#and then I started writing the hunter oath but had to think too much about stuff | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pascalpanic · 4 years ago

Note

hi i love ur writing so much!! can i request something with mutual pining, denial of feelings, idiots-to-lovers, hurt/comfort/angst , maybe some jealousy and fluff and smut if you want i just need something really angsty with javier peña, frankie m or din djarin?? tysmm!!!!!

The Bantha (Din Djarin x f!Reader)

Summary: Being an animal lover does not work well with the plans the Tuskens and Mos Pelgo citizens have to kill the krayt dragon. A retelling of S2E1 of the Mandalorian: The Marshal.

W/C: 4.4K

Warnings: talk of animals being harmed/dying, lots of arguing and angst, Vanth kind of is gross bc I hate his character aha, we respect the Tuskens in this house and use proper terminology for them, language, tiniest mentions of alcohol

A/N: Not gonna lie, the idea for this fic came to me pretty quickly but it took me a long time to properly figure it out. Lots of drafting and editing so THANK YOU to my beta readers, you’re all the best ever!! Anon, I’m so sorry this took so long but I hope it’s worth it!

Of all the dilemmas you’d expected to face as you traveled the galaxy with a tiny, Force-sensitive, 50-year-old toddler and a Mandalorian with the emotional capacity of the earlier-mentioned child, the last one you’d ever predicted you’d face had to be the challenge of ridding a tiny desert town of a giant sand beast that eats their banthas.

“You are so fucking dense,” you groan as you and Din settle on a speeder bike, the little green child tucked in a wrap on your chest. “You’re a Mandalorian, a battle-worn bounty hunter with a kill streak probably in the thousands, and some random man asks for your help and not only do you fucking freely give it, you decide to help them kill the sand dragon terrorizing their town.” You groan to him, rubbing your temples.

Din nods and starts up the speeder bike. “You don’t need to summarize what we just lived through,” he grunts and you wrap an arm around him.

“I do, because I need to clarify that your dumb ass would do that. Sometimes I really do think you don’t have a brain under that beskar bucket,” you shake your head, trying to keep the anger that you’re feeling. If you’re not careful, it’ll turn to adoration and love.

You’ve been battling your feelings for Din for a while now, trying to force the giddiness bubbling in your chest deep down inside. The man is everything you look for in a partner: strong, committed, tall, protective. He’s good with the child, adorably cuddly and loving. He’s even funny sometimes, making dry-humored remarks around the ship.

“Excuse me for caring,” the man grumbles through the modulator. He’s strong and warm beneath your arms, the Tatooine heat making the beskar warm like your bunk in the morning when you don’t want to get up. Stop it, stop it you remind yourself. This is not the time to be enraptured by the Mandalorian man’s body.

That’s yet another trait you love about him- how caring he is. He’s a bounty hunter, a warrior by oath who never shows his face and probably knows millions of ways to kill someone with his bare hands. Yet he cares. He raises the child well; he even raised him alone before you came into the picture. He puts himself in harm’s way for innocent people on the daily, all because he simply thinks it’s right.

You take a sip from your water canteen and hand it to the baby on your chest so he can drink too. “No, I will not excuse you for caring when you’re doing stupid shit, Din,” you scowl and cap the canteen as two three-fingered green hands give it back to you. “You came here- we came here, our family did, to find Mandalorians. There are none.”

“This man will give me his beskar if we help,” Din hisses, revving the engine of the speeder, non-verbally telling Vanth to get moving. The man is dawdling along, a few meters away, as he packs his bike up.

“What do you need it for, huh?” You ask him, throwing your arms up in exasperation. “I’m not a Mandalorian. This little shit doesn’t need beskar. You have a full set of armor already.”

“Beskar belongs to me, to my people, by my Creed,” he says, articulating himself with his hands too. It’s a habit he’s picked up from you. “You wouldn’t ask a Tatooinian to deprive themselves of the moisture they farm.”

You put your face in your hands and groan. “No, you’re right, because they fucking need water to live. You do not need beskar to survive, Din!” You shout, getting off the speeder bike. “And please, forget I called us a family. We’re clearly just a bounty hunter and his… assistant, whatever the fuck I am, and some little kid we picked up for the ride.” You stalk off towards the building.

“Where are you going?” He asks as you turn.

Cobb is standing to the side somewhere, and you approach him. “You got another speeder? I don’t want to put up with him for the ride.”

The man chuckles and claps your shoulder. “Sure thing, pretty thing.” He wanders off and returns about a minute later with another speeder. Din watches the two of you in annoyance, visible from his rigid body language. “Hop on. You know how to drive?” You nod once and he heads to his own speeder. “I’ll lead. You two follow.”

The ride is uneventful at first. Cobb Vanth tells the two of you the story of how he came to be the town marshal, and Din nods his silent comprehension when the man in beskar looks over at him. Most of the stories are aimed at you, desperate to crack your stony anger. It doesn’t work. You stare straight ahead, daring to break your frown into a neutral expression when the little green baby coos excitedly at the wind in his ears.

There are valleys and caverns to navigate through, nimbly ducking and weaving on your speeder bike. The kid loves it, squealing happily when you fly over a bump or turn a sharp corner. It’s a joyride to him.

When Din and Vanth suddenly stop your ride, you panic, holding the child close against your chest. From your holster, you grab your weapon and stand next to the two men. The growling noises are revealed to be massiffs, huge dog-like lizards. You squeal in delight, immediately dropping to your knees and summoning the beast in Tusken.

“What in the hell is she doin’?” Vanth mutters to Din as the big animal comes bounding toward you.

“She’s always like this with animals. Thinks they’re all big puppies,” Din rolls his eyes but can’t help himself: he smiles beneath his helmet as the beast licks your face and you scratch its sides.

You’re such a wonderful person, Din sighs, even though he’s mad at you. You’ve always been amazing with other species, like massiffs and the little green child strapped to your chest. You’re so intelligent too: speaking seemingly endless languages.

“They are big puppies!” You coo and press a kiss to the forehead of one massiff. Another finds Din, who also bends down to give it scratches and attention. “Green bean, look!” You tell the child and put out his hand for the massiff to lick. “See? They’re our friends,” you tell him, admiring the way the little green child giggles at the scaly skin.

From around a corner, a Tusken appears, then several. You stand and lower your weapon, speaking to them first in their native language. “We mean no harm. You have beautiful massiffs,” you tell them then turn to Din and Vanth. “Drop the weapons.”

“Are you crazy?” Vanth shouts.

“We are here to put an end to the krayt dragon,” you explain to them in their language. “Your assistance and knowledge would certainly help us. You want it gone too, yes?”

They affirm you that it’s a yes, and you nod back at the men. You know Din understands. “They’re willing to help if you’ll stop being a douchebag.” Vanth starts to talk but you hold up a hand and cut him off. “I know, I know. We can strike a deal. Are you willing?”

Din’s heart is nearly exploding. In any other timeline, he’d be the one conducting negotiations, using his threat as a Mandalorian to run the show. But here you are, with your gentle nature, making deals and completing them through cooperation and kindness. It’s hard to speak in a soft tone when speaking Tusken, yet you can do it. All with a baby strapped to your chest. Maker, Din thinks, he might be in love with you.

Vanth sighs a few moments later. “Why the hell not?”

Din talks with the Tuskens for a while at the camp, planning and negotiating as night falls and the air starts to get cold. To entertain the child, you spend time with the banthas, brushing their fur and letting the baby get exposed to the animals.

The kid loves them. He coos happily as he strokes their thick fur, giggling as one of them gives him a kiss and covers him in slime. You wash him off and return, quietly talking with the Tuskens caring for the creatures.

You’ve taken a liking to them. They’re gentle and soft, like big lumbering puppies, really. They moo when you brush their fur just right, let their eyes slip shut when you scratch them between the eyes. You’ve always had a soft spot for animals, like Din said earlier.

Cobb likes you. That much is clear from the way he finds you when he’s not working with Din and the Tuskens, bringing you food and water as you and the child mind your business. He’s overly flirtatious, to the point of annoyance. He’s rude and crude about the Tuskens, calling them words you’d never use to describe a human.

Politely excusing yourself, you allow the child to run with some of the other Tuskens’ children and spot a silver-plated man sitting by the fire.

“Vanth is such a goddamn xenophobe,” you grumble as you sit down next to the fire with Din, the child off playing with some Tusken children. He’d ranted about the Tuskens as you rode with them, luckily in Basic so that the people couldn’t understand him.

“Thought you liked him,” Din says and cocks his head. “He certainly likes you.”

You roll your eyes and sip the canteen of water, looking at the crackling fire. “Those things are not mutually exclusive,” you chuckle, looking over at him. “What, are you jealous, tin can?” You tease and knock on his beskar pauldron.

“In your dreams, cyar’ika,” he teases. It’s clear to him that whatever tension had been between the two of you earlier has dissipated, enough for him to steal the water flask from your hand and pass it to the child as he toddles past.

“I was drinking that, you fucking bantha,” you laugh and smack him on an unarmored part of his arm. The Tatooinian desert gets cold at night, you find, and you pull into yourself a little more from the cold.

Din unclips his cape and drapes it over your shoulders, tucking it in beneath where your arms press against your ribs so that it wraps tight to your body. “Hm. You do have a heart under there,” you tease and sigh, naturally leaning against Din and resting your head on his shoulder pauldron.

“So it’s been said,” he nods and even dares to rest his head on top of yours. Through the bare spots in his beskar, he can feel the way your body radiates warmth into the chilly night. You spot a little green head toddling past again, much slower than the other children thanks to his tiny legs, and Din scoops him up.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur quietly, the roar of the Tuskens’ conversations creating a soft hum around you. “For what I said, when I yelled at you. You’re right. You really are just caring for them.”

He nods. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I’m more sorry for saying we aren’t a family. I mean, we are, right? Not that we’re like, a couple or anything,” you say hurriedly, your voice low as you stumble over your words. “But you and this little womp rat…” you muse as you scratch the baby’s little green head. “You are my family. That much is clear to me.”

Din nods once more. “I agree.”

You smile up at him. “What’s going on under that bucket, huh?”

He turns, looking off. “Just going over the plans for how we’re going to get that krayt dragon.”

“Ooh, share,” you ask, taking one of his hands and lacing through his glove-covered fingers. “I didn’t mean it when we said all of this for some banthas, you know. I’ve really fallen in love with them lately.”

Din is quiet for a moment. He doesn’t answer. “Din?”

He knows you’re going to hate him for this. Your big heart, your animal-loving, sweet talking kindness is not going be okay with this, but he has to tell you the truth. “We’re going to have to sacrifice some of the banthas for this mission to work.”

“What?” You exclaim, dropping his hand. “You can’t possibly do that.”

“We have to. We need to lure the dragon.”

“Do it some other way!” You frown, looking over at the big soft desert cows. “Seriously, please, Din.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he shakes his head. “They’re not sentient.”

“But they can feel!” You exclaim again, standing. “Fuck this. Why don’t you sacrifice yourself to the krayt dragon and see how that feels?” You shout, storming off. You’re aware it’s childish, but you stomp to your tent and lie down. You close your eyes and hope Din doesn’t come to find you.

Of course you didn’t mean it. Of course you didn’t want Din to sacrifice himself to the krayt dragon. So why is he doing it? Why are you on your knees, screaming to the sky that he did exactly what you said?

You’d been avoiding him since that night, since you showed vulnerability and subsequently returned to anger towards the man. You’d wanted to apologize, but you couldn’t get over the sacrificing of the animals for the cause. You just couldn’t.

Din had flown straight into the sand dragon’s mouth, just seconds ago, and is now deep inside its bowels, you’re sure. You clutch the baby to your chest and wail, agonized and terrified. Vanth stands at your side, a hand resting on your shoulder as you wheeze and sob.

But this is Din. He must have a plan. He has to have a plan; he’s a battle-worn warrior and you’ve never seen him lose a fight. You’d stormed off before you could hear the rest of his plans the other night- maybe this was part of it. But the way Vanth stares at the dragon in terror makes you think that maybe it isn’t. Maybe Din just really fucked it up. You set the little green kid in his cradle and stand, sniffling and clinging to the metal sphere as if it’s your last lifeline to Din.

Suddenly, there’s a burst of green goo and out flies a shining silver rocket: it’s Din. “Oh thank the fucking Maker,” you shout as he lands not far from your small group, the wailing and dying sand beast behind him.

He’s covered in slime, but you’ve never been so happy to see the man. You rush to him and throw your arms around him, not giving a single fuck as you jump on him. “Please, never fucking do that again,” you wheeze into his cape, getting yourself covered in slime.

The hug is not comfortable. Din is all beskar where you want to feel his strong body, but it’s all worth it when he wraps his arms around you too. You’re crying, he knows it, and he knows just why. “I didn’t do it because you said it. You know that, right?”

You let go of him, sniffling and wiping your eyes. “Yeah. I was just so scared- oh Maker, Din, I can’t fucking lose you,” you admit, freely crying now. “I love you, I really do, and I can’t-“

“How?”

You look at him in confusion.

“How do you love me?”

This damn man. He’s full of surprises, just getting literally eaten alive by a krayt dragon, and now he’s asking you for a full emotional confession. You’re still reeling from the shock, but the fact that he’s there is enough. You don’t care that Cobb is definitely listening over your shoulder. “Every way. All of them. Romantic, friendship, family. You feel like my home and I want to be with you.” No better time than now, you suppose, to admit this all.

Din walks a step closer. “Romantic. Huh.”

“I hate that fucking helmet,” you admit, trying to deflect the emotion between the two of you. “I can never see your face. Can’t know what you’re thinking, your tone, your-“

Din cuts you off. “We ride back to the village and clean up. Meet me in the home as the suns set.”

What that means, you have no clue, but you nod. “I’m so glad you’re safe,” you murmur, putting a hand on the cut-out cheek of his helmet.

The town rejoices when you come back, shouting and celebrating over the dragon’s death and the plentiful meat that came with the creature. You’d joined in the reverie, taking a shot of spotchka and chanting along to a Tatooinian call-and-response they’d started. It was wonderful, really, and you and the little green thing were the stars. They admired the little green thing, cooing over him. You were proud to stand there as his mother.

The party died as the suns set. Din was notably absent from the hubbub, preferring to be alone as usual. You and the kid talked with the villagers, but as the suns started to sink, you excused yourself and found your way to the spare home you and Din each had rooms in.

Vanth and the women had taken the baby when you told them you were going to talk with Din. Not that it was hard: they all loved the little beast, showered him with affection. It was practically a competition over who got to play with him most.

The building has a warm glow as you wander over to it, wrapping your arms around yourself. The night has become cold now that the two harsh suns have sunk below the horizon, and it’s a relief to open the door to the home and feel the warmth radiating from a fireplace inside.

You find Din staring out of a window on the back, watching the endless wind sweep across the sand dunes, a dark sky contrasting the golden ground. Just his silhouette is visible, black against the deep blue. “Hi,” you say quietly as you walk in, the worn floorboards creaking beneath your feet no matter how deliberately you step. “Glad to see you got cleaned up.”

The man tilts his head in an obvious eye roll, even through the helmet. The slime was disgusting, although Din’s adoptive son had seemed to enjoy the gooey texture, as little ones are prone to. “I almost died and you’re already back to the sarcasm.”

“It’s called a coping mechanism,” you laugh gently and place a hand on his shoulder. There’s no beskar there, just soft fabric warmed by his body. It makes you shiver; even in the safety of the Crest, Din never takes off the armor. You wonder why it’s gone. Maybe to clean it?

Din’s quiet for a moment, enjoying the feeling of your fingers splayed over his shoulder in such an affectionate gesture. “You know how much I trust you, don’t you?” He asks and the black visor turns toward you, admiring what’s visible of your face in the moonlight. Your eyes glimmer and he admires them, the color he’s always loved.

You nod and smile just a little, cheeks growing rounder with the movement. “Of course.” He’s trusted you with his son, the most important thing to him in the galaxy. There’s one clear gesture even now: the absence of the beskar from his form. Maker, he’s broad, shoulders just as wide as with the metal.

He nods and shuts the window’s shutters, allowing even less light in before turning to you. There’s just a soft glow in the room, outlining the shape of the helmet and his shoulders. You can’t see any detail, just the shape. He walks over towards the long comfortable seating in the middle of the room and you instinctively follow, standing in front of it and stopping when he stops, facing him. His hands find your shoulders and his fingertips brush down your arms until they find yours. “Take off my helmet.”

“What? No,” you exclaim, frowning even though he can’t see it.

“Can you see anything?” He asks, a hand gesturing, an even darker shadow through the already murky visibility.

“No.”

“My Creed says you cannot see my face. Not that I can’t remove the helmet.”

You gulp hard, your fingers lacing through his. They’re bare. You’ve never felt them before. Often you’ve wondered if they’re calloused and tough from his work, soft from being hidden beneath the soft leather for all those years, or somewhere in between. They do fall into that in between, but they’re warm and strong and large, even without the leather casing them.

“I can’t do that to you,” you shudder, squeezing his fingers. “It’s the very thing about you, that you can’t take it off,” you start to ramble. You want to, desperately, but there’s no turning back now. If you feel his face, if you’re even so lucky as to kiss him, you’ll never be able to get enough of it. You’ll be subjected to an eternity of longing, even more than you’re yearning now.

“I want you to,” he breathes, his beskar-covered forehead falling against yours. “Please, cyare.”

“Why don’t you hate me?” You ask, your voice straining. You need to keep stalling, need to keep pushing it off or you’re actually going to do it. “I’m so mean to you. All the time,” you point out to him. You do it to keep him away, but he’s persistent. He never seems to care. “All we do is argue.”

“I may not be able to use the Force like the kid,” he mumbles, bringing one hand up to cup your face. “But I can sense your feelings. You don’t hide them well.”

“Din,” you plead, biting your lip and closing your eyes to prevent the tears that are threatening to well in them. “You can’t do this.”

“I can, and I want to.”

“Why are you so fucking patient with me when I’m only ever a bitch to you?” You practically wail, half annoyed and half honored. “You’re such a good man, Din. You don’t deserve someone shitty like me. I’ve got no hunting skills, I’m too stubborn, I’m mean and-”

He stops you by lifting your hands, setting them on either side of his helmet. “You can’t see me, so it doesn’t break the Creed. I want you to do this, because I want you.” He’s eternally blunt, but in this moment you can’t tell if it’s breaking your heart or warming it. “I love you too. Please. Take it off.”

“This is your last fucking chance, Djarin,” you tell him with a wavering voice.

“Cyare.”

“Okay,” you nod and take a deep breath. Din unlatches the little bit at the bottom that keeps it sealed against his head, and there’s a soft rush of air. Your hands grip either side and you slowly lift it off. Din takes it once it’s gone and rests it on the plush seat.

Your hands are drawn to his face like you’re being pulled on a string, your skin prickling as you feel the stubble along his chin and jaw. Your fingers trace his face for a few moments, exploring the new terrain. His cheeks feel hot, and his lips make you shiver again with how soft they are. Swallowing hard, you dare to look at his silhouette, noticing his hair is mostly matted down from the helmet. “What color are your eyes, Din?”

“Brown.”

You smile at that, and you rest your head against his shoulder, your hands dropping to your sides. His arms encircle you and it feels perfect, like you were meant to be like this for all of eternity and it took you long enough. “Of course they are.”

He chuckles at that and presses a kiss into your head, his hands finding your waist. “I did take this off for a reason.”

You lift your head, looking at his just-visible shape. “Really? I don’t know what you mean,” you flirt.

He’s silent. You’re sure he’s rolling his eyes, absolutely certain. “May I kiss you?”

The words are ever blunt, just like Din. “Yes, you bantha,” you tease, but the laughter is gone as his hands find your face again.

Just like that, his lips are on yours, radiating heat and love and it immediately tops the feeling of his arms around you. You gasp, not expecting him to do it so quickly, but your lips quickly meld to his and you sigh in content.

You stay like that for a while, hands traveling each other’s heads and necks and shoulders and sides as you kiss. He’s so warm and strong, his muscles just as sculpted as the indestructible metal that covers him. He’s so human.

After a bit, Din breaks away and presses his forehead to yours once more. He doesn’t speak, just rests there, his hands on your waist. His breath mingles with yours. For once, you’re speechless, unsure of what you can say back. The sarcasm has been stripped from your body like the beskar from Din’s.

“I better put the helmet back on,” he murmurs.

“Please don’t,” you whisper, tucking your face into the curve of his neck. You sit on the couch and he follows, desperate not to lose your touch. “Just… we’ll stay like this.”

He nods. He can’t say no when you kiss his neck feather-lightly, when your skin is pressed to his like this. He hasn’t had contact like this in years. He’ll prolong it as long as he can.

You do stay like that, relaxed and curled into each other. His arm wraps around you and you curl into a ball, nestled into his side. It’s been a long day for Din, you know, but the depth of it occurs to you as his breathing slows and his muscles relax.

He’s fallen asleep in your arms. You press a soft kiss to his neck and set a timer on the wrist-comm you’re wearing, so that you’ll both wake while it’s still dark in the room. For now, he deserves his rest. His face nuzzles into your hair, and he gives a soft sigh in his sleep. Yes, this is exactly what the beskar warrior needed: rest and you.

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neverendingdream111 · 4 years ago

Text

“Ray of hope” [Bennett x gn!reader]

> sigh

> Another day, another comission, another adventure

> Another empty chest

> Bennett looked up at the sky which slowly started to darken as clouds became heavier, implying that it would rain soon

> He sighed, holding his injured arm with his other hand, trying not to stumble on some stone or root

> The city was still quite far away from his current location, which meant that he probably wouldn’t be able to make it before the start of the storm

> He should’ve been used to it by now, to be honest, judging how often these scenarios took place

> But sometimes, it was too much, even for him

> Besides, how long can someone stay optimistic while being the most unlucky person in all of Mondstadt?

> Still, he continued walking, his head up and eyes determined

> “It’s just a little rain! It won’t be that bad!” he kept reminding himself

> Just then the first thunder came and the rain started falling

> He jumped a little, shocked by the sound, getting soaked to the bone mere seconds after it began

> The boy looked around, trying to find somewhere to hide, but to no avail

> He was coming back from a comission in Cape Oath. He was still wondering how in the world he managed to get out of Dadaupa Gorge with only a small scratch on his knee - now, he was nearby in the area

> He should’ve been in the city by now, but while going back he found some ruins and, being the curious adventurer that he is, he decided to investigate them, which only resulted in more injuries and no treasure, whatsoever

> But back to the issue at hand - he wouldn’t be able to find a shelter mainly because staying under the trees in the storm wasn’t safe, and the only other place where he could hide were these strange cottage-like-buildings that hilichurls inhabited; and those were a definite no-no

> So, he started running, praying to the Archons that nothing too bad would happen to him

> Barbatos wasn’t in a mood to answer prayers today, it seemed

> He somehow managed to stumble across a bunch of cryo and anemo slimes, barerly escaping them, and also fell several times in the mud

> Bennett was exhausted, injured, hungry and utterly soaked and dirty

> He didn’t even know where he was going now. While running away from the slimes he might’ve strayed from the path, which resulted in him getting lost

> Great

> His lungs were burning from the constant running, the strong wind and rain making him shiver from the cold

> It wasn’t the first, and most likely not the last time he was in a situation like this

> But...

> It was too much

> He just wanted to go on an adventure, find some treasures

> He wanted to make his dads happy, so they’d be proud of him

> “I want to go home...”

> Whether the water on his face was the rain or his tears, he didn’t know

> The only thing that was on his mind was how much he wished he was in the safety of his home, under a warm blanket with a cup of hot chocolate in hand

> But he had to get to the city, he had to find a way, or else...

> The last thing he saw before passing out was a person running in his direction

> He slowly began waking up, blinking a few times to clear his vision

> What greatly surprised him was that he was greeted by the sight of a ceiling, not the cloudy sky that he expected

> He quickly sat up on the bed (another surprise), looking around the room. He didn’t recognize it in the slightest, which caused his panic to increase

> Just when he was about to burst out of the room, someone opened the door and came in

> “Oh, you’re awake! I’m glad” they said, heaving a sigh of relief. They were holding a plate in one hand and a cup in the other “How are you feeling?”

> Bennett blinked, seemingly still not quite awake yet, or just not sure if he this was real

> “Um... Who are you?” he asked, tilting his head to the side

> “Oh! Right, I haven’t introduced myself yet” they placed the things they were holding on a bedside table, then taking a sit in a chair next to the bed “My name is (Y/N), and I believe you are Bennett, right?” they said, offering a kind smile

> “How do you know that?” he furrowed his brows, getting a bit suspicous

> “I’ve heard about you in Mondstadt: “the only adventurer in the guild that works by himself because of his bad luck”. I figured it was you when I saw you during that storm” they explained, giving him an encouraging nod to take the cup, which turned out to be a tea. He slowly took a sip, but still burnt his tongue in the end “Careful there!”

>”Sorry” he laughed sheepishly “It’s nice to meet you, I guess? I- I mean, it’s kind of a strange first meeting, don’t you think?”

> “I suppose” they shrugged, chuckling under their breath “Eat up, so you can regain your strength” he then looked at the plate and saw delicous-looking sandwiches, which only reminded him of his hunger

> “Woah, thank you!” he dug in almost immediately, nearly choking, but he quickly recovered and continued eating. It was only a few minutes later that he finished everything, thanking them for the meal again

> “It’s not a problem, really! Everyone would’ve done the same”

> “Yeah, but still, I owe you! Let me treat you to a meal at Good Hunter when you have time” the boy grinned “Wait, that reminds me... How did you find me? And where are we?”

> “I found you when I was coming back from some job that I had to do at Windrise. We’re now in my house near Springvale, you were unconscious and the storm was too big to take you to the cathedral in the city, so instead I took you here and patched you up” they explained, and that was when he realised that he was wearing a clean shirt and his arms were covered in bandages. He assumed his legs were in a similar state, too

> “Y-you didn’t have to! Really, I- I would’ve managed somehow...” he laughed nervously “I don’t want to be a burden...”

> “You’re not” they said almost instantly, a concerned look adorning their face “Why would you ever think that? I helped you because I wanted to”

> “It’s just...” this heavy sensation was again felt in his chest, and he started playing with his fingers in his lap, his eyes cast down “I’m really unlucky, accidents happen almost all the time when I’m near. That’s why no one on my team stays for long...” he suddenly realized he was rambling, so he looked up at them with an awkward smile on his face which looked more like a grimace and said “But don’t worry! It’s not really that bad. I’m used to it, and I understand why they left, so--”

> “Bennett?” (Y/N)’s soft voice interrupted him. At first he didn’t realize it, but when he touched his face he felt his fingers get wet with the tears that unknownigly spilled from his eyes

> “O-oh, sorry, I just...” he tried wiping them away, but the tears just wouldn’t stop coming. He angrily rubbed his eyes, but still, nothing worked “W-why am I crying?”

> “Sometimes, the emotions we bottle up explode, and we can’t control it” they said, tentatively taking his hand in theirs “We should just let them come out, so cry if you must; I don’t mind as long as it helps you feel better” they smiled gently at him, and he coulnd’t control it any longer. His sniffs turned into full blown sobs and his whole body shook because of it. At some point (Y/N) took a sit on the bed and hugged him, softly patting his back and letting him cry on their shoulder

> Many minutes later, his sobs subsided, reduced to small sniffs here and there. For the first time in years, he didn’t feel like his unluckiness was weighing down on his shoulders, finally lifted

> He felt like he wasn’t alone

> And I tell you, it was one of the best feelings in the world

> Relucantly, he let go of their shirt that he clutched in his fist at some point during his breakdown, and looked up at them “Thank you and... sorry for this”

> They only smiled in response “No worries, I think you really needed that, so you don’t have to apologize! And I have a question”

> “Go on”

> “You work at adventurers’ guild, right? What’s the name of your party?”

> “It’s “Benny’s adventure team”!” he laughed, his eyes sparkling “Why do you ask?”

> “I’ve recently been thinking about joining the guild, since the jobs around here can get quite boring at times, but I didn’t know anyone from there. Well, until now” they smiled “So I was wondering, would you let me join your team?”

> Bennett’s eyes grew wide, and for the first time, he was speechless “W-wait, you want to join my team? Why???”

> “I think you’re nice, and I’d want to get to know you better” said (Y/N) without any hesitance, grinning at him “So? What do you say?”

> He looked at his lap, getting all sad again “But... With my luck, you’d probably be in danger as often as I am, and--”

> “Who cares about that?” his head shot up so quickly he thought he’d get a whiplash. Did he hear correctly?

> “W-wait, for real?”

> “Of course. I wouldn’t have asked if I did mind now, would I? And if we work together, it’d be easier, too” they explained “we could help each other out if something bad happened, and it’d be fun to explore the world together!”

> He blinked

> Then pinched his arm and blinked again

> His grin was so big his cheeks hurt

> “You can’t take it back if you decide that my bad luck is terrible while on comissions!”

> “It’d take much more to get rid of me”

> Heh

> Guess that day wasn’t so bad

> After all, he got a new friend

> And hopefully, one that will not leave

No, I didn’t cry while I was writing this. Totally...

21.02.21

~Nana

#bennett x reader #bennett #genshin impact #scenario #genshin x reader

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morsquiesa · 4 years ago

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𝐁𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐀 𝐃𝐈 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐎: 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄, 𝐃𝐘𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐒, 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘.

Since it is mentioned that Bianca has children, I thought it would be the time to elaborate on Bianca’s family since I realized my blog lacks the content. So up until to the point where Bianca resigns from the hunters and starts working for Hades as an ambassador, there are three alternate paths for her that I adore.

The first possibility is the most independent and ready to explore verse for Bianca, which is the one where after her resign, Bianca never properly returns to the surface again to live there, and over time becomes a permanent member of the underworld. I am looking forward to developing this path, because I find it quite interesting to study how Bianca makes herself a place in the underworld, what kind of a dynamic she has with Hades and Persephone, what kind of dynamics she has with the other residents and deities, what kind of a part she plays in the order of things and formation. In this option, the only family Bianca has left is her brother, Nico di Angelo, but since her joining to the hunters of Artemis their relationship is strained and they don’t talk to each other, so him making an appearance is going to be rare in the threads and mentions of him won’t be joyful ones. ( I will write another meta post about this, so it’s a more detailed conversation for later.) Her relationship with her mother, Maria di Angelo, is also another long topic that I will talk about in a different post. But to sum it up, she has no family members she is actively talking to or has good relationship with.

The second alternate is the same as the first one, but Bianca keeps living on the surface instead of moving in to the underworld for good. She is still not talking to Nico, she is refusing to live in the camp. ( Another meta post.) She has an apartment in New Manhattan that Hades blessed with protection for her, so when she is not on duty she is hanging out in New York. I don’t use this verse a lot, to be honest, because it is an incredibly lonely one for her. This is mostly for my mutuals with demigod or mortal muses to make it easier to interact with her. This is the most under-developed alternate. This version of Bianca is going to be hardest to talk to, because she has burned a lot of bridges and she deals with a severe sense of loneliness and feels lost as she tries to figure out where she belongs in the world she doesn’t recognize, existential and identity crisis hitting hard and heavy. In the means of family, she leans into Hades the most in this verse, because she doesn’t have anyone else left.

The third, also known as the most developed and softest alternate, affiliated with @mvndrvke and @nosestealer. This acts like the continuation of the second alternate, because Bianca spends three years living that lonely life in Manhattan before Hades calls Bianca and Nico for a mission in the underworld. Doors of death are missing once again, and they enter the labyrinth together to find it, and it is no easy feat going into one of the most dangerous places in the world with a sibling by your side you haven’t talked to in years unless you didn’t have to, when you’ve gone no contact after a terrible separation. Ghosts were seen, old books were opened, harsh things were said, some terrible truths unrevealed, but after two weeks ( which equaled to a few months in the world ) in the labyrinth, they come out of it with amends to make, and Nico asks Bianca to move in with him into the camp,. Bianca hesitates because he already has a stable life he tried so hard to built with a loving relationship and caring friends, but she eventually accepts because they both know they will have to get through the awkwardness and heal the wounds they’ve been avoiding for so long if they want to make actual progress. In my opinion, if it wasn’t for Nico they could never get anywhere because Bianca wouldn’t take the first step with the fear of rejection especially when Nico didn’t need her anymore with his ‘ picture perfect life ’ so shout out to Luna for Nico’s maturity. In 22th of March, 2014, at the age of eighteen, Bianca move into the camp with her brother to open a new page, and it’s when things start get better for her. ( Nico is now nineteen, a year older than her, and he never lets her live it down.)

It does get better, but also, things are painful for a long while because that’s what happens when you try to reconnect with a sibling when you are both dysfunctional with a lot of layers of miscommunication to fix: you fight. A lot. But despite these fights, Bianca meets Will Solace, who is Nico’s boyfriend at the time, then Cecil Markowitz ( mvndrvke ) and Lou Ellen Blackstone ( nosestealer ) , who are his best friends. Her expectations of them are low at first, because obviously they are Nico’s friends and she imagines the mentions of her wasn’t the brightest so she expects a judgmental approach. But oh boy, is she wrong. With Lou Ellen’s kindness, Cecil’s compassion and Will’s deep sympathy, Bianca finds herself the first family she’s ever had since the hunters.

Now, let’s talk about other good things that happened during this year. Cecil Markowitz is a good friend, he is the shoulder she seeks to cry on, he is the biggest reason of her bright smile, but a good friend is not the only thing he is to her. With his unapologetic kindness towards the world, his sense of security in who he is and who he wants to be, his relentless compassion and with the promise of safety he gives to Bianca by being by her side even when she makes it hard to be, Bianca falls in love for the first time in her life. It is both an endearing and funny process to watch her try to figure out what to do with this new feeling, because she’s never been in love before and she’s took an oath for eternal maidenhood when she joined the hunters of Artemis, and pushed aside the thought. So this is completely new territory, especially she knows for a fact that even Cecil feels the same way she does ( which she is pretty sure that he doesn’t ) she doesn’t think she can provide a kind of relationship he would expect, whatever that it would be- she doesn’t know how to date, and she definitely doesn’t know the 21th century. Also, Cecil is one of Nico’s best friends and the panic of ruining the dynamics she’s tried so hard to built is really there. So this feeling goes unspoken of for a year and a half, until it starts to seep from the cracks and eventually the truth is forced out there- and she is not the only one to blame, because Cecil has his own confessions to make. After an intense argument filled with panic and fear, the day ends with a kiss and mumbled “ I love you’s. 21st August 2015 marks the date as their anniversary, and they still celebrate it. Lou Ellen finds out first, then Will, and they are both ecstatic about it, which makes Bianca feel better. They hide it from Nico for a few months, giving themselves a while to see if they can make it work or not until Nico learns in a traumatizing way and never lets them live it down. But eventually he is happy with the outcome too, and is supportive of their relationship when he is not bullying them for it.

From that point on, it’s tooth rotting sweet Biancecil romance. After Bianca makes sure her bond with Nico is solid enough to remain steady and strong even when she moves out, she asks Cecil to move in with her to Manhattan. They both have their own reasons for not wanting to be a part of the camp any longer ( Bianca doesn’t feel accepted because in her opinion she’s never earned the justification to exist there with heroic actions like Nico did, and the stigma with hunters of Artemis is strong, even when they are former. Cecil struggles with belonging because he’s fought in the Kronos’ Army in the First Titan War. ) so after a year spent in Long Island, they move into her apartment in Manhattan. This is the first home they share together, and Bianca still holds those memories dear to her heart. They spend another year there, with Bianca keeping up the ambassador work, and they are traveling the world together, going on dates anywhere in the map they wish. A while later city of New Athens is completed, and they move there, buying a nice house and finally setting roots. After Cecil’s 22th birthday celebration in Lisbon, Bianca decides he is the person she wants to spend the rest of her life with. With a very romantic proposal in 16th December 2017, they get engaged. At the age of 23 and 24, they say their vows with their dream wedding in 19th May 2018.

This continuation upsets me, because just after a year of their marriage, Cecil dies in the entrance of New Athens with the attack of Lamia. His date of death marks as 3rd May 2019, and Bianca is devastated. Nico goes out to hunt Lamia where Bianca does the funeral rites of her husband according to his wishes, then she goes to the underworld. She’s lost so much in her life, she refuses to mourn him too. I want my husband back, she tells Hades. And I am going to get him back. While Hades doesn’t approve at first, with the pressure from Nico and Bianca he reveals a way. There is a ritual she can make to bring his soul and his body intact. She needs a red carnation from Persephone, Cecil’s thread of life from the fates, Orpheus’ lyre, blessing of Hades, their wedding rings, and with the possession she cares the most about. Bianca disappears from the face of earth with only Nico knowing what she is doing, and she starts her quest to search for these items. She sometimes visits her mother-in-law and checks on her, but she is the only person she sees except for Will and Lou in a few rare occasion. She completes this quest in eighteen months, a year and a half, and she brings Cecil back from the underworld 8th December, 2020.

Their life is not the same as they’ve left it, and while they are going through difficult times, they hold onto each other. While Luna and I haven’t decided on the exact dates, after a while spent in New Athens Cecil takes Bianca to a vacation in Cape Cod, and that’s where he proposes to her again to renew their vows, and gives her a list of houses he would live to buy for them from the area. At the age of twenty-five, they sell their house in New Athens and move into Cape Cod to build themselves a life there, a life they quite enjoy. Bianca is retired from ambassadorship, leaving her place to Achilles ( mvndrvke ) and taking interest in living off her retirement plan with caring for her garden at home. Cecil turns one of the rooms into his art studio and work there, and also work as the art teacher in the neighborhood elementary school. After many struggles and many discussions, they decide to carry on with their original plan of having children before he died. Their firstborn, tiny daughter Ludovica Ranieri Markowitz is born when Bianca is twenty-seven. She is named Ludovica because of Bianca’s fondness of the name, and Ranieri after her uncle, Nico ( it’s his middle name ). At the age of thirty, their son Alexander Steven Markowitz joins the family. He is named Alexander after his father, Cecil ( it’s his middle name ) and Steven after cap america on Cecil’s request. ( Don’t worry, Bianca made fun of him for it already.) Now they are enjoying their life being old, disgustingly in love, caring for their children and hosting great events at their house. Lou, Will and Nico are still a big part of their lives.

#long post tw #again and again and again. you said the anger would come back just as the love did. —— ⚜ meta & portrayal.#god this took so long

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starkrogerrs · 5 years ago

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when we got so close, so close to love;

i’ve been writing this for a month now, and it’s finally done. i just love this idea deeply and really hope i did it justice. shoutout to @oluka and @plonid for painstakingly reading through my numerous drafts and providing valuable feedback and being my hype people in general.

also on ao3.

The cell reeks of animal carcass, damp wood and terrifying unfamiliarity. Tony can hear the skittle of spiders across the walls, a welcome sound amidst the deafening silence.

A light breeze swoops into the chamber, and Tony draws his robes closer around himself.

Tony is used to the darkness, but not the kind that goes on for days on end, with no relief in sight.

Murmuring ancient words under his breath, he waves his hand through the freezing air.

He is greeted by the same, silent void.

A loud clang echoes through the chamber. The door of the cell opens, flooding it with white light, and in spite of the fact that he needs the light so desperately, he finds himself shielding his eyes against it.

The light is gone as quickly as it had come. He hears the crunch of feet on the stone floor and a soft click, as fire bursts into the room, flooding it warm amber.

"Food for today," says the man from behind the flaming torch, as he stoops down to place a wooden plate before him.

Tony doesn't know if it is the hunger that is making him see differently, but the food looks absolutely ravishing.

"What coven do you belong to?"

They have been through this before. Three days in a row in fact. Tony would've almost called it their little game.

He doesn't answer, reaching out to the plate, but the hunter draws it back. Atleast, he assumes the man is a witch hunter, given the circumstances.

"What coven do you belong to?" he repeats.

Tony lifts his head to gaze at the hunter. Icy blue eyes that seem almost green when reflecting the yellow flame, greet him.

"Why am I here?" he retorts, choosing to ignore his question as always.

Two days he had said nothing, and the hunter had merely taken his food away and not returned until the next night.

Not a muscle on the man's face moves as he gazes at him steadily.

"You're lucky that you have a pretty face, hunter," Tony adds, when he says nothing. "Or I would've slaughtered you long ago."

Truth be told, Tony is terrified. He has no idea what the man's intentions are with him, there is no way he can guard himself against whatever the man has planned for him. He can't, however you, let him know that.

"You can't move a hair on my skin, witch," the hunter murmurs through gritted teeth.

The flame cackles between them as they stare each other down, and Tony is all too aware that their breaths are not synchronous.

"I am looking for someone," the hunter finally admits. Something flickers across his features for a moment and then it is gone.

Tony huffs, unamused. "I can assure you that it isn't me."

"I haven't told you who I am looking for, yet."

"You don't need to. I know you're not looking for me."

The hunter glances at him irritably, a single muscle clenching in his jaw. They say nothing for a moment.

The hunter stands up then, but not before pushing the plate towards Tony and placing the torch into one of the holders in the wall; and is gone.

Tony has never missed Jarvis, his familiar as much as he does at this moment. The looming darkness dulls against the ache of missed company.

The hunter - Steven, he has learned- visits frequently now. They have the same conversation everyday but that doesn't stop the man from trying again. Steven grills him at an increasing degree everyday, but hasn't resorted to physical torture. Yet.

He's had days to prepare himself for the worst, to talk a bargain if he can. Because here, in the dusty cell, he is completely at Steven's mercy.

To infuriate him more, he has learnt next to nothing about the hunter, save for the fact that he is looking for someone. A witch. A witch that is not him.

His powers still don't work; the familiar tingle in his body as he chants spells that have been engraved in his mind, is now fainter than ever. There must be some sort of spell over the cell to render him powerless, he is sure of that.

Tony wonders if Steven had used and perhaps, killed another witch to have the place warded.

An all too familiar clang shocks him out of his thoughts and he backs up against the wall feebly. By his calculations, it is almost an hour past midnight and definitely not the time for another visit from the hunter.

The door opens and Steven stumbles in; bent over and almost collapses before him. Tony blinks against the light as he leaps forward involuntarily.

"What in the Heaven..," he murmurs to himself.

A large cut runs across Steven's front, extending from his left shoulder to the middle of his belly. His torn shirt clings on to his sweat covered torso as he heaves, struggling to breathe.

"I-I was attacked," Steve manages throatily. "By- by a werewolf."

For a moment, a sickening sense of pleasure rushes through Tony. He forgets that there is a dying man before him. The door of the cell, wide open and inviting, beckons to him. "Run away," it whispers.

"Please-," Steven whispers, reaching out to grasp Tony's arm. "-please, help me."

Even as he speaks, blood pools beneath the hunter.

Despite the fact that relations between mortals (most hunters included) and witches have improved significantly over the last decade, Tony doesn't know if he should even consider helping his captor. His captor, a man of whom he knows so little.

Steven squeezes his arm again, his face beaded with sweat and dirt. "P-please."

"My magic doesn't work here," Tony finds himself saying, even though his obvious choice should be to rush out the dingy cell and never see it again.

"Out.. side," Steven croaks, gasping as he tightens his grip on Tony's arm.

Tony doesn't think twice, all second thoughts leaving his mind at once. His coven was unlike most black witch covens. They believed in treating humans with respect, helping them in dire situations. When he had been baptized to become a witch, he had also taken an oath as a healer to always save those in need, no matter the species. Torn as he was, about helping someone who was possibly a witch hunter, he had to help him.

Steven was a mortal first, after all.

That very oath rings in his ears as he removes his robe and tears a long strip from the hem. Wrapping the cloth around the wound as gingerly as possible, he helps Steven sit up. Then, he pulls Steven's left arm around his shoulders and hauls them outside.

For a moment, as soon as they step outside, he freezes. He feels his body buzz as the spell instantly lifts, primordial magic flowing through his veins again.

Steven guides Tony to a small room leading off of the landing. A row of fire against the wall of the room, illuminates what looks like a mini infirmary. He gently sets Steven onto the tiny bed in the far corner, and checks his pulse. His breathing is ragged and Tony can feel him burning up against his skin.

He eases Steven out of his already torn shirt. There are tiny cuts everywhere, a million paper cuts if you will, that probably hurt more than the actual wound itself.

Tony chants spells that heal the paper cuts easily but the large gash across his front is persistent. It runs deep, cutting into his flesh and right to the bones. Two smaller, but equally deep gashes flank the larger one. Some of the torn skin hangs loosely at the edges, as more blood continues to ooze out.

Tony has never seen a more gruesome sight. He can tell that it, most definitely, is the mark of a werewolf.

How Steven managed to walk home with his guts spilling out, Tony will never know.

In his desperation to help the man, Tony reaches over to the array of herbs and plants stocked up on the shelves behind him and concoct the quickest healing potion. Steven groans behind him, and Tony can almost sense that his heart is giving out. He summons whatever plants he can remember and mixes them together before rushing over to Steven.

He cleans up as much of the blood he can, so as to save the wound from being infected.

"This might hurt," he advises, before pressing the paste onto the wound.

Steve screams in agony, reaching over to clutch Tony's arm. He flinches as his nails dig into his skin, but continues to spread the paste around. The blood flow has slowed down but if Tony doesn't act fast, he knows that it would kill him. The paste can only do so much.

Summoning magic that is as old as time itself, he chants a spell he's never used before. Before he can even complete it, the wound starts to glow white. Tony can feel the familiar tug in his gut as he continues to whisper the spell, Steve's grip still firm on his arm.

There is a blinding flash as he finishes and the world comes to a stand still.

Tony's eyes flutter open as he leans against the wall, panting. Three angry red lines still run down Steve's chest but the skin has stitched itself. The hunter's passed out but is fortunately alive.

Tony saved him. His captor. It was his duty to help him, and it seemed like the right thing to do in spite of everything. He's done more than his share for the hunter and now that he's asleep, he can finally make a break for it.

The thought exhilarates him.

Despite his powers being feeble at the moment, he rushes out of the room, but not before he casts the hunter one, last look. His features seem gaunt, which is natural, considering that he has just been on the brink of death; ghost-like skin caked with dust, hands greasy and bloody.

Tony tears his gaze away from the man then, the thought of escaping clouding his mind already. Adrenaline courses through him, heart beating wildly at his chest at the thought of freedom. At the thought of seeing familiar faces again. He almost grins as he reaches the main door and yanks it open.

Cool, midnight wind sweeps towards him and sends shivers down his spine but the euphoria of freedom keeps him warm. He steps outside, a little too excitedly, grin plastered on his face but is immediately flung backward into the hallway and lands on his back with a thud.

He groans, feeling pain shoot up his back from the rough landing. Thankfully, nothing seems to be broken.

A force-field spell.

"Absolutely brilliant," Tony mutters angrily as he sits up. Trapped. He is truly trapped. His captor, who he just healed in an act of stupid nobility is asleep and he can do nothing except wait. He almost wants to go back to the hunter and slit his throat, even though he's never, in all of his years on the planet taken a life.

White hot anger burns through him.

Having used most of his magic on the healing spell, he cannot even attempt to break the spell that surrounds the house. The spell, he realises, must be the work of a white witch.

He slams his fist into the ground, frustrated at how pathetic and helpless he feels.

In the face of spending a lifetime trapped with a hunter of all people, death seems like the most welcome choice.

Tony wakes to find Steven sitting up on the bed, looking less gray than he had just a few hours ago.

Dejected, Tony had set up camp in the infirmary and fallen asleep by the table.

"You healed me," Steven says raspily and moves to stand up. His wounds, although closed, must still hurt because he falls right back onto the bed with a loud groan.

Tony walks over to help him ease back into the bed, hand gripping his back. The gash across his front, although stitched, is still an angry red and the skin around it seems to be infected.

"Why?" Steven whispers, and Tony is forced to ask himself the same question. Why did he ever take that oath? It had forced him to help a hunter. Satan knew his kind would hate him forever..

"You need to rest," he whispers, ignoring the hunter's question altogether. He falters as Steven reaches over to grip his hand. From what he can gather, Tony knows that he must be in incredible pain.

Tony goes over his options. The only two options that swirl in his head over and over. He can either leave Steven to die and hope that the spell breaks once he does or he can help him heal and ask for freedom in exchange for his service.

Helping a witch hunter of all people would definitely be frowned upon by his coven. But his magic is still weak, (he had hoped it would return once he was awake, but to no avail) and he's not sure if he can force Steven to set him free. He has noticed the strange symbols on Steven's arm and back; symbols he doesn't recognise. Who knows what spells against witches his body is warded by.

Resigned to his fate, Tony decides that the latter of the two choices is a better and more probable option. Maybe, just maybe, Steven was of the benevolent kind and would hear him out. It was a risk he'd have to take, otherwise, once he had learnt what Steven had planned on doing with him, he'd think over the more... dire options.

Steven looks up at him then, blue steel meeting warm brown and Tony has to look away when something spikes inside him, hot and strong. He frees his hand from Steven's grasp, as the latter looks on.

"You need to rest," he repeats, gulping, as he turns to grab some of the paste he had made before.

"I don't generally do this free of charge," Tony muses, handing Steven - Steve - the bowl of soup, prepared from whatever the hunter had stocked in his kitchen.

Steve laughs through his nose as he sips the soup, moaning as it warms his throat.

Tony knows that he should be hating Steve. That he should be poisoning the soup that's brewing before him, knows that he should run away from someone who could possibly be his mortal enemy.

And yet, he can not bring himself to. Satan damn him but he can not. It isn't because Steve is just so bloody gorgeous, although he does admit he'd love to bed him if he weren't his captor. But he doesn't know what it is either.

Steve's dependent on him now, because he isn't fully healed yet. It is exactly what he had wanted; to ask Steve for freedom when he was most vulnerable. And yet, Tony finds himself straying from that very thought and showing Steve concern no hunter deserves.

The hunter has given him access to the entire house but he is still bound, unable to contact his coven or his familiar or anything that is not Steve.

His magic, to add to his misery, continues to remain at sub par levels.

"You want freedom," Steve comments, as if reading Tony's thoughts and walks over to place the bowl into the kitchen sink.

"Glad you noticed," Tony chides, his white knuckled hand grasping at the spoon handle tightly.

Steve hums, and there it is again; that swooping feeling inside Tony's stomach that raises a million red flags in his head.

"My mother was murdered by a witch."

The shock that rocks through Tony at his words leaves him grasping at his chest. In all the days they spent together, they never talked much. Tony healed Steve and the latter made sure that Tony was comfortable. Well, as comfortable a prisoner could be.

"She was beautiful and kind.. and I was seven. Only seven and it was just us," he says, voice cracking and Tony does all but reach out to pat his shoulder.

"Just me and ma, when a witch murdered her right in front of me."

"I was in another room, watching from behind a wall when it happened. I ran away to the woods and.. n-never looked back. I don't know what happened to her body."

A single tear rolls down his cheek and Tony feels his chest tighten.

A mortal. Killed by his kind.

Tony can't fathom what Steve must have gone through. He had to witness his mother's murder at such a tender age and be on his own from then on. Tony himself lost his mother when he was ten, but he had his coven and father to turn to. Although the loss was irreplaceable, Tony was never alone.

Steve turns to him, vulnerability shining bright in his eyes. He cannot help but sympathise with the man; ache for him. Even if he shouldn't be because he's being held captive, for Satan's sake.

How cruel the ways of the universe could be.

"I joined the Barnes' Hunters Guild then. They took me in when I was eighteen. It's been my mission to catch my mother's killer then," he says grimly.

"And that is why I need to know what coven you belong to."

Tony purses his lips.

"Do you know the witch that killed your mother?"

"No. But I am aware of the coven they belong to."

Tony sighs. He might as well let him know. He was at his mercy after all.

"I belong to the Church of Lilith."

A shadow passes over Steve's face.

From his pant pocket, he draws a piece of charcoal and begins to sketch something on his hand. Tony watches impatiently, as the drawing looks more and more familiar with every stroke until-

"That's the symbol of the Church of Lilith!"

Steve looks up at him, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

"The murderer was from your coven."

Tony deadpans as the implication dawns on him.

"I may have been alive for over seventy-five years, hunter, but I have never killed a mortal."

Steve says nothing at first, only looks grim and distant.

"I believe you," he says after a moment, looking up at Tony.

"You healed me, your captor. I don't think those hands could kill an innocent mortal."

Tony doesn't know what to say. Steve seems to be more trusting of him, and he doesn't know what to think. Or feel.

"Then let me go," Tony says, "- repay me by giving me what is my right."

Steve's features darken.

"That is the one thing I cannot give you. I need you to help me find the murderer."

Tony bursts into laughter at that, disbelief shining in his eyes.

"I healed you when I could have left you to die. I am now nursing you back to health, as you hold me captive, against my will. And now," he snorts, "-you want my, a witch's, help to kill another. Are you out of your mind?"

Steve wrings his hands and sighs.

"I just might be. I've been looking for the killer for so long and you're the closest I've gotten to finding them. I don't want you to work for me, I need you to work with me."

"You want me to help find a witch from my coven and hand them over to you. Work with you and against my own coven. You cannot possibly, be asking me this."

"But I am. I will return your powers in exchange for your help in finding the killer. Once we find them, you are free to go."

Tony takes a shaky breath.

What Steve wasn't telling him was that he didn't really have a choice. It was either help or refuse and face certain death.

Besides, Tony did want to catch the traitor. The witch had broken the very oath that made the coven different from the others and followed a path of its own. Broken the new rules that reigned over mortals and witches and encouraged them to be friends and not enemies. The high priest of their coven might not even be aware that such a thing had happened. And why had the witch killed an innocent mortal, anyway? What were their intentions?

"How do you even know if the witch is still alive?"

Steve rubs his thumb against the palm of his hand.

"Let me show you."

Tony stares at the wall with dread. Four, neatly cut newspaper clippings stare back at him.

Steve flinches as he rests his back against the wall. "These are the murders committed by that witch. At least, supposedly. I've looked at the bodies myself. And on all of those-," he points at the symbol drawn on his hand, "-this symbol had been left. The most recent one happened two weeks ago."

Tony scans the clippings. The first of the four, Tony realises is about Steve's mother's death.

"Has it occurred to you that the witch might not be from my coven at all?"

Steve nods. "All the more reason for you to look into this. Someone is framing your church for these murders."

Inspite of himself, Tony finds himself being impressed at how convincing and tactile Steve can be.

"If you want me to help you, we will need to go places. If I'm out, how will you ever get me to help you?" he asks, although he already knows the answer.

"If you leave with me, you are bound to me automatically by the spell that guards the house. There is no escape, Anthony," Steve answers and Tony wonders if he imagines the reluctance in his voice. "I need you to help me."

But Hell, he hates him so much. And yet, he can't help but admire the cunning Steve possesses. It is almost witch-like.

And, as much as he hates to admit it, Steve is right. If working with a hunter was the cost he had to pay to restore his coven's glory, so be it. There was a chance that Steve might be lying about setting him free, but he had to take the risk.

"Fine. I will help you," Tony says and much to his dismay, Steve purses his lips in sympathy. "As if I have another choice. But first, I want you to return all my powers. Second, I need you to make a blood pact."

Steve looks at him questioningly.

"An oath bound to your blood; You will never bother me or my coven again, after I help you. Fail to deliver and your blood will turn to poison."

The hunter stares at him for a moment, undoubtedly considering his options.

"I guess I do owe you that much for saving my life."

"Oh, you owe me so much more," Tony shoots back and Steve chuckles brazenly.

"We should get to my coven as soon as possible," Tony says later that night, as he stands by the window, watching the moonlight dance on the roaring waves. He massages the palm of his hand absentmindedly. The cut on his hand from the blood pact although healed, still hurts.

Steve looks up from his seat at the infirmary table, "I don't think I can walk much yet."

Tony casts him a wry glance. "I know. At this rate, it will take you a millennia to recover."

"You should eat," Steve says, turning back to the book open before him.

"Your concern for me is absolutely heart-warming," Tony comments sarcastically.

Steve laughs through his nose.

"I don't want you staying here for long either," he says. "But you need to eat, you can't die on me."

Tony feels a slight pang in his gut at his words.

He dismisses it quickly, before pouring himself some of the hot broth he had made.

Tony doesn't think he and Steve are becoming friends.

He still doesn't trust the hunter much; although with the pact, chances of him betraying him are small.

But Tony finds himself relaxing more in Steve's presence, finds himself liking the way they shoot each other down while also being equals in some ways.

He rolls the last of the gauze from the box as Steve sits on top of the kitchen counter, clenching his teeth and red-faced.

"Quit being such a chicken, will you," Tony mumbles, gesturing at Steve to hold out his arms. He starts to bandage his torso with the fresh gauze.

"It hurts," Steve mutters, gasping when Tony presses too tightly.

"’Could've done this myself, you know?"

Tony glances at him irritably. "And I would have to hear you grunting and ooh-ing and aah-ing until it drove me mad."

Steve bites his lip at that, face reddening even more. Tony has to look away because he finds it way too endearing for it to be alright.

"I've never actually killed a witch," Steve admits as they sit pouring over books, in the amber light of the tiny library that the hunter himself built. Several rows lay stacked with ancient books that he somehow possesses.

"You keep calling me witch hunter, but I've never really killed a witch."

Tony looks at him questioningly, jaw set. He doesn't know if he wants to discuss this. It is easier to justify his choice of helping Steve if he pretended that he wasn't really a hunter. "I find that hard to believe."

"I know. But it's true. I've only ever caught a handful; some of which had nothing to do with the Church of Lilith, and some who-who-," he glances awkwardly at Tony, "-I had to torture to get information out of."

He looks almost ashamed and full of regret but that doesn't douse the fire that spikes through Tony at that instant. He shouldn't have been surprised or upset to find that Steve did all of those things that hunters did.

"I'm going to go get some rest," he says, standing up abruptly and storming out of the room. In hindsight, it was a bad decision to have shown any sort of emotion really but Tony was crushed.

He crashes onto his bed heavily, feeling that hot anger flash through him in bursts. He misses his coven, his friends and familiar more so than ever. James, Happy and all of his friends must be looking for him as well. The thought twists at his heart.

He is truly trapped and the weight of it seems to have finally settled in, because tears begin to brim in his eyes.

Just then a loud knock resounds in the room, and he has to bury his face into the pillow. Steve, although his only company, is the last person he wants to talk to right now.

"Tony, if you can hear me, know that I regret all of it. I've never admitted this to anybody, but if I could take it all back, I would. Please believe me," Steve's muffled voice comes through the door.

There is no reason for Steve to have walked up all those stairs to tell Tony this, and maybe that's why, a part of him wants to forgive him. But a lot of him still hates that his freedom is just a mirage; that pretend as he much as he'd like, Steve would always be a hunter.

He decides not to respond, burying himself deeper into the mattress. He doesn't know how long he stares out of the window sullenly, or when it is that Steve leaves but the night seems to draw on for eternity, until he finally succumbs to the exhaustion.

Next morning, Tony finds Steve bent over himself on the floor, clutching his chest.

"What happened?!" he yells as he rushes to Steve’s side.

He holds out bloody hands in answer.

Tony learns, after healing Steve with a quick spell, that a part of his wound had opened up when he'd been cooking that morning. He had patched him up silently, some of the anger from last night still burning through his being.

"Hey?" Steve murmurs, grasping his hand when Tony turns to leave. "Can we talk?"

Tony shuts his eyes and massages the bridge of his nose.

"Tony, I did what I had to do," he adds softly, regret full and genuine in his voice.

And that's what Tony hates, hates that Steve is so genuine, so real. Despises the fact that a part of him trusts him, wants to help him while the other tears its hair in frustration.

Steve is messing with his head and a strange, new anger burns inside him.

"I don't care, hunter. You can do whatever you want. I just want to get out of here as soon as possible," he spits out, letting the anger roll of his tongue.

Steve's face visibly falls at that, and he lets go of hand and Tony suddenly feels cold all over. He turns away, not wanting to fall victim to the tricks his mind seems to be playing.

Only tricks, he repeats to himself as he storms to his room. They're only tricks.

He finds Steve in the library, hunched over books as usual, after he had spent the entire day avoiding the hunter. The only thing that is odd about the sight is the bottle of rum and a half full glass beside him, on the table.

Tony slides in next to him on the high chairs wordlessly. Steve watches silently as Tony takes the glass and brings it to his lips. Throwing his head back, he downs the liquid to its last drop, before slamming the glass onto the table.

Steve throws him an amused look, a subtle smile playing at his lips. "By all means, make yourself at home."

"You're messing with my head," Tony declares, turning to look at Steve. He seems to be half drunk too, which he can tell from the half-open eyes and slur.

Steve frowns at him, suddenly looking serious.

"How?"

"Oh, don't act like you don't know," Tony retorts, rolling his eyes. He reaches over to grab the bottle but Steve pulls it away from his reach.

"I don't know," Steve replies, flipping the book shut and pushing it (and the bottle) to the far corner of the table.

Tony squints at Steve. "I've done things that I regret too, you know?"

Steve cocks his head. "I'm sure you have."

"But I've tried to be better. Do better-"

"Why do-" Steve interrupts but Tony places a finger against his lips, silencing him. A tinge of red dusts Steve's cheeks but Tony's already slipping under the alcohol's influence and doesn't notice.

"O’ Hell, would you let me finish?"

Steve nods and Tony drops his hand.

"I've regretted them every second I have lived. And now I am here, sitting with you, a hunter I saved. Should be the biggest regret of my life."

Steve looks down at his palms. "You keep saying that. But I'm not a hunter."

Tony doesn't say anything for a moment, only breathes heavily. Steve blurs a little out of his vision before his outline comes into focus again.

"Say what you will. Believe what you will. You are and will always be a hunter. And I should hate you," he says, the words sounding like poison on his tongue.

Steve adverts his eyes and Tony's gut twists.

"But I can't." His words are almost a whisper, he’s not entirely sure if he said them out loud.

Steve looks up at that, blinking.

"I.. I regret everything I have ever done. Perhaps, ma would've hated me for choosing this path. F-for wanting to avenge her. But she was my mother and I was seven. It's no excuse but.. if it hadn't happened...I wouldn't be here. Nor would you," he says, voice raspy as if he's struggling to get the words out.

Tony glances awkwardly at the glass and then back at him. Steve's eyes are shining with tears and Tony's heart almost stops.

"I never wanted to harm another person but the hatred that my guild has towards your kind...it fueled my need to find the killer," he says, and he's sobbing now; this hunk of a man who suddenly seems so small, so tiny, as he curls into himself.

"I-I don't know what I've become. But hunting for her killer.. it's all I've ever known."

Tony reaches over to hold Steve's hand, his body acting on its own accord. A heartbeat passes as Steve stares up at him with big, round eyes.

"Promise me," Tony says, staring into those ocean eyes, "Promise me, that you'll stop once you've caught the killer."

Steve blinks at him, making the tears spill faster than ever. "It was what I had planned. I would stop once I found the wretched bastard. But.. I-I promise.."

A strange calm washes over Tony at his words. He blames it on the alcohol, but knows in his heart that it isn't the liquor that makes him do what he does next.

He pulls Steve close and kisses him, a strange fire bursting through his body at the contact. Steve, to his mild surprise doesn't pull back, instead, only slumps against him, as if all of the strings restraining him had been cut off. Tony let's his hands curl through Steve's hair, feeling the rush of blood and alcohol roar in his ears. He can taste the last of the rum on his lips and mint; freshness that sets his body humming.

Steve wraps his arms around him eliciting a moan from him. His hands drop to Steve's shoulder, as Steve untucks his shirt out of his pants. He pulls away for a moment, hesitating as his hands ghosts the front of Steve's shirt. The latter chases after him, staring intently at the dip of lips like he wants them and Tony knows better than to push him away.

Before long, Steve's shirt is on the floor. Tony can see the now dark red scars down his front and he hesitantly runs his finger over them. Steve shudders at his touch.

"I never thanked you for healing me. For agreeing to help me. I don't know why you did it, but- but I am grateful. And. And I am sorry. For making you go through all of this," Steve whispers against his lips, words tumbling over one another in his effort to be earnest.

"You should've never been a part of this," he adds, lifting Tony's chin with one finger. He looks alert all of a sudden, as if coming to a realisation. His words slur but his tone is fierce when he says, "I set you free, Tony. I am sorry we had to meet this way. I am sorry I kept you against your will."

The words settle over Tony like thick skin. He is finally free from his chains. He could walk out the door right now, the very thing he has been thinking about since he got here, and never come back, never see Steve again.

The thought leaves him feeling empty in a tiny part of his heart. His mind is its own master at the moment, all of his feelings and desires oozing out of his being unfiltered.

Deep in their hearts, perhaps they both knew that there was something indescribable between them. Something more than raw attraction, but also not something that was always meant to be.

It had simply been woven into existence when their paths had crossed.

Tony decides to not say anything in answer and pulls Steve into him again, shutting off the myriad of feelings and thoughts hurtling through his brain. He hopes that his actions convey what he wants to say. That for once, he let that one part of him rule over the other. That for once, he wants this, as complex as it might make things. He runs his free hand over the curves and lines of Steve's body, committing them to memory.

He could always leave tomorrow.

"Kiss me like you mean it,” his eyes seem to say. And so, Steve does.

Everywhere that Steve touches him, grazes his teeth against, sends a sliver of sparks down Tony's back. The bliss of alcohol and Steve's gentle touches and squeezes is nothing short of electric.

If Tony didn't know better, he'd have thought it was magic.

Tony jolts up in his bed, as if he's been shaken awake. It is still dark outside but the first tendrils of dawn are starting to blossom across the sky.

He winces when the vein in his temple throbs slightly. All of the rum that he unceremoniously downed last night is finally taking affect.

Last night.

Tony can still feel the ghost of Steve's lips in places that make him blush, still taste him on the tip of his tongue, still smell him in the sheets strewn around him.

And then it hits him, the realisation that Steve isn't there next to him. Where is he?

A dull thud comes from somewhere outside the room just then, startling Tony. Straining his ear, he hears loud voices coming from below. His body reacts before he can and the hairs on his neck stand up. Before he can take action of any sort, the handle on his door turns and someone slips in.

It's Steve.

"Satan's Horn, you scared me," he breaths, clutching the sheets to his chest but falters when he sees the look on Steve's face.

"The other hunters... they are here. They know about you," Steve says, a frantic look in his eyes.

Tony looks at him, shocked. For a horribly numbing moment he thinks Steve has double-crossed him. After everything they went through and last night- he opens his mouth in question but Steve answers him before he says a word.

"I didn't tell them, I swear. They must've put a spell on this place. I've told them to wait downstairs so I can fetch you."

Tony blinks at him, heart beating wildly against his chest. Was he to die today? His mind seems to have shut down, fear seizing his body completely.

"I can't hand you over," Steve says, gripping his shoulders. "I've never lied to you, Tony. I need you to believe me. I- I like you. You saved me and in spite of everything, I fell for you, as the gods would have it. I need you to trust me."

Everything seems to be moving at the speed of lightning. Mere hours ago, he had been in Steve's embrace and now Steve is asking him to run away.

Tony's body tingles with electricity, feeling the adrenaline rush through him as his powers take control, ready to defend him. A billion questions burn through his mind and he blurts the first thing that comes to him.

"Steve, you're not fully healed-"

"I almost am. I'll tell them that you fled, I'll make up some excuse. I can hold them off. They cannot harm me," Steve says, handing Tony his clothes that he immediately shimmies into.

"You could tell them that I'm not like the other witches-"

"They won't listen. They'll burn you before they give you a chance to speak, you need to go. Now,"

As if on cue, Tony picks up footsteps coming up the staircase. Steve glances at the door and then pushes him frenziedly towards the large window beside the bed.

Tony hesitates as he climbs atop the bed. He could stay. He could help Steve fend off the other hunters. He could run away with him and they could start afresh.

"I could stay and help you fight," he breathes, trying to shake off the cold feeling that's turning his stomach to concrete.

Steve shakes his head.

"No more of that. I already freed you last night and...” he stops for a moment, seeming lost but shakes himself out of it seconds later.

“I, Steven Grant Rogers of the Barnes' Guild, free Anthony Edward Stark, heir to the Church of Lilith from his binding," he chants quickly, eyes wide with fear.

The effect is almost immediate; Tony feels like a blanket has been lifted off of him.

There is a dull knock on the door and Tony's heart threatens to burst out of his chest.

"Run," Steve whispers assertively and Tony sees remorse and... something else in those azure eyes. He wants to look away, lest it burn him completely. He can't bring himself to. Instead, he pulls Steve close and kisses him, with the passion of a thousand burning suns. He tastes fire, regret and a flash of the future that leaves him gasping for air.

“Memento mei,” he whispers against his lips, letting the power of the words settle into Steve’s being.

When they break away, Steve grabs his hand before he can climb onto the window sill. The remorse in his eyes has been replaced by something brighter and in his heart, Tony knows just what it is.

"I'll find you," Steve breaths, eyes glinting like wildfire and Tony nods meekly, at a loss for words.

Steve seems to sense his hesitation and squeezes his hand.

"I'll find you," he says again, finally letting go of his hand and nodding reassuringly.

There's promise in the way he smiles at him, a little dazed but with such surety that Tony can't help but believe him.

With that promise and the image of crinkling blue eyes, Tony summons his broom and leaps into the darkness below.

#stevetony #stony #steve x tony #steve rogers x tony stark #stevetony au #stevetony ao3 #witch!tony x steve #mywriting

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eveninglottie · 4 years ago

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hello i am interested in some more deets about song of sunder 👀

WELL SINCE YOU ASKED smash cut to about two years ago when I was so badly wanting to play dnd that I just threw seven characters into a half-baked world and played pretend with myself (I’m not kidding there was actual dice involved). since then it’s been brewing in the back of my head and I only really started to think about it seriously last year. I’m sure some of it comes from my obsession with CR and my fic brain going “dothisdothisdothis” because it’s very much a ‘formative text’ for me, but it’s been this nice little feel good place for me to go back to, especially this year.

it’s actually at the top of my list in terms of what I’ve been thinking about diving into (since I apparently cannot write fic anymore lol it’s fine), and I’ve been working on it a lot recently just fleshing out the world and the character arcs.

though, one of the things I have been considering seriously is just how you write a story like this, in a format meant to be read rather than experienced like any other dnd campaign. like is it just seven povs with separate chapters (a la game of thrones) or, and this is the one I’m drawn to but have no idea what it would turn out like, is it a story told from a third person omniscient narrator, weaving interchangeably through perspectives just like a dm would do in an actual game. like a screenplay but with prose. dnd is such a subjective experience, and while a lot of people have had success adapting liveplays to other visual mediums, like animation or graphic novels, I’ve never seen someone do it in fiction. I especially have never done it lol. I only ever write from distinct povs and switch them out, so this would be hard. maybe. I haven’t actually tried it yet.

the story itself is pretty standard high fantasy dnd, a ‘sundered’ world where the planes all kind of smushed up against each other (familiar? :P) with a bunch of different factions and nations and secrets and wars and people trying to be gods and all that jazz, with a group of assholes thrown into the mix to become big damn heroes (the bones of the world are actually what I used to flesh out DW but shh don’t tell anyone). every arc (9, one for each character and a beginning and an ending) would open with ari, the bard, almost like she’s telling a story to the reader.

my pie in the sky ideas for it would be some kind of serialized fiction, if I could get my ass in gear to actually do it. I’ve thought about how amazing it would be to do an audio drama one day with different voice actors and music and sound effects and all that shit, like oh my god do I want to do that. I have no idea how to do that, obviously, but that would be The Dream. I’ve even gone so far as to pick out a theme song, because I clearly don’t have enough things to worry about in my life.

youtube

(it’s a lullaby, like a story, told by a siren, like a bard, get it, get it)

and because I’m feeling indulgent and I spent all day making these face refs (thank you, you little monster) the aforementioned assholes (they all have multiple classes and subclasses because I have the Too Much gene):

ari (ariannai), an autumn eladrin bard/druid (college of glamour and lore/circle of dreams) from the feywild, soft and sweet and perfectly capable of gutting anyone who tries to fuck with her, has a gold pseudodragon familiar named trill whom she loves like a child, plays a masterful mandolin, her voice is magic (literally), actual snow white, leliana and josephine were huge inspo for her

kayd, a human fighter/warlock (eldritch knight/hexblade and undying) from the frozen north, a charming sailor with a thirst to prove himself (listen I love fjord a lot okay) and a cursed sword (don’t worry about it), likes purple and flirting with everything that moves, frequently gets into trouble because of this, but he can talk his way out of a jail cell (and has!) so it’s been fine so far (don’t think about the cursed sword)

verity, a half-tiefling/half-drow monk/rogue (way of shadow/assassin and soul blade) from the shadowfell, a ruthless thief and a terrible shit-starter running from a dark past, she has a pet rat named poe and loves gossip, looks like a child but is actually the oldest in the group, knife girl, her horns are tiny enough to fit in a hood but not tiny enough to fit in with her elvish family so that sucked but hey they’re all dead now so who came out on top in the end

esher, a human artificer/fighter/sorcerer (battle smith/gunslinger/phoenix soul) from a bustling white city on a hill, an obnoxious noble with a long lineage and a complete disregard for politics and propriety and his own privilege (he’s a younger son so he’s usually left alone and ignored and that’s fine, obviously), he loves nerd shit and his ancient owl, hornsby, and sometimes he sets things on fire with his fingers which would be fine only he sets things on fire with his experiments as well so things are on fire a lot around him

goya (goyzadara), a half-orc/half-elf fighter/paladin/ranger (samurai/oath of the ancients/beast master), a princess in exile, honorable to a fault (which is why she was exiled), big into history and politics, finds a baby gryphon and immediately goes to pieces, Disaster Sword Lesbian, likes embarrassing men by kicking their asses in fighting rings, though she never takes the money, because she’s noble like that, has a weird obsession with dragons, does embroidery in her free time to chill out, can’t cook for shit

sabrathan, a scourge aasimar blood hunter/ranger/sorcerer (order of the ghostslayer/monster slayer/divine soul), a half feral girl from the woods who knows way too much about how to disembowel monsters three times her size, skittish and intense and maybe an angel but don’t ask her about it or she will disappear for a few hours and come back with an elk for dinner, never seen out of the company of her crossbow or her sickles, more comfortable around animals than people

theo (theoderic), a human sorcerer/wizard (runechild/school of chronurgy and conjuration and transmutation (he’s a special snowflake)), the smartest person you will ever meet and he knows it, socially awkward and unnervingly quiet, not actually an asshole just neurodivergent (but also sometimes an asshole), craves Phenomenal Cosmic Power and affection, has anime hair and terrible handwriting, Gay as Fuck

their group name would be Sirenox (the name of the last dragon seen in Sunder over five hundred years ago, whose final act was to grant a group of adventurers a boon to stop an archlich from plunging the land into eternal darkness), and I love them all very much, and definitely already have full romance arcs fleshed out for all of them, because that’s more important than worldbuilding, obviously.

so anyway there you go, my own little dnd campaign that I will probably never write, just think about wistfully until I die

#friends will notice that I have recycled characters for dnd campaigns I am currently in sadjvhsfdkvb #esher is definitely esher erynsonne of I Put On Rings Without Knowing What They Do fame #actually tho I yoinked verity's original name lilith because I couldn't think of anything else #decided she needed an actual name because she was in hiding #stole sabrathan because it was already kind of angelic and lilith had her whole bible phase #decided not to play the edgelord rogue and stole angel baby's personality #from sabrathan the original skittish weirdo #and then A MONTH LATER I thought of the name verity which is SUCH A BETTER NAME FOR LILITH #but alas #only my dnd group will understand this #sorry fvjhksdfvbndsvfbds

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clansayeed · 4 years ago

Text

Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ― Chapter 8: The Big Easy

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ⥽

While struggling with nightmares of lives she’s never lived, a shadow from the past looming over her city, and the proposed idea that her life may just be a little bit too weird to handle alone, Nadya makes sure to tell herself that everything is perfect just the way it is. If only. When the self-proclaimed King of Vampires (and Maker of her sometimes-girlfriend and always-boss, can’t forget that little tidbit) Gaius Augustine returns intent on claiming Manhattan as the throne that was promised, she and her friends find themselves forced into the task of saving the world. But with millennia-old vampires and an Order of hunters on their heels as well as allies hiding catastrophic secrets at their backs… it won’t be an easy task. Too bad destiny didn’t exactly ask for her input.

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Destiny II tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

The Amulet's trail ends in the supernaturally rich city of New Orleans. Still reeling from hers and Kamilah's first real fight, Nadya, Lily, and Adrian travel to the French Quarter to see old friends and meet some new faces.

[READ IT ON AO3]

She meant to fake-awaken from the nap of all naps when Lily returned from her minibar excursion. Unfortunately though Nadya’s just a little too lost in her thoughts; which delays her reaction by enough of a fraction of a second for to be fooling absolutely nobody.

“You shouldn’t do that.”

Nadya combs her fingers through her hair. She may not have actually been asleep but tell that to the nest that somehow spontaneously manifested where she was resting against the wall of the plane.

She plasters on her best ‘ditzy secretary’ face. “Do what?” she asks; pitches her voice just a tad but that’s overselling it.

All credibility pretty much flies out of the window and down the however-many-thousand-feet to the ground below. And without a parachute, poor thing.

“Well first of all don’t gimme that look. I helped you invent it, remember?” Only Lily could chide her enough to actually make Nadya feel bad while simultaneously inhaling a complimentary bag of Korean BBQ chips. “Dos, you shouldn’t bottle it all up inside. And don’t you dare say you don’t know what I’m talking about. I will shove potato chips down your bra.”

Nadya blows a strand of hair up, but it falls back down right in front of her eye. Great, even her hair is out to get her.

“Please don’t. I only packed one.” And Adrian and her will never be close enough friends for her to feel comfortable asking him to swing by Target for a quick bra buy.

“Same girl, same.” But even as Lily kicks up her boots and makes herself comfortable the intent is clear. She’s going to get Nadya to open up somehow, some way, and most likely some time before they start to descend on New Orleans.

After all she’s practically locked in between her seat and the fancy table by vampire thighs of steel.

Crunch. Crunch. Crun—

“I’ll talk about it when I’m ready, Lil’, okay?”

Cruuunnn—

“I promise! Pinky promise, blood oath, anything!” Just please don’t keep chewing like that. She’s very near begging on her knees.

After quickly wiping the flavor powder off, Lily holds up her pinky finger expectantly. Nadya takes it with her own. She means it too, villainous torture methods aside. Some people went their whole lives and then some without someone to care about them as much as Lily cares for Nadya — she knows this and really, her gratitude is unwavering.

But she’s still a little too raw on the inside (and out; her tear ducts may have gone into permanent early retirement by now) to just bring it all up. And so casually, too.

The cabin lights catch on the chains of her charm bracelet. Little sparkles that draw Nadya in; pull her down deep in velvet the same black as the midnight sky, away from the stale plane air and back to New York.

Back to Kamilah.

And Lily — well, she’s Lily. Of course she notices. Just like she quickly acts and lowers their still-linked hands before Nadya suffers the unpleasantness of choking on her heart again.

“I’d say lets head back there —” she jerks her head from the direction she came from, “— and get you a little tipsy for your troubles, but for some reason showing up to a place like New Orleans already drunk feels like blasphemy.”

“And I wouldn’t feel comfortable with the plan if you weren’t completely sober, Nadya.”

The girls look over across the aisle to where Adrian leans back and away from his laptop, a slightly admonishing look in his eye. Nadya blindly seeks out the open bag of chips while offering what she hopes is a smile that says “Yes, of course, I totally agree,” even though a margarita at the very least sounds comforting.

“Actually, since it’s out there, how are you feeling?”

Lily tenses beside her. It takes him a moment to realize what he’s done but Adrian tries to take it back so fast Nadya’s somehow the one who ends up with emotional whiplash. “I mean — about this; the…” he sighs, “I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me.”

Nadya elbows Lily before she can get a word in. “It’s fine,” she tells Adrian with a smile — and if it’s a little strained well… they can’t blame her.

People fight in relationships sometimes. It’s not ideal, but it happens. Does Nadya wish she could throw open the emergency hatch on Adrian’s private jet (freaking out which happened loudly, quickly, and before they had ever lifted for takeoff) and fly her way back to Kamilah to try and work things out by sheer force of will? You betcha.

Is she going to let that stop her from doing what needs to be done to get this Amulet? No. God willing; she and Kamilah will have plenty of time to cool down, talk, and see where they were supposed to go from the place they had left at. But that’s only the case so long as Nadya, Lily, and Adrian get to the Amulet of Nero before Gaius does.

Though… none of them can still fathom the literally microscopic chances that had decided to work in their favor. No really, Lily ran the numbers. By all accounts they should have been prepared for a voyage around the world, sometimes in multiple places (and according to the simulation, at multiple times).

What were the odds that not only was this mythical once-lost-to-history Nadya-was-literally-kidnapped-to-find-it-but-it-only-took-their-collective-squad-like-two-weeks-and-a-couple-all-nighters Amulet of Nero in the States, but that it was currently in the hands of—well—a friend?

Apparently the odds were pretty freakin’ good.

“I’ve failed the universe.”

“Lily, stop.”

“It’s been three days! And all I could come up with was a list of the players from Kavinsky’s private rich-jackass tournament. A list, Nadi’.”

“It’s far more than we had previously Lily,” Adrian had said with a reassuring squeeze to her shoulder, “and for that matter — its more than Gaius could get on his own. So if anything you’ve outdone him; and trust me when I say that doesn’t happen every millennium.”

While it wasn’t the best pep talk in the world it had been enough to get Lily back on track. Her finger scrolling on her mouse faster than humanly possible until she got to the names they needed. Eight billion people in the world and they had narrowed it down to ten. Way to go, Lil’.

Adrian started to write down the names in his hasty scrawl — which had just been a waste of time since Nadya refuses to try and read his terrible colonial handwriting and already has a list of her own transcribed. “It’s still more than would be ideal. But I think the four of us should be… able… hm.”

Hm because of the obvious. Because there were only three people in his office. Because Kamilah is following a lead on the whereabouts of Gaius and while one is arguably more important than the other… it’s good to know his movements. Nadya can’t argue with her logic in that.

She knows their enemy better than anyone. And it means she doesn’t have to be in the same room as Nadya.

“Wait — this name, here.” Adrian had pointed at the screen; Lily had slapped his hand away. “I know this one. That can’t be the same man, though, the odds…”

“Who-what now?” Nadya hadn’t recognized the name at all.

LaPointe, C.

“Someone from your past?”

The very recent past; like very recent. Like, Nadya-adjacent recent. And with time maybe-probably quickly running out they couldn’t afford to wait to fill everyone in on all the juicy details. Or, apparently, wait for Kamilah to return from her trip.

Sometimes Nadya catches herself looking around for the familiar comfort of maroon.

Overhead there’s a soft bing from the pilot’s speakers.

“We’re coming up on Louis Armstrong, Mr. Raines and guests. If you could remain seated until we land, your arrangements have been taken care of as requested.”

Nadya’s heart pounds a little bit faster. When Lily reaches out to squeeze her hand she doesn’t reject it one bit.

After all, she’s doing the first leg of this on her own.

“You can do this. You can totally do this.”

Behind her a family of four jostles her chair so hard Nadya almost spills iced coffee slushy all over herself.

“You’ve survived Ferals, and Vega, and Gaius. You kicked butt at ‘Tech-Xpo.’ You’ve eaten French cheese and danced in a corset and you didn’t even ruin a Lacroix. You’re a force of nature, and you can totally do this.”

And remember, he’s just a vampire. If he tries anything just run outside.

“Would Miss ‘Force of Nature’ like a box to go?”

She’s been in the cool shade of the cafe awning for far too long to even pretend like the red in her cheeks is the heat; but that doesn’t mean Nadya doesn’t look up to the sight of her bemused waitress with a styrofoam box and the bill in her hand.

Nadya must look as embarrassed as she feels because she doesn’t even get to answer before the woman gets in a small laugh. “Whatever yer psychin’ ya’self up for, honey, keep at it. More people could stand to give themselves a pep talk.”

“Th-Thanks.”

‘Bonnie’ (as per her name tag) grins with all the boisterousness she’s had since Nadya first took up her table. When she winks it’s full of energy; enough to jingle her large earrings. Nadya kind of wants to adopt her as a weird aunt? But that might just be the all-nighter talking.

Without hesitation Nadya pulls her purse close and takes out one of the (ridiculously unnecessary) large bills Adrian had given her before she got into her cab. Bonnie’s eyes widen, protest at the ready, but Nadya won’t hear it. “I won’t need the box, but thank you.” She all but has to force the hundred under the woman’s thumb.

If she has another one of the mini mountains of powdered sugar on top of her beignets she’s actually gonna burst. The coffee is totally coming with her, though.

Nadya weaves her way first out of the cafe’s closed-off seating, but it somehow only gets worse from there? New York is full of people; she knows this. But she’s gotten used to working nights, to the emptiness of Raines Corp. after dark — so having to literally fight her way through the sea of tourists is a jarring experience to say the least.

You can do this. You can do this.

Yeah, because her last motivational mantra worked out so well?

This isn’t a vacation (and if it were she’d be too stressed to enjoy it anyway) so she soaks up as much as she can. The ride from the airport to the French Quarter, every street sign and avenue and cool-looking building covered in ivy. A few of the early-riser tour groups she’s passed by have mentioned ‘the history of the city’ and Nadya is kind enough to let herself imagine — after all this is done — coming back here with Kamilah and learning it from someone who was probably there.

It’s the most optimistic feeling she’s had in… too long, actually.

She puts it to good use in her ‘I’m Totally Not Nervous’ act all the way from Jackson Square to the small museum off the side of the St. Louis Cathedral. Smiling to the entrance attendants is a little bit easier. So is plucking up the courage to ask a security guard where she might find the offices to visit a friend.

That no one would think a short girl with glasses almost as wide as her face is up to no good doesn’t hurt, too.

If Nadya’s got her orientation right this is definitely the right office. The window — if there even was one — inside would be facing the stonework of the next door church. Perfect for avoiding direct sunlight.

She takes care in not stepping on top of a small, neatly-wrapped bouquet of orchids in front of the office door when she knocks. Picks it up for good measure because they really are a lovely shade of purple and maybe they remind her of better times.

Of rare blue lotuses and… happiness.

Nadya waits… and waits… and waits… and knocks again? She doesn’t know what else to do. Admittedly they all might have been a little too focused on making sure Adrian and Lily had a place to rest during daylight hours.

For the record Nadya still isn’t comfortable with abandoning her friends to sleep in the cargo hold of a plane — private or not.

This was a dumb idea. Of course he’s not going to be in his office in the middle of the morning. He is a vampire.

But just before Nadya can put down the flowers and pull out her phone, there’s a thud on the other side of the door.

“Kathy, is that you?”

Uh… “No? I’m…”

“Yes yes, payroll said they’d be sending someone up,” another noise follows — this one more like the distinct collision between feet and office desks of which she is all too familiar, “just a moment!”

Nadya realizes she doesn’t have anything prepared to say when the door opens.

When he had arrived late to the Council Chamber for Adrian’s trial, Cadence Smith had looked the very picture of flustered and in a panic. Nadya was pretty familiar with that, too. But apparently that was only a fraction of his anxieties because…

Well to put it in one simple word — yikes.

Cadence pushes his glasses back up his nose to scrutinize her properly. His tie hangs in a messy and loosened knot around a collar half-unbuttoned and his sweater is untucked and bunched at the waist. If she looks down it’ll be too obvious, but it doesn’t even look like he’s wearing shoes.

He pushes the blond mess from out of his eye-line with his entire palm and leaves a smeared trail of black behind — which makes sense given the large and aged newspaper folded in his grasp.

“You’re not from payroll.”

But Nadya smiles up at him, dishevelment aside. “No, I’m —”

Then he notices the bouquet in her hands. Immediately—almost frighteningly—his entire being goes cold; harsh.

“I thought I told you people to stop delivering those.”

“Huh? Oh, no—no I —”

“I don’t care if he’s bought the lot in advance. I. do not. want them. Christ — there’s no way a flower shop is this dedicated to customer satisfaction!”

“Wait, Mister Smith, if you lemme —”

“Burn them. Next time I’ll have security escort you out. Good day!”

The door slams closed in her face before Nadya can get another word in. She’s left there, dumbfounded, mildly offended, and the good mood from her sugar high now soured.

“Mis— Cadence, please!” She knocks again, and again, and quickly screws politeness in favor of pounding on the thick wooden door. “I know you can hear me! I’m not from a freakin’ flower shop!”

But it’s an office; not like he has anywhere to run. He’s just straight-up ignoring her.

She so does not have time for this.

“Adrian sent me!” Nadya shouts at the top of her lungs. If Cadence doesn’t hear her someone must — maybe she can get through to them instead.

But as it turns out she won’t need to.

Even through the blood pounding in her ears she can hear the door unlock. When he faces her this time, Nadya’s ready.

“Adrian Raines sent me. These —” she shoves the flowers through the door into his chest; then points at her feet, “— were already here. I don’t know what’s got you so rude but I didn’t fly all this way from New York to be —”

“You’re the secretary; the one from the trial who convinced them to let me testify.”

Nadya huffs. “Well—yeah, and I’m also the one who’s really tired of being interrupted.”

The more he recognizes her, the more Cadence softens until some semblance of the man she remembers is all that’s left. He has the decency to look embarrassed at his outburst.

In Nadya’s opinion he shouldn’t talk like that to anyone; let alone some poor person stuck delivering flowers. Makes sense why they were just abandoned in front of the door.

“Oh, and I have a name. It’s —”

“Nadya; I remember now.”

Her nostrils flare and Nadya actually feels the telling-off as it starts to rise from her belly to her lungs. But Cadence realizes his mistake as soon as he makes it; he ducks his head quickly. “I’m — forgive me. That was… I just remember who you are, is all.”

Only after she eyes him up to determine his sincerity does Nadya finally nod; once, and curtly. “Fine.”

The vampire turns the orchids over in his hands; plucks a petal crumpled in their not-quite tussle from the stem and lets it fall like a path to his doorstep.

“A… situation, shall we call it, with a lapse in my judgment has led to, well, these.” He smiles; strained and not quite seen in the eyes. “A fellow who can’t take a hint.”

“I get it. My heart goes out to you.”

“Thank you.”

“But we need to talk; like, now. It’s important.” Nadya nods at what little she can see of his office behind his towering figure. “May I come in?”

He hesitates a beat. “I’m a bit… deep in a research project at the moment. Will this take long?” Then, as an afterthought; “You said Adrian sent you — is he here, as well?”

“Yes, he’s waiting out the sun. But we’re already behind as it is and I don’t want to waste a whole day. It took us long enough to get this far… we don’t have the time.”

“You’re being a bit vague, Nadya, even for me. What are you ‘behind’ on, exactly?”

Yeah — she’s being vague and she knows it. Feels like somehow the fact that they’ve not really had to talk about the massive panic their situation is worthy of because they all know the stakes has been a blessing. Nadya knows she has to explain things to get Cadence’s help.

It’s just that saying it — actually telling other people — makes everything that’s happening very very real. And being real makes it dangerous.

It has already been dangerous, says a voice in Nadya’s head that sounds enough like Kamilah to make her lower lip wobble a bit.

“Nadya?”

Not-Kamilah in her head is right. Nadya sucks it up and looks Cadence dead in the eye.

“I need the Amulet of Nero and I know you were the last person to have it — when you beat a man named Kavinsky at poker in Vegas two years ago.”

Cadence defies the laws of nature and somehow manages to look paler than he already was. Which means she’s in the right place.

“How do you… actually, it doesn’t matter. The Amulet is useless to humans.”

“Maybe. But I’m guessing it’s not useless to a psychopathic power-mad vampire king who’s spent almost three thousand years trying to take over the world.”

An eerie calm comes over them as he takes in the weight of what she says.

Cadence steps aside wordlessly. When she crosses the threshold he stops and checks either end of the hall in a way that totally screams suspicious.

When he’s satisfied they aren’t being watched, he closes the door behind them.

He asks her to start ‘from the beginning.’ But does she really know where that is? Does it begin when Gaius finally revealed himself after a year of working in hiding in secret, or does it begin from a time only a few know and fewer remember?

“I’ve found the beginning is often the place you think of first,” Cadence answers her; he sets down a tray and tells her to be careful to not burn her hand on the offered mug of tea, “that, or the place where you enter the story as a character in your own right.”

It’s all very oddly domestic in here; Nadya wouldn’t be surprised to find out he doesn’t bother with an apartment and just lives here instead. Even if the mess is giving her the headache to beat all headaches.

The ceramic warms her from the tips of her fingers outward. It’s hot as heck outside but if there’s one thing she’s learned from Gerard its that the soothing powers of tea are beyond things as silly as the weather.

“It’s funny you say something like that.”

“Why would that be?”

“I don’t really know where I come in. Not… not me, as I am, anyway.” She probably—no, definitely—sounds like she’s a few marbles short of the bag. But it’s nice to be able to admit something so personal to a stranger. Someone who won’t judge her — or if he does it’s not that big of a deal.

“I’m not sure I know who I am lately. It’s… hard to explain.”

Cadence brushes the barest touch of his fingertips over her knee. He looks hesitant, like he’s not quite sure he has her permission, but she doesn’t say no to it. It’s like the man who was so cruel to her in the doorway was a skin shed in the safety of his home.

“You don’t have to explain a thing. I know the struggle better than anyone should have a right to.”

Nadya remembers then; Cadence’s testimony on Adrian’s behalf — exactly why Adrian had been in New Orleans in the first place. They had been so close to the Amulet and didn’t even know it.

She’s a little embarrassed by it, to be honest. “Right, I… I’m sorry,” shaking her head, “that was insensitive of me.” At least she knows her own name.

But the vampire shrugs it off and sips his tea. “The struggle of identity is innate in every species throughout time. If I’ve learned one thing; it’s that.”

It makes Nadya laugh softly. “You must have gotten along with Adrian when he visited.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You’re both kind to the world.” Kind to others; strangers. But not to yourselves.

Cadence opens his mouth as if to respond; but whatever he plans to say he thinks better of it and changes their course.

“Let’s get back to the Amulet and this… vampire king.”

Which is probably for the best.

She tries to start where things make the most sense — recently, with the Amulet and Gaius’ plan. But that leads to explaining how he was locked up in the first place, which leads to the founding of the New York Council and the Clans, and somehow jumps to the events of the Awakening Ball, and Nadya doesn’t blame him in the slightest when Cadence holds up a finger and grabs a notepad from his nearby desk to start jotting everything down.

It’s a full transparency kind of deal because if Adrian trusts him then Nadya does, too. But some things sound crazy no matter how casually she spins them. So Nadya keeps certain things to herself; the whole Bloodkeeper disaster, her fight with Kamilah, the fact that when she looks at him she can see a woolen uniform dusty with dirt and with embers still clinging to the thick material and a little cut on his forehead that definitely healed a hundred years ago or more.

And to the man’s credit he takes everything in stride. Nods and scribbles down her tale faster than Nadya could ever hope to do herself. He even asks questions here and there; things you’d expect more in a classroom than, well, here.

Though Nadya really doesn’t grasp the enormity of it all until she blinks and realizes her eyes have grown accustomed to a lack of light. She can’t even see the small alley street below his window anymore. Jeez, it’s sunset already?

“And that’s why we need the Amulet of Nero; if Gaius gets to it first and there really is a vial of blood from the First Vampire inside…”

Cadence nods. “It’s an ‘end of the world’ sort of deal. Well… for humans, anyway.”

Did he really need to put it like that? Way to remind Nadya that all her friends are vampires and would probably make it out of everything at least mildly intact.

“So where is it?”

“Where is what?”

Really? “The Amulet of Nero.”

“Oh, well… about that.” No, Nadya thinks in a panic — because nothing good ever started with ‘about that.’

“You have it —” —hello instant nauseating panic, my old friend— “— Cadence please tell me you have it.”

“Had; past tense.”

There’s not quite a word to describe the noise that grumbles out from deep in her soul but it’s certainly not a whoop of joy.

More like an eeeughh of… urrrrghh.

Which is why she’s a little relieved her phone screen lights up blinding and interrupts them before she can start pulling her own hair out.

While Nadya grabs it to read the latest message, Cadence stands and pops his neck in two places. “I have a few calls to make myself, actually. Another tea?”

“No thank you.”

He leaves her with the office door open just a crack.

In truth Nadya wants nothing more than to stretch out on the couch and take a power nap.

No rest for the wicked.

She thumbs her screen unlocked to read a text from Adrian.

[TEXT]: It’s sunset and we haven’t heard from you in a while. Is everything okay? -A

Well — she managed to train him out of the ‘sincerely’ at least.

[TEXT]: I’m surprised I dont have like 5000 txts [TEXT]: shes still asleep isnt she

[TEXT]: No. Her phone died. You didn’t answer my question. -A

[TEXT]: I’m fine [TEXT]: here w/ cadence

[TEXT]: Great news. He’ll give us the Amulet? -A

She doesn’t want to lie to him. But there’s really no good way to soften the blow.

[TEXT]: :|

[TEXT]: What does that mean? -A [TEXT]: I showed it to Lily. She isn’t happy. We’re grabbing a car now. I’ll convince him to give it to us if I have to. Did you explain what’s at stake? -A

Nadya scoffs — kind of very rightfully offended. “No,” she says aloud, but she’s alone so her phone suffers her snark in silence, “I told him I wanted it for my Halloween costume. Yes I explained what’s at stake, Adrian Raines. Ugh.”

So of course that’s the perfect moment for Cadence to return with confusion knit in his brow.

“Is everything okay?”

“Not really.” Nadya peels off her glasses and rubs her eyes. “Just — Adrian’s on his way. Tell me where the Amulet is and we’ll get out of your hair.”

She can’t tell if the pensive look on the vampire’s face is him trying to decide whether or not to help or something else entirely. All she can do is pray, really. Or hope Adrian can convince him. And if neither of those work maybe Lily can threaten him or something.

They should have brought Jax along. Katana and all.

“Actually, send him somewhere else, would you?” Cadence rips off a corner piece of paper and scribbles an address down before handing it over. “That’s where I planned on heading anyway. And this way I won’t have to go into the explanation twice.”

He’s been nice so far; friendly and helpful. And Adrian trusts him — if she hasn’t brought that up enough times.

So why does unease start to tangle and knot itself in her gut?

“Or maybe we could all go there together.”

“Why not save the trip?” He brushes hair out of his eyes with a genuine surprise. “You said time was of the essence.”

“It is.”

“Then I don’t understand.”

“I just think it would be better to wait.”

“But —”

Thunk. Thu-Thunk.

A knocking at the door cuts both Nadya and Cadence off at the same time — but Nadya’s pretty sure people knocked nearer the top of doors.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk!

With a long-suffering sigh, the vampire wheels himself around in his chair and makes for the door. “What have I told you about kicking my door? The museum said they won’t be paying for the third replacement.”

THU—

“Christ, Kathy!”

Cadence yanks the door open with more than a little force. The hinges creak and there’s the slight cracking sound of splintering wood — even with his back turned Nadya can see the disgruntled slump of his shoulders. “Great, now look what you’ve made me do.”

“Stop being so easy to mess with,” says Katherine as she enters; beaming immediately at Nadya around the towering blockade of a man. “He’s so fun to mess with, isn’t he?”

All the tension in her extinguishes like a blown-out candle. Leaves Nadya smiling because she didn’t even know how reassuring the sight of a familiar face would be until, well, she’s right there.

Katherine shoulders her way around Cadence and holds out her arms. “Bring it in!” And Nadya most definitely brings it in. Even if her hurry to hug the Nighthunter sends a small stack of papers scattering to their feet.

“Oops…”

Cadence groans. “It’s fine, it’s fine…” And he shoos Nadya away to pick it up himself.

Very little about Katherine seems to have changed over the last year. Though technically Nadya could say the same for herself. The hunter now sports a fancy scar along the edge of her jaw and she must have just recently given her hair a fresh shade of violet but she’s still Kathy and it’s an honest relief.

Wait a second. Nadya pulls back to hold her at arms’ length.

“I tried calling you before we took off from New York. Why didn’t you answer?” Truthfully, they thought she must have been out of town.

Katherine scoffs, mock-offended. “I have a life too, you know. I’m not always looking at my phone.”

“Indeed,” grumbles Cadence at their feet, “but last night you weren’t ‘having a life’ so much as trying to break your own arm.”

What’s worse is that Kathy doesn’t try to deny it. She just laughs at Nadya’s suddenly pale expression. “Don’t worry kiddo,” she teases, “I was just taste-testing for a bartender friend. Had a little bit too much, you know how it goes. I thought I could arm wrestle a stone troll.”

Blink. Blink-blink. “I’m sorry a who-what?”

“A stone… well you’ll see. C’mon Cade, pick it up later. We’ve gotta get going,” with a fist curled in his sweater she hauls the man up against his wishes, “don’t even worry about it. Not like the place isn’t still a historic hoarder’s nest.”

Nadya definitely agrees — but she’s too polite to do so out loud.

Hold on, though. “You know where we’re going?”

Cadence’s left eyebrow arches slowly. “You’re suddenly on board now?”

“Well —”

Katherine interrupts her with a finger and a quick smack to the vampire’s upper arm. He doesn’t even flinch. “Context, Cade, remember? Taller, stronger man tries to take you somewhere only he knows of in an unfamiliar city. What do you do, Nadya?”

“You kick him in the groin.”

“Exactly.”

He looks between the women in brief silence; but they aren’t exactly wrong. “Fair point. I’m sorry for making you feel unsafe, Nadya.”

“It’s okay.”

Katherine claps her hands together quickly. “Come on. I don’t really think you want to leave Raines undefended against Garrus for long.”

“Who is —” you know what, probably better that Nadya waits to learn, “— Lily’s with him, it’s okay.”

“Your friend the newbie vamp, Lily?” asks Katherine. When Nadya nods, though, she’s the exact opposite of reassured. The hunter barely gives her time to grab her purse before she’s tugging Nadya out of the office by her sleeve.

“Oh god — we have to go.”

“What’s the matter? Are they in danger?”

“No,” Cadence laughs behind them; the fact that he’s far more at ease than Katherine though doesn’t make Nadya feel any better, “they’re fine. But Garrus has been perfecting a shooter to give my kind an actual buzz.”

Drunk Lily. Nadya remembers her well… well enough to shiver bodily. Because drunk Lily was one thing.

Drunk vampire Lily, though?

“Maybe we could hurry up a bit.”

If I’d known there were going to be drinks involved I might’ve not been so against it, Nadya thinks, and immediately foresees a great concern regarding the eventual state of her liver by the time she’s (hopefully) settled into a more peaceful life post-Gaius’ World Takeover 2020.

By the time the three of them make it to the Graveyard Shift (which was, in her humble opinion, the height of tacky non-humor — and according to Kathy if she wanted to keep her tongue in her mouth she had better keep that thought to herself) Adrian and Lily are already there.

Lily hugs her first, then goes for Katherine with equal gusto. Cadence and Adrian, however, exchange nothing but a crisp businesslike handshake.

“I was glad to hear your name had been cleared,” the blond vampire says with a hint of shame. Then — watch out world — Adrian crosses the professional boundary and clasps a hand on his shoulder.

“Kamilah told me about how Vega tried to keep you from testifying. I can’t even begin to tell you how grateful I am that you risked daylight travel for someone you barely knew.”

“You helped me all you could. It was the least I could do.”

At the bartop in the very back a young woman dressed head-to-toe in black leather and lace whips out a (black) fan and flutters it rapidly. She eyes the pair bright and mirthful. “Good ghoulish gods, the sexual tension there is enough to feed a dozen succubi!”

They pull away from each other after a long and uncomfortable pause.

Then Lily’s tugging Nadya forward with maniacal delight. “Ohmygod, Nadi’, come meet Ivy. She’s literally the coolest person on the planet.”

Behind them Adrian splutters; “Wait, Lily —”

And she should really be worried when Katherine joins in; “Ease her into it — ah shit.”

Because ease her into what, exactly?

Lily stops them in front of Ivy’s stool. “Technically not a person, remember?” chides the stranger; and then things start to make a bit more sense.

What Nadya had thought were tattoos or maybe was a decorative grey bodysuit underneath Ivy’s clothes just… isn’t. It’s skin. It’s greying, veiny skin and the muscles beneath that Nadya can see with a little too much ease for her personal comfort. Yes, Ivy is wearing black lipstick, but there’s not a whole lot of lip for the stick. And while the way her eyes seem to actually burn with a strange and pinkish flame is very cool and very up Lily’s alley, Nadya can’t really look at them for long without feeling like the long shadows cast in every corner of the bar are watching her.

“Dude,” stage-whispers Lily while tugging at her sleeve, “Ivy’s a revenant. Victorian zombie goth chick, Nadya!”

Ivy holds up a veiny finger. “Actually that’s a bespelled revenant, sweetie.” And the only solace Nadya seems to be able to take right now is that when the woman smiles she still has a full set of teeth — though some look a little… pointy.

“We’re a little different because we still have our souls… they just don’t belong to us and aren’t in our bodies and will forever burn in some eldritch pit or another.”

Words that awful should never be said so cheerfully.

“But enough about me,” like she isn’t practically preening under Lily’s adoration regardless, “ever meet a fae? This is Garrus; he owns the Shift.”

The revenant jerks her hot pink head behind the bar where the bartender has been devoted to messing with something out of sight — until now.

No, Nadya would have answered if she wasn’t having way too much new information thrown at her like a bag of big supernatural bricks, I haven’t met a fae. She hasn’t, she’s sure.

Since she’s just as sure she would have remembered meeting anyone equally pale — somehow glittering, with the same unnatural symmetry in the face that was both pleasing to the eye and unnerving in impossibility. With eyes as clear as the sky and actual pointy ears that definitely weren’t bought from Lily’s preferred cosplay crafters.

Yup; no way she could forget that.

This is Nadya we’re talking about, however, so she swallows down all of her (many — many) feelings about the current situation and turns on her heel to where Adrian has come to stand just shy of behind.

“I’m gonna need a glass of wine.”

Adrian shakes his head with a small laugh. Back the other way Garrus calls out a cheerful — and slightly Irish(?) so that’s a thing — “Coming right up, darling.”

“Just… one glass though, Garrus.” Adrian feels the need to emphasize, even if its with a glint in his eye. “Trust me. She’ll try to go for the bottle.”

“I handle this crap the way I handle it, Raines.”

“Then don’t complain about the hangover this time.”

A beat. “Yeah fine, one glass only.”

For a bar in New Orleans at night the place is a little barren, but nobody else seems to mind so Nadya doesn’t think about it twice. It gives them more opportunity to spread out at the very least rather than having to lean halfway over the bar to talk to one another.

Ivy joins Katherine and Cadence in the crescent-moon booth closest to the actual bar. Freeing up stools for Adrian and Nadya — though Lily quickly pulls away to jog up a tightly-coiled metal staircase by the back door to, apparently, check on her charging phone and call up Maricruz.

“When did you add the second floor?” Adrian asks Garrus; who now is moving so fast Nadya’s pretty sure he’s getting a little blurry around the edges.

He doesn’t even pause to think. “We finished it a couple of years before the turn of the century. After you and your lady friend had such a hard time finding accommodations I took a real stock in the idea of places more… suitable to our folk.”

Adrian gives an “aah” of understanding, but if he thinks he can just get away with that without being smacked in the arm he’s very mistaken.

“Ow?” He tries to look affronted down at Nadya — it doesn’t really work.

“You’ve been here before?”

“Briefly, yes, in the later 19th century. Why are you so surprised?”

She gives a little shrug. “It just doesn’t seem like your kind of scene.” Yes, the Graveyard Shift is rustic, charming; antique. But it’s also dusty, rickety, and Nadya really doesn’t trust the way those stairs screamed through Lily’s every step.

“Well — yes and no. I enjoy this place immensely; you should have seen it back in its heyday.” He pauses; probably hopes Nadya will say something so he doesn’t have to keep going. But she knows a ‘but’ when she hears one.

“But… we weren’t here for a good time. We were here on Gaius’ behalf to settle some… unsavory territorial disputes between two vampire families.”

“Who’s ‘we?’”

His lips purse. “Kamilah and I.”

Garrus whistles shrilly behind them; breaks the chance for Nadya to go all melancholy before she even starts with a glass tumbler in front of Adrian and a wine on her end. “Thank you,” since she’ll definitely need it, now.

Cadence clears his throat into his fist. “Now that we’re all caught up perhaps I should finish what we started in my office?” He looks Nadya level in the eyes. “I told you I no longer had the Amulet of Nero?”

Adrian looks between her and Cadence with a rising surprise. She hadn’t gotten to that part, exactly, in her texts… thanks.

“What do you mean you don’t have the Amulet?”

“I thought that pretty self-explanatory.”

“Then why are we wasting time here?”

“I don’t have it because it didn’t provide what I needed.” And just like that he and Katherine are back on friendly terms. He swings an arm over the booth behind her and she accepts it with a sigh. “I had heard of the Amulet’s long history with vampires and thought that perhaps it had some sort of charm or hex that could prove useful to me.

“Objects have memories like people have memories. Only people — they live, remember, and die. Their memories are lost forever. But objects are a little like vampires. They just keep remembering.”

Adrian feels her still beside him. He reaches out to her; throw an arm around her shoulder, hug her; whatever gets spun on his roulette wheel of Uh-Oh, the Human is Freaking Out Again. This time, though, Nadya pushes his hand back. Touch is kind of the last thing she wants right now.

Why? He asks with his eyes.

Nadya looks away only because her own eyes want to give him an answer.

Because that means I’m an object, too.

“All that collective history should have been compiled in the Amulet,” Cadence continues, “but none of the witches I hired could help me unlock it. I even prostrated to the Garden Elders, you know.”

Judging by the way their new friends all react Nadya thinks that wasn’t a good call on his part.

“Before they lost the single brain cell they shared?” Ivy asks with a derisive snort. Garrus gets a chuckle out of it at least.

“Indeed. But they couldn’t even…”

Why did he trail off into silence? Doesn’t he know nothing good ever comes of trailing off into silence when it comes to matters of the supernatural?

Cadence’s eyes go wide. If he had a beating heart — he definitely wouldn’t have it now. “Mary Mother of Christ. I think that’s around the time when the Elders pulled the witches from the Quarter.”

He looks between Ivy between Katherine between Garrus; all of whom have gone just as silent and still. Something haunting them behind the eyes just out of sight.

“Do you think the Amulet did something to them?” Adrian asks — and Nadya’s glad to know she’s not the only one royally confused.

The blond vampire nods. “Of—Of a sort. You see, last year’s Mardi Gras was a bit… murder-y.”

“That was only a couple of weeks before the Awakening Ball — and my trial.”

“Lucky we made it out then.” He squeezes Katherine’s shoulder. The look on her face punctuates his optimism with a restrained barely.

“The Garden Coven — the witches of the city — their Elders went a bit…” Cadence tsks for a delicate turn of phrase.

And the hunter at his side doesn’t bother. “They went cuckoo bananas. They used a born necromancer, summoned a bloodwraith using the bones of an equally cuckoo bananas Nighthunter known as the Bloody Hand, and thought they could control him in the form of a vengeful spirit to kill the city leaders and install themselves in power.”

And she thought being chased by Vega was terrifying? Well, it was. But on some level Nadya’s kind of glad she didn’t have to touch any of this with a ten foot pole.

“I know I’m gonna regret asking this…” in fact she regrets it before she even finishes, “but why would they do something so… awful?”

“Fear is a powerful motivator.”

Ivy drums her nails on the table. “One of the Elders, Millet, was really handy with a deck of tarot. But the thing about prophesy — if you don’t have the gift, you just don’t have it. So the forces you call upon sort of… call upon you right back.”

Cadence’s whole world is being rocked; Nadya can totally sympathize. “The Amulet would have been the perfect conduit for Millet’s foresight. I can’t believe I didn’t realize it then.”

“Would it have saved anyone’s lives?” Garrus challenges him to consider it. Cadence does, but no answer at all is all the answer they need. “Shame.”

“So they used the Amulet of Nero and got a vision that drove them mad with… fear. I’m missing something.”

The gears are turning in Adrian’s head so fast steam might start squealing from his ears. “Whatever had been seen would have been tied to the Amulet’s magic.”

He and Nadya lock eyes. The same thought at the same time.

Whatever they foresaw would have had to do with vampires — with the Amulet — with Gaius.

Cadence snaps his fingers, eyes alight and a half-smile of understanding starting to grow on his lips. “The darkness coming has something to do with vampires!” Though when the weight of his words settles in, they’re decidedly less a revelation and more of an omen.

“Oh dear…”

“Before we get—ahem—any more ahead of ourselves,” Adrian cracks his neck and mulls over how best to go forward, “Cadence… what were you trying to open the Amulet for? You said it wasn’t useful, what do you mean?”

The man shrugs. “It was an object with great importance throughout much of recorded vampiric history. If you’ve forgotten that’s… kind of my thing. I hoped whatever lie within — whatever had the kind of power to draw us to it — might be able to jog a memory or two.”

“But it didn’t.”

“I’ll never know. I never got it open.”

“So you got rid of it?” Adrian’s voice raises more than a pitch or two. “If the Amulet couldn’t help you personally it wasn’t worth keeping safe?”

“What? No. But it took quite a bit of money to acquire, none of which was mine.”

As he starts to understand where Cadence is going with his story, Adrian leans forward with his elbows on his knees.

“You took a loan from Carlo. Which means it was left to Isadora when he passed.”

Who are Carlo and Isadora?

“Speaking of…” Katherine looks between Adrian and Cadence expectantly. It doesn’t bode well that Cadence shifts as if trying to inch away at the same time that Adrian takes a long drink.

The Nighthunter groans in frustration. “You guys are idiots!”

Cadence splutters — waves an arm at Nadya from afar. “Well I wasn’t exactly expecting them, was I?”

“I don’t care! That’s the first thing you should’ve done when you found out he was in town. But let me guess — you made tea.” Which is, unfortunately a fact the vampire doesn’t deny. “God, you are such a damn stereotype sometimes.

“And what about you?” She rounds on Adrian next. “You’re smart… ish. More responsible, I guess. Tell me you’re not as dumb as he is. Tell me you called her at the very least.”

From her edge of the booth Ivy looks like she’s taking way too much enjoyment in this. When Adrian’s head hangs she squeals in delight and claps with the promise of more yelling.

“I had more pressing matters to think about.”

“So that’s a no.”

“Correct.”

“That’s a no,” Katherine repeats; growing louder with every word, “to telling the most powerful vampire in the city about your little trip — and with not one, but two vampires staying in her territory for longer than a fucking layover?”

Some clarification on the rising panic bubble blowing up inside her would be awesome, but Nadya has a feeling she’s just not gonna get one.

“Forgive me for caring a little more about the danger of the most powerful vampire in the world more than Isadora de la Rosa.” Adrian almost snarls — Nadya swears she hears the glass in his grip creak ever so slightly.

Judging by the look Kathy gives him she doesn’t regret one syllable; not a single one.

“Its not my forgiveness you’ll need.” She grabs Cadence’s arm and turns it at an awkward angle to look at his watch. “Lucky for you Flechette just opened.”

“‘Flechette?’” Nadya asks — and can’t help but feel like an owl at this point.

Katherine snorts. “Flechette is the front for the city vamps; and they’re headed by Isadora de la Rosa.”

But this is a good thing. They know where the Amulet is. Sure, it sounds like there might be a little arguing along the way but… surely this Isadora woman will be totally understanding, right?

“You don’t have to come, Nadya.”

She looks at Adrian and really can’t believe what she’s hearing. “Of course I do.” Her eyes narrow. You know what I went through for this. “Why would you think I wouldn’t want to?”

“Because Flechette is a fetish club.” Oh.

Well… yes, yes she’s still going. She’s been to worse places than a fetish club; the Shrike, the Shadow Den, kind of… how bad could it really be?

“Well, at least Lily will enjoy it.”

#bloodbound #choices bloodbound #adrian raines #playchoices fanfiction #bloodbound fanfiction #bloodbound mc #mc: nadya al jamil #lily spencer #oc: cadence smith #katherine nightbound #garrus #ivy #krom #cal lowell

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hazellvesque · 5 years ago

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a question

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians/The Trials of Apollo

Summary: Reyna Avila Ramirez-Arellano has questions about the Hunters of Artemis. And she has one person she can ask. Because a lot of thought must go into making important decisions.

Contains spoilers for The Tyrant’s Tomb.

Word Count: 933

* * *

I pledge myself to the goddess Artemis. I turn my back on the company of men, accept eternal maidenhood, and join the hunt.

They’d discussed it in their letters countless times. She’d be lying to herself if she said her inquiries had all been hypothetical. Invasive questions spilled from the tip of her pen as the sunrise broke through the curtains at the end of her shift, all the while she insisted to Frank that she’d get some sleep as soon as she finished writing to Thalia.

The most straightforward of Reyna’s questions had been answered the first time she’d been brave enough to address the subject in one of her letters - ‘Roman demigods would just substitute the name Artemis for Diana. No matter which aspect you speak to, the oath works all the same,’ Thalia had written.

On the bottom of that same page, she’d scribbled the full oath, and hours later when Reyna was sure she was alone, she whispered the start of those two powerful sentences aloud for only her walls to hear. What scared her most was how right the oath felt coming from her voice, even while incomplete. She didn’t dare to finish the final word right then, though somewhere deep in her mind she knew she would one day.

And that thought was both terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

As the echoes died out, reality set in.

Jason. Percy. Nico. Frank. All honorable men she’d still stand by without a moment’s hesitation. Surely turning her back could have been worded less harshly? Even uttering the phrase seemed like a betrayal to all she’d accomplished with their help. Logistics of the vocabulary aside, she knew the phrase wasn’t to be taken literally. Still, that part left a sour feeling in her mouth.

Thalia’s so-called eternal maidenhood had only lasted three years thus far, and yet she acted as the Hunters’ lieutenant with all the dignity and wisdom of someone who’d spent decades or centuries traveling with the goddess. Thalia had joined the Hunt to avoid the Great Prophecy, to avoid the fate of the entire world falling on her shoulders. And as far as Reyna knew, she never once doubted that decision.

Camp Jupiter was by no means the entire world, but it was Reyna’s entire world. Daring to think she could leave it in someone else’s hands after so many years left her brain stranded at a dangerous crossroads. Stay or go, succumb or surrender.

Another question came to her then. Was it worth it?

To go about her days as a perpetual teenager, never again asked what her plans were for the future, what action should be taken against an oncoming threat, what should be done about the endless issues that seemed to be piling up at her feet with no end in sight. Every instance of decision making and pressure instantly lifted from her shoulders at the expense of leaving behind the only home she’d truly known. Freedom. At a heavy cost.

Then again, Aurum and Argentum did love their long walks.

So she considered it. In intimate detail.

She put every invasive question in her mind to paper, her wrists getting sore and cuticles growing redder with each sentence. The precious daylight hours she should have dedicated to sleep were passing her by, her mind far too preoccupied to rest now.

Some of her concerns seemed silly once she wrote them down, yet she sealed them into her letters anyway:

I only hope the other girls are friendly. Surely you’re partners in combat as well as close friends?

I’ll have to get better at archery, won’t I? Lady Diana doesn’t seem too fond of swords.

Others were practical and to the point:

How often do you rest? How often do you fight?

How often can you visit home?

Do you ever miss Camp?

And some she wondered if she’d ever know a straightforward answer to:

Do you think this would be right for me?

Reyna wasn’t sure when she’d started valuing Thalia’s opinion so highly. Their relationship hadn’t exactly stepped off on the best foot - holding a knife to your kidnapper’s throat wasn’t the typical way girls made friends nowadays.

Once Gaea’s threat subsided, the two checked in regularly with one another. First, to make sure the other was still alive, solely out of necessity and loyalty to a fellow demigod fighting for the same cause. Then one day Thalia’s curiosity about Camp Jupiter grew, and with the barriers between camps now demolished, Reyna was happy to let her know everything she wanted to hear about the Roman camp.

From there, they shared knowledge about their respective travels. They kept eyes on potential threats. They monitored their friends at Camp Half-Blood. They reminisced about growing up with Jason - which reminded Reyna, she should probably check in with him too. She’d get around to it eventually.

In the months since Gaea’s defeat, Thalia and Reyna had built up a certain level of trust. Which is why now, Reyna didn’t mind sharing her insecurities and asking for a second opinion.

That was also very unlike her, and it almost scared her just as much as the idea of leaving.

Before she sealed the letter, she wrote the final question on her mind. One she couldn’t decide if the wanted the true answer to or not.

Were you scared?

Frank peeked his head through the door at sunset. “Reyna? Hope I didn’t wake you. It’s time for your shift.”

Duty called, once again. But she promised herself she’d send off the letter first thing tomorrow morning.

#trials of apollo #reyna avila ramirez arellano #thalia grace #the tyrant's tomb #the tyrant's tomb spoilers #my writing #pjo

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flyswhumpcenter · 5 years ago

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Memento mori.

It's purposely short because it's an experiment and, frankly, I didn't see it any other way. I just wanted that maximum angst experience I usually don't even dare touching. I like change and variety more than I make it seem. It's also deeply inspired by managician's amazing story, it's a little cold in paradise tonight. This story has got nothing on theirs, it's beautifully written and shaken me to my core every time I've read it, and I wanted to pay it tribute, albeit the relationship I picked is most likely not the best to do so. It's not my best work, so I'm not sure if it's this good of a tribute. I love writing Ruri according to what I got of her personality or speculated about.

----

Arms of Morpheus

Summary: It’s like she’s holding a shadow. Or: Ruri holds her brother against her as they talk for the last time.

Content Warnings: Major Character Death

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Arc-V (canon divergence) Relationship: Ruri & Shun (siblings)

Wordcount: 1.2K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo

AO3 version available here.

------

Tears are running down a young girl’s cheeks, smoking as soon as they enter the cold air, clashing against the freezing zephyrs blowing through what reminds her of the ruins of what once was the paradise she lived in with friends and family.

Gone are the smiles and lights which used to dazzle in her eyes as she held onto her big brother’s hand, his smile shining the brightest to her child self, before they came and destroyed everything in their stead.

Her hands are now trembling with fear and warm, warm from attempting to start a fire, warm from digging for survivors, warm from scratching themselves on the ground, warm from the blood quickly drying on her fingers, red shifting to maroon as her focus is elsewhere.

She’s cold, they’re cold. The top of the tower is a mess of splatters and crackled stone, the setting of a disaster having broken loose and unleashed. The wind doesn’t let down, so do the whispers in her head whispering that it really is all her fault. How could she blame them? They’re right. She’s responsible for this.

There is nothing better for a hunter who has become the monster they swore to get rid off than to be put down, after all.

Yet, despite how monstrous she’s become, she has someone in her arms trying to reassure her. That doesn’t make a shred of sense, she knows it, but she can only see it unfold before her eyes: her brother, covered in his own blood, having the faintest smirk on his face and glassy eyes barely able to focus on hers.

It’s like she’s holding a shadow.

She wants to apologize, apologize over and over again, apologize for a thousand years and into the next life, apologize for everything she has ever done that has brought them to this day, this place, this situation. She doesn’t deserve forgiveness, but she apologizes in her mind anyway.

It overwhelms her to the extent that, in the end, she never verbally does what she’s supposed to do, and keeps her guilt on her heart like an armour smothering its knight.

Ruri, I’m glad we got to reunite.

She can tell he’s being honest, that he really does think that; but the meaning of his words doesn’t reach her heart already shattered. Everyone she’s known is gone: her parents are gone, her friends are gone, her brother is disappearing before her eyes. There is nothing she can do but weep, and even then she can’t do so with the circumstances.

I’m glad I got to see you too, big brother.

It’s not wrong, but the words don’t feel right nonetheless. Not when she’s the direct cause of their melancholic sentiment.

I wish you weren’t crying.

His eyes, despite their lack of focus and foggy irises, despite his complexion inexorably paling, seem to shine with all the life he has left. It aches, it hurts, and she can still tell he’s honest with her to the end. If only that wasn’t the end, if only they still had days to share together, doing silly sibling things, playing card games together, and she realizes she does miss his scolds and overbearing nature. Not for what they are at first glance, because they’re his.

They’re Shun’s, and soon, they’ll be gone like everything else she’s ever known that wasn’t war or desolation.

Ruri, stay strong. Don’t cry.

She sniffles and nods, almost dishonestly, betraying the sorrow in her heart for a bravado she won’t keep for more than a few moments. Better make his send-off a relief.

I’m sorry, big brother. I’m sorry for everything.

She still apologizes, and he tries to frown, but his strength has left him, and so is his warmth. He’s always been cold-blooded, closer to a lizard than a bird in that regard, and yet she’s frightened by how much warmer her skin feels when she cradles him as much as possible against her.

You weren’t yourself. It’s fine.

He puts his hand on her face, leaving some blood behind. The tears won’t stop flowing despite her best intent and efforts.

I’m relieved you’re safe and sound, Ruri. That’s all I wanted.

She knows that’s a lie. Shun wanted to see so much more than just her. He wanted to see their world be reborn, to reunite with their friends and celebrate their freedom coming back, to compete against Kaito and the other Clover Branch students, to see the bright lights and sparkles of Heartland again. It’s a lie, a filthy lie, a little white lie.

That’s wrong, isn’t it?

He puffs.

Doesn’t make me less happy to have saved you, at least.

His voice is low, slow, groggy and has trouble exiting his mouth when it keeps getting interrupted by coughing fits and blood coming out of his body through the wrong exits. Again, nothing she could ever do about it. It’s too late and she doesn’t know how to fix her mistakes, war hasn’t taught her how to bring people to life or from the brink of death.

Thank you, big brother. I’m sorry it had to end this way.

Her own voice is hesitant, filled with sobs she can’t retain. Her words barely reflect what she thinks, and as her arms wrap themselves around his chest because she can’t let his heart stop beating, she realizes how much his demise is unfitting and how bad she’s messed up. This shouldn’t have been the end for him.

Promise me you’ll continue fighting. Free Heartland for us.

She doesn’t know if she can swear an oath to this.

I promise.

She does it anyway.

Good. I’m proud of you, Ruri.

Why? How could he be proud of his own murderer? How could he be proud of someone who let herself get brainwashed and mind controlled as she broke him down, hit by hit, with a maniacal laugh and crazed eyes until he found the fatal flaw and payed for it with his life?

It doesn’t make sense, but her hands can’t clutch her head to clear her thoughts out, too busy cradling him so he goes to sleep decently.

Death is just going to bed for a much, much longer time than usual, after all, isn’t it?

His warmth is almost gone and his eyes close without fluttering back open. The smirk turns into a faint smile, giving her conflicting feelings. She should be relieved to see him so relaxed about meeting his end today, yet she can’t not note how wrong it seems to her, after seeing him killing the enemy if it meant surviving. How could he find his peace in such a sudden ending to all the efforts he’s ever done?

She can’t muster the strength to tell him not to leave her alone in this strange land she doesn’t remember arriving in, not to leave them when they all have a world to rebuild and a future to share in a better context.

She’s not ready when he whispers his last words.

Goodnight, Ruri.

She gives him what could very well be her last smile.

Goodnight, Shun.

He goes cold in her arms.

#bad things happen bingo #arc-v #ruri kurosaki #shun kurosaki #character death #angst #heavy angst #cw blood #cw character death #brotp: birds of black blossom

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toasttz · 5 years ago

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From the Tabletop #9

Welcome back. Let's talk about Exalted again! Last time, our new team had assembled and-- oh, right, I totally forgot we had a fifth Exalt. We have Zatch. Zatch is basically if you fused Albin and Rakis, I guess? But due to a change in work schedule, he's barely gotten to play with us. So, maybe we'll get to talk more about him later. He's Volkenstein's successor character, and it seems like his player has a good beat on him. Just real-life issues is all. Right, so, we were in need of some traveling funds, so we took on a job that was perfect for us - hunting a wild beast! No moral ambiguity or broken kneecaps required! So, we set out into the fields to find this dinosaur-like monster we needed to take down. En route, we discuss if there were any last-minute actions or supplies required. Doran: I could use a drink, frankly. Albin (OoC): I roll introduce fact. There are, in fact, large lizard creatures who naturally produce a form of booze in their stomach from the fermented fruit they eat. GM: Yeah. Okay. They're called Keggers. They are barrel-chested lizard creatures. You eat one, you're definitely getting drink. Doran: Glorious. Proceed the circle of three Solars and a Lunar all repeatedly failing their perception checks. GM: Guys, I think you're hunting an Indominus Rex, since its stealth rolls... well, let's just say you guys shouldn't be having this hard of a time of it. Suddenly, a big-ass dinosaur was upon us and we scattered around to combat it. Each of us defaulted to our usual combat tactics: Rakis mounted Wormsworth, Doran readied his sword, Albin prepped his Prayer Piece rifle, and Kharas... immediately mounted it. This created a little, brief, inter-party tension as Albin readied his flame-thrower rifle at the dinosaur. Kharas: Hey, wait a sec! You might hit me! Albin: I never miss. Kharas: I'M STILL UP HERE! GM: Roll attack. Albin: *Rolls freakishly well.* GM: Congrats, you don't hit Kharas. Kharas: You singed off my eyebrows! GM: You're in warform. You don't currently have those. Kharas: ... IF I DID, YOU'D HAVE BURNED MY EYEBROWS OFF! Ultimately, with a little coordination, the dino went down. We then proceeded to carve it up for its hide, meat, and a couple of us even took trophies. We even made "metric craptons" of dino-jerky, which we sold for a tidy profit, insofar as we couldn't bring it all back ALA Oregon Trail. But the dino hunt went well all-in-all. Afterwards, we realized we need to head towards Great Forks, but then had to find a way to cross a river. The ferry was our best bet, but money had gotten tight and we had to have a way to bring Wormsworth. Kharas attempted a rather clever gambit of disguising himself as a noble and forcing the issue, but the captain of the vessel was stern. Ultimately, we agreed to pay a price once we had arrived, which settled things, as Albin had done business previously with one Master of the Eternal Golden Paradise - a young philanthropist and patron of the arts and sciences. And Kharas, using Twin-Faced Hero, managed to "persuade" Master to paying their way, if you get my drift. Later, Kharas would use this as leverage against Albin, demanding a cool leather jacket. Albin and Doran worked together to make a badass leather coat for him, under the proviso it would have enough belts, pouches, and zippers to qualify him for a modern-day Squeenix character. Kharas happily agreed. Arrival at Great Forks more or less went off without a hitch (barring a gang of roving youths who attempted to sell Albin and Doran cutlery. I legit have no idea what to say on that and thus, will just move on). We even got to meet Teddy, one of the Giakell triplets (of which Albin is one member). Teddy is a huge, mountain of a man, quick to laugh, but became concerned when Albin mentioned that what they were doing was effectively hunting down serial killers. Teddy advised Albin to be careful in this pursuit, and Kharas, Rakis, and Doran played with the many, many nephews and nieces Albin had been blessed with due to his brother's undying love of his wife. Eventually, a lead with the guild took the circle down to the docks - whereupon I missed a good part of the conversation due to going to make popcorn and grab a soda. I return to hear Rakis explaining, at great length, how plan to BURN DOWN THE ENTIRE DOCK so we could investigate a ship belonging to a rich, now MIA, man who may well be tied to the mob of killers we've been after this whole time. Albin quickly shoots this plan down, insisting that there's no need to set fire to his hometown for something as straight-forward as this. Eventually, we also realize we could just have Kharas transform into a crane and inspect the ship anyway, as he did when he investigated the man's house as a cat. Let it be said - Rakis doesn't do things by halves. Eventually, clues began taking us north, so we bid farewell to Albin's hometown in order to cross the Yellow River. Albin then explains that there's an underground road they could use, leading to a trading town, partway across - called Yellow Shower - because I was really abusing "Introduce Fact" rolls this game and I am, in fact, 13 years old at heart. There, we even got to meet Albin's sister, Simone, who married a nobleman of the town, and we got to bum a free meal off them before we departed. We did fart around in Yellow Shower a while, but honestly, not much came of it. I also introduced facts about a local booze, Sewer Brue, a potent concoction sure to put you on the toilet for some time after drinking it, and that Yellow Shower was plagued by platypi, native to the region. Kharas took the chance to hunt one, in order to add it to his heart's blood. The platypus, not the drink. On the other side, however, all sorts of Hell broke loose, as Kharas, once more, became a bird and attempted to survey the above-ground scene, just in time to be fired upon by local hunters. He zipped back to the ground and transformed into a platypus in order to hide. Kharas: *SCARED PLATYPUS NOISES* We then asked the hunters for some advice as to where to go next, which ultimately sent us in the direction of a cave, which we spent... entirely too long standing outside of, debating if this was some "Cave of Wonders" shit and would slam down and kill us all if we ventured in. But ultimately, we headed in, and were immediately beset upon by a lesser fairy, who Albin and Rakis straight up merc'd without much hesitation. Afterward, we ventured further down, whereupon we found a cleft in the rock. And this happened: Doran: I guess I'll have a look and see what's down there. I have a merit where I naturally resist hot environments. GM: Yes, but if it's magma, you'll still suffer environmental damage. ... Hey, wait, didn't you write that Doran will die in boiling magma last time? Albin: Oh, crap. Doran: ... Okay, I'm going to have a look, but you're going to hold onto me and at the first sign of trouble, you're going to pull me back from it. Albin: Can do. Thankfully, Doran did NOT die in boiling magma and I was forced to sign a blood oath that I would not erroneously clickbait again. However, legit clickbaiting is A-OK! Moving on, eventually, we found a ways down, deeper into the cave. Rakis and Kharas both had ways of getting down, but the less-athletics-based Doran and Albin did not. And they also met a spirit flame serpent thing that apparently brews really good tea. Rakis then returned to try to help the others down, leaping up and easily getting Albin down safely. However, his return trip was a little less successful, as he ultimately dropped Doran on his face. On the upside, I finally got to roll those medicine dots I've had since I started this campaign. So there's that. Afterwards, we moved further in and found a colossal forge and its guardian - a four-armed giant creature who was quite talkative, but spoke in riddles. Doran and Albin questioned him for a while, and deduced he was no threat. He also helpfully proposed that Moonsilver could be used to bind the cursed aspects of Doran's artifact blade. We also disposed of the cursed Soulsteel garrot wire with help from the giant and his forge to completely destroy it. Doran: Well, I guess that's one cursed artifact down now. After tiring of bothering the giant (who was definitely talking about the Alchemicals and Autochthon, but I only knew that in the meta-sense and, thus, couldn't act on it in-character), we opted to try the last doorway available to us. Whereupon, all four of our circlemates throw lousy strength rolls, barely budging the door. Rakis then summoned Wormsworth, who easily threw the doors open on our behalf. Albin: I think it says something when a circle of Exalts failed to budge the door, but Wormsworth just did it no sweat. Kharas: Shut up. So, we went down into the mines whereupon we realized, Sol dammit, we HAD Moonsilver the entire time - the hammer Albin bought for Rakis back in session 2 was a Moonsilver weapon! So, we decide to do what you should never do in a party and split the party. Albin and Doran returned with the hammer to the giant's forge to ask for his assistance while Rakis and Kharas moved deeper into the mines in order to find what was down there. Albin and Doran use a crap-ton of craft charms and bond over their mutual tasks together over the last few sessions (moving each other up from Minor to Major intimacies as close friends), while Kharas and Rakis get ambushed by brigands deep in the mine and they proceed to kill the shit out of a lot of dudes. Kharas, at the end of the battle, began interrogating one of their number and the following happens. Kharas: Alright, you told me what I need to know. Get out of my sight. Random Baddie: *Gets up, flees* Rakis: By the way, Wormsworth just burrows out of the ground and eats the fleeing guy. Kharas: DUDE! I was actually going to let him live! Rakis: *SHRUG*. So, don't mess with Rakis, I suppose is the lesson here. Join me next time for D&D, because I currently have no more Exalted to talk about for a while! We're all caught up. Next time, in D&D: we meet dwarves! We meet demon cultists! We kill kobolds! See you there!

#Tabletop RPG #Gaming #Exalted #Not a That Guy Story

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verobatto · 6 years ago

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TFW: Time to rewrite your stars.

(The Phoenix Complex in Supernatural characters development. S14 spoilers)

Hello fandom! I just wanted to write something about the exciting idea represented in this season: Growth Time.

I already wrote about this Phoenix Complex before in my "breaking jars" meta, and how Supernatural used it as character development. This season 14 is showing us how our beloved characters slowly but certainly... Are arriving to fullfill their inner circle.

Sam from the "child with demon blood" to "there won't be new king of hell"

Since the beginning, Sam was marked with this "destiny" to fulfill, written by the unfortunately events that made Mary took the wrong decision.

You could say he was "screwed", surrended by demons in disguise, controlling all his movements. It was written... This kid with demon blood should rise with Lucifer, bring the Apocalypse and rule the world.

But even so, he's Sam "fucking" Winchester, he fought against all written destiny, against all bad decisions and he sacrificed himself for the good and his own ideas and perceptions about what is good. That was a triumph, but not the only triumph he had.

We could say his destiny was OPEN HELL GATE AND MAKE HELL OF THIS WORLD. But instead of that... He tried to closed hell's gate like a brave warrior looking for redemption in season 8.

I really believe this is Sammy season too. Episode 1 showed us a huge character growth, a bright Phoenix resurfacing from the ashes, screaming to every word written about him and his destiny, that here's is where this must ended.

Gif credit @itsokaysammy

And how glorious way to closed that hateful destiny. He rules his own path. He says "ENOUGH!" To those demons, but also, to his past with them. We won't come back to those black days. He even saw his prison guard, Lucifer, died in front of him. The victory is by his side.

This path of self knowledge and self acceptance is about to end. He's not anymore this guy with so many regrets and so many incomplete desires. He even had the opportunity of reconciliation with his mother, that profund wound, healing with forgiveness.

Jack from son of Lucifer to son of Kelly Kline

What a most impossible changing destiny Jack had. The living son of Lucifer itself. What a dark path was extended in front of him. The darkest panorama.

But nevertheless... He wasn't only Lucifer's son, he was also Kelly Kline's son.

Kelly Kline erased that dark path, and brought a new one, full with kindness and love, to his son.

He's part of this family now, he was filled with goodness and firm ideas about what is worth to fight for. And he's is the youngest warrior, but not the less brave.

He even visited his grandparents and meet them. Was the reaffirmation of his human roots, his good roots, and that was huge for his self knowledge.

There's too much things for him to learn... Loosing his grace as a Nephilim was a new reborn, he's learning now how to growth again in self acceptance. But with all those dad's surrounding him, it wouldn't be so hard for him.

Castiel from Angel of the Lord to Winchester's Angel

This is an amazing transformation. And I wrote a lot of him and Dean in my other meta talking about the Breaking Jars and Slow Construction of Destiel Canon.

Here is the link

So... Everybody remembers our Badass Angel from the earliest seasons...

Both gorgeous gif credits @magnificent-winged-beast

Yes, this Angel of the Lord with a mission, with faith in the Sacred Oath and in God, with a thousands of brothers, one of the best soldiers in Heaven, changed everything for humanity. For the Winchester Family. He rewrite his Oath, traslating his faith for God, to Dean and Sam. But mostly, to Dean.

All of his bad decisions, taken with good intentions, brought him to depressed states, and always self recriminations.

As I said before, being human was cataclysm for him, and after that, being useful for the battle, slowly twisted to being just there, for his family.

In season 13 we witnessed the huge improvement of the character, if this season wasn't applicable the Phoenix Complex to Castiel, I don't know then where tu put it. Castiel started being dead, facing himself in the Darkness, and by the end of the season, he literally killed his old him, AUCastiel, the Cas that never met the Winchesters, who never fell for love.

Because he had lost everything for them, for Dean, but he also won everything with them.

And in season 14 we're in front of this Castiel. He knows where he belongs, he knows he's part of the Winchesters. And he accepts that without regrets.

IDK you guys, but I see him more human, and emotional. IDK if this bc he misses his human, or bc he IS becoming human by feeling himself as a human...

Dean, from Righteous Man to a man who must love himself

And here we're, at this point with "What do you want, Dean?" Season.

This is the most complex character of the series. Our beloved constipated hunter, needs a lot of breaking to reach the new Dean.

He has this distorted imagen of himself in which he's the Patriarchal protector, some kind of kamikaze who is willing to die and sacrifice himself as many times as necessary for his family and for save the world. He thinks he's expandable, he almost hates himself, for trying again and again to be someone he is not. To fullfil all expectations his father put on his shoulders. He must be the strong, macho, righteous man in charge of his family.

That's why I feel Michael's Possession and the new mark in the non Destiel mark shoulder, will be two strong expositions of what Dean really wants. He must learn, after so many "deaths", to accept who he's, accept what he really want inside and accept himself, then and once for all, he'll be able to love and be able to recognize that his family loves him in return. Bc he is important for them. He matters.

This is Dean's exposure season, in all the aspects. He must to look himself in the mirror, and be honest. Breaking free from his emotional prison. Is time for him to feel loved, to started to love himself, to truly love their family in a healthy way, and to love his angel without shame. I know, it looks like a long journey... But he's getting there.

Closing circles at the end of the journey

To conclude, I want to share this beautiful quote.

"And what if a piece of wood discovers that it's a violin?"

A. Rhimbaud

This is the end of every journey, to discover who are they for real. And accept and love themselves will make them free.

We are there with Sam, Jack, and Cas... We are waiting now for Dean to reach it.

As you have seen... We are almost there, I presume, after writing this meta with a little of melancholy, I could say we are arriving at the end. Of course I can be wrong, and the writers could make the cliffhanger an put reverse in every arc or just put pause, bc hey, I don't write the show, and this just are my thoughts about TFW in this story till now.

Ok! I have to make a big mention here bc @magnificent-winged-beast made those beautiful gif set from Season 4 "The rapture", and she had this accident with an electric storm and lost the work she was doing with the gifs I asked her for this meta especially, and she did it again, and she even didn't sleep the hours she should bc of this gifs and I'm so grateful with her... 😭 Your gifs are the best! Thank you, thank you, thank you!!! 💖 You are awesome!!

You can share your opinions and debate, i'd love to read you!

I'm tagging some friends to discuss...

@emblue-sparks @magnificent-winged-beast @silvie111 @mrsaquaman187 @castiellover20 @lykanyouko @agusvedder @lovemesomecas94 @navajolovesdestiel

And everyone who wants to share!

Ja neeeeee!

Buenos Aires, October 23rd 2018 01:25 PM

#phoenix complex #character development in spn #character's growth in supernatural show #tfw #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #jack kline #supernatural meta #my meta #s14 spoiler

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tmae3114 · 6 years ago

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Tell us about the AUs. all of them.

Friend, that is a lot of AUs.

But okay!!

I won’t go immensely in-depth because a) that’d take forever and b) I want to do separate posts and drawings and stuff for a bunch of these

Okay, so, going in the order that I mentioned them in the tags:

(whoops this is going under a cut because It Got Long)

The Pokemon AU

More of a fusion than strictly an AU, I guess, because it’s pretty much “canon, but there are pokemon”.

I’ve determined full teams for the whole ‘crew, along with the genders, levels, abilities, natures, and movesets of all of their pokemon. I got… really into it. I went way too detailed with their teams. I even know what kind of pokeball each of their pokemon are in. I’m in the process of nicknaming them. I’ve also got scatterings of backstory for how they came to have each of the pokemon in their teams!

For now, I’ll tell you what their teams are, along with the nicknames and such of their pokemon. More in-depth stuff (such as aforementioned abilities and movesets and also the backstories) should probably be saved for a different post.

Diath:

“Cath” - Klefki - ♂

Ninjask - ♀

Scyther - ♀

Liepard - ♂

“Dawnguide” - Absol - ♀

“Gutter” - Aegislash - ♂

The pattern I went with for nicknaming Diath’s pokemon is based off of the one thing we’ve seen him name in canon - Moonsplinter. So the nicknames for his pokemon, when I eventually come up with them, will be two nouns put together into a name that connects what was named to someone or something important to him. Cath and Gutter are exceptions to the pattern because they were gift pokemon and came with the names (…sort of, in Cath’s case).

Evelyn:

“Morning Glory” - Rapidash - ♀

“Periwinkle” - Lycanroc (Midnight Forme) - ♀

“Thistleberry” - Eevee - ♂

“Sunflower” - Larvesta - ♀

“Jonquil” - Solrock - N/A

“Juniper” - Pichu - ♀

The pattern I went with for nicknaming Evelyn’s pokemon started with Morning Glory and Juniper - I figured that since Evelyn showed a predilection towards plant names in canon, it was as good a theme as any to run with. Thistleberry is the closest to breaking that pattern, since I’ve been unable to find out if that’s actually a real plant (I’ve found thimbleberries but not thistleberries, so I feel like they might be a fantasy thing) in which case you could argue that he was named for Evelyn’s favourite pie. The reasoning for Sunflower should be obvious, a jonquil is a kind of flower similar to a daffodil which sort of resembles a sun in shape, and periwinkles mean “early friendship” in flower language, and Evie sure does make friends fast.

Jonquil may or may not mean “I desire a return of affection” in flower language but sshhhh, that was unintentional

Strix:

“Fuzzywuzz” - Venomoth - ♂

“Waffles” - Ursaring - ♀

Mismagius - ♀

“Stinky Junior” - Garbodor - ♀

“Clothy McClothface” - Banette - ♀

“Stinky” - Alolan Rattata - ♂

I don’t think I really need to explain the pattern/theme for naming Strix’s pokemon because, well, *gestures at canon* I just tried to follow the existing naming patterns.

Paultin:

“Palpatine” - Malamar - ♂

Exploud- ♂

“Charlotte” - Chatot - ♀

Gengar - ♂

“Peter” - Baltoy - ♂

Alolan Marowak- ♀

I don’t strictly have a naming pattern for Paultin, wildcard that he is. I’ve just been operating on a general rule of “regular real life name that sounds fitting” (a la him naming Simon) or “reference”.

The Superhero AU

You are getting far less information about this one because it’s going to be getting posts of its own when I finally get the drawings for it finished - I’m going to do character profiles and everything.

The basic premise is a vaguely-modern-era-ish Waterdeep (in a vaguely-modern-era-ish Faerun) has a lot of superheroes running around and the Wafflecrew happens to be one of the teams that call the city home. Diath, Strix, Evelyn and Paultin are all doing the secret identity thing and there will be shenanigans involving those because, well, here’s the thing:

The Wafflecrew is a superhero team who’s members keep their identities secret even from each other, mostly because they haven’t been together as a team for very long yet.

Diath, Strix, Evelyn, and Paultin, however, are a group of friends who happen to share a flat. Who are all trying very hard not to let on to their friends that they’re a superhero.

So. Shenanigans.

(Well, except for Diath and Strix. They know about each other’s secret identities)

I won’t tell you everyone’s codenames, though, because ~character profiles~ :3c

The Daemon AU

This one is more loosely defined than the others, to be honest. I will say, straight up, that I have never read His Dark Materials and don’t have any particular intent to, because I’ve read enough excerpts to know I could never get through it. But the concept of daemons is really cool and fun and I’ve read a ton of daemon aus and I feel no shame in yoinking the concept for an au despite never having read the source material.

Evelyn’s daemon is a Norwegian Forest Cat named Carwyn, Paultin’s is a lyrebird named Leto, Strix’s is a Barred Owl named Cináed, and Diath’s… well, if you were to ask him, he’d tell you that his daemon is a very shy house spider named Perdita. The thing is, nobody’s ever actually seen her…

Diath may or may not be in a Special Situation in this AU thanks to the whole ancient-soul-that-Shemeshka-has-part-of circumstance

The Class Swap AU

This one!! Is one that I love!! a lot!! And also one that I fully intend to give its own post with art.

It started with me realising that Mason Marthain existing presented the perfect Backstory Butterfly to play with things a little and justify Evelyn being a rogue in a class swap AU. From there, I just kept playing with their backstories to see what there was that could be tugged on to shift them to one of each other’s classes. Ultimately, my class swap AU stands as such:

Evelyn Marthain, a swashbuckler rogue. Inspired by a slightly different family member, in this universe, Evelyn decided at a young age that rather than follow in her father’s footsteps, she wanted to follow in her uncle’s. Thus, rather than training at the Spires and taking on the mantle of a paladin, she apprenticed on her Uncle’s ship throughout her childhood, and eventually became a rogue.

Diath Woodrow, an oath of devotion paladin. A childhood on the streets went just a little bit differently for Diath, this time around. After a paladin caught him preventing another street kid from pickpocketing, he got taken in by the Church of Selune and found a calling that appealed to his sense of duty and his desire for adventure at the same time. (How does the oath of devotion’s call to obey just authority mix with being chaotic good, you might ask? Well, how does one define “just” authority? In Class Swap!Diath’s case, as soon as someone abuses their power, their authority is no longer just)

Paultin Seppa, a wild magic sorceror. Paultin honestly doesn’t know where his powers came from. They’ve been at the tips of his fingers for as long as he can remember. It probably has something to do with the big swath of his childhood that he can’t remember but he’s not particularly bothered with trying to figure it out. (The thing is, a panicking, traumatised child, very much going into shock, tearing through the mists of Barovia and out of Ravenloft, all on his own and without parental supervision for the very first time, has so much potential to go wrong. He stumbled through a few less than hospitable places before he ended up on the Prime Material)

Strix, a college of glamour bard. Her years in the Feywild were harsh and this time it wasn’t Baba Yaga whose care she stumbled into. She learned a lot, living amongst the fey, and not least amongst that was how a silver tongue, with words carefully chosen and used, is a magic all of its own and also a very dangerous weapon.

I can’t say anything about the two AUs I’m currently writing fics for because spoilers~ so just know that They Exist

The Star Wars AU is extremely conceptual. It features aspiring Jedi Knight Evelyn Marthain, an Alderaanian human raised in the Coruscant Jedi Temple, travelling musician Paultin Seppa, a human of mysterious origin who has an even more mysterious knowledge of the Force, given that he seemingly has no connection to any known Force sects, galactic treasure hunter/archaeologist Diath Woodrow, a human from Coronet City on Corellia, whose heritage may-or-may-not have originated on a certain planet starting with ‘M’, and Strix, a force-sensitive woman of indeterminate species (at first glance, you might think zabrak, but zabraks don’t have tails. They also usually don’t have hair but it’s not like hybrids are completely an unknown possibility… the thing is, if she’s a hybrid, there’s no way she’s a hybrid of just two)

The RWBY AU is Exactly What It Says On The Tin. It’s just an AU where the Wafflecrew are in Remnant. They comprise Team DEPS (”Deeps”) and all I’ve really figured out is their weapons and semblances and tbh, as an AU, it’s probably not going much further than that.

I had a Lot of fun with their semblances, though.

#dice camera action #dca #dca au #YEAH THIS IS ME /NOT/ GOING IN-DEPTH #I AM INCAPABLE OF BREVITY IT SEEMS #feel free to ask more about the AUs that I haven't labeled as getting their own posts!#I love talking about my AUs!!#anon #ask #THANK YOU FOR ASKING ABOUT MY AUS

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dunmerofskyrim · 6 years ago

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Simra ran a thinking hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. It was stiff-cloyed and oily with nights spent outdoors. Days spent sweating in the scanty warmth of his clothes surrounded in cold. Days where he’d been too weak to charm himself clean again, needing his strength saved for fire and light and bare-boned survival. But here in the cave’s glassy-walled gut, it was warm enough that he’d tucked back his mantle over his shoulders and held his scarf in one loose hanging hand like a wrung out and well-coloured rag.

In front of him the corner, red as rust and clayed and smeared. Palmprints showed at its edges in the daylight that crept down the tunnel behind him. The sectioned ghosts of fingers, caking the colour onto it, and themselves made of colour. It was hard to stare at. Like it had a gaze of its own looking back at you. Simra turned his eyes and they settled on the tips of his fingers, nails undered with black. Disgusting.

“It needs blood?” Somehow he’d known, in some back-dark cloister of his brain. Of course it did. He tried to say it like it was nothing, but feeling came in at the hems of his voice. Interest, apprehension, stirred and muddled. “Why?”

Kaliklu thought a moment. “Blood is a tie.” He brought his hands together, fingers knit. “Like family. You, a mother, a sister…” His hands pulled apart. “Like that, but still you are tied, do you understand? That is blood.”

Sisters and separation. That struck a nerve. Like he knew, thought he knew, presumed to know. A flash of anger rose up in Simra but banked down quick – just a coincidence, the wrong words said to the wrong person – but the sour taste of it stayed in his mouth. “It connects, then? Joins distant things?”

“Yes.”

“And things share across that joining? The heat of the earth here? This paint and your paint, tied together. Do you feel like you’re here when you’re painted like that? Warm like here wherever you are?”

“If the magic is strong.”

Might be he was flattering himself, but Simra reckoned he caught a hint of something in Kaliklu’s face at that. Not respect, nor even quite appreciation, but an admission, a gratitude. Simra had grasped it, straight to the root. It made a satisfying kind of sense now he saw it, clear as smoke in a cloudless sky.

“And my help…” Simra began. “How much d’you need?”

“Enough. Not a lot. Only enough that there is blood in the mixing.”

Simra’s back teeth set and started to grind. “Can it not be other blood? An animal?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t have any though, do we?” The thing outside, all white flesh and shell — Simra had watched the other Kogaru butcher it, but hadn’t once seen it bleed.

“You said that you would help.”

“I will,” Simra said, harder than he’d meant to. “Just trying to understand.”

Kaliklu crouched to the floor of the cave, dry packed dirt amongst all this glassy stone. There was a shallow pit holed out before the painted corner, a bowl two hands across. Kaliklu placed a hand at the edge of it, showing Simra.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Fine fine fine.”

Reaching into the hidden padded pocket of his jacket, Simra brought out the razor he kept there with careful fingers. A wedge-shaped blade of bronze, almost like an axe-head shrunk down to size. Its thin tang curled to a spiral and Simra gripped it by that, delicate as he could.

Kishewyr had sworn by bloodletting, Simra remembered. Some High Rock assumption about balance in the body. It’d always seemed a fool thing to Simra, imagining a body could have too much blood. Rather that than too little. But Simra had watched a time or two, half-drunk and curious as with the careless slow focus that came from his pipesmoke, Kishewyr found his letting kit, found a vein…

Now Simra took off the braided string from his neck, old arrowhead hanging from its end. Rolled up a sleeve and twisted the cord tight partway up his arm till it bit and the skin swelled either side. Left hand, he’d decided. His right had suffered enough, all old scars and new scabs. He flexed, watching the tendons move, fighting a rising sickness and trying not to think. The veins showed raised, pink-blue through the grey back of his hand. Do it. Now, before you can think too much. Easy as stubbing your toes in the dark, done before you know it’s done, and impossible to do if you’re trying. First came the bloom of red from the vein he’d found on the back of his hand, and then the blossoming pain. The welling and drip of blood from his knuckles and into the packed dirt bowl.

Simra didn’t look. No need anymore. Just a small cut, he'd seen to that much. None of that showy palm-gashing and prick-swinging that came with the swearing of blood-oaths in the old Nord sagas and songs. Too much risk that you'd cut something that wouldn't fix right. Just a small cut, that's all the situation asked. Still, his head felt full of air. He couldn’t stop thinking of what to wipe the blade on. Scarce anything on the blade to wipe, but the thought kept coming back. He’d done worse to himself by accident; others had done worse and he’d done still worse to them. Almost funny that this was so difficult, then. Made him feel sick as it did. It wasn’t the blood or the cut. Just some other something, better left nameless.

“That is enough,” said Kaliklu. He had brought out a skin-wrapped knot of grease, white-yellow. He warmed it to melting in his hands. Mixed it in the bowl with the blood, spitting too now and then till a thick red paste had formed.

Amazed and repulsed the old mer had so much so much spit in him, Simra untwisted the cord and looped it off his arm. Standing, arm held awkward above his head to slow the blood, he hurried over to his bags and fished one-handed through them till he found a strip of cloth, same as had bound his right hand. Muttering, fidgeting and unsure what to do next, he licked the wound and spat too. Copper on his tongue. He wrapped the back of his hand tight.

“What now?” Simra said. “Need tears now too, do you?”

“No.” Kaliklu didn’t look up. “Wake him. The one you hurt. He needs it most.”

The youngest Kogaru woke with a bleary-eyed grimace. He straightened, leaning on a patchy-painted arm with his twisted leg stuck out along the ground in front of him. He wasn’t shivering now. Only making faces when he set his weight wrong, or forgot, and moved the wrong muscle. Seemed a night in the warm cave had done him good. He and the elder spoke in their own tongue, and Simra gave up listening.

The sound of striking stones, the starting of a fire, echoed down into the chamber. The elder crossed to the bowl of dirt and paint again, and chanted as he smeared the wall. Another red handprint, shining new, and then he came back to the boy. Smoke-scent from above.

Simra thought, as the elder mended the patches in the boy’s paint with careful hands and low murmuring words. As the hunter above made fire with stones on stones and set his kindling burning. He wondered about this binding with blood, this sharing across spaces. If they did it with warmth, could they do it with fire? They wouldn't use magic to call one from nothing, but maybe they could borrow across distance. If warmth, then why not the rest of a flame — its light and its hungry violence. He thought about what Noor had said about sigils, about writing that wasn't writing, songs that store themselves even when the singer is silent. But they still needed a singer, she said. A sigil doesn't cast itself. There was something in that, half-hidden from him, but huge just beyond his knowing. Like seeing a sliver of an island out to sea, and knowing it’s a mountain beneath the water. Or maybe not. He’d have to think on this, sound out that connection. Watch the Kogaru and see where that took him.

The painting was done now. Kaliklu turned his attention to the boy’s leg. The skin was wrinkled and wrong in one snarled spot. Beneath it, the muscles bulged and knotted. Clucking in his throat, Kaliklu rubbed his hands together, still cloyed with paint and blood, and pressed down with both palms. A long sigh, and he worked into the flesh with the undersides of his knuckles. Simra saw the tendons in the old mer’s neck stand taut as he pushed hard. His shoulders sunk and slumped, all the weight of his effort and patience down over the boy’s leg. And when his hands came clear, the skin was still wrong, but the muscles had laxed. They tensed, twitched, but the worst was gone.

If it was magic or not, Simra couldn’t say. Might be someone like Noor would claim wisdom was there even in things that took no magic to do. Wisdom, the real wide range of it, was in knowing what others don’t. How to slaughter a guar without sight of the knife souring its meat. How to turn the milk of its ralk into curds and then cheese. How to bring a baby out into the world when the baby won’t let itself come. And now this too. Simra felt bitter over it, covetous and lack-hungry with all he didn’t know. Cheated somehow too, in some cold part of himself. He'd seen the spell in his wand do worse by far to a body. Here it had been weak, easy to fix.

The smell of sizzling flesh, cooking meat was coming down into the cave. The sweet-ripe firm smell of shellfish, but with no tang of the ocean. The other Kogaru was cooking his kill.

Simra could hear Llolamae talking, asking questions, and getting nothing back. He curled and uncurled the fingers of his hand, twisted his wrist this way and that, wary for anything amiss. Nothing, except that the blood wouldn't stop. The rag was red with it now, soaked through.

“Sure you don’t need any more?” Simra muttered.

“It is enough.”

“Still coming. Let me know if your mind changes.” Simra’s lips pulled back, showing a bitter flicker of teeth. If Kaliklu heard the tone of his words, he did nothing to note it. “Well that’s my part of the trade done, anycase. What about yours?”

“Wait. If we are to help you—”

“If?” Simra echoed. The slow seeping away of his blood was doing nothing for his patience. “Wish I’d known there was any ‘if’ about this before I cut myself for you… Help. Will you or won’t you?”

Kaliklu was silent a moment before he spoke. “Yes. But we will give the help in our time, not yours. Or would you try to force us again?”

Simra tried to ignore the temptation in that. Two against one. He still had the razor in his right hand. His mouth felt dry and stiffened. He could do it, but it would only give them reason to lie, trick him. He needed this done, dealt with, worse than he needed it done soon. “In your time,” he said, though his tongue was sour with it.

“Come then. We will eat. Then we will talk more of trade.”

#TES #Morrowind #Dunmer #Simra Hishkari #SH Forth and Back #SH New Canon

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alexswriteblr · 6 years ago

Text

Legacies

The huntress tightened her grasp on her weapon, the elegant scythe glimmering in the magical moonlight. The monsters circed her, a disgusting mix of man and wolf, limbs the wrong size for their bodies, thin, wiry fur matted and sparse. Behind her, the last of the heat left her siblings corpse.

“With me to the end of the line, huh?” She asked. Her only response was a soft cacophony of snarls and growls.

The huntress ducked beneath a lunging wolf, and spun away, still just out of reach of the ever-encriaching ring’s claws. As one after the other lunged, it became harder and harder to get completely out of the way. Small cuts and scrapes began to compound, blood seeping out of her, until her clothes were dyed crimson. The huntress fell to one knee, breathing heavy, one hand still grapsing the hickory shaft.

“You’ve gone farther than expected, Child.” The voice was eerie, cold, heartless. Even for the land of the fae. The huntress was sure that if she turned around, she’d see the ghostly white figure in over-embelished, ethereal robes, hovering a foot or so off the ground. “Come, rest.”

“Hold your weapon higher! Feet shoulder-width apart!” Her father used his cane to smack the little girl’s ankles when she didn’t obey fast enough. “Your 15th summer is this year. The monsters beyond this world will have no mercy because you’re tired.” The little girl obeyed, and widened her stance. “Better. Again.” The little girl began going through the motions with the overly-large scythe.

The little girl’s three brothers were only a few yards away, and the clashing of wooden weapons created a very nice sound to focus on. The little girl closed her eyes as her father walked to the three boys. As the little girl let her muscles move for her, her mind wandered. To the bloody night that started her on this path. The day the monsters from the fae realm ended her mother’s life. From then on, her father had changed. Her own worldview was warped, alongside his. No longer was she wearing the flowy skirts, and learning to cook. She was now learning about edible plants in the woods, to read and write, to play with words and weapons. Her father’s motto carved into her heart by trauma: Be the hunter, not the hunted.

Her first hunt came naturally to her. A fae had been kidnapping children in a nearby village. So she set herself as bait, and waited. It wasn’t loong before one of the seelie court approached.

“What’s a fine young lady souch as yourself doing alone in these woods?” The questino was harmless. The extended hand less so. It appeared human, but the huntress would not have been surprised if nasty, long nails hid beneath a glamour.

“A fine young lady would be in search of company.” The huntress responded. Names were jealously guarded by the fae. She should guard hers moreso.

“Well then, it is excellent company this young lady has found.” The fae stepped out from the shadows, and they chatted. Her eyes never left him, and her ears never ceased to pay attention. She was ready when he extended his hand. “Come, I am preparing a banquet in my halls. You are invited to stay.” A less trained hunter would have missed the implications. But not this huntress. Her hand rested on the iron hilt of her iron sword.

“Unfortunately, I cannot. I can, however request that the children Taken be Returned.” The opponent’s composure nearly broke, as he retracted his hand.

“I’m rather disinclined to acquiesce to your request.” He responded, placing his hands behind his back. “As you see, I am rather fond of the company they provide. However, you’re welcome to come in and see them.” He gestured at a tree. The huntress kept her eyes on him.

“Bring me one of the children, alive, and unrestrained.” The huntress drew her sword, and held it lightly in a single hand. To anyone watching, she took up a fencing position, one hand behind her back, sword tip out in front of her, at eye-level. To the huntress, her left hand closed around a puch of iron shards, cutting into her glove.

The fae grimmaced, but conceded. One of the missing children appeard in his hands, held over his chest. “If you would like to escape here alive, I will give you one more opportunity to come with me.”

The huntress grinned. “I’m disinclined to acquiesce to your request.” Her iron sword dropped as she spun, throwing the iron dust in his face. There was a hissing as she picked up her sword and marched forward, tip leveled at the fae’s heart. Or, where it would have one, if monsters could. Then he started laughing.

“You would not kill me. Not so long as I have one of your kind. You’re all so interesting, but so, very predictable.” He said, clutching the child, a little boy of no more than 5 summers to his chest. The huntress steeled herself for what she would do.

“I am not my kind.” She whispered, as she drove the sword through the child and the fae. The child’s frightened eyes reminded her of her mother’s eyes in the shadow of the doorway, that life-changing night, some 12 summers past.

The huntress was 20 summers old. She had watched as one after the other of her brothers left, only to never return And she watched as her father drank away what little they had.

“Why?” She had asked, time after time. Her only answer, after years of asking, was a gruff, “Shut up girl.” followed by silence. Eventually, it was herself, and her last remaining brother, a man of 22 summers. They hunted, and hunted, and scavenged. They watched people in villages lose family members and recover. They watched families fall apart and come back together, and their resentment grew. Their father had been wrong. Though there was no correcting for that mistake now. They were not surprised when they found him dead, drowned in his own vomit and spittle.

The huntress and her sibling were locked in this life, now. They sold their little shack, and moved on. They each kept enough weapons to stay armed, and hunted and foraged enough to feed devently, storing what they didn’t eat in marked, underground storehouses that they dug. But they were getting better, and more jaded with each passing day. As more and more fae fell to iron and silvered weapons, stronger and stronger monsters hunted them. They traded their second-to-last reminder of their family slowly, and guarded every bit of it jealously: their humanity.

First it was just one deal. The brother traded some of his humanity for fae-like speed, a little faster, even. He was left with pointed ears. The huntress traded her bits of herself for reflexes. Her eyes became slitted, like a cat’s. Eventually, they traded so much, they could no longer wield the iron that had long-been their staple. So their silvered weapons became deadlier. But with their humanity, went their memories.

They remembered each other, and the father that made them the monsters they were. But they forgot the first and second brother. And they forgot the mother that died in the night. And they forgot the people they couldn’t save, and the sacrifices they made. But their training was as much a part of their bodies as their minds, and it stayed, a deadly tool, grown deadlier.

And they became as much monsters as the monsters they hunted.

The last real dregs of their humanity vanished when neither was paying attention, when they forgot their emotions. When they became the thing they hated so much.

When the prey became the hunter, the fae realm shook, as a pair of siblings turned into one of them, and smiled with delight as new hunting grounds opened. These children, faced with adversity had arisen to the challenged, surpassed it, and continued rising. And they became monsters.

The monsters that grandparents warn children about to keep them out of the woods at night. But these monsters were far more real than that. Entire hunting parties, crafted to hunt them down, bloodied, brutalized, and worst of all, dead.

There came a point where it was the human realm that felt foreign, with its villages and people. The fae wilds, with their twisted branches, treacherous undergrowth, and cruel wildlife was more their home than the human world ever was.

And when the huntress and her sibling stood in a circle of cooling bodies, splattered from head to toe in blood, panting and grinning like the madmen they’d become, they made a promise.

“To the end of the line.” The hunters shook hands, and walked away from the massacre. And they kept hunting. The ruthless wilds of fae were no match for two humans-turned fae.

The huntress remembered. She remembered the father who cursed her, the siblings who left her, the mother who loved her, as her blood poured to the floor. She felt, for the first time in a long time, remorse, regret, and horror for the large swathe of bodies she’d cut. For each oath she’d sworn to turn in a part of her humanity. The reaper loomed behind her.

“You’ve lived for far too long, and seen to much, Child.” The huntress spat blood, even as her vision darkened.

“You will not take me tonight. I’ve sworn oaths. I keep my word.” She said, struggling to stand. One of the werewolves lunged, and its jaws clamped down on her shoulder. The huntress bit the monster’s ear, and swung her scythe, decapitating the beast, its teeth still embedded in her flesh. “I will not die tonight.”

The circle of werewolves vanished, one by one, to the silvered scythe on the hickory shaft. The ethereal ghost still floated behind her, waiting for the wounds to claim her.

“I want one more oath.” She said, when she was surrounded by corpses. The floating figure looked at her curiously.

“What oath would that be?”

“I will trade you the last of my humanity, to let me live. I will die when I decide my mission is fulfilled.” The huntress said. The ghost looked at her.

“You have no humanity left.”

The huntress glanced at the broken, bloodied corpse of her last sibling. “I think you’ll find that I do.”

Centuries passed, and the huntress hunted. The seelie queen and unseelie king know that they live at her mercy. And the rest of fae kind have forgotten her. If a hunting party goes missing, they ran into an unfortunate accident. If a fae is found in their home, the walls splatered with their walls, its an act of vengeance. Nobody remembers the real monster. The prey that became predator. But she’s there.

The huntress is out tonight, hunting. And when children hear the whispers of a human that hunted hundreds of fae, they laugh, and tell their friends, or as close as they have, that it is impossible. Until the day she begins hunting in earnest again.

FIN

#My writing #songfic #drabble #ways to waste time creatively

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