#and yes. i do have many tiny stab wounds around my knee. this is simply an occupational hazard

[technoxenoholic]

so, in case anyone was wondering: no, it's not a good idea to use your own knee as a tailor's ham to sew a curved seam around. not even a little bit

am i going to stop doing it, though? no of course not

[nukyster-blog]

Changing Course Chapter 27) Raven named Utstøtt

.-.-.

He should be exhausted, but Ivar was wide awake, back in shackles and frustrated. Worrisome thoughts ate their way into his subconscious like maggots feasting on rotting flesh. Everytime he closed his eyes, images appeared; of his mother waving her last goodbye, his one-eyed father being eaten by a flock of ravens, and of the fair-maiden, walking past him into her dread filled future. Even Piglet’s dark eyes and temper came into view.

Ivar could no longer pinpoint who he was. He had been a lot of things; a prince, a despised brother, a cherished son. A disgrace. 

He’d become a lot of things, too; a slave, a savior, de martelaar, the bloody bear of Kattegat, a cursed one. 

And he was and always would be a cripple, nature’s mistake. Possibly a changeling and the reason for his father’s absence. 

He held so many titles. Too many, and he no longer knew which one to hold onto and which one to throw away forever. What use was it to ponder over his royal blood, as it had been spilled countless times by his masters? 

But to embrace the title of a slave? Never. The Giant could flog him over forty times, break his useless legs and spit on his grave, but he’d never fully bow to the rulers of De Haar. 

Another toss and turn, another long sigh of frustration, and Ivar crawled on his side to stare in envy at his sleeping companion.  

Although spring had kindly rid the shed of cold, after twilight, Piglet still turned into his shadow. No longer would she cling onto his body for heat, but she’d sleep at his side. 

It no longer bothered him, not even that high pitch weeze she’d make as she’d fall deeply asleep. Or how her stone cold feet always managed to find their way up against his knees.

  There was a level of trust from her behalf and it was an odd and unfamiliar sensation to receive such a gift from someone else. It was a fragile treasure, one he’d broken countless times. Yet the shards and shatters always magically seemed to restore, as he’d proven his loyalty to the slave maiden. 

There was this strange balance between them, one that at times made him push her away and yet drew him closer and closer. 

“Why?”, he whispered to the sleeping form of Piglet, “why do I bother to care for you? You are just a soil skinned slave”. 

His words were meant to sound harsh and insulting, but they came out so hopeless and quiet. 

.-.-.

Ivar had been very wrong about one thing. He most definitely hadn’t missed cleaning chamber pots. Retching, his back arched against the stone well as the stench of human waste mercilessly filled his nostrils. 

What should be a miracle actually felt like a punishment; at dawn the Giant had released him from his chains, hoisted Ivar on his shoulders, and tossed him into the midst of the cobblestoned centre. 

He’d been freed and turned into the laugh of the town, as he’d suffered his way through the chamber pots. The stench already sank into his skin and Ivar was fully aware that the Giant unleashed him only to torture him. Yesterday, he’d been able to cleanse his body for the first time in months, and now he stank even worse than before. 

Even Piglet, queen of poor personal hygiene, scrunched up her nose as she rapidly dumped his breakfast at his feet. 

Ivar did not blame her and, frustrated, he whipped at the flies circling around his head. 

After fulfilling his duty, the Giant picked him up again and carried him over to the entrance of the castle. Dropping him to the floor like a sack of shit, he handed Ivar a bucket and a cloth, indicating that he’d better start scrubbing. 

This task was less revolting and allowed Ivar to embrace the meager glimpse of daylight. Although his stiff muscles and knees ached, he counted this moment as a humble blessing. To be outside, breathe in fresh air, and be able to observe the residence of de Haar. Small children playing silly games around the well, carts bringing in new livestock, the linen maidens handing out loads of fresh laundry.  A peaceful scenery, a delight for the eye. 

But that wasn’t what filled Ivar’s heart with content. Now that he was deployed to another part of the Castle, he was able to observe far more interesting aspects; the specific amount of guards and their route. Without drawing any attention, he was able to glance at their weaponry. From the main entrance, it was easy to view the main gate and how it was being watched by two guards. Two, it took two full grown men to open the gate. Now that was a very important discovery, as this meant Ivar wouldn’t be able to escape during nighttime, when the gate would be closed. 

‘Unless I grow wings’, Ivar thought to himself as he enviously glanced up at the circle of ravens flying high in the air.  

Ivar pulled himself onto the fifth step of the stone stairway when his ears perked at the sound of  distressed squeaking.  

A hatchling lay in the middle of the main entrance, ready to be stomped to death. A little puzzled about the baby bird's previous whereabouts, Ivar crawled closer to inspect the tiny little thing. 

It looked hideous, mostly bald with tufts of light feathers. The baby bird was defenseless and incapable of fleeing as the limp wings lacked strength and feathers, it’s eyes hadn’t even opened up yet. 

Ivar glanced up again, scanning the rooftops and walls until his eyes rested on a raven’s nest submerged in between roof tiles. Two ravens flew on and off to provide food for their offspring. Neither of the parents seemed aware or bothered by the unfortunate youngest who’d taken a massive tumble down. 

The heavy footsteps of the Giant marched close and without any hesitation Ivar picked up the bundle of cold naked flesh and stored it inside the pocket Piglet sewed in to smuggle food.

 Meaty fingers raked through Ivar’s hair and yanked him up onto his knees with a pained hiss. The Giant was not pleased with his slave taking a break. With force, Ivar received the cloth back in his hand while his face was shoved into the dirty water of the bucket. Reliving vividly how he’d nearly drowned inside the well, Ivar squirmed, gasped and whittered. 

The threat of drowning was short but powerful and the moment his lungs were allowed to fill themselves back up with air, Ivar’s hand turned into fist and dutifully began  scrubbing the entrance of De Haar. 

.-.-.

Piglet was in a state of pure bliss with so many new animals inside the shed. Sheep with lambs, a flock of chickens, and six young calves were stored inside, all with hungry mouths to feed. 

“You’re working yourself to death for those stupid animals”, Ivar felt the need to tell her.

  Of course, his statement fell on deaf ears and Piglet happily slaved herself through countless troughs of fresh water, bales of hay, and handfuls of grain. She then still remained strong enough to fill up Ivar’s trough and announced he stank. Which he did, there was no denying that. 

“Use this”, Piglet said as she handed him a black lump of lard, motioning by scrubbing her own arm and face, “it helps”. Ivar recognised the structure of the lump; it came close to the herbal soaps their elderly made in Kattegat. It was a time consuming process, not to mention very delicate work. 

Ivar pulled the tunic over his head and scrubbed the greasy lump over his smelling skin and washed himself. As he rid  himself from the stench of human waste, Piglet came back with supper. 

“Piglet, you know a lot about herbs and ointments”, Ivar stated, referring not only to the soap, but also to the professional way she’d tended his wounds. “How do you know all of this?” 

Piglet paused, shoving a handful of potato into her mouth and chewed slowly, buying herself some time, because by the Gods, his question meant revealing something about herself.

“Before you, there was another cripple, but not her legs. No-”, Piglet tapped her index finger against her temple a couple of times, “in here. She meant no harm, but she talked. All the time, never shut up”, Piglet gestured towards the stairs, “I slept up there, called her Rattle-mouth. Her real name was Mabelia, not that anyone cared. She taught me about plants, herbs, soap, how to disgust men, keep them away. She was my friend”, Piglet added, sincerely. 

“Was?” Ivar noticed how she’d spoken in the past tenses. 

“The Toothless burned her alive”, Piglet whispered bitterly, “everyone knew about her special gifts. She knew things. She helped people, she cured sickness, wounds, colds. Never asked for anything in return. She saved lives, until she couldn’t. And the Toothless blamed her for that”.

“Who died, Piglet?” Ivar asked, “who’s the one she couldn’t save?”

Piglet stared at him but seemed to look right through to him: “his son, born in breach, never able to draw his first breath.” 

The Giant lost his son. Oddly enough, that made the man seem less untouchable and more human. 

“She was accused of witchcraft. Toothless stated she purposely murdered his son for her Lord, the devil. She burned the same day his son was buried. Mabelia Rattle-mouth at the stake with her tongue cut out, all because she failed to save his son.” 

“Yet you survived”, Ivar stated sharply, “you were her friend. A witch’s friend.”

“I spoke lies, that she bewitched me, that she talked to the Devil night after night. I caused her to burn, saved my own skin.” Piglet told her story pragmatically but the guilt that crushed her was unmistakable. It took over her whole being, she seemed to shrink and cower away. 

  Ivar wanted to lash out at her, because that had been a gutless act on her behalf. Although it wasn’t his betrayal, her confession felt like a stab in the back. For he’d taken a flogging for Piglet, one that nearly caused him his life and left him scarred forever. He’d never expected her to return the favour, but to hear her say she’d sold out a friend, yes, that put her in a completely different light. 

Yet, all the poor young woman had done was simply survive. No doubt, Mabelia would have burned without Piglet’s lies, for failing the Giant’s son.

A muffled squeak eventually broke the silence between Ivar and Piglet. Ivar had completely forgotten about the baby bird hiding in the safety of his tunic.  During the day he’d been so focused on his tasks, the small animal warming up due to his body heat, becoming a small bundle of warmth, skin and a heartbeat. 

Ivar picked up his tunic and scooped the bird up. In his large hand the bird seemed even smaller and so fragile.

“You’ve saved a bird? Why?” Piglet asked curiously, as Ivar never before showed much care to any of the animals aside from the pigs. And that care had only been there because it had been his task. 

Ivar shrugged, still unable to answer that question for himself.

  Piglet leaned in for a closer look. “Does it have a name?”

“He,” Ivar snapped, “it’s a he and he does have a name: Utstøtt.” 

Piglet’s brows furrowed as she hadn’t learned that word yet, “what does that mean?”

Ivar’s fingers petted the small beak of the bird, “Outcast.” 

.-.-.

Over the course of days, Utstøtt’s feathers started to flourish and his eyes opened. That was how Ivar understood his subconscious reasoning for saving the young bird. Instead of growing ink black feathers as all ravens do, Utstøtt’s feathers were white as snow. Another abnormal feature was Utstøtt’s eyes. His right was milky and pupil-less, while his left eye was icy blue. 

Had Utstøtt’s fall from the nest been an accident? Or had the parents deliberately pushed their offspring from the nest? In the animal world there was no place for abnormalities, nature could be cruel, allowing the parents to either eat or kill their young.

Or abandon them in the woods, to let the wolves do the dirty work for them. 

Neither Ivar nor Utstøtt should be alive, because they didn’t stand a change in this cruel world. They both had all odds against them, but Ivar knew from experience that sometimes the damaged ones can rise. 

So, he did his best to keep Utstøtt hidden inside his tunic. Collected worms during his tasks outside and chewed the boneless, wiggling things up to feed his pet raven. 

Piglet was appalled by the way he fed the bird, yet touched by his will to care for Utstøtt. She brought him scraps of beef and chicken so he no longer had to chew on worms. 

Utstøtt turned out to be a smart bird, oddly aware of when he needed to remain quiet and still inside Ivar’s tunic. While at other times, he’d poke at Ivar’s chest and caw, indicating that he was hungry. With his good eye, he’d stare up at Ivar accusingly if he took too long. 

And so, another chapter started in Ivar’s life, that of being a foster of a white, one-eyed raven named Utstøtt. 

.-.-.

A/N: So, for this chapter I had about 6 tabs open about ‘ravens’, and then 3 more about ‘how did they make soap before soap?’ This chapter felt a bit all over the place, but I didn’t feel like cutting it up in pieces and adding extra ‘space’ purely to make it more organized. Basically I didn’t want to bore myself and I needed to get a lot of thoughts/information/background and Utstøtt into the story. So yes, most of all happy with the chapter. Hope you enjoyed it too:)

Xoxoxo Nukyster 

The kickass beta: @sarahh-jane

The tagged ones:@youbloodymadgenius​ @xbellaxcarolinax @saldelys​ @shannygoatgruff@pieces-by-me@apenas-mais-uma-pessoa@readsalot73@lauraan182 @conaionaru@sarahh-jane@peachybonelessIf you’d liked to be tagged, please let me know:)

[theelliottsmiths]

So anyway, Mein Herz Brennt Making of liveblog, one of my favourites

First of all, I do take any use of piano MHB as a slight towards my tiny hands. -1 point

I really would love to visit this place, it's beautiful

I love that Oli introduces it and then Till is straight in there talking about murder and stabbings. Trust that to be what intrigues him. I feel like 'smells like murder' isn't a direct translation but that's purely because I spent like ten minutes trying to work out what words he says. It rhymes, which is suspicious.

Oh this was before he let his chest piercing reject all the way out in the grossest way

When schneider says Krankenhaus it sounds very Geordie and I'm convinced that kind of thing is why Auf Wiedersehen, Pet was created

Richards eyes light up when he's talking about the room he's in and it's one of those looks where it's just. I would love to listen to anything anyone has to say when their eyes have that sparkle.

"the scavengers had already been here" cue Paul talking about his criminal past thieving from there. See, another example everyone forgets of him being the biggest bastard of them all. The smile is a front.

One of my favourite ever Rammstein things is the combined joy and mockery from Paul when Richard is revealed to be wearing the bird mask and it wiggles as he nods. He looks like a little black cockatoo. Richard looks embarrassed to be wearing it but Paul is having the time of his LIFE.

The way is echoes in his mask makes him sound like he's clucking

Flakes glasses perching in his cone make him look like that sesame Street doctor or scientist

They all suit this make up so much and I wish they'd consider it as a stage look

Peck. Not intimidated.

Considering the nightmares Till has/had, ouch

Richard looks so much like a little vampire prince but like, a character from what we do in the shadows. He makes his own smokescreen entry/exist and everything.

Melanie!!!

Richard has many tendons in his neck huh.

The sounddd. I used to always be curious as to whether or not people in music videos were making the sounds it looks like they're making and now I know and I'm uncomfortable. This and also later when till does the heart

His laugh is never what I expect it to be

That uh. That doesn't look like he's in pain the way the injection sounds implied. At all. Not that I'm complaining but it gives mixed messages.

I'm so sure Richard is the only one I've ever heard use the word quasi. It makes sense for him if true but maybe I only notice because of the tone he uses? His is quite a punchy nasal tone it might just be more noticeable.

Till with kids is always the most adorable wonderful thing. He's really helping to keep them relaxed despite the creepiness of the stuff they're shooting.

"if you look at the cover then you'll recognise a morbidity to the whole thing" till, my darling, do you think people don't already ~see the morbidity~?

I googled and the lady doesn't pronounce renaissance with a g like Till does and that interests me. In fairness I have to assume it's like in Norwegian how words like restaurant are pronounced with a g sound because it's closer to the French sounds? It's not like we in English donut the French way either but the Google translate lady does. This is why I always suspect that when I'm learning a language I'm learning the language wrong and at some point I'll find out there's a Real, For Adults version if the language that's totally different. This is irrelevant. Accents are fun and I like being able to notice them.

It feels so strange seeing this knowing what Eugenio did

Paul taking pictures because he knows better than them

Something about a child saying "ah yes, I know Till and Flake very well" is hysterical.

You can feel the dismay and disapproval radiating off till as he tries to be diplomatic about the Spanish understanding of linear time. He struggles to find a positive and only comes up with the fire walls. "It should have gone out before we filmed anything because they were fucking around with the playback so long but it didn't" is his only compliment.

The German word for French is wild.

Do they know they could have hired an interpreter? Interpreters existed in 2012 I know this

This whole thing with Melanie is beautiful you can't deny that the arm Eugenio made with then was lovely.

Till in the dress with Melanie in his lap. I don't off the top of my head remember seeing it in either video so I simply must assume that it was just what he was wearing that day when he showed up. She's so tiny on his knee I'm glad they're still friends.

"you're left in a state of trauma when everyone stares at you all the time" did this need to get so heavy? It's interesting that he focused more on her voice than her appearance there, though in fairness it's pretty high

They all love her so much and it's totally understandable.

Mit rock n roll und cola trinken

I have to skip the screaming the secondhand embarrassment is too much.

Part 2

Again, this liveblog is so long

Sometimes Oli speaks like his body isn't used to talking.

I want, so badly, to know if Richard was having memories of his dreadlocked youth The tiny cup in his elegant hand is so pleading and then you look left and. It sure is something.

Are they freckles or acne scars across Tills shoulders?...cute. The first set of arm/chest wounds, not so much. I do spy his lil tummy scar

Richard does look like he almost swooped in for a kiss and then changed his mind because of the camera. Paul turns his head that way and then Richard tries to save with a step back and face rub (his own). Just saying.

The fact that a few of them have taken pictures on their personal phones warms my soul it's such a nice reminder that they're good friends outside of work and My Heart

Schneider and Paul ready at a moment's notice to be Dumbasses. J'adore.

What if Zoran was more of a background character tho actually

God, schneider is beautiful. An ethereal, pure beauty that exists no matter how he's being styled.

See okay how is flake almost taller than Oli right now he's not even doing his standard open legs and swan spine thing

It must be so hard to find Oli sized clothes. Flake is also tall and slim but he's a lot more leg, whereas Olis height seems largely to be torso. I have to assume a lot of his stuff is tailored or custom made now.

I always forget about the marks on tills back when he's in the nightmare dress

The child staring with great confusion at a bright red flake reading. I would love to know what his favourite books are.

The childs plural poking and prodding at a very patient Oli, who gracefully bends his spine in ways I've never seen a human do before. I wonder if he's ever dressed up as Lurch from the Addams family.

The actress playing the woman in this half is so beautiful and has a power her younger counterpart lacked when she was threatening him with her weapon.

I am a dummy and was like weird why is Paul speaking Norwegian. I know full well he wasn't saying unnskyld because I've heard Germans say their equivalent before and I assume Entschuldigen either sounds like that fast or shortens so what the fuck, rhi

Till guiding people through him murdering them is truly one of life's greatest pleasures. They trust him so completely. I would like to watch them dance the elegance would be astounding.

Paul lurking watching with what I choose to see as pride as till slaughters an old woman.

Paul being critical (again, as always, rightly so) of the hallway mouthing the lyrics decision.

"for this in prepared to make compromises" he says, hating every bitter word of it

I would like to know what he wanted to say about till and then see him get into trouble over it.

I would like to see till in a bouncy castle. He's adorable jumping into the comfy pit I want to see him in a bouncy castle. Child, utter child.

Paul takes every opportunity to say how hot he thinks they all are and I love that about him. Sometimes your friends are all hot and everybody needs to understand that fact.

Their approaches to pretending to play cello are all so uniquely them. Flake and Richard are taking the time to try and understand what they're being told, whereas Paul just fucking. Lays into it, attracting the weirdest looks from Oli. Richard looks beautiful with that cello and I think he should learn to play. For fun not for work. It's not just that he looks so handsome, but I think that's the easiest way to convince him. I think he'd be good at it, and not being the lead at something might be good for him.

I appreciate that Oli is skeptical because yeah they do all look like they've never held a cello before.

They do, however, all look lovely in their dresses. I'm trying but actually I can't not say that Schneiders little sternum dip makes it seem like he has breasts in that dress and it's a good look for him.

Till singing it in such a high voice, more like his speaking voice, is both interesting and lovely. Oli is trying... So little compared to the others. Laughably incorrect

Why yes, I am laughing at the sheer length of the spikes. They're just... They're so fucking long. So long.

Paul is actually probably the best one there, ironically. They're all comically out of time. They're professional musicians. I know they aren't used to bowed instruments I do understand and I don't want to be uncharitable but also they are struggling. I want to see cellists react to this.

Pretty dresses! And the nightmare but with the most awful and worst fingers! Like the Grinch but goth.

Both Schneider and Richard had the same neverending shoot idea and I am Intrigued.

Till waiting for Schneider with the umbrella :)

Wir brennen! Paul is always so happy to play with fire.

[rwbyremnants]

WARNING: Still a little gore

Okay I did mean to post this faster than this but at least it wasn't TOO long... I hope... anyway enjoy!

=Chapter 28

The world seemed to slow to a crawl as Weiss reached toward the red stain blossoming outward from where the blade was penetrating her navy blue dress, turning it a shade of indigo. She vaguely saw Pyrrha taking a step away from her, eyes wide in abject horror.

Cinder. No, wait - one of the Huntsmen. Raven. Her father. The culprit could have been anyone by this point. As Weiss tried to turn on the spot to see what was going on, she lamented how many people had come to resent her in such a short time. It wasn’t as if she had ever done anything to anyone on purpose, and yet she had become one of the most hated people in Vale. How unfair that was! Now all that remained was to find out which specific adversary had taken action.

Nothing could have prepared her for the incensed expression in Emerald Sustrai’s face as she stood panting in her driveway, shaking all over. Yes, she was angry, furious, fists clenched just below her still-bandaged forearms… but something wasn't right. Her eyes were unfocused, breathing ragged and uneven. Saliva was running down her chin.

“Make you pay,” she stammered, stumbling slightly as she backed away with the knife, fought to remain standing. Clearly, it wasn't easy. “Get you to… make Cinder… make her.”

“I…” Pressing a hand against the wound, she asked, “Why?”

“You!” Tears had joined the spittle, and she raised the knife again. “You got her h-hurt! Not allowed! Fake Dragon, I'll-”

That was as far as she got. Grinding back into life, Pyrrha tackled her to the ground, wresting the knife away from her. Not that Emerald was going down easy, but it was difficult to tell through all that fog; Weiss felt her own vision beginning to blur as she sank to her knees.

“HELP!” her friend was screaming as she wrestled with the green-haired Dragon, even though she sounded so far away. “Someone help us! Please!”

Not that Weiss could wait for help. The world was sliding to one side - or was she? Impossible for her to tell. Her entire body felt so light… maybe it wouldn't matter what fell where. Maybe nothing mattered.

Nothing except…

“Yang…”

Even her own voice sounded false, immaterial. Footfalls and outcries filled her ears, but light was already fading by then. No time for anything anymore. Only nothing.

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

Though Weiss had a fleeting memory of sirens, shouting and being manhandled, it all seemed so insubstantial that she couldn't be bothered to focus. At some point, she was sure she heard her mother's voice…

The next thing she was aware of was glaring fluorescent lights overhead. They hurt. Nothing else did, but that was so painful that she couldn't stand it. So she squeezed her eyes shut again immediately. The throbbing had to stop, she wanted to throw up, but she couldn't move, her legs were so heavy, and some unseen force was jostling her all over the place…

Consciousness evaded her for so long that when it came back again, she had no idea whether or not it was hours or days later. The lights were still painful but tolerable now. Trying to move felt like rolling back the tide, but she had to - something she couldn't quite catch hold of in her mind was screaming that she had to act, to move right now. So she pushed up with her elbows-

And felt a wealth of bandages and cotton pads restricting her movement. Not that they did anything to blot out the pain: sitting up that one time made a cold prickle spread outward from a sharp heat, and she hissed in through her teeth.

At least now she could see that she was in the hospital room. Sickly green curtains hung around her bed, and the quiet beep of a heart rate monitor broke the silence every few seconds. Looking down at the sheets, she caught sight of a little red tube leading from the crook of her arm up to a bag of blood hanging from a metal apparatus.

That was when it all came rushing back to her: Emerald. The knife. Pyrrha-

“He-” The noise that came from her throat was more of a rasp than a word, and it set in motion a coughing fit that made the pain in her abdomen so much worse. In that moment, she wished she had never woken up.

A stirring in the corner of her eye made her turn, dreading another attack - not that she had even seen the last one coming. Instead, she saw her mother, slumped down in a chair and quietly dozing. She looked utterly exhausted. Bags darkened the skin under her eyes, and her dress was more wrinkled than she could remember seeing her wear in quite some time - even on her most drunken nights, she would simply change the next morning.

“Mom?” she rasped. No response. Looking down, she saw an empty cup of coffee by her pumps. How long had she been up before she succumbed? Maybe it would be kinder to let her sleep, even though she desperately wanted some answers.

Settling back against the bed again, Weiss resigned herself to her fate. Aches were beginning to make themselves known. Mostly, the one in her abdomen was the one worth noting, but dozens of lesser pains were beginning to flare up now that her mind was awake. Did she get run over by a bus? Curious now, she peeled back the bed sheet to get a look at her abdomen…

A red blotch was marring the pristine white of the bandages around her midsection. Weiss let out a strangled cry of alarm. Seconds later, she more felt than saw her mother shoot to her feet before her face came into view over her bed.

“Oh no… oh no oh no oh n- NURSE! My daughter!”

Medical staff began to flood into the room. She looked on in mingling a horror and fascination as they began to strip away the bandage, examining the tiny hole from which welled her life's blood. She tried to keep watching, hoping to learn something about what they were doing and what was happening to her, but the sight of her own blood made her head so light that she had to lay it back down…

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

The next time Weiss awoke, clarity came a lot faster. Even still lying in the bed, she remembered that she had been attacked, that she was presumably in the hospital now. Remembered the look on her mother's face when she saw her bleeding again. How many times had she seen her bleeding before? The thought of forcing her mother to suffer through the agony of watching her own child cling to life on a thread was an awful prospect.

This time, she didn't try to sit up. Partly because she was so weak she didn't feel like she could accomplish it, but also because the longer she lay there, the more certain she was that sitting up had been what opened her wound again. Not that she was any sort of a medical professional.

With no way of tracking the passage of time, she couldn't know how long she had been awake before a familiar face poked over her bed. After a second, the olive-toned features lit up with mingling relief and joy.

“There she is,” Kali Belladonna whispered.

“M-Mrs-” She gagged, but somehow stopped herself from coughing this time.

“Shhhh.” Looking around very briefly, she reached toward an unseen table and came back with a small cup of water, gently tipping it to her lips. Weiss drank deeply until her thirst was slaked. “There… that's better, isn't it?”

Gasping for breath now that she had finished, Weiss gazed up at the cook. She certainly looked as if she could use a few more hours of sleep herself. Unlike her own mother, Blake's mother was as well-dressed as ever, makeup in place and hair flawless. But that couldn't hide the very real fear in her hazel eyes, nor the fatigue in her posture.

“I'm… what…”

“Take it easy. Do you want to know what happened?” Weiss nodded. “What's the last thing you remember?”

“Stabbed. Emerald. Then… I woke up, Mommy was here, but… I bled.”

The instant she tried to sit up, Kali pushed her back down firmly. A thrill of dread shot through her - even though she trusted Kali, it was scary being held down.

“Lie still. You lost a lot of blood, twice. You shouldn't lose any more.” Tears glistened in the corners of her eyes.

“I'm sorry.” Her own were welling up now. “I'm sorry, Kali, I…”

“Shhhh, Weiss, it's not your fault.” Clearing her throat, she began, “Emerald attacked you. Her story is… interesting, to say the least. From there, your mother heard your friend Pyrrha calling for help and called for the ambulance. We… well, I kept pressure on the wound until they got to you, Pyrrha kept Emerald under control. She got nicked here and th-”

“What? No, I have to-”

“Stop, stop,” she reminded her as she held her in place. “It wasn't too bad; they already treated her. Small cuts on her arms, nothing to worry about. Please don't forget about your stitches.”

Feeling chagrined, she whispered, “I'm sorry… so… what happened? I'm alive, am I going to be okay?”

“They…” Her throat worked to swallow. “Well, as I said, you lost a lot of blood, and… the blade did nick your kidney, but missed the major blood vessels, so you were lucky there. Still, it was touch and go for the first couple of days to save the kidney.”

“Days?” Afraid of the answer, she asked, “How long…?”

Kali averted her eyes. “It's Sunday. So almost the entire week. But you're stable now, you just- they warned us that if you pulled your stitches again, they would have a harder time… keeping you from bleeding out. So please, please…”

The tears made her reach up to pet up and down Kali's neck. The warmth was comforting to them both. “Gee whiz… I'm so sorry for making you worry. You and- is my mother still here? What about Pyrrha? Has anyone told Yang? We have to-”

“Shhhh, Weiss. Yang knows. She's right outside.”

“Can I see her?” When Kali frowned, she craned her neck up. “I need- need to see her!”

“She's been awake for so long, Weiss… she needs her sleep. All of us do. It's not your fault,” she headed her off before she could apologise again. “But we love you and are so worried, and we want to make sure at least one of us is awake if there's news.”

A little smile broke through Weiss's fear and gloom. “You love me?”

Kali blinked a few times, stunned out of her current train of thought. “What? Oh… oh, Weiss, of course! Haven't you been able to tell?”

The poor girl burst into tears. The entire situation was far too much for her, and hearing that someone she had become increasingly attached to felt the same way provided an easily accessible outlet for all those feelings to come pouring out. Kali leaned down to hug her very delicately, to make sure Weiss didn't lean up. They cried together, laughed in the middle before crying took over again.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Kali finally breathed when she could talk again, kissing the side of her head. “I'm so glad you're going to be alright. I r-really… Weiss, you are family now, and don't you ever forget it!”

Such simple words, yet they were music to her ears.

After another few emotional minutes, Kali bowed out and prompted her mother to come in and fuss over her for a while. She had never felt so adored in all her life - well, other than with Yang.

“The doctors really have been swell,” Willow finally blubbered some time later. Her poor mother seemed like she was nearly as bad off as she had been when drinking, but wasn't drunk; that was some relief to the patient. “Even let Kali and Yang stay, as long as I was here to vouch… that they knew my b-baby…”

Her smile was almost pitying as she squeezed her mother's hand. “I'm going to be fine, Mother. I promise. Though I guess I won't be cheerleading much for the rest of the semester…”

“This is very h-hard for m- for me to… I want to hate those Dragons! My baby keeps getting h-hurt, but then… Kali is so wonderful to me, and you, so it isn’t- and your father! He isn't one of them, and he attacked us, so even with that girl stabbing you…”

“Yes, Mommy, I know,” she told her gently. As she well knew, calling her that came out when she was very emotional, but it also seemed to convey a deeper love that her mother often worried was lost. Her hope was that it might help soothe her nerves somewhat.

“I don't know what I would have done. You're my… m-my only baby left! Winter's gone, your father… and Whitley-”

“Whitley and Winter are fine! They're just… not as close. Right now!” she added when she saw her face scrunching up more. “But… I mean, give them time! Especially for Whitley. You know he's Daddy's little boy.”

Nodding, she leaned down and left one of those kisses on Weiss's forehead that was more firm than necessary, causing her to roll her eyes even while she smiled. “My little angel. I'm so glad she didn't get you. You'll never… never know!”

Comforting her enough so that they could hold a conversation again took the better part of five minutes. She knew it was a little twisted, but Weiss was extremely happy. Yes, she hated that she and her mother had to go through so much trauma to get to that point, but at least it felt like they were mother and daughter again. It was a vast improvement over the wino she had living in her house scant weeks ago.

“Okay,” she finally whispered into her hair as she pet up and down her mother's back. “I do need to know something.”

“Yes? Oh sweetie, whatever it is, we will find out together. I promise!”

Smiling a little wider, she asked, “Do you know… what happened to Emerald? Do the police have her?”

“Oh…” Finally, Willow sat back up, one of her hands brushing her own hair back into place as the other one remained on Weiss's shoulder. “Well… yes, but she's in the asylum ward here at the hospital. Under constant guard. At least, that's what Kali told me.”

“Have they tested her for drugs?”

Her mother looked quite taken aback. “How… did you know that?” When Weiss merely waited, she cleared her throat before continuing, “They said she has been doing… oh, I don't know much about these things. Opium, maybe?”

That confirmed something that has been bothering Weiss since she first saw Emerald in her front garden. Her unfocused eyes, broken sentences… they may have meant nothing, or may have just been the product of grief. But she had never seen anyone behave quite that way before. Her first thought had been the reefer, but opium could certainly be the problem - not that she knew much more than her mother did.

“Weiss? What is it, sweetheart?”

“Nothing. Just… never mind. The important thing is that I survived, and I don't plan on going anywhere ever again. Mother, I'm sorry for worrying you so much! I never meant-”

Her mother's hand drifted up and pressed into her lips gently, silencing her whinging. “Please, don't apologize for that anymore. How were you to know that she would… th-that sh-sh-she…”

Again, her mother was useless for conversation for the next several minutes. They then talked a bit about her general health after she had collected herself, and about whether or not Whitley had come to see her - he had, but had scarcely stayed for a few minutes before wanting to return to the waiting room.

Then they were interrupted. Yang stood in the doorway, looking completely beside herself. Weiss had never seen her hair so matted, nor her features so stricken.

“Oh,” Willow breathed when she noticed, sitting back away from her daughter.

“Yang?”

That was all the prompting it took for her brute to take off running across the room, straight for her. Willow had to stand up and catch her to keep her from landing on the bed with her full weight.

“Don't! Her stitches-”

“WEISS!” Tears were streaming down her face that quickly, bloodshot eyes wide and pleading. “I'm sorry! I shoulda been there, shoulda- you almost died and- a-and I never… told you I…”

Finally, her mother let her go so she could embrace her love. They both breathed a sigh of relief when the hug was a lot gentler than the one Yang had initially gone in for. A minute ticked by as they found comfort in the warmth of each other’s bodies, in the nearness of their soulmate.

“Shhh,” Weiss whispered gently into her hair, her own eyes wet. “It’s okay. It’s okay! You can’t be everywh-”

“NO! I should be! You’re all I care about in the whole goddamn world, Weiss! And if I lose you… I’ll burn it to the fucking ground!”

Both she and her mother started at the strong language used. A second later, she petted over her hair and hissed, “Hey, hey. I’m fine, alright? Yang, I’m fine. Golly…”

After a couple of minutes, Yang finally pulled back to smile down at her. “My Princess. She’s a real fighter.”

“Sure I am,” Weiss laughed wetly, pushing their foreheads together. They both giggled to release the fear and tension and pure raw emotion. “Pyrrha deserves the congratulations.”

“Oh, believe me, she’s gonna get a big ol’ kiss from me the next time I see her! But… wow, this just- I can’t believe… was it really Emerald? If you say it was, then I trust you, but it’s still crazy to think-”

“It was.” Sighing, she looked away at the curtain. “But I could tell she wasn’t herself. Too much drugs, apparently. Has… Emerald ever…?”

Yang blinked at her for a moment, then seemed to realise what she was asking all at once. “Oh! No, never - I mean, we’ve all tried reefer once or twice, but Emerald barely even drinks that often. Nothing stronger than that.”

“Okay.”

“Why? What did they say she was on?”

Weiss glanced at her mother, who had been watching them very carefully. Almost as if studying them. When she realized they were looking at her, she held up both hands helplessly. “I don’t know. Opium, maybe? I thought she got it from you.”

Even while Weiss was groaning at her mother’s continuing unintended prejudice, Yang sighed and answered patiently, “Not from me. And not from any of us; the Dragons don’t deal in stuff like that.”

“Well…” Sighing deeply, the patient reached up to caress Yang’s cheek. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed her mother wincing, but decided the best way to handle that would be to ignore it; let her sort out her feelings in her own time. “I suppose there’s only one way to find out.”

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

“What do you mean, ‘you can’t see her’?!”

The full-bearded officer tipped his hat again, even as he repeated the same sentiment: “Sorry, can’t let you in there. Dangerous criminal.”

“I know!” Weiss burst out, leaning even more heavily against Kali. “I’ve been waiting days for them to tell me I can leave my bed so I can actually talk to the ‘criminal’ myself! Now, will you move out of the way?”

“Listen, girlie. Why don't ya go back to your room? Let the adults handle business.”

Kali definitely took offense to that. “And what am I, then? A newborn?” All she got in return for that was a wolf whistle, and her eyes narrowed further. “Just ask if she's open to any visitors. I assume you have her handcuffed to the bed?”

“Well… yeah, but that don't-”

“Ask.”

He asked. It didn't take him very long to come back and usher them into the hospital room, though he looked quite surly about it.

Emerald was definitely not in the best of shape, but she was doing better than Weiss had been when she was admitted. All of the machines she was hooked up to seemed to be for the sole purpose of monitoring her vitals because of the drugs in her blood supply. There was a saline drip, and she still had bandages around her forearms from Shopkeeper's, but other than that and the handcuffs holding her upper arms to the bed, she looked more or less right as rain…

Other than the purpling bloody nose. Privately, Weiss reminded herself to congratulate Pyrrha the next time she came for a visit. She and Yang had been in and out constantly, fussing over her, and Blake and Ruby dropped by once or twice. Still no word from Winter… but she didn't want to think about that right now, so she returned her attention to the matter at hand.

“Oh…” Emerald sat up straighter, eyes wide with pure fear. “H-hey, Weiss. Mrs. Belladonna.”

Kali seemed to have no time for games. “Is that all you have to say to the young lady you stabbed?”

“No, I… of course not. But I don't know what to say, it was like…”

Weiss waited for her to finish. When she didn't speak again for a few seconds, too plagued by inner demons - or worried about repercussions - to summon the words, she calmly seated herself in the chair at Emerald's bedside, hands folded neatly in her lap.

“Go on.”

“I couldn't think. Couldn't calm down, o-or make my mind focus on anything other than how angry I was with Weiss.”

“Angry? Why were you angry with me?”

Finally, she turned her eyes to glare daggers at the guest. “You got Cinder hurt. Do you even care about that? Because your daddy can't let go of you, he burned down our place and Cinder got hurt! And really bad, Weiss!”

“That isn't fair,” Kali admonished her in a firm tone of voice. “Parents are supposed to be responsible for their children, not the other way around. She can't control what that idiot does any more than Blake could control what I did if I were to settle petty grudges like that.”

“I don't care. She's the cause for it; he would never have made someone set that fire without her being involved. But…” The ire faded, and Emerald's eyes became more haunted than anything. “I didn't want to attack anybody! All I wanted to do was go find Weiss and yell at her, tell her that she owed Cinder, ask what she was going to do to make it right. Th-that’s really… that’s all I wanted, I didn’t…”

Weiss was listening patiently all along, trying to distance herself emotionally from the situation. Then she asked, “Do you know what the doctors have said, about the drugs?”

The haunted aura only intensified, her tan fingers clutching at the white linen sheets. “Yes.”

“Well? What was it? Marijuana?”

“I'm no reefer addict,” she snapped impatiently. “No, I… they said it was opium, and s-some other drug I've never heard of before. Just some letters…”

“Letters?” But even as she asked that, she could see Kali's hand raise to her chin, tapping as she thought. “What is it?”

Barely distracted, she let out a soft “Hm?” that forestalled any more questions for a few seconds as her mind worked through the possibilities. Then she asked Emerald, as if there had been no pause at all, “Were the letters ‘LSD’?”

“I think they might have been?” The lilt at the end made the statement a question.

“Hmm.”

Reaching up to catch her arm, Weiss whispered, “What is it?”

“Lysergic acid diethylamide. It’s an experimental drug being used and studied by psychiatrists.”

“How is it you just… know everything?!”

That made Kali laugh weakly. “If I knew everything, I could have…” But she didn’t finish that sentence. Weiss had no way of knowing what past mistake she was thinking of, because she moved on immediately. “Well, I’ve only heard of these things. I’m no doctor. But I like to know what’s going on in the world. I thought this could have been Dexedrine tablets - Ghira used to talk about those when he would send correspondence home from the war front. But it wasn’t until she said ‘letters’ that I remembered LSD.”

Emerald was nodding, sitting up straighter as if it would take her closer to salvation. “Y-yes, I- I mean, I don’t know anything about this stuff at all, but it was like I was watching myself do it. St- stab…” Tears finally pricked, but she was trying to ignore them. “I couldn’t control anything once they pushed me out.”

“What?”

Weiss had noticed that as well. “Who pushed you out? Of where?”

“I don’t… remember…” Both of Emerald’s fists slammed into her eyes. “AH! What happened to me?!”

“They said you checked yourself out of the hospital,” Kali was saying in a distant voice, eyes unfocused as her mind raced. “But… nobody could tell me how you got home. Your bike is still at my house.”

“Were they lying?” Weiss asked urgently. “Did they kidnap her and… and pay off the nurses, or something?”

“It’s sounding too likely to ignore.” Sitting up straighter, she said, “We have to tell Salem about this. Immediately. If Jacques Schnee is trying to pull strings from behind the scenes-”

“Oh no,” she breathed. When Kali only blinked at her, she looked up into her eyes. “Cinder and me, and Emerald… it’s all my-”

Fingers covered her mouth again. “We don’t have time for that. Emerald, please say you forgive Weiss. She is a victim of this now as much as you are.”

“What?!” But then the poor girl’s red eyes pointed down at Weiss’s bandage before flicking away again. “Oh… well… I don’t know if I can; my Cinder is…”

“She’s hurting just like both you and Weiss are hurting. Like Salem is, even if it was only a little smoke.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks. “It’s still her fault! Who cares if she got herself hurt?” However, her next words were, “I’m sorry… I d-don’t mean to be- I know she’s a Dragon, Cinder told me sh-she’s branded, and it’s… this is all too much. What did they do to me?”

Kali gestured for Weiss to join her. They both worked together to help Weiss stand gently as they could, trying to avoid further aggravating her injury, and made their exit.

“Do you think she’s going to be okay?” Weiss asked once the door was closed and they were further along the hallway.

“I don’t know,” Kali confessed, arm securely around her back as she helped her along. “But this is bad news. Emerald attacked a fellow Dragon; she won’t be let off easy, no matter why it happened. Even worse than that…” She swallowed hard. “Someone has decided to start messing with our minds. If it’s not your father… then we could be in for such a terrible time that we can’t even fathom.”

[moonstomars]

What you collect from the riveside

Here’s my entry for the colour challenge! I got this colour and panicked because I had never worked with this kind of prompt, but eventually, something came out.

It’s a Colour Blind Soulmate AU (basically, you’re completely colour blind till you meet your soulmate) and, of course, it’s about King and Diane. 

Enjoy!

Diane hums as she walks alongside the river, enjoying the warmth of the midday sun on her exposed skin. Her eyes wander over the greyness of the grass and the dark of the ground, looking for the plant with the six-pointed leaves. She can’t remember exactly who taught her that if she presses its roots she will obtain a sap that can help to keep a wound clean and healthy - maybe it was her mother, maybe that older girl who always took care of her when her parents were out to fight - but she remembers the first time she used it, the sticky liquid smudging her fingers and crawling under the nails. The scratches on her knees had never healed so fast, and that’s exactly what she needs now. To close a wound. Though this time, it’s not hers.

She smiles unconsciously when her mind goes to the little boy she found on the riverside, just a few days ago. Her breath had stopped when she had realised that the dirty mass of cloth was a person, and when she had understood that the dark, irregular spots on his clothes had to be bloodstains she had feared she had found a dead body. But he wasn’t dead, he is not dead, and Diane is determined to make things stay that way. Harlequin is already getting better, and the last time he woke up he even talked with her a little, though he drawled a bit and he didn’t seem to be able to explain to her how he had ended up in the river with a large but luckily not too deep cut on his chest and belly. He wasn’t able to tell her anything about him at all, actually, but maybe he just needs some time to get better - when she had found him, he was really in bad shape. His wound seems to heal well enough, but Diane wants to make sure that it won’t get infected. That’s why she left him asleep in the cave she now calls home and went outside to look for the plant. It’s not the first time she needs it, and she knows that there are some bushes a bit more down by the river. 

It shouldn’t take long to get there by now, she thinks as she picks up the pace, lowering her gaze to study the varied vegetation of the riverside. All the leaves and the flowers are a shade of white or grey, yet she likes to observe them, discerning the different hues and shapes, trying to imagine how they would appear to a person who can see the colours. It’s silly, she knows it, she can’t even imagine a single different colour from the ones she has grown up with, but it’s a good dream. Hopefully, one day, she will see the world how it really is. 

Soon she distinguishes the shape of one of those plants, the form of its leaves making it easy to recognise it even in the middle of the other shrubs that grow on the bank of the river. Her smile widens, though only for a moment, because then a stabbing pain in her eyes makes her squeeze her lids. She rubs a hand over the right one letting out an annoyed snort. This stinging feeling is tormenting her for days, like there is constantly sand in her eyes, and it doesn’t matter how many times she washes them, it always comes back. When it gets better she forces her eyelids open with a grunt, refusing to let that stupid pain slow her down. Surely Harlequin feels worse, and she wants - she really wants - to make him feel better. 

Another two steps and then she can kneel near the bush she was looking for, her hands slipping under the foliage to reach the trunk. Carefully, she pulls it up, helping the roots out of the ground without breaking them - she wants to get as much sap as she can. When she is sure she brought out everything, she lets out a satisfied sigh, curving slightly her lips as she lifts the plant. It’s then that she catches glimpse of something with the corner of her eye. Mindlessly, she simply glances at it, her mind still focused on what she has to do now - washing the roots from the ground so that it won’t contaminate the unguent - then she turns her head completely, blinking. And she freezes. There is a plant on the river’s edge, its flowers soaring towards the sky sustained by thin stems, the tiny petals flat and open around the pistils. They are not … Diane tries to breathe, but the air gets stuck in her throat, and she blinks again, but nothing changes. The petals are not grey, nor any shades of it, they are not black nor white and they are nothing she has ever seen. They have a colour, she realises, but a different colour, something she is not supposed to see until -  

Until she meets them. She remembers what they always told her, back in Megadozer, that only the ones who find their soulmate get to see the other colours. Slowly, maybe starting from a single shade and then all of them, little by little, until the world becomes a combination of all the nuances she could dream of. But then that means that - the only other person she met over the past few months is - 

Harlequin.

The plant still clutched in her hand, her grip tightening around the wood, she gets up and slowly comes closer to the little flowers, eyes wide as she studies the way their shade changes along the form of the petals, turning into grey towards the bottom. She has no idea how this colour is called, she has nothing with which she can compare it, but it’s different - it’s beautiful - and it means that she found her soulmate and that maybe she will not be alone ever again. Her heart pounds against her ribs like the furious beating of a bird’s wings when she reaches for a bunch of flowers, and carefully she picks them, moving delicately her finger and holding her breath - they are so tiny, maybe the size of her little fingernail. She almost fears that their colour will melt away under her touch, but it’s still there in the light grey of her hand. Then, she gives up. In a moment, she has turned away and she is running as fast as she can, holding the flowers against her chest, heading home. She doesn’t care that she should wash those roots, nor that now plots of ground are falling on her dress. Soulmates, they taught her, start to see the colours at the same time and she needs to be sure. 

The way to get there has never felt so long, but finally, she sees the entry of the cave and in a second she bursts in, looking for him. Harlequin is exactly where she left him, in the bed of leaves that she made for him, though now he is awake, sitting on the ground, brows furrowed and a focused look in his eyes. He raises his head when he hears her come and he blinks in surprise. “Ah, Diane! Where -”

“Harlequin,” she kneels in front of him, putting the bush aside as she pushes the flowers towards him, “do you see it?”

The boy’s look of confusion turns into amazement when he finally moves his eyes from her face to the flowers. He stares at them for a long moment, he blinks and rubs his eyes. Then his gaze returns to her, “I … I think I do,” he stammers, swallowing. “Wait, you are seeing it too for - for the first time?” 

The way he looks at her, astonishment and hope glowing in his eyes, makes her beam at him when she answers, her voice trembling for excitement, “Yes!” Then, softly, she whispers, “It’s you,” because she still can’t believe that she found him, that she found her soulmate. A little boy she pulled out of the river. “I’ve found you,” she can’t help but chuckle, and Harlequin finally smiles her back, flush creeping over his cheeks and his eyes shining with something that Diane thinks - hopes - it’s the same happiness that is warming her heart. 

“It’s me,” he answers, his voice full of wonder, like he is trying to realise what this really means for him, for them. Briefly, Diane wonders if he wanted this. To find his soulmate in a young, lonely Giant girl - she somehow doubts he ever imagined her to be like that. Her heart skips a beat as fear grips her throat, fear that he will be disappointed by her, that he will reject her and leave her alone once again - but it’s only a moment, because she can’t misunderstand the joyful curve of his smile, nor the emotion that makes his voice slightly shake when he whispers, “You did find me. Thank you." 

Diane doesn’t know how he will feel about all of this, once he is healed and free to go, but for now, he is happy, and that’s all that matters. Her smile widens, and she has to hold back from grabbing him and hugging him - he is still wounded, she has to remind to herself, and so fragile and tiny in her hands - so she hands him out the flowers instead. “Do you know how this colour is called?” There are some colours she knows the names, she heard them more than once - the sky is blue, they say, and the grass is green and the ground deep brown, but the flowers can have different colours, and she has no idea how to call that one. 

Harlequin gently take a flower in his hands, his skin pleasingly touching hers, and brushes the petals with his fingers. Then he shakes his head. “I think this is an orchid,” he says, looking up at her, “I … someone taught me that.” He stops, furrowing his brows, a blank stare in his eyes. It disappears when he blinks. “But orchids can have different shades,” he continues, lowering his head apologetically, “and I’ve never … I don’t know which one is this. I’m sorry.”

Diane purses her lips and pokes his cheek with a finger, making him flinch and raise his brows as he glances at her with worry. “Don’t be sorry, silly,” she says, then she giggles, “we will find out together.” 

She finds adorable the way his eyes go round and his cheek and neck blushes, then he finally relaxes, making her a large smile. “You are right,” he says, excitement flickering in his eyes, “we will.”

[overwatchworks]

Blackwatch AU: Getting Along

Just a little hanyatta in a Blackwatch AU, in which you get to see some of my numerous headcanons about Zenyatta’s abilities and how I would imagine a younger Hanzo who was recruited to Blackwatch before he could kill Genji. 

Stopping the physical roll of his eyes took far too much effort when Hanzo heard who he would be paired up with for the hit and run mission. Tekhartha Zenyatta was hardly someone he got on with easily, and it had only gotten worse with the past few missions that they had so woefully been teamed up on. Hanzo worked best alone, everyone knew that. 

So why the commander insisted on keeping the two of them paired up was beyond him. 

Stopping the physical roll of his eyes took far too much effort when Hanzo heard who he would be paired up with for the hit and run mission. Tekhartha Zenyatta was hardly someone he got on with easily, and it had only gotten worse with the past few missions that they had so woefully been teamed up on. Hanzo worked best alone, everyone knew that. So why the commander insisted on keeping the two of them paired up was beyond him. 

The archer gave a side glance to Zenyatta, who looked equally as unenthused to hear the mission roster. Shoulders slumping, lips moving as he muttered something under his breath. Hanzo shook his head with a dry huff. If this was how it was going to start, he did not want to do it at all.

“Shimada, Tekhartha. Is something wrong over there?” The commander inquired sharply, Hanzo quickly wiping the look off his face. Zenyatta straightened as well, shaking his head.

“No, sir.” 

They blurted it in harmony, too quick to be anything but unbelievable.

“Really? Because it looks like you both would rather be stabbed. This isn’t going to be a problem, is it? Last couple of missions have been rough,” Reyes continued, coming over to the two with his arms crossed over his chest.

“It will not on my end,” Hanzo muttered, Zenyatta scoffing.

“Oh, sure it will not. Because nothing you ever do could possibly be wrong, now could it?” He sighed in exasperation. Reyes cleared his throat, fingers beginning to tap against his forearm.

“Alright. If the two of you can stop acting like you’re twelve for more than five minutes and do your fucking job, I won’t have to suspend you both for insubordination. You are agents of Blackwatch, start acting like it. I’ve had one too many mission failures because of your petty behaviour getting in the way of rational thinking, and that is not happening again.” 

“You fuck up another mission, you’re both out of the game. Now, either you work together, or I take you to do some personal training where you’ll learn to play nice or not play at all. Do you understand me?” Reyes told them coldly, Hanzo bowing his head in a quick nod.

“Sir.”

“Understood.”

“You’re some of my best agents, and when I see you work together, it’s seamless. You do great in training, so apply it. Use your heads for something other than getting heated. Learn to trust one another, and straighten up. Things get done right when you’re working as a team, I’ve seen it.”

Zenyatta’s lip twitched, and he turned a triumphant little glare towards Hanzo. Still with that last mission. They had fucked up, sure. He had fucked up too, he would admit to that. Running off on his own had not been a good idea, but he had only been scouting ahead. It was beyond childish to still be giving scathing looks and jabbing remarks over it. 

They had gotten out of those filthy cells just fine, and Hanzo certainly had not been the first one caught, either. The only reason he had been thrown into the cell next to Zenyatta was because he was trying to find a way to break the damn monk out.

“All I ask is that you work on cohesion. Get in, get it done, get out. Easy as pie.”

---

Hanzo stared at the floor as they flew to their drop point, hands clasped between his knees. He had on more of his stealth gear than usual; hood up, mouthpiece covering the lower half of his face, gloves on, and a full sleeve covering his tattoo. Dressed light, the only armour he had being that which was woven into the fabric and his gauntlets. Zenyatta was clothed similarly, outfit not far from the usual he wore besides being a little more skintight. 

The dropship would be back for them in an hour, and should everything go smoothly, Hanzo and Zenyatta would be on it instead of in another mess of a situation.

“Landing now. You’ll be dropping in from above, watch your ankles,” The pilot informed them, the archer blinking out of his thoughts, stretching his arms and legs out.

“Thank you, Niko. See you in an hour,” Zenyatta called over the comms, Hanzo standing and sauntering towards the doors. They opened, air rushing in, billowing around them, a wash of mist hitting him as well. Of course it was storming. 

He jumped, body weightless for just a few seconds before he hit a rooftop and rolled into a crouch. Zenyatta landed next to him with a little huff, brushing himself off and standing. Rain was pelting down, lighting followed by thunder intermittently, flashes of the sleeping city seen around them.

“Point interception should only be a building down that way,” He said, pointing towards a skyscraper further down the line of buildings. Hanzo nodded, raising his brows.

“I know.”

“So why are we waiting?”

“We can’t just go running in there thinking there won’t be any protection on this guy. Just because we got a tip he’ll be alone doesn’t mean it’ll actually happen. Things hardly tend to go the way we want them to, even if we have the advantage of low visibility from the weather,” Hanzo explained with only a hint of annoyance. 

Zenyatta liked to take things on head on once a mission had been established, and while it was commendable at times, it was also stupid at others. Planning things carefully was the only way to do this kind of job right.

“We should do a scan of the building first, then look for security that wasn’t marked by Blackwatch intelligence.”

“And how long will that take?”

“As long as it needs to. You want to be the one to do the running, not getting hit, right?”

Zenyatta made a face, frowning as he mouthed the words to himself.

“I...Do not understand.”

“Hit and run mission...Making a joke? No? No, okay,” Hanzo muttered as Zenyatta simply shook his head, clearly unimpressed. 

He took a sonic arrow from his quiver, making mild adjustments to his form to account for the wind and rain. Released the arrow soundly, watched it hit its intended target, a wave of blue flashing from it only they could see with their tactical visors. No body signatures lit up behind it. Hanzo frowned.

“That can’t be right...The intel said they would be there.”

“Are you certain that is the right building?” Zenyatta asked, tapping at his visor lightly.

“Yes.”

“The right floor?”

“Yes.”

“The right side—”

“Yes! Yes, we’re in the designated position at the designated time to complete the mission. When was the last time we were ever dropped off in the wrong area? We don’t fuck up like that, it just doesn’t happen in Blackwatch,” Hanzo snapped. The monk raised his hands placidly, making a face and muttering under his breath.

“Okay, okay. Still does not explain what is happening, though. I am going to get a different angle.”

“Be my guest, tiny.” Hanzo waved his hand in dismissal, adjusting the visor as Zenyatta hopped to the next rooftop gracefully.

“Your lack of intellect shows itself once again when it comes to the annoying nicknames, but at least it is not the mission it has failed for you this time!” Zenyatta shot back cheerily as he landed, crouching just a bit.

“Just a friendly reminder that I can shoot a perfect bullseye over two hundred meters away, and you’re only fifty.”

“Are you sure you can see me past your inflated ego?”

“You want to find out?”

“Bite me.”

Hanzo flipped Zenyatta off across the roof, the monk sticking out his tongue in return. A single spot of red suddenly appeared out of the corner of his eye, the archer narrowing them as he looked over. There should have been twelve people, not one. And this was not even their target’s biosignature.

“What are you doing...?” Hanzo murmured to himself as he watched the form crouch, then settle into an unmoving position on the ground. A position he had taken many times before. A sniper’s position. Zenyatta had just moved, giving away his location.

“Zenyatta, get down!” Hanzo shouted over the comms, eyes widening as he watched Zenyatta look over at him.

“What hap—”

He was cut off by a strange choking sound, Hanzo already running towards him. A spray of red followed the unnatural jerk of Zenyatta’s body, and he stumbled. Too close to the edge of the building. Hanzo jumped to the next roof, rolling as he landed hard, keeping low. Zenyatta fell over the side of the roof, the archer flinging himself forward and grabbing his wrist before he could go too far. 

The monk shrieked as his body stopped abruptly and slammed against the wall, Hanzo gritting his teeth as his grip slipped a bit. The rain was making his arm slick. Rain and blood. There was so much blood. 

Hanzo grunted and pulled Zenyatta back up, dragging him until they reached cover behind the roof access door. Silent agony was written across Zenyatta’s face as he curled up, one hand shaking as it hovered over his shoulder.

“Shit...Shit shit—” Hanzo grit out, fumbling for his med kit.

“Here, let me see. Zenyatta, move your hand.”

He did not listen—or could not—eyes squeezed shut, breath shallow and quick. Hanzo pushed his hand aside and ripped the monk’s shirt open, breath leaving him as he saw the wound. A clean hole right above his heart, his shoulder blade and collarbone clearly shattered, blood leaking everywhere. It was the arm he had grabbed, too, dislocated from the fall.

“Okay...Okay, hey. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, this is really going to hurt. I have to get this back in place, and it’s going to hurt like hell,” Hanzo told him as he braced his forearm against Zenyatta’s back.

“No no no please, Hanzo no—” Zen gasped. The archer pulled off his hood and rolled a piece of it up, putting it in Zenyatta’s mouth.

“Bite that.”T

he monk whimpered, gripping thecloth tightly and digging his teeth into it, body quivering.

“Alright, on three, okay? One...Twothree—”

There was a snap as Hanzo pushed in and up, Zenyatta’s scream raw even as muffled as it was.

“I’m sorry, I know, I’m sorry...” Hanzo murmured as he set down a biotic field, gathering some bandages. He took the hood back, Zenyatta making a soft half cry, half sob.

“See? That was nothing, you’re fine, you’re fine,” Hanzo mumbled softly as he shifted Zenyatta once more, wrapping what he could of his arm gingerly. An injection of biotic fluid was the only other thing he could do for such a wound, which would not be nearly enough. 

The archer made a rather crude makeshift sling from the remainder of his hood, Zenyatta gritting his teeth and wincing every time his arm was jostled. He was already a shade too pale, eyes unfocusing and pupils dilating. Not a good sign.

“Can you stand? We need to get to the evac point. It’s a trap anyways, we need to leave.”

“Yes...” Zenyatta whispered, voice weak and shaky as his hands. Hanzo pursed his lips as the monk stood slowly, panting and leaning against the roof access door.

They would not make it ten feet before they were spotted again, and Zenyatta would not be able to move the way he needed to in order to make a clean escape. Hanzo shook his head, stepping closer and scooping Zen up, keeping his grip gentle and as far from his shoulder as possible.

“I can walk—”

“No, you could barely stand. I won’t have you getting shot again, once is more than enough,” He interrupted, looking for their best route off the building.

“Just...Focus on staying conscious for me, okay?”

“Okay...”

“No matter how tired you get, you keep your eyes open.”

“Mkay,” Zenyatta sighed, lids already drooping. Hanzo let out a breath slowly, then took off, leaping to the building across from them and sprinting for the fire escape stairs. He went down them gracelessly, jumping over the railings when he was low enough to not break anything from the fall. Zenyatta grunted when he landed, a quiet curse leaving him.

“How are you holding up?” Hanzo asked, just hoping to keep the monk awake for a little longer. He was nodding off a bit, blood already soaking through the bandages and dripping onto Hanzo’s arms.

“Hurts,” Zenyatta whispered against his shoulder. Fingers gripping his sleeve tightly, brows creased. Pain etched into his features clearly.

“Don’t you die on me, Zen. You stay awake, just stay awake.”

“Is that concern I sense...?” The monk inquired, a small, weak smile drifting across his lips before his face twisted again as he was jostled.

“Better not let it get to your head.”

Zenyatta hummed in reply, Hanzo pursing his lips. He was worried. Normally in these situations, he could keep his head clear and focus on the mission easily. People did not get in the way of completing it. This was different. All he could do now was look down at Zenyatta every few seconds to make sure he was still breathing, his only drive the need to get him to help. Zenyatta needed help. Hanzo had always been weak to that.

“Niko, we need emergency evac, Zenyatta has been injured,” Hanzo commed when they had made it to the rendezvous coordinates, brows furrowing when all he got was static back.

“Niko, do you copy?”

Zenyatta blinked and frowned, turning to look over Hanzo’s shoulder.

“The shadows are moving,” He whispered, Hanzo raising his brows.

“I’m sorry, the what.”

“Hanzo, they are behind you—!”

He stumbled forward as something hit him, a strange pinpoint of force, Zenyatta’s arm whipping out. Gunfire rang out behind him, Hanzo glancing back with wide eyes at the wispy golden shield protecting him. Things were hitting him, but it felt like he was simply being jabbed at rather than shot. Which he should have been. He should have been full of bullets by now.

“Do not just stand there...Run!” Zenyatta grit out, the veins in his face unnaturally prominent as he strained against the shield shining out from his palm.

“You—Right, yes,” Hanzo nodded, deciding to ask about it when they were not about die. He had seen Zenyatta’s discord shields, but they were not anything like this. The golden one was larger, seemed to be stronger, whereas the discord ones were used more as a shield to gather energy before it was flung out as a weapon. 

Hanzo did not dwell on it for long, running for an alleyway on the outskirts of the city and ducking behind a corner. He waited, hearing the comms crackle from their pursuers as they spoke to one another, footsteps getting closer. The archer shifted Zenyatta gingerly, setting him on the ground. His eyes were closed, blood dripping from his nose, mixing with the rain in red trails.

“Fuck...Zen? Hey, wake up!”

Hanzo shook the monk’s good arm gently, cursing when he did not respond. Breath shallow, still bleeding out. They did not have much time left. Hanzo pulled another biotic fluid injection out of one of the pouches on Zenyatta’s chest, giving it to the monk and searching for anything else that was stronger. He jammed a finger against his comm, putting as much pressure as he dared on Zen’s injury.

“Niko, where are you?! We need emergency evac, Zenyatta is bleeding out! Do you copy?”

More static, Hanzo cursing again, resisting the urge to throw something. Zenyatta’s breath picked up slightly, lids fluttering, a soft moan of pain leaving him.

“I know, I know. Just hang on, okay? I’m working on it. Hang on for me, Zen, you’ll be okay,” Hanzo murmured. He had never really tried to comfort anyone like this—and it showed—but he could not help it. The words were just tumbling from his lips mindlessly, something unknown in him starting to panic. Zenyatta was dying. He was dying right in front of him, and all Hanzo could do was mutter useless comforts.

“Niko, where the fuck are you—”

“—Shimada? Agent Shimada, do you copy? This is BW Pilot Alexi,” A new voice staggered in, words fuzzy and cutting out.

“Yes! I copy, we need evac, now. Agent Tekhartha is severely injured and requires medical attention immediately.”

“Locking your coordinates now.”

Relief washed over Hanzo when he saw the dropship at last, picking Zenyatta up again.

“Hold on, you’ve got some bogies on you. Opening fire,” Alexi called, Hanzo ducking down and running as the dropship provided covering fire for them. He flung himself inside, the hangar doors closing, lights flicking on. 

The ship lurched as the ascended quickly, Hanzo only stumbling a bit as he brought Zenyatta over to the emergency medical table. Alexi swung himself out of the cockpit, running over and pulling down a med bag.

“Hey! Close one, no? Ship is set on autopilot to take us back to base, I will help you here.”

“What happened to Niko? They were supposed to stay in the area!”

“AWOL. Not sure where they went, but the commander is pissed. Thinks they dropped you into a trap. We tried to reach you sooner, but comms were dead,” Alexi explained in a rush, pulling out various compartments of blue fluid and bandages.

“Hold him down.”

Hanzo pressed down on Zenyatta’s legs and grabbed his arm, Alexi loading a golden vial into an injection gun and shooting it into the monk’s neck. He stiffened, then thrashed, Hanzo gripping him tighter.

“This should stabilize him until we make it back to base. I have seen worse, but not much worse. His shoulder is going to be fucked up for a while, best not to move it anymore,” Alexi sighed, wrapping more bandages over the entry wound, but not touching anything else besides that.

“I did the best I could with what we had,” Hanzo muttered darkly, Alexi nodding, unfazed.

“I know. This is just a nasty wound, there is not much we can do for it. You are both lucky to have survived, the intel we saw after I was sent in to get you was not good. They had you surrounded.”

“So Niko betrayed us?”

“Seems so. We’re not sure, though.”

Hanzo’s lip twitched, and he nodded, sitting down with his forearms resting on his knees. A traitor. One that had almost gotten Zenyatta killed. Hanzo was already looking forward to the day they would get their hands on Niko again—the day he could get his hands on Niko again and maybe show them how nice a shattered shoulder blade felt.

“I’ll let you keep an eye on him,” Alexi nodded to Zenyatta before going back to the pilot’s seat, Hanzo giving a curt one back in acknowledgement. He was pensive the rest of the way back to base.

---

Hanzo was there when Zenyatta woke up again—it had taken quite the bit of work on Dr. Ziegler’s part and a few long days of rest—his eyelids fluttering, eventually opening. The monk groaned softly, making a face before closing his eyes again. Hanzo sat forward, Zenyatta blinking and looking over to him in surprise, just noticing him.

“Oh, Hanzo...I did not think you would be here...”

“Disappointed it’s not someone else?” He teased, the monk frowning a bit.

“No. Not at all.”

“It...Was a joke.”

“Oh, well. Okay.”

“We really need to work on your sense of humour,” Hanzo sighed, Zenyatta scrunching up his nose in that cute little habit of his.

“It is not my sense of humour that needs help! You are just too serious, even when making a joke!”

“Sorry, my brain loathes giving me endorphins and serotonin.”

“See, I do not know what any of that means, but I can tell you think it is funny. Is it? Is it really? Explain!”

“Yeah but no. It means I don’t get the happy juices.”

“I do not approve of that explanation.”

Hanzo huffed a laugh; at least Zenyatta was feeling well enough to sass him.

“You know, with all that spunk, I’d say you’re practically mission ready again.”

“My shoulder feels like it is on fire and I want to sleep for a year, but sure, I will gladly get shot again!” Zenyatta chimed happily, Hanzo unable to help the smile that curved his lips.

“You’re weird.”

“But I got you to smile! Ha!”

“Alright, I’m leaving, bye.”

“No, wait! Get me some medicine first! Be a useful friend!”

“Bold of you to assume we’re friends, but I’ll get you the drugs.” “Yesss.”

Hanzo went over to Zenyatta’s IV, pressing a button to up the dosage of pain meds just a bit.

“Ta-dah. Enjoy your high.”

“That is all you have to do?”

“Yeah. But make sure you turn it back down before Dr. Ziegler comes in to check on you. I’ve lost my self-dosing privileges, and she smacked me with a folder.”

“Well, I will be good with it. I just need enough to not be in agony, not to knock me out for a week. I am sure I have slept more than enough as it is,” Zenyatta sighed, Hanzo shaking his head.

“No, it’s okay, you need to rest. Take care of yourself and get better soon.”

The monk stared at him a moment, then smiled a bit and nodded, looking down as he fidgeted with the sheets.

“I will. Thank you for helping me, back on the mission. And thank you for visiting. It is nice not waking up alone.”

“Yeah...Sure thing, tiny.”

Zenyatta grinned, waving a bit as Hanzo left the room to let him rest. The archer walked down the med bay hall, hands slipping into his pockets as he smiled to himself.

~~

[the-rogue-mockingjay]

OC Interview!

featuring my girls, Melanthe, Eden, and Aisling!

Tagged by @schoute, YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH I’VE WANTED TO DO ONE OF THESE!!! Thanks for the tag!!!!!

Tagging @coptix! (frick yeah Luna Hawke!!!!!) And also @markuilleam (no pressure tho lol)

Rules: Answer the following questions as your OC of choice.

I couldn’t pick just ONE, so I said screw it and went with my main three!

1. What’s your name?

Melanthe Ashirill Lavellan. [She grins and bows low and dramatically.] How do you do? [She glances at her sister.]

[Eden clears her throat.] Eden Lavellan.

[Hawke smiles pleasantly and crosses her legs.] Aisling Mariann Hawke.

2. Do you know why you are named that?

[Melanthe shrugs.]

Hawke: No.

Eden: A friend suggested it, I thought it sounded nice, and that’s what I’ve gone with ever since.

3. Are you single or taken?

Hawke: I gave an angsty Tevinter elf my heart, and I hope he keeps it forever.

[Melanthe cackles.] Always the romantic, aren’t you Hawke? As for me… [She pulls an ivory wolf’s jawbone pendant out from under her tunic and waves it around.] Yep.

Hawke: You…went with Solas?

[Melanthe nods.] Yep. The resident egghead Fade expert is mine. And my dear sister is in love with the Commander!

[Eden blushes slightly.] He’s…he’s nice.

[Hawke and Melanthe elbow Eden playfully.]

4. Have any abilities or powers?

[Eden holds up a glowing left hand.] Mel and I have the Anchor. It lets us open and close tears in the Veil.

[Melanthe high-fives her sister with her own glowing hand.] Yes! And we can make tiny holes in the Veil to kill demons sometimes!

Hawke: I’m a mage, specifically a spirit healer with force mage training. It’s pretty cool. Eden’s a mage as well.

Melanthe: And I’m good at poking hundreds of holes in people via a truly epic assortment of knives. [She winks.]

5. Stop being a Mary Sue.

[The three women exchange puzzled glances.]

Hawke: Run that by me again?

Melanthe: I don’t remember killing someone by that name. Nor do I remember any bartenders with that name. Maybe…eh. Nah.

6. What’s your eye color?

[Hawke raises an eyebrow.] You mean to tell me you can’t see it? Blue.

[Melanthe leans in close to the interviewer for a moment.] Gold, but not the same shade as my sister’s. Mine’s better.

Eden: I’m not inclined to disagree.

7. How about your hair color?

Hawke: Black. Like obsidian but, alas! Not as shiny.

Eden: Just..dark red.

Melanthe: Like drying blood!

[Eden makes a face.] Mel, please.

Melanthe: Okay fine. Going with Hawke’s mention of shiny rocks, how about garnet red?

Eden: That is better, yes.

8. Have any family members?

[Hawke suddenly finds the floor most intriguing. Melanthe perks up.] Oh, lots! There’s the twins, Tessa and Feyrand--they’re older than me--Iolanthe’s younger than Eden, we’ve got an even younger brother who has a habit of disappearing and we’ve got cousins galore! There’s Kahris, Maralah, Saelethil…not to mention our clanmates! They’re family too.

Eden: My friends are my family, too. Hawke, Fenris, Cole, Cassandra, Solas, Varric, Sera, Blackwall…the whole inner circle, really.

Interviewer: What about you, Hawke?

[Hawke jerks her head back up.] Oh, sorry. Well… [She coughs into her fist.] I have Fenris and my ducklings, and the Lavellans. That is…all.

9. Oh? How about any pets?

Melanthe: Too many.  There’s my palomino horse, I call him Corvo, Eden’s got a hart named Red Velvet, a halla named Evune, probably a dozen different birds, three hamsters aaaaand a rabbit on top of that-

Eden: In my defense, they were mostly rescues.

[Hawke points behind her with her thumb.] There’s an undead bog unicorn in the stables. And a giant nug. And as for me? My mabari Birch is all I need.

10. That’s cool, I guess. Now tell me something you don’t like.

[Hawke deadpans.] Red lyrium.

[Melanthe grimaces.] Oh, I feel you there.

Eden: Stuck-up ancient Tevinter morons who blow things up and then monologue villainously.

Melanthe: Oof, true! Also the Chantry. The Chantry can go- [She spews a long string of obscenities that just about rivals a sailor’s cursing.]

[Eden nods thoughtfully. Hawke’s eyes glint with mischief.] And the TEMPLARS as well, especially the ones who were in KIRKWALL working for MEREDITH-

[Cullen hollers from the next room.] I heard that, Hawke!

[Melanthe and Hawke high-five. Eden shakes her head.] Hawke didn’t mean you, ma atish’an.

Melanthe: Oh yes she did. [snickers]

11. Do you have any activities/hobbies that you like to do?

[Melanthe leans back in her chair, putting her legs on the table.] Stabbing. Drinking. Kissing Solas. Pranking everyone in Skyhold, the usual trouble.

Eden: Painting, reading, gardening. [A timid smile slowly spreads across her face.] Singing, or playing the harp.

Hawke: Now that you mention it… I write poetry, and sometimes turn them into songs. Journaling is also something I like, and pressing flowers, and-… [Her gaze strays to the wall.] Yeah, that’s about it.

12. Have you hurt anyone in any way before?

[The three women glance at each other, at the interviewer, then back to each other.]

Melanthe: Pfft. What kind of question is that?

[Eden toys with a bracelet.]

Hawke: Oh no, of course not.

13. Ever… killed anyone before?

[Hawke grabs a champagne glass from the end table next to her, and sips it.] Me? Never!

Melanthe: I heard you used the Arishok’s skull as a flowerpot.

[Hawke nearly spits her drink everywhere.] Who told you that?

[Melanthe simply winks at the interviewer.]

14. What kind of animal are you?

Hawke: A dragon. Guarding my treasure hoard~

[Melanthe wiggles her eyebrows.] A sssssslippery sssssssssnake!

Eden: Sorry sister, you’re more of a mountain goat. You’re everywhere you shouldn’t be and you consume an unholy amount of whatever food’s available.

Melanthe: She’s a barn owl. Or a cat, maybe?

15. Name your worst habits?

Hawke: Fenris says I’m a bit overprotective of my friends. Too loyal, too stubborn, too willing to risk my life for others, I “involve myself in the affairs of others” too much, or what have you. But I’ll let you in on a secret: I used to ignore the vast majority of the mail I got when I was a noblewoman of Kirkwall.

Eden: I stay up late reading fiction when I should be dealing with all my mail and- [she lowers her voice.] Sometimes I skip war meetings.

Melanthe: I run exclusively on caffeine and volatile emotions.

16. Do you look up to anyone at all?

Hawke: Eden.

Eden: Hawke.

Melanthe: Iron Bull, Cassandra, Blackwall, Cullen, Leliana, Josie, Tess, Feyrand, Krem, Sera, Solas, Vivienne, Cole, Dorian… [She grins wickedly.] But not you, sister. I’m still taller than you.

Eden: Not if I wear heels.

Melanthe: Not if I stand on Bull’s shoulders!

17. Are you gay, straight or bisexual?

Hawke: Mm, straight.

[Melanthe considers this a moment, then shrugs.]

Eden: Just because I have a boyfriend doesn’t mean I’m into…that.

18. Do you go to school?

Hawke: My parents taught me a lot.

Melanthe: Dalish don’t really have school.

19. Ever want to marry and have any kids one day?

Hawke: I’d like to, yes.

Eden: Marriage? Absolutely, but kids I’m not so sure of.

Melanthe: To be honest I haven’t thought about it. Too busy stabbing demons and undead and corrupted templars and whatnot.

20. Do you have any fangirls/fanboys?

Hawke: Do lovers count as fans?

Melanthe: HEY SOLAS! ARE YOU A FANBOY?

Solas, from the other room: Am I- what?

Melanthe: He’s a fan of the Fade. And me. But be serious, very few people in Skyhold AREN’T fans of me. [She winks.]

21. What are you most afraid of?

Eden: Spiders.

Hawke: Corrupted spiders.

Melanthe: Bears.

22. What do you usually wear?

Eden: Simple Dalish robes.

Hawke: I inherited a bloody awesome coat from my dad complete with belts, a bright red sash, and some shoulder armor. With bonus knee protection, because you can’t protect your knees enough.

Melanthe: I’ve got a sick coat, made of phoenix scales, ring velvet, Highever weave, with lazurite details. I’ve got other coats made of varghest scales, dragonling scales, and gurgut webbing.

23. What one food tempts you?

Melanthe: CHOCOLATE. What kind? Doesn’t matter, it’s MINE.

Hawke: Ham that tastes of despair is okay, but there’s enough despair in the world, and not enough lemon cheesecake.

Eden: …cinnamon rolls.

24. Am I annoying you?

Melanthe: Nope. I’ve got aaaall the time in the world.

Hawke: After all the people I’ve dealt with, it’ll take a lot more to be annoying.

Eden: You’re not a fussy Orlesian noble. You’re doing just fine.

25. Well, it’s still not over!

[Hawke gestures for the interviewer to continue.]

26. What class are you (low/middle/high)?

Hawke: I was an apostate, then a refugee apostate, then a noblewoman apostate, then the Champion of Kirkwall, and now I’m little more than a fugitive, so truth be told, I’m not sure.

Eden: a Dalish First turned Inquisitor. I…don’t…really know?

Melanthe: High class for fancy parties and fancy murders, low class at the tavern.

27. How many friends do you have?

Hawke: About ten.

[Melanthe snorts.] Um, almost a whole castle’s worth.

Eden: My inner circle, plus the ducklings, plus the animals… [She tries counting them, but loses track.] As many friends as I need.

28. What are your thoughts on pie?

Hawke and Melanthe, in unison: Lemon meringue is the best.

Melanthe: Chocolate is equal.

Eden: Pies of all kinds are good. I wish we had them more often.

29. Favourite drink?

Melanthe: Whiskey.

Hawke: That peach liqueur I used to buy in Hightown.

Eden: ….hot chocolate?

30. What’s your favourite place?

[Hawke smiles wistfully.] I have many, but the place I like best is wherever Fenris is.

Melanthe: Awww!!

Hawke: And somewhere we’re not being attacked all the time.

Melanthe: I’m rather fond of that little oasis in the Western Approach. And the Wounded Coast. Storm Coast was pretty, too.

Eden, softly: I liked the Emerald Graves.

31. Are you interested in anyone?

Melanthe: We’re all dating someone at the moment. And we told you that.

32. That was a stupid question…

Hawke: We all say dumb things sometimes.

Melanthe: Some people more often than others.

33. Would you rather swim in the lake or the ocean?

Hawke and Melanthe: Ocean.

Eden: Lake.

34. What’s your type?

Melanthe: Type of what? Blood? Weapons?

Eden: Preferred type of magic?

[Hawke tries not to laugh and fails.] Broody and sometimes glowing.

35. Any fetishes?

[Melanthe smiles brightly.] Stabbing demons.

Hawke: If you think you’re going to get an answer to that, think again.

[Eden squirms and twists her bracelet around her hand.] Next question, please.

36. Camping indoors or outdoors?

Melanthe: Wait….indoor camping is a thing? What is it with you shems and constantly coming up with new nonsense?

Hawke: Pillow or blanket forts, I think.

Eden: …..outdoors?

I stayed up SO MUCH LATER THAN I SHOULD HAVE writing this, but heck if it wasn’t awesome!

[faierius]

In His Shoes (24. Voices in the Dark)

Chapter Nineteen (Clouded Minds)

Chapter Twenty (Once, There was Happiness)

Chapter Twenty-One (Intermission with Intent)

Chapter Twenty-Two (Of No Consequence)

Chapter Twenty-Three (Loss of Self)

               “You want her to learn? You’ll take her with you.”

               “Commander, I don’t think—”

               “I don’t care what you think, Gelida. You’ve been letting her play around for nearly three years. Think of this as her exam. She survives, she’ll be official.”

               “What? She’s not ready yet!”

               “I’ve watched her. She’s ready. No more arguments, Gelida! Go help your squad prepare.”

               Stiff and formal, Timorea snapped off a salute. “Yes, sir!” Clenching his teeth, he turned on his heel and marched away. Fists tight at his sides, he swallowed hard and struggled to keep himself calm.

               “I don’t have time to deal with this right now,” he hissed to himself, ducking into a seldom-used room. The headache he had been nursing for days was steadily growing in intensity.

               A stabbing pain buckled his knees as he shut the door behind him. Clutching his head and squeezing his eyes shut, he breathed through the agony.  Explosions like fireworks colored his vision behind his eyelids and he cursed out loud.

               “Why must you torment me during the most inconvenient moments?” he demanded of the screaming in his skull. Sometimes this screaming left him with things he didn’t want. Things like snippets of conversations he never had, with people he never met, in places he never set foot. Sometimes when the screaming ebbed, he was left completely empty, devoid of everything but a seething black hatred.

               The hatred scared him more than anything. He couldn’t imagine existing on that singular emotion, yet a voice deep in his heart told him it was the real way of things. A voice which had been with him his entire life, always taunting, always waiting to strike when he was weakest. A voice he told no one about, not even the man who raised him.

               Timorea always believed the unwanted images and sounds were part of his enigmatic magic. Energy stolen for life given. His healing talents weren’t much, but one could not get something for nothing. If he took small fragments of memory in exchange for their health, so be it. But the darkness living buried in his chest had no such explanation.

               It took long moments for the pain to recede back to a dull roar. Long enough for his sister to come looking for him, only to find him in his less than presentable state. He didn’t hear her enter the room, only felt her blissfully coo hands on his cheeks. She whispered softly, shushing him though he wasn’t sure he even made noise.

               Finally able to open his eyes, he blinked against the dim light. He couldn’t speak just yet, his tongue thick in his mouth, and lips sticking together in their dryness.

               Eyoralin peered down at him, brow creased deeply in concern. “Your head again?” she asked, voice low and soft.

               Timorea made a clipped sound of agreement in his throat. Though he hadn’t told her the whole story, the headaches came too frequently in the last few years to flat out lie to his sister. The last one was a migraine so intense, he’d been bedridden for three days.

               “Should I call for a doctor?”

               “No,” he croaked, grabbing her wrist. “It’ll pass. Please, just sit with me a moment.” Closing his eyes again, he leaned his head back against the wall and sighed.

               Keeping her eyes locked on her brother, Eyoralin sank to the floor beside him. Hooking her arm around his shoulders, she tugged him against her side so he could rest his head against her. Idly petting his oiled hair, she watched him carefully.

               “Things are falling apart,” Timorea muttered, filling the long silence.

               “How so?” Eyoralin asked, tipping her head to try and meet his eyes.

               The man tried to cover his flinch with a shrug. “My plans for you,” he answered too quickly.

               “Dictating my life again, dear brother?” Eyoralin teased, poking the man.

               “Guiding, love. If I were dictating, do you think I would allow the ridiculous engagement party you’re throwing?”

               Eyoralin’s rich laugh vibrated through them as she placed a gentle kiss on his temple. “You have no choice, Timorea. Pops already approved. Besides, Beto is looking forward to it.”

               Timorea rolled his eyes. “Of course he is. The romantic sap.”

               “Yet who was the one to propose?”

               “It’s unkind to tease your sibling, love.”

               “In that case, you’re a sadist.”

               Lips curling into a smirk, Timorea put a fond hand on his sister’s belly as he sat up. “Yes, well, can’t let you get soft after I spent so long hardening you up.” He heaved a sigh, his expression slipping. “The Commander wants you on this training exercise. He’ll assess you and see if you’re fit to serve the Crown.”

               “Finally. I’ve only been doing this without pay for how long?”

               Timorea’s brow twitched at her tone. “Lyn, this is the worst time for this.”

               The woman narrowed her eyes. “You say that like I have no idea what’s going on in my own life.”

               “Clearly you don’t! If you did, you would do the smart thing and stay home.”

               Careful not to smudge her makeup, Eyoralin rubbed a hand over her face. “How many times do I need to repeat myself, Timorea? I’m pregnant, not an invalid.”

               “You think they’ll allow you to work right up to the day you give birth? I’m surprised Thanra is permitting this.”

               Eyoralin shook her head, chuckling disdainfully as she got to her feet. “I don’t even have the words to describe how idiotic you are.”

               “Pardon?”

               “All you need to know is I am quite capable of handling a little camping trip beyond the wall. I’ll reconsider my leave once I start to show. Honestly, try not to be too odd about it, please? Other than yourself, Thanra, and the staff at the clinic who performed the procedure, no one else even knows yet. We’d like to keep it that way for a while yet.”

               Timorea hummed his disapproval.

               “Now, shall we go give everyone else a hand? Everyone’s excited to leave the city for the first time.”

               The man huffed. “I’m not even sure why this is necessary. All sorts of terrain can be found within the Wall, and the Crownsguard are supposed to guard the Crown. Can’t do that when we’re nowhere near the royal family.”

               “Oh, quit sulking. Do you want your unit seeing you like this?” Eyoralin teased, opening the door.

               “Hush, you.”

               Grinning, she patted his cheek. “Head feeling better?”

               He nodded. “It’s tolerable for the moment.”

               “Glad to hear it. No time to nurse a headache when there’s orders to carry out. If it makes you feel any better, we aren’t being singled out for this training. From what I understand, it’s supposed to be a refresher for the entire staff.”

               “That is what the Commander told me, yes. We just get to be the first group.”

               “Well, we do have the younger members.”

               “Maybe so, but I can outperform most of the people here.”

               Eyoralin rolled her eyes. “Cut it out. You’re behaving like a petulant child.”

               “Am not.”

               She blinked at him.

               “I am simply stating facts.”

               “Well, stop stating facts and start acting like the leader you’re supposed to be.”

               Shaking his head, Timorea straightened his jacket and fell silently into step with his sister. The dark voice continued to sing its song, caged and muffled in the recesses of his heart. Only this time the negativity sounded more like a warning. One he should have heeded.

 ***

                Describing the feeling of nothing was not something Noctis’ mind could do. It could barely comprehend it. But that was what he was currently experiencing.  It was almost a dull numbness in his chest, spreading through his body. It sapped his energy, his thoughts, his emotions…He was neither content nor restless, simply floating in the vast nothingness. He wasn’t even sure he was breathing, or his heart was beating, or if his eyes were open. He simply…was.

               What he wasn’t, was alone.

               Millions, perhaps billions of other inhabited this nothing as well. He could sense them, feel them nearby, though he couldn’t see them. What a bizarre concept it was, to feel more of people or things he couldn’t see, than himself.

               “Ah, your grandfather would be ashamed to know his bloodlines ends in you.”

               Though Noctis knew he should have been startled by the sudden voice, the nothingness prevented it.

               “It’s a shame we have to meet like this, Highness, but my sister has her claws in you. She wants your sympathy. Not me. Oh, no. What I want, dear Prince Noctis, is your misery.”

               “Who are you?” Noctis managed to ask, his voice thick and deep to his ears.

               In a blink, a face appeared before him. The face flickered between human and not, features randomly taking on daemon properties before settling back into the more appealing face of a young man. His pale skin shone in the blackness surrounding him, and his curly red hair floated about his head like they were underwater.

               “You wound me, Highness. Former Crownsguard to King Mors, Timorea Gelida, at your service.” Now a full body, not just a floating head, Timorea bowed with a deep flourish. When he straightened again, a dark grin twisted his face.

               “Release us,” Noctis growled in his most commanding tone.

               Timorea’s sinister chuckle echoed around them. “Now, now, Highness. You hardly have a leg to stand on here, and I’m in the mood to play.”

               Noctis grit his teeth, shifting into a defensive stance. He barely registered he was once again in possession of his body as he extended his hand to summon his weapon. No weapon came.

               “Oh, how cute. You think you can defend yourself from me.” Timorea flicked his wrist toward Noctis and tilted his head to watch as though he were observing a particularly fascinating specimen.

               A sharp, intense cold washed over Noctis, beginning as a tiny pinprick in his heart. Violent shivering gripped his entire body and a red haze settled over his vision. With much difficulty, he lifted his hands to see branches of blood red frost crusting his skin.

               Noctis blinked, attempting to clear his eyes and Timorea appeared mere inches from his face. Reaching out, the man tilted Noctis’ chink with one finger.

               “Did you know if your heart stops in a dream, you cease to live in the waking world? Only this isn’t a dream, dear Prince. This is the Void. You’re in our playground, now.”

               Noctis’ scream was not contained by the nothingness of the Void.

[bestfriendforhire]

Entry 289

 “Do you know what the point of this is?” I asked.

 “The seisen, or holy war, is a traditional part of Slayer weddings in Japan.  The first time a Slayer chose his bride from Japan, he had admired the samurai and wanted to be further entertained by them, so all who opposed the wedding were to send their best warriors to face him.” explained Alma.

 “What about that makes it a holy war?” I asked.

 “He was whispered to be an evil demon even before the wedding, and he fought against many armies before the proceedings.” she replied.

 “Then why would anyone accept such an invitation?” I inquired.

 “Some were honor-bound.  Most weren’t even warned of what they’d be facing.  The ‘invitations’ came as warnings of a threat, requests for aid, and various other ruses.  The bride’s father was too terrified to refuse.  His own men had been slaughtered when he tried removing the Slayer from his lands.  Thousands of samurai died.  Since then, a ceremony came into being which romanticized the occasion by having the groom go through the numerous steps that my forebear took before his wedding.” she informed me.

 I frowned, wondering if there were any stories of the Slayers where they had been decent people.  Aaliyah’s giggles did nothing to belie my suspicion that there weren’t such stories

 “Relax, James.  No one has died during this display since that day, not that anyone’s gone through with the full ceremony in hundreds of years to my knowledge, but Izumi wouldn’t risk Jarod dying at this point.  I’m sure he won’t even be fighting that many people, and he doesn’t even seem fatigued from his earlier trials.” claimed Alma.

 I felt there was some doubt in her statement, as if she questioned its validity as well.  When ten men dressed in ceremonial-looking armor hustled onto the stage carrying hoko yari, I wasn’t remotely relieved by the sheen of their blades.  The weapons looked far too sharp for a mock battle.

 Jarod, however, looked completely calm, standing boldly with his arms at his sides.  Why didn’t he wear muramasa?  Was he not allowed a weapon?  The men pointed their polearms at Jarod as they started to approach.  As they stabbed at him in unison, he fell back onto his hands and kicked the polearms up and away from him just below their blades.  Then he flipped backward, landing on his feet again.

 The men, undaunted, started to circle him.  Jarod rushed one, dodged the thrust of the man’s polearm, snapped off the blade, and held it at the man’s throat before he could react.  As Jarod pulled the blade away, the man bowed and walked off the stage.  Surprisingly, Jarod was holding back his newfound speed.  

 The other nine seemed more wary now, slowly approaching in a tighter formation.  With a blade in hand, Jarod moved straight at them.  As the first one started to attack, Jarod knocked the weapon aside and quickly slid into the gap between it and the nearest polearm.  He stopped short of stabbing the second man’s chest while simultaneously kicking the back of the first man’s knee.  After a tiny pause, he maneuvered the weapon back at the first man’s throat.  He then flipped over an attack from a third man, kicked him to the ground and stabbed at a fourth.  The other half quickly followed suit.

 I was faster and stronger than Jarod even with the enhancement he now had, but I doubted I’d ever consider myself as dangerous.  Where I would have knocked men down repeatedly until they stopped fighting, Jarod quite clearly would have killed these men had he followed through with his attacks.

 Before the last two men had even left the stage, five more stepped onto it, drawing swords immediately.  As they charged Jarod, I was certain one of them wasn’t human.  He was too graceful, too at ease.  Jarod dodged the first attack, disarmed the man and sliced open the front of his armor while twisting the sword around to block two attacks.  A faint line of blood could be seen through the severed armor, but the wound didn’t look deep to me.

 Jarod then stepped over a blade aimed at his leg as he pushed the attackers back.  He slipped around one and brought the hilt of his sword into the man’s head.  The second attacker took another swing, but his wrist connected hard against the back of Jarod’s sword, breaking bone.

 The remaining two advanced, but Jarod made a slashing motion across the two injured men as if he was finishing them off.  He didn’t hesitate as he pushed the right man’s blade into the attack of the left one’s and stopped short of stabbing through the first man.  I then realized that Jarod had also noticed which of his opponents was strongest.  He had purposely been picking off his weaker opponents first.

 The last attacker pulled a tantō from his belt as he spun around his comrade, aiming the knife at Jarod’s waist as his sword came for Jarod’s head.  The tantō was moving faster than I believed a human was able to stab while the sword moved at a more believable pace.  I winced as Jarod used the arm of the man he stopped short of stabbing to block the tantō while slamming the back of his blade up into the attacker’s wrist.

 As another attack came with the tantō, Jarod twisted the man’s arm, broke it, and grabbed the tantō out of the air.  He continued under the man’s arm, tripping him and falling with him while moving the dagger to the back of the man’s throat.

 Unlike the others, the man didn’t bow and retreat after he stood; he attacked again, kicking at Jarod with inhuman speed.  Without hesitation, Jarod stabbed the tantō into the back of the man’s ankle while stepping forward and thrusting his sword through the man’s stomach.  I grimaced as the man yelled out in pain and fell.

 Without another glance at the man, Jarod left the weapons in him and walked to the edge of the stage.  After a bow, Jarod proceeded off, following a path away from where I could see.

 “I would consider that a decisive victory.” stated Alma.

 “Is that man going to die?” I asked.

 Alma quickly assured me “No, of course not.  Those are skilled physicians rushing to him.”

 At the same time, Aaliyah said, “Yes, but not today!”

 As thankful as I was that Jarod hadn’t killed anyone, I didn’t feel inclined to watch him fight again if anyone was foolish enough to force him into one.  Watching my best friend cold-heartedly injure others was unpleasant at best.  I couldn’t deny the efficiency of his method, but I could take no pleasure in the sight of anyone injured.

 “James, relax.  They’ll all be fine.” insisted Alma.

 “Sorry.  I will never understand why things have to be so brutal with your family.” I admitted.

 “I would hardly call this brutal, especially compared to that one.” she argued, pointing at Aaliyah.

 Aaliyah grinned in a most adorable fashion as she said, “I’m brutal!”

 “But what’s the point?” I asked.

 “You’re right.  My family should go back to playing chess with the lives of others, pitting army versus army to decide a victor.” teased Alma.

 “Not funny.  Aren’t there enough resources for people to live peacefully?” I suggested.

 Alma frowned and seemed to be considering how to answer.

 “This has to happen, boss-man, sir.  I promise to show you why relatively soon.” replied Aaliyah.

 “Are you admitting to scheming against my family?” asked Alma.

 “No.  I simply know which Slayer’s plan this is.  Everything will happen as it should.” insisted Aaliyah.

 Alma looked troubled by the statement, but I really didn’t get any of it.  What sort of person would think this is necessary and why would Aaliyah agree?  Would I ever really understand?

 Aaliyah tugged my sleeve and smiled again when I looked at her.  Then she said, “Yes, boss-man, sir.  Yes, you will.”