can keep it a secret forever. There are more people than you'd like who know that Cousin Daniela died in her cradle."

He nodded slowly. 'Fuck,' he thought. "Do you trust me?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Right... I'll tell you. Eventually. Just know that right now I can't."

"And you still expect me to protect her?"

"Never.” She might be family and he might trust her with his own life, but Ciri? ‘Two people and a dead horse.’ “But I do expect that no harm comes to her from you. She is protected by the castle peace, as is Geralt."

Justyna’s eyes flared. "What do you take me for? A monster?"

"I take you for a Baroness who dabbles in politics."

"Same difference,” she said with a smirk and Jaskier was inclined to agree. "I wouldn't have hurt them regardless, just so you know. " She turned back to the door. "Not children. Not people you love.”

He chewed on his lip nervously. What on earth was he supposed to answer to that?

She took the decision from him when she said: “Come, Julek. I want to visit father's grave now."

"I have business!" he tried to fend her off.

"'I have business'," she mocked him. "Who are you trying to kid? You dragged me out of bed, so now be useful at least. As useful as you can be given your current state."

She linked arms with him and began dragging him down the stairs, out of the gates where Geralt had vanished with Marin, and towards the graveyard. "So... That witcher of yours."

Jaskier sighed. "That witcher of mine indeed."

"After your songs and yesterday's tales I have to admit I am quite surprised to find him in another's arms."

"After my songs and yesterday's tales you should know that is precisely where you should expect to find him."

“Oh, Jaskier…”

“No,” he said sharply, “don’t you ‘Oh, Jaskier’ me. I am not here for you to pity me.”

"I will do it nonetheless,” she said so quietly he suspected he wasn’t supposed to hear, before they came to a halt before the large stone monolith beneath which Lord and Lady Lettenhove had found their final resting place. Justyna untangled her arms from his and stepped forward, trampling over earth and flowers alike, to trace the engraved letters of their names. "I have to admit," she sighed, "I do feel sorry for this, mother."

"Sorry for what- Justyna!" Before he could even finish his sentence, she had gathered her skirts and crouched down. "Are you- what are you doing?!"

She closed her eyes and hummed contently; the satisfied sound accompanied by a distinct pattering that told him exactly what she was doing.

"Gods great and small, save us all," he murmured and turned his back to her. The defiling of the grave was bad enough, but he didn't have to stand witness to it.

"Ahh," she said after a while and came to stand beside him once more, smoothing out her skirts, "much better."

"Did you really have to do that?" he asked and winced.

"Julian."

"Justyna."

"I really had to do that," she said earnestly.

He huffed what might have been a laugh. "Alright then."

"Actually, I wanted to do this before even coming up to the keep, as the first act of greeting my home after fifteen years of absence. But then I thought Daria and Julian didn't need to know how terrible of a person their grandfather really was."

He couldn't help but gape, trying to process all of that. Strangely, "You haven't come home since your marriage?" was the first thing that came to his mind when he was done.

"No. You haven’t come home since going off to Oxenfurt either."

"I did last year," he tried to defend himself although he knew it was to no avail. There was a reason why he had avoided the topic until now. “Why-?”

She scoffed. "I had no interest in seeing the man who called himself our father. Not since he sold me to the highest bidder."

"Justyna, I understand your anger. But that's how things are done."

"So, you would do the same?” She whipped around to him. “You'd sell your Fiona for a dowry?"

"No!” Jaskier wanted to say something, to tell her that she wasn’t his, but not even that he could do with the nauseating memory of Count Hangfelt making his offer. “Of course not!"

She straightened herself and set her jaw. "So, you understand the inhumanity of it."

Jaskier threw up his hands. "He did it to all of us!"

"No, Julian, he didn't. Because you are here, unbound and unmarried, as is dear darling Józefa, the angel." She scoffed. "As is Jolanta in Novigrad. Only Janina and I were forced to spread our legs for men we despise and who have no qualms showing us their displeasure with their wives in turn.

"And why? Because we didn't manage to seduce a rich merchant or witcher to whisk us away. Because we had nowhere left to run but the traditions that are supposed to protect us.” She shook her head disbelievingly. “We always played by the rules, always obeyed, and what did we get in return? We were crushed by them, just like our foremothers. "

"I- I am sorry," he stammered. "I don't know what to tell you."

"Then better say nothing at all. Mutism is a blessing for the blind."

There were tears glistening on her face now, so he reached out for her. "Justyna-"

"No, don't touch me!" She batted his hand away. "You know what the worst part of this is? That I don't have any choice but to sell my own daughter as well."

"What do you mean? Your dowry-"

"My dowry! Pray tell me, where is it? All those precious jewels you see are nothing more than glass. Just... shut up, Jaskier. My dowry is long lost in whorehouses and gambling dens, squandered by my husband."

He set his jaw. "I won't let anything happen to Daria. I've got money. I can protect her."

"You can't and you damn well know it. Daria is a Kerton, just like I am. Damian can do whatever he likes with us. He ensured that when he wasted my money. And I'm going to kill him for it."

He couldn’t help his jaw dropping open. "I- He- He's your husband, Justyna,” he stammered once he had gathered himself. “Family. You can't kill him."

She scoffed and cast her eyes skyward in disbelief. "You don't understand."

"No. Maybe I don't."

Her gaze was as icy as the freezing air around them. “You don’t even try to.” With a blink of the eye she was gone, stalking back towards the castle towering above them, and abandoning Jaskier amidst their ghosts.

#my writing #of witchers bards and broken hearts #OWBABH #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #geraskier fanfiction #the witcher fanfiction #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier #cirilla of cintra

9 notes · View notes

alien-shark · 5 years ago

Text

ZoTash prompt/one-shot: JEALOUSY

Echoes of what appears to be sparring shouts reverberate from the training grounds and soon, a surge of female Marine soldiers flood the halls. What used to be a serene area was now abuzz with gleeful exuberant cheers, their attention aimed at the other five female soldiers surrounding a lone shirtless green haired man at the centre of the training ground. Shinai swords drawn and pointed at their single adversary.

Tashigi, curious at the commotion, followed along the queue of female soldiers lining the perimeter of the ground, “What’s going on?” she asked, sipping at her coffee.

“He’s doing it. He’s sparring with them again!” A female soldier beamed, her eyes glued at the subject of interest.

Standing on her tiptoes, the Marine captain watch as the female soldiers consecutively charge at the man. But with a quick side step, parry, deflect and strikes on the shoulder, behind the knee and hip, each soldiers were disarmed and collapse on the dirt, one after another.

The spectators cheered and some groaned on behalf of their fallen comrades. On refusing to yield, one soldier latched on a nearby shinai and swiped at the man’s leg only for the weapon to shatter upon impact with his own.

“Too slow.” He sighed, disappointed. Spinning his head around, “You are all too slow.”

A wave of excited whispers, some of obscenities, rippled through the crowd.

“Your grasp on your swords are too flimsy! Even a kid can disarm you.” He pauses and releases yet another disgruntled sigh. “And you’re leaving too much opening! Do you have a death wish?! If I used real swords, you’d all be dead!” He turned to a soldier on the ground and offered his hand, she accepts reluctantly but hauls herself up with his help.

“The battle isn’t over until you’re dead.” He growled. “Till then, get your ass up and try again!”

Roronoa Zoro returned in the middle of the field, two bamboo swords drawn on his sides. His eyes scan the crowd, “Who’s up next?”

Female Marines race and scrambled to try their luck at him, beaming and professing determined shouts.

---

Captain Tashigi narrows her eyes, irritated that her fellow Marine soldiers- especially ones under Vice Admiral Tsuru’s squadron- are so easily swayed by Roronoa’s simple display of swordsmanship. But her resentment only doubled upon realizing that while she goes and makes herself a cup of coffee to begin the day, the man was already in the heat of his training.

While Roronoa trains the female Marines; observing them with a critical eye as they do drills and correct any mistakes and praise any improvements as they spar with one another, Tashigi decides to train with other soldiers who remained wary of the pirate. But it wasn’t long until Tashigi found herself training alone in their usual spot. She discovered her fellow officers figured Roronoa’s teachings yield very effective results.

And so she was alone, much to her disappointment.

Dinner proved tougher to endure when all she hears are praises aimed at Roronoa, how his outlandish teachings opened up new possibilities in their training immensely enhancing their skills.

“He’s truly a great swordsman! Glad he’s an ally now!” A soldier announced cheerfully.

“And he’s surprisingly such a decent guy too!”

“Right?! And he’s gentle and kind!”

“Have you seen that body?”

They giggle. Tashigi stands to leave.

A tremendous divide among the Marines occurred when the highly influential Vice Admirals finally roused and saw the errors of the entire Marines’ belief. It began with Smoker’s G-5 unit followed by Vice Admiral Garp, Vice Admiral Sengoku and most recently, Vice Admiral Tsuru.

Tashigi started as a grunt in Tsuru’s squad. Her skills earned her respect and praise among her superiors and popularity among the entire female Marine soldiers. Her rapid growth caused her to be transferred under Smoker’s wing in Loguetown. Yet to this day, she would return and spend some time with her previous crew. She considered this her place of solitude, a break from her testosterone infested infantry. It was a breath of fresh air to be around fellow female soldiers and they were always glad to have her back even for a short period.

However, the Marine/Pirate integration has altered her previous comrades regard towards her. (Roronoa and three of his nakamas: Nico Robin, The God-Usopp and The Soul King, temporarily stays on the island under Tsuru’s watch for Nico Robin to decipher a poneglyph. Which explains why and how the pirate is within their vicinity.) Now, the female soldiers’ attention has long abandoned Tashigi and are directed at Roronoa, much like the G-5.

“Give it to him! I bet he’ll love it!” A soldier nudged her companion.

“I hope so. He did say he loves quality sake.”

“Haha! He’ll fall head over heels for you!”

“W-what?! No.. I just wish to thank him..!” The other soldier blushed.

Soon, things took a sudden turn. An ample amount of female soldiers developed a budding infatuation towards the man. Tashigi couldn’t contain her hackles from rising when one evening, during a bonfire, another soldier gifted Roronoa sake. He drank and celebrated with them for yet another productive day. As Tashigi observes the exchange, she notices Roronoa smile almost slyly towards the gushing female Marines. Her suspicions towards the man intensifies. He was still a pirate after all. Tashigi witnessed the vulgar glances Black Leg and The Soul King displays when around women. Who’s to say Roronoa is different? She knows nothing about the man.

That very night, she confronted him. When finally he was alone, walking groggily through the empty streets, she blocked his path.

“Roronoa, a word, please.” She gestured to an empty alley.

“If you need private lessons, you’re gonna have to wait for two days.” He smiles. “I’m a busy man. Tonight’s not a good ti—”

“I know what game you’re playing, pirate!” Tashigi interjects. “You may blind the others with your swordplay but not me.”

Immediately, the pirate’s drunken stupor evaporated and he stares unblinking. But Tashigi refused to falter.

“If you’re training them just to create your little ‘fan-club’ or to invite them in your bed, I will not ask you again, please stop. These are prominent honourable women and some are already developing feelings-- bonds to you deeper than they intended. Feelings I doubt a pirate such as you even have. Whatever dark intentions you have planned, abandon it if you still wish to see the light of day.” She stepped closer and jabbed a finger on his chest. “Respect these women or I will make you.”

Roronoa stares at the finger on his chest and slowly creeps his gaze towards the woman.

“I always wondered why you never attend the training. I thought it was just your stubborn pride that makes you lurk behind the trees, watching from a distance.”

For the first time, Tashigi hesitates and draws her hand back.

“So this is how you still see me.” He narrows his eyes at her, as realization hits. “I trained your soldiers because they asked me to. I won’t apologize for my actions. I am not responsible for the feelings your soldiers harbour towards me neither will I apologize for how you interpret my actions towards them. That’s on you. I’ve never disrespected your soldiers in any way and I never intend to. I only wish to help… because-”

He takes a deep breath. “This may be empty words to you but… I feel obliged- I had a friend—,” Roronoa paused, dropping his gaze to the ground.

His voice suddenly grows quieter, jittery. “I wanted to prove to her… wherever she is I—I want to prove that women can be strong and capable of so much more. At first I didn’t believe it was possible.” He meets her eyes, his own glassy under the moonlight.

“Then you came along and changed my mind. How you handle yourself and radiate that irritating confidence and headstrong determination that affects the people around you. You made me realize that women are capable of so much more. And I want to help even in the smallest way. I want to prove to her that she was wrong for thinking so little of herself because of her gender.”

Roronoa hardens his gaze and almost doubles in size as he straightens himself, towering over the Marine captain. “But she’s dead. And she will never know. And I guess it’s too late for it now. And the person who opened up my mind to the possibilities and gave me hope continues to view me as a petty low-life. And whatever ounce of help I provided in the end didn’t matter.”

The man shakes his head and before stepping around her says, “What do I know? Pirates don’t have feelings, right?”

That night, Tashigi couldn’t sleep. Roronoa’s words cut her deeper than any wound inflicted in battle. How petty and shallow of her to view Roronoa in this light.

His late friend… Of course. How could she forget? When will she ever see beyond herself? She was insecure, blinded by her weakness. Jealousy remains to be her biggest vice, the wall that prevents her from moving forward- the gap between their abilities. She was right about one thing however, she knows nothing about the man.

The following days, Roronoa stopped showing up at the training grounds and began training somewhere else, alone, and refused to train and spar with the female soldiers, however he allowed them to watch.

“Could we have been too much for him?” A soldier during lunch muttered weakly.

“Maybe our progress was too slow he got impatient.”

“Ugh. I shouldn’t have pushed him to try our family’s sake.”

“Face it, ladies. The man didn’t see anything special and probably got bored.” Another stirred at her lunch dully. “He’s still a pirate. Open your legs at him and he might—”

“He’s not like that!” Tashigi snapped. All eyes on her. Upon realizing her outburst has generated attention she wasn’t used to, she trembled and cast her eyes down. “Roronoa is… a lot of things. But he’s not like that.”

She quickly dislodge herself from the predicament. She needed to find the man- for the sake of the Marines. But more importantly give him the apology he deserved. She cannot allow her frivolous mistake sever the unity between Marines and pirates. Tashigi could not locate him that evening so she woke up early the next day and luckily found him in his new training spot, surrounded by female soldiers urging him for a spar.

Tashigi apprehensively stepped closer into his area. A twitch of his eye suggest he’s aware of her presence.

“Roronoa, please… please train them again.” She whispers and hopes he hears amidst his grunts and loud thrusts of his sword.

“They can train themselves.” He grunts.

“They can.” She swipes a quick glance at the inquisitive soldiers. “But they prefer your guidance. They enjoy your company.”

“They’ve trained without my supervision long before I arrived in the island. They don’t need me.”

“Roronoa, please-“

“No.”

Before her tears threaten to spill, Tashigi knelt down and pressed her forehead on the ground and bowed deeply before the man.

“I apologize for every malicious words I insinuated. You didn’t deserve the accusations. I was wrong. It was unjust- I was,” She bit her lip and forced the trembling words out, “— ignorant. I figured my misplaced vigilance for my fellow Marines only causes harm than good. And I realize my accusations reflected more about my insecurities than of your character.”

The thrusting of sword stopped and louder whispers emanate from the growing onlookers.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me. I only wish for you to know how deeply I regret my misdemeanour.” She sobbed. “Please do not punish them because of the lapses in my judgement. Roronoa… Roronoa-san, it would be an honour to gain your insights.”

Tashigi took a deep breath and lifted her head slightly, “Please train them—train us!!”

“Tashigi-san…” Echoes of her name ran through the crowd but she refused to lift her head.

A surge of delight rushed through the swordsman’s chest and instantly felt an entire lightness of being, as if the overbearing weight he’s been carrying the last couple of days was lifted off his chest and he was engulfed with unexpected satisfaction. A single apology from the woman would have suffice, but this almost evaporated every affliction he’d ever experience. Had this happen months ago, he would have a quip to counter, instead he clears his throat,

“Then what are you waiting for? Grab your shinai. We’re losing daylight!”

Tashigi finally raised her head, face coated in watery dirt but she didn’t care. Altogether, the entire female Marine squadron exclaimed, “Haiii!!”.

----

Apologies for going over the word count! I hope this was worth your time!

#zotashprompts #ZoTash #tashigi #roronoa zoro #writing prompt #one shot

33 notes · View notes

chickensarentcheap · 4 years ago

Text

Sanctuary -Chapter 41

WARNINGS: Dark Tyler. Angsty Tyler, I suppose.

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @thorsbathroomchicken, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @valkyrie-of-the-light

The storage facility lies on the outskirts of town; in the middle of a derelict portion of an industrial complex. Abandoned warehouses flanking it to both the east and west, long abandoned train tracks to the north and a sewage treatment plant to the south. Weeds manage to thrive within the chips and cracks of old concrete, litter caught up in the rusted metal of a chain link fence. There hasn't been true signs of life in these parts for years; the factories that were still thriving were more than a kilometre, and no one aside from those wanting to take belongings out of their lockers ever visited the area. The sense and appearance of abandonment and neglect adding something dark and dreary to an already sinister plan

He's the last to arrive; parking the SUV among the small group of vehicles already gathered by the front gate. The security system for the facility had long ago been vandalized; someone had broken into the security system and stolen all the intricate parts, rendering the keypad useless. All that exists now are loose wires and scattered bits of metal, the gate permanently left open for anyone...whether it be thief or transient...to gain access. He kills the ignition and checks his phone; reading through unopened text messages, the engine softly ticking as is it cools. Letting his wife know that he'd arrived safe and sound at his first destination, but not giving any details.

The less she knows the better; some things are better left unspoken, some plans better left just between the people actually getting their hands dirty. All his resolve is gone. All his patience shredded. Any and all mercy has ceased to exist. He's at peace with his decision; resolved, determined, calm. With not even the slightest bit of hesitation or an inkling of remorse haunting him. And he tells himself that this could have been avoided had McMann not crossed that line. If he'd simply had the balls to go right to the source of his issues instead of taking a coward's way out. This is on him now. Whatever happens...whatever plan begins to unravel...the moment Tyler steps up of the car, it is a fate that the other man has brought onto himself. No one will find him out here. No one will be able to hear the suffering, the begging, the pleading. No one will be able to come to his aid. And in the end, when he finally thinks it's over and he's about to be shown mercy, he'll be handed over to begin another nightmare all in itself.

He sends her a second message. Telling her that he loves her. Reassuring her that everything is going to be okay. That he'll message her once the second part of that day's mission is done and McMann has been taken care up; holed up somewhere under lock and key, where he'll be kept until the IRA has made up their mind. And he adds : 'I'll see you when I see you', the exact words he's used for the past four years every time he abandons her and their children to go and solve someone else's problems.

“What do you think?” Yaz asks, when Tyler joins him at the front gate.

He'd been there for an hour now, arranging things exactly as had been requested. Their own surveillance feed that they can view from their cell phones or their laptops; cameras placed at the front gate, the doorway of the unit Tyler had rented using a fake name and stolen credit card, and three within the actual storage locker itself. There'd be eyes and ears on McMann twenty four hours a day; no one aside from those who knew of the storage locker and the plans for it would be going in or out. The situation would be controlled. Monitored. Right down to the very second. And if he somehow managed to get away and make a run for it, he wouldn't get far; Yaz would be installing an ankle monitor the moment McMann arrived on site.

“I think it's perfect,” he replies, as they fall in step alongside of each other and pass through the gate. Dirt and gravel crackling under the soles of his combat boots; kicking away any wayward rubbish that lies in his path. The storm the night before had brought the humidity; sweat glistens on his brow and trickles down his temples; the back of his t-shirt already damp.

“Esme's okay?”

“She's sick. Can't keep anything down. Not even water.”

“The baby or...?”

“Could be the baby. Could be stress. Could be nerves. She's been sick before; with all the others. But nothing this bad.”

“A sign maybe? That something is wrong? With the baby?”

Tyler frowns. “Why the fuck would you even say that?”

“I'm not saying that there is something wrong. And I'm not wishing or hoping there is. I'm just saying that...fuck...I don't even know what I'm saying.” He's nervous. Despite all the jobs that he's assisted with, all the perilous and high stakes situations he's been in, the nerves have been rubbed raw. This is a first for him. When they'll actually be inflicting the damage instead of trying to end it.

“she's fine,” Tyler says, more an attempt to reassure himself than Yaz. “The baby's fine. She's just freaking out. She's thousands of miles away from home. From her kids. She's worried about them, worried about Ovi and Chloe, worried about me. This fucking sucks, mate. That she has to go through all of this. Especially now. This should be a happy time. We just found out we're having a baby. We should be ecstatic. And instead we're dealing with this bullshit. She deserves better than this. So does that baby.”

“Well at least we can kind of see the finish line now,” Yaz reasons. “We're a hell of a lot closer than we were two days ago, that's for sure. Heard anything from the IRA yet?”

“Flynn said it would be two days at the earliest, four at the latest. I don't expect to hear anything from them for a while.”

The air inside the storage building is stifling; humidity hanging heavily. The air conditioning unit is ancient and had long ago stopped working, and the owners of the facility seemed to be in no hurry to fix it. A foul stench lingers in the air; a mixture of rotting garbage in the bins outside, pollution from the factories and the mills only a kilometre away, and the tell tale odour of mould and mildew. Not the most pleasant, but after wading through that sewer in Dhaka and having to wait there for more than hour for Gaspar to pick them up, smells rarely bother Tyler anymore. But he notices the way Yaz scrunches up his nose; a scowl appearing on his face before he begins to cough and gag.

“What if they don't agree to this?” Yaz asks. “What if this is all for nothing?”

“Even if they do say no, it won't be for nothing. Trust me.”

“How long will you keep him here? If they don't want him. How long does he have before...you know...”

“I'll kill him when I'm good and ready. And I will. Kill him. If they don't.”

He's calm as he says it. Matter of fact. There's no hesitation. He'd made the decision on the drive over. If the IRA didn't want McMann, then he'd take care of the problem himself. But not before the other man was taught a very valuable lesson. It's the first time he hasn't experienced even the slightest bit of remorse or guilt over the thought of taking another life. Killing had never been about satisfaction or pleasure. He's killed because he's had to. Because his own survival came down to it. He's never been proud of the reputation. Or the body count. But this is different.

This is personal.

“Are you sure this is what you want to do?” Yaz asks, as motions towards the last door on the left. Garage style; black aluminum that rolls up into the ceiling. He'd rented the largest one possible; so whoever was in charge of watching McMann during set shifts would have a place to eat and rest. There'd be a team of four, switching out every six hours. And always a set off eyes on either laptop or cell phone.

“It's what I need to do,” Tyler replies. “For my wife. For my kids.”

“Do you think she'd really want this, Tyler? If she knew exactly what you were up to? You think she'd want to know what you're capable of?”

“She already knows that, mate. She saw what I was capable of five and a half years ago in Dhaka. She knows who I am. She knows what I do.”

“But this? This goes above and beyond what she saw. What she knows. Do you really think she'd want to know about this? About what kind of man you can be?”

“No,” he admits. “Probably not. She'd probably hate me. Or be scared of me She'd probably never trust me again. Maybe she'd even leave me and take my kids.”

It's the bitter and hard truth of the situation; in the middle of trying to protect and avenge his family, he could in fact end up losing them. But she'd understand. If she'd listen to him long enough. If she gave him a chance to explain, she would realize that he'd done it for her. For their kids. To protect the only things that truly mattered in his life. She'd saved him. Given him a second chance. And McMann had threatened that. To take away the one person that he had held on for.

And he deserved to pay for it.

“Then why do it?” Yaz asks. “Why risk it? Why risk losing everything over one person?”

“Because,” he replies, and steps over the threshold of the storage unit. “He fucked with the wrong man's family.”

***

“Things are coming together,” Mark says, his hands on his hips as he watches two of his Marines -Nathan and Zak- secure the last two cameras; one above the door, the other in the middle of the room to the left, three inches from the ceiling. The remaining member of his team has been assigned to stay behind at the hotel, ordered to stay glued to Esme's hip at all times until Tyler's returned from the his meeting with McMann. “Not too shabby for a couple of jar heads, huh? They're determined to get shit done, that's for sure.”

“It all gonna be ready for when he gets here?” Tyler asks. He doesn't want to leave any stone unturned. Not even the simplest of details can be overlooked. There is no room for error. And even the smallest mistake could spell disaster.

“Should be. Come check this out...”

There's a crude metal chair in the middle of the room; a sack made from heavy black fabric that will be used to cover McMann's head and a package of zip ties sitting on the seat. But it's meal table pushed against the far wall that Mark leads him too. A wide selection of knives and handguns nearly arranged on top of it, along with the lesser used tools of the trade.

“We've got the usual,” Mark says, as he nods down at the objects on display. “Standard run of the mill shit. But these...” he takes two steps sideways. “...this is where the real nasty stuff is. The ones that can really pack a punch. We've got a couple of tasers, a few box cutters, a ball-peen hammer, crowbar. Even a couple pairs of pliers. You know, for the little jobs and small spaces you need to get into.”

Tyler picks up a handsaw; inspecting the edges, the handle, the sharpness of the blade.

“That was my personal addition,” Mark says. “Right from my own collection. She's seen some dirty jobs, if you know what I mean. Hasn't let me down yet.”

Tyler smirks. “You do this kind of shit often?”

“Things used to get a little wild in Iraq. We used to have to resort to some pretty extreme things when dealing with the terrorists. Especially the ones we caught that were guilty of doing unspeakable shit to women and kids. You know, the kind that needs to meet the karma bus head on. I'm sure you saw some things in the Middle East.”

Tyler nods. His final three tours with the Australian army had been spent in Kandahar. He'd seen first hand what the Taliban had been capable of doing to women and children. He'd been on night patrol when his platoon had managed to capture a man known to be a serial rapist and pedophile. It's where he'd seen and learned the most savage of tricks in his playbook. Committing every act of depravity his commanding officer had inflicted upon that Iraqi to his memory. He had hoped that he'd never have to use any of those things; that a gun, knife, or fist would be the only weapons he'd have to rely on while on the job. But now the inevitable is right there in front of him. And instead of horror and disgust, he feels nothing.

He has nothing left to give. The job has taken it all. Every ounce of compassion and humanity that he'd ever possessed.

“You don't have to do this,” Mark says. “I know why you're doing it. And I get why you feel like it has to be done. But you don't need to do it, Tyler.”

“Yeah...” he picks up one of the box cutters and clicks open the blade. “...I do.”

“Once you cross that line, you can't come back. You realize that, don't you? Once you go from killing out of necessity to killing for sport...for revenge...you'll never be the same. Once we become that monster that's been living inside of us for years...for decades...that monster never goes away. That monster is going to live with you for the rest of your life.”

“If that's the way it has to be...” he shrugs as his voice trails off.

“Kid, listen to me. I've been in this type of situation before. I've had to resort to some pretty sick and twisted shit to get things I needed. To teach someone a lesson. And it fucks with you. It does something to you. Up here...” he taps the tip of his index fingers against his temple. “...it changes you. To the point you won't even recognize yourself. You're going wake up one morning and you're going to look in the mirror and not even know who the fuck you are anymore. Is that really what you want? To become some former version of yourself? And I'm not just talking about what it's going to do to you. I'm talking about what it's going to do to Esme. To see you like that. To not even know who you are anymore. Is that really want you want?”

“I'm not the same man I was when we first met. That man died that day on the Sultana Kamal Bridge. Five and half years ago that man died and this is who was left behind. Do you think that was fair to her? That she had to see that? That she had to sit there while I was dying in her arms? That she stayed behind just to save my life? She gave up everything that day. She was never the same. Neither of us were.”

“She stayed because she wanted to be with you. Because she was in love with you. When Esme loves, she loves hard. With everything she's got. Do you really think she sees you the way you see yourself? You think you died that day. She thinks she saved you. She thinks she's the one that kept you hanging on.”

“She was,” he admits. “She's the only reason I did hang on.”

“She doesn't see you any differently now than she did back then. You're the same Tyler in her eyes. She doesn't look at you and see someone damaged and broken. She just sees you. That's it But this? What you're going to do here? That will change you. You will become a different person. And not a better one. Is that what you really want for her? Do you want her to look at you one day and not know who the fuck you are anymore? Because this is going to haunt you. This is going to eat at you. And she's going to be the one that pays the ultimate price.”

Tyler nods, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. It's a nervous habit. Or one he resorts to when emotion is beginning to overwhelm him. He won't be able to keep it a secret forever. He knows that. But if he can hold it together just long enough to be victorious over his own monsters and his own demons, he can spare her the knowledge of just who he is and what he's capable of. If he can keep the secret just long enough...to the point where it doesn't eat him alive from the inside out...everything will be okay.

They'd be okay.

“You've got this amazing thing going on,” Mark continues. “You've got a wife, four kids, one on the way. Why would you want to fuck that up?”

“I don't,” he clears his throat noisily. “That's the last thing I want.”

“Think about those kids, Tyler. Your kids. You won't be the person they know right now. You won't be the same dad you are this very second. Is that really what you want? They're just babies still. The oldest is only five. Five! And you're going to go back to those kids and slowly you're going to become a different person. Right in front of them. Think about what that's going to do to them. When daddy suddenly isn't daddy anymore. For fuck sakes. Tyler. You do not have to do this.”

“Yes. I do,” he insists. “They deserve this.”

“The fuck they do. Look, I get it. You're pissed. McMann fucked with the wrong guy. He never should have went after your family. But they're safe. You took care of things. You found out before it got any further. You got your kids out. You got Ovi and the girl out. You protected them. Now they're safe and that's all that matters. What is this going to do? You doing this? Other than fuck you up?”

“He needs to be taught a lesson. I warned him. Before I even got on that plane to come here. I told him that if I found out he was fucking with me and going after my family, I'd make him sorry. And that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to make him sorry. He's going to pay. I'm going to teach him a very valuable lesson. For as long and as painfully as I can.”

“But why? Why the fuck do you need to do that? Jesus Christ, Tyler. Do you realize what you sound like? Do you realize who you sound like? You sound just like those crazy fucks that you have to rescue people from. This is the kind of shit those people do. What guys like Mahajan and Asif did to people. When did you cross that line? When did you stop being the hero and start being one of them?”

“Let's get one thing straight...” Tyler's voice is low, menacing, as he turns to face Mark. “...I've never been a hero. I've never claimed to be one. I never wanted to be one. I help people because it's my job. I go in there, I get shit done, I get paid. That's it. I don't do it to be a fucking hero.”

“But you're still one of the good guys. You still go in and help people. This? This is not helping people. This is far from it. You don't kill because you like it. You kill because you have to. To save yourself. To save your mark. But this is intentional, Tyler. You have this all planned and all thought out and you're acting like it's no big deal. That it's just a normal day for you. This is not normal!”

“He needs to pay,” Tyler growls. “He needs to pay for going anywhere near my kids. For taking me away from them. For bringing my wife into this fucking mess. And I'm going to make him pay. And there's not a goddamn thing you can do about it.”

“I could tell Nik.”

Tyler gives a dry laugh. “What the fuck is she going to do? She has nothing to with this. This all me. I'm in charge here. So go. Run off to her and tell her. I don't give a shit. She can't stop me either.”

“I'll tell Esme, then.”

Tyler's eyes narrowed. “Don't do that. Don't bring her into this. That's fucking low and you know it. Using her against me? Using my own wife as a weapon?”

“She's the only one that can stop you from fucking your whole life up. She saved you once. Let her save you again.”

“I don't need saving. I need revenge. I want him to pay. For what he did to my family. For what he's put them through. What he's put her through. She deserves that. She deserves revenge.”

“She doesn't want revenge, Tyler. She want her husband. She wants the father of her kids. As he is now. Now what he's going to become if he goes through with this. She wants a normal life. With you. And that won't happen if you do this. This has gone far enough. You're going to hand McMann over and he can be the IRA's problem.”

“And if they don't want him? What then?”

“Then you kill him. Nice and clean. None of this shit.”

“No,” Tyler shakes his head. “That's not enough. That's not nearly enough.”

“This is fucking insane and you know it. You're unhinged. You need to get your shit together. You need to get your fucking head on straight. Forget about this. You don't need to do this. Because I will tell her. I'm not bullshitting. I will call her right now. Is that what you want? You want me to call her right now and let her know where you are and what you're up to?”

Tyler's eyes narrow, his nostrils flare. “Don't do this.”

“Fuck this,” Mark removes his cell phone from pocket of his hoodie. “If you're not going to back down and get your shit together, I'll let her handle this. She's pretty good at reining you, right? She's gotten used to having to keep you under control.”

“Don't do this,” Tyler repeats. “Don't fucking do this.”

“You did this. You did this, Rake. And if you're not going to save yourself, maybe she can.”

He only manages to get the screen turned on and the first number pushed, Tyler's elbow slamming into his face and sending him sprawling backwards into the floor. And there's a clamour as chaos erupts within the storage unit; the two Marines quickly bolting to their boss' side; ladders toppling over with a crash.

“Rake... you fucking asshole!” Mark bellows, as he struggles to his feet, a hand clutching his broken and bloody nose. “...what the hell is wrong with you? Are you fucking crazy?!”

“You should have just stayed the fuck away!” Tyler roars. “You should have stayed away from her. You never should have showed up at my house. You have no right. You have no fucking right being anywhere near her!”

“Is that really what this is about? Is that what you just did what you did? Because you're jealous.”

“I'm jealous?! What the fuck do I have to be jealous of. She left you, remember? She got tired of your shit and she left. Do you buddies know what you did? Do they know how you treated her? Huh? Did you tell them any of that? Or did you just make her out to be the bad person?”

“You're going to resort to that? You're going to resort to bringing that shit up? Are you that fucking desperate?”

“Did he tell you?” Tyler asks the Marines. “Did he? Did he tell you that my wife is his ex wife? Did he tell you why she left him? Did he tell you about how he got a blow job from a stewardess coming back from his honeymoon? I bet he didn't tell you that.”

“You're really going to do this?” Mark rages. “You're really going to bring this up? It's none of your fucking business!”

“She's my fucking business! She's my wife. That makes her my business. I bet you didn't tell them that you liked to beat on her. That at first you started hitting her where she could hid the bruises with clothes. But then after awhile you just didn't give a fuck anymore and you'd give her black eyes, split lips, bloody noses. How about the two times you put her in the hospital? Do you blokes now about that? Well if you didn't, you sure as fuck do now.”

“Whoa...whoa...” Yaz finally appears from the corridor, having been caught up organizing and setting up any remaining technology. “What the hell is going on here?”

“He's fucking crazy,” Mark nods in Tyler's direction. “That's what's going on here.”

“I'm just letting these guy know what an upstanding citizen their boss is,” Tyler explains. “You know, the kind that likes to beat on women. The kind that likes to cheat on them. The kind that's a narcissistic dick bag that gas lighted her into thinking she was the problem, That she wasn't good enough. That she'd never be good enough. Or how about how he blamed her for losing a baby the doctor said never would have been viable in the first place.”

Mark's eyes narrow. “How'd you...”

“You fucking dumb ass. Did you really think I wouldn't ask her when you told me about the baby she lost? Did you honestly think I wouldn't want to know? Because I knew it couldn't be a problem with her because we have four kids. I've never had a problem getting her pregnant. And all those kids arrived safe and sound. No issues whatsoever. She showed me the pathology report. It was a severe abnormality passed down through the y gene. Meaning you, asshole. It came from you. And you still fucking blamed her. You still made her think it was her goddamn fault. How fucking sick do you have to be to do that your own wife? When she's already upset that she lost a baby in the first place?!”

“Okay...okay...” Yaz claps a hand down on Tyler's shoulder. “...this is private stuff, man. This doesn't need to be brought up. No one needs to hear this.”

“He needs to hear it,” Tyler nods in Mark's direction. “Because he's been playing these fucking games for ten years now. Ten years she's held all that shit inside of her. Thinking she isn't good enough. Being told no one would ever love her because of how messed up she was. Do you remembering telling her that? Don't deny it. Don't stand here and lie to my face. Be a man. For once. Be a man and admit it. Own it. That you fucked with her head. That you made her think she'd never find anyone better than you. That's what you told her, right?”

“I admit it. I said some...things...”

“Yeah, you did. You sure fucking did, mate. You fucking broke her. And you know what, I came along and I helped put her back together. All those things you told her? About how no one would ever love her? I proved you wrong. I came along and I loved her. With everything I fucking have. Everything I am. I made her forget about you and you can't fucking stand it.”

“She's way too good for you.” Mark gives a dry laugh. “And one day she's going to wake up and wonder why the hell she wasted so many years of her life with you.”

“You keep telling yourself that, mate. Whatever helps you sleep at night. Because guess what? While you're sleeping alone? I'm sleeping next to her. With her. And you can't fucking stand the thought of it.”

“Enough!” Yaz snaps. “Both of you! Enough is enough. Now I get there's some issues. Between the two of you. I get shit is messy. Mark, you crossed a fucking line by ever showing up at Tyler's house looking for Esme. You went there to try and cause shit between them and it blew up in your face and you can't handle that. Tyler and Esme are tight. Their bond? You can't break that shit. No one can. Now, we need to all work together here. We need to get this asshole and make him pay. Can't we all agree on that? That McMann needs to go down for all the shit he's pulled? Right?” he stares pointedly at Tyler. “Right?”

Tyler nods.

“Right?” he turns his gaze to Mark and the two marines, all three nodding in confirmation. “For fuck sakes, this is not the time for shit to be falling apart. We're all working towards a common goal here. You three have your reasons for wanting McMann to suffer, and Tyler has his reasons. And it doesn't matter if I agree with how Tyler is going about things. What he does when he's left here with McMann is his business. Just like I won't give a shit what you guys to do him. But this is my boy...” he claps Tyler on the back of his neck. “...this is my brother. This stupid fuck...this ugly face...has been through more shit than the three of you together. And you know what? His stubborn ass just keeps getting back up. I saw this guy near death. Like right on its fucking doorstep. And he made death his bitch. So if you've got a problem with him, you've got a problem with me. And my sister. And our entire team.”

“We have no issues with him,” Nathan speaks up. “With either of you.”

Zak shrugs. “I've got no problems.”

“So it just you,” Yaz smirks at Mark. “Time to let shit go, man. She's not yours anymore. She's his. And he's not letting her go. Deal with.”

Mark gives a snort, then turns on his heel to stomp from the room, purposefully bumping Tyler's shoulder with his on the way out.

“What a drama queen,” Yaz shakes his head. “Why didn't you tell me you were going to knock him the fuck out? You know I wanted to see that. You know I wanted ringside seats! The fuck is wrong with you? Doing me like that?”

“Next time I'll let you know. So we can watch. Hey about what you said...”

“I said what I said. Don't go getting all little wuss bitch baby on me.”

Tyler grins. “Actually, I was going to ask if you really think my face is ugly.”

Yaz smirks. “You know you're my boy crush. Now quit riding my jock and get the fuck out of here. Go and see your wife. Spend some time with her before you go and meet McMann. You both need it. That time.”

“Yeah,” Tyler nods. “We do.”

“And I'd say wrap it before you tap it but you've proven time and time again you don't know what that means, so...”

“You're a real fucking dick, Yaz,” he laughs as he heads for the door.

“Maybe. But you love me. And you'd miss me if I was gone. Admit it, Tyler! You'd miss me!” He frowns when he receives a smirk and the middle finger in response. “Why you do me like that? Why you do your boy like that?”

He receives no answer. Just the sound of the soles of combat boots as they disappear down the hall.

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction #chris hemsworth character #sanctuary #extraction

24 notes · View notes

skekheck · 5 years ago

Note

For the character ask: SkekSa

YES THE PIRATE QUEEN

Why I like them

The original different skeksis. She’s a lot like skekMal where she mostly distances herself from the skeksis court, but still has to intermingle with them on occasion. Otherwise, she’s out doing what she loves and exploring the seas. On top of that, she’s different from her kin in that she genuinely loves and cares for the gelfling (or at the very least the Sifa). Her very first scene is treating a gelfling who was poisoned. You don’t really see that from the other skeksis and that’s a really refreshing perspective. Not to mention the reason why she out of the others loves them is super interesting.

She’s also a pretty complex villain. All she really wants to do is sail the seas, but she is tied back by her services to the Emperor. How fiercely she wants to be independent, but truth of the matter is she needs someone to guide her. She needs stability and to be able to rely on others to function. But she’s also self-destructive: she’s very sensitive to trust. Because she subconsciously relies on others, anything that she sees as a betrayal destroys her. She hates it above all else. When the Sifa joined the rebellion, she decided to team up with the very people she hates to get some kind of control back. She was even offered a chance to join the resistance, but ultimately decided against it for her own selfish reasons. Eventually she had no one but herself, losing all of her connections to everyone she’s ever known, and suffered a slow, agonizing death. Her descent was mostly self-inflicted and there were better options for her that she never took. And that’s the tragedy of it, really.

Why I don’t

I think if there was anything I don’t like about skekSa is how she views the gelfling. She loves and cares for them of course, but not more than as a pet. It’s better than how the other skeksis see the gelfling, but not by much. Also I don’t like how the fandom romanticize her, but I think that’s because the majority have never read the books and only learned about her through word-of-mouth. Also fandoms just be like that, can’t be helped.

Favorite episode (scene if movie)

(Well I guess scene from a book is more appropriate) Her debut. I just like the way she’s portrayed as being a “nicer” skeksis to add context to the fact not all skeksis act or think the same way. She added a complex facet to them by being their contrast. And how she views the gelfling: while she sees them nothing more than her pets, she cares for them. She denounces her kin’s essence drinking ways and wanted to take the Sifa to safety. She even cradled Tae when she was poisoned and helped her by teaching Naia how to heal her. But you also saw snippets that she’s not as benevolent and foreshadowing of her eventual descent. It’s so good.

Favorite season/movie

(Again, relying on the books here). I think I liked her in Tides more because, again, we see that contrast and descent most strongly in this book. Also she was more involved there.

Favorite line

(When talking to Amri about what he did to skekSil during the carriage rescue)

“Apparently, Lord Chamberlain skekSil ran afoul of a group of Gelfling south of Ha’rar. One in particular - a Vapra, to his memory, but I think he may be mistaken- threw Sifa fire dust in his eyes. You wouldn’t know who that might have been, my little apothecary?Amri tried not to shrink back “He was asking for it”.“Oh, you can burn out both his weepy eyes for all I care.”

Favorite outfit

So skekSa doesn’t really have an official outfit outside of her book description and the only fully colored piece of hers is completely different. But from what is seen from the new prequel comics cover? That is a look. I like that look. It might be close to her book description.

OTP

Her and urSan. There’s no way I’d ship her with anyone else.

Brotp

I do like to imagine when she was much younger she had some friendships with other skeksis outside of skekZok. I do fancy a short friendship between her and skekMal because of how much they detest the skeksis court and they prefer nature and adventure over everything else. But I think it became an issue where skekMal despises the Mariner for living the same luxurious lifestyle as the other skeksis and relying on weakling creatures like gelfling to do things for her. Also his degradation, become more and more wild over time, made skekSa fear and be disgusted by him. I also see her being friends with skekAyuk for a short while, bonding over their favorite alcoholic beverages (and the Gourmand recommending some to her).

Head Canon

She has the best hygiene out of all the skeksis next to skekUng (as I headcanon he has medical knowledge like his mystic) and that’s why she still has a bunch of her hair/feathers/fur left.

Also she’s the second tallest skeksis: the tallest being skekGra.

Unpopular opinion

She’s going to look old and decrepit just like the other skeksis. SkekSa is almost a thousand years old she’s not going to look young and pretty. She’s going to look old as balls and make it WORK.

A wish

I hope skekSa’s arc plays a big part in season 2 and just as complex, maybe even more, as she was in the books.

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen

Go easy on me with skekSa’s death, Jim Henson Company. I am not ready.

5 words to best describe them

Swashbuckler | Fickle | Tragic | Self-destructive | Brokenhearted

My nickname for them

Pirate Queen

#Anonymous #skeksa #asks for skekheck #sorry this took so long I was hunting for quotes #couldn't decide which I liked more but that one is a good one for sure #I would have also picked the one where she says I don't love anyone anymore! like baby please

36 notes · View notes

ljones41 · 6 years ago

Text

"AQUAMAN" (2018) Review

I realize that over four months had passed since this movie’s release, but . . . better late than never:

"AQUAMAN" (2018) Review Following the failure of "JUSTICE LEAGUE" to storm the box office during the fall of 2017, Warner Brothers Pictures and the DC Extended Universe (DCEU) turned to the franchise's sixth installment to carry it and the studio to both financial and especially critical glory. That movie proved to be 2018's "AQUAMAN". The character of the DC Comics superhero, Aquaman aka Arthur Curry has made extensive appearances in both television and movie animations. His biggest role proved to be one of the main characters of the 1973-1986 Saturday morning animated series, "SUPER FRIENDS". The character also made occasional appearances in the live-action WB (later, the CW) series, "SMALLVILLE". The WB had plans for a series about Aquaman, starring Justin Hartley (who later became known as Oliver Queen aka the Green Arrow on "SMALLVILLE"), but nothing came from it. In the end, it took Zack Snyder to bring Aquaman to the fore as a live-action figure, when he cast actor Jason Momoa in the role for the DCEU franchise. "AQUAMAN" would prove to be Momoa's third appearance in the franchise, after a brief cameo in 2016's "BATMAN V. SUPERMAN: DAWN OF JUSTICE" and a more prominent role in "JUSTICE LEAGUE", the following year. However, "AQUAMAN" is the first film to feature Momoa as the lead in a DCEU film, but also the first movie that is actually about the "King of the Seven Seas". Directed by James Wan, "AQUAMAN" is a two-fold story that explores the drama behind Arthur Curry's family conflicts. The movie also told how Arthur aka Aquaman went on a quest to prevent his half-brother King Orm Marius from uniting the seven undersea kingdoms in order to inflict war upon the surface world. The story begins in 1985, when a Maine lighthouse keeper named Tom Curry rescues a woman who has washed ashore during a storm. The mysterious woman turns out to be Atlanna, Queen of Atlantis, who had left her ocean world to escape an arranged marriage to another member of Atlantean royalty, Orvax. Both Tom and Atlanna fall in love, marry and conceive a child, whom they name Arthur. Unfortunately, Atlantean soldiers manage to find Atlanna. She decides to leave Tom and Arthur behind and return to Atlantis in order to protect them from Orvax's wrath. Over thirty years later, Arthur has become known as the metahuman vigilante, Aquaman. Months after the Justice League's defeat of Steppenwolf, Aquaman prevents a group of pirates led by the father-son team, Jesse and David Kane, from hijacking a Russian Naval Akula-class submarine. Jesse dies during the confrontation with Aquaman, while David, vows revenge against the hero. Meanwhile, Arthur's half-brother, King Orm of Atlantis attempts to convince King Nereus of Xebel to help him unite Atlantis and the other ocean kingdoms for an attack against the surface world for for harming the Earth's oceans. Orm also hopes to solidify his position as Atlantis' king. Nereus's daughter and Orm's fiancee, Princess Mera, heads to the surface to recruit Arthur in stopping Orm's plans against the surface world and to present himself as the true king of Atlantis. Over a year had passed between the release of "JUSTICE LEAGUE" and "AQUAMAN". I noticed that many film critics and moviegoers seemed willing to heap lavish praise on the 2018 film, following the other movie's poor performance and lack of critical acclaim. I will be honest . . . I did not dislike "JUSTICE LEAGUE". I had mixed feelings about it. I still do. But I must admit that "AQUAMAN" is a better film. To a certain extent. "AQUAMAN" is a curious mixture of a family drama, a political film, an Indiana Jones-style adventure and the usual "save-the-planet" scenario. For me, the best aspect of "AQUAMAN" is the family drama that centered around Queen Atlanna. David Leslie Johnson-McGoldrick and Will Beall did an excellent job in conveying the consequences of Atlanna's initial refusal to be dragged into an arranged marriage. Her actions resulted in eventual exile and possible death for her, two sons in conflict with each other, a political vacuum and one of her sons becoming a future costumed hero. The political vacuum left by Atlanna also led to an exciting and action-filled search for a missing magical artifact - the Trident of Atlan, which used to belong to Atlantis' first ruler and had been missing his disappearance. This search would lead Arthur and Mera on a picturesque journey from the Mediterranean region to the depths of the ocean's most elusive worlds, the Kingdom of the Trench. I also liked the fact that Johnson-McGoldrick and Beall's screenplay did not rush in conveying Orm's story arc. They did not rush his efforts to solidify his position on the Atlantean throne or his efforts to convince or coerce the rulers of the other ocean kingdoms to acknowledge and join him in the attack against the surface. And what seemed to be the cherry on the top of this particular story arc is that the two screenwriters managed to utilize Aquaman's other major nemesis - David Kane aka Black Mantis - into Orm's story arc. In doing so, the two screenwriters and director James Wan managed to establish David Kane's own origin story and major conflict against Aquaman for future movies. But what I really liked about "AQUAMAN" is that instead of the outsider or the interloper of a royal court being the main villain, he is the main protagonist. In other words, the main protagonist is the one who shakes up a society and not the villain. I found this refreshing after movies like "THOR" and "BLACK PANTHER". Another aspect of "AQUAMAN" that I enjoyed was the film's visual styles. Bill Brzeski did an excellent job as the film's production designer. I thought he did a competent job in not only re-creating Atlantis and other ocean worlds . . . to an extent. I also enjoyed his designs for those scenes that especially featured Arthur and Mera's adventures in both the Sahara Desert and especially Sicily. Don Burgess' cinematography did a great job in enhancing Brzeski's work. This especially seemed to be the case for his photography of the shooting locations in Australia, Morocco and Italy. I am going to be frank. I am not a big fan of the traditional Aquaman suit . . . at least for Jason Momoa. From a visual perspective, I believe the suit he wore in "JUSTICE LEAGUE" worked better for him. But I must admit that I did enjoy Kym Barrett's designs for the costume worn by Momoa in the Sicily sequence. And I especially enjoyed Ms. Barrett's costumes for the other Atlantean and Xebel characters. Especially those costumes worn by Amber Heard. However, the one aspect of "AQUAMAN" that truly impressed me were the visual effects for the Atlantis scene created by the Industrial Light & Magic (ILM) team led by Jeff White. I mean . . . oh my God! Those visual effects truly blew me away with the sharp colors, beauty and originality, as seen in the images below:

How on earth did the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences fail to nominate White and the ILM team for their work in this film? It is simply criminal that the organization had failed to do this. The performances featured in "AQUAMAN" struck me as either first-rate or solid. I would certainly describe Jason Momoa's portrayal of Arthur Curry aka Aquaman as first-rate. One, the guy has charisma and presence oozing out of his pores. And two, Momoa did a great job in utilizing both his comedic and dramatic skills, when required by the screenplay. However, a part of me wishes there had been more of a balance between comedy and dramatic scenes for the actor. Another first-rate performance came from Amber Heard, who portrayed Princess Mera of Xebel. If I must be honest, I had been impressed by the way she had taken control of her performance in "JUSTICE LEAGUE". Her portrayal of Mera as a strong-willed and commanding personality seemed even stronger in this film. "AQUAMAN" features the second time I have seen Patrick Wilson portray a villain. In this film, he gave a strong and intimidating portrayal of Aquaman's half-brother, King Orm Marius aka Ocean Master. Wilson's character was not as . . . amusing as his character in 2010's "THE A-TEAM", but I must admit that he did a great job in conveying Orm's arrogance and bigotry. Yahya Abdul-Mateen II portrayed the film's other villain, sea pirate-tech specialist David Kane, who will become one of Aquaman's biggest nemesis, Black Mantis. Since he was not the main villain, his presence was not as extensive. But I cannot deny that Abdul-Mateen gave a very intense and memorable performance. I really look forward to seeing him in future DCEU films. "AQUAMAN" also featured strong, yet solid performances from the supporting cast. Those performances include Nicole Kidman, who portrayed Arthur's mother Queen Atlanna; Temeura Morrison as Arthur's father, Tom Curry; Willem Dafoe, who portrayed Arthur's mentor Vulko; Dolph Lundgren as King Nereus of Xebel; Michael Beach as Jesse Kane, pirate leader and father of the future Black Mantis; and Graham MacTavish, who provided the voice for Atlan, the first king of Atlantis. I also wanted to point out Randall Park, who gave a rather funny and entertaining performance as Dr. Stephen Shin, a marine biologist obsessed with finding the lost city of Atlantis. I was surprised to discover that the movie also featured voice performances from the likes of Julie Andrews, Djimon Hounsou and John Rhys-Davies. As much as I enjoyed "AQUAMAN", I had some problems with the film. My biggest problem proved to be director James Wan. I realize that he has managed to establish a positive reputation from the horror flicks he had directed in the past. The problem is that there were times when I found his direction rather clunky. A good example would be the film's opening scene that featured the introduction of Aquaman's parents. It struck me as a bit rushed. Utilizing slow motion scenes can annoy me in any movie. But what I found particularly annoying in "AQUAMAN" was that Wan did not use slow motion in action scenes. Instead, he used it for shots featuring Momoa in various poses . . . as if he was some kind of fashion magazine model. Also, it seemed as if Wan was incapable of going from action to drama to comedy in a seamless way. Perhaps he will be able to flow his scenes a little better as he become more experienced, but I did not sense such a skill in "AQUAMAN". Also, I am a little . . . confused about Queen Atlanna's position in Atlantis society. Was she the ruling monarch when she first met Tom Curry? Was she ever the ruling monarch? Or did Atlantis society forbade women sovereigns and would only allow the royal spouses of a direct female heiress or sovereign to be considered for the throne? The movie never made it clear. According to the movie, one of Orm's major reasons for planning an attack upon the surface world was humanity's pollution of the ocean. Aside from one minor sequence featuring news reports of piles of garbage washing up on many beaches, I feel the movie did not explore the topic of pollution as much as it should have, considering IT WAS one of Orm's reasons to attack humanity. I realize that "AQUAMAN" is at the moment, the DCEU franchise's most successful film. It is the only one that has managed to earn over a billion dollars so far. But do I consider it the best in the franchise? Not really. Between James Wan's uneven direction, some plot points regarding the Queen Atlanna character and the film's use of the pollution topic; it did not quite impress me as I had hoped it would. On the other hand, I found some of Wan's direction rather impressive, especially the action sequences. The visual effects struck me as stunning, the movie featured excellent performances from a cast led by Jason Momoa and I thought screenwriters David Leslie Johnson-McGoldrick and Will Beall wrote a first-rate adventure. I am more than satisfied.

7 notes · View notes

river-runs-on-insanity · 6 years ago

Text

Ally

Five years. One-thousand eight hundred thirty-one and a half rotations around the sun, the Earth has made that many. One-thousand eight hundred and twenty-five days. Two million, 6 hundred twenty-eight thousand minutes. And not even once did I not miss her. The world had kept moving, the way it naturally would. Life went on. People were born, and people died. Kids grew up and became adults. Adults went on into the real world and began jobs, got married, and started families. Nothing ever stopped. But losing her was still the strongest pain I had ever known.

Once the flames of grief had died down to embers, the questions of where she had went started to speculate throughout our community. Theories of how she packed up her life and ran away with an older, mysterious man and is now living in Vegas serving beers to whoever walked into her bar. Some believed that she had cashed out her savings and caught the first flight to Greece or Paris and started a life where no one knew her name or the things she had done. Others though, believed the unthinkable. They speculated that she had taken herself to an old abandoned cabin in the Rocky Mountains or somewhere secluded and distant, where it could take years to find her, and put a bullet through her head.

But none of these were true. I was the only one who knew this.

The last time I saw her was the day before she left. She had come to say goodbye.

I had gone to meet her in the diner off 48th and A, not realizing what was about to come. She didn’t cry as she told me of her plans. She took my hand and asked me to do the heartbreaking task of telling her parents of where she went, or at least some jumbled version of that truth. She was gone, that’s what I had to say.

“Rory, you have to make sure they don’t find me. Tell them anything you need to, just don’t tell them where I went. They can never know the truth.” She had said, reaching across the table to stroke my cheek; I closed my eyes and leaned into her palm. I couldn’t understand why she was asking this of me or why she had to go. Even now I still don’t know.

“Please don’t leave me.” I had whispered at some point. She squeezed my other hand and gave me a small, sad smile.

“I have to go Rory,” she had let go of my hand to caress my cheek. I scan still feel her touch on my skin, like a scar that I carry with me forever. “And I think you know this.”

“Then let me have today. Let me have today to say goodbye. And I promise I will do what you ask of me. Just let me have a chance to say goodbye.”

“There’s no one else I’d rather share this last day with than you.”

Occasionally, the memory of how we met will run through my mind; it does this now, the smell of rain and fallen leaves brings me there. And against the autumn wind, I close my eyes and remember her, the girl with beautiful brown curls and eyes so brown, they were gold.

I had broken my back after falling off a house that summer. My first job had been a carpenter alongside my father, and we had both learned quickly that I was accident prone and a safety hazard. Regardless, they had me in the hospital for a couple of days so that I could adjust to the uncomfortable pain I was about to be in for the next couple of months.

Visiting hours were over, yet I remember her sneaking into my room. Hiding from the night nurse, she had told me. They had wanted to lock her up, and send her away to a place where she would stop hurting herself. She asked me to help her escape, but I couldn’t. I was stuck in my bed. I told her of this, and she laughed, deciding to stay with me instead. We talked a lot that night, getting to know one another. Before she had left my room, I told her I couldn’t sleep.

Before shutting the door behind her, she told me to sing the ABCs backwards; that was a trick her mother had taught her, and it worked like a charm. Sure enough, when I had tried it, I was asleep almost instantly. Until they released me from the hospital, she came and saw me every night. She’d perch herself on the end of my bed and talk to me until I fell asleep. It took some time before I noticed the scars on her arms. I’d ask, but she’d change the subject. I never knew what drove herself to inflict that much harm on her body.

She’d tell me things about herself. She had told me once that she wanted to sail the seas and dive deep into those waters to see what was living in the world below.

“So, a biologist?” I brought up one night while we played cards in my room.

“Well, a marine biologist to be exact. But yes, I want to study life. I want to understand it.”

To this very day I still find it funny that she wanted to study and understand life when she herself was a life no man could ever understood. I think about her now, as I walk these city streets on my way out of town. I had stopped at a florist and bought a vibrant bouquet of sunflowers. Those had always been her favorite. They had always made her feel warm and happy on the inside; her face had always lit up like sunlight when I brought her some.

The city is alive and bustling with energy and noise. She always hated it. She had told me multiple times that it made her feel claustrophobic being around that many people. I don’t mind. I like getting lost in the crowds of thousands. It made me feel small and wonderful at the same time. There is something about being just another face passed by on the street, never to be seen again. I used to create stories for her. I’d tell her what I believed their lives were like.

“You see that person over there?” I had once asked her.

“You mean the one with ratty hair and baggy clothes?”

“That woman over there is a cat lover. She lives in a loft with five cats and she treats them all like they’re her kids.”

She just laughed at me, nudging my shoulder affectionately. I loved being able to make her laugh; it was like a mockingbird singing in the distance, chirping and wonderful. Sometimes, like now, I miss how happy I could make her. It was like winning the Nobel Peace Prize. I don’t think she ever realized that I was in love with her. She was my everything, my world, but to her I was just a friend. A safe place to land after taking a valiant leap into the vast unknown. So, I never told her how I felt, I just kept it to myself until it was so overwhelming and painful that it hurt my heart. And I should’ve told her. I had every chance to on that last day with her. The rays of sunlight beam down on my face, as it did on that final day.

I remember it as clearly as I know my own name. We drove to the coast and spent the day on the beach. She held my hand and we talked. We talked about everything and nothing. We talked about stories and music and movies. She told me about her favorite art pieces. She told me of all the places she wanted to go.

“Florida?” I had laughed. “You want to go to Florida?”

“Come on, you can’t tell me you’ve never wanted to do a Daytona Beach spring break.” I could hear the challenge in her voice.

“Nope, and I never wanted to do the Cancun one wither.” I told her, shoving my hands deep in my pockets. “It’s just not my speed.”

“Maybe one day, when I come home, we’ll meet each other there.”

“I’m never going to see you again after this, am I?” I asked, after a long pause of silence between us.

She brushed her pretty penny brown curls out of her face, but the wind just pushed them back. I reached out and moved them away, so I could see her eyes; I held them there, my hand on her cheek.

“Don’t talk like that Rory.” She smiled, but I didn’t believe her. “Of course, we’ll see each other again. You’ll see.”

We didn’t speak about her leaving again. We discussed the languages we wished we could speak. She wanted to learn Italian, I was a little more practical and just wanted to pass high school Spanish. We talked about where we were planning on going one day. We spoke of what we hoped our future would hold. But we didn’t talk about tomorrow. We talked about years from now, but never tomorrow. We both couldn’t stand the idea of what the new day would bring.

“Hey Rory?” she asked me, as we walked towards my house.

“Yes?”

“Can I stay with you tonight?”

She was so small and meek in that moment, that I almost didn’t recognize the girl standing next to me. There was no way I could’ve said no to her.

I held her as she slept that night, and when I woke up in the morning, she was gone. I never saw her again.

I walk towards the bus station. I tried to create new stories and imagine what the lives of those sitting in the rows around me were like, but I couldn’t. All I could think about was her. I could only ever think about her.

She had written to me a couple of times. She told me of her life and how happy she was. She told me of how she made the right choice. She asked me about my life and what I was doing. I told her of college and my quest to get a degree. I told her of my classes and my professors. But that was just mindless talk. Something for her to hold on to.

Then came the worst day of my life. The day when the man came to my doorstep. He was dressed in his military suit and he stood on my porch, telling me how she was a hero. She had given her life so that others might live. She was brave and the best kind of soldier. Her death was very honorable.

Telling her parents hurt. I wanted to lie so badly. I didn’t want to sit in front of them and look them in the eye while I told them I don’t know where she went, but I knew what she had done; no one knew what came after death except those who had died. But that’s why she named me her next of kin. She didn’t want her parents to know, even if she had died. But I had to tell them. I had to tell them that she was unaccounted for. They deserved to know. We all cried together in their living room. The crying never seemed to end. One day, they put a For Sale sign on their yard and left. They left without saying anything.

As for me, I go to see her every once and a while. It had been easier to at first, when I had more time on my hands. But now I didn’t have enough time. But on days like today, I’d make the journey to go and see her. To bring her flowers and talk to her, sitting with her for a while. It brought me some peace and closure in some weird way. I miss her. I always miss her.

I lay the sunflowers at her stone, and I sit in the damp grass. I don’t speak at first. I just take in the moment. The feeling of being near her once again. It’s a beautiful day. The air is cool, and the sun is warm. The leaves are vibrant shades of red and orange. This was her favorite time of year. She loved autumn above all else.

“Hey pretty girl,” I finally say. “I know it’s been too long, but I’m here now.”

I look at her stone, and I read it. I have it memorized by now, but I still read it.

Ally Kay Rodriguez.

April 29, 1987 to December 8, 2005.

#short story #writing blog #my writing #ravenstails #writing #river writes things

7 notes · View notes

gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan · 6 months ago

Text

Footsteps in the Sand

Past -.- Future

Author's note: More Mermay with Su'cona.

Summary: Su'cona meets his bonded!

Warnings: None? Let me know if I need to add anything.

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams

Tagged: @sleepyfan-blog, @whorety-k

Su'cona was swiming along the shoreline, patrolling the area, he'd heard that there had been rumors of Death Guard pulling some Nurgle grox-shit near this area. So he's patrolling the area to see if he can find any Death Guard or Death Guard Activity in the area to see what kind of threats they are posing to Ancient Terra. While most of their disease and inflictions that they have as swimming biohazards are severely weakened due to where they are in the time stream, they can still be very deadly, and can, with time and patient cunning, slowly poison and sicken an area into Rot and Ruin if it's not noticed soon enough.

So far, he and his squad haven't found anything, but he's told the younger brothers to stay sharp and to report anything that seemed off. Even if something didn't come of it, it was better to call if something seemed Off, rather than not and it potentially causes catastrophe. He turns his head, sensing movement and sees one of the many base line humans walking near the shore, their footsteps pressing shapes into the sand.

He blinks and follows apace with them subconsciously, they look quite lovely focused, and in thought as they slowly enter the water a bit, grumbling about how cold the water was, and he sees the goose pimples that rise on their skin from their reaction to the water. It's cute, as they still walk in the water, slowly getting used to the water as they get in pretty far in the water, that makes him frown in concern as he circles closer, popping his head up, and pulling of his helmet.

"Take care," He trills in the one of the local languages in the area, carefully forming the words, "The there is a drop off nearby that can pull the unwary down over their head. "Ocean can be dangerous."

They yelp a little, surprised to see him and stare at him with large wide eyes, startled to see a Space Marine. He tries to give them a friendly smile, "I am sorry for startling you, it wasn't my intention."

"Hello!" They say enthusiastically. "It's nice to meet you. I've never met one of your kin before."

"It's nice to meet you," He says warmly as he swims closer to them, his muscled sinuous form and the light of the sun in the water makes his scales shimmer. The humans eyes track his form. He is both a little amused and flattered when he smells the change in their scent as they see his form. How strong he is.

"I go by Su'cona," He says with a slight purr in his voice. "May I have the honnor of knowing your name?"

"Oh, my name its ---," The human replies with a bright smile.

"That's quite a lovely name, ---," He says carefully saying their name, their name rolls of his tongue smoothly, and he can almost taste honey with their name on his tongue. Which surprises him, as he feels a heady strong feeling.

He blinks, as he remembers what his brothers and cousins have said what it was like when they first bonded. Some had stronger or weaker bonds with humans. This lovely heady feeling has him feeling as he'd taken more Mjod than he'd intended to. Or had a concussion and spun in a circle a hundred times, upside down. With this wonderful, floaty, confusing feeling he wonders how any could try to reject it? It's... this is surely a blessing, a good thing. He continues to speak with the human, however he does notice they seem to be tiring and he offers to carry them to wherever their mode of transportation is. They seem flustered and move a bit before wincing and asking for his help. He carefully scoops up his precious, fragile, amazing bonded human and activates his flying through air ability and 'swam' carefully not to go to high off the ground, some humans were very scared of heights as he 'swims' as they direct him to their vehicle and he carefully sets them down gently.

"Thank you for speaking with me ---," He says warmly.

"It was nice to meet you Su'cona," They reply with a tired, but happy smile as they get into their car and he watches as they leave.

Part of him is tempted to follow them. He shakes his head. No, even though he spent his time well with the lovely human, he needs to get back to his duties with hunting after tainted warp-craft and Death Guard who aren't follow the rules laid out by some of the larger pods of Loyalist, Renegade, and Chaos. The patrol doesn't find anything, and he listens to his younger brothers talk about what they saw and did during the trip, although they peer down at him with little Looks.

He hums out a question and they point out that he seems... different. He explains to them with a joyous smile that he'd met his human and they were Bonded. They are all surprised and Delighted for him. And he laughs in amusement as they ask all sorts of questions on what his human was like, and if he'd let them meet his human and all sorts of other questions. Most of those questions he did not have the answer to, as he didn't know the answers to them himself. He'd reported into his Captain, about the patrol, as well as the personal thing that he had going on.

He was congratulated on finding his bonded and given some leave to try and find his bonded and decide if he'd keep the bond or not and get to know his human if he did or not. He thanks his Captain for his kindness and heads off to think, as well as see if he can try to find his human again. Salamanders are usually some of the more accepting of the bonds with humans, more than most. They tended to not have the... Super Intense bonds, that some of the other chapters have, due to embracing the bonds whole heart(s)edly.

#warhammer 40k #space marine husbandry sentience #space marine husbandry #warhammer #adeptus astartes #mermay #mermay 2024 #mermay 40K #salamander #salamander oc #oc: Su'Cona

22 notes · View notes

viampythonissam · 6 years ago

Text

Intro, continued...

It was then I became obsessed with death and the occult, desperately trying to make contact with my grandfather through anything possible. Being clairaudient, I was expecting to hear a message from my grandfather all throughtout the whole funeral and mourning period, but to no avail. So in my desparation, I went into research, and stumbled upon things such as the ouija, seances, and many more. I even considered dabbling into necromancy, just in order to hear from him again. His death broke me so much that I was for the most time wishing I were dead too. I had suicidal thoughts but somehow something has prevented me from attempting. It could be I'm too chicken to hurt myself (getting hurt by other things besides self-infliction doesn't scare me though) or the thought of my mother crying over my dead body is another thing that would crush my heart.

I started questioning my religious beliefs then. We were Roman Catholics, and we go to church, but not too often. I am very religious though when I was a child, having been schooled in a private Catholic school, and I know all the prayers by heart; but it all changed. I felt resentment for praying so hard but never getting answered. That everything happens for a reason. A reason still so vague to me to this day, which I continue to believe was the same reason of the breaking apart of this family and eventual downfall. The family is in ruins, and the family home is crumbling apart. My father's only brother, my uncle Aldrin, died a little over two years after my grandfather; and his widow and only child, my cousin, was estranged ever since then, because of inheritance issues. My father decided to sell the house, my childhood home because of this; splitting the family fortune already so that we can all go off our separate ways and stop the bickering. The only thing that's keeping him from doing so is my grandmother who is still so attached to the house built by my grandfather.

At 16, I eventually traversed my way into the craft, dabbling on it. There was a kind of pull into these mystics that appealed to someone like me. Was it power? Was it danger? Mystery, perhaps? Or maybe I just got all too familiar with the unknown for me to be comfortable chasing after it? This craft, shunned by my faith since the dawn of time and even killed tons of people because of it, felt like home to me; learning it felt like retracing my steps back from where I came from. There was a sense of calm, relief, and freedom learning the ways of the earth, elements, and spirits and those who came before. Its unrestrictive nature was a stark contrast to the repressive and dominating teachings of the Catholic scriptures. Wherein Christianity demands a million things to do and not to do to save your soul, the craft only ever wanted you to do anything you want, just as long you harm none, even yourself. I have a lot of arguments to make against my old faith, that's why I consider myself an agnostic in all fairness. That's a topic for another day.

When I got to college at 17, I applied for nursing school under my father's wishes. It was in my misfortune to be enrolled in a school with a toxic environment of sorts: unhealthy clinic hours, unreasonable school workload, toxic Christian classmates who bombarded me everyday with bible verses and inviting me to join Sunday worship thingies. I am very respectful of other's beliefs and opinions but I really have a bone to pick with the Born Agains because upon knowing I am interested in dark movies and occult, they've started telling me that the Devil has a grip on my soul and that I should stop it so that my soul can be saved. They're even worse than the Mormons and Witnesses who knock on your door at certain days. I'd just ignore it and they'll go but BAs will stop at nothing to guiltify me of being possessed and that I need deliverance. It was also the time my parents went to Australia for work because of the failing finances due to to my late grandfather's hospital expenses, my uncle meeting his untimely demise, and my uncle's greedy widow who already demanded their inheritance even though my grandmother was still alive. My best friends of highschool also attended different schools and pursued different career pathways which left me feeling more isolated and unsure of myself. These issues fed my undiagnosed depression and relapse of suicidal thoughts all throughout my 4 years in nursing school. It was a mix of emotions, a rollercoaster ride of disappointments, achievements, first-time experiences, full independence. All without a proper support system. Nevertheless, I grew wiser while treading the craft, and for the first time since I lost my grandfather, I felt safe and sound and complete.

Then I met my elementary school sweetheart again in my final year and we became a couple. He was a sweet guy, smart and responsible. We had our similarities, our quirks, but we also had differences. I was already quite a learned witch, studying tarot and palmistry as my supposed-to-be expertise, when he told me how he wanted to be baptised as a Born Again (he and his family are Roman Catholics as well). He told me how he was deeply affected by the one time he went to a worship service of his friend's church. This struck a chord in me, a subtle reference to my beliefs. At the time, I have fully believed he is the man I'm gonna settle for, the one I'm gonna marry. He's everything I have hoped for then: he's finished school, on his way to a very decent career on a ship as a marine engineer. He's from a good family as well. Well-mannered, and not to mention that we've got a pretty long history way back when we we're 10 or so. He even made a subtle proposal of a civil marriage before he hops on board the ship. I know it was betrayal of myself, but I love this man so much so, I am ready to submit myself to him.

Worst decision of my life. I started to try and mingle with Christians so I may understand just why I needed to be saved. I joined worship services and sang with them against my own beliefs. I taught myself to be like them just so I could fit in, so that I may have friends. In return, they've burned all my books and tarot decks. Even my Slipknot t-shirt that my grandmother bought me was not spared from the Christian pyre. Said that it's to release me from the grip of the Devil. They even did deliverance to me. For a while I thought I was given a new lease on life and that this is the only right thing to do. I was easily convinced since it was the most trying time of my life so far: I was killing myself reviewing for the nursing licensure exams, my parents are already coming to get us and live away in Australia for good, my bf and I hit rock bottom and broke up (the girl who is the 3rd party confessed to me that they're having an affair, and that she was so guilty she can't sleep at night knowing we are good friends and they're doing this behind my back, also I've noticed red flags about him that made me doubt him a bit. I factored everything and the dots connected like a damn constellation so I've called it quits), and I was caught in an identity crisis because of inner turmoil. Maybe it was a time of personal upheaval and the mix of situations was too much for me to handle. Maybe it was a good thing though that I never got baptised because my life just got much more complicated after that.

So I did pass the licensures, ex and I never got together again, I went to live to Australia, but I never recovered from the inner turmoil thing; which made me spiral down again the depression lane, this time in its dangerous, ugliest and darkest recesses. I was fighting with my parents which I never did before, I was angry all the time. I started drinking then and I was exhausted all the time I just want to sleep. All the activities I've enjoyed before like sketching, playing the piano, afternoon strolls, and cooking for the family, I've totally lost interest in. My health deteriorated and I cut off and isolated myself from my friends overseas, ignoring their messages and emails. I tried to cope up by immersing myself in Christian songs and scriptures but it was not enough. I was still empty and numb. I was like a zombie, waking up just enough not to get late for work, then go home after, eat unhealthily, play video games, chug a bottle or two of beer, surf the net for worthless and trivial things, and sleep very late, like around 3 to 5 am, only to wake up again a few hours later for work. This was a vicious daily cycle that went on for 4 years. The only reprieve I had was my video games, and my sombre playlist, just enough to block the deafening screams of suicidal thoughts and ideations before I go to sleep. There was also a time I was going home from my internship waiting for the train home, that I thought of just jumping on the train tracks to end the struggle and pain. I was more than ready to attempt as I felt braver now. That was the time I lost all fear for death. Hell, I was ready to buy a rope at Bunnings too as well. But at the back of my head, the same sad picture of my mother crying over my dead body stops me from doing such thing. They said the deliverance was supposed to stop these things, but guess what? It was it that brought it back. It was supposed to keep the demons away, but it did the opposite, and felt so trapped in a cage of deceit and lies. I was supposed to be saved, but why did it felt like I was dying?

It was then I pondered over everything that's happened in my life so far. Where did I fall, where did I stand tall, where did I pick myself up? I thought long and hard enough and decided to start off where it began to crumble: back home. Retracing my steps back to Manila, now 25, I found my old stuff in my old room, before things happened. It reminded me of my simple life and my freedom and innocence. Back when I had complete control of my life. Back when I was the master of my fate. I let the people around me convince me that the man from the sky take the wheel, and it damn well crashed. A head-on collision with a destructive force. I decided to go back to my roots, the one where I felt best. And embracing it tighter than ever and promising to never betray it anymore for any reason.

My ex is now preparing to marry his girlfriend of 3 years. We met accidentally and forgave him already. I'm happy for him and that hopefully his happiness continue on. My old friends are still my friends, but there's already a notable gap between which I do not intend to close at all anymore. I do have new friends now and I keep a healthy distance from them whilst making a worthwhile connection. I am now preparing to enter med school in August and become a surgeon someday. The old house is in shambles, and I realized that a house is not a home, but the family that lives in it. I miss my parents and that my family will always come first, but I am happy to be more independent now and live by myself while studying medicine. Things are well between me and my cousin (my late uncle's child) and that I have forgiven his mother already for the hurt and trouble that they caused us. We see each other as he visits me and grandmother here at the old house every 2 months. When BAs, Mormons, and other religions try to do bible study to me, I am now assertive to tell them that I am agnostic and that I am firm in my beliefs. I am now recovering from my self-destructive ways and more optimistic and living healthier. Love is around, but it felt to me that I have lots to undertake first before I commit myself to someone again. I have backlogged so much that my time has to be devoted to the craft, my family and myself first before anything else. I am trying hard to pick up all the pieces and it seems things are finally going back in its right place. And the craft, after all these years, welcomed me back with open arms without any questions, like a mother does to her child. The sun, moon and the stars never shone brighter before, the day I returned home and answered its longing call.

Now. I have to let this off my chest now once and for all. Pleasure. Why is it a sin to pursue whatever makes you happy? Why must you endure pain just so you can be saved? Isn't that a crooked logic? Why must you be averse to your own will just so you get into a good place in the afterlife? I am only human, I am flawed, but it isn't my fault because I was born and created this way. Why must I be punished for something that is natural for me? If being free and happy costs me a one-way ticket to Hell, then I'd best be off. If my witchcraft, which teaches the opposite of your tyrannic religion, is a surefire way to deliver me there, then I'll make sure I will be a remarkable witch and enjoy my lifetime, and be very ecstatic to march down the fiery highway to Hell after I am gone. But I will never again submit myself to a narcissistic, psychopathic religion who has to kill millions of innocent people, and shun and humiliate people who think in contrast, just to justify and preach the existence of their god and its scriptures. My argument does not end with this and I will not back down anymore in defending my faith.

The craft is my world, and nature is my home. I am a daughter of those who came before, of those who are truly enlightened, of those you can never ever kill. I am a witch, and you can never take that away from me again.

*** Sorry for the long post. Thanks for reading, if you did. I hope you had something to take from my story and may it help you with whatever is botheringvor troubling you right now.

May the journey of life be kind to us all. Blessed be! ❤

1 note · View note

dunamanticarchivist · 6 years ago

Text

The Munchkin Nein - Mollymawk Tealeaf

Explaining this series

A Mollymawk is a genus of albatross...i honestly have no idea what that means, I am not a taxonomist, I just know it’s something birdy. And I can read wikipedia to get a feel for what they are culturally. Something something sailors and mariners (maybe that explains why he rooms with Fjordy our resident shady sailor)

Anyway, we’re here for the crunch. And admittedly, this character is one of the reasons I got into thinking about this series to begin with, since there has been discussion about how ...well, unimpactful Mollymauk has been in fights. Going to lay out a couple of my thoughts before we actually get into the mechanics.

[Also, edited one day after the post, before M. Mercer decided to whoop dee doo, it’s time to put an end to the naysayers and give the poor Ghostslayer some buffs. And here I was defending Molly as he was; oh well, gonna update the crunch]

First off, if you’re going to compare each character’s output with one another, there can only be one eventual winner and that’s no damn good for anyone. If you compare the options taken as compared to those available, then you’re going to be critiquing on choices and once again, De gustibus non est disputandum, so I’m not gonna go there.

So let’s take a step back and see what Molly has thus far presented himself as and is, from what we can see. I think first and foremost, Mollymauk Tealeaf is a carnie, possibly influenced a great deal by Taliesin Jaffe our pyramidal fey lord and saviour ‘s extensive carnival experience. I will admit, I have never met a carnie, or know what they actually do or are. But from my internet gleaning and perusing (and Talks Machina thank you Brian Cabbage head), I’ve come to think of them as style over substance, highly extroverted and verbose individuals. Competence is optional. Laughter is not. Which really makes for an interesting character, in D&D or real life, I would love to meet a carnie and talk about the meaning of life with them while being as drunk as a sailor on shore leave.

Anyway, back to Mollymauk, there is actually a very recent post on reddit on his actual performance in combat that paints him in a better light, and the usual reddit discussion shenanigans. The one part of that that shifted my view decisively, is the realization that dual wielding is an aesthetic. Molly isn’t a fighter; he isn’t a master swordsman whose blades are an extension of himself nor does he have an instinctive feel for moving his blades in a fashion to cause harm. His scimitars are made out of cheap carnival glass for god’s sake; it's a miracle they haven’t shattered yet. I get a sense that those blades were mostly for show, until they had to be more than that. Still, that isn’t the comfort zone of Molly, who would rather talk and charm his way out of a situation. Which is reflected in his repeated use of Charm Person, Enthrall, and the infamous Vicious Mockery.

So in my opinion, the combat style of Mollymauk reflects his partially revealed backstory. He wants nothing to do with his potentially violent past and is all in on his solely carnival memories. If he could choose, I think he would be a pacifist.

Nonetheless, this is D&D where unless you are an Oath of Redemption paladin, pacifism is not going to be all that attractive since there are so many things that want your hide. So violence it's going to be. With that in mind, that doesn’t always mean you leave behind what you are, going into combat. I can write a whole other series on the human behind the soldier, but that’s for another time, so I’ll just leave this quote from LotR here

“I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend.” -Faramir, The Two Towers

Right so, proper crunch time. Level 5 Tiefling (Devil Tongue Variant), Blood Hunter Order of the Ghostslayer.

Armaments: 2 Scimitars that do 1d6 + 3 (DEX mod) apiece, due to the Two-Weapon fighting style. Two attacks with the main weapon, and using a bonus action, can attack with the second scimitar, giving three strikes tops.

As a bloodhunter, one of the ways to increase your damage output is crimson rites to imbue your weapons with magical damage. In Molly’s case, he has Rite of Dawn and Frozen, to add d4 radiant or cold damage respectively. He will gain an additional option at Level 6, that’s just more versatility, but more importantly the damage die increases to d6 (which on average is worth 1 point more). Having 3 damage types is not really versatile, but not completely one dimensional either. Each rite comes at the cost of 1d4 HP deducted from the maximum that only recovers when the rite is deactivated (he isnt healed by that d4 when max HP returns)

At the moment however, this makes his scimitars 1d6 +1d4 + 3 if activated. As many have pointed out, it takes 1 bonus action to activate each scimitar and Molly only has 1 bonus action each turn. Also, striking with the second scimitar takes a bonus action. It doesn’t help that many of the blood curse options, one of which we do not yet know when Molly leveled to 5, takes up a bonus action as well.

Speaking of blood curses, the one we do know Molly has used is Blood Curse of the Eyeless, which has saved the asses of many of the Nein by inflicting disadvantage on one or two of the incoming attacks. Being a reaction with 60 feet range has contributed greatly to its usability.

Molly’s archetype of Ghostslayer is a situational benefit that contributes a WIS mod to damage undead creatures (+3), at level 11 this will affect all creatures, but for now, only undead creatures will feel this dual wielding sword swinger’s wrath.

[7/6/18 11pm GMT+1 update: Crimson Rite die is now d6 at level 5 bloodhunter, instead of the d4 mentioned above. Also, the Ghostslayer archetype halves the damage suffered when activating Rite of the Dawn. Considering the damage taken also increased, this is a welcome change (though compared to previously, on average, Molly suffers .75 damage less (rounded up to 1) per activation of Rite of the Dawn, though 1 damage more when using Rite of the Frozen. This downside would have happened anyway at Level 6, but now there’s at least a slight improvement.

Also, as part of the update, Molly would have the option to switch out Blood Curse of the Eyeless. I suspect he would, based on more metagaming logic of a greater variety of playtesting. So might bring us up to 2 unknown blood curses. There are many many other fascinating options, and we might see them within 4 hours of this update]

A couple of things grant Molly some durability in combat. He took the Feat “Tough” which gives more HP when levelling, so at Level 5, he already has the highest HP total of the Nein. Also, his AC is listed as 15 which implies either studded leather or chain shirt. That’s probably on the lower end for the Nein, but sufficient for combat (i guess? depends on how hot Matt’s dice are). Finally, he purchased the Periapt of Wound Closure, which stabilizes him if he goes down. Also, when he rolls dice to regain HP, the results are doubled. (I’m unsure if it applies to healing done to him, or just healing he does on himself; if its the former I can already see the disaster tiefling combo come to life).

Edit: I’ve asked around and it appears to be specific to interactions involving self healing with hit dice (d10s for Molly) such as healer’s kit and short rests. Still the point stands.

Regardless, it allows Molly to function like a glass cannon, just like his swords. Yes he’d take hits, but he’ll return the favour, and the difference is that he won’t break, while the monster will eventually be shredded.

And we move onto the Tiefling part of Molly, which mechanically, has 3 spells. Vicious Mockery, Charm Person and Enthrall. All of them involve the target making a WIS save against Molly’s DC 11 [ 8 + 3 (proficiency) + 0(CHA mod)] and if succeeded, the spell does nothing (which has fuelled the perception that Molly hasn’t done much)

The first is a cantrip, while the latter 2 are level 2 spells that can only be cast once per long rest.

For vicious mockery, failing the WIS save causes the target to suffer 2d4 psychic DMG and suffer DISAD on its next attack roll, functioning as a second blood curse of the eyeless. Of note, this and Enthrall, are the only abilities of Molly at >30 to 60 feet ranges, unless he chooses to pick up a rock and throw it. Not very effective, but definitely worth a laugh.

For Charm Person, up to 2 humanoids can be affected. The WIS save is made with advantage if Molly or the Nein are fighting it (debatable if they are being attacked and not fighting back would negate this). Failing the WIS save imposes the “charmed” condition for one hour, unless the spell ends prematurely or they start harming the target. The charmed condition gives advantage to social interactions checks, which with Molly’s CHA mod of 0, would probably be very helpful. Also, for 1 hour, the target cannot attack Molly with weapons or harmful spells

Finally, Enthrall targets visible creatures of choice. The WIS save is made at advantage if in combat. Failing it gives the target disadvantage to WIS (perception) checks on any creature other than Molly for up to a minute. Once again, probably not a combat spell. But Taliesin did use it successfully against the alligators to distract them temporarily from Kiri, so who am I to judge?

The only thing I could think of for these two spells, is possibly to use them together. So while Molly, this colourful spray of bright clothes, tattoos and energy of a tiefling, charms and enthralls a high value target, the rest of the Nein slaughter their guards and entourage.

So there it is, Mollymauk Tealeaf, performer extraordinaire and occasional sword swinger! I personally think that if this is what Molly is, there could be advantages in going full carnie. Make use of that acrobatics proficiency to climb the head of a giant, wield a scimitar in your tail with that sleight of hand +6, hell juggle swords in combat to look threatening and maybe force a WIS save or two to take the heat off of others. The options are endless outside of the book rules and it is up to Taliesin Jaffe to play out this disaster of a tiefling. Hopefully, Matt is kind in these rulings, to reward good RP which is what everyone is here for.

Fortunately, Taliesin is a very experienced D&D player as demonstrated by his extensive knowledge of other character’s abilities (I think he, Matt and Liam together could probably recite half the rulebook and write out the other half by instinct). If I had to make one mechanical optimization choice, for the next ASI, take a +1 to DEX and +1 to CHA to round that score up and get that bonus. It’s also an upgrade without drastically altering the RP choices that can be made.

Thank you everyone who’s reading and liking this series! It’s almost thursday and I’m pretty excited about the next episode like I always am. Maybe even more so now I’ve got a blog. Might liveblog it idk it’s at like 3am in UK when it goes live so depends on my sloppy schedule.

#critical role #taliesin jaffe #bloodhunter #the munchkin nein #cr2 #cr2 spoilers #kinda not really #theorycrafting #mathhammer #power of roleplay #disaster tieflings #mine

15 notes · View notes

thegraypope · 7 years ago

Text

Meet the team Chapter 2

She had only been asleep for about two hours before she was woken up by a young girl, no more than twelve. ‘Mrs Korra said to wake you, she has an assignment for you’ the young girl spoke with the odd inflection children put on when they recollect and stood to a sloppy attention. Jammer put her hand on the girl’s bright ginger hair ‘At ease, I’m going’. The girl ran off and Jammer started the arduous ritual of getting out of bed. First she sat up and swung her legs over the edge, she bent forwards and pulled her boots out, sprayed them with deodorant and lent over towards her draws to pull out a clean-ish pair of socks and put them on. She swapped her shorts for jeans, loosely put her boots on and started walking to the Combat Information Centre (CIC). The CIC was centred within the room so that messages and equipment were easily available to those in charge. Inside the CIC there was an outer and inner ring of computers, creating a square around a central collage of around five tables. The centre tables were separated with enough room for two people to stand and another to squeeze between in emergency situations, three of the tables were just desks with paper maps spread across them and the other two were smart tables, one being a holographic display and the other an under projected interactive tough screen. A small cluster of school boards sat in a corner and had an ever changing list of militia members, squads, enemy units and vehicle numbers written on them.

‘Jammer, I’d like you to meet the squad of Capsule marines who disturbed the Buck you caught yesterday.’ Korra projected at Jammer, a sense of smugness and authority she normally had but elevated, like it had been legitimised by the arrival of genuine military forces. Her hair was short, slicked back aged white hair, it never moved, always looking perfectly symmetrical.

‘Hi, I’m Jammer.’ She gave a nervous half smile that she gave to everyone new that she didn’t have reason to be annoyed by.

A medium heighted man stood up, he was around forty and was built like a wrestler, all bulk. He stepped toward Jammer with a hand out, ready to shake. They embraced hands for a short, not quite nervous shake ‘Pao, Captain of Gamma-7 Here.’ He spoke with a colonial accent, not heavy but rather like it ha been worn down over years of service. This is my heavy rifleman Sev,’ Pao pointed to an equally heavy built man leaning against a table with his arms folded, he was still wearing his armour which had stripes of powder white and blood red in claw markings across it. ‘Hi.’ He said to Jammer, his right hand unfurling from the other to throw up a simple wave.

‘This is My Demo expert, Delphi.’ A short, slender woman with a jet black armour vest and tank top on saluted, her hand flicking her strawberry red fringe, she corrected her fringe by running a gloved hand through the long fringe and the rest of her cropped hair.

‘And last but not least my Sniper, Kuren.’ A young black woman glance and smiled at Jammer, she had a black hoodie on and plaid shirt, both undone to show her tank top. She had knee pads on over her jeans and shin guards above her boots, like the rest of the squad.

Jammer craned her neck upwards slightly to look at a combat robot slumped in a corner ‘What about that big guy?’

‘That’s Hammer-Head, Our Combat Bot.’ Pao told her.

‘How can I Help, Korra?’ Jammer was slightly sarcastic in her delivery but hadn’t meant to be.

‘Gamma-7 and Captain Pao would like you to lead them to the highest point in the city, that’s would be…’ Korra started by talking to Jammer as an adult and finished with a patronizing school teacher tale off of a question.

Jammer looked at Korra with a bitch please expression ‘Sky walk tower.’ She said sarcasticly.

‘When do you want to go?’ Jammer asked

‘First light, preferably, that way we can all get some Rack.’ Pao, seemed like a reasonable man, not a condescending hard ass like Korra.

‘Sounds good to me..’ Jammer checks her watch ‘six AM?’

Pao looked around his team and they nodded at him approvingly ‘That’s a yes from us.’ He smiled as he said it, thankful that he could get a decent few hours of sleep.

Jammer walked across to the Gamma-7 and shook their hands individually and walked back to her bed. As she walked she set an alarm on her watch and when she arrived at her bed she undid her jeans, kicked off her boots and lay down, falling asleep instantly.

Her alarm beeped in a quick high pitched chime and she jolted awake, smacking her wrist with her other hand. She sat up and slid her feet into her boots and laced them up, she then bent forward and rummaged under her ed and pulled out her wrist terminal and put it on her left forearm. Once she had finished playing with her terminal she grabbed her crossbow from the end of the bed and slung It over her back. As she stood she fastened the fly of her jeans and picked up her jacket, hoodie and her flack vest. She walked to the toilet area to wash her face. She placed her jackets and vest onto on a bench near to the opening of the toilet area and walked to a sink. She bent forward, made a bowl with her hands and splashed water over her face. She walked into a stall, her face dripping onto her grey vest top and sat down to pee. As she peed she traced her tongue across her bottom lip absent mindedley and found herself thinking about the capsule troopers, why had we suddenly been deemed worthy of back up, months after the invasion and the city having barely been harmed? She snapped out and wiped herself clean, cleaning her hands on the way out and drying them on the ass of her jeans. She lay her crossbow down on the bench next to her jackets and tactical vest. She began putting the jackets on, first her Dark grey hoodie, then her Green, almost black, military style jacket and placing her armoured tactical vest over that and slinging her crossbow across her back. From the toilet and shower area the armoury wasn’t far and Jammer made a B-line for it.

‘Hey, Jam, how’s it goin’ back out there already?’ Ben was younger than he looked; he was heavily scarred from a fire during the initial attacks of the invasion and had fled south afterwards, winding up here. Despite his severe scarring and the severe pain they must have inflicted he was upbeat and willing to give help where needed.

‘No rest for the wicked, Ben, you should know that.’ Jammer was flirtations but in a way to lead him on.

‘I guess that explains the bags under Korra’s eye.’ Ben let out a huge, cheeky grin and winked at Jammer.

Jammer couldn’t help but chuckle ‘Fuck, you’re too funny for this shit!’

‘One day, this’ll all be over and I can start my stand-up career.’

‘I’ll be your number one fan, as long as I get free tickets.’

Ben smiled ‘What can I get you, anyway?’

‘My Assault rifle, side arm, ammunition and that should be it.’ She grinned.

‘Ok, I’ll go grab it, just sign this.’ Ben placed a clipboard with a sheet of paper attached and Jammer signed her name and the date and time.

‘Here you go, just as ordered.’ Ben placed Jammer’s assault rifle on the desk, her sidearm and holster. While jammer put the holster on her hip and thigh and slung the rifle with her crossbow; Ben began sliding rounds into ammunition cartridges. Once She had finished preparing her weapons Jammer helped load too. After five minutes Jammer and Ben had finished loading several clips of ammunition for both her sidearm and rifle and she had placed them in her bag and pockets.

‘Ok, I’ll see you after my mission, buddy.’ She threw Ben a wave as she walked away.

‘Break a leg.’ He waved back, smiling.

Jammer arrived at the briefing area, just to the far side of the CIC from the armoury and took a seat next to Pao and Kuran on the front row. There were four rows of five chairs and three classroom boards at the front with maps and charts on the outer two and a projector covering the central one.

‘Who’s doing the briefing?’ Jammer asked Pao.

‘I’d imagine you are.’ he was slightly sarcastic and understandably so.

‘Oh, shit, right.’ Jammer stood up and pulled her sleeve up to expose her wrist terminal and tapped at it until she brought up an Image of a tower. ‘Ok, this is Sky Walk tower, it is the tallest building in this fine city of Zion, it is seventy five metres tall and home to twenty five above ground floors and two basement levels. The top four floors are living spaces, twenty two ant twenty three are single floor apartments and twenty four and five are luxury two floor penthouses. We have visibility to well past the city limits and further.’ Jammer moves over to a map of the city and points to a spot in the centre. ‘This is us now,’ she points to another spot near by ‘This is the Sky Walk building and this is our area of visibility from the top floor.’ She pantomimes a massive circle which extends off the map.

‘Sounds like a good observation point.’ Kuren spoke, her voice was more societal, posher than her squad mates. Jammer noticed her lips move with every syllable and was entranced.

‘Ok, we got our gear, you ready to head out?’ Pao asked Jammer.

Jammer snapped out of her trance ‘uh, yeah, I just need to pick up some rations. Five minutes?’

‘Be my guest.’ Pao replied.

She strode off toward the mess area and muttered to herself ‘why the fuck was I staring at her lips? They were nice, so full and moist looking. NO, stop thinking like that, it’s not professional and it isn’t fair because also that Sev dude was pretty hot so maybe they’re bumping uglys.’ She was quiet for a second ‘Who am I kidding, they don’t have uglies, they probably have textbook genitals.

Jammer approached the mess counter her mind not there ‘Can I get my rations for the day?’ she asked the less than happy cook who pulled a small box from under the counter ‘Here you go.’ Jammer lifted it and walked away, opening the box; inside was a plastic bag of jerky, a sandwich and some fruit. She placed the water canteen on a table along with the box and placed them in a small messenger bag she had rolled up in her pocket. Which she slung over her shoulder with her bow and rifle. ‘Fuck this’ she said and walked to her bed. She put the bag, bow and rifle on the bed as she removed her tactical vest and jacket which she lay on the bed. She flipped the vest and clipped the messenger bag to the bottom of it before putting the vest back on. She slung the rifle and carried the crossbow. ‘Ah fuck, I forgot my gloves.’ She whispered to herself as she pulled a pair out of a draw and pulled them onto her hands. And returned to the briefing area.

‘Everybody ready?’

‘as we’ll ever be.’ Delphi’s voice was more colonial than Jammer had expected, light enough that every word was understood but heavy enough that some didn’t quite sound right. She seemed enthusiastic, as did the rest of the squad.

‘Alright then, it’s a ten minute yomp from the main door upstairs. Lets go get in the lift.’ Jammer walked, confidently, her mind still running over those lips, perfect, plump and rosie coloured. She stepped into the lift followed by Gamma seven and they all stood around the edge when hammer head entered.

The guard said ‘all in?’

‘Goin’ up, mother fuckers.’ Hammer Head’s synthetic voice boomed. It snapped Jammer out of her daydream and back into the room. The shutters rolled down on the lift and it jerked as they went up. There was a nervous quiet toward Jammer. She was a new, impermanent member of the team and nobody knew her.

The lift arrived at the top floor and Jammer exhaled, it had seemed like an eternity. Hammer head walked out and stood to the left ‘After you, bitches.’ Everyone stepped out and waited for Jammer ‘You’re in the middle with me, kid.’ Pao said as he placed a friendly hand on her shoulder.

‘Delph, Get yourself up in front and Sev take the six.’

‘Sir, Yes sir.’ They said in chorus.

Delphi walked ahead to the front door ‘So, this is, was, a police station?’

‘Yeah, old war building, the city was originally a fortress and this was the command building.’ Jammer replied.

‘Old war, whose side?’ Sev chimed in from the back.

‘Judging from the exterior design and size I would assume our side.’ Hammer head rolled his shoulders, a seemingly un-robotic motion.

‘From what I gather you would be correct, my machine muchacho.’ Jammer was fitting right in.

They exited the station into bright sunlight ‘I love this shit, I haven’t seen sunlight in days.’ Kuren moaned as she rolled her head in a circular motion.

‘how haven’t you seen any sunlight since you landed? Jammer enquired.

‘We dropped in at night, made our way to shelter before dawn and when we got settled it was in a basement. When your guys rendezvoused with us they walked us through interiors, subway tunnels and it was laaate afternoon when we moved so it was pretty dark.’ Jammer was enthralled again by Kuren’s smooth, voice and cherry red lips.

‘You stare a lot, you know that?’ Kuren knew what Jammer was staring at and was blushing slightly, she smiled and winked at Jammer.

‘I am not subtle at all.’ Jammer thought to herself, her body feeling flush from head to toe. She waked behind Kuren, an Amazon of a woman, she was at least half a foot taller than Jammer and the athletic build of a warrior.

‘Be a bit subtler next time, kid.’ Pao put a thick, paw like hand on her shoulder and smirked.

6 notes · View notes