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coffeefrenchandhistory · 1 year

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Fic Author self rec

When you get this, reply with your 5 favourite fics that you've written. Then pass it on to five other writers. Spread some self love.

Tagged by the inimitable, incredible, absolutely lovely and brilliant (and total senpai) @artemisia-black. I'm going to do a mix of current and planned fics, as most of my fics are in the planning stages. And because I feel like it's cheating to do stories that I've written but since deleted off of AO3.

The Third Star of Orion's Belt (posted on AO3) — Harry Potter

There is nothing more fun than a dysfunctional House of Black, and the arrival of Sirius' bastard half-brother at Hogwarts is certainly the jewel on the dysfunctional crown.

Professor Dumbledore is already there, opening the door for them, and the five Blacks tumble inside. In the firelight, they get their first look at him. This stranger with their face and their eyes and their looks.

"Bloody hell..." Bellatrix whispers, looking at the boy up and down.

"Good Merlin..." Andromeda murmurs as she examines his face.

"How?" Narcissa hums as she examines his eyes, as if looking for some hitherto unknown quality in those grey-violet eyes.

"Er... hi." Rastaban waves and Sirius laughs at the absurdity of it all.

2. Second Verse — Mass Effect (WIP)

My first foray into the Mass Effect fanfic space. This is an idea I've had for ages but this is the first time I've written it down and tried to explore it as a story. Involves dimension travel, exploration into PTSD, survivor's guilt, trauma, whether Shepard (the first Shepard, Broshep) is actually in a different universe or if he's dead and trapped in hell with the ghosts of everyone he failed. The other Shepard, the second Shepard, Femshep, looking on in horror at what happens if she fails to beat the Reapers.

A fourth shot, as Shepard watched, directly into the circular portion of the relay. With eyes stretched wide in terror, Shepard watched as the relay began to warble, the pulsating energy thrumming a dark tone. The blue haze that surrounded the ship, like a drop of ink into a pool of clear water, slowly turned a shade of midnight black. Shepard's mind raced. No. No no no. The Reaper was overloading the mass effect core, intent on shutting it down - permanently.

Trapped in a prison of metal and plastic, between a dying mass effect relay and a Reaper, Shepard screamed in muted horror. A thousand deaths flashed behind terrified eyes, a wordless scream etched itself onto the Commander’s lips.

There was a whoosh, and the last act of the dying relay was to hurl the tiny, one-man shuttle deep into the inky blackness of space. The crackle of cobalt-black energy enveloped the starship, and the Reaper watched as it exploded and vanished into darkness.

3. Living A Nightmare — Harry Potter (to be posted)

Everyone knows the Boy-Who-Lived. With his stupid face and his stupid hair and his stupid scar.

Neville Longbottom. The name known the world over.

No one remembered Harry Potter — poor but brilliant, parentless but so brave — until he came to Hogwarts. He was stuffed into the shadows. Sorted into Slytherin and bullied by the same. A loner, an orphan, a boy who could be great. But if there is one trait for Slytherins, it's how to bend destiny to their desire. The Triwizard Tournament will provide the path for greatness... and reveal the truth of that Halloween night...

The silence was thunderous.

The boy's hands shook. His breath was ragged. But as he rose from his seat, shakily, panicking, heart thundering against his ribs as if it wanted to break out of his chest — because who else could it be this day, of all days? — Dumbledore spoke to a hall silent as a graveyard.

And the world ended for him in confusion.

"Harry Potter..."

And the boy froze as if he had been Petrified where he sat at the Gryffindor table. A million thoughts ran through his head. None of them made sense, of course, any cognitive ability had since turned to mush in the confusion.

Neville Longbottom, the Boy-Who-Lived, stared dumbfounded with the rest of the Great Hall as the other boy — tall, black-haired, and silent, with piercing emerald eyes — stood up from the Slytherin table and swept silently past. Past the gawking faces of his fellow Slytherins. Past the dumbfounded look on Professor McGonagall's face. The silently inquisitive visage of Headmaster Dumbledore. And he walked right into the Champions' Room.

And the words on everyone's lips were the same — Harry who?

4. Blackborne — Harry Potter (to be posted)

Leonis Black is your average, ordinary 11 year old boy. Except for the fact that he's a wizard, his father is an accused mass murderer, and his adopted sister is a shapeshifter.

"Live, Leonis." Arcturus spoke, his voice softer than Leonis had ever heard it. His hand was withered and worn, lines of a life full of difficulties and hardships. Aged lines hung deep in his face. This was not the face of a warrior. This was the face of a sad, broken old man. "Live and thrive. I failed your grandfather and your uncle. I failed your father. I failed this family, even, because I could not stop the children from following a madman into the depths of hell — I should have been stronger. But I swear — I will not fail you, little Lion."

5. The Boy's A Riddle — Harry Potter (WIP)

Just who is Henry Thomas Riddle?

"Riddle, Henry!" Professor McGonagall called out and the world ended for Albus Dumbledore.

The boy moved forward, towards him, towards the Sorting Hat. His hair was black, nearly midnight, and his eyes were clever and hungry. The way he carried himself was less of a walk and more of a serpentine carrying forward — like a viper in the tall grasses moving towards its prey. There was a terrifying resemblance that Dumbledore could see, and the boy sat on the stool proudly.

"Hmm... curious, aren't you?" said the Sorting Hat aloud. "Well well... yes, I agree absolutely... SLYTHERIN!"

Beside Albus Dumbledore, Lily Potter stiffened. Both pairs of eyes watched the boy as he sat down — alone, isolated — at the Slytherin table. Charlus Potter watched the boy curiously, but inconsequentially.

#personal #Josh speaks #fanfics #upcoming fanfics #current fanfics #Harry Potter #Mass Effect

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percontaion-points · 3 years

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#Firelight series #Vanish (Firelight 2)

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darklcy · 2 years

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hello!! I recently came across your work and adore your writing style:0- i was wondering if i could get a bit of comfort with ekko? preferably for stress/anxiety or whatever you're comfortable with! thank you <3

hi hii! thanks so much for the compliment, i hope you enjoy :3 this is also my first request after my temporary hiatus so wooo!

𝐀𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞

△ arcane masterlist ▼

↳ pairing: ekko x reader

↳ warnings: mentions of anxiety & vague self destructive behavior

↳ word count: 847

Typically fears developed in childhood decrease in intensity or vanish completely by the time adulthood rolls around, but strangely enough, you never did overcome your fear of heights. Ironic, seeing how your name was labeled under the Firelight alias, the group that fought from their signature hoverboards.

It's not reassuring to know that the brush with death was a dance you performed every time the device hummed awake, but among other things, it was just something to get over. You had to make room for more significant matters, not your childish anxieties.

Still, it kept you up at night.

It painted hollow shadows below your eyes, and cursed your stomach in an everlasting nausea. The muscles in your body grew weaker from lack of nutrition, and it was only a matter of time before it really began to show.

Despite the physical damage to your body, the guilt was the worst of it. There was no time to be afraid. No time for any setbacks or distractions. Focus must be on the future, the future the Firelights worked so hard for. The very reason for the groups' existence.

Every mission was a step towards freedom, and that alone was a purpose worth dying for. But for some, mind-boggling reason, you just couldn't accept that fate.. And you despised yourself for it.

First, it was denial. Then it was anger, and now, you're not too sure what to call this expression. Despair? Fatigue? What is in this reflection you're staring at right now, that brings your state of mind closer to the cliff? Did you even recognize yourself? Was this person on the other side of the glass really you?

Stumbling backwards onto your mattress, you tightly gripped the fabric of your pants as your gaze fell to the floorboards. Departure was in ten minutes. The clock was ticking fast. The familiar clench in your chest rose up from the depths, causing your lungs to sharply inhale.

1...2...3...1...2...3..

The skin between your brows pulled together. It's not working.

1...2...-

"Hey. Reminder, we move out in five."

His voice passing by your door interrupted the pattern.

The glance he spared you was brief, but the hunch in your shoulders drove out a double take. The tip of his boot hit the doorframe to halt his step. Hand coming to rest on the wood, Ekko raised a brow at your silence.

"..You okay?"

Your foot began to bounce, hands coming together to interlock.

"Mhm. Yeah."

Ekko frowned as he entered the room. "You sure about that?"

You slapped the palms of your hands to your knees as you rose, a wavering sigh flying out your chapped lips. "Yes. It's just.." Your arms waved around in a gesture. "I don't know...jitters."

The boy chuckled, quirking his brow higher up his forehead. "Still get those, huh? Though I can't say anything, I get them, too."

You frowned this time. "You still get nervous?"

Even though his announcement marked the limited minutes before take off, Ekko leisurely replaced your spot on the mattress and exhaled, eyelids closing. "Before every mission. Before I get out of bed. Before I do...anything."

Suddenly, the suffocating weight inside your chest lifted, just by the slightest amount. Stepping forward, you sat down beside him, staring at the same wooden planks as before. Ekko turned to you, eyes studying the muscles of your expression.

He wasn't a stranger to the signs. The weariness in your cheeks and eye circles, as well as the dead skin on your lips due to biting. You were more than nervous right now. He clapped a hand to your shoulder.

"We're gonna be okay."

The smoothness in his tone wrapped you up in an embrace and squeezed until you couldn't breathe. The skin of your neck tensed as you swallowed, an irritating wetness pooling in your vision. The hand on your shoulder moved to wrap around you entirely, bringing your body to lean against his.

Your cheek lolled down to meet the cut off of his sleeve, the fabric catching the tear that escaped you. His hand rubbed your right arm a couple times as you sniffled.

"We got this, alright? You're strong. I know you can handle this. And if anything goes south, you get out of there."

You nodded against him, swiping away the dampness from your cheeks.

"You don't have to go through this alone, alright? I'm here, [First]. You can talk to me."

He received another nod from you. When he didn't hear any other vocal response, he gently shook you, earning a hushed laugh.

"Okay?" "Okaay."

You met his lingering stare with a grin, eyes no longer damp. "Thank you."

Patting you on the arm, he rose up to his feet, ultimately bringing you with him. "Don't thank me. It's what we do. We look after each other."

His hand slid off your form and grabbed both of yours, giving you a gentle squeeze.

"..You ready?"

Ridding the remains of your nerves with another slow breath, you made eye contact with a bit more confidence.

"Yes."

And you were.

#arcane #arcane x reader #ekko arcane #ekko #ekko x reader #arcane ekko x reader #arcane league of legends #league of legends #league of legends x reader #arcane angst #ekko x reader comfort #ekko x reader fluff #comfort #x reader #darklcy

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jockvillagersonly · 4 years

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I’m just thinking a lot about PingXie in Nan Pai San Shu’s ending notes to Ten Years Later.

I’m thinking about how Wu Xie brings the warmth of the world to Zhang Qiling, and about how Zhang Qiling in turn brings Wu Xie a sense of fascination, intrigue, and (ironically?) tranquility.

I’m thinking about how the two of them are “predestined to meet.” How they ultimately complete each other’s duties - Zhang Qiling takes Wu Xie’s place at the Gate, and Wu Xie concludes the Zhang family’s mission against the Wangs.

I’m thinking about how curiosity defines and drives Wu Xie throughout DMBJ. I’m thinking about how his obsessive curiosity draws him to Zhang Qiling...and about how his love for Zhang Qiling overcomes that aching hum in his mind on the eve of reunion.

I’m thinking about what it means for Zhang Qiling to be Wu Xie’s “demon,” as Wang Meng puts it. What it means to be haunted by someone you love.

I’m thinking of how simply hearing Xiao-ge’s nickname on another man’s tongue in Sha Hai can set Wu Xie off in anger and grief...and about how finding a sign left by Xiao-ge can give Wu Xie “a sense of security that I hadn’t felt in many years suddenly rose up from the bottom of my heart.”

In the end, I think, perhaps, for PingXie, the act of loving is inherently to be, “on one hand, everyone is happy; on the other hand, everything is burning.”

Image ID under cut ❤️

Image 2 (Gif): A series of scenes of Zhang Qiling staring pensively alone. The first scene is him in wood room, flicking his gaze down. The second scene shows him slightly inclining his head towards Wu Xie behind him (but not actually turning around). The third scene shows him staring up at the night sky and speaking while illuminated by firelight. The quote “I’m a man without past and future. Even if I vanish from the surface of earth, no one would notice,” runs along the bottom of the gif.

Image 3: Another text screenshot: “Zhang Qilin[g]’s heart was bound to the bronze door from the beginning, and the warmth of the world was beyond his reach — until Wu Xie appeared.”

Image 4 (Gif / on the same line as Image 5): Wu Xie and Zhang Qiling from TLT3 sitting togerher in the rainforest eating, covered in mud. Zhang Qiling looks exhausted. Wu Xie lifts his hand to pat it reassuringly on Zhang Qiling’s shoulder; ZQL looks back at him in acknowledgment. Xiao Yuliang is giving a voice over to the scene: “He met Wu Xie. Despite being lost and has always been searching, he has someone beside him.”

Image 5 (gif / on the same line as Image 4): A-Ning talking to Wu Xie (who we can see from behind on the far left of frame) against a desert rock background. She says, “Zhang (Xiao-ge) will ignore everyone but you.”

Image 6: A text screenshot: “Buddha said that if two people are predestined, they can meet unexpectedly, even after ten years of separation.”

Image 7 (gif): Wu Xie and Zhang Qiling hiking through a forest. Wu Xie trips, his arms flailing, but Zhang Qiling catches him before he falls. The two share a long look, and Wu Xie smiles slightly. Caption: “We have been through a lot together.”

Image 8: A text screenshot: “Fate is often double sided. On one hand, everyone is happy; on the other hand, everything is burning. In front of the bronze door, Wu Xie finally realized his original intention. He can withstand every minute and every second after those ten long years, and let go of his obsession like the passing rain. He doesn’t care about the truth behind this door, or where Zhang Qiling came from, or even if he’s the same person. All he cares about is the ‘Poker-Face’ in his heart.”

Image 9 (gif, on the same row as image 10): Wu Xie in a light blue jacket looking earnest against a night backdrop. His face is illuminated by campfire light, and he is saying, “I’d notice if you disappeared.”

Image 10 (gif, on the same row as image 9): A flashback to Zhang Qiling looking concerned and gently cradling / tapping Wu Xie’s head after Wu Xie appears to have passed out on him. The scene fades to Wu Xie in different clothing speaking to Panma (off screen); he is saying, “I know better than anyone what kind of person he is.”

#I actually wasn’t planning to type any meta here? and yet #I look at pingxie and I just . start typing lmao #I was PLANNING to work on a meta I’m writing about PingXie and ‘home’ but I GUESS NOT #do you ever think about how the two extremes of their personalities and duties soften each other #and about how they share so much more than seems obvious #in their intensity and devotional loyalty #in the love they’re willing to give once it’s unlocked within them #pingxie #dmbj #text is from merebear’s translation #ultimate note #tlt3 #Wu Xie #Zhang Qiling #jock liveblogs dmbj #沙海

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dragonblobz · 4 years

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INJURIES PT 3

After a billion years HERE IT IS...... another non smutty installment of the request made by @lilfriezatyrant 🤣 I swear there will eventually be smut. I'm just enjoying this too much. Wrote this to Battle Cry by Imagine Dragons

The cot creaks and shifts as you try to lay next to him as gently as possible on your side facing him. He’s not that large, but the cot isn’t either, and as you relax, the middle of the thing sinks, causing your body to drift along the side of him.

His leg is very cool on your leg. His tail flicks the cover over you sloppily. You shiver and reach down to adjust this blanket more smoothly, trying to be discreet about moving your leg away from his. But your movement just makes the cot sag more and you slide even closer. He chuckles amiably.

“I’ll not scald you, (Y/N). In fact…..” His tail slips between the cover and your shirt to press you into his body. It’s cold enough to be felt even thru the fabric of your shirt. “…… Get over here. Your body heat is pleasant.”

You place your palms together and slip your hands under your cheek, just looking at his darkened profile. His hands are still behind his head. Your face is practically in his armpit. If he were a sweaty human, you’d probably be able to smell it. As it is, you can smell him, but it’s not body odor. At least, not human body odor. The smell reminds you of that time your biology instructor had allowed you to hold the boa from the classroom terrarium. Reptilian. Only sweeter. Almost too sweet.

His eyes are closed. There’s just enough dim firelight that you can see the side of his mouth twisted in a smirk.

Your eyes wander up to look at the crystal that seems to just be his cranium. And it’s really pretty right now, the firelight casts orange fairy like flashes in it’s amethyst depths. Like angels among galaxies. Very beautiful.

These little flecks shift as his face turns and those burning red pupils are exposed as his large eyes open. The smirk is still affixed to his mouth and it belies the irritation in his voice.

“Are you going to sleep? Or just look at me all night?”

“Both.” Your own voice is tart and you blush at being had.

His smirk morphs into a full on closed lipped grin as one of his smooth brows raises.

“Oh? And here I was, assuming that you were cold and tired. Shame on me.” The sarcasm is thick.

You don’t say anything. Just squeeze your eyes shut and try to sleep.

Eventually, your body heat pools under the blanket. And it’s the undoing of your consciousness as you gradually fall into dreams.

………………………………………..

It’s some bird that wakes you up this morning. A gentle rhythmic tweeting that is just harsh enough to gradually rouse you from slumber.

The first thing you register as your eyes open is his sleeping face. Pointed skyward, his face looks as innocent as when you’d scraped him off the charred remains of the forest floor 2 days ago.

The low cool toned light of pre dawn thru the walls of your tent casts blue flickers on that purple cranium. He’s really very pretty.

You’ve got a fairly silly sleepy smile on your face as you realize the exact nature of your body placement.

You can feel the cold hardness of that purple spot on his shoulder upon your cheek. You’re so fucking close that when your gaze travels down, you can see the definition of the musculature and venous structures of his neck.

Your arm is draped over his chest, your fingertips pressed into that purple stone like spot on his chest. And, most shameful of all, your leg is across his body, the flesh of your thigh almost directly over his groin.

You are literal stone. Cannot move. Cannot even breathe.

Fuckshitfuckshit.

You’re pretty sure that, should you try to extricate yourself from him, you’ll wake him. So you just lay like this.

He hasn’t moved one iota. Is still in the exact position as the previous evening. Arms still crossed behind his head. The only notable difference is that his tail is completely wrapped around your abdomen. Twice. And absolutely under your shirt. The strange texture of it doesn’t feel as cold as it had the night before. Perhaps your body heat really DOES help.

After a time, you finally move. But just your head. You look down at the hand on his chest. You watch your own fingertips curl and press into that icy purple spot.

“Just touch me, (Y/N). I grow weary of your hesitation.”

You nearly jump entirely out of your skin.

His eyes remain closed. Face relaxed, save a the barest hints of a smirk, which you can barely see out of the corner of your eye.

“No…… no that’s okay. Really, I should get up and check your wounds.”

You sit up, remove your hand from him. But you don’t get far.

His tail constricts slightly underneath your shirt. An uncomfortable warning. He still hasn’t moved. But his mouth twists into a sneer.

“My injuries will wait. I’m getting rather tired of your impulsive tendency to ignore my good will.”

One hand leaves his cranium and, upon the movement, you notice that the wound upon his head has completely vanished. Geez…… this guy heals FAST. And his eyes are still closed.

This hand slowly reaches for your arm. The movement is easy to predict. Purposeful. You know just what he’s going to do. And you do nothing to stop him.

His cool fingers wrap around your wrist and pull your hand, just as slowly……. Almost inexorably……… grip as firm as a vice, back to that icy purple spot on his chest. And he holds it there.

His eyes finally open, and he gazes at you. His face is unreadable for a moment before he grins at you impishly.

“There. Look at that! Your hand is still intact.” Mirthful chuckles. You blush and scowl at him. But his eyes almost twinkle with his merriment at your discomfort before he continues.

“Now. Satisfy your infernal curiosity so that we can get along with this day.” His fingers gradually loosen their grip. As if he’s waiting for you to yank your hand from him.

You don’t. And so his hand returns to its twin to cradle his head.

It is strange. Such unmitigated access to an alien being. You simply rest your hand upon him. It’s not like you haven’t touched him. You’d cleaned him up that very first day. But, other than a curious touch to his face, that had been very business like. Just cleaning up an injured beast.

But this beast is very much conscious now. Very much awake. And very much aware of every movement you’re making.

You sit up straighter and place your other hand upon his belly. It quivers slightly under your touch before relaxing. Instinctive. But he remains motionless.

You run your palms along his abdomen. His skin is cool along his belly, but warm where your leg had been laying a few minutes ago. You notice his large toes flexing at the bottom of the makeshift brace sticking out of the cover.

Your hands reach the blanket, bunched at his hips. You blush and run them quickly back up to his chest. He chuckles again but doesn’t speak.

You can feel the delicate texture of his skin. Can see the luminescence even in the low light, shifting around your fingers as you prod now into his pectorals around that amethyst splotch. He’s really very muscular for such a slender thing. You can feel the firm flesh underneath that skin.

Your focusing so hard on this as your fingertips trail up to his neck that you don’t notice how intense his gaze is upon you. At least, not until you think about touching his face, until you look. You hesitate. He says nothing.

You pull your hands away and, so fast that you never actually SEE him move, his fingers are, once again, wrapped around your wrist. But, oddly enough, you’re not startled at all.

You hand is frozen mid air, his grip a pale manacle. You look at it. Notice how glossy his nails are. Like obsidian. And bring your other hand up to trace the delicate looking bone structure of this hand around your wrist.

He then pulls again, just as slowly. But this time he does not pull your hand to his chest. It is the same as before. You know exactly what he’s going to do. And just as the last time, you do not resist as he presses your palm to his jaw. His crimson eyes study you. Your mind conjures a momentary hysterical image of a child patting a dragon. You suppose that this is just what you are.

His hand continues to hold yours to his face. And you bring your other hand up to match this touch on the other side. And there you are. Cupping the face of an alien. His lips are a thin line as he speaks.

“Your hands are warm. Your touch is pleasant. You have the hands of a true healer.”

You rub your thumbs along the corners of his dark lips. You can feel the tendons of his face move as he speaks again.

“I cannot recall, but I feel as if this is something I would not normally allow anyone to do.” He smirks again. “Do you feel honored, (Y/N)? You SHOULD feel so.”

Your face is relaxed and smooth with awe. This is all just so surreal. Maybe you’re still asleep? Well….. if this is a dream…..

“Yes. I think I am.” Your words are a dry croak. His smirk deepens.

“Well, if that curiosity is quite satisfied, I think I am ready to allow you to examine…….”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish as you throw caution to the wind, lean forward, and kiss him.

#frieza #freeza #lord frieza #frieza x reader #holy crap #no warnings for this #wow #long post #my writing

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ficforce · 4 years

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Little Lady Part 2

Joker/52 x Reader

SFW

No set timeline

New relationship

Staring at the ceiling of her room, Y/N let out a sigh and held up the card for the millionth time. She often found herself studying it as if it would answer all of her questions - Why had he given it to her?

That strange, dangerous man with a huge grin.

The one who had comforted her when she cried…

It was hard to remember all of the small details about him after such a brief encounter. Closing her eyes she took a breath and cast her mind back; he had long hair, she vaguely remembered it shining in the firelight. She knew he was tall and slim but when he had held her, when she had been fighting with him she had felt hard muscle under his clothes.

Often before she fell asleep she would see his purple eye in her mind.

She wished she could think less about him.

Why had he been there and what was he planning? He was creepy and he had given off a frightening aura at first - that’s why she had run.

Pocketing the card Y/N finally got up and left the Fire House, it was her day off and she wanted to explore the area. Her morning was fairly regular, she found a coffee shop and explored a bookshop down the road, she spent hours looking at the books, fiction and factual, some of them she was tempted to buy but in the end, she put them back hesitantly. Whilst slipping an engineering guide back into place Y/N felt a shiver run down her back, turning her head quickly to see if she was being watched she thought she saw someone but dismissed it.

Her next stop was a clothing store having a sale, she needed to get some winter clothing sooner rather than later if the chilly wind was anything to go by. Picking a coat had been easy but it was the choice between a purple scarf and a black scarf that had her stuck. Again she felt like someone was watching her, another shiver hit her and Y/N spun to look behind her - something that felt like breath on the back of her neck made her squeak and stumble forward before turning again.

Nothing.

Though when she looked down at her basket she saw that the purple scarf had fallen inside.

Her purse was gone.

The rest of her day went like that, the feeling of being watched and little instances that spooked her or made her jump. Y/N became so concerned with keeping an eye out for the thing making her jumpy that she crashed into someone as she was crossing the road, “Sorry!”

“Don’t worry about it.” They had kept on walking, vanishing down a side street and Y/N decided it was time to go back to base - she couldn’t relax. Reaching into her pocket for her purse she paused, checking her other one just in case…

“Don’t worry, Little Lady,” Joker said and held her purse up with his spare hand, “The nice man was about to return it, right?” The thief couldn’t nod and he barely had any breath inside his lungs - the hand around his throat making that difficult. Dropping the thief to the dirty, alley floor, Joker jerked his head to the side, “Get out of here.” They scrabbled up off of the ground and ran past Y/N toward the exit of the alley; leaving just the two of them.

She didn’t even think about it, she ran in the direction the man who had bumped into her had gone and down the alley. From memory, she knew there was an exit straight ahead and an opening to the left, taking the left she came to a halt with a shocked gasp. If she kept this up she would get whiplash from all of her sudden stops.

The man who had bumped into her was being held against the wall by his neck, his feet a good few inches off the ground and babbling out panicked apologies like a frightened child. The one holding him up was dressed in smart pants, a white shirt and a maroon waistcoat, his hat obscured his face a little but she recognised him right away.

“You…” Y/N began, taking a step back as Joker advanced on her, “You’ve been following me, haven’t you?” It had to have been him, it was too much of a coincidence for her to feel watched so often, “S-Stay back!” He kept coming toward her and she kept walking backwards until she had backed herself against the wall and his hands came up to cage her in.

Her breath hitched as his face leaned towards hers.

Joker’s eye narrowed and he pushed himself off the wall, taking one step back so that he wasn’t crowding her; she was scared of tight spaces, he could remember at least that much from their first encounter. “I’m not gonna hurt you, here’s your purse back.” Joker handed it to her, waiting until she snatched it out of his hand to grin down at her, she didn’t trust him at all, did she?

“Glad you didn’t get burnt to a crisp.”

“No thanks to you!” Y/N snapped and made to leave the alley, he quickly moved to block her exit, hands up in surrender and his expression was almost panicked like he didn’t want her to go.

“Hold on, Y/N, not yet, you want a coffee or something? A snack, you didn’t eat much today?” He saw the way her eyebrows drew together and the tall man sighed. He wasn’t good at this kind of thing and he wasn’t even sure if he was going about this the right way, “I just wanna talk.”

“…And what’s your name?”

She hesitated for a moment, looking at him suspiciously, trying to figure him out by just looking but he was hard to read. His body language was all over the place - almost like he wanted to run away, his words were friendly and wanted her to stay but the waving hands and the way his voice pitched just a little, told her he was nervous as hell.

Like a stray cat that wanted food but was afraid of being kicked.

It wasn’t too different from a feral she used to feed, it had never known how to interact with the other cats and ended up alone. “How do you know my name?”

“I looked inside your purse, says your name on the ID.” He wasn’t the least bit sorry for snooping.

He gave her a large grin before lighting up a cigarette, “Don’t you know? I gave you my business card.”

“You gave me a playing card, you nut!” Y/N almost ripped it out of her coat pocket so that she could push it almost into his face, “This doesn’t tell me a thing! Don’t you know how to introduce yourself like a regular person?!”

Joker was a little stunned by her sudden outburst and his widened eye focussed on the card nearly pressed to his nose; she had kept his card. It was a little burnt but he could see that she had been playing with it, it was worn a little in places, curled and warped from being held and fidgeted with - why didn’t she just throw it away?

Y/N took a step toward him, agitated that he had been messing with her all day, agitated that he had been all she could think about since meeting him, “This is just a joker card, how is this a business card?”

He chose it himself?

This time it was him that took a nervous step back, hands up in front of him again in surrender, “You sure are fiery today, Little Lady…” It never ceased to amaze him how people changed when they were scared or angry, “I’m Joker, so it’s totally a business card!”

“What kind of name is that?”

“One I chose myself.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him, her frown becoming a little deeper as she tried to make sense of him, he chose his own name? The woman crossed her arms and continued to half glare at him before throwing caution to the wind and asking, “And what was the name you were given?”

He had never had a name, not one that he knew of at least; he had been abandoned and then thrown into the darkness to serve as the Church’s pawn, to perform its dirtiest tasks. So he gave the only other answer he could, “Five-Two.”

She closed her mouth, for a moment she was going to scold him for blurting out those numbers to her, then it clicked. He really was just a feral cat that didn’t fit in with his own people.

The way he acted, the almost stalking when all he said he wanted to do was talk, getting her purse back… he was just some stray looking to her for scraps.

He had no idea how to people like other people.

But he had known enough to know that she had needed comfort after being trapped in such a small place, he had made sure she hadn’t been hurt in the explosions he caused in the Rookie Games. It was evident he could read people even if he didn’t quite know what to do.

“I was looking out for you!” He grumbled.

“…You…” She was stumped for what to say.

Instead, she grabbed his hand and began pulling him toward the street, “You can buy me a hot chocolate for creeping me out all day, got it?”

“That’s called stalking, idiot.”

Joker pulled on her hand, stopping her from walking into oncoming traffic after she had missed the light changing colour, “Careful, Little Lady. I don’t want you going splat.”

“You could have just stopped at ‘careful’,” Y/N looked away as heat began to rise in her cheeks, “And stop calling me ‘Little Lady’!”

#joker/52 #reader #fire force #enen no shouboutai #enn enn no shouboutai

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thosequeenboys · 4 years

Text

The Way Old Friends Do (Queen)

Author’s note: This work is based on the ABBA Song of the same name. The story takes place New Year’s Eve, 1973 and New Year’s Eve, 1990. In addition to those Queen Boys, the story features Freddie’s devoted friend and personal assistant, Peter Freestone, aka Phoebe. Numbered text is referenced at the end. This piece was published in the Some Kind of Magic Fanzine. Wishing everyone a happy, healthy and easier!! New Year!

Kneeling before the fireplace framed in white marble, Freddie held the match under the log tower in the deep fire box. As it ignited before him, the flames warmed his soul and his weary body. He let the mesmerizing light transport him to the beginning, back to when they had big dreams, of creativity, of recognition. There they were in the reel playing in his mind, circa 1973, bumbling around the studio in the pre-dawn hours, perfecting takes. Streetlights streamed through the dirty curtains, and high heels clip clopped on the damp pavement outside the window.

One of Freddie’s many gifts was to synthesize – this drum lick, that riff, those voice overs. He was not the leader, he would adamantly claim over many years, but he fell naturally into the role of mediator when tensions erupted during those long nights. When terse exchanges invaded, Fred would ensure each boy felt heard and validated. A flurry of scenes passed through him, and he remembered each of his calming responses: “Roger has a point.” “Perfect Deacy, Dear, let’s give that a go.” “Lovely, try that softer, Brian.” The angry tension had evaporated; the outcome of his coaxed camaraderie was perfection.

Refocusing his eyes on the fire, Freddie became of aware of Phoebe silently setting up the etched champagne flutes on the bar at the back of the room and easing the chilled Dom Perignon into the silver ice bucket stand. Freddie rose slowly, returned the iron screen and made his way to the plush settee angled toward the fireplace, eager to continue that visit back in time. After so many years, Phoebe could tell when Freddie was engrossed in his own thoughts, creating - or lately, like tonight, reliving. The portly man finished his tasks, and before he left the room, he eyed his dear friend taking a seat to find the relief he needed.

Freddie blinked away the pain running through his bones and returned to the dancing fire. In it, he saw himself walking by the turntable gingerly so the album wouldn’t skip. His long hair fell into his face. The music blared from the speakers.

“Five minutes to Midnight. Let’s go!” Freddie implored, as he passed Brian and Roger lounging on opposite ends of the worn couch, their feet tangled together in the middle, and John, sitting cross-legged on the tattered easy chair, leafing through a stained magazine. Freddie ducked into the tiny kitchenette. He grabbed four mismatched glasses and the bottle of cheap champagne he bought earlier in the day. It would leave a sour aftertaste, no doubt. Fortunately, there was sufficient vodka for chasers.

“Absolutely not, Roger!” Brian’s voice rose with annoyance.

“C’mon, Brian,” Roger’s ire could not be missed.

“None of this. Not tonight,” Freddie chided, reentering the small sitting area. “It’s time to ring in the new year – And,” Freddie purred, as he uncorked and poured the champagne, “Celebrate the first album of the next band bound for greatness! Gather ‘round, boys.” Languidly the three band mates rose and took the filled glasses Freddie offered them.

“To Queen! To this successful year we bid farewell! -- and to the magnificence ahead in 1974 – and beyond!!” Freddie said, his mouth broadening with each word. “To Queen!” the boys echoed. Smiles were exchanged as they raised their glasses and sipped in unison. “This stuff is bloody awful, Fred,” Roger cackled, a look of disgust overtaking him. The boys’ laughter accompanied the church bells pealing outside the small flat, signaling the arrival of the new year.

Freddie chuckled thinking of that night so long ago, amazed that it was still as clear as the crystal glasses glistening behind him. He dropped his head to his chest, and the image vanished.

Over the years the crowds grew, their creativity blossomed, and fame erupted, the extent of which they couldn’t have imagined. Though they all worked as a team and each had immense gifts, Freddie stood at the center of their evolution, which seemed limitless. Each year presented many milestones to toast. Yet, the glory left in its wake an underside that swept him up and spit him out. But at night on stage, Freddie rose -- a force buoyed by powerful lights above him, screaming crowds before him, the music surrounding him and those boys behind him. The spotlights showcased his immense talent and power to engage the audience, building a crescendo of rapture. There were two sides, but the boys were always there as the reminder of who he truly was: an innovator, a creator, a collaborator, a musical genius -- and a loving, gentle, generous and witty friend.

Freddie scanned the room and took in the paintings and unique artifacts he collected during decades of travel. Each had a story; each brought him joy. Suddenly aware of the evening’s ritual, he glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantle. Any minute now. And as if prompted by Freddie’s notice, voices reverberated off the brick outside the window as car doors slammed.

Pressing his arms into the firm cushion, Freddie stood carefully, gaining his balance. He turned his attention to the entry foyer in the distance where Phoebe offered warm greetings and efficiently took coats, knowing this visit was limited as family parties awaited. Phoebe gestured to the living room, and the boys stepped in, taking in the slight figure bathed in faint firelight before them.

The fire was now blue-framed blushes of orange poking out from blackening logs. Freddie stepped forward to tend to it. “Here, Fred,” Brian said, taking long strides across the expansive room to the fire. “Let me.” Roger quickly sidled up to the other side of the fireplace and silently removed the screen. Brian repositioned the burning logs to spark the flames and added a new one from the large Chinese porcelain jar painted with orange and blue dragons next to the fireplace.

Freddie felt John staring at him and suddenly the younger man looked away, blinking. Were the cheekbones so hollow a month ago, he wondered, as the fire cast a shadow in the deep crevice of Freddie’s cheek. In that moment he knew. “This is the last one,” John said to himself, feeling tears forming. Surprised that he allowed this thought, John quickly regained his composure and looked at Freddie. A shy smile of admiration crept onto his face, and Freddie returned a warm grin.

“Beautiful!” Fred said turning to the fire, now bestowed with new life. If only there could be a comparable easy fix. He made his way to the back of the room, the boys in tow. “Gather ‘round, boys,” Freddie encouraged. Between each pour, he wiped the bottle’s rim with the soft towel Phoebe had draped over the bucket.

“Hasn’t been such a bad year,” Roger said in his sincere, optimistic way. The other boys nodded, hoping Roger would supply a litany of cheerful highlights to overshadow the glaring contradiction standing in front of them serving champagne.

“Hey, we got the BRIT Award for Outstanding Contribution to Music. Finally! And Innuendo is fantastic! Should do very well,” Roger affirmed confidently, as the glasses were passed.

“A toast!” Brian raised his glass. “To this successful year we bid farewell!” He looked down, not sure what to add, where to go. The other three boys joined him comfortably in the silence, for it was wrapped with the joys and sorrows and hopes of decades past, unspoken comfort and their unconditional bond of friendship.

“To fairy tales of yesterday that grow but never die,” (1) John added. The boys exchanged glances nodding, and clinked their glasses.

“To carrying on,” Freddie said firmly, breaking the wistfulness.

“To carrying on!” The boys echoed, trying not to sound somber, though they knew that carrying on meant until the end -- and beyond, concepts presently unfathomable.

“Glad you got the good stuff,” Roger said, raising his nose in the air satisfied, as he laughed and held his glass up to the light.

“I always aim to keep you in the manner to which you’ve become accustomed,” Freddie quipped. They laughed in agreement. “The manner that you all deserve,” Freddie added. Freddie’s smile evaporated and he looked down. “The best.” Horns and bells sounded outside, along with the cheers from Freddie’s sitting room down the hall.

The boys finished their drinks and set down their glasses. They huddled together closely around Freddie. Strong hands with long, graceful fingers rubbed backs and grazed knuckles. Loving hands. Musical hands. They bent forward in their circle, holding each other just a bit tighter, and their heads touched.

I don't care what comes tomorrow. We can face it together. The way old friends do. (2)

Notes

1. The Show Must Go On by Queen

2. The Way Old Friends Do by ABBA

#queen band #queen fandom #queen fan fic #queen fan fiction #Brian May #roger taylor #freddie mercury #queen fanzine #bffs #70s music #80s music #90s music #new years eve #happy new 2021 #happy new year #new year celebration #John Deacon

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magic-and-moonlit-wings · 4 years

Photo

Source: https://collider.com/wizards-release-date/

Okay, was anyone going to tell me that Wizards had some promo material dropped, or was I just supposed to see chatter about it and go looking myself?

Looks like we’re getting a Morgana face reveal like we were hoping, because the shot of Claire and the lady standing in front of the fireplaces was captioned ‘Claire and Morgana’ when I saved the image on the source page. Her haircut looks kind of like the dark-haired lady from the poster, but the firelight makes her look more of a redhead like the portrait-lady seen behind and above them, so it’s still unclear what her hair colour is. (Maybe Morgana’s hair is naturally red but turned black from magic use like how Claire’s turned white.)

The antler-horned figures might be more Fay characters. Probably connected to the “mysterious armoured foe” in 3Below Season 2. The biggest Antler-Guy is probably the main antagonist, from his position and lighting. Maybe that’s Galen.

I don’t see any of the Akiridion characters in these promo shots, but the time travel might lead into that ‘prophecy’ Vendel and Kanjigar mentioned in 3Below that Akiridions were going to show up on Earth at some point.

The blue stone in Douxie’s staff looks like the one in the Amulet.

The cat looks like he has wings in a couple of these images so I’m inclined to think he has, like, a gargoyle/dragon power-up form.

The big armoured guy could be King Arthur, Lancelot, Mordred, or possibly Toby from even further in the future who came back in time to help again (my first thought when I saw him).

Looks like more of Claire’s hair is going to turn white. Also I think she’s wearing the dress seen in the museum in Trollhunters Season 1. (“I wish our play had these costumes.”)

Is that the Decimaar Blade Jim is holding? I remember theorizing that he could wield it while in the Eclipse armour and I’ll be very excited if I’m proven right.

And that shot of the troll army was captioned ‘Killahead Bridge’ so it looks like we might finally get an official date for when that battle occurred - because every time travel story worth its salt has the characters establish, “okay, when exactly are we?”

...

WHAT IF JIM KILLS GUNMAR IN THE PAST, AND CLAIRE DEFEATS MORGANA IN THE PAST, CHANGING THE FUTURE, AND THAT’S WHY MERLIN HID THE TRIUMBRIC STONES AND GAVE JIM THE TROLL POTION, TO GET THE TIME-LOOP STARTED, BECAUSE THAT WAS THE MOST EFFECTIVE WAY TO GET RID OF GUNMAR AND MORGANA?!

The plot-related bit of the press release, for anyone who doesn’t feel like clicking the link or if the article vanishes after a while, reads as follows:

Following Trollhunters and the second series 3Below, Wizards marks the final chapter in the trilogy that brings together the three disparate worlds of trolls, aliens and wizards. In the newest installment, wizard-in-training Douxie and the heroes of Arcadia embark on a time-bending adventure to medieval Camelot that leads to an apocalyptic battle for the control of magic that will determine the fate of these supernatural worlds that have now converged.

#toaWizards #spoilers #screenshot #Tales of Arcadia #Douxie #Merlin needs to be Rule Number 3'd #There are many names for Pale Lady Morgana Argante Baba Yaga Mistress Of Shadows The Eldritch Queen #Bular #Deya the Deliverer #Bagdwella #Vendel #Blinkous Galadrigal #Draal #Dictatious Maximus Galadrigal #Steve Palchuk #Claire Nuñez #Tobias Domzalski #Troll Jim #time travel

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vaire-gwir · 4 years

Text

Some Cat and Wolf fanfic I had in mind pt.2

There is a part 2! Is it less trash than part 1? No, I mean I wrote it, what did you expect. I like to believe I know where I’m going with this one, but who am I kidding here.

There are a couple of flashbacks, I tried my best at writing how Lambert finds out about Aiden’s death and what happens after that, a sad dream, just a tiny bit of fluff cause I couldn’t resist, and maybe angst? Again, let me know what you think, if it makes sense or it’s truly just rubbish. Feed my feedback monster please. It’s still very not canon and even more out of characters probably, so sorry.

Maybe I’ll call it ‘I lost a friend, I lost my mind’, still not sure.

Also, English is clearly not my first language, I’m sorry for all the mistakes!

***

He's always dreaming of Aiden lately, and he can still feel the blood on his own hands when he wakes up, it's splattered on his clothes, soaking through the fabric from where he kneels on the ground next to the dead body and it makes him want to scrape and scratch at his skin until the feeling is gone.

Lambert never saw Aiden's body, and part of the guilt he feels fuming inside him every time he thinks of his best friend comes from the fact that he can't stand the thought of his lover dying alone. The medallion came to him later, when he tracked down the Dyn Marv Caravan, worry fraying his nerves into a sickly thin rope ready to snap, cause Aiden was not at any of their usual spots and Lambert had been moving from one village to another asking at every inn but no one had seen the other Witcher since before winter. There was a bitter taste on his tongue every time he left a certain tavern empty-handed, a mixture of disappointment and frustration. By the time he decided to follow the trail of the Caravan the sharp twist in his senses every time another innkeeper or maid sent him on his way without any helpful information had been vexing him so much that he felt almost raw and he couldn't ignore it anymore. He knew something had happened to Aiden. Something always happened to the people he cared about, and most of the time it was his fault.

The Caravan wasn't particularly hard to find, but it still was a challenging decision to go looking for them. He knew the other Cats had no sympathy for him, the rivalry between their schools was older than the Continent itself, and it was no secret that in time they began accepting contracts on humans, turning them into nothing more than highly-skilled assassins and thieves. Aiden was not beyond stealing here and there, of course, but a few times he said he had refused to add more corpses to the baggage he was already carrying, weighing down on whatever was left of his conscience, if Witchers had one at all.

Once, they were settled in the woods south of Temeria, relaxing before walking into town the next morning. They had found this small clearing, easy to defend on all sides in case of a monster making a sudden appearance, and they decided to make camp, both of them wanting to enjoy the quiet of the forest for one more night. They know it didn't mean safety, but it was still better than the villages, with their constant loud dissonance, with too many eyes, and too many people pointing fingers all the time. Being around humans always meant being extra careful, cause people too easily turned against them at the first sign of any inconvenience. Aiden was chatty that night, the calm of the evening keeping the rumble of words from his chest steady, and Lambert will never admit it but he truly enjoys listening to him talking, cause he can just focus on his tone, and that soft voice helps him keep his thoughts under control. It's less messy in his head when Aiden is close, he can simply lay there splayed on a blanket, his head pillowed on Aiden's lap, with the Cat running his magical fingers through his hair and enjoying the moment.

He was telling Lambert about this job he did with one of his brothers, something about lifting a curse on the sister of a bastard mage that tried to trick them, and that's how he slipped into the topic of the other questionable jobs his fellow Witchers were willing to take. He didn't try to deny that he did the same thing as the other Cats for a while, as a Witcher he had to do terrible things, just like the rest of them, and Lambert would never judge him for that. At least Aiden had enough honesty in himself to speak the truth about what he did. Lambert had met so many bastards with the face and the acts of an innocent monk and their hands as dirty and bloody as everyone else, just a bunch of bragging hypocrites, that's what they were.

<<We were made to kill monsters, some of my brothers would argue that death is death, but it's not Wolf, it's not. Cheating, and stealing, and deceiving is one thing, I won't pretend I'm not a horrible person. But when you start killing humans the lines blur out a lot more, it changes you. Usually, in a version of yourself that you eventually learn to hate.>>

<> Lambert opened his eyes to look at the face above him and he met the endless green he adores. Aiden was looking at him with an amused expression, the motion of his fingers through his hair came to a halt, and Lambert whined at the loss.

<<Only sometimes, ah? Well, that's a relief considering you're stuck with me for a good while.>> Aiden leaned down to press a kiss to his lips, his hand now trailing down his face to his chest, resting just above his heart, the slow rhythm reassuring and soothing. Lambert opened his lips the moment he felt Aiden's tongue flicking against them, the taste invading his mouth in the most delicious way. He could just kiss him for hours and never get tired of that. The Cat straightened his back licking his lips, and Lambert brought his hand on top of the one on his chest. He had never been one for affection, but since the Cat walked into his life he tried to steal little kisses and small touches every chance he got.

<<How long is a good while?>>

<<As long as you want. So don't get tired of me just yet, pup.>> Aiden was always beautiful, but bathed in the firelight, with flames dancing in his perfect eyes and his legs stretched out in front of him, leisurely crossed at the ankles, warm and content, he looked like a divine gift. Lambert raised his fingers to trail his profile, slowly caressing the side of his face, almost afraid that if he dared too much that mystical creature would break right before his eyes and vanish forever.

<<You'll get tired of me. I mean, I'm awesome, but I'd get tired of myself too.>> Aiden looked at him right in his eyes, the serious look he had on his face was the one that meant he wasn't fooling around anymore, he was about to say something important. <<Never gonna happen. You're always gold to me.>>

Finding the Caravan was not the smartest decision, just being close to where they made camp meant risking his life, but he didn't care, this was his last resort, fear and concern were bound to kill him anyway if he didn't find Aiden soon, cause when Witchers go missing there's only one place they can be found: death. To directly approach the Caravan alone felt wrong, it went against every instinct he had, he felt exposed, like an easy target. As desperate as he was, he was still not completely stupid, so he lingered at the edge of the clearing for a second too long on purpose to make his presence announced. Lambert had seen other Cat witchers only a handful of times before, and he had never seen the whole Caravan, Aiden thought it was not safe for him to meet them, probably for the very same reason why he never took his Cat to the Wolves den: suspect and rejection were looming too close, no one was interested in risking bloodshed. Meeting on the road was one thing, paths were meant to cross at some point, but going home was an entirely different story, it was a sacred space, and it was too risky to invade that place, a balance too precarious to not be disrupted by refusal, judgment, and misunderstanding

There were six pairs of eyes on him immediately as soon as Lambert stepped forward from the line of the trees. He wasted a few precious seconds realizing his first mistake. A wolf, alone and armed, walking right through the Cat's camp was certainly asking for trouble. The look they gave him had the sole intent of making him feel uncomfortable and unwanted and it worked perfectly. Second mistake, his hand inched closer to his sword as a natural reflex, causing the handful of Witchers scattered around him to instantly reach for their own weapons. Lambert remained still, judging that he could probably take down at least three of them before the others attacked him, when a vaguely familiar figure stepped forward. He took it as a good sign that no arrows or daggers were flying in his direction, if they wanted him gone, he would be bleeding already.

Karadin muttered something along the lines of 'it's fine, I know this one,' and it was enough for his brothers to relax a little. Lambert attempted to stay calm while the other Cat approached him, there was something in his steps that made him look as if he was about to jump him. He didn't like it one bit being here, and as much as he tried to ignore it, hostility was vibrating in the air and running between the whole group like a current. <<I'm looking for Aiden. Not here to kill anyone.>> He said quickly. They had met once before, he had seen Aiden at ease talking to him, and so far he was the only one that didn't seem to want to murder him on the spot. Probably he was just a better liar. <<Figured that already. I remember you. He's gone, I'm sorry.>> His voice had a sharp edge that he tried to mask under practiced neutrality, but it still made him sound like it didn't matter at all to him if the others killed Lambert or not. <<Gone where? I've been....> <<Gone, Wolf. He's dead.>>

It seemed empty when he said it as if he spoke those exact words so many times that they lost their true meaning now, he made it sound as if this was just another annoying thing that happened in their life, and they both should know better than to make a big deal out of it or get attached to another, cause people and especially witchers, die all the time. Easy for him to be this composed, he was not the one whose walls were crumbling.

There was a part of Lambert, the part he refused to listen, that had understood something occurred as soon as he realized Aiden was not in Kaedwen, cause he had no reason to not show up after winter. It was their thing, a sort of ritual they took to perform every season: come spring they would meet again and spend the following days holed up at an inn, barely leaving their bed, completely lost in feeling each other after so long and getting reacquainted with what belonged to them. It took Lambert a day and a half before he started to panic, and after that, his personal version of hell unfurled. For two endless weeks, Lambert had spent every single day searching for him, refusing contracts that he couldn't care enough to take, cause the prospect of a job was not sufficient to fill the hole inside him left by Aiden's disappearance. The voices in his head kept alternating between whispering that the Cat just left him cause he had enough of his sorry ass, and screaming that something happened to him and he wasn't doing anything useful about it. Two weeks made of empty days and cold nights consumed by doubts and fear, passing through another nameless village, threatening mages, picking fights, moving hell and earth to find him, repeating to himself over and over that Aiden couldn't be dead. All he did had been in vain until now, cause now this stranger was standing there and turning the cold suspicion he desperately tried to silence into the bitter truth. Dead. <>

Lambert tried to ask for something else, he really tried to sound coherent but all of a sudden he felt so tired. He also missed most of the words spilling from Karadin's mouth, but he'll have plenty of time to visualize in detail Aiden's death, because now that the crushing rage and grief he tried to keep at bay had washed over him like the waves of the ocean he could barely restrain himself. He felt as if someone was picking at the stitches that held him together and pulling so harshly that his seams were all coming apart at once. Dead. <<You can have this.>> A gloved hand pressed something into his palm, the sound of the leather squeaking in the motion bursting through the fog that settled around his head, and he felt the shape under his fingers. Aiden's medallion. He should pay more attention to the twisting in his guts suggesting that there was something very wrong, like an odd scent of lies in the air, but he didn't, he couldn't. Two Witchers on a contract, one is dead and the other escapes without a single scratch on him, he should figure out that there must be more about this that Karadin was not telling him, yet he ignored that intuition. Third mistake of the day. His mind was miles away, and his body was craving to put as much distance as possible between himself and this place, his heart beating too fast since the word 'dead' had been said out loud. Karadin must sense it, cause he didn't waste time in sending him away. <<Go, it is not wise of you to stay. And Wolf, I'm really sorry.>>

Everything after that was dull and confused, he had a few scattered memories, most of them were nothing more than blinding pain, but he made it as far as the side of the forest before his legs gave out. He felt as if someone sent him stumbling in the darkness, without his potions and his tricks and everything was as gloomy as if all the light had been taken from the world. The next thing he remembered he was drunk out of his mind at an inn and morning found him passed out in a dirty alley, with blood on his clothes that he didn't know who it belonged to, and throbbing pain in his hand but his mind was too hazy to focus on anything right now. His first thought is that he has to find Aiden. It took a moment for the events of the previous day to resurface, but when they did, he was on his knees retching and gasping for breath. He can't go looking for Aiden now, cause his best friend is dead.

He replayed the encounter with the other Cat enough times in his mind to put together the scattered pieces, so now he knows how Aiden died, he knows where and he knows he was not alone. And all these things he knows don't help at all though, cause Lambert wasn't there to see it, to stitch him up as he did countless times before, to try and save him. After all, he'd never let a fucking griffin kill his best friend. Lambert was miles away in his winter keep, safe and sane like the fucking coward he is, dreaming of spring while he repairs old walls because he doesn't know that spring is not coming this year. And yet, all he can see now is Aiden's death. Every night when he closes his eyes the shadows move in his mind, showing him the horror that he never witnessed as if the universe was performing a sick joke on him. There are usually no words or sounds in his visions, and as dreadful as it is, it's still better than when he can hear Aiden's voice.

About a couple of weeks ago his exhausted brain decided to start playing tricks on him, making him see things he's sure are not real, but it's not always easy to tell the difference between reality and dreams when everything is a nightmare. Minds work in a very funny way when faced with unknown suffering, in a funny and cruel way, that's why in these hallucinations Aiden is nothing like the friend he used to know. The thing is, the nightmares are just nightmares. Reality is worse cause he can’t wake up from it. And truth is, Aiden is gone. Lambert has a hard time making sense of the words he hears, so unusual coming from this person he considers his friend, his lover, his. Some bits stick to him, and he remembers those so well it's impossible they are just a product of his subconscious.

<<You should have let me come to Kaer Morhen.>> Lambert's shoulders are hunched, the weight of those words too heavy for him to bear. A few days before going their separate ways Aiden asked him to spend the winter together and he said no. He said he'd stay and that they could find an overly rich lord looking for two extra soldiers, but going to Kaer Morhen was out of the question. He had toyed with the idea of bringing the Cat back home before, the promise of a pleasant and refreshing winter with his lover as tempting as ever. Except that there were two other Wolves at home, and even if they didn't send Aiden away running, Vesemir would kick both of them out before they step through the doors. He couldn't face his family knowing they'd think even less of him for showing up with a Cat. That's why he refused, because he's nothing but a coward, and now Aiden carries the same hurt on his face that he had that night. <> <<And I really don't believe you.>> Aiden spats out angrily at him with blood seeping through the blue fabric of his shirt as he wipes a hand over his face, smearing the red lines dripping down his cheek.

<> <<I'd know it if you were.>> <<It always seemed pointless to do it anyway. No one ever saw me as you did.>> Aiden's laugh is as disturbing as his unseeing eyes, and the way it echoes in the dark makes him ache. Aiden wants to hurt him as much as he had been hurt. And the people that know us best always know how to cause more damage. <<That's an awful amount of words for you.>> The metallic and cold smell of death overpowers everything, there are no more spices or fresh tinges of mint, no sweet undertones of honey, the scent that used to make him think of peace, of happiness and the sea is lost somewhere under the pain. Lambert wants to clutch at that dark shadow that wears the face and the body of his best friend, hold it close to his chest, run a hand through his hair in a desperate attempt to find a trace of that happiness but deep down he knows he can't touch. <<I'm...sorry.>> <<What for?>> <<Being a coward.>> <<Something suddenly loosened up your tongue, I see....tough luck wolf, it's too late.>> Lambert feels like choking on the air he was trying to breathe, the harsh truth hits him like a punch. He always thought he had time, time to find the courage to talk to his family, to figure out how to deal with all his sharp edges without lashing out at his lover, to simply be with Aiden and live long enough to defeat the Witcher's curse and outrun their past, and move together somewhere close to the sea where he'd build another boat and finally they could settle down and life would stop being this constant amount of bullshit. But it's too late. <> <<No you don't. You never did. You don't know how. You cared more about what your ridiculous family thought of you than about me.>> <Didn't know how to show it.>> <<You should have figured that one out before leaving.>> Realization sends an unfamiliar drop rolling down his cheek and he doesn't bother brushing it away. It wouldn't hurt this bad if it wasn't true. <<You were everything to me! I can't...I'm sorry I....>> <<Sorry doesn't bring back the dead. Nothing does.>>

Panic settles in his system and it doesn't leave even when he jerks awake, panting as if he had been running for days. His eyes are wide open, unfocused on the forest around him and this time he dries the wet lines on his cheek, the borders between reality and dreams too weak to not be torn apart by pain.

Sadness smells like dust, with a tinge of something smokey and iron, like burning old wood and pouring water over it. The sharp edge of Aiden's words cut like his swords and all he can do is lay on his blanket trying not to suffocate. It doesn't matter that this version of Aiden he keeps conjuring up from the bottomless pit of his guilt continues saying things the real Aiden would never say, cause in the middle of the night, when the weight in his chest becomes unbearably heavy, he's drowning and the dark tide of his thoughts doesn't let him come up for air. It's hard to remember that Aiden was never cruel to him, cause he can barely stop his hands from shaking, and forcing himself to will away the tears is the only thing he can focus on.

Every time he closes his eyes the ghosts crowd behind them, to remind him that he messed up, that he should have been there, he should have done better. As if it wasn't bad enough that he had lost the only person that ever loved him. Maybe that's when it all went wrong, cause there’s no such thing as love for a Witcher, isn't it? There are monsters, coins, and death. It’s a sad life they live and it’s only a matter of time before a beast, an assassin, a mage or an angry mob send them to their grave. They all live with a damn ticking clock on the back of their neck, tick tick ticking away with the number of days they have left, he always thought he had time, but he was wrong. They don't get to retire or move somewhere better, there's no boat by the sea for a Witcher, no lover to hold on to, they don't get a choice. They never did.

He’s talking to a vision that can’t answer him and that’s a sign that he’s gone crazy, he lost his marbles for good this time. And for fuck sake he has to get a grip on himself. Maybe if he had brought Aiden with him to Kaer Morhen he'd still be alive and they'd still be together. There's a voice in the dark that seems to whisper 'coward' over and over and the dark glow of the metal on the Cat medallion on his chest seems to shame him and blame him as much as Aiden's words did in his dream. He's sure he can feel that thing moving, crawling on his skin, a silent accusation reflected in those dead eyes, shining in a sinister way. It bothers him, cause that piece of metal is a reminder of when he failed, what he has lost, where he messed up. It seems to accuse him, demand him to fix this, but how do you fix death? What was that wretched thing reproaching him for, expecting him to mend death as if it was just another curse? When he throws the cat-shaped medallion in the fire in a fit of rage cause the damn thing is mocking him he's three heartbeats away from losing his mind and he smells it: sadness. The woods are filled with that smell of misery, of dust, and grief, the fire trying to burn the metal like the pain was burning his heart, and he stares entranced.

The glimmering of the jewelry in the flames is hypnotic, just like Aiden's eyes were with their shade of green. He'll never gaze into those perfect eyes ever again. He'll never have another spring reunion, he'll never mindlessly trace the line of the scar under Aiden's ribs when he's lost in thought and they're lounging lazily on the bed, and he'll never feel the unique mix of mint, honey and spices that belonged only to Aiden, and no one will ever look at him and make him feel important as he did.

He blinks the tears away and he’s frantically reaching into the flames to retrieve it, reverently placing it on the rumpled blanket, making sure he didn’t damage it in his stupid fit. He can’t afford to ruin the only thing he has left of the only person that ever accepted him and that realization hurts less than his burnt fingertips. There’s nothing left but this necklace. And all his memories.

After that, he's unable to put the cat-shaped medallion back on so it lives in his pocket until he finds enough strength to leave it behind or wear it around his neck again, whatever comes first. That necklace is so heavy it seems to burn a hole in his flesh, and for an irrational second he finds it fitting: Aiden was always getting under his skin, maybe that’s where it should be. Safe, but he’ll never be safe again, the dead are not safe. He tries to shake his thoughts out of his mind while he walks toward the closest village he can find outside of Redania, cause he's almost out of coins, and the perspective of getting drunk and blissfully passing out without dreams for a couple of hours it's too tempting to ignore. With the last of his money, he gets a drink and a room, and after setting his stuff down he sits in a corner of the inn that is slowly filling up. Lambert tries to tune out all the noise of the other patrons, he's not in the mood for petty chats. He's been sitting there for no more than a couple of hours when a slightly drunk guard tells his companions that he's glad he doesn't have a night shift. Last month the black beast devoured three of his mates again, one is still missing. Lambert spares a glance at the little patch of sky he can see from his spot and stands up, making his way to the guard's table. Maybe killing something would keep him distracted. <<This black beast, it shows up once a month?>> The guard looks at his companions utterly frozen in front of him and doesn't bother turning around. <<And how could you possibly know that?>> <<Sir, he's a Witcher, sir, we've seen the lot of them here before. Bad luck to have them around. Terrible bad luck>> Lambert doesn't bother with this pale man that looks too close to fainting, he keeps his eyes on who he assumes he's the captain of the guards that finally decided to turn around, a curious look in his eyes. <<A Witcher, uh? Aye, once a month, for the past three months. I lost twelve good men already.>> <<And how much will you pay for it?>> <<You think you can kill something that took twelve soldiers?>> Lambert is quickly losing his patience, this idiots are not helping his sour mood. <<It's a werewolf, and I've killed the likes before. How much?>> One of the pale kids starts mumbling again, afraid to look at the Witcher and afraid to look away from him. <<My old nan always said it, someone dies when there's a Witcher around.>> <<Did your nan know how to kill a werewolf? Do you? No, so how about you close your fucking mouth!>> <<300 hundred crowns is all I can give you.>> The captain interrupts.

Lambert goes back to his room without another word, preparing for the hunt. He tucks his medallion under his shirt and places the cat-shaped one on the bed. He feels the dark eyes on it following him everywhere, just like the Cat used to do when they were together. He loved it, the feeling of someone watching him not with suspicion, fear, or hate, but kindness and understanding. It was an unfamiliar sensation at first, no one ever looked at him that way. No one ever will. Now he doesn’t want these metal orbs, he wants green eyes that are alive, that stare at him and care, that challenge and mock him, that love him, fight him, accept him. He tries leaving it hidden between the clothes in his pack and it makes it as far as the front door before he's rushing back up to stuff the damn thing in his pocket and head out to hunt this werewolf.

#the witcher #lambert x aiden #aiden x lambert #witcher lambert #witcher aiden #the witcher fanfiction #lambert #aiden #things I write when I can't sleep #it's sad #if you squint there's plot #lambden

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percontaion-points · 3 years

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Vanish chapters 25 & 26

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Chapter 25

My heart seizes as Corbin steps into my path, appearing out of nowhere. From behind a hedge, I guess. As though he were lying in wait. He grabs my arm and drags me beneath one of the many evergreens lining the lower half of Main. He presses me against the rough bark, trapping me between the massive tree and his body.

“Take your hands off me,” I hiss.

[Image description: Olivia Benson, as played by Mariska Hargitay, from Law & Order: SVU. She's pointing a gun at somebody just off-screen. It's captioned with “I've seen enough Law & Order: SVU”.]

“You owe her? Miram? She’s never been anything but a jerk.”

“She never would have been taken if I hadn’t been out there waiting for Will.”

Conveniently forgotten/overlooked is Miram's refusal to actually leave with Will and Jacinda.

And then I know what to do. “A distraction,” I murmur.

“Yeah? What?”

“Not what. Who.”

Chapter 25 summary: As Jacinda goes to Nidia's house, she runs into Corbin. He basically comes across like every creeper on Law & Order: SVU: Smug, arrogant, certain that he'll have Jacinda soon. She blows steam into his face and runs to Nidia's place, where Tamra opens the door quickly.

Inside, Tamra is just as eager to leave this festering sore called a community behind and be reunited with their mother. However, Jacinda talks about wanting to use Tamra's powers to help free Miriam. Will's words bolstered her confidence, and was aided by Tamra's eagerness to help. Tamra isn't certain she wants to help Miriam at all, but Jacinda says that it'll be like an even trade.

Jacinda says that they have three more days to wait until Will returns. Tamra doesn't like it... but mainly because Jacinda will continue to live with Cassian. Jacinda explains that they sleep in separate rooms, but feels guilty over the singular kiss she and Cassian shared earlier.

Chapter 26

Backpacks slung over our shoulders, we sneak past them and out the entrance.

Wait wait wait. When Jacinda and Miriam were being chased by the hunters, Jacinda hid her backpack in the forest, under some leaves. Obviously, she's been under house arrest this entire time, and wouldn't have been able to get out and get it.

Did somebody go get it for her? Az or Cassian? Or did she get another bag somewhere else?

In moments, we’re moving, the four most unlikely companions heading down the mountain, cutting through thinning mists . . . Nidia’s shield of protection evaporating as we descend.

Away from the pride.

Chapter 26 summary: Jacinda and Tamra ask Az to randomly make-out with a guard to distract him, and for some unholy reason, it actually works. The sisters are able to sneak out, where they meet up with Will.

However, shortly after being reunited, Corbin shows up. He quickly gets into a physical fight with the sisters and Will, but is taken out when Cassian shows up.

Despite trying to help Jacinda, the sisters quickly call Cassian out on his shit when he questions why both of them want to leave. Jacinda then says that they're going to go rescue Miriam, but they're somehow surprised when Cassian says that he wants to go as well. Jacinda can't convince him to stay, so the four of them get into Will's car and drive off.

#Firelight series #Vanish (Firelight 2)#Chapter 25 #chapter 26 #i've seen enough Law & Order: SVU #shitty men are shitty #Jacinda #Corbin (Firelight)#Miriam (Firelight)#Tamra (Firelight)#Will (Firelight)#plot hole time!

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wincestisasincest · 4 years

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The Green Book (Thorin’s Company x Reader, Part 2)

Hey gang! Sorry it took so long to get a Part 2! I wish I had a better excuse but in reality I just watched all of Game of Thrones and cried a lot.

I don’t know if anyone reads these descriptions, also, but if you are, send me asks/suggestions for characteristics of the reader, or objects that they have on them, or even pairings! I love to hear what people think, and will almost definitely incorporate them into this.

Summary: (Y/n) falls into Middle Earth. Shocker. Somehow, she gets recruited to join a party of dwarves on their kinda crazy mission to reclaim their home of Erebor.

Part: 1, 2

Tags (let me know if you want to be added to the list!): @stuckupstucky, @dianaarelyfernandezgarza97

Words: 1820

Warnings: Plot clichés, vomit

“Do not touch her face.”

“But uncle, look at her! Who knows what else she could be hiding? We should check to be sure.”

“Do not. Touch. Her face.”

“What if it gets her to wake up?”

“Lad, if you touch her face I’ll poke yours a lot harder with the back of my hand.”

“Right, right, sorry.”

“I believe, at the moment, there is a greater threat that deserves our attention.”

My eyes fluttered open, only to be met with several new faces, looking just about as shocked as I did. Though I didn’t get an in depth look, they all had thick brows, long hair, and even longer beards. They had also taken to certain sacks, made out of burlap. I couldn’t really make out the scene clearly as it was quite dark, a proper nighttime like I had missed earlier, but there was the aggressive firelight with shadows passing over it that illuminated their expressions.

I tried to move, only to realize that I was in a very similar situation. A sack was up to my neck, and though I could move freely inside of it, the toughness of the fabric and the smallness of the sack was very limiting.

“Psst. Hey! Lass!” I turned my eyes up only to meet with a blonde haired man, with braided bears and hair like a lion’s mane. I raised my eyebrows in response to his question.

“Yes?” I answered meekly.

“Hey, is that the lass?” Another young, spry voice answered from over the rest of the bodies.

“Both of you, shut up!” A rather authoritative voice, quite deep, and apparently coming from someone with no sense of humor, rose over the din.

“Ey, stop ya talkin’ or I’ll cook yew first!” I looked up, only to be met with a pallid, monstrous face leering at the group of men. It held a slightly spiked club with its massive fingers as it scrunched its snot filled nose.

It took nearly all of my willpower not to scream, but I did allow a gasp to escape. I turned to the blonde man, and scooted a little closer.

“What the fuck is that?” I whispered frigthfully.

“A troll, it would seem.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“What?!” I responded, just confused as this man dispensed tales from fantasy novels like they were fact.

“What are they gonna do to us?!” I continued my interrogation.

“Well, I think that they’re planning to eat us, but don’t you worry. We won’t let that happen.” He gave me a confident wink like there was a chance of escape, before going back to angrily grunting against his sack.

I sighed and leaned back, trying to absorb the situation. I couldn’t get a good periphery. If only I had my backpack, or something.

Some sparse conversation between a smaller, meeker voice and the larger one of the troll was occurring to my left, though I was too dazed to make out most of it. Something about worms.

The group then began caterwauling, all moaning about how they were riddled with the worst possible worms, and I had caught on to their scheme. If they were riddled with worms, then the trolls, of course, wouldn’t want to eat them.

“What about her? She seems fine.” My vision went from blurry to dreadfully straight as the great club in front of me came into focus. Shit.

“I, uh-” I struggled against my frightened breathing to put on a convincing performance. It would not be an exaggeration to say that my life depended on it.

“I have the worst case of all.” I used my tired breathing to my advantage, before employing a trick that I had learned on the playground in elementary school. I crossed both my eyes, before rolling them back into my head, creating the gross, veiny effect that used to make the younger kids throw up.

I pretended to struggle against my health once more as I tried to spit out more improvisation, not even realizing the great number of eyes watching me. The only thing that I was focused on was the grossed-out fear in the eyes of the troll, who had clearly never seen such grade school witchcraft.

“We all got it from eating a herd of cows that had worms,” I added, “That’s how it gets passed on.”

“She’s lyin!” One of the other trolls, because of course there were other trolls, yelled from the back.

“Did you see what ‘er eyes did? You can’t make that up!” I had finally had the will to stand up, like an attorney defending someone in court.

To my left, there was a very short creature, assuming that he was standing at his full height, of course, with brown skin and blonde, curly hair. He seemed just as scared as I.

The larger troll hustled closer and whipped out a long, rusty knife that was hitched to his hip, holding it up to my throat. I could feel it biting into my jaw as some blood trickled, but I held my resolve.

“Why don’t I just cut you open to see them worms, girl?” He snarled. I heard a few gasps from behind me, before one tried to scramble its way out of my own throat.

“I was going to die soon anyway because of my disease, you would be doing me a favor by ending the pain,” The troll eased his knife slightly, and I saw his expression falter as he realized that he hadn’t succeeded in visibly scaring me.

“That would be all that it’s good for!” The small creature added, his voice rising almost an octave, “The worms are completely clear, you wouldn’t see anything.”

I nodded, under the pressure of the blade still to my throat.

“The only way to find out would be, of course, to eat us and die,” I added an edge of harshness to those last words, “Ready to take that chance?”

“The dawn will take you all!” A booming voice shouted from behind me. Though I didn’t turn around swiftly enough, I heard the cracking of rock and saw the rays of the sunrise spilling out over the three trolls on front of me, who were very swiftly turned to no more than stone.

I jerked my throat away from the blade, which was now completely stone, and struggled to release myself from my burlap prison. My struggle, however, was ended by a sharp force slicing through the back of it and dropping to the floor, exposing my body to the rest of the world. It felt new to have the wind on my skin. I turned around to face my savoir.

“Well, you’re a new face, aren’t you?”

The first clear look that I had gotten at a person in a long time and it was, of course, Gandalf the Grey. Given how perceptive he was, I was sure that he caught the glint of recognition in my eyes, though he chose to say nothing.

I turned to the side, only for my fears to be confirmed. Slowly crawling out of their sacks was a group that I had grown very familiar with, none other than the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, fully equipped with their wizard and hobbit. A flood of memories came back to me as I could recall both the book and the movie (like a moving picture with sound), both common tales from where I came from. I had just helped the legendary company escape from one of their earliest trials, the trolls, without even realizing it.

The complication in this, of course, was that all my life, I had been taught that such company, and by extension, such a land as Middle Earth, was nothing but a tale. The fact that they were in front of me at this moment, and seemed to be very corporeal, was off putting to say the least.

My face twisted into confusion.

“Never seen a dwarf before, lass?” A wizened old Balin, I assumed, stroked his long white beard while speaking for the equally confused looks of his company.

“Uh,” I stuttered, tripping over my words, “uh, well, not in, I, uh, no.” I finally settled on not bothering whether or not I offended them and using plain, simple language.

“From the looks of it, she’d never seen a troll before either.” The blonde haired one, Fili I remembered him as, said to the crowd as he was gathering up his equipment.

I could feel my breathing grow heavy, and I swear that I was beginning to sweat. This was some fucked up dream.

“Are you alright? There’s no need to be afraid, Miss.....” a small voice, that of Bilbo Baggins, who had appeared next to you as silently as hobbits are known to do, gave me a concerned look.

“(Y/n)” I answered bluntly, shunting his question.

“That’s a bit of an odd name. Mind tellin’ us where you’re from?” Balin leaned forward.

“I, uh, I-” All of the confidence that I had while confronting the trolls had completely vanished. I felt my stomach begin to churn, though I was so hungry that it felt out of place.

“Yes, and where you got such strange garb from as well?” The man himself, Thorin Oakenshield, stepped forward, though I knew before seeing him from his voice. He looked as he always did, stern and focused.

I stared down at what I thought to be quite normal, some jeans, sneakers, a t-shirt, and a jacket, though only thoughts of how abnormal and alien I must seem right now could come to fruition.

“Let’s not bombard her with questions.” Gandalf intervened as every dwarf and hobbit eye was trained on me.

Out of the corner of my vision, I saw my red canvas backpack glinting in the sunlight. It had been carelessly thrown to the side.

“I, um, I have to go!” Before turning around to see their expression, I gathered up my stuff and started towards the forest.

“Go where, exactly?” I could hear Gandalf yell behind me, and stepping forward slightly in my direction.

“I don’t know!” And with that confident dismissal, I darted off into the forest, with my stuff behind me, not bothering to answer some of the screams and pleas.

When I had convinced myself that I was far enough away where they couldn’t hear me, I grasped the nearest tree and threw up my entire stomach. My vision was getting dizzy again, and I could feel tears in my eyes. The adrenaline had gotten me through the trolls, but now, I was lost, scared, or, at best, completely insane.

I took out my phone. The background on it was a picture of my family. My sobs only deepened. I curled into a ball and continued to cry, and hours passed before I would stand again.

**********

Well that was fucking depressing.

It will get happier, I swear, but I always thought that the concept of getting completely plucked from everything that you know and placed with a bunch of stange, unknown people was quite scary and emotional, so of course, it will be treated as such.

Be on the lookout for a masterlist at some point!

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fuwafuwamedb · 4 years

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The King’s Dumu Lugal Pt 16 (CasGil, Hakuno, Siduri)

Previously: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 , 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15

____

He moved with the night breeze the moment he was through the pathway between what was and what had been. He moved through the deepest of night, following the path of the moonlight. The feet beneath him trekked the same paths he had taken time and time again. His hands held the length of crimson fabric, wrapped around his waist and holding close the blond haired youth who looked out into the lands he had only seen once before.

The woman on his back was held tight, kept in place with another length of fabric wrapped around his waist.

The ache in his back was great. The sweat building with the breeze’s hot breath.

Yet there was no other choice.

The world they had come from vanished like a mirage, the white haired mage waving farewell a second before they were amongst the world of the wild.

He could not feel his connection to Chaldea for some reason.

He could not feel the distance between himself and Gudako like he normally would.

There was no telling whether it was the anxiety of getting Hakuno and his son to Uruk’s palace or simply his desire to have them safe in general that was blocking his senses, but he moved as quickly as he could, watching the lands come forth to meet his path.

The wild waters of the Euphrates ran in parallel with them, making the young boy in his arms look over and beam.

Gilgamesh found himself holding a hand to keep the boy in place, feeling the wiggling and knowing what ornery trouble his son would get into. He could feel Hakuno stir slightly, her hair pressing to his face with a good gust of wind.

“King Gilgamesh?!”

The guards of the bridge met him first, coming upon him during their patrols.

He laughed, stopping and looking to the men.

“It is a pleasure to see my men at work. I have brought my woman and son to Uruk finally. Someone assist me with bringing them to the palace. My woman was light for the first few fields, then it seems my shoulders felt the weight of her importance press down upon me.”

His men snorted, pulling her carefully free from him and moving to take the boy.

“No. No. Ur must stay with me. He has been excited about the night fishing boats in the waters.”

They moved.

Now heading to the wagon nearby and riding back to the bridge itself. His son looked between them, making small noises. Those red eyes missed nothing, taking it all in.

The gates opened for them to the kingdom.

His son looked out at it all, his eyes widening at the firelight leading up to the palace. The golden ziggurat stood proud amongst the kingdom, tall and proud like a great headdress to the people of Uruk. His eyes drifted to the lions as they moved to the solid ground and began to mount the steps to the palace.

Siduri stood in the doorway, having been fetched as a guard ran ahead.

The lions were loose, meeting them on the steps and bringing an excited squeal to Ur-Nungal’s lips. His arms reached forth, but he kept his son close as they came to pause before Siduri.

“You are back,” she breathed, smiling.

“We are back,” he agreed, letting Ur look over at the woman as well.

“Hello again, lovely prince,” Siduri greeted. Her eyes drifted to Hakuno wrapped in her fabric and resting against the guard. “…Is this she, my king?”

“My Hakuno,” Caster confirmed, earning a larger look of adoration from Siduri as she gazed upon Hakuno once more.

“Someone to claim the heart of our great king, you must truly be someone of renown and worth, your Grace.”

“They should be bathed and dressed properly,” Gilgamesh told her. “I was hoping that you would take the liberty of assisting her.”

“I would be honored, my king! I will assist with helping her be prepared for bed and bring her along as quickly as I can. Please go forth with your son and enjoy a bath as well.” She motioned him to go, eagerly calling forth a few of the servants and leading the guard by the arm towards where the bathing chambers were.

He wanted his son to be the first of the two to see the kingdom though.

Stepping back out, he looked amongst it all, taking in a deep breath.

In this time, he was dead. This time was frozen, moving forth yet never reaching a following year or decade after the moment that the Chaldeans had been here. The clocks had been set back, Ereshkigal releasing the souls if only to live in this limbo of a space.

“This is your kingdom,” Gilgamesh murmured to the boy looking out upon his world. “Had I been given the chance, I would have given this time to you. I would let you be raised by your mother and Siduri here, learning how to write upon tablets and learn how to rule as a proper king. You would have met my friend and learned how to wrestle from us both.”

His looked down, his eyes lighting up. “KISCHIES!”

The lions were circling, purring away around their feet.

Gilgamesh closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“You have a way of ruining a father’s serious conversation, don’t you, Ur-Nungal? Let us go bathe. Your kischies need to go hunt and prowl through their kingdom right now. Now is the time that young boys should be going to bed and growing up to be young men who care for their mothers properly.”

The palace was still the same.

The bathing chambers were a divine heaven of gold and greenery, the garden fountains pouring forth into the room and circulating the waters. He stripped of his attire, setting his son down and scrubbing himself clean before bringing the boy in to join.

The happy sounds echoed in the room as he splashed about happily in the smaller basin connected to the main bath. A prince with his own small tub for himself, capable of being sat in like a proper young royal.

His body was swathed in new attire, brought forth by the servants.

They moved together to the bedchambers, finding Hakuno waiting for them.

Her brown hair had been cleaned and braided back. The pillows had been fluffed and the blankets piled to keep her comfortable. There was a place for his son to lay, to be able to rest apart from them, but he opted against it for tonight.

He moved to the bed with Ur in his arms, placing the boy between himself and Hakuno.

She moved to lay on her side, facing them as she blearily opened her eyes.

“I’m so tired,” she murmured, her voice thick. “Did I fall asleep?”

Did she fall asleep.

What amusement. What absolute absurdity.

Gilgamesh moved forward, brushing a few of her bangs from her face, his lips finding hers as he leaned in.

“You fell asleep for a while, my queen, but you need your rest. Go back to sleep and dream for a while longer. I will keep you safe in my arms tonight.”

Ur was falling asleep with her, the two closing their eyes and making the same little yawn that had him smiling despite his best efforts.

What fools.

His hands brushed through her hair more, admiring the earrings that his people had placed in her ears while she had been away from him. Her hair and skin were so much softer from the Uruk oils. She suited being here. She suited being with him.

Gudako would return soon enough to bring him back to Chaldea.

He could not have Hakuno forever, since she would eventually summon her own servant and he would be training once more with Gudako. They would raise their son together, of course, but they would not work as partners for fighting.

It was a shame, all things considered.

“You should have become my master,” he wished, pressing his lips to her shoulder. “If you had summoned me instead of Gudako…”

He would have been upset that he had left her pregnant and alone, no matter the situation. He would have fretted over her night and day upon recovering from the birth. She would have never fought a battle, insisting upon being grouped with Gudako if she insisted at all.

But still, he could dream.

He could imagine what the woman was like as a fighter.

She loved without equal.

She was stubborn and mindful to an extreme.

Hakuno, as a master, would have been something spectacular. Even with weak mana, she would have shone like a rare jewel.

He closed his eyes to the night, cradling his son and holding a lock of Hakuno’s hair in his hand as he fell asleep. His mind swirled upon glimmers of golden buildings and endless stars. Fleeting things, echoing voices, much the same as he had dreamed the night before.

The night slipped through his grasp, like water through his hands.

The light poured into the other side of the room as he opened his eyes.

Ur was climbing over him, babbling happily and arms waving as Gilgamesh glanced over and saw the lions returning through the windows.

A knock came at the doors.

“Come, Ur.”

Gilgamesh picked the boy up, holding him close and letting him have the chance to scoot across the floor on his own two feet.

He wrapped his robes around himself a little more, rubbing at an eye as he opened the doors to see Siduri.

“Would you like to come have breakfast in the hall or your audience chamber, my king?”

“I will bring Ur and come.”

A yawn escaped him before he felt something bump into his leg, making him look down.

“ABUM!” Ur greeted, beaming.

“Good morning, Dumu lugal. It would seem that our attendant would like us to go greet the people this morning. We should do as she says for now and let your ummum rest. She has been working far too hard these past few months in raising you.”

“Good morning, my prince,” Siduri greeted, moving to her knees.

The boy slapped a wet hand to her cheek.

“…It’s a kiss,” Gilgamesh told her quickly. “He hasn’t fully learned kissing yet.”

The woman smiled beneath her veil, leaning in and pressing a kiss to the boy’s hand.

“Then I have been very blessed today, little prince. It is good to have you home,” Siduri told him simply. “Let’s go greet your people in the audience chamber.”

#drabble #drabbles

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