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mandospace · 4 years ago

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Use Me As You Wish (Din Djarin x Reader Smut)

Summary: Teasing Din is your favorite past time.

Word Count: 2,223

Warnings: SMUT! If you are under 18, do not interact! Hand jobs, oral (m receiving), heavy petting

A/N: Sorry if this is ass, but I wanted to put something out for you all before finals week! Hope you enjoy :)

MASTERLIST

You were in for it. Big time.

The entire day you had teased Din. Brushing up against him in close quarters. Purposefully dropping things in front of him so you would have to bend over to get them, displaying your ass. Teasing him under the table, hand rubbing higher and higher up his thigh as he waits for Karga in the dusty cantina on Nevarro.

“Stop,” Din growled, grabbing your wrist. The two of you were waiting in the booth nestled in the corner of the dark cantina for Karga to show up with more pucks. You had been waiting for half an hour already, and were getting bored. So you decided to play your favorite game: mess with Din.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you swirled the drink held in your other hand before bringing it to your lips. Din scoffed under his beskar helmet.

“Don’t play dumb, mesh’la,” he picked up your hand from his thigh and placed it to your side. “It’s not a good look on you.”

“Was I doing something wrong?” you batted your eyelashes at him and returned your hand to his thigh. Din’s breath hitched in his throat and you smiled.

“Don’t.” It was so easy to turn your battle-hardened bounty hunter into mush. All you had to do was give him a small smile and say the right things.

“It’s just,” you sighed, moving your hand farther up his thigh. Karga had entered the cantina, finally showing, and began to make his way towards the booth. “I don’t want to make you mad or upset.” Your hand trailed up his leg, inching closer with each word. “I want to make you happy. Will you let me make you happy?”

Your hand had reached its destination and you smirked when you felt how hard he was already.

“N-not now,” he groaned. Karga was only a few tables away. It would be so easy to just glance under the table and see you palming him.

“Let me make you feel good,” you smiled at Karga, waving at him with your free hand. He was only 10 feet away now.

“Mesh—” Din’s words were cut off by a choke when you squeezed his throbbing member just as Karga had made it to the table.

“Mando!” Karga’s voice carried throughout the entire cantina. “My favorite bounty hunter!”

Karga slid into the other side of the booth, setting down his belongings. “And look who came to see me! (Y/N), always a pleasure to see your beautiful face.”

“Likewise, Karga,” you smiled at the man all the while tracing the outline of Din’s cock through his pants. Din’s hand was curled into a fist above the table and his entire frame was tense. Karga took notice of the tense bounty hunter in front of him.

“Kriff, Mando. You need to learn how to relax or else you’ll be grayer than me. Assuming, y’know, you actually have hair.”

The voice modulator in his helmet had barely picked up the sound of him grinding his teeth.

“That’s what I’ve been telling him,” you patted his beskar-covered chest with your free hand and wiggled your hand under his trousers at the same time.

“See? You should listen to your girl.”

“Yes, you should listen to your girl,” your grin was brighter than the star the planet rotated around when you swiped your thumb over Din’s leaking head.

Din couldn’t help his knee from jerking up into the table when you did that.

“Whoah!” Karga scrambled for the pucks that rolled on the table top. He caught one just before it rolled onto the floor, where he surely would have seen your hand down Din’s pants when he bent over to pick it up.

Din gripped your wrist under the table, trying to stop your motions. You just continued your ministrations, loving how hot and hard he felt under your touch.

“Let’s just get this over with, I have to do a few things before we take off,” Din’s voice was strained as he tried to keep back his moans. “You have the three pucks for me?”

“Bah, you’re no fun,” Karga huffed and stacked the pucks in front of him. Before he could say another word, Din scooped up the pucks and removed your hand from his pants in one quick movement.

“I’ll be back with the quarries in three weeks,” Din stood and grabbed your hand, pulling you behind him.

“Bye Karga!” you waved before Din towed you out of the cantina.

As soon as the two of you were out and standing in the sunlight, Din picked you up and pushed off from the ground as his jet pack took flight. His grip on you was tight and you couldn’t help the smirk that formed on your lips. You had just played your favorite game and were victorious.

Now was the time to claim your prize.

Din didn’t bother to set you down when the two of you landed outside of the Crest. Instead, he just stomped his way into his ship. As the ramp came to a close, Din finally set you down on your feet only to push you backwards and crowd you against the nearest wall.

“What did you think you were doing, mesh’la?” his voice was deep and sultry, sending waves of heat down your spine with every word. His gloved hand cupped your jaw, tilting your head back so he could see your eyes twinkle in the low light of the hull. After a moment of silence, he squeezed your jaw, prompting your response.

“I was just trying to make you happy, Din.”

“Oh really?” he hummed, tracing his finger down the curve of your throat. “Because I think you were trying to distract me with all of your teasing.”

“Didn’t I make you feel good?” you ran your hand up his beskar-plated chest, coming to rest over the spot where his heart beats.

“That’s besides the point, sweet girl,” his finger continued their path down your torso, pausing to cup your breast and feel its weight in his palm. He gave it a little squeeze while his thumb brushed over your clothed nipple; eliciting a soft gasp from you. “Were you trying to get caught? Putting me in a compromising position while I was doing business with Karga?”

“No, I-“

“Because if I didn’t restrain myself, that whole cantina would have known what you were doing to me. Kriff, I was this close to taking you right then and there,” his hand gripped your waist, tugging you into his chest. He was a solid wall of beskar, but his armor wasn’t the only thing that was hard.

“Do you feel what you do to me, sweet girl?” he ground his hips into yours, pressing his hard cock against your stomach. “It would have been so easy for me to have just taken what I wanted in front of everyone there. Show everyone in that shitty cantina who you belonged to.”

His words were turning you on immensely. You couldn’t help but whimper out his name as you felt your body temperature rising.

“Oh? Is that what you wanted, sweet girl?” the smirk was evident in his voice.

The hand on your hip traveled further down your body, sneaking under the band of your trousers and into your panties. Your breath caught in your throat when his leather-clad fingers brushed through your wet folds.

“It is what you wanted,” Din crowded up against you even more and swirled his finger around the tight bundle of nerves. “Look at you, practically soaking wet for me.”

You couldn’t hold back your whimpers any longer.

“Din,” you gasped, hand gripping the beskar pauldron he wore. “Please.”

“I don’t know if you deserve it, mesh’la,” he slipped his hand from your pants, leaving you hanging. Your chest was heaving rapidly as you tried to catch your breath, only to be stolen moments later.

You could see your arousal staining Din’s leather gloves while he brought his fingers to the edge of his helmet. He tilted the helmet back, revealing only a sliver of his chin whilst he slipped his fingers underneath. The groan that Din made as he tasted your arousal was pure filth and filled with lust. You wanted to hear that sound for the rest of your days.

“Din, please, I’m sorry,” your hand shot out and grabbed his wrist just as he pulled them from under his helmet. You brought his hand to your cheek and pressed the warm leather against your soft skin. Turning, you placed sweet kisses to the palm of his hand. “Let me make it up to you. Let me make you feel good.”

Din stood there, silent for a few moments until he finally nodded his head. You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your lips as you sank to your knees.

His member was as hard as beskar and aching to be released from its confines. Your fingers fumbled with Din’s belt, trying to get his pants off as fast as you could. When the material finally gave way, his cock sprung free and the sight of it made your mouth water. It was long and hard, tip red and leaking with pre-cum. You kept your touch light as you traced up his cock, thumb circling his leaking head.

“No more teasing, mesh’la,” Din groaned in frustration. His helmet was tilted down to you as he watched you slowly stroke up and down his cock before you finally took his head in your mouth. He let out a hiss at the feeling of your warm mouth around him. You felt too good, too soft.

Din was big, bigger than most men you’ve been with in the past. But with every time you took him in your mouth, you got better at holding back your gag reflex as you let him slide down your throat. Din’s hips stuttered at the feeling of his head hitting the back of your throat, and the growl that tore through his chest was almost animalistic.

“Kriff, you feel so fucking good, sweet girl,” he panted when you pulled off him. You loved when Din praised you, it made you want to work harder for him.

His pants and moans grew steadier as you bobbed your head, taking him into your mouth at a fast pace. With every down stroke you flattened your tongue on the underside of him, and with every up stroke you hollowed your cheeks and sucked hard. Din’s hand was pressed flat against the wall of his ship, steadying him as he tried not to collapse from the pleasure you were giving him. On one particularly harsh suck, you held the head of him in your mouth and swirled your tongue around his tip while Din let out a roar of pleasure.

“Fuck, baby,” his hand came to rest at the back of your head, fingers twisting in your hair. “I-I’m not gonna last. P-pull off me before I co-ome in your mouth.”

Pulling off him, you continued to stroke his cock and shook your head. “No, Din. This is all about you. I want you to come down my throat. Use me as you wish.”

“F-fuck!” he growled, pulling you back onto his cock. The pace you set was fast and his grip in your hair tightened. Your fingers gripped his hips, pulling him into you to let him know it was okay to take over. Your nose nestled into the curly sprinkling of hair at the base of his cock and his hips started thrusting.

“Fuck, fuck, f-fuck!” Din shouted when he came down your throat, pumping his hot seed into your mouth. It began to spill past your lips and dribble down your chin, but you couldn’t care less. You loved taking care of your bounty hunter.

“Mesh’la... sweet, sweet girl,” Din mumbled in a lust-filled haze. His hand cradled your cheek, thumb brushing over your cheekbone while you held him in your mouth. Even though you couldn’t see past his helmet, the look Din gave you was filled with unending adoration.

Eventually Din pulled his soft cock from your mouth and pulled you to your feet. Your legs were wobbly from kneeling for so long, but you couldn’t care less when Din wrapped one strong arm around your waist and pulled you to him. His other hand remained on your face, lovingly caressing your cheek. His thumb dipped down to catch some of his cum that was dribbling from the corner of your mouth before pushing it past your lips and into your mouth. You lightly sucked on his thumb, humming around the digit while you licked it clean. He pulled his thumb away with a soft ‘pop.’

“Mesh’la,” Din sighed, dropping his forehead to yours in a Keldabe kiss. “You’re too good for me.”

“I know,” you teased and wrapped your arms around his neck. Before he pulled away, you quickly reached up and pressed a small kiss to his helmet, right where his lips were hidden underneath.

“Now it’s my turn to take care of you.”

“Later,” you placed another peck to his helmet before you pulled away. “We’ve got to get the ship on course for our next bounty.”

“Later it is, mesh’la.”

~~~~~~~

Mando’a Translations:

Mesh’la = beautiful

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peachtree-dish · 3 years ago

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A Te Che Sei Il Mío Grande Amore

Chapter 3: Senza che tu mi dica niente tutto si fa chiaro

Luglio 01, 1969

Luca’s birthday rolled around faster than anyone expected, the day arriving with clear skies and high temperatures. Luca awoke to his mother’s voice echoing through their home as she prepared breakfast. Stretching, the fifteen-year-old shook his nonna as gently as he could to wake her. She grumbled at his attempts and swatted at his claws.

“Nonna,” he sighed, shrugging with a smile and swimming into the kitchen to greet his parents. During his time in Porto Rosso, Luca enjoyed every moment he could swimming and spending as much time in the water since he couldn’t do as much in Genoa. He, along with Giulia and Signora Mia, had snuck to the shoreline in the early hours of the morning every few weeks or so just so Luca could refresh his scales and get the nutrients he needed. It was especially necessary when the temperature had become too cold and made him lethargic and ill. Luca shook his head softly, sending bubbles rippling above him in search of the surface. Signora Mia had been just as kind as Massimo, and just as headstrong in a lot of ways. He made a silent promise to call her with Giulia to make sure she was doing well, even if he were sure nothing could fell the infamous Mia Berni.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Daniella kissed Luca’s cheek and handed him a plate full of seaweed and fish flank on his way to the table. Returning the sentiment, the youth sat beside his father and informed his parents that grandma had decided to sleep in a little longer.

“Ugh, she does this every time. MA!” Daniella shouted in frustration, only to be startled by her own mother swimming around the corner.

“You’re being dramatic, dear. I only do it when I think it will annoy you.” The elderly sea monster smiled toothily at her disgruntled daughter who muttered, “Which is every day,” and finished setting the table.

“So, how does it feel to be another year older, son?” Lorenzo floated a piece of fish to his mouth and chewed animatedly, his gaze never leaving Luca’s. Luca shrugged in response and picked at the seafood drifting across the coral table.

“Not any different than last year, honestly. I still feel like I’m fourteen, so nothing special.” He slurped the seaweed into his mouth, much to his mother’s chagrin, and instantly missed the taste of pasta.

“Fifteen is a pretty big deal, though, you’re becoming a young man and that means changes and more responsibility.”

“I hardly think now is the time to discuss any of that at the table.” Luca’s grandmother scoffed before he could reply.

“What, it’s just the basics; Longer tail and fins, not to mention attracting the pretty lady gills, eh?” Lorenzo nudged Luca in the side who nearly choked on his food and spluttered white bubbles over the table, his scales flushing darkly.

“Lorenzo!” Danielle cried, her claws slapping the table in mortification.

“What? We were around his age when we met. If I remember correctly, you thought I was quite the catch.” He batted his eyes at her, pursing his lips teasingly.

“I was young and silly; I didn’t know any better.” Try as she might, Daniella couldn’t stop the smile that threatened to break her scowl. She busied herself by shredding the fish flank and wrapping it in seaweed. Undeterred, Lorenzo lifted from his chair and leaned in closer, trying to further fluster his wife.

“Yeah, maybe, but you still accepted my courting pearl after the Spring Swim Festival.” Lorenzo pulled a reluctant Daniella out of her chair and began to lead her around the room in spins and pivots, grinning madly as she shrieked with laughter. Luca watched with a mixture of amusement and confusion, his discomfort fading as he pushed the idea of ‘lady gills’ far from his mind. When he peered at his grandma, she appeared nonplussed and continued munching on her food although a genuine smile lifted her aging scales.

“You were skinnier and more handsome then, of course, she fell for you.” Lorenzo pouted at his mother-in-law and led both he and Daniella back to the table.

“I simply grew into my man body,” He emphasized his point by sticking his gut out even farther and patted it proudly. The table burst into laughter and Luca quickly finished eating after, his stomach nearly as full as his heart.

After he finished, he turned to his mother and asked, “Is it ok if I go visit Alberto and Giulia for the afternoon?”

Daniella conceded with a content nod, “Just don’t forget about our dinner tonight at Massimo’s, we don’t want you kids to be late.” Luca agreed cheerfully and kissed each family member on the cheek before swimming out the entrance.

“Hey!” Luca turned mid swim to see Daniella at the entrance. “I love you.”

“I love you too, ma!” Grinning, Luca took off, the water gliding past him as he made his way to the surface and his friends. As he leaped through the blue waves, he imagined he was like the superhero from the newspaper comics that Giulia and Mia both read. Pointing both fists forwards, Luca broke the surface with a whoop, water streaming behind him like a cape.

When he arrived at the Marcovaldo residence, the only beings there to greet them were Machiavelli and a few of his kits, each of whom wanted his attention and brief affection. Finding some of his spare clothes in the drawers of Alberto and Giulia's shared room, Luca quickly left the house and wandered the streets, eager to find his friends. Judging from the sun, he knew the morning fishing trip had come to an end not too long before which should mean Giulia, and Alberto was out delivering. Walking through the town square, Luca waved to a few of the patrons he recognized, mentally wincing as he remembered his first attempts at greeting Porto Rosso’s patrons. If anyone had been the stupidi, it had been them.

Chuckling as he went up the city’s hill, Luca caught sight of two familiar heads of curls along with two faces he was not expecting. Tensing at the sight of Guido and Ciccio, Luca prepared himself for a fight and made to run the rest of the way before he heard laughter. Guido was laughing at something Alberto had said and lightly touched his shoulder. Somehow, the movement was worse than if he had punched Alberto instead. A dark and ugly feeling reared its head within Luca’s belly, causing his face to burn and his hands to clench. Clenching his teeth, the young sea monster marched up the cobblestone pathways, intent on not showing his discomfort.

“Ciao,” he muttered shortly, arriving beside Alberto, and instantly causing Guido to lift his hand from Alberto’s shoulder. Giulia nodded hello from her seat on the bike as Alberto wrapped an arm around Luca’s shoulder.

“Oh, hey Luca,” Alberto cheered even more so upon seeing Luca. “You remember Guido and Ciccio, vero? I helped their families in the off-season while you were away.” Luca looked at the two teens who stood abashedly in front of him and offered his hand after a moment of hesitation.

“It’s good to see you both again,” Not, he thought as he shook the brunette’s hand. Ciccio spoke up, his round features coloring.

“We realize we never officially apologized to you before you left, si? We’re really sorry about last summer, Luca.”

“Si, Ciccio, and I were very foolish and ignoranti, we hope you can forgive us, and we can start again.” Guido smiled warmly, his gaze sincere. Taking a deep breath, Luca felt his earlier feeling of… whatever it was, fading away. If Alberto and Giulia both felt they could trust these boys again, then he could follow their lead.

“Lo apprezzo. I know being around Ercole wasn’t the easiest either, it’s all water under the bridge now anyway.” He smiled genuinely this time, heartened when the two ex-henchmen immediately relaxed.

“Bah, no lie, I’m so happy to be rid of that jerk,” Guido nodded at Ciccio who nodded and twisted his hands anxiously.

“He ate so much of my family’s bread,” Ciccio whispered horrified, his gaze wide. Giulia shared a weirded-out expression with Alberto who only shook his head.

“I didn’t know your family baked,” Luca interceded, ignoring his friends’ lack of subtlety Snapping back to the present, Ciccio grinned widely showing his perfectly white teeth.

“Oh, si, Pasticcini al sale Marino is the pride and joy of Porto Rosso and my family. Our baked goods bring customers from miles around; you should see the line of people who want to buy my mother’s Sfogliatella.” He leaned in conspiratorially to whisper, “My siblings and I have been helping since we were little, so only we know the recipe.” He puffed his round chest out proudly, only to be poked by both Alberto and Guido.

“Knowing a recipe and following it correctly are two different things, Ciccio. Your batter was not very good the last time you tried to make Bombolini.” Guido teased and Alberto nodded knowingly.

“I still don’t know how you mixed up salt and sugar,” the older sea monster screwed his face in disgust, remembering how the supposedly sweet treats and mistakenly been made with copious amounts of salt. “Seriously, Ciccio, even the ocean’s not as salty as those things were.” Ciccio pouted good-naturedly as the group laughed.

“It’s still not as bad as the time Guido set the auto garage on fire,” the blond argued mildly to which said boy grimaced.

“I thought we agreed to never speak of that again; I thought my papa was going to skin me alive.”

The teens chatted a bit more and Luca began to warm up to the two boys who had hurt him so much the past year. Perhaps, he reasoned, they had been good all along and had simply needed the chance to prove themselves.

Bidding Guido and Ciccio farewell, Luca joined Alberto and Giulia as they made the rounds. Luca asked a question that had been on his mind since arriving in Porto Rosso.

“So, whatever happened to Ercole? I haven’t seen him since we’ve been in town.” Alberto placed the cash from his previous sale into the leather pouch of the cart before answering.

“Honestly, the guy kind of disappeared after the race. I think he was embarrassed enough to keep his head low for a while, but other than that, I’m not sure. Maybe he left?” Giulia thought for a moment, her gaze focused on the road ahead.

“Maybe, I don’t think he went away to university, but he could have. His family is really wealthy, so they could afford it no matter the grades he got.”

Luca kicked a pebble, his thoughts skipping back to that one word: university.

“What’s the point of grades anyway, doesn’t that, like, stress you out more?” Alberto mused.

“It certainly does for me,” Giulia huffed. She bid Buongiorno to a young mother who bought the last of their fish and both Luca and Alberto filled the empty space as they headed back down the hill.

“I think it’s mostly competition, to see who really wants to be an academico or no,” she contemplated. “Sometimes if you have really good grades, the universities will pay you to study in their schools. That happened to mama when she moved to Genoa.” Alberto winced slightly at the mention of Giulia’s mother, the story of her separation from Massimo fresh in his memory.

“I wonder if I was good enough, they’d do that for me?” Luca hummed, his eyes following the drains that spread across each building they passed.

“Well, duh, they’d be stupid not to; you’re better than good enough right now,” Alberto bumped his shoulder with a smile. Luca blushed and tossed his friend a grin.

“Hey, happy birthday by the way. It’s about time you got to my age,” the older boy winked and wrapped his arm around Luca again, causing Luca’s skin to hum with energy.

“Oh, yeah! Are you excited for tonight?” Giulia asked over her shoulder.

“Thanks, you guys, really,” Luca felt warmer with Alberto’s arm around him, and he was sure it had nothing to do with the afternoon sun. He wondered briefly if said boy could feel how hard his heart was pounding. “Should I be excited, I thought we were just having dinner?” Luca asked, brow furrowing in confusion. He twisted around to face Giulia as she pulled into the plaza and made her way towards the small coastal home. Alberto lifted his arm when Luca turned away, causing him to feel its loss.

Giulia glanced at him and grinned excitedly. “Papa saved some fireworks from the Festa Della Repubblica since we were in Genoa, and he wants to set them off for tonight.” Luca gasped and jumped in his seat.

“Santa mozzarella! Are you serious?!” He shared an animated glance with Alberto who smiled as he hopped off the cart.

“Of course! I mentioned to him how much you had enjoyed the fireworks during Vigilia di Capodanno last December. He decided that would be his gift to you this year.” Giulia locked the bike and carried their bag of earnings inside, the two boys following after her.

Inside they found Massimo at his stove, his presence filling up the majority of the room. He turned to greet them as they entered, placing a kiss upon Giulia’s curly head.

“Buon cumpleanno, Luca. May you live to see many more,” Massimo rumbled fondly, patting Luca on his checkered shoulder. Luca returned the sentiment and wrapped a short hug around the large man, his arms too small to wrap fully around him.

“Grazie, Massimo. For your wishes and for your surprise gift,” Luca pulled away while Massimo smiled happily, his eyes disappearing behind his bushy eyebrows.

“Giulia,” Massimo chided lightly, turning to his daughter who was counting out money, “I thought we agreed to keep it a secret until after dinner?” Giulia smiled apologetically.

“Scusa, papa, we were just too excited,” She and Alberto began counting the coins on the table while Massimo ushered Luca over to the stove.

“Come, Luca, you will help me prepare dinner,” Massimo handed him a bag of clams and ordered him to wash them thoroughly in the sink. Luca would be the first to admit he was not a cook, but Massimo was gentle in his orders and easily guided Luca in making a perfect pasta dinner.

Once the Paguro family arrived along with Ciccio and Guido, once again to Luca’s surprise, the night was filled with much laughter and filling food. The linguine pasta alle vongole was instantly a hit and paired nicely with the red wine Ciccio had brought on behalf of his family. To the teens’ disappointment, the adults were adamant that they were still too young for alcohol. At one moment, Lorenzo laughed so hard, he inhaled his pasta and sent part of it into his nose much to the delight of the children. After dinner, the group trouped outside with fireworks and dessert in hand. While Massimo and Lorenzo set up the fireworks near the edge of the waterline, Daniella, Giulia, and Ciccio helped serve gelato and watermelon.

With a happy sigh, Alberto nestled himself into the sand alongside Luca, happily chewing on the red-fleshed fruit. Luca’s eyelids were drooping as his body felt full and warm, accompanied by his own friend’s radiating heat. His gaze lingered as Alberto licked gelato from his lips, the cream dripping from the corner of his mouth. Forcing his eyes to look anywhere else, Luca shifted closer to Alberto. Instead, his gaze landed on his father asking animatedly about the fireworks in Massimo’s hand, the larger man looking both confused and entertained by Lorenzo’s energy.

“I know I already said it, but happy birthday,” Luca dragged his eyes back to the tanned boy next to him and smiled. He jumped slightly at the first explosion, watching in delight as the light of the fireworks made his friend’s skin glisten with multicolored hues.

“Thank you for sharing it with me,” He replied easily. Neither made comment as their arms brushed or as their hands splayed out behind them with barely any space between. Up above the merry group, bright color after bright color bloomed across a starlit sky, the stars twinkling their own delight.

#luca #pixar luca #luca fanfiction #alberto scorfano #disney #alberto x luca #giulia marcovaldo #luca 2021 #luca x alberto #my fic tag #my favorite siblings #my fish bois #mutual pining #queer fanfiction #massimo marcovaldo #Daniella Paguro #lorenzo paguro #found family #a te che sei il mio grande amore

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aquanology · 3 years ago

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SHE LI ANALYSIS CAUSE I CAN!!! (THANKS FOR 50+ FOLLOWERS AND NO THERE'S NOTHING MISSING IN HERE ITS 50+)

Yo so I've reached 50 followers a long while ago and I wanted to do something big but I hesitated and didn't know what to do...I thought a lot about it and it's here. The long awaited She li analysis, I was waiting for the new chapter so I can make this. Anyways I hope you enjoy it (or maybe not?)

So from far away people wo see She li as a Bully Mo and when they learn that his family posses good amounts of money, everyone would see him as a rich brat and I wouldn't blame them, Though that's not all there's to it. it's much deeper and yes I have 5000 IQ how did you know?

Now his childhood wasn't that great looking at how he was surrounded by maids and not his parents most of the time, mostly because they were busy working and when they weren't busy doing work they would be busy arguing about things that little She li didn't know much about.

It was pretty lonely even if people would surround him be it the maids, the other adults or even other kids he wasn't getting the attention of his parents. He might've thought that he wasn't important enough for his parents to spare a moment or two to spend time with him or atleast for his parents to look at his way. He hated their noisy fights and so, like any kid who didn't want to listen to his parent's loud arguments!that might've seemed like a broken record for him at the time, he would go outside to distracte himself. I don't know how many times he had to do this to ignore the pain that his parent's loud fighting has been causing to him, and I don't know how long he spent his time doing that (probably as long as the fighting continued) but I'm pretty sure that what we saw from She Li's flashback wasn't his first time doing so. And I'm sure he was trying to inflict physical pain so he can forgot the mental pain. At that point little She Li might've felt a bit...empty because no one really seemed to genuinely care for him or spend time with him and he didn't seem to have a special relationship with anyone either, he might've felt like he wasn't a human because of all of that.... he might've been sad and angry that he can't experience love and affection perhaps he thought that it's his fault for feeling down all the time, when in reality it was his parents fault for not using the spare time they have for providing She Li with affection and quality time instead of arguing most of the time. I'm sure he felt less of person because he didn't get what he really needed as a kid. But little did She Li know that he will feel less of human the next time his parents argue loudly.

That had started with the routine of his parents fighting and She Li looking for something to distract himself with, he ended up digging for worms and I suspect that he did that for a long while that day in which might've explain the bleeding. Later on he got diagnosed with Guillain-Barre' (Ghee-Yan Bah-Yan) syndrome this syndrome is a autoimmune type, in which a persons own immune system damages the nerves causing muscle weakness or paralysis, it can cause symptoms that last from few weeks to several years however most people recover fully while some have permanent nerve damage.

His thoughts were seemingly messy I wouldn't blame him if he still thought that his parents didn't care about him, I mean it was kind of their fault for not asking about what he does when playing outside or with whom, or for the least bit leaving a maid or two to check on him from time to time. But it was that day when he met a certain person in that hospital.

It was Mo Guan Shan that he saw at the hospital. A kid who was capable of feeling pain both physical and mental, not only that but he has a caring mother who seemed to care about her kid. At that moment She Li must've felt envious, a kid whom he didn't know had everything that She li didn't, he had the ability to feel pain and suffer and on top of that he had someone who cared about him who loved him and gave him attention when he needed it the most.

Perhaps She Li thinks that if Mo Guan Shan would become a happier and a healthier person then he would be superior to She Li, because then he would have something that is far away from She Li's reach and capability.

That's why he keeps on hurting Mo over and over again whenever Mo is feeling better or even worse. Maybe She li feels superior or on the same level as Mo when he stops him from feeling truly happy and at peace with his loved ones. As if only then the gap will become bigger than it was before. Because She Li thinks that he won't be able to be the same as Mo is, I mean he might get his syndrome treated and he might be able to feel the pain (both physical and mental) but She Li isn't sure of he can actually be truly loved or if he will be capable of loving and making someone as happy. And that is why he says things like this:

Of course it's not only to make Mo feel bad (cuz like no would want to be told that they are the same as She Li is) but to also make himself feel like they are the same (be it on the same level or the same type of people) when they are not.

I do think that She Li admires Mo for how human he is and he doesn't want him to be anymore of a human he wants Mo to be the same as him, someone who can't have anyone care about him, someone who might numb out and stop being a human for their own desires and someone who can be as hurt and heartless as She Li is regarding that he is hurt inside. I also think that She Li and He tian are similar I mean both of them were not met with love and affection from their family except He Cheng tried to rub the illusion of their fathers love on He tian, though it didn't work quite well. A relationship where you have to sacrifice everything to receive approval isn't and wouldn't be ideal from He tain's perspective, as well as She Li never talk about how he felt (he most likely didn't) the pain that he got from his parents inability to raise him properly like other parents do (by loving him and spending some time with him). However I'm not blaming everything on his parents they had their reasons yet that doesn't mean that it's justified to argue outloud most of the time and pay less attention for your kid than you with your job and arguments. Also I want to make that this post isn't here to justify She Li's bad actions against other people but to just look at him as something other than a snake, to look at him as a human and to hold accountable are both as important as the other is, and I don't want She Li to just have his actions bite him back but to also learn how bad his actions are. I want him to know very well that he hurt others and I want him to feel guilty and I want him to change, remember staying ignorant can not only hurt him but everyone else but learning where he made mistakes and holding himself accountable can help everyone not only the people hurt by him, us too will highly benefit.

⊙⊙⊙⊙⊙⊙⊙⊙⊙⊙⊙⊙⊙⊙⊙⊙⊙⊙⊙⊙⊙⊙⊙⊙⊙⊙⊙⊙⊙⊙⊙⊙⊙⊙

Hey so this is me- the present me since I don't do this all in one day (cuz I'm a lazy person) so I hope ypu enjoyed this analysis and I hope I made it clear enough that this isn't for justifieing She Li's actions but an attempt to try and understand him. Also I'm sorry cuz I made a post a long while ago about She li and I though he had a different illness than the one in the manhua and I linked a website for that illness, however I deleted the post and I apologize for the big mistake...

This is the link for She Li's actual syndrome if you want to know more about it.

Anyways this was my "Why is She Li a bitch" post- wait, shit this the wrong script...welp can't change it now I guess. Again thank you for 50+ followers stay healthy and don't be a bitch like She Li.

#19 days #She Li analysis #Thank you for 50+ followers❤#this was long I'm sorry #does anyone even bother reading tags or is it just me who does so #be careful of snakes #Mo Guan Shan #He Tian #She Li's parents cuz I mentioned them in the entirety of this post

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insomniamamma · 4 years ago

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"Ferris Wheels Are For Old People" Ezra x f!reader w/Cee

A/N: for the Writer Wednesday prompt. @autumnleaves1991-blog I do shift work so I’m a little late to this party. Here’s hoping it’s still Wednesday somewhere. Reader, Ezra and Cee go to the state fair.

Warnings:vague mentions of past trauma. Contemporary AU. AU in which Cee is Ezra's niece. Loads of fluff

"And what, pray tell, is that monstrosity?" "Funnel cake," you say around a piping hot mouthful. Ezra narrows his eyes at you. "It's red." he says, "Cee, have ever heard of such a thing?" Cee mumbles something through a large mouthful of her own rapidly disappearing funnel cake. "Heh. I thought not." "It's red velvet funnel cake and it's delicious." You tear off a piece and offer it, "You want some? What? You're some sort of funnel cake purist?" "Purist isn't the word--" Before he can say more you pop the sweet hunk of fried dough in his mouth. "Mmm. Okay," he says, "I admit this is better than I expected. However," he grins, corners of his eyes crinkling, "I cannot fully cement my opinion of red velvet funnel cake without sampling another piece."

You break off another chunk and boop him on the nose with it before delivering it to his waiting mouth, leaving a bright splat of powdered sugar.

"God, you guys are gross," says Cee, her own face smeared with sugar, "You're like teenagers."

"You fall into that category yourself, Little Bird," "Yeah, but you guys are like high school kids," says Cee, "The ones that sneak behind the bleachers to suck face and smoke during the football games." Ezra flusters and you giggle. He's still new to the whole parent thing and it shows sometimes. "C'mon guys!" says Cee, tucking the last bit of funnel cake into her mouth, "I wanna go see the cows!"

Cee wants to explore every bit of the fair. The big tents of livestock in pens waiting to compete, cows and horses and sheep. "The sheep actually say bah! I always thought that was just how people wrote it," Cee's smile is huge, "Like a watchucallit--ono--omot--" "Onomatopoeia," says Ezra. "Yeah! One of those! But they actually sound like little old men saying 'bah' like bah humbug you know?" You smile. It's good to see her like this. To see them like this. You knew Ezra before the accident of course. He lived in the ramshackle cape cod across the street. You saw him all the time, puttering around his garden, sitting on his porch reading with a beer bottle sweating, forgotten beside him. He jumped your car when the battery crapped out. You brought him tomato plants after starting way more than you needed. You had keys to each other's houses just in case. After the accident, you mowed his lawn when the weeds got too extravagant, picked up his mail. You'd heard about the accident long before Ezra came home missing an arm and with his teenage niece in his care. People talk in small towns. Drunk driver. Damndest thing. Wrong way on the highway. Could have happened to anyone. Damon had been killed instantly. That much you knew from the gossip. You didn't ask for more details. Over the past year you'd watched Cee creep out of her shell and start living in the world again, but right after, she'd buried herself in her books and music and hardly spoke two words to anyone. "I love that little girl with my whole heart," he'd told you once, the two of you sitting on his front porch drinking beers and watching bugs suicide into the zapper, "I just hope I'm doing right by her." You reached for him, laced your fingers with his like you'd done it a million times and squeezed. "She'll be okay. So will you."

"Where does she put it all?" You marvel as Cee tucks into an order of deep fried dill pickles slathered in ranch dressing. Cee has made it her business to eat her way from one end of the midway to the other. You tapped out after a funnel cake, deep fried corn-on-the cob on a stick and a pile of shoestring fries the size of your head, but somehow Cee keeps going. She's had corn dogs, chicken and waffles on a stick, deep fried jelly beans. "It's that teenage growth spurt," says Ezra, "For her slight frame, her appetite is most impressive. You would not believe how much milk I go through in a week." You poke him in the ribs. "I've helped you unload your groceries," you say, "I have some idea." He smiles at you in the fading light.

As the sun sinks, the atmosphere of the fair shifts. The ag exhibits start to shut down for the night, and the lights of the rides grow bright against the pink smeared sky. The sky at night in summer feels bigger than usual, wider somehow. Heat radiates up from the pavement instead of down from the sky and the wind picks up just a little, occasional breezes that feel like a lover's caress. You don't know at what point you and Ezra started holding hands, unsure of who found who first, your fingers intertwined feels like the most natural thing in the world as the two of you trail Cee around the midway.

"I wanna go on that one!" says Cee, pointing to what looks like an electric pirate ship swinging back and forth by its mast. You can feel the red velvet funnel cake and all the other stupid stuff you ate doing barrel rolls in your stomach. "I will throw up," you say. "How about the Ferris wheel?," says Ezra, "It's the biggest one in the state." Cee rolls her eyes. "Ferris wheels are for old people," she says. Ezra fumbles an accordion of folded tickets out of his pocket. "Here," he says, "Take what you need to ride that vomit inducer. Those of us who cling to sanity will ride the Ferris wheel instead." "Sweet!" says Cee, taking her share of the tickets. "You meet us right back here," Ezra hollers at her retreating back.

The safety bar clanks home and Ezra smiles at you. You grip the bar hard. You don't mean to, but Ezra sees. Ezra always sees. "You okay?" "Yeah. I'm okay." You say, "This goes pretty high." He wraps his arm around you as the wheel starts turning. The upper arc of the wheel is high enough that the screams from the other rides seem lesser, you can see the whole of the fairgrounds spread before you, the food trucks and games, the shimmering arcs of the roller coaster, little kids shrieking their way down the giant slide, even the slow trail of the sky-car beneath you. Your chest tightens some, but you feel Ezra's warmth beside you, the weight of his good arm across your shoulders. The car lurches to a stop and swings, and you grab onto Ezra, and he laughs. "Ezra--" “It's supposed to do this, love," he says, "This point in the ride, they stop the cars so the riders can take in the view. The moon's up, see?" And you do see, the sharp crescent moon slicing over the dark treetops. "Love?" "I'm sorry," he stammers, and you can feel him winding up for some long-winded apology. You reach for him, cupping his stubbly cheek and drawing him to you. You press your lips to his and he returns this kiss, slow and soft and sweet as the wheel resumes its spin. He tastes like powdered sugar.

#writer wednesday #autumnleaves1991-blog #Ezra x f!reader #ezra and cee

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bookstantrash · 4 years ago

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A/N: Just saw that I hit 200 followers! I didn’t expect that even in my wildest dreams, so thank you so much for those of you who follow me, like/retweet my posts!! 🥰

Thanks aside, enjoy this chapter! I ended up not making it as angst as I intended it to be, so lucky you!

In which she makes a friend, Part Eight

Cassian’s headache was going to kill him.

The past week had been exhausting. Azriel had left only a day ago, leaving Cassian with more work and more troubled thoughts regarding the advance of the rebels.

At least now he had something to occupy his time during his sleepless nights, preferring to work instead of simply staring at his bedroom’s wall until the first rays of sunrise appeared.

Cassian was also worried about Kaelin. The young Illyrian had dismissed Nesta’s worried look, simply stating that his hair had been bothering him and that a few bruises were common. He had only been unfortunate enough to receive most of the blows on his face.

Both Cassian and Azriel had confirmed Kaelin’s words, but he had caught Nesta whispering with the young Illyrian when they thought nobody was looking, and Cassian was starting to get worried that Kaelin was hiding something.

Nesta also occupied his thoughts. Now more than ever.

Although she had actually sided with Azriel, both messing with him non stop — Azriel’s dark humour having surprisingly matched perfectly with Nesta’s ironic one — Cassian would see how she sometimes appeared to be lost in thought, becoming a little quieter once in a while, no doubt with her mind busy with Kaelin.

Cassian had to discover what was happening. He had to make sure that Nesta’s rare and easy smiles — even the way her stormy blue eyes softened more than less nowadays — would not disappear. She deserved all the happiness in the world. As did Kaelin.

But first, he had to rid himself of the nasty headache that had been bothering him all day.

“Now I know why Azriel rubs his temple so often” Cassian thought as he made his way for the healers tents, rubbing his own temple in a vain attempt to ease the pounding inside his head.

As he walked further into the tent, the smell of different herbs assaulted him, and Cassian took a deep breath, an expecting scent he could not name laying a blanket of calmness over him, easing his pain.

“Somebody give me some salt! An evil spirit has arrived!” Cassian heard a familiar grumpy voice shout.

“I missed you too Esmée” he said, stopping near the table where the matron of the healers appeared to be making a complicate looking potion.

“Bah, missed me! You missed coming here and charming my healers to give you extra bandages to wrap your fists, that’s what happened” Esmée replied, snorting.

“You usually need to wrap your hands or else they’ll get hurt even more. Am I wrong ladies?” Cassian playfully said, winking at one of the healers, who blushed.

“Hurt hands!! As if!” Esmée indignantly exclaimed “You are one vain warrior who does it for the aesthetics in four out of five cases!”

“And stop flirting with my healers! You’re distracting them!” she added, hitting him on the head with the small wooden stick she used to grind the herbs.

Cassian gave a surprised yelp, earning giggles from the healers.

“Great, now I’ll have a pump in the morning along with a headache” he thought, massaging his head.

“Esmée” Cassian charmingly tried, giving the old female his best puppy eyes “Uyara of the healers”

“Flattery will not get you anywhere kunumim” she huffed, but Cassian could see her eyes shining with secret delight.

Uyara meant Lady, owner and even dominant in the Illyrian tong. And Cassian may use flattery, but he was no liar while doing it. Esmée was the best healer the Illyrians had. She knew secrets long lost, passed only from matron to matron of camp. And her abilities were just as legendary. She truly was the Lady of the Healers.

“This time I did not come here to ask for bandages” Cassian said “I was wondering if you had any herbs for headaches. Mine is killing me”

Esmée surprised Cassian by raising her hands and cupping his cheeks, bringing his face down so she could inspect it.

“You have dark shadows under your eyes. Your eyes are tired, and you are a little anaemic” the old healer’s voice got unusually soft, maternal concern lacing it “You work too much. Have you been having trouble sleeping kunumim?”

Cassian felt his chest tighten a bit at Esmée’s words.

It had been a long time since someone had noticed how tired he felt beneath his happy facade. Since someone had cared to stop and really look at him.

Cassian loved his family. But even around them he felt the need to keep up the appearances.

He had to be the funny one. The one always there to make sure everyone was happy and comfortable.

Cassian sometimes wanted to scream. Wanted to cry and complain.

Wanted someone to hug him and let him slip his mask off.

Wanted someone who loved him enough to hear his troubles.

But Cassian could not afford to be selfish right now.

He had a camp to take care of.

“I’m fine Uyara” smiling weakly, Cassian gently took her hands off his face, squeezing them in reassurance.

Esmée clicked her tong in annoyance, her mean and grumpy attitude back in an instant, as if she was not worried at all about him.

“Lucky for you,” Esmée said, motioning for him to follow her to the back of the tent “we have recently made some painkiller tonics”

Her next words, however, got lost when Cassian smelled that calming scent again.

Closer now, he could clearly smell lavender and vanilla, a familiar scent.

And that’s when he saw her.

Nesta, an apron tied over her dark green dress, her sleeves pushed back — Cassian caught himself staring at her bare forearms and resisting the urge to run his fingertips softly against her milky skin — and brows knotted in concentration while she filled some vials.

“Nesta, grab two of those vials and pack them for this headstrong Commander”

At Esmée’s words, Nesta raised her head and looked in their direction, stormy blue eyes widening slightly when she spotted Cassian beside the healer.

“So this is where she disappears to everyday after lunch”

Nesta quickly recomposed herself, effortlessly filling the small glass flasks and placing them in a little pouch, Cassian not taking his eyes off of her for a single moment.

Esmée huffed in approval, but when Nesta tried to hand it to her, the healer refused it.

“You also need to rest. You think I did not see you dozing off? Or the way you were blinking heavily while mixing the herbs?”

Cassian’s attention peaked at that, and he noticed the shadows underneath Nesta’s eyes. They were faint, fainter than his, but they were still there.

“I’m fine Esmée” Nesta strongly argued, not backing off.

“You’re off duties until you’ve had some sleep and that’s final” the matron replied “What’s the problem with you two and not sleeping? It’s not as if you don’t have a bed”

And before they even knew what had happened, Esmée had ripped the apron from around Nesta’s waist, threw her coat and banned them from the tent.

“If that overexcited pitanga appears I’ll let him know that you already left with the Commander” with this last warning, Esmée left them outside, both a little lost.

Nesta was the first one to recompose herself. She wore her coat and started walking back to the cabin, not waiting to see if Cassian was following her.

Which he obviously was, effortlessly catching up to her given his long strides.

“You seem to be very fond of walking” he tried, casting her a side glance.

“I have no wings” she snorted “How else am I supposed to get anywhere then?

“Is that an invitation to fly with me Ness?” Cassian said, half joking and half expectant of her answer.

He would not lie and say the opportunity to hold her close to him did not tempt him. And he would not lie further by saying he had not been dying to show her how beautiful Illyria could be from above.

“No” she swiftly cut his offer down, staring straight ahead.

“It’ll be fun” he tried again.

“What’s so fun about making someone sick?” Nesta snapped, and Cassian remembered the last time she had flown.

How Rhysand had purposely flew faster than she could possibly stomach, no doubt a petty move from his side.

“I would fly very slowly” he tentatively said “And not even that high”

Cassian only received silence in answer, but he could tell from the way Nesta was pursing her lips that she was tempted to say yes.

“It is faster this way” Cassian added.

“Fine,” Nesta finally answered, a hint of annoyance in her voice “but one smart trick from you and you’ll wake up with burnt eyebrows tomorrow”

“I wouldn’t dare and try to make Your Highness uncomfortable”

They stopped walking, Cassian hesitating to take the first step and embrace Nesta.

The same could not be said about her, however, who boldly got close to him.

“So? Are we going or not?”

“Eager aren’t we sweetheart” Cassian gathered her on his arms, Nesta lacing her own around his shoulders “If I knew you were so desperate to hold me I would have brought this ideia up sooner”

Before she could throw a barbed reply his way, Cassian opened his wings and shot to the sky, feeling Nesta tighten her hold and bury her head on his shoulder.

Siphons flashing, Cassian pulled a shield over them, the air that high up being colder, specially when autumn was nearing its end.

He may or may not have taken the opportunity to discreetly take a better look at Nesta.

At the way the few strands of her hair had escaped her braid, tickling his cheek as they were blew by the wind.

At the way she got braver and raised her head a little, her blue eyes the colour of the cloud free sky and sparkling with wonder.

“It’s beautiful” and Nesta’s voice was so soft, so full of wonder, that Cassian imagined if that was how she had been before the war. When she was human and all she wanted was to keep Elain happy and travel the world.

“It is”

But he was not looking at the view.

Was not looking at how the sun sparkled against the shiny peeks of the mountains, how the vast green forest beneath them looked like a gigantic carpet laid over Illyria.

Cassian was looking at the female on his arms, savouring every precious second of the moment and thanking the gods he had promised to fly slowly, just so he could hold Nesta longer.

Letting her go once they were back on the ground was one of the hardest things he had ever done, missing her warmth and her jasmine and vanilla scent as if he was missing one of his own limbs.

He hoped he affected her the same way she affected him.

Hoped she felt even a minuscule fragment of what he felt for her.

Hoped he had not misunderstood the way she too seemed to regret letting him go.

~•~

Cassian didn’t even have to take the medicine for his headache, that annoying pounding having disappeared mid flight.

Nesta Archeron, he decided, was the best medicine he could have.

And it seemed that luck was finally on his side, for when they had arrived and Cassian asked her if she’d like to eat something, Nesta surprisingly said yes, going as far as to put the kettle on the stove to boil some water for tea.

Feeling bashful and enjoying his luck, Cassian attempted to make some small talk with Nesta, asking her about her day, what she liked about learning to be a healer, what she thought about Esmée.

He had been scared she’d shut him out, but she answered his questions with no problem, asking him some in return.

Cassian’s day had started awful but seemed to be walking towards being the best he’d ever had, specially when he appeared in living room after a warm bath and spotted Nesta, once again sitting comfortably on the couch — one of her new books laid on her lap — hair in a simple braid and wearing that mouth watering leggings, combined with a white tunic that drew attention to her eyes.

The fireplace was, as usual, empty.

Cassian could not understand how Nesta managed to make do with only fur blankets, specially now that winter was fast approaching.

“The fireplace.... why don’t you like to light it?”

That caught Nesta’s attention, and he saw how she flinched.

Dangerous. It was a dangerous ground that he was walking on.

They had only talked about futilities so far. But to ask her something so personal, something he suspected was related to the war and her traumas...

He didn’t want to see her back to the dark and empty place she used to go when she had first arrived, eyes faraway and empty.

“You don’t have to answer that if you’re not comfortable, but I’m... worried” Cassian flapped his wings a little, an evident sign of his anxiousness “Winter in Illyria is ruthless”

“It was no different from when I was human” Nesta snapped, but her voice had a slight tremble to it.

“It is. And you...we won’t be able to go through it if we don’t have a fire burning” he walked towards the sofa, daring to sit down beside Nesta, but holding himself back from touching her hand, which clutched the hardcover of the book “Even the wards and walls here are not enough to keep the cold away. Winter at Illyria won’t be like winter in the human land. Or in Velaris”

Nesta only stared and stared at the fireplace, as if it would light up any minute. After some time, she spoke, her voice almost a whisper.

“The sound that the fire makes...when it burns...it reminds me of bones” she shuddered “Of bones breaking”

Her father’s neck.

Maybe even his wings.

He hadn’t known.

Hadn’t known and last solstice she had stayed all night, without complaining about the noise. Without asking to diminish the fire or even make it soundless — Cassian knew that Rhysand, Amren or even Mor would be able to do it. But she had not asked to. Had not wanted to appear weak. To most probably not worry Feyre.

Nesta had been suffering all this time.

Alone.

“I... I have no magic. At least not any apart from the killing power every Illyrian has. So I’m not able to make the fire soundless”

“But you could do it” he added softly “If you lit the fire with your powers... I think you’d be able to turn the sound of the wood snapping off. The fire would be yours to tame. To control”

“You think it would work?” she asked, and Cassian felt a sliver of hope in her tone.

Control. It was all about control. And if Nesta felt like she was in control of the situation, she would be able to support a burning fireplace, sound or not.

“I think you are able to do whatever you wish to, but the first step is to try”

“Grab the wood then” Nesta said.

And Cassian did. He piled the wood neatly, and Nesta moved to stand in front of the fireplace, standing her hands in front of her.

“Just like we practiced” Cassian softly said, moving behind her, his front only a couple of inches from her back “Reach deep within you for it, and then redirect it to the wood”

He could picture Nesta knotting her eyebrows in concentration, and her silver flames soon appeared on her hands.

“Good, now project them towards the fire” Cassian’s voice took the tone he usually used during training, a way to ground her.

Nesta’s flames got brighter and with a little push of arms they flew towards the wood, burning it.

It started small, but soon the fire was roaring, the crack crack of wood filling the air.

“Now turn it off Nesta”

“I-I can’t” she said, her whole body starting to tremble “I don’t know how”

“You can. And you will” he placed a hand on her lower back, like he had once done a lifetime ago in a war tent “You’re the one in control. The flames obey you and no else”

Nesta’s breath was coming in pants now, but the cracking of the fire gradually began to get quieter.

“Just like that Ness” he encouraged, daring to get a little closer, until his front almost touched her back “You’re doing amazing xe nhia”

With a grunt, the sound of the burning wood died out completely, and Nesta staggered back into Cassian’s chest, the flames around her fists also disappearing.

He held her against him, filled with awe and proud of her for meeting her fear head on.

Nesta straightened herself, turning to face Cassian, her blue-gray eyes shining with some hidden emotion.

“Thank you” she whispered, and Cassian swore he had never heard more precious words.

“It was all you” he shrugged “You don’t have to thank me sweetheart”

“I wouldn’t have tried it if it weren’t for you” she stubbornly replied “So accept my thanks and stop being so headstrong”

“Me? Headstrong?” Cassian chuckled, his arms tightening around her “Aren’t you talking about yourself Nessie?”

Nesta snorted, placing her hands on his chest and Cassian prayed to the gods that she wouldn’t notice how fast his heart was beating.

Being so close to Nesta did things to his heart.

And to other parts of him.

“Go make dinner you stupid bat” she said, pushing him away “Kaelin should be arriving, and I bet he’ll be starving after training”

As if on cue, the door opened and the Illyrian walked in.

“Hey...” Kaelin greeted weakly, and Cassian noticed fresh bruises on the kid’s face, the older ones barely healed.

“Kaelin!” Nesta exclaimed, practically running towards the young Illyrian “What happened?”

“Oh this is nothing” he shrugged, wincing slightly “Just lost at an one on one spar today”

“Kaelin...” Nesta tried to touch him, but the kid swiftly backed off, avoiding her.

Cassian saw the look of hurt flashing on Nesta’s face before she concealed it beneath a mask of coolness.

“I’ll just wash up and then help with dinner” saying that, Kaelin quickly left the room.

It seemed that Cassian’s luck could only go so far, for his worries about Kaelin seemed to have doubled.

•

Fixed tag list: @sayosdreams @thewayshedreamed @sjm-things @perseusannabeth @arinbelle @caotica-e-quieta @vidalinav @swankii-art-teacher @ireallyshouldsleeprn @duskandstarlight @greerlunna @thegoddessaltenia @dayanna-hatter @verypaleninja @awesomelena555 @courtofjurdan @allilal @sensitiveillyrian @moe8 @illyrianwitchling13 @silvernesta @bri-loves-sunflowers @queenestarcheron @imwritingthesewords @vasudharaghavan @rainbowcheetah512 @darkshadowqueensrule @letstakethedawn @starlightorstarfire @city-of-fae

{Please let me know if you’d like to added to my Fixed Tag list}

#sarah j maas #sjmaas #sjm books #sjm fanfic #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian #cassian x nesta

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thequietmanno1 · 3 years ago

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Thelreads, Vigilantes 65, Replies Part 2

1) “IT’S HIM

ITS THE OCTONOMU

HE’S HERE AND HE’S WORKING WITH THE BROTHERS”- Their experience and prep work with Kakayan made them the perfect people to offer him a place of employment accommodating to his new body type- and the fact that he’s basically a massive brawler with muscle to spare doesn’t hurt with all the heavy lifting they get done around the shop. Plus, if anything they actually owe him one, because it was his destructive rampage that allowed them to start the café in the first place, albeit indirectly, so they did him a solid for the help he accidentally gave them. 2) “Bah, don’t worry about this dude, everybody here has tried to kill Koichi at least once before, we don’t hold grudges over it. Hell, Aizawa tries to murder him at least two times a week, you’re still on the clear on my book.”- If No:6 ever wants to be taken seriously as Koichi’s evil counterpart, he’ll have to step up his murder attempts on his life to stand out from the rest of the crowd- as it stands Koichi probably wouldn’t be able to pick him out of a line-up of all the people who’ve attempted murder on him in the last week alone.

3) “Oh my good the poor bastards- wait, I can understand when it came to Mantis having trouble readjusting to his new body, but Octoman here? He shouldn’t have any trouble, he’s not that big, his hands are normal, in fact now he has even more of them and has no trouble controlling them, why the fuck didn’t he just went back home and decided to crash here as well?! There’s no way he didn’t had a house before, what, did he got kicked out of it? Why?”- Even without his questionable choice in footwear, it’s very possible that Octonomu originally lived in an area where there was lingering discrimination against those whose quirks radically altered their appearance from the ‘normal human’ template, and, like Spinner, he was no longer able to fully fit into his old lifestyle because everybody consciously or unconsciously treated him different based on his new body

4) “But I don wonder what the insurance company thought when they heard that the person that caused the damage was going to be working together with them as business partners, that must’ve raised a few eyebrows I assume.”-Oh no, see that guy was somebody with a Squid-based quirk, whereas the Hotta brother’s newest hired hand has a quirk based on an octopus- clearly two different people.

5) “But honestly those guys are surprising me, turning away from their life of crime so they can give their friends a place to live and work, and one of them is not even someone they knew for long but was in dire need of help- goddamn the Hota brothers are cool.”- It’s also, to an extent, pragmatic and a legitimate business interest, as they not only provide a place of living for those whose bodies exceed the standard, but they’re also providing a job in a hither-to untapped section of the market, giving people with non-confirming bodies a chance to work for them and earn revenue, especially since Aizawa’s now overseeing their business ventures and preventing them doing anything further illegal whilst also supplying him with nigh-unlimited cups of coffee for his ‘patronage’.

If they can’t do crimes, and they’re serving him anyway, they should make the best of it, and even get creative with the new opportunities they’ve been given. If they keep getting more staff like this, they could wind up becoming a city-wide franchise, especially with the amount of Trigger Villains Koichi ‘fights’ on a regular basis ever since No:6 ramped up production. In essence, they’re taking care of the ‘befriending’ part of ‘defeat equals friendship’

6) “Fret not Mr. Whiskers, this guy there might be scary but he seems to be alright, now that he’s not trying to kill anyone. Also he was the one person that almost killed McBee with a single pebble, he can be badass as well when needed.”- If the café thing doesn’t work out, he’d make a killing as a star baseball player. Able to hit a person between the eyes at 50 paces with a single toss, and can throw 3 balls at once- he’s a natural.

7) “DO CAT CAFE NOT FUCKING EXIST IN THIS PLACE OR SOMETHING? OR ARE Y’ALL JUST BEING TOO DENSE ABOUT THIS SORT OF STUFF?”- The Hotta brothers have been dealing with crimes far more than they have legitimate business options- it makes sense they’d not be up-to-date in ‘trends’ or more popular attractions when they were focusing on their home-brewed drug making and meeting supply and demand.

8) “Aizawa just watches and nods as his employees plan the details of his new office. Aizawa is pleased with their choices, because now he’ll have another place to store all the cats he finds along the way.”- Aizawa’s actual home is clearly no place to actually provide a healthy living environment for a growing cat, sparse as it is, so him having a location to off-load the numerous strays he comes across would make it a favourite location for him even if he didn’t already get served delicious coffee every time he turns up there. Aizawa probably contributed to 75% of the cats they used once they actually opened the shop

9) “You know, I like to think that, right now, Koichi just found a new job, completely by accident. Those guys are planning how the place will be and the things it will have, and they are definitely including the Crawler into it, he’s probably going to be the waiter, or at least the cashier.”- His Slide and Glide is actually pretty well-tailored for serving dishes to others, what with his ability to speed fast, tight cornering, and his new suction ability allowing him to glue the waiter’s trays to his hands. He’d be like a high-speed version of Linguini from Ratatouille

youtube

10) “But okay, I get what triggered this one, seeing that ragtag group of misfits making plans for the future with such joy- Yeah, it really brought back memories, even more considering how we already established that Koichi reminds Aizawa too much of Shirakumo.”- Seeing one wayward kid starting to make his own place in the world and making new friends and allies from it seems to have been the inciting trigger for Aizawa to become a teacher. He was considering the idea before, but hanging around with Koichi seems to have helped clear up his lingering doubts. He saw a young man making his way in the world and relaised that he wanted to keep seeing that, see more teenagers going out and achieving their dreams to be a hero, in ways big and small, and he wanted to help them do that, like Kumo did for him, even when he himself didn’t believe it was possible.

Even if there was a bit of a rift between Aizawa and Mic before now from their shared trauma, both men putting it to one side in order to honour his memory through the next generation of heroes seems to have mostly mended it. Aizawa finally stopped using Shirakumo’s death to push only himself forward and started using it to push other kids still uncertain of themselves onto the right path. He’s not let it go, but he’s not allowing his pain to limit his vision about what to do anymore.

11) “Wait- Aizawa, aren’t you forgetting someone? Are you really not including Midnight on this plan?”-She was always the type to go independent and branch out on her own- and Aizawa was very glad for that, because if she’d been affiliated with their future agency, then they’d have assumed the worst about the three of them and the reputation of their hero agency, hanging around with a lady who encourages people to wear less and express themselves openly. Midnight might be a good friend, but she was social suicide if they wanted to present themselves as morally-upright heroes to a public monitoring and commenting on their every move.

12) “Oh thank god they snapped him out of it, I was about to get worried for a moment that we were about to go down that road once again and I wasn’t ready for it. Aizawa was brought back to the present because he needs to hear the plan for his new hero office.”- Part of these rampant flashbacks might also be because Aizawa’s not getting enough sleep and is dozing off into drams/memories of happier times whenever he’s giving his body some time to rest, hence why he ‘wakes up’ every time he snaps out of a flashback. We’ve seen how hard he’s been pushing himself to protect people, and how relentless he’s been about always being ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice, but that has to still be a serious amount of mental and physical exhaustion he’s putting himself through as self-punishment. I think he actually dozed off to sleep against the wall whilst waiting for the rain to stop.

13) “I wonder what kind of absolute moron would ever want to mess with a place with you two in it. Like, imagine trying to rob a place where every single person in there is a bio-engineered murder machine that already went to jail before.

Just Imagine that.”- There was a scene like that in one of the Diskworld books, where a trio of crooks, new to how Ankh-Morpork works, tries to rob the first place of business they came across inside the city and happened to pick the tavern where the Watch/local police force favourites for their after-work drinks. They walked in and tried to rob a tavern filled with trolls, dwarves, vampires, humans built like line-backers, and corporal Nobby Nobbs, all looking for a few quit minutes after a long stressful day. They tried to rectify this mistake by taking the nearest human female hostage and backing out of the pub. She turned out to be the watch’s female werewolf. Needless to say, mistakes were made.

14) “Oh, you’re not going down another flashback, are ya Aizawa? I mean, you’re seeing a group of friends make plans for the future, and you’re being included on them, I can see how this could trigger other memories- you’re definitely gonna be emotional after this, that’s for sure.”- He’s always emotional inside, never on the surface if he can help it, but at least he’s managed to turn some of his emotional problems into resolution for the future. He’s finally decided on a course of action, rather than aimlessly wandering around from villain fight to villain fight, looking for a place to be useful to somebody in need.

15) “It seems like this was a bit of enlightening moment for Aizawa, to rekindle a bit o the hope he lost before. Not all of it, he still is reckless an borderline suicidal with how he handles his fights, but even so, he got a bit better after finally facing his past. It won’t fix everything, but it is a start. “- Looking back on every fight Aizawa’s been in- the USJ raid, the Final Exams fights, the training lodge arc, the Hassaki raid- he’s always the one putting himself in the risky position to protect the kids and keep their safety paramount above all else. At first it’s because you think he just cares that much about keeping them out of harm’s way, but it’s also because he cares so little about his own well-being- every serious fight he was in resulted in him getting hurt or blindsided in some manner because he stepped in stand between the kids and oncoming dangers.

He fought outside his usual tactics at USJ against large numbers, allowing himself to get his arm partially decayed at Tomura’s hands once he’d observed his quirk for long enough, he was so distracted by the thoughts of the kids being in danger during the Hideout riad that he nearly ate an attack from that Dabi double, and whilst he saw Chrono’s sneak attack coming, he took the hit anyway to protect Midoria from it, despite the fact that his erasure was what was keeping Overhaul’s OP quirk under wraps at the time. He even lost the mock battle fight against Shoto and Yayorozu because he wanted to correct the flaws in their behaviour, rather than treating the exercise as 100% seriously a fight as All Might did.

16) “I KNEW IT, I KNEW YOU WOULD DO IT

YOU CAN’T TRICK ME BASTARD

ALSO THAT WAS A SMILE

AIZAWA SMILED AGAIN, AND NOW IN THE PRESENT”- But not where we can see it though, so that means no impending disaster for Aizawa this time.

@thelreads

#bnha vigilantes #bnha #my hero academia #chapter replies #thelreads #vigilantes 65

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lu-undy · 4 years ago

Text

Request #7

The Sniper/Spy Pirate AU! Here on AO3!

Each step taken on the wooden bridge made the planks of it creak under worn-out, heeled, leather boots. The gun's strap needed adjusting, so he stopped and tied it neatly again for the long barrel to rest across his back.

He gulped down his dry throat and thought to himself that a visit to the local bar would do him some good. After all, the past few weeks at sea had been tiring. So he raised his hand and his feathery companion landed on it.

“Hoo?”

The owl opened his eyes wide and round. In the dead of night, it could see perfectly.

“Let’s go.” The hoarse voice said and the owl jumped to the tall man’s shoulder.

After walking in town for quite a while, being offered the favours of women in ragged dresses and men in torn out coats, the man in the long, dark brown, sleeveless coat heard the familiar racket of a pub. Perfect. He pushed the door.

The songs of drunk men and the chatter of the way-past-tipsy were melodies that the scruffy man was used to. He entered the place and bent his head slightly, to not bump his head. Only the colourful feathers of exotic birds on his hat grazed the top of the doorframe.

He sat at a secluded table, and waited for someone to take his order. A beer, fresh and bitter, that's what he liked.

"I swear they exist!"

"Bah…! Nonsense, I've heard the stories."

Some other poor sailing souls were chatting loudly.

"What stories?" A young one asked as the man in the long coat paid for his beer with doubloons. The waitress bit them to check and moved away.

"Listen, kid. There are stories out there about the Great Nine." An old man recalled.

"What are they?"

"You mean who are they? They were the best pirates over all the seas! The bounties over their heads would clean a bank dry of all of its money! Countless folks tried to best them, none of them came back to tell their stories."

"They were? They're dead?"

"Rumour has it they're dead. But I could never believe it, nah…" The old man shook his head, his eyebrows were so bushy that he looked like he had just one going from one end of his face to the other.

"Why?"

"Cause every once in a while, you hear of them."

"Have you ever met one?"

"Nah, but I've heard the stories. Last somebody saw some was over in Europe! Some are here, in the colonies, and there's one that no one knows where he is."

"What's so special about him?" The young sailor asked.

"Some say he doesn't even exist. He could be anywhere. See that tree there?" The old man pointed through the window. "He could be that very tree."

Another sailor sat at the table with a pint. The old man went on.

"Some say he might be your mum right now!"

"Others say he might be with your mum right now!" The sailor who had just joined said and laughter boomed in the dimly lit bar. "He's a master of disguises, as loud as shadow, and so good with men and women that folks say he never sleeps alone! But he could be anywhere and anyone! He could be you, he could be me, he could even be-"

"Oh shut up! The Great Nine don't exist!" Another voice said and disturbed the peace of the man with the owl, who winced.

"Yeah, they do! I heard one of them is around these parts of the world." The old one answered.

"Really?" The young one asked. "Which one!?"

"They say he can see like a bird of prey, even at night, like an owl. Best eyesight on all the seas, can gun down anyone and any prey from any distance, even blindfolded, they say!"

"Bullocks!" Another one answered. "The Great Nine are the stuff of legend!"

"They aren't!"

Two groups formed in the tavern and the argument went on.

"But what's so special about them?" The young sailor asked.

"Each of them are experts in somethin'. Folks say they invented their craft!"

"What do they do?" The young one asked.

"One's said to put mountains to shame. Muscles that pile higher than what you've ever seen."

"Another one's said to have blown up an entire island with one eye. They say his eye socket is haunted!"

"Aye! And there's one who's said to jump so high and run so fast, you can't see him!"

"The fourth can build cannons that fire without being manned!"

"The fifth one drinks his beer only if it's set ablaze and he's the only pirate who can sail a wooden ship on flames!"

"The sixth blasts his gun with his hat over his eyes and can jump in the air with cannons!"

"And the last one is a healer."

"A healer?" The young one repeated, perplexed. "How can he be a pirate then?"

"Rumour has it he's sailing with the pile of muscles and can make him invincible with a secret potion. He also brought some folks back from the dead!"

"How would you recognise them?" The young one asked.

"Only in battle, kid. If you see one of the miracles we described to ya, then you'll know. Legend says some can also recognise each other somehow."

"And you said he was around these parts, the one with great eyesight. How do you recognise him in particular? D'you have to watch him fight?"

"He's got a gun like none other, with one very long barrel. Rumour has it he built it on his own, forged the metal and all. Besides, he's got an owl for a pet." The old sailor resumed. "They say he sees through its eyes."

"Yeah, that's why a lot of folks think they saw him. They see a man with a bird and get scared…!"

"An owl?" The young one repeated. "Like this guy?"

All the eyes turned to that one man with the long, dark brown coat and the hat with two exotic feathers on it. He stood up and took his leave, his owl firmly perched on his shoulder. He had heard enough.

A few days later, the man with the owl looked for a contract again. As a hunter, he was a patient man and could have waited more but he missed the sea. He looked around in town to find something suitable for him. He knew the basics of sailing but that wasn't his strongest asset. He much preferred being hired as an assassin.

In the past, he had had contracts to protect convoys or attack some. He also had hunting contracts for exotic and rare species. As he had spent a lot of time with the wildlife of the colonies, he had become quite the expert with the fauna.

"Hoo."

The owl flew from his shoulder to a sign where people pin letters, advertisements for jobs. The man took a closer look. He eliminated a lot of them until one caught his attention. He tore the paper out of the sign and shoved it in his pocket before heading to the address mentioned on it.

"Sir, a gentleman to see you, for business."

"Let him in."

The house wasn't a house. It was a bloody palace and a half. The governor of that area sure was well-off.

The old, heeled boots clicked and clacked with every step on the immaculate, white tiled floor, as the man with the contract in his pocket followed the butler. They eventually arrived in a spacious and luxuriously decorated room at the end of which was a desk and the governor sitting at it.

"Faites vite."

The man in the ragged clothes didn't move. Ah, yes, that was French territory and the governor was of course, French.

"I said to make it quick." The governor translated himself and one could hear the accent even though he could speak in perfect English.

The man raised a finger and his pet owl flew to it. He looked the governor in the eye and removed his peculiar long gun from his back, holding it firmly in his palm.

"Ah, I see you are here for the job?"

He nodded, the feathers on the hat brushed the air.

"Well, you are hired."

The butler's eyebrows jumped. The governor didn't even ask anything about that vagabond and just hired him?

"Let me give you some details. Pray take a seat."

The man with the long gun obeyed.

"My ship will transport some gold and sugar from this island to further up North. From there, the cargo will be transferred to a group of ships and transported back to Europe. Your job is to make sure that the first step of the plan goes smoothly. Namely, that all the cargo makes it up North. Am I clear?"

"Any particular risk of attack?" The man had finally spoken and his voice was deep and hoarse.

"Pirates." The governor said. "They are growing more and more numerous by the minute, reproducing like rats. The English are of course to be distrusted, and some reports tell us that even some Spanish ships were seen to roam around these coasts."

The feathers on the hat nodded slowly.

"Payment?" The hoarse voice asked.

"As promised on contract, and only when I have received a letter from France saying that they received all of it."

Again, the couple of exotic feathers bowed and bounced back up.

"Will I be alone on the job?"

"No, of course not. A group of my guards will be there."

"Why hire me then? Don't trust them?"

"A pile of gold can make a man's oath for service swing." The governor answered. "Any more questions?"

The man under the hat shook his head.

"Then I have one for you. What is your name?"

"M."

The governor's eyebrows twitched but he then promptly nodded.

"Fine then, Mister M. The ship will depart tonight, the crew will expect you."

M nodded and rose to his feet before turning away.

"M?"

He turned back to the governor.

"Here, take this letter with you. My crew will let you on board if you show it."

M took the letter and nodded before leaving.

It was still early in the day and when M exited the governor's palace, he decided to spend some time on his own, walking around town.

M wasn't a man of many friends. The owl he had, Hootsy, was his longest one. He had rescued it as it was but a young chick and raised it until it became a proud and grown up owl. M wasn't very talkative either. Some people would even say that his owl would speak more than him. But it didn't matter much to him. He was living for Hootsy and himself, he had no family either.

He had his parents back home but when he had come back to them with mountains of money, they had kicked him out. That was a mistake on M's part. Of course a beginner sailor couldn't make that much. He had tried to make them believe that it was all honest money, but of course, they didn't believe him and had guessed that he had joined some pirates.

So much for family and friends. He had none left. And what about love interests, hm? Wanting to start a family? Wave goodbye to the seas and stay on land with a woman and a few kids?

Nah. He liked the sea too much and the women so little.

The truth was that anytime he wanted a night to be less lonely, he would rarely go to women. It happened, sometimes, that he would try a woman again. But there was nothing that got to him more than a man's attention. Somehow, it was more honest, more true, and even if at the end of the day it was but a transaction - a service in exchange for doubloons - it never failed to make a spark in his heart.

And that spark, he had learnt to put it off, bury it and move on. M was cursed, not because he liked men - many pirates were like him - but because he had stepped a foot in a type of life that wouldn’t allow him to exit it. Being at sea, the salt floating in the air, the seagulls chanting the land and men chanting the waves, the bobbing of the ship, the thrill of a chase, of a fight, and emerging victorious against the authorities, against forces that deemed your job illegal and your whole purpose void; yeah, that was what M had developed an addiction to. Of course men would fall and die, people he would call “mate” for a trip, a voyage, they would leave him. And it seemed to him that however big the number of people he called “mate”, the number of dead men would always rise higher and death would swallow them all eventually like a gigantic hungry shark.

And the curse did not end there. M had to hide. He did not want people to call him “mate”. He let them do it, just for the purpose of the job and because it would seem unusual if he asked other crewmates to treat him differently. But the truth was that he was different, he wasn’t like any odd pirate. No, God had to make him special and on top of pushing away any semblance of friendship, the cruel one high above had to make M do the heart-breaking job of actively pushing people away himself. Why? Because if they knew who he was, they would try to kill him.

M looked at the sun and it barely started to go down. A cold beer would do. He shoved a hand in his pocket and felt the coins. Yeah, that should do for a pint or two. He headed for the harbor and entered a tavern there.

The setting was much different than that pub of the previous day. Everywhere around him were official sailors, people who had a wage and all for their work. There were even a few blue coats, officers of the French naval forces. M didn’t pay any attention to them. He went to the counter and placed his order, barely noticing the eyes riveted on him, the odd one in the crowd.

“Mais qu’est-ce qu’il fait là? Il n’a pas l’air Français.”

[What the hell is he doing here? He doesn’t look French.]

“A mon avis, c’est un de ces pirates, ou pire, un Anglais.”

[In my opinion, he’s a pirate, or worse, he could be English.]

“Un pirate? Ici? Il tend le bâton pour se faire battre…”

[A pirate? Here? He is asking to be beaten up...]

M’s understanding of French was limited to sailing words. But no matter the language, he could feel the tension rising in the air and the animosity growing towards him.

“Hé, d’où tu viens, l’ami?”

[Hey, where d’you come from, mate?]

M kept on drinking his beer silently.

“Hé, j’te cause….!”

[Hey, I’m talkin’ to you….!]

The French naval officer came closer and pulled M by the shoulder.

“T’es Français ou non?”

[Are you French or not?]

M sighed and frowned.

“No.” He answered.

“Alors casse-toi avant qu’on te casse la gueule.”

[Then fuck off out of here before we beat you up.]

M did not want to attract any attention but… His pint was still pretty full and he had paid with the last few doubloons he had. In other words, he didn’t have much to lose. He whistled and his owl flew inside the pub, landing next to his glass.

"Une chouette et un long fusil… Est-ce que c'est…?"

[An owl and the long gun… Is that…?]

One sailor pointed at M.

"C'est personne! J'en ai vu des gens qui se trimballent avec un hibou et un long fusil. Ils s’habillent comme une des Grand Neuf pour effrayer les gens!”

[It's no one! Countless people I've met with a pet owl and a long barrelled gun. They just dress up like one of the Great Nine to scare people away!]

“I’m not lookin’ for trouble. Just a beer close to the harbour.”

The people in the bar looked at each other, intrigued. A man with a pet owl and an odd long barrelled gun on his back…?

“Leave him be.” Another officer said from his chair in the corner of the room. He spoke in English with a similar accent than that of the governor. “He paid for his beer as much as you did, thus giving his money to a French landlord. If more of the English scum did the same, we wouldn’t need to hire pirates at each other to help us in this war.”

“J’en ai rien à foutre. Qu’il dégage ou je vais le renvoyer chez sa mère vite fait bien fait.”

[I don’t give a fuck. He should be out of this place, before I send him back to his mum quick.]

People turned to the man who was in the corner, the one who had defended the stranger, and he stood up. He walked to the one who wanted to pick up a fight and looked them straight in the eye.

“C’est toi que je vais renvoyer chez ta mère si tu ne la boucles pas.”

[It’s you I will send to your mother if you don’t shut it.]

He patted his own shoulder where the sewn pattern of his rank was and the feisty officer froze.

“Oh, merde… Pardon, Monsieur!” He saluted him.

[Oh, shit… Sorry, Sir!]

M had ignored the whole conversation. He had asked for a bowl of water and Hootsy was now bathing in it. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned. The officer sat next to him.

“Sorry for the inconvenience. I know you will join us on the governor’s ship tonight. My name is Capitaine de Belzyeux.”

M nodded in thanks.

“You the captain of the ship?”

“No, I will come as a guard with my squad.”

M nodded again.

“See you later.” The Frenchman said.

M finished his drink and the sun gently set in the distance, the sky turned from blue to pink and darker shades of violet in the distance. He looked at his owl and offered his hand to him.

Tick, tack, tick, tack.

Hootsy’s claws clicked on the wooden counter and the feathery companion climbed on his master’s hand, wrapping his claws gently around his fingers. M put him on his shoulder and exited the tavern, heading for the docks.

He walked along the ships, Hootsy flying above him until M located the governor’s ship. The sails were very distinct, his sigil was sewn there gigantically.

Embarking wasn't an issue for M, the letter vouched for him. But once aboard of course, people kept on giving him odd looks. He was the only one not wearing a blue uniform. But as the Captain from the tavern was there, no one attempted more than whispers or looks.

The ship departed from the harbour and was headed deep into the sea. The strip of land on the horizon shrunk to a line, and soon, nothing. The water was calm, one could only hear the occasional creaking of the wood on the ship, or the sails rolling, inflating under the soft wind before they deflated and let a gentle draft through. Orders were shouted left and right but soon, silence fell when the ship was sufficiently far from any land.

The night was deep and everywhere around the ship was an infinite sea, the ripples at the surface gently reflected the moonlight. Most of the crewmates withdrew to get some rest, leaving a few to keep watch.

“Mercenary?” M turned. The Captain from earlier came to him. “Follow me, please.”

M obeyed and went down the cargo hold of the ship, passing the crewmates' rustic beds.

“That’s where the gold is.” He pointed at crates. “Should things go pear-shaped, this is what my squad, me and you will die for.”

M’s eyes lingered on the crates. They were neatly arranged and piled up and he thought to himself that it was indeed a lot of it. Wherever that governor had got it all from was beyond him.

“As you see, there is only one way to get inside, through this door that I have led you through, and this entire level is below the crew’s level where some of my guards are posted. Whoever wants this will have to pass through three levels of the ship and even more levels of guns and guards to get here.”

“Thanks.” M nodded.

“No problem.” Both exited the room and the Captain locked it again. M saw him slip the key in his pocket. “Now, I am not one to be enthused at the idea of working with a mercenary.”

Both men resurfaced on the deck.

“Your kind are competition to the regular armed forces of any country. Besides, your presence here speaks at length of how much the governor trusts me and my men… But I suppose, with what both you and I have seen down there, it is only fair to doubt the loyalty of men. Some would kill for much less.”

They walked along the deck.

“But contrary to a lot of your bunch that I have met through the years, you don’t seem arrogant about it and you don’t provoke my men, or the regular guards in general. Quite peculiar.”

M nodded without adding a word. The Captain stared at him for a second and decided to leave the man to his own peace.

M climbed up to the crow’s nest. He leaned to rest his forearms on the bar there and just calmly watched the starry sky. He took a deep breath. Yeah, that was his life, and one he wouldn’t exchange with anyone else for anything in the world. Out there, at sea, not having to follow anyone’s order, doing a job, getting paid and moving on to the next. No strings attached.

Well, he sometimes wished he did have a few strings attached to something, to someone. M wasn’t getting any younger and the thought of coming back somewhere to a room with someone waiting for him tickled his insides warmly. But who? Who could accept to let him go periodically and perhaps not see him again? Because it was out of the way to stop being what he did best. After all, he was the best in his business for a reason and liked his job. It wasn’t always on the legal side of the line, but it paid enough and he wasn’t bothered too much about the causes or consequences of his contracts. Those were for other people to deal with, in their consciences. He was a means hired to an end. Some would argue he was doing the dirty work. In the eyes of the law? Yeah, very dirty sometimes. But for him? He was doing the exciting part, the part that in fact no one else could do.

His train of thought was broken by a sailor climbing up the crow’s nest. M let him come up and slid back down. His heels hit the floor with a wooden click. He went back to the edge of the deck and let the salty air gently lick his face.

“Capitaine! Pirates en vue! Nord-Ouest et en approche rapide!”

[Captain! Pirates! North-West and coming fast!]

The crew woke up fast at the jingle of the metal bell that resounded promptly after. M squinted in the direction announced by the sailor on the crow’s nest and yes, he could see it. A ship coming closer and closer.

Orders were shouted, sailors put all their efforts into trying to gain some speed but burdened as the ship was, they would never manage to avoid the confrontation. Some other sailors manned the cannons and got ready to fire. The racket of voices slashing the air, heavy cannons slowly rotated to get the right angle on their target as the rest of the crew took muskets and swords.

M whistled and Hootsy perched on his shoulder. He exchanged a few words with the bird before setting it free. M watched as the pirate ship got closer. He removed his gun from his back and loaded it to get ready. He took aim and was the first gunshot that anyone heard. All the eyes turned to him as he reloaded shot after shot. Sailors laughed at him. Taking shots from that far surely was a waste of ammunition. Thank God the man had a pouch with his own and wasn’t using the crew’s or they wouldn’t be laughing seeing his reloading and shooting relentlessly. The captain of the ship ignored the lunatic and went on shouting orders.

“Aux canons! Tenez-vous prêts!”

[Man the cannons! Get ready!]

The French Captain from the tavern took his spyglass out and took a look. His jaw dropped.

“Non!” He roared. “Ne tirez pas!”

[Don’t shoot!]

The sailors looked at each other, confused.

“Ne tirez pas, leur canonniers ont été abattus!”

[Don’t shoot, the pirates manning the cannons are down!]

The official captain of the ship took a look and his jaw dropped. His eyes went straight to M who was reloading with impressive speed and took another shot. Hootsy came back to his master and hooted to him a message that only M could understand. He raised his eyes to the French Captain from the tavern.

“There are more, they’re hidden in the ship and will come out when they’re within boardin’ distance.” He simply said and took another shot that split the air before it split a skull, leaving a bullet hole cleaner than what any pirate had ever seen before.

The pirate ship was helped by the wind and soon it happened. The pirates boarded the official ship and swords slashed, clouds of smoke popped everywhere on the deck where gunshots slashed through the air. The battle raged but the pirates soon manned their cannons again and started taking shots on the regular ship. The water started to flow inside the ship and it slowly rose, more and more. Each loud boom was accompanied by the sound of the wood crunching under the impact of the heavy cannonball piercing through the hull mercilessly. As the water flowed in more and more, the sailors were soon overwhelmed and some abandoned the ship, others were shot dead or thrown overboard.

M was of course caught in the middle of the fight. He put his rifle on his back again and picked up a sword. A pirate ran to him but he fell limply to the floor before he reached him. M turned to a group rushing to him. There was a gunshot and the blood sprang from them, as they were sliced open, but by whom? M couldn’t tell. In the dead of night, it was hard to see even for him.

��Hoo!”

M turned again and this time his sword slashed with an opponent. Soon after, the ship was set ablaze by the pirates and the flames devoured the wood mercilessly. M defended himself and managed to protect himself until he received a hit on the head and blacked out on the vision of hell; flames everywhere, and the smell of burning wood, ashes blown by the air.

When he gained consciousness again, He was tied in a cage like an animal and the French Captain from the tavern was there too, in another cage. M looked around. They were in the cargo hold of a ship, not their original one. And oh… His hat was gone, his braid of brown hair still laid on his shoulder.

“You’re finally awake? God bless you... “ The French Captain whispered. “We’re on the pirate ship and I’m afraid they didn’t make many more prisoners. It’s only you, me and a handful of others.” He nodded in the direction of a cage when other bruised men were tied up.

“Oi! They woke up down there!” A voice shouted in perfect English, which told M that it was one of the pirates. Soon after, a few of the scoundrels came in to examine their prisoners.

“What do we have here, eh? Frenchie, Frenchie, Frenchie and oh… You! We put you in a different cage cause you’re special. You’re not French.” The pirate captain had an impressively large, black hat with feathers as red as blood. He had a long, unkempt beard and dark eyes. The man was largely built too. “Who’re you, eh? Why’re the Frenchies keepin’ ya? Lucky charm? Well if you’re their lucky charm, we should toss you overboard, eh?”

The rest of the pirates cheered and laughed around him.

“Now, we found you with one hell of a weird gun.”

One of the pirates brought M’s rifle forward.

“You’re the one who took my men down from the bloody Moon, yeah?”

M didn’t answer. His head hurt too much and he didn’t want to even raise his eyes to the pirate captain, who went on.

“Now, some of my men here are scared of you, that’s precisely why I want to keep you. It’ll teach them to not fear anyone. Whatever you are, you’re human and we can kill you any moment. Now, for the Frenchies…” He turned to the French Captain. “You’re the chief there, aren’t ya? Are those your men?” The pirate nodded to the third cage.

“What do you want from us?” The French captain bared his teeth.

“From you? I want to know what was on your ship and if there are more like it coming. It sank faster than an elephant!"

"I won't say anything to some scum like you."

"Well then," The pirate Captain turned to his men. "Get one out of the bird cage and shoot'em."

M was still surfacing back to full conscience when the gunshot made his ears ring loudly. He winced and frowned, trying to catch as much force as he could. His mind was foggy but when he managed to open his eyes again, there were a few corpses on the ground. French sailors.

The French Captain couldn't do anything.

"I told you! We were the only ship with this cargo!"

"Yeah but you didn't tell us what you were transporting. Another one!"

Another gunshot and a body fell lifeless.

"Gold! We were transporting gold but it was the entire stack of it! I swear!" The bloodshed was enough for the French official soldier.

"Are you sure?" He gestured and another French sailor was executed.

"I swear!" The French officer shouted, tears welling at his eyes. The pile of corpses was growing and the man's conscience was gnawing on him.

"Alright then…" The pirate gestured and the French man's eyes snapped wide before his skull got pierced by a bullet and his body hit the floor limply.

M leaned back and sighed.

"Out with the bodies, quick!" The captain of the pirates ordered and his crew got to work.

"And what should we do with this one?" One of them asked, pointing at M.

"We keep him for now."

The bodies were dragged out and M was left alone in the dimly lit cargo hold. He fully woke up and started to move his wrists. Bugger, they were in iron handcuffs. He gritted his teeth and looked around him. That's when he noticed that his ankles were in cuffs too.

Well, time to think of something… Hm…

His eyes darted everywhere around him, as the boat gently bobbed left and right under the waves and the currents, when a smell tickled his nostrils. It was sweet, what was it? It wasn't sugar or honey, no, it was… It was… Vanilla?

He frowned and looked around him but couldn't see anything that could smell of vanilla. It intrigued him and distracted him almost well enough that he hardly heard a metallic click. M moved his wrists. He was free?

Tick, tack, tick, tack…

M thought it was Hootsy but out of the shadows a white cockatoo appeared and entered his cage, slipping between the bars.

"Hey there, baby bird." M pushed the handcuffs away from his wrists and offered a hand to the bird who climbed on his fingers. He petted it. "D'you have any idea how I can make it out of here, eh?"

The cockatoo raised his eyes to the man and nodded, bending his head down to enjoy more neck scratches.

"Sorry I don't have any treats for you. I used to have Hootsy's but they're meat. I doubt you'll like that."

The bird nodded again before jumping down M's lap and curling there. The man cupped him to bring him warmth and petted it, staring at it on his lap.

"There, there…"

Click.

M raised an eyebrow. The noise surprised him and as he raised his head to see in front of him, his eyes met with the silhouette of a man crouching in front of him, with a gloved finger on his lips.

M didn't make a noise.

"Good day, M." The stranger said low enough that the wood creaking almost covered his voice. "Now listen, I will get you out of here, but you need to follow my instructions closely."

The voice had a French accent too, was that one of the sailors? Nah, none of them knew his name.

"Do you understand me?" The stranger asked and M nodded.

"Good." He unlocked the cage and freed M before gesturing to him to follow him. The white cockatoo flew to the stranger.

“Perle, reste avec le Monsieur, ma chérie.”

[Pearl, stay with the gentleman, my darling.]

The bird flew from his shoulder to M’s and both men walked as silently as possible. M grabbed his equipment from the floor nearby, he put his rifle on his back and his hat on his head. When they faced the stairs to go up one level, they saw a pirate standing guard. The stranger motioned M to wait, and he obeyed. He watched as the man dressed with a long dark coat and a hood on his head slithered behind the pirate, killed him in silence and dragged his body down and behind the stairs. When he emerged from there, he was dressed and looked absolutely like the man he had just killed.

M's eyebrows jumped. How the hell did he dress up that fast? And the face? Was he the pirate's twin?

They progressed up level by level. The stranger's abilities were like no others. M saw him stab the pirates in the back stealthily, one by one, putting a hand on their mouths to cover any noise they would make, before disguising as them and progressing further. Sometimes, he would even lure them with a conversation before striking. M would hide behind barrels or crates and watch his improvised ally until they made it to the upper deck. M realised that an entire day had passed since the boarding of the governor’s ship as it was already night again.

"Now, I will have to handcuff you again momentarily and take your equipment from you. Follow me and you will find your freedom."

M nodded and got his wrists back in a pair of cuffs. The stranger took his rifle and his hat that he put on his own head before pushing M outside.

"Now, get outta there! Captain wants you out, whoever the fuck you are…"

M's eyebrows jumped again. Where the hell was the French accent gone to?

It didn't matter much because the acting fooled the remaining pirates who pitched in in the mocking of the unfortunate M, who played the stranger's game and walked on the deck. When he raised his eyes, he realised that the ship was actually stopped at some land. Where that was, M had no idea. But he needed to get far and away from these pirates right now.

The stranger pushed him out of the ship with the tip of a sword poking his back and into the harbour. They walked and walked until they ended up in a narrow alleyway where the stranger resumed his normal attire with the dark cloak in a flash and uncuffed M.

Hootsy came flying and landed on his master's shoulder.

"You must run and hide. Any minute now, they will realise that something is wrong." The stranger said.

M observed the man. His face was hidden under his hood and when the nearby street lamp light hit him right, he realised that he had some kind of scarf around his mouth and nose. Only his very light blue eyes flashed in the night.

"But I don't suppose you have anywhere to stay here, do you?"

"I don't even know where we are." M answered.

"Back where you started. But I doubt the governor will be happy with you when he will know that you lost his gold. So you cannot hide with him."

M nodded and lowered his head.

"Which is why I am offering you to follow me back to my house."

M's head jerked back up. That stranger was awfully generous…

"Who're you?"

"You know who I am and I know who you are too. The legends did not lie, you really have a pet owl and a very long barrelled gun."

M could hear the smirk even if he couldn't see it.

"Now, follow me, we shall go out of town."

They walked through dark and poorly lit streets, stopping every so often to let a group of patrolling guards cross their paths and walk away. After what seemed like eternity, they walked out of town and had to walk on roads never taken before by man. M pushed the dense foliage to follow the stranger not by necessity anymore but out of curiosity.

"Here we are."

Hidden deep in the jungle was a white house. It wasn't as big as the governor's palace but it was more than reasonable in size for a wealthy family.

“Hoo!”

The stranger knocked on his own door and a butler opened.

"Bonsoir, Monsieur."

[Good evening, Sir.]

"Good evening, Alexandre. Please speak in English as our guest here is not familiar with our tongue. Come in, please, M."

M was taken aback. How did the stranger know his name?

He followed him inside to discover that the house was richly decorated. And M's suspicions as to who his host was were more and more confirmed.

"I imagine you are quite hungry. Alexandre, please prepare some dinner for two, I will show our guest around."

"Of course, Sir."

"Follow me, M."

"Hold on."

Both stopped in the corridor.

"How d'you know my name?"

The stranger pulled his hood down and M saw salt and pepper hair combed back into a slightly long mullet. The front grey lock nonetheless fell between his eyes. M’s eyes went down to his host's attire and he realised that under the cloak, he was dressed as posh as his manners and his house.

"You may call me L." He simply answered with a smile that M finally saw as he removed the scarf in front of his mouth.

A slightly hooked nose, slim face and silhouette overall, and very thin lips under a finely trimmed moustache, French style, with a goatee.

"Now, follow me upstairs… Here are your quarters. Madeleine?" He shouted and a maid appeared. “S’il vous plaît, préparez un bain pour notre invité, il en a bien besoin.”

[Please prepare a bath for our guest, he could do with one.]

"Oui, Monsieur." She nodded and went on her way.

[Yes, Sir.]

“I shall leave you in the hands of Madeleine, M. See you for dinner.”

The expert hunter was so surprised that he didn’t know if he should thank the man or run away as fast as possible.

“Monsieur?” Madeleine’s feminine and gentle voice cut M in his astonishment and grounded him back to Earth. “Veuillez me suivre.”

[Please follow me.]

“D’you speak any English?” He asked as Hootsy flew straight to the bed, between the pillows.

“Euh, je, non, je ne parle pas Anglais.” She blushed and lowered her head.

[Uh, I, no, I do not speak English.]

“It’s alright, just go ahead, I’ll follow.”

Communicating with Madeleine turned out to be easier than expected. Sign language helped greatly. She showed him his room and started preparing the bath. M stripped naked and slipped in before she came back to scrub him clean with - oh - a vanilla scented kind of soap.

“Voilà, Monsieur. Monsieur L vous attend pour dîner et vous trouverez de quoi vous habiller sur votre lit.”

[Here we are, Sir. Mister L is waiting for your dinner and you will find what you need to dress up on your bed.]

M raised a curious eyebrow and Madeleine repeated herself with gestures, pointing fingers and miming actions.

“Ah, yeah, alright, I get it. Uh, merci.” He tried his best and Madeleine nodded with a wide grin on her face. She left the man alone in his bathroom to get out of the bath and go to the bedroom to get dressed.

When he entered the bedroom, M found a few different options of clothing on the bed. He went for the most casual one. A white shirt, with quite wide and puffy sleeves, and a pair of dark trousers. He put them on and slipped some socks. Even slippers were provided.

Hootsy flew to his shoulder as he went downstairs and stopped at the living room door, his hair still damp on his shoulders.

“Ah, M, please join me.” L gestured to him and he entered the room. “Take a seat and join me, I hope you will enjoy your meal. What does your feathery companion enjoy?”

M took a seat and his eyes raised to comprehend everything that was on the table. Chicken, lamb, beef, salads, fruits, vegetables, potatoes…

“Meat.” M answered.

“Oh, come here, then.” L raised his finger and Hootsy flew to him. He fed it some lamb and petted his head. “I like birds, their freedom is inspiring.”

M was still tense. He did not want to stay for dinner with that man. Why was he still there? And dressed by him as well…?

“What d’you want from me?”

“A few answers and a bit of company. But first, please, you must be starving. Help yourself.”

M went for a chicken thigh. He grabbed the large knife and cut it in one confident slice before going at it.

“I presume you know who I am.” L said.

“Have my idea.”

“Pray share.”

M raised his eyes from his plate to Alexandre and Madeleine still standing not far. L turned to them and nodded. Both of them left.

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” M said.

“And so are you. I am delighted to meet you, a master hunter and sharpest of all shooters. I saw you in action and it was quite a feat.”

“You’re not bad with your disguisin’ and backstabbin’ either.”

The concerto of cutlery on plate resumed. They exchanged gazes with each other, the tension was making the air electric. Should one trust the other? What were his ideas? His intentions? Should one just ask?

“Why did you get me out of there?”

“I heard that someone dressed like you was roaming the streets.”

“Who told you?”

“Perle.” The Frenchman said and his snow white bird flew to him. “She has eyes and ears everywhere. People don’t mind what they say where birds fly free. Too bad for them, and quite good for me. Tiens, ma belle.”

[Here, my pretty one.]

He fed her some nuts that were in a separate little bowl.

“What d’you want from me?” M asked.

“Nothing. Or rather, I want to suggest something.” L said, becoming slightly more serious. “You might wonder why I was on that pirate ship you got captured in.”

M nodded, his face still deep in his food.

“Well, I could have retired or stopped. As you can see, I live very comfortably and do not need to continue pirating, looting, stealing and such.”

“But?” M raised his lagoon blue eyes to his host and saw the shadow of a smirk on L’s lips.

“But I like it. I like the thrill of it, the tension, the energy and sometimes, the chaos even. On the deck of the governor’s ship, I was there, fighting too.”

“Saw you.”

L’s eyebrows jumped.

“Did you?”

“Never saw anyone fight swords with a short blade.”

“Swords are preposterous, large, inconvenient and at the other end of stealthy. I like to do what I need to do while hiding in plain sight, as you have noticed. If I can make my way without making any noise, then I will.”

“Yeah, saw that too, and never saw anyone like you before.”

The Frenchman’s smirk grew wider.

“Likewise. The way that you took down those people manning the cannons was divine. If your gun had been silent, I would have had to sit down to breathe.”

M stopped chewing sharp. His irises darted left and right as the blush on his cheeks appeared. He cleared his throat and frowned, diving again in his plate.

“Workin’ on it actually.”

“Are you?” L cocked an eyebrow and M met his gaze for an instant.

“Still haven’t told me what you want from me.”

“Straight to the point, I like that.” L straightened his back on his chair. “Here is my proposition. I know you have nowhere to go and no one left. You cannot wave goodbye to that life of adrenaline either so I wonder, would you like to join me?”

M stopped eating.

“What do you mean, join you?” He asked.

“I regularly go and have fun on my own. My targets are dictated only by me.”

“Sounds… weird. Also, how d’you know things about me?”

“People think that my trade is seduction and disguises. Part of it is, yes, but I also possess means of gathering intelligence unlike you have ever seen.”

M cocked an eyebrow and leaned back on his chair.

“Meanin’?”

“Meaning that I know things, like I know that you were supposed to transport thirty-eigth crates of gold from the governor from here to another city up North where it would then be split up to be transported to France. But, as you are here and the gold twenty thousand fathoms below the sea, you had better either leave or pretend you are dead, at least for this governor.”

M sighed.

“My proposition is simple. We continue enjoying what we do best, but we don’t do it for the money or for fame. I would rather people ignored my existence and if I could, I would wipe out their memories like water washes footprints on the sand.”

M noticed the slight intensity in the man’s eyes.

“Did stuff you regret too, eh?” The Frenchman failed to hide his vexation. “It’s alright, we all do. I guess it’s why we don’t stop. We just always try again to make it right. But it doesn’t change.”

Silence fell.

“Get out of this house.”

“What?” M raised his head off his plate.

“I said. Get out of my house this instant.”

A few minutes later, the hunter was out with his hat, his rifle and his misery. And he still had the slippers on. He looked down and sighed. Well, at least he had a bite. And the food was really good too.

It was deep into the night now but M shouldn’t risk going to town and meeting with a patrol of guards. Surely the governor had learnt about the shipwreck, because if M had the time to make it back, then that news sure did too.

He walked around the impressive white house towards the sound of the waves and after pushing leaves left and right, he found the sand, not far. He removed the slippers, left them there before treading in the still warm sand. The grains flowed on his feet as they sank with each step. The wind was gentle and helped dry his hair as his shirt waved under the gentle draft.

M sat down and crossed his legs looking at the waves roll and the froth periodically slide up to him, before withdrawing again.

What he had said to L, it was unfortunately true. He wished he hadn’t killed that many men, he wished he hadn’t killed the first one, he wished he hadn’t brought that money to his parents, he wished he hadn’t lost them that day, as he thought he would keep them happy forever but ended up disappointing them beyond repair. Maybe he should have just stayed on the farm with them, he shouldn’t have gone and lied for the day on a ship, he shouldn’t. Maybe it was better to be stuck there, with them, find someone to settle with and have a gentle life rather than be here, as lonely as he could get, no family, no friends, no shelter other than the starry sky. Remorse was maybe worse than regret.

M brushed the sand next to him until it was relatively flat. He then removed his shirt and folded it approximately, just so that it would be a square-ish mass of fabrics to use as a pillow. He lay down and stared at the now vertical front of the sea rolling to him and further away, repeatedly, tirelessly.

While him? He was tired. He had had enough. He wished he could live like L. Big house, far from people, and his meals, always hot and ready. And the butler and the housemaid as well… I mean, that’s some kind of company, right? That’s a few people to come home to, isn’t it?

Mundy sighed.

Mundy, that was his name, the name that his parents had given him and that he had decided to bury along with them, all those years ago, on that day that his life had flipped. From farmer to pirate. From son to orphan.

As the waves rolled and rolled, as his thoughts crept up on him and invaded him, he closed his eyes and let it all come to him. The regrets, the remorse, the feeling of being too big, taking too much space, being too visible, attracting too much unwanted attention. He wanted to be forgotten, just plainly forgotten. He wished he hadn’t been a burden for his parents, he wished he hadn’t brought that life of misery on himself. Yes, being a pirate had its moments of adrenaline rushes, of being absorbed into something that sucked all his mind and prevented him from looking back. But when he did, oh boy…

Vanilla.

Mundy opened his eyes. He could smell it.

“I do apologise.”

Mundy sat up and looked next to him. L was sitting there, his elegantly clothed derrière planted on the sand, right next to Mundy’s.

"I should not have reacted the way I did. It was impulsive of me."

"It's fine."

They let the wind and the waves speak for a while.

"Lucien."

"What?"

"My real name. It is Lucien."

"You're really French."

"A curse and a blessing, depending on who you ask."

They chuckled and their eyes met.

"Where are you from, M?"

"Mundy, and I'm from Australia."

"Oh… I have heard legends about that place."

"You ever been there?"

"Non, the seas never took me that far. I… I couldn't afford it."

"What, you always paid a ticket to travel?" Mundy chuckled.

"Non, it is not a monetary cost I am talking about, but an emotional one." Lucien crossed his legs and lowered his head. "If only it was something as easy to obtain as money."

"What was it?"

"I suppose you had a family at some point? Before this whole 'becoming a legend of a pirate'?"

"Yeah, my parents."

"No family of your own, wife, children?"

"Nah."

There was a second of silence.

"What?" Mundy asked, looking at Lucien.

"Why not?"

"Why not what?"

"Why didn't you have a family?"

"Sheilas are odd. Never understood them."

"Do you prefer men?"

"Yeah."

"Fair enough."

"What about you?"

Lucien lay down on the sand, putting his hands below his head.

"I once was a father, and a husband."

Mundy's eyebrows jumped.

"Really?"

"Oui." He chuckled with a distraught smile on his lips. "I had a son, Jérémy, and a wonderful wife."

"What happened?" Mundy lay down next to him and stared at the stars.

"I thought I could keep them away from harm's way and live my life with both of my passions, piracy, and them. It turned out I had to make a choice, and before I could, God made that choice for me. I lost the only woman I ever had any interest in, and our dear beloved boy."

"Oh… I'm sorry."

Lucien took a deep breath and sighed.

"There is nothing you or I can do about it, pirate legends or not. But thank you."

Silence fell for a while, the waves still rolled and spilled a few metres away from their feet.

"Have you ever met the others?" Mundy asked.

"The rest of the Nine? Oui, I have. After I lost my family, I was set on travelling and… Dare I admit, I wanted to take the lives of the people who took theirs. So I sailed and ruthlessly killed, left and right. At some point, I even ignored what faction those poor souls were from, for each time I was facing someone, I could not stop that voice in me, saying that this one might be the one who killed them."

"Gosh…”

“I travelled the world and met all of them. Remarkable people, some of them actually work together.”

“Do they?”

“Oui, Mikhail and Ludvig, the Mountain and the Healer work together. The Flame and the Hammer do too, how else would a ship be able to sail on oily flames if not for the Hammer’s ingenuity.”

“Did you talk to them?”

“Oui. I… I suggested an alliance between them and myself.”

“Did they accept?”

“What do you think?” Lucien answered. “I am here on this beach with you now.”

“Oh… So they didn’t.”

“Non indeed they did not. Looking back at it, I understand. My trade is very different from theirs. They face their enemies frontally while my methods require more subtlety. It would never have worked. And I am not getting younger.”

Mundy chuckled.

“What?”

“You’re not that old, eh? And from what I’ve seen you do today, you could go on for years.”

Lucien smiled.

“I might. But I am… bothered by something.”

“What is it?”

“The solitude that this life condemned me in. I am restless and obsessed with the idea of some company.”

“I know a few places in town.” Mundy answered.

“I do not mean it in that way. If physical satisfaction was the only thing I was after, it would not be an issue, I would have any man or woman offer his favours to me in the snap of my fingers.”

“Man or woman?” Mundy repeated.

Their eyes met again.

“Oui.”

Mundy nodded to himself.

“I am looking for…” Lucien started.

“For what?”

Lucien turned his head and Mundy imitated him. Their eyes met.

“For exactly what we are doing right now.” The Frenchman answered with a smile. “Some company, some meaningful discussions, an exchange of ideas, opinions, a few laughs, why not?”

“You can laugh?” Mundy teased and Lucien chuckled.

“Believe me, I can, oui.”

“Still have to see it then.” Mundy smiled and it made the waves stop rolling for Lucien.

“Please, stay.” Lucien asked, almost whispering.

Mundy’s smile vanished and he looked away.

“I-I don’t know. Need to think about it.”

“Fine.” Lucien sighed. “I understand if you like your freedom better.”

“I don’t know.” Mundy repeated. “The bit you said about solitude. Makes a lot of sense.”

Lucien’s eyebrows jumped.

“What do you mean?” He asked, and Mundy took a deep breath.

“I’m… I’m tired too; not of what I’m doin’, I’m tired of bein’ alone. No one gets what it feels like. People say that it’s great and excitin’ and all but at the end of the day, it’s just you, and you don’t want people to know who you are and bother you, of course, but that just pushes you to be more alone and… sad.”

Lucien stared at the man lying on the sand next to him, his rough skin, his odd sideburns and his long, wavy hair, his naked chest too.

“You’re really lonely?” Mundy asked, looking him in the eye.

“Oui, I am. I… This conversation that we are having is… a priceless gift you are offering me. It is more than I had hoped to have with anyone.”

“C’mon, you have yer Alexander and Madeleine at home. You can talk to them and all, you’re not all that lonely.”

“Non, Mundy. Their company is very enjoyable, oui, but it does not fill the emptiness that you presently are with your presence and your words.”

Their eyes lingered on each other.

“My words might seem strong to you but…”

“No.” Mundy blinked with both eyes. “I get it, I… I really do. The more you talk about it, the more I… Yeah… I uh… Yeah, I’ll stay, I think.”

Lucien’s eyes snapped wide and he rolled to his side.

"Are you sure? You may take your time thinking if you want.”

“No, I’m tired of waitin’. I’m tired of everythin’. Maybe this is what I need.”

The Frenchman smiled from ear to ear.

“But hold on,” Mundy asked. “I don’t have any money to pay anythin’, like rent or food. I need to go and get some work.”

“It will not be necessary. This house is mine, I am not renting it, and I will be glad to cover all the costs myself.”

“It’s unfair.”

“Non, you just did not understand what I said.” Lucien propped his head on his hand, still lying on his side in the sand. “I will repeat myself but your company is priceless.”

They exchanged a smile.

“You barely know me. Maybe I’m hell to live with?” Mundy said.

“Non, you are not. You have been the dream housemate so far. We even had our first argument.” Lucien chuckled.

“Yeah, and you kicked me out the house already, I’m tellin’ you, I’m terrible.” Mundy rolled on his side too, facing the Frenchman, and his hair gently fell on his shoulders and on his naked chest.

“Maybe you are terrible, but you are the kind of terribleness that I look for.”

“Heh, thanks. I like it better when you’re like that.”

“Like what?”

“Not posh and arrogant, but you just say what you want.”

“Should I tell you what I want now?”

“Go ahead.”

Lucien looked down at the sand and timidly raised his eyes to Mundy again.

“I… I…” His jaw was petrified as his mind raced to find the proper way to express himself. His eyes darted on Mundy, everywhere, his face, his body, his hair.

“I’d like someone for the night too.” Mundy said, and Lucien exhaled the air that he failed to transform into words.

“Fine.” Lucien stood up and started walking back home.

“Oi, wait.” Mundy jumped to his feet, his white shirt still crumpled in his hand.

“Oui?” The Frenchman stopped in the middle of the foliage, the distress still gnawing on him.

“Where are you goin’?”

“Well if you know a few places in town to find the company that you need, then I am only keeping you up and away from what you want. I shall go to sleep. I will tell Alexandre and Madeleine that this house is now yours too.”

“You idiot.” Mundy said and took the step that separated him from his former host, now housemate.

“Quoi?” Lucien failed to translate himself on the spur of the moment.

[What?]

“I don’t want to go to town or anythin’. I… I was meanin’ that maybe uh… I mean… I tend to get cold at night and uh… Hm.” Mundy frowned. “Y’know what? Forget it, it’s bloody ridiculous.”

“Non, please? What do you want?”

Mundy looked into Lucien’s light blue eyes only shimmering in the night.

“You asked me to stay with you, right?”

“Oui.”

“And it’s madness, right? I mean, we just met.”

“Yet we share more in common than I first thought, but oui.”

“Can I ask you somethin’ a bit… mad, too?”

“Pray do.”

Mundy dropped the shirt down and fiddled with his fingers awkwardly.

“Mundy…?”

“It’s a bit… weird. I mean, we just met - oh?” A gloved hand was warmly brushing Mundy’s cheek and he couldn’t help but close his eyes slowly and melt under the touch.

“Please.” Lucien insisted in a whisper.

And it gave him the courage, with his eyes nonetheless closed.

“Sleep with me tonight.” Mundy whispered with his hoarse voice and when he heard himself ask, he blushed and frowned, regretting it already. His hands hovered around the Frenchman’s waist.

“Avec plaisir.” Lucien pushed Mundy’s hands on his sides.

“What?” He opened his eyes and the sight of Lucien with half-lidded eyes made his guts melt further. And what a grin, how…?

“With pleasure.”

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy

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ofdragonsdeep · 3 years ago

Text

26 (Star)

This was written as a fill for the quick-prompt for the week of 13th September on the Book Club discord, which I... cannot link because I am not an ~official author~ because I'm shy.

They are supposed to be 100 words or thereabouts. This... is not.

The eldest of the Durendaire children tires of misery.

(spoilers for early SB, Firmament quests, and minor AST nonsense)

The soft sound of the waves splashing against rock warred with the hustle and bustle of Limsa Lominsa for a place in the ears. Ar’telan, sat on one of the benches in the aetheryte plaza, watched the people come and go, locals and merchants and tourists thronging between docks and markets, watched over by stern yellowjackets keen to keep the peace. When he had first set foot in Limsa Lominsa, however many moons ago that had been, someone had told him that you could tell a native from an outsider by how much the salt spray settled into the crags in their face, consonants discarded from the speech like so much unnecessary ornamentation.

The Echo had taught him that people would hear what he wanted them to hear, when it wanted to work, but he had never been able to sound like a local. Even Reyner, the commander of the Yellowjackets and perpetual ‘proper’ speaker, still sounded more at ease in Limsa than Ar’telan did. Still, he was comforted by the familiar surroundings, sun reflected off white-bleached walls, the comforting thrum of life.

With a thunk of shoes on stone, Ar’telan hopped from the bench and began his walk around the city. He was here for no reason - not one that the fate of the world dictated, at any rate. It was nice, in the space between disasters, to find himself in familiar places without a pressing cause.

The walk took him to the upper decks, past the drunks and the hopeful street workers and the festive balloons in the Aftcastle. Melkoko waved to him from the door of the Missing Member, and he offered her a nod of greeting in return, not quite brave enough to actually go into the building and risk Rhoswen’s wrath for simply existing in a space adjacent to her. It was a little quieter in the Hyaline, the vendor at the counter ceasing her attempts to sell him ‘spice’ as soon as she recognised who he was.

“Fair weather, Warrior o’ Light! You got business with the Cap’n?” Heddyn asked, Ar’telan considering the stairs he guarded and the question he asked, weighing them in his mind.

“If he is free to speak, it would be nice,” he said, and Heddyn gave him a nod and a playful salute, vanishing up the stairs to check with his Captain.

A flurry of movement escorted Ar’telan up the stairs and into the back room of the Hyaline, an open deck which looked out over the flagship of the Kraken’s Arm and the many barges that surrounded it. Captain Carvallain had any number of ventures to his name these days, from exotic ‘spice’ (Ar’telan was still uncertain what, exactly, the word substituted for) to pleasure barges to trade in mundane goods from the far-flung port of Kugane. It was only the lucrative nature of that final venture that prevented him from attempting to skin Tataru alive whenever the Scions were mentioned in conversation, or so Ar’telan presumed.

“Ar’telan. Strange to see you here,” he greeted, a nod of his head the only acknowledgement of the miqo’te’s presence. “I do hope you have not brought any irksome companions with you this time.”

“Just me,” Ar’telan confirmed, noting the way that Carvallain relaxed, if only a little. Carvallain sounded like a Limsan local, even though he wasn’t, the Ishgardian lilt to his accent universally ignored by any who might think to note it. It had been many moons ago that Ar’telan had first taken notice - walking the snow-heavy road to Gorgagne Mills, the quiet farmstead bearing the same name that Carvallain had taken for a surname. He had dwelled upon it when he had spoken with Jannequinard, at the Athenaeum Astrologicum in Ishgard proper, and helped him and his Sharlayan friend with their struggles to see astromancy of the Sharlayan bent recognised within the city. It had come as no great surprise when Tataru and Alphinaud had used the ‘subtle’ arts of manipulation to use the entirely unconnected story of Count de Durendaire’s unfortunate eldest son, lost at sea, to convince Carvallain to ferry them to Kugane.

And now here they were.

“Good. The trade that your voyage to Kugane started has been good for our coffers, but I would rather that meddlesome little woman didn’t learn that I was grateful,” he said, examining his nails as he said it, as though it were nothing. “The rumour mill has told me some very interesting things about how you’ve been spending your time. Are many true?” Ar’telan grimaced.

“I’m not sure I could name half of them,” he replied. “I have mostly been in Ishgard, when not doing the tasks which make the news.” The cloud passed over Carvallain’s face for a moment, but it cleared before it could take a greater hold.

“Yes. One of the Houses is most fond of you, aren’t they?” he said, voice light. Ar’telan managed a nervous laugh.

“Something like that. But I know them all quite well, now,” he said, hopping up onto the wall and sitting on it, tail swishing in the breeze from the ocean at his back. “The old Count de Dzemael has been building structures for dravanians in the Churning Mists. I’ve been helping Francel with revitalising the Firmament. There was a call for aid from outside sources for that.” Carvallain nodded, his expression guarded now.

“We sold a few things to some interested parties, but that has been the extent of our involvement in the matter,” he replied. “I will confess, it is odd to hear Ishgard spoken of… positively. I cannot imagine the stubborn rocks in the nobility are overly fond of it.”

“Lord Speaker Aymeric has been doing good work,” Ar’telan said. “And you might be surprised. Count Charlemend has been working as a volunteer in a hospital for the poor.” Carvallain snorted at that, then paused, a frown on his face.

“...You are serious,” he realised. Ar’telan nodded, not elaborating for fear that he would be tarred with the same brush as Tataru, even though his motives were perhaps in the same venn diagram. “Unbelievable. The times are truly changing, I suppose.” He gave Ar’telan a searching look, his stance stiff and uncertain, an unusual look for the leader of pirates. “Bah, I tire of this pointless dance. Speak plain. Did you come here to bully me like your vicious little secretary?”

“Not intentionally,” Ar’telan replied, which was true, but not particularly endearing. “I just thought you might like to know. What you do with the knowledge is not my business.” Carvallain sighed.

“I suppose I am curious as to the lead-in,” he allowed. “Very well. Tell me what you know.”

---

It was not an easy conversation. For all that Ar’telan was aiding Charlemend in his sincere desire to leave the old ways of life, the pain that he had inflicted - on purpose or not - was clear to see. Carvallain’s brow still darkened at the sound of his name, and Ar’telan thought of Ronantain, desperate to mold himself into the image of the good noble that had been taught to him for all too long in his short life. He thought of Jannequinard, so brilliant and clever, throwing himself into anything he could enjoy that was just disrespectful enough to leave his betters despairing, but not enough to have him thrown from the parapets and disowned.

He thought of the knight, lost to grief after failing his charge, who had died in the mills that gave Carvallain his name.

But the conversation had left him with something most unexpected: an elegantly penned note, the calling card of the Kraken’s Arms, an offer in dispassionate ink on the back of it.

“You may read it, if you wish,” Carvallain had said. “I don’t imagine that much goes unseen by your eyes, these days.”

Ar’telan had put it in his pocket, and kept his gaze averted.

---

The cold air of Ishgard hit like a wall as Ar’telan teleported into Foundation, and he shook his head and shivered in its suddenness. He had long since lost his need for the warmth of his home in Meracydia, but La Noscea was far warmer than Ishgard, and it hit like a shock. He took his gloves from his pockets, pulled them on, and rubbed his hands together as he walked. The aetheryte shard network would have been faster, but for all its inhospitality, Ar’telan still longed to stretch the minutes he spent in Ishgard to bells.

The Athenaeum Astrologicum was busier now than it had been even at the height of the war, students of all stripes thronging in and around its walls. A few of them recognised him, for his work with the erstwhile management in the past, but without a globe at hand most of the students paid him little heed. Ar’telan found that suited him just fine.

Jannequinard was at the desk when he walked in, eyes buried in the pages of a book. He glanced up, looked back down when he noted that Ar’telan was not a nubile young woman ready to be talked into compromising positions by a dashing young fox of a nobleman, then looked back up again when who he actually was registered with his brain.

“This is a surprise,” he remarked, and Ar’telan grimaced.

“Anyone would think I never visited,” he said, and Jannequinard sighed. A card from the sleeve at his hip was wedged into his book, in a move that would have made Leveva bonk him over the head with the nearest sufficiently weighty implement, and he leaned forwards, head rested on his hands.

“You either have terrible news, or interesting news. If it is the former, I will have to ask that you leave. I have a date this evening.”

“You do?�� Ar’telan asked, surprised, and Jannequinard sagged in defeat.

“Yes, yes, very funny. An actual date, with an actual, living woman, before you get as sarcastic as those two.” He shot a venomous look at the two astrologians who served as the Athenaeum’s formal welcoming committee, who did not even seem to notice it. Ar’telan assumed they got it a lot. “So nobody is dying? There has been no attack by mysterious assailants on important personages, abducted nobles, crying orphans, anything of the sort?”

“Not that I am aware of,” Ar’telan replied. “I could ask at Rolanberry Fields if you want a crying orphan, though.”

“The Fury blessed you with a streak of humour since we last spoke, I see,” Jannequinard said, arching a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “Then why have you come?” Ar’telan paused, not having actually considered how best to approach the situation. Jannequinard did not appear to be a subtle man, but he could be, when the situation called for it. Or when he thought the situation called for it, at any rate.

“I have something for you,” Ar’telan said eventually, reaching into his pocket and taking out the missive, putting it down on the desk between them before continuing. “From one of the Captains in Limsa Lominsa. An offer of trade, I think.”

“You think?” Jannequinard repeated, the suspicion plain on his face. “I will assume that you have misread the name, since you speed through all other matters, but I am not above a little spying, so I shall take this regardless.” He picked it up, looked at the sigil on the front with a mixture of concern and disdain, and flipped it over. Muttered fragments of words gave Ar’telan the very short version of the offer Carvallain had made, but it was when Jannequinard made it to the signatory that he stopped.

“Who gave this to you?” he asked, his cordial tone dropping several notches. Ar’telan felt like he might shiver despite the warmth of the Athenaeum’s fires.

“Captain Carvallain of the Kraken’s Arms,” he replied. Jannequinard shot his gaze around the room in a panic, before remembering that it was impossible to overhear the words of someone who was not actually speaking them.

“...Come with me a moment, will you?” he asked, getting to his feet. That was enough to draw the concern of the other astrologians in the room, but he waved them off irritably and escorted Ar’telan into the back of the Athenaeum.

---

The private study rooms were conservatively furnished, a small number of wooden chairs and great tables capable of holding the full breadth of an unfurled star map, and very little else. Jannequinard closed the door on the one he had appropriated, then almost forcibly sat Ar’telan in the nearest chair, despite his half-formed noises of protest.

“I know that a lot of people in this city think you are a fool with more goodwill than sense, but contrary to popular opinion, I am not stupid. You are aware of what happened to my… my brother, yes?” Ar’telan noted the way his voice caught at the admittance. It was not sorrow - Jannequinard had likely been barely more than a boy when it happened, though Ar’telan was not entirely sure how old he or Carvallain were. He knew Jannequinard chafed at the prospect of inheritance, to the degree that he had been a ‘maybe’ in the aftermath. Knew that Charlemend would not have taken his eldest’s loss well. Knew that he was opening old wounds. Maybe that had been Carvallain’s aim, after all, and he just the errand boy for it. But he had said that it was Carvallain’s knowledge to do with as he wished, he supposed.

“Yes. He was lost at sea. Pirates, they thought,” he replied. “It is why you did not wish to follow Leveva and I to Limsa Lominsa, is it not?” Jannequinard wrinkled his nose, annoyed that Ar’telan was both bringing up his past failings, and also seeing through his ruse.

“Perhaps. That is neither here nor there,” he dismissed with a sharp wave of his hand. “What matters is that you have brought me a missive from pirates, signed in the name of my dead brother, and you expect me to believe this is an accident.”

“I never said it was an accident,” Ar’telan replied, which caught Jannequinard off-guard.

“No, I suppose you did not,” he allowed, then sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am going to have to cancel my date, aren’t I?”

“I do not think the Count will mind if you leave it til the morning. He is busy with his work, these days,” Ar’telan offered, attempting to soften the blow. Jannequinard looked back down at the note.

“Did he give this to you himself?” he asked. Ar’telan nodded his head. “Did he- is he- Is it really him?” he managed, voice quiet. Ar’telan nodded a second time. Jannequinard swallowed, looking down and up again, a look of the lost on his face. “How long have you known?”

“I have suspected since I first met you,” he replied. “I have known for certain since just before the War of Liberation in Ala Mhigo.” Jannequinard attempted to process this, and utterly failed to do so.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

“Because it wasn’t my choice to make,” Ar’telan said. Jannequinard let out a long, defeated sigh.

“Yes. Yes, I suppose that makes sense,” he agreed. “If I had managed to escape our father I would not want some random adventurer dragging me back under his heel. Damn all of this.” He put the card into the space on his sleeve where the Bole-shaped bookmark had previously sat, scowling down at it as though it were razor-edged. “Very well. I shall inform the Count.”

“You don’t have to,” Ar’telan said, and Jannequinard stopped short, as though he had not even considered that option. Ar’telan didn’t imagine there was anything that Jannequinard did that did not find its way back to the Count, one way or another, but he had made a deliberate choice to give this letter to Jannequinard first.

“I… No, I shall tell him,” he decided eventually. “Carvallain de Durendaire died long ago, but by the Fury’s grace, if we can make peace with the Dravanians then perhaps what is left of my family can make peace with themselves.” He got to his feet, a scowl on his face. “I would have thought that something of this magnitude just might be predicted by astromancy, but alas.”

“Maybe it would have if you paid attention to Leveva’s lessons instead of the bosom of the nearest passing noblewoman,” Ar’telan offered, and Jannequinard showed his appreciation by accidentally stepping on his foot.

---

Jannequinard had insisted on Ar’telan accompanying him on his ‘dire quest’, a task to which the miqo’te had acquiesced without argument. Though Ar’telan was used to speaking with the Count in the Firmament, given the amount of time the both of them spent there, the evening meant that Jannequinard instead returned to the family manor with his sidekick in tow, a move which gathered quite a number of concerned looks from the manor’s guard. Ar’telan weighed the pros and cons of reassuring them that he was not Jannequinard’s unfortunate cancelled date, and decided against it.

Durendaire manor was a house of wealth, but it did not feel homely to Ar’telan the way that Fortemps manor did. Shields bearing the family crest adorned the walls, pictures of Counts past and their families between them. Fresh arrangements of flowers sat on marble pedestals, a luxurious red rug covering the polished blackstone floor, and the wallpaper looked to be made from astral silk or some other luxurious cloth. Ar’telan found it to be overwhelming.

A manservant knocked on the office door for them, and Charlemend looked between the two of them in concern that quickly changed to alarm as they entered.

“What has burned down?” he asked as the door closed, and Jannequinard made a frustrated noise.

“I can bring you good news,” he protested, gesturing to Ar’telan to take one of the chairs. With an apologetic look to the Count, Ar’telan shuffled into one, noting the tension between father and son with an increasing nervousness. “In fact, I am bringing good news. Ar’telan here has been kind enough to secure us a trade agreement with one of the prominent powers in Limsa Lominsa.” The distaste in his face was familiar to Ar’telan, from when they had been there on Ishgard’s behalf, with Francel in tow.

“We already have an agreement with those… with their prominent traders,” Charlemend said, the carefully-chosen words not masking his unhappiness. “Not that I expect you to know that, but it was Ar’telan who secured it.” Jannequinard looked over at Ar’telan, who offered an innocent shrug.

“There is more than one pirate in Limsa Lominsa,” he said. Charlemend made a distinctly unhappy noise.

“Yes, I am well aware. If it is worth disturbing me at this hour, and by the both of you, no less, I shall take a look at it,” he said. Jannequinard took the card from his sleeve, and passed it to his father.

“I would advise that you sit, father,” he said, stepping back as the Count took it. The suspicion was plain in Charlemend’s eyes, but he tempered it. Ar’telan was not sure if it was for his benefit, or Jannequinard’s.

“These are the same brigands we dealt with during Lord Francel’s attempts at trade outreach,” he murmured, seeing the sigil upon the front. “Their captain, ah- Gerald, was that his name? Was eventually willing to see reason.”

“Gerald is the First Mate,” Ar’telan said, glancing at Jannequinard as he said it. “But yes. I was surprised as well.” Charlemend offered a huff of annoyance, then turned over the card.

It was a harrowing transformation to witness. Irritance became disbelief, which became anger. He looked up at the two of them, Jannequinard with an uncharacteristically stony face and Ar’telan the picture of neutrality, and anger morphed to a deep and painful sadness without a single word. The card fell from his hands to hit the papers at his desk, his hands shaking.

“How long have you known?” he asked, his eyes on Ar’telan now.

“Longer than I have known you,” he replied. Charlemend’s hand curled into a fist, and he thumped the desk in despair. Jannequinard moved away from him at the sound of it - not in fear, but to head off the concerned manservant who threatened to manifest at the unorthodox summons.

“This is my fault,” Charlemend said, words uttered through gritted teeth to scattered papers rather than his visitors. “All my life I strived for the ideal that my father taught me. Accepted it - what else could I do? And in my sons, in my nephew, I passed down that same poison. Duty above all.”

“Father…” Jannequinard began, surprise clear on his features. It was not an unusual sight, not on Jannequinard, but the circumstance was strange.

“I was not ten yalms from him in Limsa Lominsa. They said he had listened in as we spoke,” Charlemend said, his voice barely a whisper. “Tell me - was it him? Was it Carvallain you spoke with?” Carefully, Ar’telan inclined his head.

“They could not believe it when he agreed to the contract,” he said. “But he had hope in Ishgard for change. In you. Enough to take a chance, but not enough to risk everything he had.” Charlemend ran his fingers across the card.

“What changed?” he asked.

“I told him of the Firmament,” Ar’telan replied. “Of your work at Saint Vandreau’s Grace.” He shook his head then, shuffling over to the side on instinct as Janneqinard returned to the second chair that sat opposite the desk. “Everything that happened with Maelie and Ronantain. If he had not heard you in Limsa the last time I do not think he would have believed me.” Charlemend put his head in his hands, and were it not for a stamina tempered by years as Count in the hostile environment of Ishgard, Ar’telan thought he might have cried.

“He will never come home, will he?” the Count said, his voice quiet and holding the weight of his years.

“No,” Ar’telan agreed. “Ishgard is not his home. It has not been for many years.” The Count let out a long breath, raising his head and running his hands down his face.

“Yes. You are right,” he said. “I will not - I cannot squander this opportunity. If he did not believe me capable of respecting his boundaries then he would never have sent this missive.” He nodded, apparently at peace with his decision. “Very well. The message speaks of a meeting, and though it does not specify a venue, I will not force him to even consider returning to Ishgard. Might I trouble you for an escort to La Noscea, Master Qin?” Ar’telan nodded, a smile on his face.

“Of course. Name the day.”

—

The sharp tang of salt in the airship’s propellors heralded their arrival to Limsa Lominsa proper. Ar’telan, possessed of far more of a head for heights than either of the Durendaires he accompanied, had watched the sea appear on the horizon over the side of the airship, Charlemend going more than a little green when he watched the miqo’te balance against the edge without so much as a rope around his waist. The Admiralty’s ships wound in and out of the harbour, the size of chocobo carts from their height, and in each separate berth sat the flagships of the three remaining bastions of pirate tradition, grand and imposing against the bleached white walls.

Both Charlemend and Jannequinard - the latter had not needed to come, but had insisted, a rare turn of events - seemed happy to get their feet upon solid ground again, even if Jannequinard eyed the creaking lift that took them down into the Drowning Wench with a dubious eye. More than a few of the Wench’s patrons eyed the Ishgardians as they passed, as even Charlemend’s attempts to be inconspicuous still screamed of his wealth, but after Baderon raised a hand and yelled a greeting to Ar’telan, they averted their gazes. Even V’kebbe, leaning against the wall and eating one of the Bismarck’s favourite sandwiches, only gave him a respectful nod of acknowledgement as they passed.

—

Every single member of the Kraken’s Arms in the Hyaline went tense as they entered. Ar’telan glanced back at the Durendaires, but even Jannequinard had picked up on the steely atmosphere enough to stop dead in his tracks.

“I see we’re popular here,” he remarked. Ar’telan sighed.

“I’ll talk to him. Wait here. Try not to get robbed,” he said. Charlemend looked offended, but Jannequinard only offered his empty pockets in demonstration of his intent.

There was a look of distaste on Carvallain’s face when Ar’telan crested the stairs, not dissimilar to the one that his father wore when discussing the topic of pirates. He, too, was as tense as his crew - not something that Ar’telan was used to seeing, not even when he had approached him to deal with the crew on Charlemend’s behalf before. His eyes, quick and clever, appraised Ar’telan as he approached, then went back to staring at elegantly manicured nails.

“The crew have told me. I suppose it is too late to change my mind,” he remarked. Ar’telan shook his head.

“He would leave if I asked,” he disagreed. Carvallain scoffed, but there was no force behind it.

“I suppose if I did not believe you I would not have extended the invitation to begin with,” he said. “Very well. Gerald, I believe the Misery could do with an inspection before we next depart.” Gerald offered a smart salute, understanding the assignment well enough to vanish down the stairs and pull the entire crew along in his undertow. “Fetch him. I will be expecting you to evict him if this turns sour, since this is your fault,” Carvallain said, his voice terse. Ar’telan did not begrudge him the order, in the circumstances.

“I will do my best,” he said, and went back down the stairs.

—

Charlemend and Jannequinard had made note of the piratical exodus, but neither had moved from where Ar’telan had left them - whether because they did not dare or out of respect, Ar’telan could not have rightly said. He could see the nervous vein ticking in Jannequinard’s neck, Charlemend’s uncomfortable posture, the way there was less distance between them than he had ever seen in Ishgard, and felt a little guilty.

“Follow me,” he said, and they both snapped to attention, Jannequinard taking a notable side step.

“I was concerned this had become a ruse to set pirates upon my person,” he said, but though Charlemend scowled at the idea, he remained unusually quiet.

—

The walk up the stairs felt like a funeral procession. Ar’telan tried not to think about how Charlemend had already buried his son, mourned his loss, and uprooted the corpse for this little dance. On the balcony, Carvallain stood with his arms folded, his trusty axe still notably at his back. At the top of the stairs, Charlemend stopped dead.

“...Carvallain,” he said, his voice quiet. There was no question in it, only the heavy weight of proof, the understanding of what it all meant - all the years, all the measures Carvallain had taken, all the times they had come so close and yet remained apart.

“If you wish for an embrace, you will not get one,” Carvallain said, but there was less of his authoritative bark than Ar’telan was used to hearing, less of his smooth command of the situation.

“Well, if I read the signs correctly, you offer them for a very reasonable price down in the docks,” Jannequinard said, and Carvallain laughed despite himself.

“I would charge a little more for one from me,” he replied. “...It has been a long time, father. Ar’telan here informs me that you heal the sick and bring orphans presents, and so forth. When precisely did the voidsent replace you?” Charlemend shook his head.

“I will not trade barbs with you, Carvallain,” he said, his once-proud posture sagging with the weight of years. “For so many years I hoped… After we buried your memory, I told myself it was cruelty to imagine. Yet here you are, a man grown and a leader both.” He did not attempt to cross the distance between them, but he did offer an inclination of his head. “You have flourished beyond any heights which Ishgard could have offered to you. I am proud of you.” Carvallain started at the words, a little of the stony facade dropping.

“I… I did not expect to hear as much from you,” he confessed. “In my earlier years, it brought me a kind of spiteful joy. Leader of a den of sin and iniquity.” He gave Jannequinard a searching look. “For all that some among our number might enjoy such things, that you can look upon all I have built and see it as the accomplishment that it is…” He sighed, shaking his head in despair at himself. “I do not regret my decision, though I did not precisely choose to be on a vessel abducted by pirates. But for the sorrow that I have caused you… I am sorry.” Charlemend took a steadying breath.

“It means the world to me that you trusted in me enough to reach out,” he said. “Thank you.” Ar’telan looked between the two of them, then to Jannequinard. The younger Durendaire still seemed ill-at-ease, but he gave Ar’telan a nod of acknowledgement, stepping to the side to let him retreat to the stairs.

From here, they could mend their own bridges.

#please don't @ me about whether Janne is a son or a nephew #I only realised my headcanon was a HEADcanon not actual canon while I was writing this #ffxivwrite2021 #gods give me strength #Carvallain de Gorgagne #Charlemend de Durendaire #Jannequinard de Durendaire #Warrior of Light (solo story)

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