#We should drag you into the town square and stone you to death | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

starfiring · 2 years ago

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kory's fits ranked in order of worst to best

Disclaimer: This is my list and I make the rules here. If you don't like my placements, EXPLODE. I'm right. I'm only including the designs that I know. If I missed one that you find essential, feel free to add it in the notes with your commentary and placement, as long as you're right. If you're wrong, EXPLODE. Now, onto the list.

13: RHATO (??? probably some event in comic) I almost forgot about this one, and for good reason. Nothing to say. No impact. Ugly and not even in a fun way. Seriously, why? I love that the one relation to her standard outfit at the time were her cankles. Where would we be, as a society, if Starfire didn't have her cankles?

12: Nu52 (1st version) This one should come as no surprise. It's costume hated with the fury of 1000 suns since it's debut almost universally, and it's pretty clear why. It doesn't work for any viewpoint. The ridiculous boob thing that just sits there. It's not even pasties. No, that would be too good. It's like she wrapped a piece of duct tape around her chest, but she ran out halfway through. And why are her shoulders so heavily armored? I need to know the thought process behind the boots. More specifically, the cankles. Genuinely hideous and confusing. It's a random combination of heavily armored where you don't need it and completely naked where you do. Whenever I see comic book armor like this I just say to my self, "Motherfuckers are always coming for my (insert randomly armored body part, in this case, lower legs and shoulders). Can't keep 'em away from them. But not anymore... Any of you bitches thinking they can come for my (body part, in this case legs and shoulders) better think the fuck again." Anyways, hideous! The artist will be stoned to death in the town square at noon tomorrow.

11: Rebirth Honestly, this one probably doesn't really deserve to be ranked as low as it is. I actually like this one, for the most part. But it's here, second to last, because this is the only costume on the list that's betrayed me. There's many things to like. The usage of colors is very clean and graphic, the proportions of the outfit are nice, the outfit is wearable, and the design of the leotard calls back to the original design while still being it's own thing. There's nitpicks, of course. The knees are weird. The metal circles on her hips are random and superfluous. But those aren't enough to drag this design down so far. No, the one thing that I cannot get over, the thing that haunts me, is the weird ass design on the boobs. Really, it's just the one element in that area. What the hell is going on with the boob stripes??? Did we not learn this lesson from the last design? The white on the suit complements and follows the curves of the body so well until someone decided to slap some lines onto there and ruin the whole thing. Why the hard end in a random spot? Why don't the stripes just continue to the arm holes, which literally also have a white trim? Why did the person who designed this choose violence? Why did they want to hurt me, specifically? Many questions to be asked, and so few answers.

10: Nu52 (2nd version) I do find it absolutely hilarious that people were so mad about the booby strap (??) that they changed that and only that. Remember, bullying does work, people! It’s always moral to cyberbully large corporations. Anyways, it’s definitely better, but still not all that great. On a positive note, I do think that it pays homage to her original suit, while remaining a firmly modern design. The thing that kills me is that, if you filled in her entire body, and made it into a one-piece suit, it would actually be pretty nice. As it is, they’ve upgraded from “should be a criminal crime” to just “whatever.” Good job? Alexa, cancel tomorrow’s noon stoning appointment (This is a joke. I would never have Jeff Bezos’ Wiretap 3000 in my home).

9: Starfire (comic) This one instills a deep and corruptive hatred in my heart. It was created as a response to the rightful hatred that Kory’s design and character got in RHATO. A big thing back then was people comparing her to her cartoon counterpart. Therefore, the redesign really focused on making her similar to how she was in the cartoon. I think that it was a bad choice all around, but especially from a design perspective. Her cartoon design was simplified and changed to be easier to animate, as well as being in line with the styles of the time, and more appropriate for children. This is great for the cartoon, but for the comics? There are things you could reference, for sure, but to base your entire design off of her is a mistake, in my opinion. I don’t like the proportions. I think it would have been better off with a sleeveless top. I also don’t like the random cutout holes everywhere. They seem a little last minute and out of place. Final note, this is the worst her hair has ever looked. One thing that I will always hate the cartoon for is introducing the concept of Kory with straight hair. The instant that they took away the afro the design was ruined. But this iteration is a downgrade of a downgrade. She doesn’t even have firey streaks in her hair anymore; it's just orange. And the styling… Girl this is not Starfire, this is Stacey!! GET HER OUT OF MY SIGHT! FOUL BEAST!!!!!!!!

8: Teen Titans (cartoon) Finally, the turning point. I like this outfit. I can see where the inspiration from the comics came in, and it works even without knowing anything about the comics. It’s just a super cute look. Crop top and mini skirt with thigh highs? Yes, ma'am, sign me right up. I would wear it. It’s both of it’s time and timeless. I’m pretty sure that this design introduced white (or silver, but what is silver, if not a gateway color into white?) into her color palette, which… Is certainly a choice! It’s been used well, It’s been used badly. But this is why it’s used. Another important contribution is changing the color of the gems from red to green. A good choice for the cartoon, and something I personally like, but sometimes, I do miss the red. Mixed bag of consequences. As I said earlier, one of the things I really resent about the show is changing the perception of Starfire from having an afro in the comics to having straight hair. This show really whitewashed her, to the point that fans of the cartoon harassed Anna Diop for months, if not more, because she didn’t look like some wack ass kid’s cartoon. Cute, but I sentence this look to boil in lava for 100,000 eons for being a cracker.

7: The New Teen Titans (original costume) The icon, the legend, the blueprint. I feel conflicted that it’s so far down, but, honestly, I just like the other entries a little better. It really goes to show how many good designs she’s had that this one is middle of the pack.Let me start with the negatives, so that I can justify myself. A nitpick is that I wish the tabs on her boots didn’t stick up. It would be just that little bit better if they followed her legs a bit more. Another thing is that I wish the boots weren’t that texture, or that the texture was used more in the outfit. Also, this gem is my least favorite version. It works, but it is my least favorite. I’m not going to list the positives because it’s so good, it speaks for itself. I mean, just look at it. Take it in. Soak it up. Breathe it in. It gets across the concept of “alien warrior princess superhero” clearly, which is a feat of its own. She served, she ate, and then she washed and dried the dishes. Everybody say “Thank you, Ms. Anders!”

6: Don't know the issue or title, but this was her costume for a bit after ditching the original. Yes Ma’am, yes indeed. Definitely one of my favorites. This outfit gets so much disrespect, but let me be the one to say that it is good. It’s got a good balance of simplicity and detail. Also, the proportions are great, with the long sleeve crop top and high waisted pants combo. The gem redesign is nice, and fits into her design cleanly. I really like the cutouts on the top. It gives that little bit of skin that makes the whole thing pop. Some people complain about the fact that metal doesn’t work that way, but I don’t give a shit. Clearly, she IS working that metal that way, so be quiet. Now, two things I don’t love: one, I don’t like the texture of the pants. Just like the boots in her original design, the texture isn’t mirrored anywhere else. Two, the hair. After the 80’s ended comic book artists started giving themselves aneurysms trying to figure out how to draw a straight afro. Like, babe, it doesn’t work that way. Still, a mid afro is better than none.

5: I again don't know the issue or the title of this one, but I believe it's a Titans book from the 2000s. Now, I hate to be that guy, but she really did serve cunt in this. I have literally never seen her drawn well in this outfit, but that’s a sacrifice she made for fashion. It’s my favorite original costume redesign outfit of Kory’s (most of the other costumes take inspiration from the original costume, but this one is clearly intended as a redesign of the original). All of the good things I said about the previous two apply to this one, with none of the bad. I know, it’s sexualized, it’s impractical, objectifying, et cetera et cetera. I agree completely. That’s why this one isn’t ranked higher. But with costumes like this one, the way I decide if it’s good or bad isn’t by practicality. No, in cases like this, I ask myself, “would I wear this outfit to perform in drag?” And the answer for this one is yes, yes, yes. Can she fight in it without having her boobs pop out? Absolutely not. But could I tear the dancefloor up wearing this? Yes, absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt.

4: Injustice: Gods Among Us (game) I haven’t played this game, but Kory is again serving in it. I love the top, I like the boots and armor, I HATE the bottoms. Essentially, the metal parts are great, everything fabric is garbage. The bottom reminds me of a diaper for some reason. I wish they had used the lighter purple metal instead of the purple fabric. The waistband is a really weird shape that doesn’t complement the rest of the design. Also, the silver thing that’s holding her gems on her chest is ugly as fuck and totally out of place. The hair though… Girl. And the actress that Kory was modeled off of really did eat this up. I think the actress is what made me put it so high up. Also, the usage of the curved, organic lines in the top and the vracers is really just it for me.

3: Titans United Now this… This is beautiful. Finally, a Starfire design that really does say Starfire. It pays homage to the original suit, and to various other designs, but it is very much so it’s own thing. I don’t know that I agree with the color choice, but the curved white line designs are truly just… EUGH! YES! They highlight her body and curves beautifully, and add visual interest. I think the gem placements here are some of the best. They’re really utilized throughout the outfit. The lighter stripes on the boots and gloves call back to the stripes on her boots and the straps on her bracers from the original design. The neck and shoulder armor is from the Nu52 design, but it doesn’t look out of place. The white and silver is essentially from the cartoon. The white lines create shapes that call back to the second Nu52 top as well as the original design. It's either directly based off of the Titans suit, or the suit is based off of this one. It’s everything. It took all the notes and improved on them. It’s a legend, it’s an icon, and it IS the moment.

2:Justice League Odyssey This look is one that stands in its own category. While other looks very clearly reference one influential outfit or the other (or all of them, like the last look), this one is really just what it is. I think, conceptually, this one does convey that same concept of “alien warrior princess superhero,” (which is more than some of the others can say) With an emphasis on the princess. She really does look royal here. She looks expensive. She looks powerful. And, as is clearly most important to me, she looks fucking good. I love how heavy and ornate all of her gem holders are. Her accent color being gold as it was originally is so much better than the instead of silver/white. And yes, that is gold. It’s not yellow, it’s not metallic, that’s gold, and you know that. Money. This look masters simple shapes with intricate details. Very graphic, very understandable. I love the usage of the darker purple stripes at the side. If I had one critique, I wish that the stripes continued onto the legs and turned this into a bodysuit.

1: Titans Ladies, gentlemen, all: her. Literally. She. It was always going to end this way. This is it, mama. This is THEE number one Starfire design. It’s either based on the Titans United suit, or that suit is based on this. Either way, this suit outsold. Changing it from a leotard(esque) to a body suit really makes it that much better, as well as adding dimension with the two tones of purple. Also, very happy to see the white/silver again replaced by gold. Everything good about every other costume on this list is true for this entry. The references, the innovation, the everything. Slayed. This look paid my bills and put food on my table. Not to mention Ms. Anna Diop, THEE Ms. Anna Diop absolutely demolished this role. Starfire stans won as soon as the casting was announced. And when this suit was dropped? We ascended. Every other design is DUST compared to this. One itty bitty tiny winy little notesy I have is that I’m not crazy about the marbled/veined element. I understand what they were going for, adding more texture, visual variety, et cetera, but for me, I think it confuses the shapes too much. Still the design to end all designs. The champ, the queen, the moment, the aspiration, THEEEEEEE STARFIRE. Some of the other entries on this list may convey princess, but, baby, this one conveys QUEEN.

#starfire #dc comics #dc #kory anders #koriand'r #koriandr #long #long post #🗨

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ask-fantasy-sanders-sides · 4 years ago

Note

Well ain’t that one hell of a wake up call :)

They all settle into Virgil’s room, sitting on the circular mattress of foreign, soft material.

After Roman sets him down onto the bed, Virgil pulls him down by the arm, manhandling him into a seated position so Virgil can drag himself into his lap. This is not the first time he’s done this, but it still makes Roman blush. (And, the whispers taunting him with the possibility of it being a romantic gesture are not helping, in that regard)

“So, we need to talk about what happened last night.” Logan asserts aloud, knocking Roman back out of his flustered headspace.

“First, how did you two get so hurt so quickly??” Patton frowns, “I know we were in dangerous territory, but I was only separated from Virgil and Logan for a few minutes!”

Then, an onslaught of whispers explaining the situation.

Roman catches bits and pieces where he is mentioned, though he wishes he could block his ears to it and pretend the whole thing never happened…

“Roman, is that true?” Patton gasps, clutching the sleeves of his cardigan. Roman hates the look on his face — some horrible, gut-wrenching mix of pity and horror — but he doesn’t look away. A Paladin faces the consequences of his actions.

Roman nods,

“It…was my fault. I’m sorry.”

Roman is keenly aware of the shift against his chest, of Virgil’s gaze on him, but he can’t look down to meet his eyes. He barrels on, unable to stop his rambling,

“I was being reckless and petty. I put all of you in danger, and I nearly got everyone killed. I-…I killed—”

“Shut the fuck up.” Virgil grumbles, glaring up at him. Roman snaps his jaw shut, surprised.

(I mean, he had expected Virgil to be angry with him, but that isn’t exactly the sentence Roman had been anticipating.)

“Pardon?”

“I said shut up! Gods, do you actually believe that?!” Virgil frowns, “That wasn’t your fault. You didn’t put anyone in danger.”

“I beg to differ.” Logan frowns, and Virgil’s icy glare immediately snaps to him while Roman’s heart turns to stone and drops to his stomach. This was a reaction he had been expecting, but that didn’t make it feel any better.

“If he hadn’t ran off on his own on some ridiculous quest to slay a monster, none of that encounter would have happened. He snuck away in the middle of the night to confront her after repeatedly being advised against it. He shouldn’t be surprised that the situation went downhill from there.” Logan chides, “He was being foolhardy.”

“Yeah, running off on his own was stupid, but that doesn’t make what happened afterward his fault! It’s not like he could help it!” Virgil snaps, “And he wasn’t the only one being reckless! Don’t think it escaped my attention that you went hunting around for hag’s eyes instead of the rest of the group! —And you voluntarily made a deal with that bitch!”

“There were no better ways to resolve the situation at my disposal. Roman had a brainslug!”

“Yeah, and you sound like you’re blaming him for it!”

Logan is caught off guard at that.

He turns to Roman, eyes wide, though his frown is still present. Roman shrinks a little under his stare, and Virgil squares his shoulders, putting himself between the two.

Roman realizes with a start why Virgil had seated them the way he did; he’s made himself into a barrier.

“It’s okay. I get it!” Roman interjects, trying to sound less crushed than he is to get Virgil to back down. He doesn’t want a fight to break out here.

“No, Roman, wait.” Logan pinches the bridge of his nose, swearing under his breath in Elven, “It wasn’t my intention to imply… —You should take responsibility for running off without a word, because that was irresponsible of you!”

Roman nods, waiting for the kick… But, instead, Logan gives Roman a soft look. Roman is almost certain he hates this pseudo-guilt more than the anger.

“You put yourself in danger. That is what I was trying to say.” Logan sighs.

“I am angry with you for that, but I don’t blame you for what happened to you afterwards. Or Virgil. That was not your fault, that was the Coven’s.”

…Roman isn’t quite sure he agrees with that, but he gets the distinct impression Virgil will yell at him if he disagrees, so he keeps his mouth shut.

Patton gives Logan an encouraging smile, then reaches over to pat Roman’s leg, sighing,

“Roman, I love that you’re courageous and gallant and all, but you worry us to death when you go out picking fights you aren’t ready for! Logan was scared for you. We all were.”

“I know why you did it, but you can’t do that again, man.” Virgil nods, deflating slightly. He and Logan share an exhausted look, and luckily, neither of them seem to be angry at the other about the miscommunication. (That’s good, because if Roman had found himself secondhand ruining their friendship, he would cry.)

“I wish I could promise that I won’t.” Roman frowns, feeling ice run through his veins as he awaits their response, “—I mean, I won’t go running back to her any time soon, but if there’s some other menace out there that I am prepared to handle… I mean, protecting people from evil is my duty, I can’t just let those things be! I tried to warn you before, but I really can’t just leave it alone if I know I could solve the problem!”

�� “I’m not asking you to leave it alone.” Virgil groans the words like it pains him, (and honestly, it probably does,)

“But I am telling you not to go alone. Not again. We go together, so you don’t end up dead and alone in the woods somewhere.”

“Agreed!” Patton grins, and Logan nods,

“If we can’t stop you, at least let us keep you from getting yourself killed in vain.”

Roman feels a familiar warmth bubble up in his chest, with the two of them smiling at him like that. He’s not sure if he wants them putting themselves in danger to help him, but damn if he’s not flattered by their loyalty; he wants nothing more than to embrace it.

So, Roman nods, barely suppressing his own smile of relief.

“Now, what happened after that?” Virgil frowns, leaning his head back against Roman’s shoulder and closing his eyes. His breathing is deep and shallow; he’s trying to get as much essential conversation in as he can before he passes out again.

“You revived me. —Are you guys okay?! No one here hurt you, right?”

“No, we’re fine~! Some dirty looks, but that was it.” Patton smiles, reaching over to hold Virgil’s hand.

“We were led here by soldiers who recognized you.” Logan explains, “They led us to your Empress, and she and your Lady helped us with the ritual. The Empress called Eilistraee for aid, and we discussed your…situation.”

Virgil groans and covers his face with his hand, “Please tell me you didn’t embarrass yourselves in front of them.”

“On the contrary, I think our conversations were very enlightening!” Logan smiles, completely missing the point. “I have a better idea of what you will require going forward, for our classes. …Though, Eilistraee suggested that we should also find you a Sorcerer for mentorship. And, she had implied that one would find us promptly..?”

Virgil snaps to attention. He uncovers his face and nods,

“I know a guy. He’s looking for me. If we’re going to be sitting ducks here for a while, while my body remembers how to function, he should catch up to us. I, uhh…”

Virgil coughs, his voice quieting slightly, “I think you guys already…know each other? His name’s Dee?”

Hearing the poorly disguised excitement in his voice at the idea, Patton and Logan both try not to look agitated… Roman seems pleased, though, and smiles,

“Mama needs me and Remus to meet her in town, so our groups were going to be converging at some point, anyway! —I told you guys it was fate that we should meet~!! Everything’s coming together!”

“Wait, I thought Dee was a wizard?” Patton frowns, and Virgil shakes his head,

“No, that’s a cover. —If we’re all going to be working together, you should probably get used to the idea of him being less than honest. Almost everything that comes out of his mouth is total bullshit.”

“Oh, we are well aware.” Logan grumbles.

“Wait, before we get too far from the subject,” Patton frowns, and Roman doesn’t like the sad look returning to his face one bit, “…What were you talking about, before, Ro? ‘Petty?’ What made you sneak off like that?”

Roman blanches.

Virgil must feel him stiffen — or maybe he remembers their short, incredibly one-sided conversation in the woods — and speaks up in his stead,

“That wasn’t his fault, it was mine. We were going to wind up there regardless.”

...And, once again, he has completely astounded Roman. He needs to stop expecting things from this man.

“How is that possible?” Logan frowns, just as confused.

“It’s a long story I’m too tired to be embarrassed about…” Virgil shrugs,

“I made a deal with Granny a few years ago, to save a bystander. She said she would spare their life, but I would owe her one the next time I returned to her wood. The next time I saw her, she would take a member of my party.”

“What?!” Patton and Roman yell in unison, and Virgil’s ears flatten to his head for a moment as he frowns in distaste.

“And you didn’t think to mention that?!” Roman whines, scandalized.

“I didn’t expect you to run off!” Virgil elbows Roman in return, then looks up at him, “…And…I didn’t want you to think less of me. For taking the easy way out… That was before I got all fucked up. Honestly, I could have killed her if I wanted to, and been done with all of this. But I was too scared. I’m not…like you.”

There is an unexpected, strikingly soft tone to his voice as Virgil admits this. He seems surprised by it himself, after it’s out in the air. Virgil quickly barrels forward, waving his hand dismissively,

“Honestly, I’m relieved the one she meant was mine. I would have felt bad if I had gotten someone else damned for my mistake. —It doesn’t matter now, anyway. She killed me; she got her reward.”

“Not quite,” Logan frowns, “We had to break her claim to revive you. Logically, that should mean the deal is broken, but she may not see it that way. In fact, I would bet that she still considers you to be in debt.”

“Well, good thing none of us plan on going back into her territory!” Patton smiles, with a less than pointed look at Roman. Roman blushes and nods, but Virgil’s gone stock still.

Roman hears his breathing quicken, and though he can’t see his face, Roman can see the slight yellow glow reflecting on his white hair. Virgil grips Roman’s arm, claws digging painfully into his skin,

"Oh my god. Annie.” Virgil whispers fearfully.

An onslaught of whispers hits them then, warning of some giant wolf called Jasper (Roman thinks he remembers Virgil mentioning someone like that before, but he wasn’t paying attention) who is apparently gunning for their little nereid. Patton and Roman both pale as Virgil starts to ramble,

“Annie! Oh my god, she’s gonna kill her! Fuck!! No, no—”

“No, she won’t.” Logan promises sternly, a flash of magic in his eyes when he speaks. He lays his hand over Virgil’s, and Virgil relaxes his grip, but only slightly.

“I am going to go get her.”

“What did we just say about splitting up?!” Virgil hisses, the Calm Emotions charm just barely keeping hold on him. Logan shakes his head,

“This is different, and you know that. I am not sneaking off without a word, and we don’t have another option. You are too weak to travel, and if we wait any longer to cross back into the Prime Material, we may reach her too late. Besides, I am the only one of us who can ferry messages back and forth, and I can only do that from outside of the city.”

Roman is aghast at this, and shakes his head vehemently,

“Then I’m coming with you!”

“No you are not!” Logan and Virgil both say — or shout, in Virgil’s case — at once. Logan elaborates first,

“You are also too weak to travel, and you two are the only ones of us who have encountered Jasper! He would sniff you out immediately.”

“You’re the weakest and slowest member of our party, and he’s a wolf shifter!” Virgil shakes his head, “He’ll still hear you, and he’ll hunt you down like a newborn deer!”

Logan smiles at him. Roman assumes he’s trying to be soothing, but he knows that mad scientist glint to his eyes when he sees it…

“Not if I cast Silence. Besides, he has no reason to suspect me more than any other townsperson, and the Hag only has her power over the town because she pretends to be their protector. He wouldn’t be allowed to kill citizens at random.”

“Then it’s settled! Me and Logan will get Annie.” Patton nods, and Roman whines. Logan and Virgil look no less pleased.

“You will be going nowhere!” Logan frowns, “I can’t allow you to put yourself in danger any more than Roman or Virgil. You are still…ill.”

“Oh, you did not just pull that card!” Patton gasps, slapping Logan’s arm, (He pulls it, of course, but it still hurts a little,)

“I’ve been doing just fine this entire trip, and I am a grown man! I can handle being ‘a little ill’!“

“Patton, I didn’t mean to—”

“You invited me on this whole adventure because you needed protection, and you knew I could keep us both safe!” Patton huffs, furious, “The last time I split from you three, one of you ended up dead. None of us are going on any side quests or rescue missions solo anymore! I’m coming with you, and that’s the end of it!”

“Yes, fine, alright.” Logan sighs, knowing he isn’t going to win this one. This just makes Roman more upset, and he shouts in frustration,

“No! You two aren’t going anywhere without me!”

“That’s rich.” Logan notes offhandedly, and wow, that stings, but Roman doesn’t have time to be sad about it, because they aren’t listening,

“I mean it!” Roman demands desperately, trying his best to convey how serious he is without giving up his secret, “You can’t go anywhere I can’t follow you— I can’t protect you! You can’t leave me behind, I’m coming with you!”

“No!” Virgil demands again, shaking his head and redoubling his grip on Roman’s arm. It hurts a lot, but Roman is suddenly more concerned with the near-delirious look on his face. His eyes are starting to glow again as he works back up into a panic,

“No, Roman, you can’t! Not ag— Not all of you.” Virgil shakes his head, closing his eyes tight when he feels the sparks starting to build there. His tone is rushed and shaken, like he’s trying to make sense of his thoughts as he says them aloud,

“You’re hurt too, and you still don’t know how to use your sword! You won’t make it out there! You can’t leave me alone, If you leave I’ll— I need you to stay here!”

…Okay, there is definitely something wrong here. But still, Roman feels that all-too-familiar tug at his core at Virgil’s last statements…

Roman looks up between Logan and Patton for a moment.

They look just as confused and distressed as Roman is, but under that, they…really do look well rested. And he’s seen them in action before; Logan is nothing if not a competent magician, and despite how he looks, Patton is even stronger than Roman is. If any of them could make it out on a last-ditch rescue effort, it would have to be them. With his current state, and everything he’s accomplished lately, Roman’s certain he would be more of a hindrance to the mission then anything… It hurts to let them go, but it’s the only thing he can do.

“Virgil…” Roman sighs, already knowing the answer, “Are you asking for my help?”

“Yes. —I don’t want to! I don’t kn—…I’m sorry.” Virgil grumbles while shaking his head, the picture of contradiction. He hugs his legs to his chest, and his eyes open again, though his pupils are still yellow.

“…Virgil?”

“You have to stay.” He nods resolutely, “…But I still don’t like this.” he growls, letting his head thud against his knees. Either out of frustration, or because he’s gotten too tired to hold it up.

“I don’t want any of you to go. This sucks ass. I can’t… I just got back, you know?!”

Patton scoots over and gives Virgil a crushing hug, which he gladly leans in to.

“I know, kiddo. But I’m sure it will all turn out fine!” Patton soothes him softly, “Now we know exactly where to go and where to avoid, and Logan can report back to you guys all the time so you know we’re okay! We’ll just run to grab her and be right back, as quick as we can. In the meantime, you two get some rest!”

Virgil closes his eyes and hums in acknowledgement. After a bit of silence, he grumbles, pushing himself away from Patton,

“Roman, can you get me my bags from that drawer? The first one.” He flicks his hand roughly towards the entire left side of the room (which, thankfully, has one only one dresser). Roman does as he’s asked, watching Virgil rifle through his satchels.

Virgil pulls out two daggers, both wrapped in leather. He unsheathes one of them, to show off the odd violet sheen to the black metal. Virgil nods to himself, then hands one to Patton. He hands the other to Logan, and mumbles,

“Take my cloak too, teach. You’ll need it.”

“What are these?” Patton muses giddily, fastening the blade’s frog to his pack.

“Poisoned. Heavily.” Virgil snaps sternly, “The toxin will only take on the first use, and it will kill on contact. Use them very carefully, and do not accidentally cut yourself with it.”

Virgil leans back against Roman’s shoulder, clearly struggling to stay awake.

“Jasper is the head of the pack, and the one who gives them Granny’s orders. If he falls, they run back home for instruction. He’s grey with red eyes, nearly five and a half feet tall at the shoulder. You can’t miss him”

Logan and Patton nod. One of Virgil’s eyes winks open, under no small effort, to give the two’s general direction a very serious stare.

“If you find him?” Virgil muses, more of a statement then a question,

“Kill him.”

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Ask 102 (( @renee-niles , @amazonprimebox , @gayerplease , @sjrose1217 , @asailboatinthewindow , @maya-tl , @sparkleydoggy-main , @kiapet2 , @error-i-dunno-what-went-wrong , @emissary-of-stuff ))

Game Start

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Rules

Most Recent Recap, in case you feel like you missed something!

Available for questions: Logan, Roman, Patton, and Virgil!

Ohh dear, it looks like we’re splitting the party again! I guess it couldn’t have lasted forever...

This time, though, they’re split into smaller parties instead of solo players, so you will get to see both groups’ adventures!

The only question now is...

Who will you follow First?

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((If you missed the blog announcement, check it here!))

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years ago

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under pressure

(hey guys, welcome to another installment of the swashbuckler au. Geralt’s gonna get very very Protective in this 'chapter'.

warnings for this chapter include: a very brief mention of blood, being threatened with a knife, and mild peril)

Why? Jaskier wondered. His back was pressed tightly against the rough brick of an unfamiliar alley wall and the man who had demanded his nonexistent coin-purse was pressing the tip of a very sharp dagger just below his navel. Why am I always the one getting into these kinds of situations?

“I told you, good sir, that I have no money on my person.”

“Everyone around here keeps gold ‘im. What kind of idiot goes around a port town full of pirates without some kind of insurance against coming to harm?”

“Are you saying that because I have no money you are going to do me harm?”

“Somethin’ like that,” the man leered. The dagger pushed in again and Jaskier knew that it had ripped through the fabric of his shirt when the tip suddenly bumped against the skin of his stomach. “Since you don’t have any money you’ll just have to come back and explain this misunderstanding to my captain yourself.”

“Excuse m-”

The man yanked Geralt’s lucky red bandanna down and tugged it backwards, sliding it between his teeth and effectively gagging the ex-nobleman. He spun Jaskier around and shoved his chest up tightly to the brick. The brigand roughly yanked his hands behind his back and tied them with a length of rope that appeared from seemingly nowhere. The newly minted pirate struggled violently, kicking out his legs and wiggling his torso in an effort to dislodge or disrupt his attacker. Maybe his struggling would get someone’s attention (although it was highly unlikely in a town such as this). Unfortunately the mugger was practiced and nothing Jaskier tried seemed to bother or slow him down at all.

Starkey and Lambert were only a few feet away! He could hear the rise and fall of their voices as they bartered for supplies with the hardtack merchant around the corner. The anxious brunette whined, trying to make the sound high enough to reach his friends and crewmates. If only he could get the kerchief out of his mouth for a split second, then he could whistle or shout…

He felt the surface of the wall scratching his skin through the hole in his shirt and he frowned. That would leave an unpleasant mark for the next few days and make wearing his sword-belt an absolute nightmare. If he was still part of the Kaer Morhen’s crew by nightfall, that was. If this man didn’t succeed in his current mission of pressing Jaskier into service aboard some other pirate vessel. Jaskier’s blue eyes widened even further as a real sense of panic set in. They might not be able to find me in time. We might head out to sea before Geralt even knows I’m missing if they don’t turn around and noti-

“Hey, where’s Jaskier?” he heard Starkey ask. Oh, thank gods.

“Shit.”

“We’d better find him quickly because I can see Geralt from here,” Starkey added. “I don’t want to be the one to tell him that we lost his precious little siren while we were busy bickering with a shopkeeper.”

“Fucking hells,” Lambert groaned. C’mon, Jaskier pleaded silently. Just around the corner, lads. Please, Starkey. You guys know I’m too annoying to stay quiet for this long.

The man with the dagger had already started yanking him backwards down the alley towards a questionable-looking wagon. Jaskier’s attacker kept one hand fisted into the back of the kerchief and used it to maneuver his head around, much like one would control the reins of a horse. The ex-noble made a loud, wordless noise from behind the cloth. Muffled as he was, he was praying that any one of his crewmates heard it and felt the need to investigate.

Another stranger in dark clothing appeared around the corner and helped the first man lift Jaskier onto the back of the wagon. The newcomer reached for Jaskier’s wildly flailing legs and pulled them together. He tied the brunette’s ankles with another piece of strong hemp rope and tested the knots with his fingers for any slack or give. There was none. The young man screamed and grunted, trying with every ounce of strength he possessed to free himself from their twin grips. It was a fruitless endeavor; they were strong and clearly practiced in the art of stealing other people’s crewmembers.

“Jaskier! Oh, fuck! Hey you there, let go of him!” Lambert was running down the alley towards them, hand on the hilt of his cutlass. The man keeping the gag cinched tight pulled his dagger out again, holding it up against the column of Jaskier’s throat. The second kidnapper released Jaskier’s tied ankles and made his way towards the front of the wagon. Lambert slid to a stop, eyes narrowed threateningly. “Captain! Starkey! I found ‘im. He’s in danger!”

Had Jaskier not been scared witless by the threat of having his life ended rather abruptly via blood-loss, he probably would have smirked. These men, regardless of who their scurvy-ridden captain was, were about to get their asses handed to them by one of the most wanted pirates to ever sail the seven seas. Certainly one of the most renowned and fearsome.

The blade of the knife pressed even more tightly against the skin of his Adam's apple and Jaskier flinched. Maybe, if I even live long enough to see Geralt kick their asses. At least my death will be avenged quickly, otherwise.

As if summoned by his lover’s thoughts the handsome, white-haired Captain appeared at the opposite end of the alley. Jaskier thought he might cry from the mere sight of him. He definitely wanted to let out a relieved sob when Geralt growled out, “It’ll go easier for both of you if you just put the dagger down and release the boy now.”

The ex-noble felt his captor’s muscles twitching nervously as he released a humorless chuckle. Don’t slip up now, Jaskier prayed. Not while you’ve got a knife against my neck.

“Why should we do that?” his captor questioned. The man tugged at the already taut bandanna and Jaskier whined in pain when the damp material bit into the skin of his cheeks. The fury written across Geralt’s features was absolutely terrifying; he looked like an avenging angel, his strong stature defined by the light of the square behind him and his silvery hair wild around his face.

Jaskier didn’t want to die, not in the slightest, but this wouldn’t be the worst last sight to see, all things considered. The man tugged the material again and Jaskier’s eyes widened when his neck scraped against the edge of the dagger’s sharp blade. “He’d fetch a fair price from our captain. He’d probably fetch a very hefty bit of gold if we took him down the coast a-ways, actually. Your threats aren’t going to lose me a nice bag of coin.”

Geralt took one slow, measured step forward and drew his cutlass with an effortless extension of his arm. “I’ll give you one last chance to let him go peacefully before I start slitting throats,” he snarled. The scowl on his face would make any ordinary person soil their knickers on sight, but the man holding Jaskier had probably seen something like this before. He was experienced. He teasingly nicked the young man’s tanned skin with the dagger and Jaskier hissed. The sound had Geralt’s eyes going wide with rage. His nostrils flared and his hand twitched. The kidnapper smirked confidently as a thin line of blood beaded on the brunette's skin, “Oops.”

There was a blur of movement from Geralt’s end of the alley, a whooshing sound, and then a wet thud. The man keeping Jaskier captive fell back, dropping his dagger to the ground below as he did. Jaskier wriggled forward in an attempt to reach Geralt and ended up toppling heavily off the back of the wagon and onto the cobblestone street. Lambert dashed to his side and pulled the kerchief out from between his teeth. The younger man was panting, blue eyes wild and confused. “Did Geralt just hit that guy with a knife!?”

“Yeah.”

The ex-noble gave a short, hysterical laugh. His eyes took on a glazed, unfocused quality and Lambert looked to Geralt for help. “Neat,” he muttered.

Jaskier wasn’t sure if it was the shock of having his life legitimately threatened, the smell of his own blood invading his nose, or the impact from hitting the stone walkway, but just as Geralt knelt down at his side, he passed out.

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When his eyelids finally fluttered open again, Jaskier had to squint. The late-afternoon sun slanted in through the porthole of Geralt’s cabin, surrounding the grim-faced Captain with a halo of golden light. “My hero,” Jaskier sighed. He was a lucky man to have a lover so attentive, protective, and also incredibly sexy.

“Jaskier!” the pirate pulled him into a sitting position and wrapped him in a hug, crushing the slightly smaller man against his broad chest. “I was so worried that he’d gotten your vein or hurt you some other way that we couldn’t see. Are you alright, little nymph?”

“I’m alright,” he blushed. Geralt’s nose was buried stubbornly in his hair, breathing in repeatedly as if he’d been afraid he’d never see Jaskier awake again. “Really, darling, I’m just a little shaken. That’s all. I thought we were running errands today. I wasn’t expecting to be taken captive and threatened with a life of piracy.”

“You’re - Jask, you’re living a life of piracy.”

“It was a joke,” the ex-noble teased. Geralt relaxed his grip slightly and leaned back. His amber eyes searched Jaskier’s blue ones for any sign of dishonesty or hidden pain and found none. His siren was telling the truth. The Captain took a seat on the edge of his small bed and dragged his lover onto his lap. Jaskier noticed with a sly smile that he was draped in one of the White Wolf’s overly-large burgundy shirts. One he didn’t wear very often but that Jaskier found him endlessly attractive in nonetheless. “Geralt, did you change my shirt for me?”

“Your other one was ripped. It had blood on it. We also had to bandage your wounds.”

“Oh. Thank you for letting me borrow it,” Jaskier flapped his arms a little, letting the sleeves roll down over his hands. “I love roomy shirts to sleep in.”

“You can just ask to borrow them,” the Captain relented. “You don’t always need a scheme to get what you want, little nymph.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier sighed, cuddling close again. “I absolutely did not think up the idea of coming to bodily harm in order to borrow your shirts, as likely as that sounds. Thank you for rescuing me, Geralt.”

“I am not an easy man to scare,” the pirate intoned seriously. His grip on Jaskier tightened and his voice grew scratchy with emotion as he continued. “But seeing you like that today had me more frightened than I’ve ever been before in my life. I’ve faced down bigger ships with better guns and more men than mine. I was briefly incarcerated by the mayor of Novigrad and sentenced to hang. I’ve seen my fair share of scary things, my sweet siren, but I would never be able to live with myself if you came to harm. That’s the most terrifying thought of all.”

“Geralt,” the young man gasped. He wrapped his arms around his Captain’s shoulders and moved to straddle the larger man’s wide lap. He pressed a brief but bracing kiss to the White Wolf’s saltwater-chapped lips. “The thought of never seeing you again is the worst thought in the world. Let us never be parted.”

“Hmm.” Geralt’s left hand moved to grip Jaskier’s corresponding hip while his right arm went around the back of his nymph’s slender shoulders. He gently pulled their chests together and nibbled his way up the uninjured side of his little nymph’s neck, reveling in every soft, yielding noise the brunette made. He pressed a rough, wet kiss to the soft skin behind Jaskier’s ear and growled possessively, “Never.”

(of course 1/2 of all my swashbuckling au credit goes to @limrx)

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lov3nerdstuff · 4 years ago

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Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.28}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 5.7k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

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It was the middle of March when a simple trip to Hogsmeade turned into the beginning of the very end.

Robin had let Cas and Jorien talk her into coming along to town this Hogsmeade Saturday, and she had used the opportunity to sell another batch of rare ingredients in the small dingy shop she had actually come to appreciate for just that at this point. After dropping the girls off at Honeydukes, she'd gone on to the potions shop by herself, scared the shop owner beyond reason yet again just for her own amusement, and left a little while later with an even larger sum of galleons in her bag than the previous time she had been there. Really, it was incredible for just how much some of the stuff she possessed sold even around here. Thus, content and smiling to herself for the well accomplished mission, she made her slow way back from the shady part of the village to where she was supposed to meet the girls on high street in twenty minutes. Hopefully time would pass quickly… it was terribly cold outside, even for March, and Robin couldn't wait for a nice hot cup of coffee in whatever cafe the girls would surely drag her into next.

When she crossed from one mud covered street into an even narrower alley of much the same sodden ground, her smile was wiped off her face however, in the very instant a repelling spell hit her square in the chest and sent her flying backwards into the half frozen dirt of the larger road before she even had the time to register what was happening to her. Suddenly void of every air in her lungs, Robin gasped, then yelped when her back hit the hard ground and unruly stone, sending a hot searing pain up her spine that made her eyes water. Adrenaline rushed into her veins, as flooring as it was exhilarating, and while her mind was spinning as it tried to grasp for a sense of what was happening, she already had her wand in her hand only for it to be knocked straight out of there again by an Expelliarmus spoken by a very much familiar voice. Oh no…

"A path of shadows isn't a good place for my little songbird to dwell in… It isn't safe out here. The cats might come to prey on you." Damion Morgan sighed exaggeratedly, while he picked Robin's wand off the ground before she ever had the chance to reach for it. "Get up now dear, before you become as sodden as the ground."

Robin's mind spun in hazy circles of panic as she scrambled to her feet without taking her eyes off the man in front of her. Really, it was her bad luck that it was his turn to supervise this particular Hogsmeade weekend. And away from the school, away from anyone who would witness the incident, she was as good as doomed alone with him in this bloody back alley. For a second, her mind sped through her options. Apparating away? No, not without her wand. Wandless magic, perhaps? In the matter of a few seconds she tried every defensive spell she knew she could do without her wand, running a string of words through her mind with as much focus as she could fathom, but they all proved ineffective against the smug man in front of her. Fuck… he certainly wouldn't make it as easy for her as the last few times, he had already shown her glimpses of that back on new year's. Perhaps he wasn't quite as untalented in the dark arts as she had always tried to convince herself of.

"You needn't try, darling. After the little stunt you pulled on me on the night of the welcoming feast, I have seen to it that my own resistance to your admirable spellwork was fit to counter. And after years of studying you in my class, I know just what spells you have up your sleeve." He told her just in that moment with a disgustingly sweet smile. Dropping his arm with his wand to his side then, he took a step closer to Robin to be right in front of her now. "I had so hoped we could do this in another way. I had hoped it would never have to come this far, if only you had chosen me as I have chosen you. Now, all there is left for either of us is pain."

"Indeed." Robin replied in a breathless huff, and while she didn't understand a single thing of what he was saying with his many words, she knew that she wouldn't get a better chance than this. Without wasting any time overthinking for once, she curled her hand into a fist and punched Morgan straight in the face as strongly as she could. Magic was nice and all, but sometimes the muggle way to do things did work just as well. The blazing pain, the sting and burn that spread from her knuckles up into her entire arm in an instant was well worth it as she discovered, for Morgan dropped both Robin's wand and his own when he instinctively clutched his hands to his hurting face.

What followed then definitely followed too fast. Robin went to claw for her wand immediately, but so did Morgan with his own. Both reached theirs in a striking simultaneity, and in the very same they directed at each other their respectively chosen spells. It wasn't a matter of thought, of conscious action or strategy, but rather an adrenaline driven instinctive defense that made Robin send yet another stunning spell at Morgan. And it seemed no less instinctive for him to send a curse to her in return. Both spells hit their target, both too quick and intricate to deflect. Morgan once more landed on his behind in the offgoing alley, groaning but unfortunately still very much in consciousness. Robin on the other hand let out a bone chilling scream, then crippled into a heap on the very ground she had stood upon, ridden by such a sudden explosion of pain in every cell of her body that it replaced both sense of self and thought. She couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, couldn't move… Her wand lay only inches from her hand, but she found the distance impossible to cross, impossible to think of fighting back at all. All she could do was to keep her eyes wide open as she lay curled up on her side in repeated shivers of pain that drowned out even the cold around her, beneath her, and to watch how Morgan came approaching her once again. His wand raised and pointed at her with a sneer on his face.

"You will have to be better than that, my dear…" He sighed in a raspy voice, then finally crouched down right in front of her and almost affectionately brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "You will never succeed if you do not even try. The time has almost come, I'm afraid, and I can no longer hold it off. Neither can I resist you anymore. Oh, how I wish you just could've been mine."

All Robin could do in return was to whimper, as pathetic as it was, but she had no capacity left within her being to care about anything but the pain that was eating her up from the inside. Only in blurred lines above her in her quaking field of vision, Morgan's face twisted in as much agony as she felt, and yet he wore an expression of the utmost sympathy. Robin suddenly felt sick and terribly exposed, and she turned her face downward in a vain attempt to shield herself from the sight of him. Pressing herself into the mud and stone beneath her even if the rash pebbles cut into her skin like a million shards of cruel fate.

"I could end it right here, you know… I should end it here and in this instant." He spoke again, through a layer of sincere remorse. "But I cannot do it if you do not resist. I… I can't, Robin. Not like this. Please don't make me do it like this."

The pain in her body surged to new heights with every word he said, and she let out a strangled sob, a cry of sheer agony even, and perhaps an equal amount of fear. Every atom of her body was torn apart, stabbed with a million knives over and over again while her soul was split into a state between life and death. So much for fighting back… so much for doing anything to protect herself. There was nothing she could do now. She's had her chance, and she'd waisted it on the mildest repelling spell she knew. A bloody idiot, that she was, and nothing more. Perhaps, for that, she did deserve death after all.

No. She was better than that. Robin couldn't give in, not now, not like this, not ever. She had made a mistake by choosing the wrong spell, yes, but she had to work with the consequences now. She would not give up. Never. She couldn't do that to Snape… after all he had been through in his life, he deserved happiness that lasted longer than bloody two and a half months before the next tragedy came haunting him. So did she. They deserved better, and no bloody Damion Morgan could get in the way of that. With the most miserably shaking hand, she tried reaching for her wand, fingertips brushing against the dark wood after what seemed like eternities of pain. Do it do it do it do it do it… Her instincts begged her to finally make use of one of the thousands of horrible curses she had come across over the years, or even to just apparate away for good. But when her sight fell onto Morgan's highly expectant, almost begging expression, her reason won over the instinct. He wanted her to fight. Wanted her to try running. And she would not play this game by his rules anymore.

With another pained whine, Robin clasped her wand in her hand, holding both tightly pressed against her chest, then she rolled onto her back to look up at Morgan's twisted face above her, and even further up at the blindingly white sky. A new wave of maddening pain, she could hardly breathe. Hardly think.

"You really are quite beautiful, you know… Even now, like this." Morgan sighed sadly while his eyes traced the paths Robin's angry tears had painted on her muddied skin. "And while I look at your lovely being every morning and every night of every day, you I hardly ever get to see. I must say though that the earrings are a nice addition. Very… modern."

His words still made no sense to Robin's mind, not now, not when the pain took away most of her thoughts in the first place. But she knew that she wanted him to stop playing with her. Think, idiot, through the bloody haze of pain! She'd done it before, pushing the pain away behind the walls in her mind… just enough to make room for reason. Just to focus, just for a moment.

He expected her to fight, or to run, to act in any way they had been taught in his very own class. Therefore he must be looking out for those spells, ready to stop her, ready to attack in return. He wanted her to resist, to fight back, that much had been clear for a long while now… and if she attacked him like that indeed, she very likely wouldn't survive the backlash he had probably been preparing for months now. At least not in her current state of painforced weakness. A state she had brought upon herself when she had let him put that curse on her. A curse of the kind he could only uphold if he put his entire focus on it. Gods! That was the flaw in his actions she had been looking for.

Still very much trembling, she lifted her hand to point her wand up at the sky, then closed her eyes when Morgan started to smile at her doings. He was still waiting for her to make the move that would finally allow him to murder her after all… but she wouldn't do him that favor. She had learned long ago to follow her reason, not her fight or flight instincts. This had to work, she had to be better. For herself, for Snape, for her friends. A faint Lux Obscurius left her lips in even less than a breath as her eyes flew open again, and a broken second later she could feel the earth beneath her vibrating when black lightnings hit the ground around her like a relentless hailstorm of her own fury.

It was enough. Enough to catch Morgan by surprise, to make him lose touch with his spellwork, his focus on Robin, and when the echo of soundless thunder overtook the air around them, the curse's pain was gone from Robin's mind, pushed out of her body by enough adrenaline that forced her onto her feet in an instant. Her wand gripped tightly in her hand, she pointed it at Morgan who staggered to his feet a second later when sound returned to the world.

He tried throwing another curse at her, but Robin had no problem deflecting it even without a word now that she knew what to expect. He tried again and again, growing in desperation and anger while losing in focus and determination, which made it all the easier for Robin to counter while her body and mind slowly recovered from the horrible pain. Luckily the curse had only been on her for a mere few minutes. She was still hurting now… but more so from her hard landing on the ground and a few scratches than from any kind of magic. So far so good.

"Haven't you learned anything throughout the years?!" Morgan cried out at her after a moment, and the string of spells thrown at Robin stopped for the moment as he caught his breath. "You are supposed to fight me! I'm trying to kill you and you just stand there like it's none of your goddamn business! Defend yourself properly, for heaven's sake!!! Try at least! Please!"

"No." Robin got out more or less calmly, but she knew better than to let his talking distract her again. She had made the mistake of letting him catch her off guard once, of underestimating what he would do to her if he got the chance. She wouldn't do it a second time. Neither would she attack him though, even if she had in past times almost hoped for a situation like this. An opportunity to get rid of him. But now that it was here, right in front of her, she found that she couldn't even curse him. Leave alone kill him, like she had always thought she would want to if it came this far. But she simply couldn't bring herself to do either.

"You are just like her, you know that?!" He yelled across the short distance between them, half in laughter, half in despair. "You're too bloody perfect, too much of everything I need to live. I have never been one for irony, but you, love, you are perhaps fate's cruelest twist of bloody irony in existence!"

Robin didn't respond to that. She wouldn't have known what to say anyway, not when he clearly was having a conversation with someone that wasn't her. Not really, anyway. He was just insane; only a madman talking nonsense who was trying to kill her for fun or his own delusional reasons whenever they met outside of class. That was all there was to it, all there could to be. Deep down however, Robin was starting to doubt just that more and more. He didn't seem insane… only caught up in a different reality than her. She was merely clinging onto her version of things for her own good at this point, and she would continue to do so until there was a more reasonable explanation. But for now, she stayed silent either way.

"You know that I will not stop trying, don't you? I cannot stop!" Morgan went on instead, loudly and unbothered in his desperation as if they weren't still in the middle of Hogsmeade. "And unless you kill me first, there is nothing you can do to change your fate!"

The loud banging of a wooden door to Robin's left suddenly caught both her and Morgan's attention then, as it flew open harshly before a bulky barrel of a man came stomping out with a deep frown on his face. Must be the backdoor to one of the taverns, Robin remembered just then. A truly lucky coincidence.

"What's all that shouting and yelling about now again?! Y'all be scaring my customers away!" The burly man bellowed in an instant, and his small angry eyes scanned Robin at first, then Morgan, and finally both their battered and dirty appearances. His anger turned into weariness in an instant, and he addressed Robin with an almost reluctant gaze and a motion towards Morgan. "Need any help dealing with that fellow?"

"Thank you…" Robin replied with a polite but very much feigned smile, then didn't even take her eyes off the barman while she sent a silent Stupefy at the still distracted Morgan, who registered her sudden attack only way too late. Out of the corner of her eye, Robin saw how the professor was thrown back and down the road by the spell, then stayed lying on the ground in a motionless heap. Truly unconscious, at long last. And yet, Robin's eyes did not once leave the flabbergasted bar owner who stared at her in return as she went on with her statement after a breath. "But I believe I am just fine."

"I, uh… Sorry, for… for interrupting." The man finally stammered out after a moment of taking in Robin's perfectly feigned calm and Morgan's unconscious body. "I'm just… gonna get back to my bar and leave you to your own business."

"Actually," Robin was quick to stop him from vanishing through the door, as she took a determined step towards him, "I would very much appreciate it if I could shortcut to high street through your… establishment."

… … …

Ten minutes later, Robin had almost reached the shop where she was supposed to meet Cas and Jorien. She'd gotten rid of the mud and water that had clung onto her in chunks before setting foot onto high street, which then had left her only with messy hair, a bleeding scratch over her eyebrow and too many thoughts yet to be dealt with. A look into one of the shop windows confirmed that she still looked quite as terrible as she felt; cold, confused, exhausted and anxious enough to burst. Putting her hair up into a bun and a stasis charm onto the scratch to provisionally keep it from bleeding did a good enough job at fixing the outside flaws, but her mind remained troubled as it could be when she finally went to seek out the girls. She was 10 minutes late anyway, no need to let them wait even longer than that.

But even when she slowly approached their meeting spot, she couldn't quite move past what had just happened. Sure, Morgan had hurt her before, had said things along the same lines of her belonging to him, but this just surpassed it all. She didn't doubt that he truly wanted to kill her, even if her refusal to fight back seemed to have hindered him in that today. He certainly wouldn't allow himself to make such a mistake another time, wouldn't hold back nor let his twisted emotions overcome him. His intention was more than clear at this point; his reasons were not. Because as much as Robin wanted to blame it all on insanity, the things he'd said and done, the sincere desperation and agony displayed on his face when he had begged her to fight back just didn't add up anymore. There was a reason to the things he did, a very much sane one, but it was yet veiled in darkness. He said he would try to end her again… So she would have to find out what the hell was going on before then. Why he had said those weird things that still kept nagging at her mind in the strangest way, ringing some distant bells she couldn't quite put her finger to. Gods, she felt exhausted enough for her hands to shake even beyond the cold… it was a miracle that her legs hadn't given out yet.

"Finally you grace us with your presence, Robin!!! Jorien and I have been freezing to death out here for the last ten minutes!" Cas' relieved and reproachful voice pulled Robin out of her thoughts, but it also made her jump in an instant. Visibly, for once. Great…

"Are you alright?" Jorien asked immediately with a big frown on her face, just when Robin came to stand in front of them. "You look-… There's really no nice way to say it. Tired and battered is the mildest one, probably."

"Oh, you know me… always running into one thing or another." She replied with a sigh and a half smile that was more feigned than sincere. "But yeah, I'm quite exhausted, and way too cold. I'm sorry I made you wait, I was held up and couldn't get away from the situation for the longest time."

"It's fine…" Cas sighed as well, a lot milder in her expression already. "We were late anyway, so we really only waited a couple minutes out here."

That finally brought a sincere smile to Robin's lips, even if a small one. Of course they'd been late as well… they always were. Well, thank Morgan for holding her up long enough to spare her the waiting time. Robin snorted at her own thought, and couldn't quite understand why almost dying was suddenly so amusing. Then again, Snape had always been saying that her humour could be quite morbid at times. He was right, as always. Gods, she just wanted to be back with him already, wrapped up in a tight hug, telling him all about what happened… but he was still stuck with the dunderheads who had earned themselves detention this week, and wouldn't be free until after dinnertime. Which was one of the main reasons why Robin had agreed to go to Hogsmeade today in the first place.

"If you're exhausted, we perhaps better skip the next part of our grandiose plans for the day…" Jorien said, thereby regaining Robin's attention in time for her to see the sheer disappointment on both girls' faces. "It probably was a stupid idea anyway. Let's just go to a cafe instead."

"No, it's alright! Don't worry about me." Robin replied in an instant, when her inability to bear seeing the girls sad got the better of her. Damn her empathy, a cozy cafe sounded nice right now… and whatever plans they had made surely wouldn't be nearly as relaxing. But as much as she annoyed herself by doing so, she couldn't help putting them and their happiness first. "We can do whatever you guys originally planned. It's fine!"

The smiles were back on their faces in an instant, as was the excitement and mischief, and while Robin didn't know what she had just gotten herself into, she was prone to find out when they immediately started dragging her off down the street. Two minutes later, they stepped through the door to one of the surprisingly many clothes shops in the small village, and this one obviously seemed to cater more to the younger generations. That was the only thing Robin could tell from the look around she had immediately upon their entrance. A nervous habit, really, that had only intensified now after getting so stupidly taken by surprise earlier.

"So…" Cas started with a grin while she walked ahead in obvious certainty where she wanted to go. "You know how in a week I'm going home with Simon for the easter holidays, right?"

"You mentioned it a couple million times, yes." Robin sassed in feigned annoyance, but her small smile was a sincere one yet again. How could she forget, when both Cas and Simon had been speaking of little else over the last few days. It was rather adorable, really, how excited both of them were to spend time together outside of school for once, at last, after over a year of dating. Robin had the utmost understanding for that, and for them in general.

"Funny." Cas rolled her eyes at Robin, but then went on while she slalomed around shelves and tables of clothes with the others in tow. "Anyway, I wanted to get some nicer things for the occasion. You know, like some pajamas and underwear and stuff… Everything I have is terribly childish or boring and just meh."

Oh dear… Robin could relate more to that than she wanted to admit, and that level of subtle embarrassment wasn't something she currently wanted to deal with. Nor did she want to discuss these matters with her roommates, even if they seemed to have no reluctance to do so the other way round. To her luck, they at least weren't here because of her. Or so she sincerely hoped.

"To shortcut Cas' elaborations, we picked out some stuff for her, but we couldn't really decide and weren't too sure if it was too much or too little, so we were hoping you could give your usual overly-rational evaluation." Jorien concluded factually, and Robin only nodded her agreement with a silent sigh.

This really was the most horrible timing; she had no room in her mind for insignificant matters like clothing! There was only fear and anxiety and concern… and Morgan's words still nagging at her. 'You are just like her', he'd said. Like who? Did Robin remind him of someone who all of his anger and affection likewise were actually directed at? 'While I look at your lovely being every morning and every night of every day, you I hardly ever get to see.'... What the hell was that supposed to mean? Robin always made a conscious effort to avoid Morgan as much as possible, to the extent of almost hiding from him during mealtimes. They only really met in defense classes these days. So he really hardly got to see her indeed… but he looked at her being every day? One of the photos of her that had been in the paper, perhaps? But then he would see her as well, not her being. Ugh, this was just-...

"Earth to Robin!" Cas snapped her fingers in front of Robin's face with raised eyebrows. They were standing in front of a line of changing cubicles now, or rather Jorien and Robin were, while Cas stood in the door of one and moved back towards the mirror inside where she looked at herself. Robin had to frown when her attention returned to the current moment. Cas was still wearing her own clothes, but in the mirror, her reflection wore the piece she was trying to show to her friends.

"Interesting spellwork with the mirrors…" Robin mused before she could help it. "Is that a common thing in clothes shops around here?"

"...yes?!" Cas scoffed incredulously at the –to her– obviously inane question. "You really don't go shopping often enough. The mirrors are charmed to show you what the pieces would look like on you. Then you only have to try on the things you actually like on yourself for the right size. We've done that already, so it's just deciding between the looks now. What do you think?"

With an almost impressed expression, Robin studied both the mirror and Cas' reflection for a moment to actually make an effort at last. Perhaps this wasn't quite as terrible as she'd thought… Sure, it seemed kind of ridiculous to be here shopping now after she'd had to fight for her life half an hour ago. But perhaps that was why it was a good idea after all; a remedy for all the ghosts in her head, the fear and anxiety in her body. It might do her good to get some distance to the events before trying to understand them.

Thus for the next forty minutes Robin did her best to actually focus on the girls and on helping Cas with her shopping. They really had picked some nice things that weren't too over the top, and after Robin had given her commentary and evaluation as well, the selection Cas was left with was well worth their efforts. Robin was almost led to believe that allowing them to drag her here hadn't been quite such a terrible idea as she'd originally thought.

That was until Jorien and Cas were fooled enough by Robin's desperate efforts to push through this endeavor with the very last of her energy and enthusiasm to try to make her try things on as well. And that Robin really didn't have the mindset for today. Being alive was currently a higher priority to her than being well dressed, which the two younger girls of course had no understanding for. They couldn't, really, and Robin wouldn't burden them with it either. Thus she agreed to let them pick whatever while she would patiently stand in front of the mirror to let them gawk at the reflection, as long as she wouldn't have to actually physically change. Or make an effort to show sincere interest in any of the pieces any longer.

For a while the girls picked all kinds of both horrendous and actually quite nice pieces just to giggle and fawn over and Robin simply let them. As long as they were having fun, she couldn't care less if they made her reflection look like a clown or a magazine model. And while her reflection's garments changed from t-shirts to dresses to pajamas to lingerie, she resumed her pondering of Morgan's words and actions as well as her own. Ignoring the outside world as successfully as ever for a good twenty minutes at least.

"How strange…" Cas' half humoured and half confused huff was what pulled Robin back into the reality around her at last, and she followed the girl's line of sight to her underwear-clad reflection. Good gods… she looked like the closest thing to a piece of pastry she'd ever seen. Or an 18th century mistress. Or both.

"What's so strange?" Jorien asked a short moment later, and frowned at Robin's ridiculous reflection as well.

"I haven't really noticed before either, because I was admittedly distracted by the fun pieces of clothing, but it's really quite obvious now." Cas replied and crossed her arms over her chest with an almost smug expression. "Tell me, what do you see?"

Jorien scoffed, then rolled her eyes, but went to answer nonetheless. "Well, I see Robin, looking like an ancient painting of some royal hooker. Don't tell me you see any more than that in the mirror…"

The words sent a surge of immediate anxiety and adrenaline through Robin, and while she thought that it was due to the discomfort upon looking like a tart at first, the impression soon was replaced by the nagging in the back of her mind that picked up stronger than ever. Her mind started spinning too fast, thoughts tumbling over each other in both panic and reason. Gods, she could almost grasp the thought, the words that were haunting her now.

"Well duh…" Cas rolled her eyes, then tapped against the glass on the height of Robin's ribs. "There's no scar, idiots! As far as I remember, Robin has a rather visible scar on her rib cage, while the reflection doesn't. Isn't that odd? As if the reflection isn't even you."

A wall inside Robin's mind collapsed in that instant, and buried her under the impossible weight of its ashes. Its implications. She could hardly breathe. Paintings… Reflections… Scars… Earrings. A wild rush of adrenaline. Panic. She felt sick as soon as she finally understood.

"Robin, are you alright? You look terrible again… Did we say something wrong?" Jorien inquired instead of reacting to Cas' explanation, and half a second later both girls were gazing at her in concern. Robin had no capacity left to care that she worried them. She had no capacity for anything outside of her own mind.

"I need to get back to the castle. Now." She said in a quiet voice, staring at her own eyes in the mirror for just a moment longer before spinning on her heels and making for the shop's exit. Every cell in her body stood on edge, every emotion locked away behind the thickest walls she could muster up to cope with reality. Right now, she only needed reason, as much of it as she could get. And in a spurt of just that she looked over her shoulder at the two confused girls once more before she reached the door. "I'm sorry, I just remembered something very important that I have forgotten about for far too long. Do go on shopping without me though, and be sure to tell me all about it at dinner, yes?"

Then, without waiting for an answer, she was out of the door and on her way back to the castle. Her lungs hurt, heart racing, head spinning, and her eyes stung terribly from both the wind and unshed tears of raw anxiety. Perhaps it was only the shock of realisation hitting her, or perhaps she was really quite so scared. She didn't know if she hoped to be right or wrong in the unnerving suspicion that had fallen upon her like the darkest of night. Because frankly, either way would end in a nightmare.

______________________________

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shreddedparchment · 5 years ago

Text

Pseudo Princess Pt.27

Beaten and Lost

03/24/2020

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader Word Count: 5,109

Warnings: language, canon level violence, injuries, wounds, blood, smidge of angst

A/N: So...I should really edit this more but I’m tired and I’m sure you all want this more than you want my edits. lol I’m pretty satisfied with it. Hopefully y’all like it too. If you happen to reblog, thanks for helping me spread my work! xoxo

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY STORIES. Reblogs are appreciated!

“No! Clint! Get to those citizens. I’ll handle James.”

“Oh, you’ll handle him? Much like you handled those bandits in Bosset?”

“I did handle them.” Nat argues, ducking as another flaming ball of tar goes soaring over their heads. “We got out of there, didn’t we?”

Shielded for the moment behind an overturned vendor’s stall, she and Clint find themselves catching their breath as chaos reigns around them.

Nat can see Peter flying across rooftops, shooting his web at Hydra soldier after Hydra soldier. Incapacitating them by grabbing them and knocking them out or suspending them from the streetlamps and balconies.

She can’t see, but she can hear the whoosh of wind as Sam flies overhead, aided by his specialized wing suit.

“Barely.” Clint nods. “It’s all over after today, you know that, right? Everyone in the kingdom…in all the kingdoms will know who you all are now.”

“It was bound to come out.” Nat shrugs. “It was Steve and Tony that wanted to keep things quiet, for their families’ sake.”

“I can relate.” Clint sighs.

“I’m sorry, Clint. I didn’t mean to drag you back into this.” Nat assesses her old friend, dirty blonde hair, handsome features only slightly aged and looking more exasperated than tired.

Time with his family has done him good.

“It was inevitable.” He nods. “Alright, on the count of three.”

Nat nods, reaching down to take hold of a long metal rod that has broken off from a carriage in place of her usual adamantium daggers.

“Is that really a good idea?” Clint asks, eyeing her sheathed daggers now out and visible with her lack of cloak.

“I love him, Clint.” Nat shakes her head. “I’m going to marry him. I won’t kill him.”

“You might have to.” Clint insists.

Nat only meets his gaze, defiance written all over her scratched up and dirty face.

“One…Two…Thr-” As Clint and Nat make to rise, the weight of their temporary shield falls out from behind them and they have to scramble up onto their knees as they watch the stall levitate up into the air.

“What the-?” Clint begins and they both watch as it rises higher and higher, a strange red energy lifting it into the air.

It swirls around the stall like smoke, vibrant in spots where it pulsates with power.

“Looks like we aren’t alone anymore.” Nat says, bringing Clint’s eyes to her.

He sees her watching the road in front of them and follows her gaze to a young girl, no more than twenty with her hands in the air, clearly directed towards the stall that had just been ripped away from them.

She’s wearing a form fitting red leather tunic and jacket over a pair of dark gray pants. Inexpensive clothing that looks as if it were once new, but now tattered and torn.

Nat at least wears a collection of torn up skirts woven together around her hips making it look as if she were wearing a skirt while leaving the front of her legs exposed so that she can reach her weapons.

This girl is wearing just the pants. No weapons, nothing but the strange red energy.

Her hair is also red, but duller than Natasha’s, and waist length. Left to do as it pleases, it floats around her body as the red magics that she is clearly manipulating dances about her.

With eyes like scarlet fire, she suddenly brings her hands down and both Nat and Clint scramble up just in time, diving out of the way as the stall crashes into the cobbled road and explodes into splinters.

As she approaches, they get to their feet only to feel the strange rush of air and force along their fronts and get knocked to the ground again.

“Do you see-?” Clint begins.

“No.” Nat replies.

They rise again, attempting to get to their feet only to feel the same rush of air and force against their back.

They’re shoved forward and fall onto their hands and knees, landing roughly so that the frozen stones beneath their hands draw a little blood.

Annoyed, Nat glares.

“This is getting ridiculous.”

“The girl is a witch. Could she be doing this?” Clint wonders.

“No, I don’t think so.” Nat sighs and makes to stand again only to get pushed hard in the stomach. It sends her soaring backwards into the air a few feet until she makes impact with something large and hard.

It catches her under the arms and the heat suddenly makes sense as she’s helped to her feet.

“It seems you’re having a bit of trouble, Lady Widow, shall I help?”

“Thor!” Nat gasps, grateful to be up on her feet, but she frowns at him all the same. “How many times must I tell you? It’s Black Widow.”

Thor smiles at her. “It seems you’ve found yourself a bit of a nuisance.”

“Indeed.” Nat nods.

“Hey, how about a little assistance, your Majesty?” Clint gestures at the girl whose stopped advancing at the sight of Thor.

“That girl is not your problem.” Thor says, pointing at the girl and watching her with a furrowed brow.

“Then what is it?” Natasha asks.

“It’s the boy.”

“Boy?” Clint pushes himself up onto his knees and looks around, confused. “What boy?”

Without warning Thor draws his arm back, calling into it his hammer which very nearly reaches him when the body of a man wearing head to toe silver appears with his hand around the handle midflight.

As it reaches Thor, dragging the boy along with it, Thor quickly grabs him and slams him into the ground only to place his hammer on his chest.

“This boy.” Thor smiles down at him.

Nat’s mouth is slightly agape as she stares down at Thor’s catch, Clint then rises and moves over to look down at the lad as he struggles and grunts against the weight of Mjolnir and attempts to push it off.

“Why couldn’t we see him?” Clint wonders.

“He was moving too quickly for your eyes to see.” Thor explains. “He didn’t know that he wouldn’t be able to lift my hammer.”

“Not so quick now, are you?” Clint taunts.

“I think Hawkeye and I can handle the girl.” Thor says, turning to Nat with a look of stern approval. “Barnes and Hydra are regrouping in the town square. You’d best head there and help the Spiderling, Pigeon, and Stark.”

“Spiderman and Falcon.” Nat corrects, but she’s already backing away from them. “Clint?”

“Go. I’ve got a God on my side.” He watches as Nat turns to run, then looks to the girl whose fingers are still dancing with red waves. “How are we going to handle this one?”

“You could never handle my sister.” Says the boy still struggling, glaring at both Thor and Clint. “The Scarlet Witch will warp you into your darkest nightmares. She will tear your mind apart piece by piece until you are nothing more than a sobbing, whimpering fool.”

“You promise?” Clint asks, then turns to give him a smug smile.

~~~~~~~~~~

She can hear it before it hits. She can feel the heat against her skin before she can even form the plea for Tony to stay his hand.

“James, please.” She begs, holding his arm back behind him with as much strength as she can muster.

Behind her the Falcon has lost a wing as is fighting hand to hand against a mob of Hydra foot soldiers.

Peter is with him, attempting to help as much as he can while also pulling the occasional bystander away from the fight.

Nat has been able to hold Bucky off for only a few minutes. Seven? Eight minutes? Maybe ten.

They feel like hours. Every punch avoided, ever kick expertly maneuvered feels like another thorn in Nat’s heart.

“Please, my love.” She whispers into his ear as he grunts and with a surge of strength pulls his arm from her hold behind his back.

He turns around and grabs her by the neck, squeezing with his flesh arm so tight that her eyes grow red as her hands hesitantly travel down to the blades along her thighs. As her fingers make contact with the cool metal, she realizes that she can’t do it. Nat can’t hurt him.

She mouths his name, a haggard whisper through the constriction of her throat, and brings her hands up to hold the one choking her to death.

Nat thinks she sees a shift in his eyes, a return of warmth, but if it was real it came and went too quickly for her to be sure it wasn’t just her oxygen deprived mind wishing he’d remember that he loves her. That he asked her to marry him.

She wishes that she could have a chance to tell him yes. That she’ll marry him. That even if she can’t give him the life he deserves, if he will have her, she will happily live out the rest of her days by his side.

He flips her, then slams her down against the cobble road. Nat gasps in as much air as she can as the darkness in her vision begins to clear. Her head is pounding, she can feel blood pooling along her scalp.

Wheezing, she forces her body to move, to shift. She wants to see him.

Bucky has turned and is moving towards Tony who has somehow found one of his gauntlets. At the center of his palm is the gleaming blue shine of his blaster. The magic and lightning that he seams to have weaved into his suit and tamed it to use at will.

He raises his glove, holds it up towards the approaching threat.

Nat pushes herself up and throws her and out towards Tony, almost mimicking his movement as the blue light grows brighter faster.

“Tony, n-!” She tries, but he fires, and it hits Bucky square in the chest.

He’s sent flying back into a heap on top of a pile of wooden crates.

Nat falls onto her side, staring at him in relief that he’s down, but she knows it isn’t over. She moves as quickly as she can to subdue him and manages to get onto her feet.

Racing to his side, she reaches for his arm, but he throws it up towards her and she’s sent flying back into one of the now broken lampposts.

She hits it hard and crumples with a pained groan around the base. Somehow, she manages to refocus, pulling herself back up onto her feet with the assistance of the broken post.

By the time she’s up, searching for Bucky, she finds him charging at Tony who has found the rest of his suit probably kept safe in his carriage. Hidden, like Steve’s shield had been. Like all of their tools.

Bucky races at full speed at Tony, not stopping as Tony sends shot after shot towards him. He dodges each blast of energy. He even grabs Tony’s wrists and points his hands up at the sky rending his shots useless.

Tony counters with a kick to his chest, sending Bucky skidding back only to readjust his footing and dive at his target.

Tony punches and kicks, avoiding Bucky’s metal arm as best he can while also trying to blast him with his hands.

It takes only a minute for Bucky to get Tony down on the ground. On his back, Tony is at a disadvantage.

Nat begins to race for them as Bucky brings his metal fingers down around the blinding circle at the center of Tony’s chest.

With his swollen cheek, cut lip, bloody nose, Bucky huffs with the strength he uses to pry his fingers in around the orb.

Nat can hear Tony’s own wounded grunt, one hand pulling at Bucky’s normal arm to pry it away from his neck and the other squeezing and tugging at the metal one around his power source.

“Don’t make me do this Barnes.” Tony gasps.

“Don’t!” Nat cries, still too far away.

The orb within Tony’s chest begins to glow brighter, more blinding, more chaotic in its pulsing energy.

“Tony, don’t!” Nat pleads, pushing her leg to run through her limp.

“I’m sorry.” Tony whispers, and the light in his chest explodes shooting up into the air with a twenty-foot beam.

Nat is thrown back by the force of the blast, but she recovers quickly, forcing herself to scramble up towards them.

Bucky lays motionless a few feet away from Tony’s gasping form his metal arm gone. Severed by Tony’s energy beam at the shoulder. Shards of sharp metal protrude from the wound.

“James!” Nat calls, falling to her knees at his side. “James, please.”

But he’s so still.

For one breathless minute, Nat watches the love of her life lay before her, not breathing.

But then his chest moves, and she’s saved the grief of mourning her one true love.

Turning to Tony, she finds him sitting up, one leg bent with his arm resting over it as he watches her and Bucky.

“Are you alright?” She asks him, ignoring the rage she feels towards him because she knows it was necessary.

“Alright?” Tony gets to his feet. Groaning and grunting as his body protests the movement. “I’m a king. I am…perfection. Urghhh…”

“Perfection my ass.” Nat mutters, turning her gaze back to Bucky.

“Is it my turn?” A shaking elderly voice suddenly speaks.

“By all means, old woman. Assist away.” Tony waves her over, walking with her as she exits one of the shops where she’d been hiding watching the entire fight.

Agatha stops beside Nat and gives her head a quick inspection.

“Get this bandaged up right away, unless you’d like to lay unconscious beside your lover.” She orders.

Nat frowns but tears a piece of fabric from her open skirt and begins to wrap the strip around the worst part of her wound. She doesn’t have time to do it justice.

Agatha drops down beside Bucky and begins to look him over. She opens his eyes and they look as normal as ever.

“Well?” Tony asks, impatient.

“He’s out. It also appears as if whatever spell he was under, it has been broken. His injuries are extensive. He will not wake.” She assures them. “Perhaps ever.”

“What?!” Nat demands, voice panicked.

“This wound.” She suddenly rips Bucky’s tunic open then unbuttons his shirt to show a massive amount of black bruising along the left side of his body. “This will not heal easy. We need to get him somewhere safe. The quicker the better.”

“Tony…” Nat begins, turning to him, but Tony is watching the crowd in the distance.

“We can’t just leave them. There are still too many Hydra soldiers running around the city.” He frowns, his mind also jumping to you and Steve.

Are the two of you alright?

“You won’t.” Thor says from above before he lands with a small earth-shaking boom beside them. “I will stay along with the Pigeon, the Spiderling, and the Hawk. The two of you should take Barnes and the other prisoners back to your castle.

“Someone also needs to begin the search for Steve and the little bird. From what Peter said, Steve was gravely wounded. And Y/N is pregnant. I need to know she’s safe.”

“Prisoners? What prisoners?” Tony wonders.

“Don’t worry.” Thor assures them. “They too will not wake before you reach the castle. Go, my friends. I will provide what assistance I can here.”

“Thor…” Nat begins, desperate to thank him.

“Natasha…” Thor cuts her off, turning a serious and suddenly terrified gaze on her. “Find her. Find Steve. Make sure they’re alright.”

Nat agrees, knowing that she too will not rest well until she knows that you’re home safe and that your little prince is hopefully, unharmed.

You’re exhausted, trudging through overgrown fronds and grass as you struggle to weave your way through densely packed sycamore trees.

The forest is old, the canopy all but obscures the night sky above.

In the darkness, you cling to Steve’s hand as he leads you through the trees. Every now and then the late winter wind blows and scatters the branches overhead to give you a stunning view of the clear sky. A jeweled sky dazzles you, then retreats behind the leaves once again.

Your arm is yanked forward, and you gasp tripping over your dress which you quickly yank up with your free hand to keep from falling.

Steve’s cloak, still around you to stave off the frigid air, nearly does you in with a second trip but you managed to find your balance.

“Steve…” You begin, a warning in your voice because he’s your guide. He can see better than you can apparently and you’re relying on him to keep you upright with your little prince at stake.

What you find is Steve slumped against a tree, still somehow standing, but clearly weak and unable to stand upright. He drops his shield where it falls with a muted clunk.

“Steve!” You gasp, releasing his hand which he was still holding onto tightly, and rush to his side.

Getting in close is the only way that you can see his face, so you get right up against him. His nose only a few inches away.

He has both eyes closed, one swollen and black, bruised so darkly you shudder to think what that might look like under proper light.

His lips are slightly blue and that gives you such fright. You throw the cloak off of your shoulders and quickly wrap it around him.

With a split bleeding lip, now crusted in the corners where he allowed the crimson to dribble and pool, he protests.

“No.” He says, still managing some volume and a stern tone despite the exhaustion he’s clearly feeling and the pain his body is fighting.

The longer he stands there pressed against the tree, the lower slides along the thick trunk.

“Keep it on. It’s c-cold.” He shudders and you frown at him.

“You need it more than I do.” You assert and clasp the cloak at around his neck then draw the rest closed to help him keep what little heat he has.

“But our baby.” He sighs, finally reaching the base of the tree where he sits with his legs bent but weakly splayed out as you make sure his cloak is secure.

“Our little one is warm and safe in my belly.” You give him a smile but begin to notice the way his shield arm is resting at an odd angle. “Steve, your arm…”

“It’s nothing.” He tries.

“Don’t lie to me Steven.” You frown.

“It’s dislocated.” He relents quickly not missing a beat, knowing the tone you’re using well from the night you found Sharon in his bed.

“Shit.” You bite your lip but move to position yourself beside him. “Steve, why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“We had to get away.” He shakes his head but meets your eyes. “I needed you safe.”

“I am safe. But what will I do if you pass out here, in the middle of the forest? You should have told me. We should have stopped when I asked hours ago.” Your worry is outweighing your anger, and he seems to see that because he smiles weakly.

“Is this really the time to rub it in how right you are all the time?” He teases.

“Steve…” You fuss.

“I’m alright, my flower. Truly.” He lies.

You growl and move around the base of the tree sticking close to the ground. You move all the way around it, circling until you come up on Steve’s other side.

“What are you doing?” He wonders, curious but also wary.

“Looking for something. Do you still have your dagger?” You reopen his cloak and begin to feel around his waist.

He shifts for you, shoving his hips out a little and arching his back which makes him grunt with pain.

“Center of my waist. On the back.” He instructs.

Quickly you reach for it and pull it out before you pull his cloak shut again then turn around and begin to crawl away from him.

A tug on your skirts stops you and with his dagger in hand you turn to look back at him.

“Where are you going?” He frets, brow furrowed.

“Don’t worry, I won’t go far.” You promise, reach back, and pull his hand away from your skirts.

You crawl around for maybe ten minutes, picking up every stone and pebble that your fingers blindly encounter. At one point you swear you feel a silky scaled body slither past your outstretched digits but you ignore it and swallow down the panic as you convince yourself that it was probably more afraid of you than you are of it.

At last, several trees away and just out of Steve’s sight, you find what you’re looking for. You reach around for the long thin branch that you’d felt earlier. With the knife, stone, and branch, you crawl back to Steve to find him sitting up, craning his neck for sight of you.

Upon it, he sits back and releases a long-held breath.

His legs are a little more relaxed, stretched out but still wide open in his fatigue. You settle between them, scooching as close as you can but turn back forward as you sit up as straight as you can.

“Can you undo my bodice?” You ask, with your collection of tools placed before you, you move your hair out of his waist.

“You can’t take off your clothes.” Steve says, not understanding what you’re trying to do.

“Steve…just do it. Open my dress and once you see my corset strings, open it and then rip the driest part of my underdress. As much of it as you can.

“Y/N…” Steve begins, defiant.

“Please.” You beg, but you make it clear it isn’t an option.

After a moment of hesitation, he huffs out a gust of air before he gets to work on your dress.

It takes him five minutes to undo it and your corset, then another three to find and rip as large a piece of your underthings as he can.

“Is that dry enough?” He checks, holding out for you a strip long enough to wrap your arm several times.

“That’s perfect, my love.” You gush, taking the strip to feel how damp it might be.

Your skirts would have been too wet, trudging through snow all night.

Steve does your dress up as best as he can or attempts to before you’re up on your feet moving away from him.

“Wait…” He complains but you don’t stop and instead begin to feel around the large trunks you pass.

“You can dress me again in just a moment.” You tell him, but he growls.

“You’re going to catch your death with your back open like that!” He fumes.

You ignore him in favor of your search and after only two minutes this time, you find what you’re looking for. A knothole almost just out of reach.

Licking your lips, you push yourself up onto your toes and with trembling fingers search the space within.

You shut your eyes and refuse to think about what animals you may be disturbing.

Luckily, you find none, and instead find what you’re looking for.

With your stick and fabric in hand you scoop out as much dead and dried foliage as you can into the fabric with your stick placed in the middle of it all. The knothole is abundant in material, so you take as much as you need before you wrap it up around one end of the stick.

You cut a few small holes into the fabric to give the twigs and leaves and dried grass some air before you move back towards where you can hear Steve groaning in pain.

As he hears you near, he makes sure to stop.

Because he needs it more than you do at the moment, you find your spot between his legs again and turn around for him.

Quickly he begins to do your dress up, fighting the pain of his dislocated shoulder.

He’s pushing himself too hard and you know that he will pay for it. You hate that!

By the time he laces up your bodice, the spark from his steel dagger on your flint rock strikes a spark and your torch comes to life, blazing bright in what was only a second again pitch dark.

It’s blinding and you blink against the light before you grab it and turn to look at your husband.

He’s impressed, his face full of it, but what a face it is all beaten, black and blue.

“Oh, Steve.” You cry, your heart breaking.

“I’m okay.” He promises, reaching up with his good hand to stroke your cheek.

“No, you’re not!” You smack his hand away and shove the end of your torch into the ground to free up your hands.

With his cloak already open from him dressing you, you reach for his shoulder and feel for the shift.

Giving him time to fight you on this is not an option so you quickly force him back against the tree.

“Stay still.” You order, and without waiting for him to acknowledge what you’re saying, you begin to pull his shoulder up in small smooth circles.

“No, Y/N, wait.” He groans.

“Shh.” You frown but continue to lift his arm up.

“Y/N…” He repeats, his voice fighting the agony.

“Shush!” You insist, then finally feel the shift as his arm pops back into place.

“AH!” Steve cries, his breathing hard and his eyes shut tight.

You guide his arm across his chest and push it towards him to make sure he knows to keep it there while you tear more fabric from the thick layers of your skirts.

With his arm in a sling, Steve seems a bit more relaxed.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Steve wonders as you get up and fix your dress before you reach over for the torch.

His eyes are glued to your face, full of admiration and adoration, bloody lips curled slightly in a smile.

“I grew up alone, remember? I had to take care of myself.” You move to his good arm and hook your own through them. “Come on, your Majesty. On your feet.”

He groans and grunts as you pull him back onto his feet and tired legs. While he gets used to the sensation again, you hand him the torch and lean him against the tree. Then you move to grab his shield and with a long spare piece of your skirts available, you tie the disc to your back where you know it will be safe.

“You look good in my insignia.” Steve flirts.

“Of course, I do. I’m your wife.”

Steve huffs a small laugh.

“Come on, King Flirt. Lean on me.”

He wraps his good arm around your shoulders and leans as much weight against you as he’s willing which gladly is enough that the two of you can get moving again. And with the torch now out to show you the forest, you gasp as you realize just where you are.

“What is it?” Steve asks, sensing your glee.

“I know where we are!” You smile. “Come on. If we make good time, we’ll get there before the sun rises.”

It takes two more hours of you pulling Steve forward, forcing him to move faster just as he’d first forced you away from danger. You’re starting to feel the bite of the cold, but you don’t dare take the cloak from him. Only now are his lips beginning to show a bit of color. His cheeks aren’t so pale. His eyes are a little brighter.

You’re at the top of a hill when you finally stop and you’re breathing hard as your eyes take in the sight you’d thought you’d lost forever.

If not forever, then at least for a long time.

Below you both, nestled into the hillside is the Village of Bright Rise. A dozen and a half thatched roofed buildings that were once the only home you thought you’d ever know.

The church is on one end of the square, old and crumbling but still made with materials far better than the village houses that look to be in the midst of repairs.

The mill to the farms is on the right, and the old manor home—long since abandoned by the lord that had settled Bright Rise way before your parents had been born—sits derelict and half destroyed about a mile away from the village.

Still, despite the poverty you see before you, there is beauty in the large trees and the flower fields that you can only remember from your memories now with winter having taken the blooms. The small pond is frozen, and the roads are blanketed with fresh snow from earlier in the night when the sky had filled with clouds before being whisked away by winter winds.

“Where are we?” Steve wonders, staring at the little village below.

“We’re in Bright Rise.” You declare. “This is Bright Rise, Steve. This is where I was born. This is where my parents died and where I grew up. Just outside of the village, just before you reach that abandoned manor, you see that main road?”

Steve follows where your gaze to the spot you mean and nods.

“I see it.”

“That’s where my life changed. That’s where I found Grandmother fallen over in the mud. Where I searched, elbow deep in a bog for her purse. That’s where Father found me. Took me. Changed me.

“That’s where my destiny to be your wife manifested. This…this was my home.” You turn to him, watch as his face changes and devours every inch of the small place he sees below him.

“Do you see that small cottage over by the farms? To the right of the mill? With its crumbling walls and overgrown vine?” You ask, watching him.

“I see it.” He says, “Is that-?”

“That was where I lived. We’ll be safe there for a bit.” You whisper, suddenly nervous about him seeing your home. “Will you stay?”

Steve hears the insecurity in your voice, the fear of what your old home might say about who you were. Who you are. Because even if you are no longer that same girl that was taken at the side of the road, she is still within you. She’s your core. The base of who you have become.

“Anywhere.” Steve says. “So long as I’m with you.”

#king!steve x reader #king!steve x reader fanfiction #medieval fantasy au #royalty au #marvel au #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #king!steve x you #steve x you #captain america x reader #avengers x reader #pseudo princess #pseudo princess pt27

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izazov · 4 years ago

Text

This prompt has been on my mind for ages. Today, the inspiration struck, resulting in this ficlet. The ending was supposed to be less angsty and without the dark overtones, but here we are.

The cot was narrow and hard, and the stone wall uncomfortably damp and cold. After having been stripped of his armor, Obi-Wan was left wearing only thin cotton tunic, loose leggings and boots. It was a poor protection against the chill that was slowly but surely seeping into his very bones.

Obi-Wan shifted on his small cot, trying to find a more comfortable position. It wasn't an easy task, not even for someone who has spent the majority of his life sleeping under the open sky.

But that was the purpose of a cell, was it not? To leave one bereft of comforts as well as freedom.

Dragging his fingers across his face, Obi-Wan pushed those morose thoughts to the back of his mind. It would do him no good to sink into self-pity. He had made his choice, and he had done it knowing what the cost would be. To lament his decision now would be futile, but also a sign of a weak and fickle character.

He had already lost almost everything, he had no intention adding dignity and integrity to the list.

The sound of metal scraping against stone, followed by heavy footsteps made Obi-Wan stiffen involuntarily, his gaze flicking toward the iron bars of his cell.

Obi-Wan tried to remain calm, but it was a doomed battle. His stomach twisted into a tight knot, his fingers flexing where they were resting on his knees.

Have they already reached a decision? It has been barely a day since Obi-Wan had been thrown back into his cell, after refusing to accept guilt or plead for mercy for having disobeyed his orders.

Obi-Wan swallowed the bile that had gathered in the back if his throat, helpless anger flaring inside his chest as he recalled Palpatine's voice, accusing him of treason.

Treason. After fighting and bleeding for the King and his country his entire adult life, that was what he would be remembered for; the act that had earned him the moniker The Traitor General.

As if the real treason would not have been razing an entire town to ground and spilling innocent blood, all in the Prince's name.

Even if Obi-Wan had been capable of going against his morals, he would rather have slit his own throat than tied Anakin's name with the slaughter of the innocents.

Even those who were supporting Dooku.

Not that it mattered to Palpatine and the majority of the Royal Council. Quite the opposite. Obi-Wan has long suspected the Lord Regent's... less than favorable opinion of himself.

Obi-Wan could only imagine Palpatine's satisfaction with Obi-Wan's fall from grace. Now, there would be no one standing between him and the Prince. No one to lessen his malignant influence.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and grit his teeth, his hands balling into fists as impotent fury blazed its path through Obi-Wan's veins.

There was nothing Obi-Wan could do about it now. No way to prove he had deliberately been set up to fail. He had been stripped of his rank and title, his reputation and honor tarnished. His word meant nothing. He had nothing. Only his life.

Soon, maybe not even that.

The steps grew louder as they drew closer, only to halt abruptly.

"General," the familiar voice called, low and urgent, making Obi-Wan's eyes snap open.

"Rex," Obi-Wan said, rising to his feet and walking over to the cell bars. The sight of Rex dressed in the formal uniform of the Captain of the Guard still seemed faintly surreal to Obi-Wan, even if it has been six months since Rex had assumed that position. Obi-Wan frowned, glancing warily at their surroundings. "You should not be here."

"With due respect, General," Rex said, squaring Obi-Wan with a flat look. "That's probably the stupidest thing I've heard you say." He paused, the corner of his mouth lifting faintly. "And I've heard you composing lyrics while drunk."

Obi-Wan felt his mouth draw into a smile. "Ah, yes. That hadn't been my most dignified moment."

"Maybe not," Rex said, growing serious. "But there's not much demand for dignity while you're out there, freezing and covered in mud, waiting for the enemy. Camaraderie, respect... That's what matters. And you showed us both, General. I- We will never forget it."

"I-" Obi-Wan's voice faltered for a moment, his throat burning with a myriad of emotions. He swallowed thickly, composing himself. "You should not call me that anymore. I am no longer your general."

"You will always be my general," Rex said, solemn and without a moment's hesitation. A shadow crossed over his features. "Cody would say the same if he were here."

Obi-Wan looked away as guilt churned in the hollow of his chest. "It hadn't been my intention to drag Cody down with me. He should not have been demoted because of my actions."

"Cody doesn't blame you, and you shouldn't blame yourself," Rex remarked, pulling out a key from the inside of his jacket. "What you did was right, and the men know it."

Obi-Wan made a step back, his eyes widening in alarm. "Rex, I am not-"

"I'm not here to break you out," Rex cut in, unlocking the door and pulling it open. "I'm here to take you to the Prince. We don't have much time, General, so save the martyr act for some other time."

Obi-Wan blinked, caught between amusement and concern. "What does Anakin have to do with this?" Crossing his hands over his chest, Obi-Wan gave Rex a sharp look. "You were supposed to discourage his reckless behavior, not go along with it."

"Right now, General, you're the one with the problematic attitude," Rex said, frustration giving his voice a sharp edge. He squared Obi-Wan with a flat look, gesturing at the open door of his cell. "Like I said, we don't have much time. So you can cooperate or risk seeing what the Prince would do if I don't bring you to him on time."

Obi-Wan pressed his mouth into a thin line. "I don't think Anakin has been a good influence on you, Captain."

Rex shrugged. "Since you're the one who recommended me for this position, you have no one but yourself to blame, General."

Obi-Wan sighed, but made no further protest. Rex was right. Whatever ridiculous plan Anakin had concocted, Obi-Wan had no choice but go along with it. Or risk pushing Anakin into doing something incredibly foolish.

Striding out of the cell, Obi-Wan gave Rex a pointed look, arching an eyebrow. "I concede, Captain. Now what?"

Rex pulled out a pair of manacles, looking uncomfortable. "I- I'm sorry, General. It's just-"

"I understand, Rex," Obi-Wan cut in, extending his wrists. "You have my permission."

Rex let out a sigh of relief. But he still looked uncomfortable as he closed the manacles around Obi-Wan's wrists.

"Now," Obi-Wan said, grimly determined. "Take me to Anakin."

***

Obi-Wan had half-expected someone to stop them.

But, as they were walking the mostly empty hallways, Rex's hand firmly around Obi-Wan's bicep, no one had spared them more than a curious look.

Despite that, Obi-Wan could not relax; his stomach was tied into knots, while his lungs seemed unable to draw enough air.

It was nothing new. Anakin has always been the only person capable of completely shattering Obi-Wan's equilibrium.

Though, this was the first time he had done it when he wasn't actually physically present.

Obi-Wan's confusion and alarm grew further when, instead of taking the right turn, Rex took him up the narrow stairs that led to the east wing of the palace.

"Where are we going?" Obi-Wan demanded in a low voice. "This wing has not been opened since the Queen's death."

"I have my orders," Rex answered curtly, making it clear he wasn't going to elaborate further.

Obi-Wan clenched his jaw, but remained silent.

"We're here," Rex announced, stopping in front of large mahogany doors. He tapped the doors twice in rapid succession, then took a step back. "The Prince is waiting for you."

"You are not coming inside?"

Rex's mouth curled faintly. "Like I said, I have my orders."

"Orders, of course," Obi-Wan remarked drily. Rex merely shrugged in response.

Taking a deep breath, Obi-Wan pushed open the doors, only to find himself enveloped in a tight embrace as soon as the doors clicked shut behind him.

For one moment - precious and stolen - Obi-Wan relaxed into Anakin's embrace, allowing his eyes to fall shut, the entire world narrowing to just the two of them.

"Obi-Wan," Anakin murmured into Obi-Wan's hair, his arms tightening around Obi-Wan's shoulders. "Thank the Gods you're finally here."

Obi-Wan inhaled sharply, painfully aware how there was no other place he would rather be in than Anakin's arms. And equally aware that it was the one place where he shouldn't be.

Silently cursing his own weakness, Obi-Wan forced himself to step back, out of Anakin's embrace. It took far more strength of will than Obi-Wan was willing to admit. Even to himself.

Ignoring Anakin's confused, dejected expression, Obi-Wan sketched a low bow, purposely clanging with his manacles. "You left me no choice, Your Highness."

Anakin blinked, confusion quickly morphing into frustration on his face. "Now is not the time for your poor humor, Obi-Wan."

"Believe me, your Highness, I am in no mood for jesting."

Anakin's eyes flashed. "Stop calling me that," he bit out. He let out a frustrated noise, dragging a hand through his already messy curls. "What is wrong with you? Don't you understand how precarious your current position is?" Anakin's voice broke on the last word, his expression turning desperate for a fraction of a moment.

Obi-Wan's resolve weakened as he took in Anakin's appearance: the paleness of his face, the dark circles underneath his eyes and their almost frantic gleam.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan sighed. "Being seen with me now can only harm you. You know that."

Anakin's lips curled over his teeth, his eyes flashing dangerously. "I may not be king yet, but I am not about to cower before the Council like a scared child in my own blasted home, Obi-Wan."

"Is that why we are meeting here and not in your quarters?"

Anakin opened his mouth, only to shut it, his cheeks coloring.

Obi-Wan frowned, unease forming a tight knot in his abdomen. "Anakin?" Obi-Wan said, trying but failing to keep his growing alarm out of his voice. "What are you not telling me?"

Anakin took a deep breath, straightening fully. "The Council has decided on your sentence."

Obi-Wan swallowed, his breath stuttering in his chest. He made himself smile. "And? What have they decided?"

"Exile," Anakin replied, voice barely over a whisper. He looked away, his hands curling into fists. "Some- Some members of the Council were insisting on execution but Palpatine made them reconsider."

"Did he now?" Obi-Wan said, more to himself than Anakin.

Anakin snapped his gaze up, scowling. "I know you dislike the Lord Regent, but he was the only one defending you." Anakin rubbed at his forehead. "Except Yoda."

"So this is goodbye, then?" Obi-Wan asked after a moment, faintly surprised how steady his voice was.

Anakin shook his head vehemently. As if mere thought was too horrible to contemplate. He crossed the space between them in two long strides, gripping Obi-Wan by his upper arms, his eyes gleaming fervently. "No, because you are not going anywhere. I won't allow it."

Obi-Wan let out a deep breath. "Anakin, there is nothing you can do. Even if you were-"

"Yes there is," Anakin cut in, deadly resolve etched onto his features.

Obi-Wan smiled, a soft, sad smile. "You are my Prince and my dearest friend, Anakin," Obi-Wan said. "I would have given my life for you a hundred times over, but I won't allow you to tarnish your honor and what little has left of mine on a fool's quest."

Anakin closed his eyes briefly, his face contorting into a pained expression. "That is not your decision to make, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan felt a shiver of dread crawl down his spine. "What do you mean?"

Anakin released him, then turned on his heel, striding over to a nearby table. He stood there, unmoving, for one long moment, his shoulders sketching a rigid line.

"There is one law that goes beyond the Council, an old tradition no one would dare dispute," Anakin said, voice barely over a whisper. A moment later Obi-Wan could hear a faint click of a latch being opened. "The one thing that could save you and keep you here. With me."

Unconsciously, Obi-Wan made a step back. "There is no such law, Anakin. You should-"

Anakin turned around, fixing Obi-Wan with an unwavering gaze.

Obi-Wan broke off abruptly, his eyes widening at the sight of the gold collar in Anakin's right hand.

Obi-Wan knew that collar. Knew what it meant. But he refused to accept the implications.

Not now. Not like this.

"Yes, there is," Anakin said, striding forward. Obi-Wan felt frozen in place, his thoughts shuddering to a stop when he felt Anakin's fingers brush against his neck in a feather light caress. "I have the right to choose a consort. It can be anyone. And I have chosen you, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan blinked up at Anakin, unable to move or form a coherent thought even as he felt the collar close around his neck.

"This is not the way, Anakin," Obi-Wan managed to force through the tight clench of his throat. "Take it off."

"There is no other way," Anakin said, tipping his forehead against Obi-Wan's. "I'm sorry, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, the soft click of a latch echoing loudly in the silence of the room.

#my fic #obikin #obikin au #one day i might come play in this au again

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ghost-at-the-masquerade · 3 years ago

Text

Taking the Day Off

Rated T, 3,724 words

Summary: Link and Riju have a (mostly) fun day out

A/N: This is not shippy and you are not welcome to read it as such

Stinging sand pelts any bit of exposed skin it can find and sings off their golden shinguards. Scorching desert air whips past their face, hot even with the shield of cooling magic drifting down from their headband.

Ahead of them, Riju’s hair whips wild and free. She laughs and lifts her fingertips into the air like she’s skimming them over the surface of a pond. No crown or jewelry today, just long, baggy clothes in brilliant red, purple and gold.

The two are headed northwest, out from the shadow of the city. Nowhere to go and no one to answer to. Riju guides them past the dangers of the desert with ease, even with its landmarks few and far between. Weaving between pillars on their way toward the ruins, slowing her breakneck pace only to regale them with the the names and glories of the weathered statues they passed.

Grand, statuesque heroines and goddesses uncommon to the mainland. Resonu, conquerer of sandstorms, who tricked the wind into hiding their secrets; Sabis, the goddess who cleaved the stone of the valley and allowed the Gerudo into the rest of Hyrule.

Link studies their crumbling faces and missing weapons, and they have to ask, “But why are they in such a state…?”

“It’s a kind of… symbolic thing. Allowing them to return to the land, in their own time.”

Still, the concern didn’t quite all fall away at first.

“Don’t worry, they’re not forgotten - statues are not how we record history.” She laughed and hurried Patricia along once again.

They reach the depths of the ruins, sheltered by the bleached bones of ancient things and the shadow of the highland.

“We believe they’re a migrant cousin of the Dodongo,” Riju says, running a reverent hand over one massive vertebrae, “native to Death Mountain and speculated to have a cousin in Hebra as well.

Their gut clenched at the very idea of something that big ever lurking in the sand, like the molduga. “What happened to them?”

“Of course the obvious answer is that they died off, but some of our scholars think they may have shrunk instead, as they moved out deeper into the desert.”

“Shrunk?” They signed with a laugh, one which Riju echoed.

“Yes, well, maybe that’s not the way to put it. If Hebra has anything in common with a volcano, it’s mineral-rich stone. But they wouldn’t have that here. So they became smaller to compensate the lack of food.”

“Why not just move back?”

She shrugged, “The ways of beasts are never truly known.”

At last they slowed to a stop under the watchful eye of a stone swordswoman. Unhooking from their mounts, they stuck their shields upright in the sand. Stepping up onto the hot sandstone of her base, they sat together in her shadow.

Riju stuck her canteen upright in the sand in front of her and pulled a bag from her hip, untying it and laying the cloth out on her lap. Inside lay her midday meal, for which she had packed a small spread of cooked meats, seared veggies and sweet wild berries.

Link pointed to the berries and asked, “Dalia’s garden?” before turning to dig through their own pouch, feeling through its endless depths for the right pocket.

“Yes, she was very excited for her first harvest and insisted I should have some. I still don’t know how she gets them to grow here, they rarely even survive the trip from the bazaar.” She says, biting into one in earnest. She spoke through a shameless mouthful, “They were my favorite as a child.”

They laughed softly and considered telling her she still was one, but thought better of it. Instead they pulled a hydromelon from their pouch, setting it between their feet. They drew a guardian sword with a bit of flourish, halving the melon with a satisfying ‘chunk��. Juice seeped down and disappeared into the sand. Link offered half to Riju, who tossed it to her seal. Patricia barked happily at the treat.

Flicking the juice from the blade, they put it away, returning the two to companionable silence as they watched the shimmering distance and the slow progression of shadows across the sands. Every now and again, a hot desert breeze flapped a bit of cloth or hair, a quiet third companion while they ate.

When she was done, Riju used a bit of her water to wash her hands of the berry juice. She dried them with the cloth that had held her lunch before securing it to her belt again, then stood and stretched her legs, watching Link with a lopsided smile as they opted instead to suck their fingers clean.

“That’s rather childish.”

“Says you.” They puffed out their cheeks and pointed at her, poking fun at her lack of manners earlier.

She gave a good-natured huff and didn’t respond further, tapping her foot.

They laughed, rising and prying both of their shields from the sand, handing Riju hers.

Riju called the seals, who had been playing and chasing each other just a little ways away. Clipping in, they were off again, headed further west after deciding it best to steer clear of the old Yiga base, even if it had been abandoned. Far enough to clear the boneyard before swerving south, staying far from the stone cliff that marked a known molduga nest. A dust cloud could be seen on the horizon.

The distant nest disappeared behind a dune and small clusters of cacti came into view. Link slowed their seal, dropping behind a few yards and pulling an ornate golden bow from their back. They nocked an arrow and let fly as they passed a row of cacti, piercing one of the fruits, the momentum ripping it from its root and sending it flying. They grabbed the arrow by the shaft as they passed, jerking it free and frowning at the sand caked into the juice that had leaked out.

Riju laughed at them as they caught up. “Watch this.” She said, and she called to Patricia, veering hard to the right, up a steep dune. She crested the mound and jumped, snagging one of the fruits mid-air.

She swerved lazily, proudly back and forth as she rejoined them.

“Not bad.”

“At least you can eat this one.” She said, tossing it to them.

They put both it and the one they had attempted to clean away before signing, “I think you can do better.”

“Oh do you?” She said, and when they nodded she continued, “I might have another trick up my sleeve.”

Before they could even goad her, she was moving fast up the next large dune and Link had to hurry to see what she would do next.

Riju launched herself sidelong into the air, snapping up her line so that she unhooked herself from Patricia, doing a quick spin. Amazingly, she stuck the landing, but failed to snap back into Patricia’s harness and the momentum left her spiraling into a face-full of sand.

When Link slowed to a stop beside her, she popped up on her hands and knees, smiling, “It actually almost worked! That’s the closest I’ve ever gotten!”

Link laughed and cheered, offering her a hand up. “Very impressive. But no fruit.”

She stuck her tongue out and kicked a bit of sand in their direction before walking back over to Patricia. Link just laughed again while they waited for her.

There wasn’t time to turn and see. And even if there had been, there wouldn’t have been time to run. The sand beneath them burst open, exploding upward in a great shower of earth and taking Link with it, while Riju was thrown aside.

Time slowed for a split second at the crest of her flight, hung sideways in the air while she tried to make sense of anything that was happening. Then Riju landed, hard, rolling only a few precious feet away. She whipped her aching head up and watched, wide-eyed, horrified as Link was snapped up in the mighty jaws of the molduga with a wet crack. The line severed, their terrified seal dropped back to the sand, where it bolted for the safety of town.

Riju scrambled away, the sand swelling as the beast returned to the depths and sent her tumbling head over heels. Faithful Patricia met her where she fell and Riju grabbed the harness, letting herself be dragged away.

There was little else but desert around her now - the empty expanse between the ruins and the uninhabitable. She urged Patricia back the way they had come, toward the ruins, as she could feel the beast rumbling somewhere below, following them and gaining speed. Her heart raced, her breathing came through clenched teeth, her legs stinging with pins and needles.

In what felt like just the nick of time, Patricia threw herself onto another square of sandstone, taking Riju with her. Girl and seal huddle together beneath the statue, Riju’s fingers balled in Patricia’s mane. For long moments, she hears nothing but her own pulse in her ears. The molduga’s trail stops just a few yards behind them.

This is not a known nest. The earth here is too hard, too uneven, too cool for an adult to move through. Though judging from the size of the trail it left, that was just it; it was a juvenile, more reckless and less predictable than its elders.

With that perspective on her situation, Riju surveyed the area, judging the distance between rocks, wondering if there was any way they could move between them fast enough, wondering how long and how far it would follow, wondering if she could ever get out. She pulled the sword from her hip, held it tight in a shaking fist. She could defend herself - but a sword was almost nothing against the tough hide of a molduga, even a young one. There was a system to taking one down, one she knew but had no tools for.

Even as she thought of her own survival, her final glimpse of her friend in the jaws flashed before her eyes. She whispers a prayer for them, but cannot bring herself to close her watering eyes.

Her breath catches in her throat as the thing’s shovel-jaw breaks the surface once more. Thrashing and squealing, plumes of dark smoke escaping with every cry. She dares not hope - but then there they are. There’s hardly a patch on them not bloodied, but they’re there, still moving, hands and feet braced precariously between jagged teeth, whole body shaking with the effort to keep the jaws from coming down. Riju jerks up onto one knee, but her legs give out under the weight of fear and helplessness. Even from here she can hear Link’s ragged, frightened breathing.

She blinks and the molduga’s mouth had snapped shut, but somehow, Link is on the other side, thrown out on the sand on their stomach. Her own voice sounds distance in her ears as she calls out to Patricia.

Staying as low to the ground as she can, she has Patricia whip her out in a sharp u-turn, just close enough to snag Link under the arms. There’s not a second to spare while the beast recovers, spewing the last of the smoke. She grits her teeth and has to adjust her footing, but she can manage the weight. The three tumble onto the stone in another heap. Somewhere behind them, the enraged molduga burrows.

Riju’s hearing comes back into sharp focus, wide eyes darting over her fallen friend as she pulls back from them. There’s too much, it’s too much, says the static in her brain as she scrabbles for their pouch, for whatever hope it might hold.

She stops when suddenly there’s a soft blue light that grows in strength. A thousand-thousand tiny threads that coalesce. She’s frozen as she watches, as she hears a soft voice, so faint she’s not quite sure she really heard it. The light and the threads envelop and sink into their figure. Link picks themself up, whole again. They touched their head gingerly, shaking it to clear their vision. Their face lit up when they saw her.

“Riju!” They croaked out, before switching back to signing, fingers shaking and a relieved laugh on their lips, “Thank every goddess and sage, you’re alright, I wasn’t sure- couldn’t see-”

“I’m alright?!” She sputtered, flabbergasted, unable to decide if she should play it off or be annoyed or just thankful. She chose instead to throw her arms around them, squeezing with all her might. She pushed them out to arm’s length again - then yanked them closer to the statue. “Why aren’t you dead?!”

“… That’s not a very nice thing to ask.”

“It ate you!” She gestured to all of them with an open hand.

Link smiled sheepishly, shrugging helplessly, “That happens.”

Riju opened her mouth to answer but decided against it, switching instead to the issue at hand. “We need to get out of here.”

Their expression steeled and they gave a firm nod. They rose to their feet and turned to scan the rocks, much as Riju had done, then pulled out their map. Riju stood close behind, watching as they zoomed in close and slowly scrolled through the area. There were areas of hard, raised earth and old structures dotted along for a good while out east, but after that was a large gap of open desert. They’d have no chance of crossing to the city if the thing followed them that far. And the implications of leading it that close to a densely populated area were terrifying regardless.

Clipping the slate back to their belt, they asked, “How well can you climb?”

Riju looked to the highlands, then back to Link. “Not well enough to climb that, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Link studied the distant wall for a long moment, lips pursed pensively. They could maybe carry her up, but getting back down was another matter - another matter that would probably take a whole extra day of travel, since they had no idea if the glider could handle both their weight, and they’d never risk her safety on it. Never mind the fact that they’d have to leave Patricia behind.

They turned to consider the distance to the city. There was no telling how long it would take for the thing to give up on them. How long they could be stuck in the elements, waiting. Even if Link had plenty of resources in their bags to sustain the both of them through the wait, people would come looking. And people would get hurt.

They turned back to Riju, something unreadable on their face. “We’ll have to kill it.”

“Okay.” Was her answer. Neither eager nor resigned, just a statement of fact.

While they didn’t want to have to involve her, having her on standby for another save could make all the difference. “You get to something more solid, I’m going up there.” They pointed to the nearest skeleton.

She nodded, and before they could say anything else, she was dashing across the sand to an outcropping of stone. Icy anxiety twisted in Link’s gut. Both of them watched the waves of sand intently, hearts racing as it turned and charged in their direction. But she was able to jump up on the outcropping safely, close behind her seal. She knelt to steady herself, holding a hand to her chest as she watched the molduga continue to approach. It skirted far too close to her haven, sitting only feet above the sand. While it shimmied its fin angrily above the surface, it didn’t risk the jump; their vision was generally poor, and a bad jump at hard stone could result in a broken jaw.

Link only relaxed when she turned a smile back to them, the two sharing an awkward, stressed laugh. It was Link’s turn now. They turned their eye to the towering ribcage of something long dead. It was sloped enough that it wouldn’t take much actual climbing, but it would certainly take sure footing, without much room for mistakes. The molduga circled in the distance, searching.

They reached into their pouch, pulling from it a pair of sand boots; the molduga was circling closer now, and they would need every advantage they could get. They downed a rancid potion, too. Geared up, hyped up, they sprinted straight toward the ancient bones, almost immediately regretting not stopping off with Riju; it was closing fast.

Riju choked on her heart, throwing a hand up to shield her face as the sand exploded a second time. Whatever miracle had saved Link the first time, she was sure it couldn’t save them a second time. Fortunately, it didn’t have to, as the beast’s aim was off this time. Instead of snapping them up for an easy snack, it threw them high, almost over the pile of bones. They nearly rolled down the other side, scrabbling and scratching to get a grip, scraping their fingers and breaking nails, but able to hold on.

After the beast had disappeared below once again, Link hauled themself back up top, waving to Riju to let her know they were okay. Then, crouched atop the crest of the skull, Link drew one bomb from the slate, then the other. The round one they held between their legs, the other they tossed to the ground. The moving mound of sand stopped. They had its attention. Link pointed the slate down at it and clicked the trigger, sending up a shower of sand. When the molduga started to move again, they tossed the second bomb into the crater left by the first and waited.

When the molduga breached for what they hoped was the last time, they clicked the trigger again. It shrieked in pain, jerking to the side to land with a thunderous thud. One of its teeth came clean out, flipping away to bury deep in the sand.

Riju and Patricia were on the move before it had settled. She circled around it, looking for a soft spot and, finding none, opted to jam her sword into its underside, starting just under one of its pitiful little legs. It was a struggle, but she managed to pull it along as she passed, leaving a large, bleeding gash. Pulling her curved blade free, she whipped around to make another pass. When she hit the tougher hide toward its jaw, the bade stuck and jerked out of her hand. She muttered a curse and headed back to the relative safety of the rock formation.

Meanwhile, Link had dropped down from on high, putting their weight into the master sword, glinting bright as it pierced the beast above one of its tiny red eyes. Landing on their feet and barely keeping the pommel from jamming into their face, they wrenched the blade free, stabbing it again and again, every thrust going deeper until the molduga let out its last pitiful wail and stopped its pained thrashing. They stumbled and slipped off as it settled.

After taking a moment to catch their breath, Link, ever the scavenger, put away the master sword and got out something shorter. They sawed off some good chunks of the hardy fin cartilage before moving on to widen the gashes Riju had started.

Patricia at her side, Riju stepped closer, still shaking with adrenaline. “Gross.”

Link only shrugged and continued harvesting. Riju couldn’t think of anything else to say. When she retrieved her own sword she found the blade badly dulled, with a chip toward the tip. She returned it to her hip anyway.

After the exhausting chase, Patricia didn’t have the strength to pull them both, and the other seal was long gone, so they made the trek back on foot. The wind returned, ever welcome as they made their way home. Many steps passed in tired silence.

Somewhere about the halfway point, Link gently tapped Riju’s shoulder so they could sign, “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to do that.”

She laughed - she couldn’t help it. “And you should have?”

“My… responsibility.”

Riju shook her head and touched their arm in a way that might have been an aborted shove. “It’s already done now. We made a good team.”

They struggled for a moment longer, but finally agreed, “… We did.”

The sun was all but gone and the chill of night had set in by the time they got back, far later than they were supposed to. Buliara met them outside the walls, clearly doing her best not to seem fretful, and only further losing her composure as soon as she saw the molduga’s blood dried across the both of them.

“What happened?” She demanded, forceful in her worry.

Riju answered, tired but straight to the point, “A juvenile molduga that wandered too far east.”

Buliara took a sharp breath, going stiff in the shoulders.

Riju continued before she could speak, starting them walking toward the gate again, “It is slain. But I want a convoy out in the morning to look for more.”

“Yes, chief. I will inform the guard immediately.”

The pair of guards at the western gate greeted them, stoic as ever, but their relief at Riju’s safe return was betrayed by the set of their shoulders. One of them accompanied the party into the city, staying a few steps behind the chief. At the steps of the palace she split off to tell the captain what had transpired.

Finally back inside the palace, Riju turned back to Link. “Thank you, Link. It was fun, until the part where you got eaten.”

“Same.” They signed with a laugh.

“We’ll have to do it again some time.” She waved as she started up to her room, followed by Buliara.

They waved a second longer than they should have. Then it was just them and the remaining guards in the hall. Link’s ears perked up as a thought occurred to them. After a moment of digging, they offered one of them the bag filled with the molduga’s foul-smelling innards.

The smile she offered in return wasn’t quite as bright as Link’s, but she didn’t hesitate to take it. “Thank you. I trust you know where the baths are?”

#Makeela Riju #botw riju #the legend of zelda #breath of the wild #botw #botw fic #she's like 12 you cretins

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tiarnanabhfainni · 3 years ago

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and now for dean poems so sorry everybody

To My Father

David Cooke So I send these words out, Faltering, along an unlit path Though what words now Can urge your ghost To break its final silence, Terse enough whilst living? Or what do I know Of that life you led The years before I was born When, with a minimal nostalgia, You quit that Sligo outback To skip through towns In a country at war? A potato-picking nomad, A grafter, you biked flat miles All across the Eastern Counties. Your son, And now a father, too, I have taken your place To resemble you more and more: Born one country and a world apart.

Lazarus Risen

Peter Sirr

How could my body not obey the voice Choiring flesh back onto the bones? Lumbering out into the hectic light Like some dishevelled beast, I found myself Notorious, and would have returned to darkness But that cool and candid gaze unstitched My shroud till it fell about me like skin And I walked among my weeping, bewildered kin.

Now their houses fall silent when I enter And children cry. Even the trees whisper Among themselves as I pass, myself a leaf Some thunderous air has blown to this Unnatural resurrection - Sustained by a miracle, like flowers in a vase My astonishing life continues in parenthesis And strangers beat on my door

Who only know that death advances. How should I expect them to understand My need for darkened rooms and blankets To cover my head? I remember Barabas, drunk, circling the cross as blood Issued like a parable no-one understood; How when they buried him I hid and waited To see the wound his body constellated

Burn through the stones. Is it madness Drives me now to watch in the evenings The gentle procession of light From the grey loaves of the cemetery? Here lie the unprotesting multitudes, Prisoners of a dry, persuasive air. And I am Lazarus, venturing forth. My brittling bones have seen the dark before.

An Equestrian Event

Joe Sheerin The most important news that year Was my own death. I read it first In the embers of the christmas tree. February confirmed it baring the knuckles Of the ground and whipping late piety Into the snivelling hedges.

From then on nothing mattered, famine and war Abroad, small family dramas at home, the Relentless patriotism of sport, the sun making His tedious rounds of the world were a dull Backcloth to my fierce play.

Breaking the news to the family was terrible The dinner things half cleared, I coughed For attention and in a newscaster's voice Announced my oncoming death. We had cream And tinned peaches for dessert.

Only my job remained constant. I stuck Like a tick fattening on the body of dull Routine. Over the months surreptitiously I carved my initals deep in the underdrawer Of my desk and read in the deep runes A final sense of purpose through my fingertips.

Let the horseman come.

When the Women Have Gone to Bed James Simmons

Your hand reaches me down, the square bottle of Jim Beam from your sister's drinks cupboard. The glasses are on the shelf Above, tumblers, too big for whiskey. Choose the smallest and pour a measure with your eye, the way you learnt in the bar trade. The years have made you generous, so the customers are lucky. And you are the customer.

Me, I'm a slightly overflavoured whisky, perfumed and rough, sour mash. Under the tap take care. Let it run steady before you proffer the glass. It never works to undilute from the bottle. Whisky's a short never a thirst quencher, and drinking from brimming tumblers is missing the whole point, tasteless, dangerous.

Set down your glass and put away the bottle. This is the last tonight. Douse the lights in the kitchen. Carry your glass back to that easy chair Whose square arm holds nicely Ashtray and drink. Fag lit, lift Tanner's The Rain of Wonder, the chapter on Hemingway. Sip, take a drag.

Remember this. You misunderstood me if you think you need more, if you think of the next glass before you start on this one. I say, 'Drink me, be happy, read til your mind wonders, then go to bed.' If you reach for another, tomorrow night I'll be different, a friend grown dangerous, and so much emptier than you expect.

Bonfire Ryan Vine

Three snowflakes for every black chip of soot we send into the sky. And he can feel the snow always

falling, my father, who orders me to ready the fire. So I pile chopped buckthorn at the edge of the yard

where the switchgrass hasn’t yet turned to swamp and drizzle from the Folgers can dirty oil

across the branches. The bark on the grey kindling peels and darkens where the fuel soaks in,

and beneath the heap – and for the fuck of it on top – I crumple open sheets of last week’s News Tribune.

The forest is flashing its bonewood, but under my jacket I shine like a marathoner, like a sword in its sheath.

When father comes stumbling through the snow with a drink, I pack the pipe, pass it, pack it again. Every time

I take a hit I hear the stylus drop and drag through the groove: I’m not afraid. I light the fire.

I’m happy with what happens a hundred years from now: the soot I loose gathers like a new moon. My son,

his son, staring through the snow-dappled sky, both swear they can see it, spinning in perpetual eclipse,

even though – like me – they know they lie

#yes #this is navel-gazey as shit #i am going to do one more post after this and then no more poetry for a while #dean winchester #spn

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kitkat1003 · 4 years ago

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Oh it would be so Sweet, if I could be Cruel

Being King isn’t easy. Being kind to those who’ve hurt you when you’re King is much, much harder.

Or: After the Wishing Star, and after Yakko is made King,-with co-rulers Wakko and Dot-he is put in charge of weeding out Salazar’s supporters from the kingdom. That means confronting people he’d rather not.

Warnings: Mentions of Canonical Character Death, Dark thoughts and themes.

@asilcorner :)

From rags to riches, one might say. Yakko remembers, after the wishing star, when they were told that they were of royal blood. He knew it already, knew that they were special, because he remembers the castle walls. Remembers the crack just beneath one brick that he’d feel when he ran down the hallway and let his fingers skid across its surface. Remembers the royal colors. Remembers his parents’ smiling faces that mirror the portrait that is all that is left of them.

Remembers fire, and screaming, and his parents finding a secure closet and locking them in there, shushing Dot as she cried, placing a kiss on each of their heads, faces smiling and yet looking so sad.

Take care of your little siblings, they’d said. They need you. We love you.

And Yakko had only remembered that last part, for a long time, and had stuck to it.

He sometimes remembers Salazar’s guards, ripping him and his siblings from the closet, the blood on stone as they were dragged, screaming, to the throne room. How he’d clutched Wakko and Dot close, curling his body around them like a shield as they wailed, shushing them and trembling as Salazar looked down upon them as if they were less than nothing, dried blood caked under his fingernails, with familiar black fur, before throwing them in a carriage and having them taken far, far away from Home.

He had kept his siblings away from danger at the orphanage, from unruly orphans or cruel adoptees, and then he did odd jobs to pay for food when the orphanage shut down. No one would adopt them, no one wanted to take in three children at once, and they all refused to be separated.

Yakko had, once, entertained the idea of letting a couple who only wanted two children take Wakko and Dot, because then at least they would have a home. He decided against it when he realized that would mean he wouldn’t be able to be sure that they were okay.

And the orphanage had closed down, and Yakko had dealt with it. He’d let Dot and Wakko play and be kids-though they never did, not really, too busy making the house clean and making sure Yakko came home to a warm meal and bed after work-while he did the work.

And then Dot got sick. And then the economy dried up, as the tax collector took more and more from the people, and Yakko couldn’t get a penny. They saved, he sold what meager things he had. Cut off the extra fabric and turned his overalls into pants-they were the last thing he had from Mom and Dad, but they told him to take care of his siblings, and dammit he’s doing his best-, used the extra pieces to fix Wakko’s hat when it tore and he cried, and sold the rest for scarves, because it’s getting cold. His glove tears, and he desperately wants to buy a new one, because it’s a cardinal sin to have a glove like his, but there’s no room in the budget. So he deals. Dot is sick, Wakko can’t handle not having food for too long-he nearly died not eating enough, and it wasn’t just starvation, so Yakko makes sure Wakko gets bigger portions and deals with the hunger pangs in the dead of night when they’re asleep and can’t hear him groan-Yakko can deal with a ripped glove. It’s fine.

And Dot gets worse, and Wakko leaves. Goes off on an adventure to get money. Works for a year to get a penny, a hay penny that is just enough to make Dot well, and Plotz, the tax payer, makes up taxes and takes it to add to his pile, and Dot suffers more.

And Yakko had nearly broke, when Wakko left. Because he couldn’t be sure, couldn’t know Wakko was safe, could only make promises that felt like lies to Dot and hope, and hope, that Wakko was fine and happy and healthy. They don’t have enough money for postage, can’t send letter, so Yakko doesn’t hear from his brother for a year, and it’s all for naught in the end, because of cruelty he should have known to expect.

And Wakko blames himself, too. Yakko has to hear his younger brother apologize for not working more, for not bringing more money home after a year’s worth of work, and Yakko’s heart aches. The cheer he tries to impart in his younger sibling then doesn’t stick, and the despair clings as he comes home and sees Wakko playing on the strings of a makeshift harp.

And then the wishing star happens. His siblings almost die more than once, he thinks he’s lost them both too many times, and it is a miracle that everything goes right, that Dot gets better and they have money and food and soon a castle and kingdom.

Yakko asks, one day, what exactly Wakko wished for. Because despite the fact that Wakko showed off the two hay pennies, they never actually heard what it was that Wakko wished for.

“I wished that everyone would get what they deserved. What they needed,” Wakko had told him. “Figured that was vague enough to give me plenty, and the townsfolk deserved something too. They were hurting just like us, that’s why they tried to beat us there.”

Yakko marvels at the empathy within a single child, but he loves his brother more than life itself, and the truth only cements that fact further.

But now he’s King, and now, while Dot and Wakko decide what paintings and random knickknacks to get rid of from Salazar’s time, he has to go through all of the people who enforced Salazar’s laws and make sure they won’t start an uprising. Brain is an advisor, and he’s quite harsh. He says that Yakko should lock them up, Yakko wants to the let them try and take the new home from him, see what happens, now that he has a taste of something better than abandoned orphanages and stale meals.

They settle on making the guard and any who worked for Salazar to swear loyalty to the Warners-however awkward the process is-and have more trusted people put in battalions with those less trustworthy to try and stymie an uprising.

His authority is shaky, and he and his co-rulers are young and inexperienced. But they have lived through enough to have knowledge of what the people need, and with the true rulers on the throne the other countries are opening up trade routes, so prosperity is returning to the Kingdom.

So long as their people are happy, and everyone is taken care of, Yakko can almost believe they’ll be okay.

But now he sees Plotz, kneeling in front of him as the next person to be judged by him, and he wants, so, so terribly, to be a cruel King. He can feel the distaste, not just from him, but from Brain, of the cruel tax collector hanging in the air, and he can see Plotz sweat.

He thinks, good. Let him sweat, let him feel fear when he looks at the kid who he was all than happy to take money from, now as his King.

“Thaddeus Plotz,” He says. “Plotzy,” He amends, grinning. It feels strained. The bored and relaxed air in the throne room vanishes into something still and tense, and his grip on the throne’s armrest tightens-he has fixed gloves now, but he still expects to see a flash of black when he looks down at his hands. Nothing here feels real, yet. He expects to wake up in a shack, to the sound of Dot’s worsening cough, and this man is part of the reason for it.

“Y-Your majesty,” Plotz says. Not repentant, but nervous. Flattering. The fact that he thinks he can say sweet things and get away with what he’s done makes Yakko’s blood boil.

“I know you will swear your loyalty to the crown,” Yakko starts. “Because you will follow anyone you know is more powerful than you to make sure you stay safe and comfortable. That isn’t the issue here,” Brain raises a brow, and he looks as if he wants to speak, but he takes one look at Yakko’s face and decides against it.

“Do you know what you did, to our town?” he asks, because he wants to know what Plotz would have to say. “When you bled us dry to feed yourself? That’s almost forgivable,” Plotz opens his mouth to say something, but Yakko raises a hand. “You had to take taxes, it’s the law, and Salazar was not a kind King. Whether or not you took joy out of it is irrelevant. I could forgive you, even, for trying to kill us, because it was under Salazar’s orders, and I saw how he would punish you. See, the only thing that makes me reticent to let you off scott free is...a hay penny.”

Plotz looks pale. Good.

“Wakko worked for a year to get that penny. A year. While you sat and ate good food in a warm house, as my sister slowly got worse and worse, Wakko worked for a single hay penny. He came back with it to pay for the operation that would save Dot’s life. And, the moment you heard of it, you made up taxes to take it from him,” And Yakko remembers the despair, how the whole town deflated. Remembers hearing Dot cough and wondering if he should try for a heist, to steal it back, because she wouldn’t make it otherwise.

“Tell me, Plotzy, did you know what that hay penny was for?” he asks. Plotz shakes his head. “Would you have cared? Hardly. Would you have cared when I laid my sister to rest? When I buried her, because she never got better? Because you took the money we needed to make her better? Would you have cared then?”

He gets no reply, for a moment.

“I-um-your Majesty-I,” Plotz stammers out, but the fury that Yakko has felt for years comes to a head then and there.

“I could have you executed in the town square, and no one would feel bad for you. You’re a cruel person, you only care for yourself, and you would have let the whole town die if it meant you had a warm house and plenty of money to hoard,” He spits the words with vitriol.

Plotz flinches.

He can see the guards are shocked, as is the Brain. Before now, Yakko had just sort of waved off the people who had been tasked with enforcing the laws of the old King. And, well, before now, Yakko hadn’t felt anything because no one who’d entered had been personally cruel to them. To his family.

He wrestles with the desire to make Plotz suffer. He’s the King, he could. No one would blame him, either. It might even discourage dissenters of his rule to try anything, to see what Yakko will do to those who are bad to his people, his family. And yet, he can’t find it in himself to.

“But, hey, the past is the past, huh? That’s what this whole shindig is about,” The abrupt change of tone is startling to everyone, but Yakko moves on as if it’s nothing. “You’re fired from your position, obviously. You will be stripped of all of the riches you took from the townspeople,” He continues, and then winks. “Save for a single hay penny. Seem fair?”

“Y-yes-of course, your majesty. Thank you for your ever gracious mercy,” Plotz bows low enough that his nose brushes the floor, trembling, and Yakko rolls his eyes.

Plotz is escorted out.

“That’s enough for today. I’m done,” He gets up, and the crown feels heavy on his head somehow, heavier than normal, and he walks to his room, face planting onto the bed with a sigh.

He needs a nap.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He wakes up when he feels the bed dip with the weight of his two siblings. Flipping himself over, he puts on his best smile and sets his hands behind his head.

“Hey sibs, how was your day?” he asks, and they grin at him.

“We got to blow up a bunch of stuff,” Wakko says.

“All worthless. Not stuff that could be sold. Just Salazar’s royal portraits and other nonsense,” Dot assures him, as if she could already tell his train of thought. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear the explosion.”

“Guess talking to all those guards really knocked me off of my feet,” Yakko replies with a shrug, and Dot gives him a look.

“Was it the guards or was it Plotz?” She sees straight through him, and the question stings.

“Brain mentioned it,” Wakko says. “I don’t get why you were that mad.”

“He stole the hay penny,” Yakko says, through gritted teeth. “He took the money you worked a year for, the money we were gonna use for Dot’s operation,” Just saying it brings back the fury, and his expression goes dark.

“Well, yeah, but I shouldn’t have let everyone know about it, or at least brought more than one back. My bad,” Wakko shrugs, a little self conscious

“And that’s the issue! You blame yourself! Wakko, you went out at the age of 12 and worked for a year, you have no reason to be guilty,” Yakko sits up and stares right into Wakko’s eyes, dead serious as he points to Wakko.

“Exactly. Plotz was clearly just looking for another bit of money to take from us,” Dot agrees. Yakko turns away, looking down at his hands, clenching them into fists so they won’t shake.

“I wanted him to die,” Yakko admits. “I wanted him to be as terrified as I was, when I thought you were going to die, and there would be nothing I could do to stop it,” Because it wasn’t fair, and it still isn’t, because even though he’s got everything he could ever want it doesn’t erase the years shivering in the cold because the wind would tear through the old planks of wood, the years of small serving sizes and pinching pennies and then pinching those pinches, for the most he could get from near nothing. And Plotz made that worse, without a care in the world.

“But you’re better than that,” Dot leans against him, smiling up at him, and Yakko sighs, wrapping arm around hers and Wakko’s shoulders .

“Yes, unfortunately,” Yakko says with a dramatic sigh, hugging them close. It’s easier to forget they were hurt when they’re like this, happy and loved and safe.

“You’re gonna be the best King ever,” Wakko’s as sincere as one can be, and when he looks up Yakko looks shocked.

“Don’t be so surprised! If you can deal with that type of anger at 14, just imagine how good you’ll be at making decisions ten years from now!” Dot adds.

“And we’ll be here the whole time,” Wakko continues. “Helping you out the whole way,” Yakko feels like his heart could burst, and he laughs.

“How’d I get so lucky with you two?” he asks, and Dot scoffs.

“Hey, you raised us!” She shoots back. “This is all on you!”

And it is, Yakko knows. The kingdom, the happiness of his people, it’s all on him, even as a 14 year old. He doesn’t know how to handle it, all the responsibility. He barely handled raising two kids.

He wonders if Mom and Dad would be proud. When Dot was dying, he dreamed of their glares and disappointment, and no matter how many times he apologized, he was always a failure, and the dream would turn to blood and fire and he’d wake up with a silent scream on his lips, shaking. But now, he thinks they might be proud, and it makes him smile more sincere than he has in years.

And his siblings are still here, beside him, and for once he can be sure they aren’t going anywhere, because they’re happy and healthy and safe. And they’re only like that because Yakko did his best, and made it work, and had them helping him, too, just like they will be until the end of time.

And suddenly the weight doesn’t feel so heavy anymore. Now, if only the crown would fit.

It’s fine, though. He’s got plenty of time to grow into it.

#animaniacs #animaniacs 2020 #kitkat1003 #yakko wakko and dot #yakko warner #wakko warner #dot warner #wakko's wish

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wisteriawritings · 3 years ago

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To Start Anew

Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins

Ship: F!Aeducan x Gorim

Warnings: None

Genre: Angst

WC: 1933

Blurb: After the ultimate betrayal, Terra Aeducan has been exiled to the deep roads. Through extraordinary circumstances, she fights her way to the surface and becomes Thedas’s last hope against the coming blight. However, during her journey she must deal with painful truths about her family, her life back in Orzammar, and what her future may be.

They had only just arrived in Denerim. Terra Aeducan, with Alistair, Morrigan, and an affectionate Mabari in tow, had come in search of Andraste’s ashes. The hunt for allies against the oncoming blight had hardly begun, yet they were all bone tired. It was the exhaustion that led her to believe that she was imagining things. That Gorim’s sweet, warm voice was only in her mind. Even so, the sound pulled her towards the center of town, like a chain wrapped around her middle was dragging her forwards.

“Are you alright?” Alistair asked, seeing the color had drained from her face.

“I just… I’m going to step away for a bit. I’ll meet you at the inn, yeah?”

Alistair nodded, though reluctantly. Alistair was tooth-rottingly sweet and Terra tried to summon the best smile she could to set him at ease and send him away. He was becoming a quick and dear friend to her, and she didn’t want him to see her in what seemed to be a lapse in sanity.

“Dwarven crafts!”

There it was again. Terra, her spine now stiff as stone, hurried away and through the bustling streets, following the voice. Dwarven crafts? It could be anyone though. Any number of low-born Orzammar men who left for the surface could be in town. It wasn’t uncommon, and neither was the accent. It probably wasn’t him, wouldn’t be him, couldn’t be him. She rounded the corner and in the square she saw him

Terra’s hands tremored. Words like “I missed you,” “I found you,” and “thank the fucking stone,” all caught in her throat. Her hands grasped at it desperately, trying to free them. Because there he was. Just a few yards away stood her best friend and the man she loved: Gorim.

She tried to call out his name, but only pitiful, strangled noises escaped her lips. But he saw her. His face – it was tanner now; it had finally seen the sun – lit up in shock, disbelief, joy. All the things she felt were reflected back to her. Her throat was still sealed shut, but her feet started moving. Suddenly she was running, running faster than she had ever run, straight into arms that opened wide at the sight of her. Solid, strong arms that knew the curve and the shape of her body so well. Arms that slid into their place so easily, it was like slipping on a pair of gloves. For the first time since she left Orzammar, her feet felt firmly planted on the ground. She was finally rooted to the earth the way she used to be, and the sky wasn’t threatening to swallow her whole anymore.

For a few blissful seconds, the Blight was far away, and Bhelen never betrayed her. With tearful eyes, Gorim studied her face with an intensity that felt like he was boring into her soul. He looked as if he were taking inventory of her features, ensuring that each one was accounted for and just as he remembered them. “I knew you would make it out. I never stopped believing,” he said softly. Suddenly his face changed, lighting up as if he were remembering something.

“I have something for you.” He bent down to a chest that lay under the table. After a few moments of rummaging, he produced a letter. “Before I left for the surface, King Endrin sent me with this. We both hoped against hope that I would find you up here.”

Terra’s heart, which was already pounding, somehow beat even harder at these words. “Father? How is he?” The thought of seeing her father again filled her with so much joy and longing she could hardly stand it. She felt like her heart was swelling so large it was pressing against her ribs.

“Oh, my lady…I’m so sorry,” Gorim said, in a voice so sad and soft it sent bolts of fear down Terra’s spine. But she knew what those words meant. The pressure in her chest deepened and sunk to reach down into her stomach too. She felt faint.

“If a man can die of a broken heart… King Endrin did.”

“But what happened to him?” She asked, trying to hold back the tears. Gorim hesitated, but Terra’s hard look of pain and determination gave him the permission he needed to part with the grisly details. “After Trian’s death-…no, murder, Endrin was stricken with too much grief and confusion to see that Bhelan had constructed it all. It didn’t take long for him to find his mind again, but by then it was already too late. You were already locked in the deep roads. That’s why it all happened so quickly. That bastard Bhelen knew he had to dispose of you before the shock of it all wore off.” Gorim looked at his feet and took a long, shaky breath before continuing. “It was like he just… wasted away. He couldn’t go on living, like he was a ghost.”

Terra squeezed his hand. She focused on that feeling; homed in on the way he callouses rubbed against the palm of her hand. It was the only tangible thing keeping her anchored to reality. Gorim looked at her for a reassurance that she wanted him to continue. She nodded grimly. She was sick to her stomach, but she had to know the whole story. It was her duty as a daughter and as an Aeducan.

“When he called me to him, just before I left… the room stank of decay. It was as if he had already been long dead. He was already a corpse, just waiting for his time to return to the stone. All he could talk about was you.” His other hand took hold of her shoulder, steadying her. She hadn’t even realized she was swaying. “Terra, he sent me with more than just a letter.”

Gorim fished in his pocket and took out a worn velvet purse. Among the coins glinted a chunk of golden metal. Terra blinked her tears away and saw that no, it wasn’t a nugget. It was the Aeducan signet ring. Trian’s ring.

He gently placed it in her hand and folded it into a fist.

“He loved you, Terra. That nug-fucker Bhelen, he’s not a real Aeducan. You’re the true last heir, and your father knew it. You deserve this, and no one else. He made that much clear.”

The ring felt heavy in her hand, like she held all of Orzammar in her palm. In a way, she supposed, she did. But she felt that she could bear it as long as Gorim held her other hand.

“I’m just so glad I found you. Thank the stone, thank the stone…” Terra drew herself closer to him, ready to step back into his embrace and find his lips. But a look she couldn’t quite decipher crossed his face, and he took a step back.

“My lady, there’s something else I should tell you. I’ve, well… I’ve found a life on the surface. A blacksmith’s daughter; we’re expecting our first. She’s… she’s lovely and…” Gorim trailed off, not knowing how to continue.

The world seemed to go still around her. Her heart, which had been thumping loudly in her ears just moments before, fell quiet. A few seconds passed, but they felt like centuries.

“I don’t understand…” Terra’s voice quivered, and she hated herself for it. “You said you’ve been waiting for me.”

Gorim’s face flushed red and he looked down at his feet. “I have been, of course. But… well…” Gorim stammered, his shoulders slumped. Terra thought that he looked almost like a scolded child caught stealing sweets before supper. She almost laughed at the absurdity of it. He had been in Denerim for how long? Two months now, maybe? And he still hasn’t come up with a good explanation as to how he tripped and fell into a smith’s girl, all while claiming to ‘know she had made it out’.

He mustered the courage to meet her gaze again and flushed an even deeper red. He had always been able to tell what she was thinking, as if her very mind was binded to his own. She could feel his shame radiating off of him like a sickness. He knew he had done wrong. He knew that as a knight, he had acted shamefully. And she knew it too. Some dark corner of her soul felt gratified in this, gleeful in his self-loathing. She felt the anger rising.

“So let me make sure I understand,” she began, her words already dripping in venom. “You know, or hoped, or believed or what have you, that I was alive on the surface. And you, as my second, sworn to serve and protect me until death, fucked me and whispered sweet nothings to me in Orzammar. But when you’re separated from me for two months – oh, less than that actually, since she’s already knocked up – you decided to live it up with the first surfacer you see?”

Gorim’s eyes filled with tears. “It wasn’t like that,” he said firmly, but she could hear the tremble in his voice.

“Then what was it like?”

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too, but I didn’t jump in bed with a surfacer. I searched for you Gorim.”

“My lady… We never could have been together. You know that.”

All of a sudden she understood, and the tears she had been holding back came slipping across her face. It didn’t matter what happened, or what he believed. Gorim was an outcast, a surfacer. Je was stripped of his caste his family name. But Terra? To him, she was still Lady Aeducan, and she always would be. Even if they had stayed in Orzammar, if Bhelen had never betrayed them, he would still think himself beneath her. He might have loved her perhaps, but he would have walked away eventually. He could never see himself as more than her second.

She realized she had been squeezing the signet ring in her hand. She relaxed her fist and saw her house crest bored into her palm like a brand. Gorim watched her as she first tried it on her ring finger and then settled with slipping it on her thumb. Trian’s hands had been bigger than hers.

Gorim reached out to comfort her, but drew back, unsure of himself. “My lady, if I had known you were alive…”

Terra glanced back up at him scornfully. “Either you did, or you didn’t.”

He reared back as if he had been struck, but he knew he deserved it. She saw no trace of resentment in his eyes. She looked at him for a hard moment and her anger fizzled out, leaving her with nothing but a cold hollow in her stomach and the crushing weight of her loneliness. Gorim’s cheeks were wet from silent tears.

“I hope I’ll have time to meet her soon,” Terra said.

“I’d like that. My door is always open to you.”

“I love you, Gorim. I hope you’re happy,” she confessed. Her heart gave one last weak tug at what had been between them.

“The same for you.”

She immediately recognized that he had not confirmed his happiness, and Gorim saw it in her face. Before he could say anything else, she turned away to rejoin her group.

Terra glanced up at the sky, vast and unending above her. Her family crest rested upon her finger and its weight, though heavy, was a comfort to her. She had a blight to end, and she didn’t need Gorim to do it.

#aeducan #gorim saelac #da:o #aeducan x gorim #dwarf noble #angst #orzammar #dragon age #dragon age origins #all the single ladies #F!Aeducan #female aeducan #lady aeducan

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i-like-it-when-ju-sleeps · 4 years ago

Text

Turning Page (Part 1)

Pairing: Arthur Pendragon (BBC) x Sarah (OC)

A/N: This takes place during the first episode of Merlin

The sun shone brightly as villagers congregated to the town square. Passers-by stopped to join the group that stood in front of the small platform, guards stood carefully, awaiting orders from their king. Lady Sarah was safely hidden in the castle, as it was required for her and other ladies to do during executions. She was about to join Uther Pendragon, king of Camelot, on the balcony that overlooked the town square, but stopped herself when she noticed her friend Morgana standing at the window.

“Are you alright, Morgana?” Sarah asked quietly, her hand coming to rest on the young woman’s shoulder. Her friend jumped a little at the sound of her voice. Once she realized that she was not in any kind of trouble, Morgana smiled, although it never truly reached her eyes. Sarah knew that smile well. It was one that Morgana used whenever she was trying to hide her true feelings.

“I am alright. Better than that poor man.” She answered bitterly as both young women looked out the window. A man was being dragged out to the platform, guards on either side of him. As he was forcefully dropped to his knees, head pushed down to meet stone, Sarah reached for her friend’s hand. She was about to say something when the King stepped out on the balcony to address his people. Sarah could not help but notice that Arthur was not with the King either.

“Let this serve as a lesson to all.” Uther’s voice rang as head turned in his direction. “This man, Thomas James Collins, is adjudged guilty of conspiring to use enchantments and magic. And, pursuant to the laws of Camelot, I, Uther Pendragon, have decreed that such practices are banned on penalty of death. I pride myself as a fair and just king,” Sarah scoffed at that, Morgana giving her a knowing look “but for the crime of sorcery, there is but one sentence I can pass.” The executioner looked at the King, axe in hand, awaiting his orders. Uther raised his hand, and, slowly, let it drop down, motioning for the man to be beheaded.

Sarah felt her friend’s hand tightening around her own, and as the axe reached the man’s neck, Sarah squeezed her eyes shut, unable to watch. Next to her, Morgana sucked in a breath, emotion welling up in her eyes at the sight. Under them, people gasped in shock.

“When I came to this land,” Uther claimed, pride lacing his voice, as everyone turned back to him “this kingdom was mired in chaos, but with the people's help magic was driven from the realm. So I declare a festival to celebrate twenty years since the Great Dragon was captured and Camelot freed from the evil of sorcery. Let the celebrations begin.” He smiled as he spoke, expecting his subjects to applaud his actions. However, a murmur rose among the people, who started to disperse. It was true that no one resented magic as much as Uther Pendragon, but the people also know that the man was blinded by his hatred, and not many feared magic anymore. Sarah felt a pang in her chest, knowing that a young man was just killed because of the King’s selfishness and ignorance. She was about to leave, not bearing the sight of the town square anymore, when a frail voice rang out.

“There is only one evil in this land, and it is not magic!” The crowd dispersed and an old woman came to view, hands shaking as she pointed accusingly at the King. “It is you! With your hatred and your ignorance! You took my son! And I promise you, before these celebrations are over, you will share my tears. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a son for a son.” Sarah felt dread at the woman’s words. A grave sense of danger washed over her, and she looked at Uther to see his response. Of course, he did not seem phased by the woman, and simply shouted at his men to seize her. As soldiers started to reach for her, the woman uttered words that Sarah could not understand, and disappeared in a gust of wind. Sarah took a step back. The woman had escaped, and she was not afraid of using magic; at least, not anymore.

“That poor mother.” Morgana whispered.

“I will never understand how someone can be so driven by hate.” Morgana’s eyes widened as Sarah spoke. While she agreed, she knew that speaking that way against the King could be harmful. But Sarah had always been brave and unafraid to speak her mind, something that had allowed the two women to become very fast friends when Sarah first arrived. “Someday, I fear all this hate may be his downfall.”

-------

The next day, Lady Sarah was walking around the town, enjoying the sun with her maid, when she heard commotion at the entrance of the castle. As she reached the small patch of grass, she noticed Prince Arthur and the knights laughing while a young man was being arrested by guards. On the ground, Arthur’s servant looked horrified as he looked at the stranger. Sarah could not help but feel like the stranger seemed familiar, and it was not until she reached him that she understood why.

“Merlin, is that you?” she asked, and the guards stopped as they saw the princess, confused as to why she was addressing the man they were arresting.

“You know this idiot?” Arthur asked, eyebrows raised, but Sarah paid him no mind, instead looking at the young man she never thought she would see again.

“Oh, hello Sarah.” Merlin grinned. Despite his predicament, he seemed cheerful and glad to see her. “I didn’t know you were in Camelot.”

“You can’t talk to her like that either.” Arthur protested, giving the guards a look as if to tell them to take Merlin away.

“It’s quite alright.” Sarah chuckled. She watched as the guards started to pull Merlin towards the castle. “Typical Merlin I suppose, always getting in trouble.” Merlin grinned as if to say that it was bound to happen anyway. “I guess I will see you when you’re not so… busy.” She teased. Merlin shook his head a little at her and she looked as he disappeared inside the courtyard.

Arthur and the other knights were still silently looking at the young princess, Arthur stunned because of what had happened, and the knights in respect to the woman. Sarah walked to the servant boy who was still on the ground.

“Can you stand?” she asked the young boy, who nodded quickly, too stunned to speak. He stood up and bowed his head to Sarah, finally finding his voice again.

“I am alright, my Lady.” He answered quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur spoke up, “may I know what just happened here?”

“Oh, good morning to you as well Arthur.” She gave him a small smirk, knowing that when he was in one of those moods, he could get annoyed really easily. Arthur rolled her eyes at her.

“How did you know that man?” he asked sternly.

“He’s an old friend.” She shrugged good-heartedly. When she saw that Arthur was not going to let it go, she continued. “My mother used to make me spend some time in a neighbouring village. I met Merlin there and we were great friends. Now could you tell me why he was just arrested by the guards? Anything to do with that poor servant who was on the ground?”

The knights quickly started looking anywhere but at the two. Arthur stumbled upon his words to answer, not very prince-like, which told Sarah that he had done something wrong.

“I was doing my own business, training, and your friend interfered and spoke to me like… like…”

“Like you were acting an idiot I take it?” Arthur scowled at her jest. If it had been anyone else, he may have protested, but he knew that it would be no use, she was right anyway. She gave him a smug smile, waiting for him to answer. He rolled his eyes and tried to muster his most charming smile.

“If you’ll excuse us, we should probably get back to training, but I will see you later today, yes?” he asked, and as he did, he grabbed her right hand, lifting it towards him to press a kiss upon her knuckles. She gave him an earnest smile at the gesture, squeezing his hand in return.

“Of course.” She answered. “You boys keep him out of trouble.” She told the knights who were still standing around. “You lot behave for the rest of the day, yes?” They all smiled at her as she made her way back to the courtyard, continuing her walk around the market.

#bbc merlin #merlin #arthur pendragon #merlin bbc #arthur bbc #arthur x oc #arthur pendragon x reader #arthur pendragon imagine #merlin fic #fanfic #arthur pendragon x oc

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5lazarus · 3 years ago

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Labyrinth, Chapter 3: The Anderfels

"Anders made no attempt at escape during the years they were together." This story is meant to explore everything absolutely horrible about that statement. If the core part of Anders' identity is his refusal to submit to imprisonment, then perhaps listening to Karl was a violation of his sense of self. Things get better, and then things get worse.

Chapter 3/3, the Anderfels: Anders visits the Thekla village chantry.

Read Chapter One: The Circle and Chapter Two: Kirkwall on Tumblr, or find the story on AO3 here.

Everyone has a mother and a mother’s-land, even Anders. As the war rages through the Free Marches and factionalism breaks out in Orlais, Anders is left wondering: where next? So he wanders.

Kirkwall is out of the question. There is nothing left once the war spreads through Ferelden and Orlais. Tevinter would discredit the mages, so he dismisses it. Rivain is too close to the Qun, and after the annulment at Dairsmuid, everyone is too shellshocked to shelter another renegade mage. Then Fenris, who knows how to flee, suggests, “What about the Hissing Wastes?” Isabela comes up with a better option: the Anderfels. No one would ever think to look for him there.

So he grows out his beard, and they wander. Hawke and Merrill head to Ferelden, looking for Varric. Aveline returns to Kirkwall, to build its defensives against Vael. But Isabela and Fenris take him home, because no one else will, with Kirkwall gone. They sail the river bordering the Free Marches and Antiva, through Nevarra all the way to the blasted lands of the Silent Plains. It is hard for Isabela to abandon their little skip, but they get enough money out of it to buy a wagon and mules. The animals are sick. Everyone is sick, eking out a living on Blighted land. Anders remembers this, but he had thought it was the fear of his magic that had made those memories so uncomfortable. Hadn’t Karl said something about that? The first time he ate food grown in clean soil, a plate of strawberries with a child-sized spoon: I don’t want to remember. You shouldn’t forget.

They make for the Hunterhorn Mountains, skirting Tevinter. Fenris knows the way, and they find markers of others winding through this wasted land. Fenris looks grimmer than usual, lyrium-brands burning in the gray half-light. He stops at a set of footprints, pressed hard into the scanty grass of the trail.

“Qunari have come this way,” he says, studying the tracks. “Must be Tal-Vashoth. Strange. Normally refugees from Seheron go east, not west.”

“Well, there’s a war on,” Isabela points out. “Why go from one war right into another one?”

Fenris says, “It’s a bad time of year to go through the Hunterhorns. Too dry. I doubt they’ll survive to make it to the Volca Sea, or the Donarks, wherever they be.”

Justice does not need to prompt them. “Then we should help them,” Anders says. “It’s not like we’ll be facing bandits. With my magic, I can at least bring down rain.”

Fenris and Isabela exchange a glance. Anders is getting angry, and Justice is pushing under his skin. He says, “You’re not going to let them die.”

Fenris says, “Following you this far has been enough of a suicide mission. I did not flee Tevinter just to die this close to Minrathous. If you want to die, do it by yourself. Go see how charitable people dying of starvation are, as they break from the Qun. But I will not come back for you.”

Anders flares, but Isabela holds up her hand. “The blue-and-angry stuff is hot, but I’m not getting caught in the middle of this. Anders, you know he’s right. We don’t have enough food for all of us. If we go after them, we’re just condemning ourselves. And—well—I’m not dying on land. Not after Kirkwall. We have enough food to make it through the mountains. If you go after them, you’re just going to get us killed.”

Anders says, “Fuck off.” But they’re right, and Justice has proved that there are no easy answers. In this case, he must do right by his friends. Andraste has led him thus far. He prays She guides the Tal-Vashoth true, and follows Fenris and Isabela down the winding mountain path.

At night, the Tal-Vashoth attack, and they kill them quickly. Preparing their bodies for burial, Anders asks Fenris, “Who do they pray to?”

Fenris looks at him oddly. “Does it matter?”

Isabela sighs. “They don’t really do that. And if they’re Tal-Vashoth, who knows if they’d want prayers said for them anyway? They were going to kill us, Anders. Just burn the bodies and let’s go.”

It’s not right that these lives end a smear of ash on a grainy mountaintop, the blackened bits of their pyre preserved in the arid air of the Hunterhorns. They’re more than just a desperate end. People will go through this pass and see the ashes and know some battle took place, but Anders wants to be remembered for something besides death. He wants them to be remembered for something beyond dying.

Justice says, All you can do sometimes is keep living. And carry the dead with you. That’s the important part. Take them with you, but don’t let them weigh you down.

Shut up.

They find a shallow recess to rest in, before the path bends down the mountain and towards the steppe. Fenris lets the mules out of the yoke but ties their reigns to his waist and curls up among them. Anders watches him curiously. He’s clearly done this before. That’s a flash of a life outside his purview, and maybe beyond Fenris’ memory too—working for that magister Danarius, guarding his master’s trade caravans. Fenris catches him staring.

“What?” he growls.

“You look warm,” Anders says. Isabela curls up next to him, and gestures at Anders to join them. Fenris looks impassive.

“Come on,” Isabela says impatiently. “We can’t light a fire, everyone down the mountains will be able to see it. Come here. Keep us warm.”

Fenris sighs and makes room.

He wakes up to the sun a watery gold, filling the valley below and easing through the crevices of the mountain range. It’s freezing, despite Isabela and Fenris and the mules all curled around him, and he tucks his hands under his cloak as he shivers. A bird calls, and then another: some Maker-forsaken creature has built a life in this forgotten corner of Thedas.

It is all too familiar, and he wonders if this is the path the templars took when he was a boy: no. Karl told him this, didn’t he? In letters he burnt before the war. The thin sunlight resolutely insists on laying the plain below bare. He can imagine the high grass Karl promised him, and perhaps there are two adventurous young men galloping below, towards freedom, towards the promise of—what? More life than this, a better kind of hunger.

He’s got tears in his eyes, and he wipes at them angrily. Fenris stirs.

“Is there a problem?” he inquires.

“It’s fucking cold,” Anders says.

Once they leave the the Hunterhorns, it is not long until they find a village nestled in the reeds of the river Lattenfluss. Isabela leans against a mule and looks at it wistfully. Justice nudges him, at some point he needs to help her get back to the open water again, it’s only right after all that she has done for him. They see a weatherbeaten woman dragging a stubborn donkey to the water. Anders goes up to her, making sure to hobble on his staff like it’s a walking stick.

He reaches for the words of a language he has barely spoken in the past two decades. “Guten Morgen. Wie heißt dieser Dorf?”

The woman looks at him strangely. “Thekla,” she says shortly, and goes back to trying to force the donkey to drink.

“Fuck,” Anders says. That needs no translation.

She looks at him again. “Wie heißen Sie, Ausländer? Woher kommen Sie?”

She is being exceedingly formal with him. He almost says his name, but isn’t she Anders too? Instead he walks away, where Isabela and Fenris wait.

“Well?” Fenris says.

He wants to keep moving, but Justice stops him and instead he says, “Let’s rest here for awhile. We can fish from the river, at least.”

“We should move more inland,” Fenris says testily. “Gossip travels fast. We should get to the Donarks as quickly as possible.”

“I want to stay,” Anders says firmly. “Just for a moment. I need to say my prayers. It won’t be long. You can even leave without me, and I’ll catch up.”

“We’re not splitting up,” Isabela says. “We’ve separated enough. Not until we all have a place to go back to.”

“I won’t be long,” he says. “Just give me ten minutes to pray. And then we can move on.” Fenris fixes him with an unimpressed stare. He’ll wheedle it out of him eventually, and he’ll tell them, because despite everything he’s more than proven himself, he’s guided him here, hasn’t he? Andraste’s grace works in mysterious ways. He walks to the village chantry, head bowed, hackles raised at the villagers’ stares. The last time a stranger must have passed by would’ve been the Blight, and then the time before that? When the Templars took Karl. At least Karl grabbed his name before he left. Anders has left all that behind.

There is a name he has trained himself from flinching when he hears the first syllable, that he left behind when he realized he would never hear his mother call again. He had refused to hand it over to the templars, so they named him after his country: “that Anders child,” eventually simply Anders. He shapes his lips to it, mutters it under his breath, and walks into the town square, a flattened dusty piazza. There are perhaps five families in Thekla village. Not all of them have black hair and blue-gray eyes, but enough of them do for him to wonder.

The Chantry looms over the weatherbeaten limestone cobbles of the piazza, made from the same mountain stone as the rest of the village. Anders opens the familiar weather-scarred door, remembering suddenly the smell of wood made sacred by years of worship before he even realizes, this is Andraste’s house and that is Andraste’s incense, her sweet-burning flesh. Harsh sun softens through the stained glass windows into Andraste’s trials. Anders kneels as he faces the altar, and shuffles into a pew to pray.

At first there is no words, just the bleak exhaustion. He stares up at the gold mosaic of Andraste wreathed in flames, illuminated shockingly by cleverly designed windows above the door of the church. The whites of her wide eyes glimmer, recently polished. Her mouth, a slash of red glass, is resolutely closed. Her silence is what convinced Hessarian. Anders is not so sure. He would have preferred that she screamed. He would’ve, but he is no Andraste. Still, why must they suffer in silence? What good does that do? No one takes pity on those who are too weak to protest. She fought a whole fucking war for them! It’s the Maker who’s silent, not her. She pointedly wasn’t, not in the face of injustice.

Andraste bid him, fight for my people. Mages are the Maker’s children, as much as any other. Magic is meant to serve man, not to rule over them, and that meant the fear of magic as well. There is nothing in the Chant that says to rip away the spirit of any mage who falters. There is nothing in the Chant about Circles, templars, Tranquilty, or Exalted Marches either. There is, though, quite a lot about Justice. There is the demand of martyrdom. There is collective sacrifice.

Anders sings, “Let the blade pass through the flesh, let my blood touch the ground, let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice.” His voice reverberates in the dull space and grows silent. He waits, but the Maker does not answer.

He leaves the Chantry blinking blindly into the mute silent and as he stumbles towards where his friends wait with the mules he sees a man that could have been Karl, if Karl had been allowed to grow old, with a weatherbeaten face and sour expression and a mercifully clear brow, beard rather longer and whiter than he would have ever allowed. Anders opens his mouth but nothing comes out, there is nothing to say, so he keeps on walking.

#dragon age fanfic #dragon age fanfiction #kanders #anders #karl #anders/karl #karl thekla #labyrinth #the anderfels #fenris #isabela #dragon age 2 #awakening #fanfic #da2

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rebelbyrdie · 4 years ago

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Swan Queen Fic: The Looking Glass (1 of 3)

This is a story that I’ve had in my head for years. I have no time to fully flesh it out. I still think I would like to share it though. I lovingly call this bullshit writing because I do it between major projects to keep my brain going but it usually doesn’t amount to much.

So this is a combination of several concepts, inspirations and tropes. It is Parallel Universe time! This is pretty raw writing. No editing. No beta.

The Looking Glass (Part 1 of 3)

Once Upon a Time, an Evil Queen was prepared to cast the darkest curse ever created. She had the spell in her hands and revenge in her heart. All magic comes with a price, though. For this queen and this curse, the price was too high. She could not cast her curse. She was not the only one who had desired the curse, though. The Dark One became enraged at her decision and betrayed his former apprentice to her greatest enemies.

“Regina.” Snow White stared at the chained and bound woman. “Your father and others-” Her eyes narrowed as she spoke, as if she hated even thinking about the people she spoke about. “-have begged for mercy on your behalf.”

Regina, disgraced queen and sorceress, was gagged but she held her head high, her shoulders were squared and her eyes were hot and angry. She met Snow’s eyes without flinching, daring her to do her worst. Gag or not, she would never beg.

“I will show you exactly the same amount of mercy that you showed my father and my people.” Snow White steepled her fingers under her chin. “Which is none.”

“Your Majesty, please!” Lord Henry, a rotund and care-worn man, tried to pull away from the knights that held him in place. “We will go home, never to return. As royalty banishment is the traditional penalty for-”

“Silence!” Snow White cut him off. Her words were ice cold and her mouth was set in a hard line. “Your groveling is pointless. My decision has been made.” She looked around the throne room, at the gathered crowd. “The Evil Queen’s punishment is not to die.”

Henry breathed out a sigh of relief and tried to reach for his daughter.

“Regina’s punishment is far worse then death. She shall live, forever-”

Regina’s head jerked back and her dark eyes went wide.

“-in the Eternal Tower.”

Henry went white. “No. Your Majesty, no!”

Snow smiled. It was wide, bright and predatory. “Take her to the mirror.”

The four knights who held Regina’s chains pulled her away. She didn’t fight them or shed a tear. She walked tall and proud, to her inescapable fate.

The Eternal Tower was a magical place, a magical spire from a dead kingdom. There were no doors and the single window had been bricked up. The only way in or out was via a magic mirror. She was dragged to the highest room of the castles tallest tower where that mirror waited for her.

The Dark One waited at the mirror, a smile on his glittering face.

“Hello Dearie.” He smirked. “So nice to see you again.”

Rumplestiltskin waved his hand over the mirror’s shining surface and it rippled like a quicksilver pool.

“The Eternal Tower is magical. While you are there you will not hunger, thirst or require sleep. It’s magics are ancient, arcane and far more powerful than yours. You won’t be able to cast the smallest spell there. You will be alone.”

He leaned closer and his smile widened grotesquely. It twisted his face and made him appear more monstrous than ever. “Forever.”

The knights unshackled her hands, feet and waist and pushed her into the mirror, hard. She fell through the portal and onto the hard stone floor of the Eternal Tower. She scrambled to her feet and ripped the gag out of her mouth. Regina glared at the Dark One.

“I’ll destroy you for this, Imp.”

“Shut up!” One of the armored men hit the mirror with his fist. “Or we’ll cover the damn mirror.” He held up a heavy damask clothe. The mirror, or more accurately the window that it was pointed at, was the only source of light in her prison. If the mirror was covered she would be cast into permanent darkness.

Regina stepped back from the mirror and looked around her new abode. She ignored the men as they left the room on the other side of the mirror and when she was alone, she finally screamed.

***

In a world with no Dark Curse, Princess Emma grew up in a glorious castle with two loving parents and was beloved by the kingdom. She was fair, intelligent and could wield true love magic. She grew in grace, strength and beauty every day.

The morning of her twentieth birthday dawned bright and early. Emma was already out of bed and sneaking out the window long before the servants awoke. She made her way across the castle’s roof and swung into the narrow window of a lesser used corridor.

She was sick and tired of being a princess. She hated the politics, etiquette and endless expectations. She wasn’t what her mother wanted her to be. She never would be. Her mother, Queen Snow, wanted a perfect princess. Emma was anything but. She was more comfortable in breeches and on horseback then she was in a dress and on the throne.

Not to mention the Balls. She hated the over-the-top Balls. She would be shown off like a horse at an auction for princes and kings to gawk at. Her parents had married for True Love. She had to marry to fill up the kingdom’s coffers.

She wandered the North wing’s long and empty corridors and started climbing a steep and narrow set of stairs. She didn’t recognize the tower, but the early morning light and shadows might be playing tricks on her. After what seemed like a million steps, Emma found herself at a door that she didn’t recognize.

“Unusual.” She muttered to herself. Even more unusual was that the door was locked with three huge iron padlocks.

Now Emma had to know what was behind the door. She leaned out the landing’s single window and smirked. There was another window less than three feet away, on the other side of the door. It was all to easy to pop out one window and into another, especially since her magic would protect her from any fall.

The room on the other side of the door was small and empty except for a tall gilded mirror.

“Lame.”

She was about to leave when something caught her eye. She did not see her reflection in the glass. She saw someone else. Somewhere else.

“What the hell?”

She walked closer to the glass.

“Who are you?”

The woman on the other side of the mirror jumped. She twisted around, away from her loom and stared right at Emma. Her dark eyes were wide and her lush mouth, accented by a scar, dropped open.

“Wh-” Her voice was raspy, like a door hinge that had rusted shut a long time ago finally moving again. “Who are you?”

***

“So it is Midwinter.” Emma sat in front of the mirror with her legs folded over each other. She was comfortable on the floor, inches away from the glass.

Regina sat on her side with her knees drawn to her chest. She was braiding her long dark hair with fast and agile fingers. She loved listening to Emma. Not just because she was the only voice she’d heard in years either. The blonde was smart, funny, irreverent and she made Regina smile. She didn’t judge her as the Evil Queen or a prisoner. They were friends.

“And there is about four feet of snow on the ground.

“You should be wearing a cloak. That tower room must be freezing.” Regina was always worried about her. Emma was careless with her own safety, so bold and brazen. Too caught up in the moment to think ahead.

“I’m fine. I want to see your progress!”

Regina smiled and shook her head, amused. “Of course.” She stood and turned her mirror around a bit so Emma could see her loom.

The loom had been one of the only things in her prison. It was left over from the tower’s last resident. She had never learned how to weave as a child, as it had not been something that a queen needed to know. Since she’d had nothing but time, she had taught herself. It had been the one thing that kept her from going mad.

She spent endless hours weaving. She didn’t always know what the pattern was as she worked. The images often surprised her. Emma praised her work, and swore that it was the best she’d ever seen.

“I don’t know what it is yet. I’ve never seen anything like it. A town, I think. With a strange tower.”

She pulled the completed length up so Emma could see it.

“Wow! It is amazing! You’re amazing, Regina!”

No. Emma was the amazing one. Regina sat the almost-finished tapestry back to the side and went back to the mirror.

“If you could have anything for a Midwinter gift, what would it be?”

Regina raised a brow. Emma was already the best gift she’d ever received. She was sunshine personified. She reminded Regina of Daniel. When she was with Emma she could feel her long dead heart stir in her chest.

She didn’t dare say any of that, though. It was pointless, a fever dream. They could never be together, no matter how much she wanted to reach out and touch Emma. To hold her hand. To kiss her.

“An apple. My father planted a tree when I was born. I tended it for my entire life until-” She shook her head. “I want to taste an apple again.”

Emma nodded. “I want the tapestry you did last Spring. The one of the horses and sheep in the field. It reminds me of summer when I was a child. I like to think that the little girl and man are my father and me. Like you were standing right there painting a portrait.”

If she could give it to her, Regina would. She’d give anything and everything she wanted.

“Well, actually, that is just an excuse. To get the tapestry, I would have to meet you and that would be the real gift.”

Emma pressed her hand against the mirror. “I feel like you’re the only person that sees me.”

Regina pressed her hand to the mirror too and wished she could feel the heat of Emma’s palm against her own.

“You are the only person who sees me.”

Emma’s lips quirked into a small smile. “That makes me the luckiest woman in the world.”

Years past. Emma spent every minute she could with Regina. She ignored suitors and skipped out of Balls. She fought in tournaments, but never wore a token. She always fought for Regina, even if she couldn’t say so. When she was days away from turning twenty-five, everything changed.

Emma showed up for dinner, almost on time. There were various dignitaries in attendance tonight. She never paid attention to who. The faces changed but the boring political stuff always stayed the same. She sat down on her mother’s left, beside Red.

“And here is my daughter, Princess Emma.”

Snow’s voice sounded strained, angry. Emma knew that she had broken countless rules. She was late. She was wearing breeches. She had her sword on her belt. Her hair was tied in a sloppy braid. There was dust smeared on her shirt. Basically she was not fit for a royal dinner table.

“Your Highness.”

A guy, expensive clothes, an unfamiliar accent and gold circlet told Emma everything she needed to know. He was yet another prince trying to buy her hand in marriage. Great.

“I am Prince Killian of the Kingdom of-”

Emma drifted off, uninterested. She had heard it all before. He would go through his entire family history, and all his so-called achievements. Like all that was supposed to impress her.

She missed Regina. She would never bore her at dinner. She would also never try to buy her. Regina had been there and done that and it had destroyed her. She constantly worried about Emma being betrothed against her will.

It was hard to imagine Regina being here. Sitting as a Queen dealing with politics and stuff. Forced to sit and pretend she cared. Worse, forced to pretend to be happy as a forced-wife and faux-mother. Then again, compared to the tower, dinner didn’t seem so bad.

Red’s elbow dug into her ribs and Emma jerked her attention back to the Prince.

“Welcome, Prince Killian. I am pleased to meet you.”

She wasn’t.

“The pleasure is all mine. Our betrothal is a blessing on both us and our kingdoms.”

Wait. Emma’s head snapped to the side to look at her mother. What!

Snow nodded. “It is a wonderful match, dear. You will love Killian and live Happily Ever After.”

No.

Emma’s entire body burned fire hot and went ice cold simultaneously. She could feel screams coiling up in her chest. This could not happen.

“The wedding will be on your birthday. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Wonderful? Emma would rather die.

Red put a hand on her leg under the table. To comfort her? To hold her in place? To warn her to behave? Emma didn’t know. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Could barely think anything other than no.

She sat, silent, and somehow got through the dinner. Killian asked for a walk through the garden (escorted by their parents of course) but Emma declined. She was far too weary to walk. Her mother frowned but allowed it. Probably a reward for not flipping out at the table.

Emma ran right to Regina. She poured out her fears and wept her tears to the woman in the mirror. Regina pressed close to the glass. Her hands and cheek were flat against it.

“Don’t give in Emma.” Regina’s voice was sad and soft. It carried the weight of her past and experiences. Her regrets. Her love. “But don’t fight either. Run. Leave. Go. Leave Snow to her Empire. There are other kingdoms, other worlds. I’ve seen them. Weaved them into my tapestries. You can still have a life, happiness.”

Emma looked up and pressed her face against the mirror. “Not without you.” She smacked the glass between them. “How can I be happy without you?”

Regina touched the glass where Emma rested. She traced the lines of her cheeks and forehead. “You will be happy, My Love.” She smiled despite the tears sliding down her cheeks. “We are together, you know. In one of those other worlds, there is a you and a me that are happy and free together.”

“I would give anything to be with you.” Emma was crying now too. “Anything.”

Regina shook her head. “I would never curse you like this. To this tower.”

Emma sighed. “Sometimes I wish you had cast that damn curse. Anything, anywhere, has to be better then this.”

They lay on either side of their mirror, together but forever apart. They would have stayed that way all night. Forever if they could.

Emma jerked up. “Someones coming!” She could hear the heavy locks being turned. There was no time to escape. The tower’s door swung open, rusted hinges squeaked and groaned from years of neglect.

“Emma!” Snow White stood at the door. Rumplestiltskin stood at her right shoulder. Prince Killian at her left.

“Mom!”

Snow looked at the mirror. “Regina!”

Both Emma and Regina got to their feet.

“How could you do this?” Snow glared at the mirror. “When Rumplestiltskin told me I didn’t believe it. Couldn’t! You’ve corrupted my daughter! Right under my nose!”

Emma launched at her mother, fists swinging.

“Don’t you dare!”

Her father came in and grabbed Emma, held her back.

“She hasn’t corrupted me!” Emma jutted her chin out. “I love her! I will not marry him.” She pointed at Killian. “Or any man you sell me to. I love her!”

Snow looked from her daughter to the mirror.

The reflection showed Regina, The Evil Queen, on her knees.

“Please. Snow. Please. Don’t do this to her. It will destroy her. Don’t do to Emma what my mother did to me. Don’t make her marry. Let her love. You got your Charming. Let her find love.”

“You? You think this is your escape? Your great revenge? No! I won’t let you destroy Emma like you did my father and our kingdom.” She turned to one of the guards.

“Break it.”

Emma screamed and fought, she was too late, though. By the time she escaped her father’s grasp, the magic mirror lay shattered on the stone floor and Regina was cast into eternal darkness.

#fanfic #wip #swanqueen

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dhwty-writes · 4 years ago

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Zutara Week Day 2 - Counterpart

Day 2 already, wow! I really enjoyed all the amazing content over at @zutaraweek! Anyways, here’s my day 2, I recognise that I took some liberties with the prompts, enjoy it anyways. (Also, I heavily recommend that you read my day 1 first, as you might not understand what's going on otherwise)

Read on AO3

Dinner had been a quiet affair, both of them not entirely sure how to bridge the gap that four years without any contact had left between them and much less sure how to address the issue that somehow, they found themselves on two opposite sides of hostilities. Again.

Still, when Zuko asked her to stay for a drink she accepted. A drink would hopefully calm her nerves. So, she let him lead her to a sitting room where he poured her something that was hopefully very alcoholic and handed her a glass.

"So," he said crossing his arms. "You started a rebellion. Again."

Katara sighed and sat down on the couch. "I didn't really start it," she tried to defend herself but even in her ears that excuse sounded weak. "I just... I was travelling a bit, can't really settle down anymore since... well, since the war. I came through this town and..." She looked up at him pleadingly. "Zuko, it was so bad. I mean, it's still bad now but before- It was even worse."

He looked at her for a while, his gaze piercing and unrelenting. 'Like a true Fire Lord,' she thought for a moment and it was the truth. He looked good, though. Handsome even. His hair was still short, all of it tied into a topknot and showing off the scar which had once been a mark of shame. Now he wore it like a badge of honour. His shoulders had gotten broader than the last time she had seen him four years ago, evident even without the atrocious shoulder pads that had gone out of fashion half a century ago without anyone in the Fire Nation getting the memo. He was taller now, too. She had to look up at him even when they were both standing. All in all, being Fire Lord became him better than she had thought.

He sighed, too, and sat down next to her. "Tell me about it," he said so quietly that she'd almost missed it.

"I've seen bad things in the war," she began quietly, not quite trusting her voice, "I mean, we both have. Women raped, men killed, children maimed. Burnt bodies that were barely recognisable as humans. You know it."

He hummed in agreement, not quite able to meet her eye. "Yeah. I know plenty about that."

Without a second thought she extended her hand to him. A few moments passed and he took it. Together they took a breath and suddenly the tension vanished from both their shoulders. And suddenly it was as if there hadn't been four years gone by without seeing each other. Suddenly they were just two old friends again who had gone to hell and back with each other.

"But this," Katara continued, only a bit ashamed that her voice was trembling, "this was worse. There were so many sick people, Zuko. They were just lying in the streets because the hospital was full and there was no-one left to take care of them. I buried children who had starved to death without seeing their second birthday. I carried a half-decayed body out of a house because she had died and none of her children had the strength to move her. The oldest of them was eight. Eight, Zuko, with four siblings living in a house with a corpse because no-one cared. Because no-one could care. I had to do something. I will never turn my back on people who need me." There were tears streaming down her face now but she didn't care anymore. And she knew that he wouldn't either.

"No," Zuko answered and squeezed her hand. "You never should. That's why you were one of the good guys from the start."

"I couldn't do much. But I tried healing their sick. Those who I could heal at least. I buried their dead. I consoled the living. With the money I had I bought food but it was so little. So little I could do."

"So, then you started a rebellion?"

She huffed. "I told you, I didn't start it!"

He shot her a short smile. As if he didn't believe her at all. Jerk. "Then how did it start?"

"One of the women I had healed stole something to eat. It wasn't much. I don't even remember what it was. A bowl of rice, a dumpling, something like that. I don't even know if it was true. She was in the hospital the whole day and two hours after I let her go, they dragged her out to the square for- for-! It was so... so..."

"So little. Trivial. Insignificant."

"Right. And they wanted to cut her hand off for that. And I wasn't having that. I had just healed her and they dared to touch her. I stepped in. I pushed the guards back with my water. I wasn't hostile. I was just protecting her." She took a deep breath. "And then a stone flew. I don't know where it came from but suddenly people around me were fighting and most of them were non-benders for the spirits' sake! I had to protect them!"

"So, you did."

"So, I did."

Zuko nodded solemnly. "You've always been a protector."

She huffed a laugh. "I really didn't mean to get caught up in this but suddenly everything spiralled out of control and they pronounced me their leader. So. There you have it. I didn't really start a rebellion. I just... sped the process up."

He didn't reply anything to that.

With every moment that passed she grew more nervous. After a minute or so she wrenched her hand free and started picking at the loose threads of her tunic. It felt wrong to be holding hands with him all of the sudden. He just grunted at that.

"So...," she said slowly. "Are you going to throw me out of your country?"

"What?" Zuko sounded startled as if he'd been lost in thought. "No! Of course not!" He looked appalled that she even thought of such a thing.

"Then what are you going to do?"

"I don't know, yet," he admitted. "But we'll figure something out. Together. As leaders."

The former hospital had basically been converted to a fortress since Katara's arrival. She still healed the sick and the injured but now its most important function was defending the rebels from the firebending guard of the governor.

So, naturally, when the Fire Lord turned up on the doorstep, looking the least intimidating as possible, his hair let down and in normal clothes, there was a healthy amount of suspicion. They almost drove him away before Katara showed up insisting that he was welcome and tugging him inside.

"How's the peace talks going?" she asked him because she hadn't been asked to attend anymore. Instead she had both her hands full with calming the tempers of the rebels trying to get them to trust in their Fire Lord again.

"Slowly," he said with a wince as she pushed him inside her room and shut the door to give them at least a bit of privacy. "There's only so much I can do right now. There is, however, a shipment on the way with food and water and healers. It will arrive in a week, hopefully. Have you found out why their water isn't drinkable yet?"

She rolled her eyes. "Zuko, I've known that for weeks. The problem isn't finding the source, it's finding the solution."

He raised his eyebrows and gesticulated in an invitation to carry on.

"The old factory's leaking. It's still polluting the river."

He cursed under his breath. "It's been inactive for the better part of ten years!"

"That's why it's leaking. You'll have to tear it down before you can start cleaning the river."

He cursed again. "I was hoping to re-open it to manufacture something useful."

She huffed a laugh. "Yeah, that's not going to happen. Besides, even if you build a new factory, you'll need to come up with a concept to have it stop polluting the river first."

"If it's so bad, why didn't you tear the factory apart instead of Governor Yozin's house?"

Katara, in an incredible feat of self-control, managed not to wince. Yeah. That. That was something that happened two nights earlier, resulting in even more guards in front of the hospital and they were not for those inside. "Because the factory doesn't sit on a pile of money that's so fat it stinks,” she answered instead, “And it doesn't cut people's hands off."

He worried his lips between his teeth and against better judgement Katara felt a pang of compassion. "So, what do you propose?"

She wrinkled her nose. "I'm not sure, yet. Everything I've come up with would require a lot of money first. Like, a lot a lot. More than you could spare."

"Well, it can't be any worse than the current situation."

"Tourism," she said with a sigh. "Trade. Maybe fishing. There could be pearls and corals once the nature regrows. But that all takes time."

"You're the one who demanded an economic masterplan."

"Right." Her expression hardened. "Because that's what's needed. I can't come up with one."

He scowled even deeper and nodded, not saying anything for a while.

Then Katara asked: "What about the charges against me?"

He winced. "That's a tricky situation. A few years earlier, with the general uprisings going on it wouldn't have been a problem. But you did prevent Fire Nation law from getting carried out-"

"That's because the law is stupid," she interrupted him fuming.

"Let me finish! I told you it was tricky. You were also seen leading an illegal uprising against the lawful government."

She huffed and crossed her arms. "So what? You'll throw me in prison?"

"No." Zuko scowled. "I'll figure something out. If we could prove somehow that the punishment of the accused thief was indeed unlawful, however, your intervention wouldn't have been incriminating. Your little rebellion would still be unlawful but it would put me into a position to remove the governor and re-evaluate the situation."

"Right." She nodded. "I'll think of something."

He stood up from the shaky chair he sat on. "I'll have to get going. Meet back with you once one of us has got something?"

"Sure thing. I'll bring you outside." Katara opened the door to her room and saw a young woman standing in front of her, one hand raised to knock and looking as if they had grown a second head. Katara smiled. "Hello, Ni. How's the scarring coming along?"

"I think it's fine," she said hastily, her eyes fixed on the looming man behind Katara.

"Oh!" she said and stepped aside. "I believe you recognize the Fire Lord? Ni, Fire Lord Zuko. Zuko, Ni. She's the one I told you about."

Ni stared in horror before quickly sinking to her knees and pressed her forehead to the floor. "It is an honour to meet you, your majesty." Quickly, the rest of the bystanders followed suit.

Zuko's expression hardened, though Katara couldn't tell why. "Please, rise," he rasped quietly. "All of you." He looked around with a faint blush rising on his cheeks and suddenly he reminded her very much of the awkward teenager who had stumbled into their camp begging their forgiveness.

Slowly the Fire Lord bowed. "I am truly sorry for the hardships you had to go through." Something inside her chest clenched and she had to resist the urge to tug her friend into a tight hug. "It is unforgivable. Yet, I hope that I might earn your trust again."

He straightened again and looked around, taking in the stunned faces of the people surrounding him. Lastly, his gaze fell on Katara. She smiled in encouragement and he just nodded. "See you in a few days," he said quietly and almost bolted for the door.

Katara watched as he crossed the town square and vanished between his guards who were already getting anxious.

"It is good of the Fire Lord to treat us with such kindness," Ni said from her side. "And to help you like this."

Her smile broadened. "Of course. We're old friends after all."

"Yeah," she answered with a clouded expression, "Friends."

There were moments in life when Katara really wished to have Toph's metalbending abilities. For example when she had been thrown into jail in the Earth Kingdom. Or when she had been shipped off to the Southern Watertribe afterwards. Or when there were manacles chafing against her wrists as she was on trial for high treason.

Zuko presided over the whole thing, looking all regal in his Fire Lord's robes with a stern expression on his face that made a shiver run down her spine. At his side sat Governor Yozin and a wiry old man Zuko had brought with him that appeared to be some kind of expert in Fire Nation law.

Governor Yozin was droning on and on and on, listing off all her trespassing and the appropriate punishment for those - death by the sword sounded like the most merciful. Finally, the governor shut up.

"Katara of the Southern Watertribe," Zuko said with a booming voice, "how do you plead?"

She raised her chin. She was a proud woman and she would not quiver or budge, no matter the charges they laid at her feet. "Not guilty," she replied.

She watched with pleasure as the governor's face went red and he appeared to struggle to breath. "Do you deny that you interrupted the execution of Fire Nation law, witch? Do you deny that you used force against Fire Nation officials? Do you deny that your protesters destroyed public property?"

"I do not," she confessed. "However, I never touched your precious public property. And while I did use force, it was entirely for my safety and that of others."

"You still interrupted the prosecution of a criminal!"

"I did," she admitted. "It was, however, not a lawful prosecution. The accused was innocent."

“Liar!” the governor screeched. “She is a liar, your majesty!”

Zuko looked entirely unfazed and turned to Katara. “Master Katara, if you would elaborate?”

The shadow of a smile passed over her lips before she stood up. “I am certainly no expert in Fire Nation law, your majesty,” she began and the look he shot her was almost ridiculously pleading that she took that seriously. Well, for his sake she would. “However, I was given to understand that every accused is assumed innocent until proven guilty.”

“That is right, Master Katara,” he answered. “Was the thief not proven guilty?”

“She was!” Governor Yozin insisted. “One of my guards saw her do it!”

“Governor, if you cannot control your temper, I’ll have to ask you to leave,” Zuko said and Katara could see how close he was to losing control of his temper.

Katara ignored them both. “I was also told, that only a trial can prove the guilt of a person.” She could see the governor pale. “Ni was not given a trial.”

Zuko turned to Yozin. “Is that true?” he asked with a voice that sent chills down her back. She was glad not to be in the governor’s place.

“I- your majesty! She- she is only a thief! Only a peasant.”

She watched in surprise as the candles in the room flickered higher. She hadn’t seen Zuko this angry since… since before they’d ended the war. But apparently, he was furious. “Ni is a fire nation citizen from your island and thus under your immediate protection. It is your honourable duty to provide her and all other people on this island with a livelihood, a duty that you have neglected for years. And now, it seems, you add abuse of power and unlawful prosecution to the list of your misconducts.” The Fire Lord stood. “I hereby permanently revoke any and all titles and position that you and your heirs hold, effective immediate. Guards, release the waterbender. We are done here.”

Katara watched in perplexed awe as Zuko left the room. It took a few moments before she caught up to what had happened and hurried after him.

"Go away," Zuko said the moment that Katara stepped into the deserted hallway he had vanished into.

"I just wanted to thank you," she said coldly, yet a smile danced around her lips. "But if you don't want my thanks-"

"It's you," he said relief washing over him.

"Who else would it be? I don't think the others have found their voice again."

She had meant to say it as a joke but still he winced. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I shouldn't have lost my temper like that."

"I think you did just fine," she tried to soothe him.

Instead he just looked away.

Katara sighed and stepped closer, gently wrapping an arm around his shoulder. "You know, I think sometimes a little anger is your necessary," she said softly. "For example, to put a nasty sour old asshole in his place. Or to get your step-grandfather to train you. Oh wait, that's just the same." He chuckled a little and she felt relieved. "Or to wake the Avatar from a 100-year nap in an iceberg with waterbending."

"You did that?" he asked incredulously.

"I never told you?" She wrinkled her nose. "Spirits, Zuko we know each other for ten years and you don't know that your very best friend in the whole wide world has started the process to save it?"

"Sokka can waterbend?" he asked with a sly smile on his lips.

She scowled and removed her arm from around his shoulders. "Your very best female friend in the whole wide world."

"I thought you guys met Toph and Suki later on."

She huffed and shoved at his shoulder. "You are a menace."

"Says the one who started a rebellion in a foreign country."

She flashed him a bright smile. "You can thank me later. Anyways, I've got good news to deliver." She turned and started walking towards the door, leaving Zuko behind.

The last she heard of the firebender was a quiet huff and what sounded suspiciously like a muttered "Believe me, I would." But then Katara decided that she got more important things to worry about. For example, how to break the news to her rebels. And what she would do once she'd inevitably leave the island.

#zutara #zutara week 2020 #zuko #katara #my writing #day 2: counterpart

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blightarts · 4 years ago

Text

Blades of Order & Chaos

Chapter Title: 8 - Rival

Previous Chapter: Lion VS Bear

Word Count: 5239

Disclaimer: All rights belong to Pixelberry. This is my version for the upcoming sequel of Blades of Light & Shadow. I am not claiming this to be the canon story of the book. This is only written to increase the hype for the actual sequel.

MC/Pairing: Kite (Blue Elf Male MC) / Kite x Nia

Taglist: @princessstellaris @mechaspirit @brightningstar @cal-north @lxdy-starfury @tyrils-star @imturaxamara @kelseaaa

In the middle of the Vishanti Kingdom market square, Kade comes face to face with the former prince of Morella, Aerin Valleros. While Threep glares along with Kade, Kite and Bella are left confused.

Kite: Kade, is this person a danger to us?

Aerin scoffs.

Aerin: I’m hurt, Kite. After a year of not seeing each other, you’ve forgotten all about me?

Kade: Kite lost his memories.

The prince raises his eyebrow.

Aerin: Oh? That’s quite unfortunate.

Bella steps up.

Bella: Hold on. Is there some romantic tension that I’m not gettin’ here?

Threep: This young man is Aerin Valleros, prince of Morella, who betrayed his people and aided the Shadow Court in their return.

Bella tenses up upon hearing the words, “Shadow Court”, but composes herself before walking up to Aerin and grabbing his collar.

Bella: So, this li’l fella is a problem to you guys then? Should we throw him off the mountain?

Aerin chuckles and sarcastically raises his hands in defeat.

Aerin: Easy, easy. I’m not even showing any hostility towards any of you… yet.

Kade: What are you doing here? How’d you even survive the Empire’s attack on Whitetower, let alone escaped your prison cell? Did they let you out and got you a spot in their ranks?

Aerin: What’s in it for me if I tell you?

Bella: We don’t let gravity decide your fate.

Aerin rolls his eyes and shrugs.

Aerin: Alright, fair enough.

Bella lets go of Aerin as he dusts himself off.

Aerin: A year ago, after you lot had your first encounter with that coward, Laundsellyn, he took me from my cell and dragged me into the Shadow Realm.

The prince then turns around for a stroll, signaling the party to follow him.

Aerin: After that, I thought I was done serving jail time, but no, they threw me into another cell for my failures in defeating you.

Kade: Well, it serves you right for joining the wrong side.

Aerin ignores Kade’s rude comment.

Aerin: I stayed in that cell for about three months and during that time, I’ve heard from one of the Shadow Guards that once served under me, mocking me and laughing about the news that Laundsellyn killed my father.

Kite notices Aerin clenching his fists in anger.

Aerin: Upon hearing my father’s name, visions began to clutter my mind, visions of the past that I cannot even recall, visions of me… and my brother, Baldur… actually getting along during our childhood…

Threep: I thought you two were at odds with each other until you plunged the Blade of Shadows unto him.

Aerin: That’s what I thought as well. For years, I believed that my brother had always been a condescending jerk who treats people who are beneath him as insects. But no, my memories proved that to be wrong as when we were young, he offered me to be his right-hand man, his closest advisor once he becomes king.

Kade: So, what you’re saying is that the Dreadlord somehow manipulated your memories, as well as Baldur’s in order to tear yourselves apart and use one of you as a puppet?

As the party nears the kingdom’s gates, Aerin stops walking.

Aerin: I don’t know. That’s what I intend to find out.

The prince moves forward once more.

Aerin: I spent my three months in solitary, recalling my memories and struggling from countless headaches, but I could not make any progress whatsoever. And then… he came along, Ignis…

Shivers run up everyone’s spines while Aerin clutches his chest.

Aerin: He visited my cell and “offered” me to join his ranks in exchange for my freedom.

Kade: Well, seeing you here right now means that you’ve obviously said yes.

Aerin turns to Kade with rage.

Aerin: I was not even able to give an answer!

Kade flinches as Kite gets between him and Aerin. Citizens begin to stare at the party.

Aerin: I was dragged out of my cell before that accursed devil casted a spell…

Aerin then tears open his shirt, revealing a Nerada Stone still etched onto its chest while small purple sparks surge through it.

Aerin: …on this damned thing, making sure that I get in line and follow the orders of the elf that killed my father, else I get electrocuted to death!

The prince then grips his hair as he starts to lose it.

Aerin: After that I was worked to the bone, slaughtering innocent people who refused to bend to the Empire and conquering peaceful lands across Morella, all while suffering from the headaches caused by those visions and the shocking pain that this stupid stone keeps bringing unto me!

Aerin then grabs Kite by the collar. Bella grabs onto one of Aerin’s arms.

Bella: Hey! No bright ideas, royal boy!

Aerin: How do you even live while you’re suffering like this, Kite?! After everything you’ve been through, being betrayed, being separated from those you love, being beaten to a pulp, and having your memories lost! How are you still moving forward?!

Kite is speechless while Aerin keeps rambling in tears.

Aerin: I’ve thrown it all away… I’ve surrendered myself to darkness… I’ve betrayed the people who once saw me as their friend… I’ve let my own father die under the hands of the elf I now work for… I’ve killed my own brother all because a dark entity severed our bonds and manipulated our memories…

Threep leans in on Kite’s ears and whispers.

Threep: We should leave quickly. Everyone has their eyes on us.

Aerin: The nesper is right.

Aerin sniffs and wipes his tears before letting Kite go.

Aerin: This should not be settled by just words.

He turns away.

Aerin: Meet me outside of town.

Aerin then walks off while buttoning up his shirt. The crowd avert their eyes from the group as the tension dies down.

Bella: Jeez, that was one helluva ride.

Kade: We can’t let him get away.

Threep: I believe that he wants to settle things with Kite through combat.

Kite watches as Aerin disappears into the crowd.

Kite: I’ll do it.

The party look at Kite with surprise.

Kade: What?! You do know it’s a trap!

Bella: Yeah, he’s with the bad guys, whether he likes it or not.

Kite: I don’t care. I can tell from how Aerin looked at me earlier. It’s like… he’s asking someone to save him.

Kite runs ahead to chase after Aerin while the party hesitates for a second before following suit. Threep gets on Kite’s shoulder.

Threep: I hope you know what you’re doing.

Kite: I am. You guys have to trust me.

Minutes later, in the outskirts of the Vishanti Kingdom, Aerin sits on the snow, gazing at the sky. His head begins to pain as a vision flashes in his eyes.

Aerin: Tch! Not again!

In his vision, he sees his young self being bullied by three kids in the town square of Whitetower.

Bully 1: Go back to your lush life in the castle, Valleros!

Bully 2: Yeah, no one wants you here!

Bully 3: Weakling!

Suddenly, Baldur appears, pushing the bullies away, and gets in between them and Aerin while holding a stick.

Baldur: Hey! Get away from my brother! He may be not as strong as any of us here, but he is sure as heck smarter than the three of you combined!

The bullies approach Baldur, cracking their knuckles.

Bully 1: Now, you’re asking for it, Baldur.

Baldur turns to Aerin.

Past Baldur: Stand up, Aerin. We can take them on together.

Past Aerin: O-Okay…

Aerin stands up and shyly raises his hands in self-defense.

The vision fast-forwards, minutes after the two brothers faced off against the bullies. They have a few bruises scattered around them, but they were victorious in the fight. Baldur is giving Aerin a piggyback ride.

Past Baldur: Good job handling yourself out there.

Past Aerin: You did most of the work…

Past Baldur: Nonsense. It was smart of you to poke their eyes, giving me time to whoop their butts. I’m proud of you.

Baldur grins while Aerin becomes flustered.

Past Aerin: T-Thank you…

The vision ends as Aerin is snapped back to reality and his headache fades away.

Aerin: How…? Where did it all go wrong…?

The prince turns around to see Kite and his friends standing behind him.

Aerin: You’re here.

He stands up and cracks his knuckles.

Kite: I’m guessing you wanna settle this in a fight?

Aerin: Yeah. Once I defeat you, the Hero chosen to defeat the Empire, right here, I will go back to Shadow Realm and claim vengeance!

Aerin puts his hand forward, materializing a polearm surging with Shadow magic. Kade grits his teeth.

Kade: A new weapon from Ignis, I presume?

Aerin: More or less. It’s called the Blackcliff Polearm.

Kade, Bella and Threep steps back.

Kade: Is it really okay for us to let this fight happen while not worrying about an avalanche?

Bella: It’s alright. The Vishanti placed wards around the mountain to prevent avalanches from occurring, guaranteeing the safety of their kingdom.

Threep: That’s a relief.

Kite unsheathes the Mirror Claymore, piquing the interest of Aerin.

Aerin: So, that’s the Mirror Claymore of the Vishanti. Quite the Sacred Treasure.

Aerin begins the fight by charging towards Kite and performs a few swings and thrusts with the Blackcliff Polearm, but the latter uses his elven senses to avoid all of them.

Aerin: Tch! Alright, how about this?!

Aerin leaps up and attempts to plunge the polearm on Kite, but again, the latter hops back, evading the attack.

Aerin: Got you now!

Aerin lets go of the polearm while it is planted on the ground before kicking it.

The polearm spins vertically towards Kite who blocks it with the Mirror Claymore.

Kite: Damn!

As the polearm begins to slow down in spinning, Aerin suddenly lunges forward and grabs it, surprising Kite.

Kite: What the—

Aerin then uses Shadow magic, transforming himself into a purple bolt of lightning, before traveling upwards. Kite and the party look up in awe.

Kade: What the hell is that?!

Threep: He has become stronger since we last saw him!

Three duplicates of the Blackcliff polearm rain down from the sky and plant themselves around Kite. Sparks then begin to appear on their tips. Kite attempts to block the incoming attack with the Mirror Claymore, but Aerin proves to be quicker as his lightning form comes crashing down onto the duplicate polearms acting as lightning rods. Kite gets electrocuted and hurled from the point of the attack, where Aerin is seen crouching down and holding his weapon, plunged onto the ground.

Bella: Sheesh, remind me not to mess with him when he’s this worked up.

Kite gets up while still recovering from Aerin’s attack. The prince stands up and pulls out his weapon from the ground, boasting about his successful attack.

Aerin: How was that?!

Kite: Tch! Not bad.

Kite gets up and dusts off his shoulder.

Kade: Wait, why was the Mirror Claymore not able to absorb the magic attack?

Threep: I believe that Kite was expecting Aerin to strike from above, even though there were duplicates of the polearm around him. However, when Aerin dropped and struck Kite’s guard, it wasn’t a magical attack, it was instead a physical attack. So, it didn’t count to the magic absorption power of the Claymore.

Bella: Then what caused the electric surge?

Threep: Electricity ran from the tip of Aerin’s weapon towards its duplicates while avoiding the Mirror Claymore, overloading them with magical energy to the point where they would explode.

Kade: That was… actually clever.

Bella: He managed to bypass the insane power of the Mirror Claymore.

Aerin rushes towards Kite once more, but the latter stays composed.

Kite: Aerin, you’re not the only one that has grown.

Kite raises the Mirror Claymore and slams it on the ground in front of him, scattering the snow and obscuring himself from Aerin’s sights. The elf then quickly casts a spell.

Kite: Chaos Magic: Moonlight Circle – Mirror Mirage.

Aerin: You can’t hide from me!

Aerin slashes the thin snow wall between him and Kite in half. As the snow parts, the prince comes face to face with multiple duplicates of his opponent, each holding the Bow of Gal’dariel in hand.

Aerin: Wha—

Kade: He used Mirror Mirage!

Threep: An excellent strategy. This should buy the real Kite some time to strike back.

Aerin stops in his tracks.

Aerin: So, this is the spell you used to escape the clutches of the Empire.

Kite and his duplicates draw their bows and arrows while aiming at Aerin.

Aerin: I know that most of those arrows are not real, but one of them can still pierce my body.

The arrows are let loose as they fly towards their target.

Aerin: So, as long as I find the real you…

Aerin does a forward flip, avoiding all the arrows, before slamming his polearm on the ground, unleashing arcs of lightning towards Kite and his duplicates. The arcs pierce through each duplicate as, one by one, they fade from existence, however, as the last duplicate fades away, the real Kite is nowhere to be seen.

Aerin: What?! Then… where is he?!

Aerin looks around, searching for the real Kite, when suddenly, the snow beneath him begins to move. He looks down.

Aerin: Can it be…?

Kite leaps up from under the snow, equipping the Gauntlet of Pain, and sucker punches Aerin, launching him far away.

Bella: Oof, that’s gotta hurt!

Aerin gets on his feet and wipes off the blood, dripping from his lips.

Aerin: But still not enough to make me concede.

He rushes to Kite, who unsheathes the Mirror Claymore.

Aerin: I will...!

Kite swings the Claymore like a baseball bat, but Aerin leaps to avoid it, ready to plunge his polearm.

Kite: Damn!

Aerin: …surpass you!!

Kite swiftly grabs the sharp end of the polearm using the Gauntlet of Pain, stopping Aerin’s attack, before hurling it behind him. Aerin ends up plunging his weapon on the snow.

Aerin: Tch!

He flips away, giving himself some distance from Kite. The two stare down at each other, waiting to strike.

Aerin: Why don’t we both bring out everything we’ve got?

Kite deeply inhales before casting Lion’s Pride, raising his physical attributes. Meanwhile, Aerin channels his Shadow magic, causing purple electricity to surge throughout his body, increasing his speed and agility. Bella steps in front of Kade and Threep.

Bella: We gotta stay back. When their attacks clash, it could be dangerous for us.

The party steps back a few feet and as soon as they did, Kite and Aerin charge at each other. They both swing their weapons, causing a strong shockwave upon collision. The two keep clashing, trading minimal blows and parrying each other’s attacks. While Aerin has the speed to strike before Kite could defend himself, the latter has enough endurance to not flinch from the attack and strike back.

Aerin leaps up, transforming into a bolt of purple lightning once more. This time, more than three duplicates of his polearm drop from the sky and surround Kite.

Kite: Tch!

Kite hops back, trying to get out of the field of polearms, but Aerin quickly descends from the sky, releasing magical energy to the polearms, causing them to burst with electricity before Kite could escape the area of effect.

Aerin: I’m impressed that you were able to survive that.

The light from the electrical surge fades, revealing Kite shielding himself with the Mirror Claymore as it is filled with magical energy that came from Aerin’s attack. However, the elf is left with burns across his body.

Kade: Kite!

Unconcerned with his own well-being, Kite swings his weapon, unleashing a magical projectile, shaped like a crescent and filled with Shadow Magic, towards Aerin.

Bella: Again, with that recklessness. Has he always been like this?

Threep: Sadly, yes, but it’s what got him this far.

Aerin imbues his polearm with Shadow Magic and uses it to cut the crescent in half, avoiding the attack, but as the crescent parts, Kite comes up right in front of Aerin, catching him by surprise.

Aerin: When did you…?!

Aerin then notices Kite conjuring a ball of Cleansing Fire from his hand. Kite swings his hand down, attempting to slam the fireball onto Aerin’s head, but the latter leaps back, evading the attack.

Aerin: It takes a lot more than a ball of fire to knock me down, Kite.

Kite looks at Aerin with a smirk.

Kite; What makes you think that it was going for you?

Aerin: Huh?

Kite slams the fireball onto the Mirror Claymore as it absorbs the magical energy, imbuing it with flames. He then charges forward while Aerin is still in mid-air, in the midst of avoiding the fireball.

Aerin’s Thoughts: Shit! I can’t dodge it! I have to block it!

Aerin holds his polearm up to block the incoming attack, but…

CLANG!!

…Kite disarms Aerin and sends the Blackcliff Polearm flying through the air, startling the latter.

Aerin: No!

The party starts cheering.

Kade: He did it!

Threep: Kite has the advantage now!

Bella: Nice!

As Aerin lands on the snow, Kite kicks his leg, forcing him to kneel in pain.

Aerin: Aah!!

Kite: Aerin… if you let only your emotions fuel your false resolve…

The elf then pulls his weapon back, ready to swing it.

Kite: …then you do not deserve to win this fight.

Aerin stares in disbelief before slowly lowering his head in defeat, accepting his demise.

Kade: Wait… is he gonna…?

Kite grips the hilt of the Mirror Claymore tight before swinging rapidly, aiming for Aerin’s neck, as if he’s trying to behead him.

Threep: Kite!

Fortunately, Kite stops short, with the blade of the Mirror Claymore almost touching Aerin’s neck. The prince’s heart momentarily pauses as he just looks at Kite, with an expression of pity on his face.

Aerin: W… Why’d you stop…?

Kite sheathes the Mirror Claymore before turning away and rejoining his friends. Aerin grits his teeth and stands in anger.

Aerin: Hey! Don’t walk away from me, Kite! Why didn’t you kill me?!

Kite stops in his tracks.

Kite: Because I cannot kill a man who is just asking for a death wish.

Aerin: What do you mean…?

Kite turns to Aerin, who was speechless.

Kite: Defeating me or the Empire? Can you even do that? Or are you just looking for an excuse to get yourself killed to end your suffering, even though it doesn’t work that way? You weren’t even giving your all during our fight.

Aerin: I…

Aerin trembles, slowly realizing how correct Kite is.

Kite: The fact that you can’t even take it upon yourself to end your own life and instead relying on others to do it, means that there’s still a part of you that wants to live on.

Kite turns back to his friends.

Kite: Once you’ve found your real self, the Aerin before the Empire of Ash, before the Shadow Court, before all of this, then come find me.

Kite continues to walk towards his friends.

Kite: I’ll be sure to fight you again… to settle this properly.

The party gathers around Kite, making sure he’s okay, while they all walk away from Aerin.

Kade: Are you hurt?

Kite: I’m fine.

Threep: Did you really intend to kill him?

Kite: I wasn’t trying to.

Bella: Are you sure you wanna face him again?

Kite: As much as I need to until he’s saved.

As the party disappears from Aerin’s sights, he grabs his weapon, before walking the other direction and wandering to himself.

Aerin: My… real self…

As the party and Aerin part ways, Laundsellyn watches from the sky, laying down on a hovering Blade of Shadows.

Sir Laundsellyn: Hehe, that was fun.

He squints and smirks at the party.

Sir Laundsellyn: Now… where could that Priestess be?

————— END OF CHAPTER —————

#playchoices #choices #choices stories you play #choices fanfic #playchoices fanfic #blades of light and shadow #choices blades #blades fanfic #bolas #choices bolas #bolas fanfic #blades mc #kade #choices kade #aerin valleros #choices aerin

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amethystpath-writes · 4 years ago

Note

For BTHB, could you do cold blooded torture for Leera and Rennera? I absolutely love them!!

Hiya! I'm so glad you love my characters! It really means a lot to me :) Thank you for the request!!

Leera/Rennera Request Fill (out of the timeline)

@badthingshappenbingo

Prompt: Cold-Blooded Torture

Fandom: Original Work

TWs: I think we can assume the lot of these given the prompt but----> torture, blood, restrained, captivity, whipped, scratched by nail, threats of worse treatment, blood, burned by hot metal (not branded), forced apology, mention of muscle damage

******

The queen's steps thudded against the floor like an unbearable drum. Only Leera's own harsh breathing could tune it out.

"Again," Rennera said and the assassin released a hearty cry as leather slapped against her back. Her elbows drove inwards, but to no avail could she stop the pain being caused. Her wrists were sore, tugging constantly, pathetically, at the chains bounding them.

Rennera tutted. "You would think that after all this time..." The queen stepped beside Leera's head, which was pressed firmly to the stone table she was restrained on. Rennera smiled at the sweat streaming from the assassin's hairline. "You would think," she repeated, and delicately dragged a nail down Leera's arm, causing a shudder, "you would just apologize."

An incoherent noise tumbled from the assassin's lips before Leera was able to mutter, "I have." Her voice was quiet, but gravely. Someone might have said her voice was tossed into a tumbler, then given back with missing slivers. Another symptom of brokenness, but the assassin would never accept that fact. She wasn't broken; she was still fighting. "I have apologized," Leera groaned again.

"And what has the problem been? What have I told you on every occasion?"

"It wasn't true."

"What wasn't?" The queen drew another line, this one less delicate than the first stroke, this one coming close to breaking the skin.

"The- the apology. It wasn't true." Leera grimaced at Rennera's nail touching her skin. She became very consciously aware of the scarred line on her face.

"And?" the queen asked.

"And if it's not true," she swallowed. "If it's not true then I'll- I'll never leave." But she had. Leera had escaped many times, only it never lasted. The assassin's face was posted everywhere, at all times. Paper over paper of her aging face was displayed on town square notice boards, on trees in every woods, even dyed on banners that hung from the palace itself. Leera was searched for even at times when the queen hadn't lost her.

A whine rose in the assassin's throat as she felt her skin split, felt a single bead of warm blood slide down the curve of her arm until it touched the table. "Good girl," the queen said in a high voice, as if she were speaking to a little girl. It was appropriate; Leera felt little. "Now, apologize again." Rennera stood, began walking circles around her revenge canvas once again.

"I-I can't. I can't. Please. Please, I can't do what you-"

"Again!" the queen yelled. At almost the same time, the man behind Leera cracked down on her back, earning a clipped scream from the assassin as her voice gave at the sudden outburst. "Apologize."

Leera couldn't speak and instead gagged on the pain streaking her back and shoulders.

The footsteps stopped once more. Rennera hummed. "Give me your dullest knife, servant." Leera could hear the torturer lay down his whip before shuffling through his various devices. "Yes, that one!"

The assassin's chest rose in quick gasps. It hurt too much for full breaths. It stretched the muscles too much. Leera felt she wasn't breathing enough, and a part of her thought not breathing at all would feel better. She needed a numb; she needed rest. Before she could close her eyes, something cold touched her back and she startled with a high-pitched scream. Leera swore she smelled metal, but is it the knife or my own blood? She physically shook away the thought, despite the miserable pain moving caused.

Queen Rennera sighed, twisting the knife in her hand, spinning the dull tip against an unscathed part of Leera's back. "I can't tell if I have actually broken you or if you are being stubborn as usual." The knife pressed harder, still twisting.

I'm not broken. I've never been and never will be. Not by you, or anyone. With those thoughts still came the inevitable, But I hurt. Gods, I hurt. I want to sleep. I want... Leera would run away soon. She would run again, even if it meant another night of furious torture. Leera just needed a break. When she was healed from this night, she would run again, she swore it.

With a newfound courage, Leera, still in immense pain from the whip, said, "You want," The assassin allowed herself one deep breath, face skewering as she focused on holding it in as her flesh tore with the action. When the burn subsided, she used that focused breath to finish saying, "You want something that I can't- I can't give y- agh!" The metal pushed against her spine, pinning her to a table she was already pinned on. Leera felt a block in her throat. It was out of place and her body wanted it out so it gagged again. Her stomach acted with the block, pushing an invisible barrier out. It churned and twisted along with the fires in her back. No matter how hard her body tried, Leera wasn't pushed to the point of throwing up yet.

"You need only apologize to him," the queen said, referring to the dead king as she always did. Her voice, though, was soft, falsely sympathetic. "And this will all be over, my dearest Leera." The assassin pushed her forehead harder onto the stone table, screaming at the top of her lungs with a plea as the queen pushed the dagger harder onto the spine, not enough to shatter it, but enough to send the nerves on a panicked spree. Rennera didn't even break the skin, hence a dull blade.

"I'm sorry!" Leera finally sputtered. "I'm sorry!" and her voice rose an octave. If she could have pounded a fist against the table, she would have.

"I would threaten to cut out your tongue if it meant you could speak without it," Rennera spat.

Click,click- clack. It was the knife, falling to the floor. Leera released a sigh of relief. Another warm tear followed the edge of her cheekbone.

The queen called her servant again, this time asking for a clamp.

"I'm sorry," Leera drawled with a whine. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." She took shallow breaths again, listening as the queen neared once more. "And I mean it," she said truthfully. "I do. I'm sorry, my queen, for everything. I'm sorry." I'm not broken, but I'm in pain. I must stop this pain. She didn't lie. Leera felt badly for killing the king, but she felt no pity for him. It was the queen she felt badly for. Unfortunately, that wasn't what the queen wanted, and that's why Leera put off her apologies for as long as possible. Not saying one at all was better than giving one to the queen, who didn't want it for herself.

"Start me a fire." The assassin screamed her apologies louder, nearly losing her voice.

Each 'sorry' only earned her another punishment, for the queen was sick of being apologized to. Leera should be apologizing to the man she killed. Why didn't the assassin feel as bad as Rennera for the king's death? Why didn't she feel just as guilty? One day, the queen thought, one day she'll understand the pain she caused in her reputation if she only experiences it herself.

Red hot, the spiked clamp was brought back by the servant. Rennera urged him to hand her the device faster and the moment he did, she situated her fingers in the handles, before opening the closed tips and pressing it against the skin of the assassin's left arm. As Leera screamed, the queen said, perhaps not loudly enough to affect the assassin further, "Don't worry, dearest. I won't damage the muscles too awfully."

11 notes · View notes