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insomniamamma · 2 years ago

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Ribbons & Wings: Ezra x f!reader w/Cee

A/n: I started this on a night of heavy snow followed by blistering cold. I have seen the northern lights, once in Alaska and once in in western New York state. Set between after "Rain" around the same time as "Clean Dirt." I may revise the timeline as I see fit. As with everything else in this AU, this can stand alone. Reader is nicknamed "Artichoke" and "Prickle." Ships and Kings is a game that persists through my Prospect fics,. Cross DND with chess played on a hexagonal board. As with any game there are house rules that vary. Kevva’s Flick is a highly contested (and some claim illegal) move in Ships and Kings.

Warnings: Language. Anxiety. Food mentions. Mentions of old injuries. Snowball fights?

"--all ships in northern quadrant be advised boost is not recommended at this time. Hold tight if you are able--next pickup is in 10.25 cycles--"

"What does that mean?" asks Cee, "Understood, drop-com, we'll see you on the other side--" "Ezra, what does that mean?" You hear the rising panic in Cee's voice and reach for the thrower you keep stashed under your bunk. "There's a storm coming," says Ezra, "Might close our take-off window." "So we're stranded." Says Cee. She stands and gets in Ezra's face, "You told me this wouldn't happen." "I can't control the weather, Birdie," says Ezra, "We launch into a blizzard and there's a chance we break up." "Fuck--" "How long?" You ask and they both snap their heads around as if they've forgotten you're there, "If we get grounded how long are we here?" "You heard the man," says Ezra, "10.25 cycles." "That's two hands," you say, "We can make that. We'll be fucking sick of Bitz-bars but we've got enough margin." "What if we boost now? Minimum checks--" "C'mere," says Ezra, he sits on the edge of his crash couch and Cee takes her place beside him, "You too. Let me show you something." Ezra plops his battered data pad into Cee's waiting hands, she holds it so he can manipulate the touch screen. You hunker behind Cee, peering over her shoulder, hunched in the confines of the pod. "I'm getting the same info yon freighter's getting from the weather sat, about a sixteenth delayed," says Ezra. He zooms into the northern quadrant where the pod rests near a large, frozen over lake. "Ooo-oooh," says Cee, face pinched with worry, "That's bad. If that's from a sixteenth ago--" "Conditions are likely worse by now." "What are we looking at, Ez?" You ask. "The lines are wind direction, the color scale is speed. We take off now, our boost curve takes us through the worst of it, right at the point of maximum dynamic pressure." "That could tumble us." "Could do worse than that," says Ezra, "Big gust could crumple us like a beer can." "But if we miss the sling--" "Artichoke's right," says Ezra, "We've got rations for at least 15. More if we stretch it." "If worse comes to worse we can do some ice fishing," you say. "Bleee-arrgh," Cee makes a wretching sound. You were harvesting the spiker fish for their odd, metal-rich navigation organs and you'd cooked one over the camp fire just to see what the meat tasted like. "That was like licking a battery terminal." "Lick many battery terminals, Little Bird?" Cee laughs. "Spend enough time in a pod and you'll do just about anything for fun." "The spiker wasn't that bad," you say. Ezra and Cee look at you with mixed horror and fascination, "I've had worse things in my mouth." "Didn't need to know that," says Cee.

We best power down what we don't need, said Ezra, and the three of you began a systems check. Reading off the things you were each responsible for when getting ready to drop or boost. Proximity radar and chute pyro-batts were obvious. Local comms. External lighting. Scrubbers. You sure about the scrubbers? Air's fine, it's just cold, we can reverse the aft vents and draw heat off the RTG baffles. "We're only talking two hands," you say, "Between the reserve tanks and the scrubbers we should be fine," and Ezra gives you a flat-eyed look that means you've strayed somewhere you're not supposed to be just yet. "Two hands have a way of becoming more,"says Ezra, "We take what care we can. Clear?" "Sure. Clear."

The pod sounds strange half powered down. You don't notice the faint clicks and chirps of the guidance computer until it's offline. In your head you know it'll boot back up just fine, but it still feels deeply wrong having it off. Same with the Baas converter, all the hardware that does the thinking for you. The wind moans through the trees outside, a low warbling wail that resonates through the pod. You and Cee exchange glances. She's got her music player on, but her eyes are big and dark and scared, and you don't like this any more than she does. There's no snow on Falnost but wind is something you understand, driving sand before it that can etch windows, it never happened to any of your livestock, you and your father and brothers were too careful for that, but you'd hear stories about pink skeletons, stripped of flesh but still fresh enough to ooze from their marrow. "We'll be fine," says Ezra, "We're stable." Eventually you drift into an uneasy sleep. There's nothing else to do.

"We've definitely missed the window," says Ezra, confirming what you expected, "But we might as well have fun little while we're here, right?" You are barely awake, sipping fake coffee from a pouch. "Fun?" "Snow, stupid!" Says Cee, she's already wriggling her way into her thermal gear, "It snowed like crazy overnight! We can bury ourselves in it! We can make a snow fort! Let's go!" You smile, but you feel it curdle, you know what snow is, you've seen vids, and the way Ezra is looking at you you can tell that he knows, he knows you've never seen snow, never felt it for yourself, and you can't look at him. There is so much you don't know. You start suiting up out of habit, thermal gear for a cold world, outer layers for batt-assisted heating-- "Hey," says Ezra, "You okay, Prickle?" "Sure." "I know they didn't--" "Yeah, yeah, we didn't have snow there. We didn't have RAIN there. We'd get a little bit of hard frost come winter but that doesn't count--" "Easy," says Ezra, "Easy. Cee's just over excited." He nods towards the open hatch now venting your hard-won warmth. Cee's voice comes faint from outside, you guys coming or what? "She hasn't had much chance to play in the snow." You exit the pod into a new world. The gravelly shores of yesterday are blanketed in white, the branches of the feather-trees droop in low arcs, burdened with snow. You can feel the snow collapse when you step in it, hear it, a small crumping sound beneath your boots, you turn towards Ezra, smiling and something frigid and granular and wet splatters against the nape of your neck, and you whirl, reaching for the thrower your left on the pod and Cee's laughing, her cheeks pink with the cold. "Gotcha!" She crows and bends down, sinks her hands into the blanket of white. You smile. This might be your first snow but you know mischief when you see it. You scoop up two handfuls of snow and squish them together, noting the give and push-back as it compresses down even as you aim for your crewmate's head. You miss by an Ephrate mile, and her next shot catches you mid-chest. For every shot you land she gets in at least three, and at last you scoop up and armload of snow and start chasing her round the back of a huge feather-tree, and Cee throws up her arms in defense and splutters laughter when you dump it on her. The two of you pause, laughing and out of breath, Cee's cheeks and nose flaming pink. "Cee? Artichoke?" Ezra's voice peals out from the pod , "By your silence I am assuming you are up to no good and I will act accordingly." "He's so goofy," says Cee, and grins at you, "Allies?" "Yeah. Let's get him." Cee bends and starts making snowballs. Ammo dump, she whispers and you nod. Right. "Cee? Prickle?" Cee leans around the tree trunk and yells. "Come and find us old man!" "Old man," you hear him mutter and Cee giggles. She knows just where to poke and how much pressure to apply, "You think you're so hard to track leaving boot prints in the snow--" Ezra rounds the tree trunk and you paste him, snowballs exploding all over his suit. You try not to aim for his head. Cee has no such compunctions. One of her snowballs catches him right in the face, and he shakes his head, snow caught in his mustache, wipes the snow out of his eyes-- "--Oh," he looks past you and Cee, his eyes wide, white limned, "Oh Kevva what's that?!" You turn your head to the dark undergrowth and there's the whine of a discharged thrower over your head and you barely register Ezra's laugh before you and Cee are buried in a shower of snow from above.

You splutter and swipe snow out of your eyes, out of the open neck-hole of your suit. Cee shakes her head, a brief, indignant halo of flakes ringing her flushed face. Ezra howls laughter. He's bent double, face red, eyes squinched shut. "You shoulda seen your faces--" he wheezes. "That was cheating!" says Cee, "No fair--" "That was tactics! That was strateegery--" Ezra takes a bad step and overbalances, flails his arm out and falls on his ass in the snow. "That was Kevva's Flick!" You say and grin. Kevva's Flick is a marginally legal move in Ships and Kings, the kind of thing that will get you stuffed out an airlock if you try it in the wrong company. A badly missed stealth roll followed by a natural sixteen means that your opponent can flick one of your pieces off the board like dislodging and errant piece of lint. The only reason you even know about it is because Ezra pulled it on Cee and they spent the next eighth arguing and wasting precious bandwidth looking up the legality of the move over the drop-net. Cee throws back her head and laughs, bright and clear. Ez crawfishes in the snow and then manages to heave himself upright. "Hmmm," says Ezra, narrows his eyes, but his dimpled smile gives him away, "I know where you sleep, little bird." "I know where you sleep too," says Cee, "Call truce?" A hard gust bends the tops of the feather trees, sending snow down in slow whorls, a low moaning sound that makes the nape of your neck prickle. "We should get back inside," you say, "Wind's gonna pick up." "Truce," says Ezra, and flashes you a smile, "Let's get on in before our C5 friend freezes solid." You trace your tracks back to the pod, landing struts buried in white, it's uglier angles and dents covered over. "Oh hey!" Says Cee, "We can make snow angels!" You and Ezra look at each other, but before you can say anything, Cee is stomping out into the wide expanse of unbroken white. "It's easy, see?" She flops down on her back in the drifted snow and fans her arms and legs. "We called 'em phoenixes back home," you say, and pull Cee to her feet, careful not to step in the wing shaped marks she's left behind, "Once things settled after a storm we'd draw pictures in the dust." You take a few steps so you don't mess up Cee's snow angel and flop down yourself. It feels different. Not like the dust that would puff up in your eyes and stick to your skin but the motion is the same, cloud laden sky instead of the screaming bright stars back home. Cee offers her hand and pulls you up. "Not bad, dirt-farmer," she says, "You do one, Ez. "If I must." Ezra takes a few steps and drops into the snow like a felled tree, makes his own pattern beside yours and Cee's. "I'm somewhat lacking in the wing department," says Ezra, "If I'm to be an angel--" "Hold up," says Cee. She wanders away from Ezra, back towards the dark of the trees and roots around, finds a fallen limb, some feather-needles still clinging to it. "My ass is getting awfully cold, little bird," "Stay still," says Cee, using the branch like a paint brush. "There." She casts the stick aside and offers her hand. She pulls Ezra up and turns him around so he can see her handiwork, a feathered wing traced in the snow, fanning out from the shortened arc at his right side. "See?" "Yeah. I see." Ezra pulls Cee against his chest, she stiffens, then lets herself be hugged, her arms creeping around his middle. "S'okay, Birdie," he murmurs into her hair and you turn away, embarrassed, feeling like you've seen something you shouldn't. The next gust of wind comes with a raft of blown snow, rough and cold against your cheeks. You bend down and draw your name in the snow with an outstretched finger and think of how very far you are from Falnost, the only one in your family to make it up out of the well and see snow. "Come on in before you freeze," calls Ezra, he stands at the ramp and waves, "The snow'll be here tomorrow." You smile. "Yeah. I suppose it will."

"Hey! Hey wake up!" Cee's voice cuts into your dreams, harsh and breathy and urgent and you are reaching for the thrower beneath your crash-couch before your eyes can unstick themselves. "Whuzzit birdie--" Ezra's sleep befuddled voice murmurs someplace to your left "Come on!" says Cee, and she's climbing into her gear, green witch-light shines through the pod's small, rounded windows, "You've got to see!" You pull on your thermal gear and follow her out the door and down the ramp, still half asleep. "What is this?" "I don't know," says Cee, her hand finds yours and the sky writhes overhead, shivering bands of green like curtains, like incandescent ribbons, dimming and shifting and brightening, columns that ascend into the dark, stars muted behind them. No sound at all, a silent ignition, silver-green edged in red. You feel Ezra fetch up beside you, his hand finding yours. "What am I looking at, Ez?" He squeezes your fingers. "It's an aurora," he says, "I think. I've never seen one before. Just vids." "It's so quiet," you say, your voice dropping to a whisper without even thinking. "It is," says Ezra. There is no sound at all associated with the shifting columns, the world gone so still that you can hear your crewmates breathing, hear the soft sussurration of your own pulse. You pull your eyes away from the churning sky to look at your friends’ faces, Cee smiles, wide and open, her pale hair frosted green, eyes alight. Ezra's face is a study in naked wonder, and it's like you’re seeing him for the first time, no spacer's charm, no worldly confidence, just him smiling up at the sky. You squeeze their hands and they squeeze back.

#prospect #prickle 'verse #ezra x f!reader w/cee #ezra x prickle #prickle 'verse au #ezra prospect #cee prospect #ezra and cee #ezra (prospect) x f!reader w/cee

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softsnzstuff · 2 years ago

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I watched 6th Sense for the first time last night with my brother and his girlfriend. It gave me this idea for the streamer AU that when Eddie was a kid in the 90’s, he used to act in cough medicine commercials for extra money. @dontfeeltoohot helped me brainstorm this little ficlet idea! Hope you enjoy.

*****

There were a lot of things you wouldn’t know about Eddie Munson at first glance. Obviously as a streamer, his life was broadcasted online. He was a musician and a gamer, but he was also a DnD champ, was still in a band with his friends from elementary school, and he used to be an actor.

Well, he was an actor if you asked Steve. Eddie didn’t tell him right away. It only came up when they were dating and talking about their lives as kids. Steve had opened up about how absent his parents were most of the time, and Eddie had opened up about how he and Wayne weren’t the richest of folk.

Wayne was always working two jobs if not more to be able to provide for them and keep a roof over their head. Eddie would do some side gigs or help out where he could, even at ten. One of these side gigs was acting in a cough syrup commercial back in the 90’s. It was buried DEEP and honestly, he was shocked no one had found the footage yet.

He wasn’t sure if it was because he was uncredited or because he had short hair back then, but thank GOD, no one had yet uncovered ‘Robitussin Children’s Cough Syrup Commercial - 1997’ on YouTube. That is - until Eddie told Steve.

***

They were all lounging on the couch watching the Great British Bake Off when Robin leaned forward and started coughing.

Eddie sat up and put a hand on her back. “Jesus Birdie, are you okay? Can I get you some water or something?”

“Yeah I can grab you some cough medicine,” Nancy said, switching to a voiceover type voice, “Robitussin pediatric formulas have a great cherry taste, and they’re alcohol free.”

Steve snorted as Robin sat up and started laughing, breaking character.

Eddie realized what they were doing and whipped around and pointed at Steve.

“You motherfucker!”

***

TBC??? Might do a part 2 where Eddie’s actually sick and they give him more shit for it.

#s/tranger t/hings #e/ddie m/unson #s/teve h/arrington #fruity 4 #kb writes #snzblr #streamer AU

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perfectpaperbluebirds · 2 years ago

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Birdie’s Library of Sick

Here is a complete list of my longer fics. Regularly updated as I post, including all posted Sicktember fics. Full steam ahead for sneezes + fevers!

List is now revamped! Organized alphabetically by fandom/AU, then chronologically by date posted (for fandoms) or by character timeline (for OCs). Because I’m a nerd and I wanted all my darlings to be grouped together most efficiently. Fics marked *** are my favorite of the things I’ve written... my greatest hits, if you will. Those are the ones I come back to read time and again when I’m in certain moods. Please check those out if you haven’t before, and reblogs are always appreciated!

Also, I have even longer stuff posted on AO3 under the same name (PerfectPaperBluebirds) so head on over there for even more sickfic goodness.

My ask box is always open for prompts! I’m always up to try something new, so if there's any aesthetics you want to see, please send them my way :)

Fandom

The Black Tapes Podcast:

Better Now

(SKT ‘21) Sneezing

***(SKT ‘22) Care Package

(SKT ‘23) “But if you stay, you’ll get sick too.��

Bridget Jones’s Diary:

(SKT ‘22) Taking a Sick Day (Bridget Jones’s Diary)

(SKT ‘23) Consulting the Internet

Criminal Minds:

(SKT ‘21) Nebulizer (Sick Reid)

(SKT ‘21) Warm Soup (Sick Hotch)

Colder Weather (Sick Hotch)

Maybe Tomorrow Will Be Better (Sick Reid)

(SKT ‘23) Sick and Injured (Sick Morgan)

Encanto:

***(SKT ‘22) A Cry For Attention (Sick Bruno)

(SKT ‘23) Hiding an Illness (Sick Julieta)

Grey’s Anatomy:

(Secret Santa ‘22) To Make You Well (Sick Derek)

(SKT ‘23) “Did you just sneeze?” (Meredith Allergies)

Hannibal [TV]

***House Calls Pt. 1 (Sick Will)

***House Calls Pt. 2 (Sick Hannibal)

(SKT ‘21) Asleep on the Couch (Sick Will)

(SKT ‘21) Sick at Work (Everyone sick)

(SKT ‘22) Common Cold (Sick Hannibal)

(SKT ‘22) Tepid Bath (Sick Will)

SKT ‘23 Hopelessly Bad at Self Care (Sick Will)

Howl’s Moving Castle:

(SKT ‘21) Sneaky Temperature Check (Sick Sophie)

(SKT ‘23) Coughing Fit (Sick Howl)

Jurassic World:

***(SKT ‘21) I’m Not Sick (Jurassic World)

(SKT ‘23) White Coat Syndrome

Knives Out:

(SKT ‘21) Headache/Migraine

(SKT ‘21) Appendicitis [emeto]

(SKT ‘23) Beginner’s Guide to Faking Sick

Letterkenny:

***(SKT ‘21) Bed Rest

(SKT ‘21) Hot Water Bottle

***Tender Loathing Care

(SKT ‘23) Preventative Measures (Not Taken)

MCU:

***(SKT ‘21) Fever [Sick Clint]

(SKT ‘21) Medicine (MCU Avengers AU) [Sick no serum Steve]

(SKT ‘22) Painkillers [Sick Tony]

(SKT ‘22) Hangover [Sick Thor] [emeto]

***(SKT ‘22) 'Great. Now I Have Your Germs All Over Me.’ [Sick Clint and Natasha]

(SKT ‘22) Seasonal Allergies [Sick Clint]

(SKT ‘22) Nausea/Upset Stomach [Sick Bruce] [emeto]

***(SKT ‘22) Whining/Crying [Sick Natasha]

(SKT ‘22) VapoRub [Sick Bucky]

(SKT ‘22) Lethargy/Exhaustion [Sick Steve]

(SKT ‘23) “I should have stayed home.” [Sick Steve)

New Girl:

(SKT ‘21) Faking it (Sick Jess)

(SKT ‘21) Ginger Ale and Crackers [emeto] (Sick guys)

(SKT ‘23) “What happened to your phenomenal immune system, huh?” (Sick Schmidt)

The Office:

(SKT ‘21) Chicken Pox (Sick Jim Halpert)

(SKT ‘21) Quarantine (Sick Michael Scott)

(SKT ‘22) Intense Coddling (Sick Ryan Howard)

What A Lovely Way to Burn (Sick Ryan Howard)

(SKT ‘23) Patient Zero (Sick Andy Bernard)

Pride and Prejudice:

A Darcy Day Off

Reunion

***(SKT ‘21) Contagious

***(SKT ‘21) Stay (Follow-up to Contagious)

Cold Comfort

Eyes On You

(SKT ‘23) “Wear a coat, you’ll catch cold.”

Star Wars:

***(SKT ‘21) Aches and Pains [the Mandalorian]

(SKT ‘21) Unlikely Caregiver (Rey and Kylo)

***Safe and Warm (Follow-up to Aches and Pains )

(SKT ‘23) “I shouldn’t be worried about you, but for some reason I am.” (Rey and Kylo)

Historical/Fantasy OCs

Cowboy ‘Verse:

***(SKT ‘22) Home remedy

(SKT ‘23) Persistent Fever

DnD OCs (Filius, Gundor, Kandry, Lorellyn):

***(SKT ‘21) Blankets

(SKT ‘22) ‘Do You Know How To Take Care of a Sick Person?’

***(SKT ‘22) Sleepless Night/s

(SKT ‘23) Quest for a Cure

Navy Man OCs (Capt. Michael Ingram):

Tidings of Comfort (Holiday fic 2021) [emeto]

(SKT ‘22) Homesick

(SKT ‘22) ‘I Might Be A Teeny Tiny Bit Sick, But It’s Fine.’ (Follow-up to Tidings of Comfort)

(SKT ‘23) Sick in an Inconvenient Place

Roaring Twenties ‘Verse (Jesse Hamilton):

(SKT ‘21) Missing Out (Roaring Twenties, Holiday fic) [emeto]

(SKT ‘23) Terms of Endearment/Nicknames

Plague Doctor OCs (Alastair and Eliza):

***The Doctor Is In... the Inn

(SKT ‘22) Soft Pajamas

(SKT ‘23) Confused/Disoriented

Science Lovers OCs (Peter and Violet):

***Under the Willow

(SKT ‘22) Sunburn

(SKT ‘23) Old Wives Tale

Sorcerer ‘Verse OCs (Elmrador Renata and Co.):

Spells and Sneezes

Powers and Flowers

(SKT ‘22) ‘Blow Your Nose’

***Curses and Comforts (Follow-up to Powers and Flowers )

(SKT ‘23) Magical Remedy/Healing Potion [emeto]

Sprite Kingdom (Aleander the Healer)

Icing and Frosting (Sprite Kingdom)

(SKT ‘23) Side Effects/Adverse Reaction

Vicar ‘Verse OCs (Nicholas and Lydia Lennox):

***A Virus for the Vicar

(SKT ‘22) ‘Get Back in Bed!’

(SKT ‘23) Anxious Stomach [emeto]

Wagon Train OCs (Dan and Ella)

Here Comes the Sun

The Weather Outside Is Frightful

(SKT ‘23) Uncooperative Patient

Historical/Fantasy OC one-offs (for now):

An Artist’s Study on Illness (Italian Artists)

To the Place I Belong (Vampire ‘Verse, Halloween 2022)

Modern OCs

CottageVersity OCs (Tenbusch family):

***Mess Is Mine (Thad & JB, JB sick)

***(SKT ‘22) Psychogenic Fever/Stress Induced Illness (Thad & JB, JB sick)

(SKT ‘22) Cold Sweat (Theo sick)

[CW: Homophobia] The Last Christmas (All, Thad & JB sick)

[the Meet-cute!] Pretty Girls and Starting Conversations (Thalia & Padma, Thalia sick)

(SKT ‘23) “The only place we’re going is the pharmacy.” (Thalia sick)

Holding Onto Me So Tight (Thad & JB, both sick)

Sick of It (All, Theo/JB/Padma sick)

***Miserable At Best (All sick)

(SKT ‘22) Cuddling on the Couch (Thalia & Padma, Padma sick)

Priest ‘Verse (Father Luc and Flora):

I Can Go No Longer (Sick priest)

Cheer My Wearied Spirit (Sick Flora)

***(SKT ‘22) Tickle in the Throat [Sick priest] (The Beginning Pt. 1)

Feel My Temperature Rising [Sick Priest] (The Beginning Pt. 2)

(SKT ‘23) Curled Up With a Pet (Sick priest)

Rockstar ‘Verse (Vic and Addison):

***(SKT ‘22) Syncope/Fainting

(SKT ‘23) “You’re a jerk when you’re sick.”

Shane and Molly (Shmolly):

[the Meet-cute!] Let Your Heart Be Light (Sick Shane)

(SKT ‘22) ‘I Need You To Pull Over!’ (Sick Shane) [emeto]

***(SKT ‘21) Doctor’s Visit/Check Up (Sick Shane)

Under the Weather Pt. 1 (Sick Shane)

Under the Weather Pt. 2 (Both Sick)

***(SKT ‘22) Sick On Vacation (Sick Molly)

***Without You (Sick Shane)

We’ll Share A Cup of Kindness Yet (Both Sick)

***Never Gonna Leave This Bed (Both Sick)

(SKT ‘23) “I could really use a hug right about now.” (Sick Shane)

Modern OC one-offs (for now):

Hospitality (Banquets and Events OCs)

Book Club (Business Boutique OCs)

Domestic Drabble #97 (In F [lu] Major)

#my writing #MY OCs #everyone is hotter with a fever

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years ago

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Beside The Dying Fire (part eight)

[DnD AU with the tour!verse]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

(yes, there was a title change because i never really liked “Dark Souls”)

Word count: 3718

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

Whenever Katherine closed her eyes, all she saw was that damn bull.

Over and over again, in the darkness behind her eyelids and in the darkness beyond the tree line was the bull staring back at her, his breath puffing from his flaring nostrils, his snout pulled back in a wicked smirk. He was there, presenting his manhood to her like he had in the clearing, taunting her with her precious bow and arrow.

“Come and get it, flower,” He would rumble.

To him, she was a heifer, ripe and innocent, still not yet taken as a mate. And he wanted her. He wanted her to be a part of his herd so he could breed his filthy calves into her, just like how he had wanted to do with Catalina. Maybe even Joan.

And that made Katherine feel furious.

But what could she do?

It’s been a week since the run-in with Henry’s troops and Katherine and her companions were walking on eggshells. Without their weapons, they couldn’t hunt, so they teetered into the lines of starvation for several days, only living off of a few berries they could forage. Without their supplies, they couldn’t collect or purify water, nor could they even start a fire, so they became thirsty and spent their nights in the cold darkness. Without their belongings, they were lost, and Katherine was starting to fear for the worst.

Once, when she was ten, she had gotten bitten by a venomous spider when she was climbing a tree. At the time, she had thought that was the worst pain anyone could ever go through. But now, nineteen years later, with her stomach feeling like it was eating itself, she would have much preferred the spider.

Katherine had never gone hungry before. Ghent was always full of food, whether it be meat from woodland animals or crops and fruits and nuts. Everyone always got breakfast, lunch, and dinner, so she had never even felt a fraction of what starvation felt like. But if someone had told her it was this awful, then she would have eaten that dead bird they passed a few days ago.

Katherine would have laughed at how pathetic she was being if laughing didn’t pull tightly at the muscles in her empty, cramping stomach. At night, as she gazed listlessly at the stars, she thought she could see another version of herself standing over her, shaking its head.

“It’s only been a week,” The other-her would say. “Are you really that hopeless?”

“Yes,” She would reply, and then she would fade out into the oblivion where the bull prowled.

Honestly, it was kind of sad how she believed her journey was really over. She was so ready to be defeated that she thought the town she saw in the distance was just a mirage made by her own exhaustion.

But then the smell of livestock on the wind wafted under her nose and she did a double take so hard she thought her neck had snapped.

“A village,” She croaked, the words grating like thorns through her dry throat. “A village!”

Catalina and Joan turned in her direction, equally as tired-looking, and their eyes widened when they saw the houses and wooden fences.

“Come on!” Katherine beckoned them. She burst into a brisk jog that proved too much of a strain for her weary bones, but she pushed onward anyway, ignoring the way her vision began to swim into murky darkness. Behind her, she heard Joan drag in a deep, desperate breath.

“I need to sit for a moment. I can’t breathe!” The little Tiefling bleated.

But Katherine didn’t stop, even when her own hunger pains and lethargy seized her lungs in a painful vice grip. “We don’t have the time, honey. I’m sorry.”

The town was getting closer and closer with every wobbling step she took, but the ringing in her ears, presided over by the thump, thump, thump of her heart, kept getting louder and louder and louder. But she’s so close, so close…

Then, her movements falter, and within seconds her body stopped responding, her thoughts growing scattered and illogical as she fell, endlessly backward into oblivion.

------

Katherine awoke in the dark. Her senses told her that this was no ordinary dream, and perhaps it was not a dream at all. There was real danger here. Her breath curled in front of her, and her hands were bitterly numb from cold. She could feel something lingering above her, a monstrous shape. She fled instinctively, fearing the bull.

Trees whipped by as she ran, but she could feel the thing close behind. She knew that it meant to capture her, but she managed to evade it long enough to find a place to hide. Beneath a fallen tree she found a wet, cold burrow she could just fit inside. She rolled in and tried to still her breath.

When enough time passed that she might be safe, Katherine started to inch out of the burrow. Something then grabbed her arm and snatched her out of the hiding spot and into the air.

“It seems warriors are not so deft in the air. Who knew?” The voice came not from the monster directly, but from around it. The words warbled with a tangible weight.

“Then again, you are more prey than warrior, aren’t you?”

The enormous creature tightened its claws around her until her limbs ached.

“Now let us see, Katherine. You have been called upon by fate to do its dirty work. I’m sure that’ll continue to impress it and me, among others.”

The blue-eyed beast shifted, which sent vibrations through its muscles.

“I must say, I find it odd that you are not...more. You could have so much for yourself if you would but take it. Command it. Out think anyone who covets what you have. But you lack the skills. Unfortunate, but there is still time for you to show us what you really are.”

The sweat beaded up on her skin and ran down between her eyes. The salt stung, and her vision blurred as she searched for a way out. Katherine tried to press the animal panic down in her gut, but everywhere she turned It was there, staring into her face and scratching at her. She whined, then she shouted, and she did not stop shouting until thick, black smoke cut off her airway.

The flames rise around her until all is ash. Katherine woke up abruptly, sweating and scanning for danger, and it took a moment for the flames to register. She searched, again, locked in the same scenario for an exit while the flames rose around her. She coughed and tried to shout, but the smoke again was too much.

Katherine experienced this same terror a half-dozen more times before she truly waked, in her own skin and not of prey’s.

The world was white, and slowly fading to a muddy brown.

Her eyelids weighed a ton, eyeballs stinging and rolling in their sockets as she struggled to consciousness. After a moment of fighting, she thought she could see something. The edges of a dark room, a single light highlighting a single door. A pinch at her shoulder.

Wait.

She could feel again, feel as if through a fuzz of downy blankets. Waves of nausea came next as the pressure on her shoulder increased. She moaned.

Pressure released, and her arms tingled at the increased blood flow as garbled sound came from beside her. Roused by the noise, she finally peeled back her eyelids fully and looked at the bird standing at the bedside.

Even for a Kenku, it was quite small, but a little chubby, evident of good feeding. Its plumage was midnight black with a smock of white feathers over its sinewy, wiry shoulders and down its torso. Its talons were short and stubby, but it had a razor sharp flint dagger strapped to the side of its light blue belted tunic which looked like it could cut down to the bone. When it noticed Katherine awake, it perked up, beady black eyes widening behind a fringe of feathers.

But it didn’t say anything.

Katherine waited for it to ask her something, but it didn’t. It just made soft churring sounds as it bustled around the cramped room, searching for something. After a moment, it grabbed a plate full of chopped vegetables and cheese and a glass of water and brought it over to Katherine, holding it up to her.

Katherine didn’t hesitate to dive into the meal.

The Kenku watched her as she devoured the squash and peppers and tomatoes and goat cheese, the expression on its avian face unreadable because of its beak. But it seemed unbothered by her and went to refill the glass of water after she drank it all in one sitting.

“Thank you,” Katherine panted, finally taking a moment to breathe.

The Kenku dipped its head.

“How long have I been out?” Katherine asked.

The Kenku held up one claw.

“A day?”

It nodded.

“Damn,” Katherine whispered, running her fingers through her oily hair. She really needed a bath. “Where am I? What’s your name?”

The Kenku began making gestures with its arms, cooing and churring, but Katherine had no idea what it was trying to communicate to her. It stopped after a moment and chuffed, handing Katherine a handkerchief.

“I see…” Katherine said slowly, not understanding at all.

Before the Kenku could make another one of its birdy gestures, a scream suddenly ripped through the building.

Katherine jumped to her feet instantly, startling the Kenku. The scream sounded a lot like Joan!

The Kenku squawked after her as she ran out of the room and into the wooden hallway of what appeared to be an inn. She stumbled blindly into rooms, being tailed by a pied crow creature cawing its head off, until she threw open a door to see Joan cowering in a bed, pressed frightfully against the wall like she thought she could sink through it and escape, with a giant minotaur looming over her.

Katherine felt angry, then scared, then angry again until her blood pulsed hotly in her veins. How DARE he come back after what he did and torment them some more, especially a child!

In a flash of fury, Katherine grabbed a nearby vase of flowers, smashed it on the wardrobe, and drove the points into Mannox’s side.

The glass didn’t sink into his tough hide like she was hoping, but it did seem to prick him and he let out a startled yelp of pain, which was good enough for her. Mannox whirled around, golden brown eyes wide, and that was when Katherine faltered.

Mannox didn’t have golden brown eyes. His eyes had been dark brown.

This wasn’t Mannox at all!

The minotaur was huge like Mannox was, but this one was female. Instead of mud brown fur, her fur was a rich russet red color with undertones of cinnamon and umber. She was powerfully built, each of her limbs rippling with muscles, and her horns were broad like a longhorn’s. A teardrop-shaped ruby earring dangled from her left ear, and she wore only some baggy cotton pants, not afraid to flaunt her bare barrel chest, not that much was able to be seen beneath her shag of thick hide. She looked down at Katherine, rubbing the area where she had been stabbed.

“Ouch,” She hissed. “That was a little rude, don’t you think?” Her voice was jovial, but warm, and had an accent that Katherine didn’t recognize.

“I am so sorry!” Katherine stammered, dropping the makeshift weapon, causing the rest of it to shatter across the floor. She was wary as to not step on any of the shards with her bare feet. “I thought you were someone else.”

The minotaur flicked her ears up. “Oh?” She said. “It’s alright. Don’t worry about it.”

She turned around slowly, being mindful in the small space she was in, and Katherine noticed that the tips of her horns scraped the ceiling slightly. Her tail whipped back and forth as she peered down at the frightened little Tiefling in the bed.

“Hey, kid,” She said softly, and Katherine was surprised to hear such a gentle voice come out of such a big creature. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Katherine heard Joan whimper, and she quickly darted over to the bed, nearly trodding right over the minefield of broken glass. When Joan noticed her, she shot into her arms instantly, quaking with fear. Katherine held her securely against her. The minotaur stepped back respectfully.

“It’s good to see you both awake, at least,” The minotaur said. “I was starting to get worried. Oh, I’m Anna, by the way. But I prefer it if you call me Cleves. And this is Bessie.”

“Moo!” Cried the Kenku that had been tending to Katherine, throwing its arms up joyfully. So ‘it’ was actually a ‘she’, then.

Cleves chuckled. “I’m unsure if that’s her actual name,” She told Katherine and Joan. “But I think she chose it because she LOVES cows, and ‘Bessie’ tends to be a cow name.” The Kenky clambered up her body like a ladder and sat on her shoulder. “I think that’s why she likes me so much.”

Katherine cracked a small smile. “I’m Katherine. This is Joan.”

Cleves nodded, then frowned at the little Tiefling still buried in Katherine’s chest. “Is she alright?” She asked worriedly.

“I think so,” Katherine answered, stroking Joan’s hair. “She just--went through some stuff. That’s all. She’s still a little shaken.”

“Ah,” Cleves nodded. “I see.” She looked at Joan and dipped her head to try and seem smaller and less intimidating. “I hope you feel better, kid.”

Joan peeked out from Katherine’s chest, then gave a tiny nod before hiding her face again. Katherine massaged behind one of her big ears, hoping to comfort her.

“Do you know where the other woman who was with us is?” Katherine asked.

A grave look suddenly overtook Cleves’ face, and Katherine felt worry jolt through her veins.

Cleves took her to a larger room further into the room where Catalina was. Katherine instantly noticed the tear stains on her cheeks and the stricken expression on her face. She rushed over to her, and Catalina gave her a glazed look.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” Katherine took one of her hands, rubbing her thumb over the knuckles. “Talk to me.”

“It’s the baby,” Catalina said hoarsely, her voice rough from crying.

A spear of ice jammed into Katherine’s gut. “What’s wrong?”

Catalina sniffled, then said, “I-I haven’t felt them kick since Mannox found us. H-he hit me, remember? Wh-what if something happened? What if they’re--” She buried her face into her hands and began to sob.

Katherine threw her arms around Catalina and held her tightly, rocking her back and forth in a vain effort to comfort her. She set a hand on the Aasimar’s belly, rubbing it softly in a few places, but felt no kicks and no flutters of life.

“Did you say Mannox?”

Katherine turned her head to Cleves, and was surprised to see the minotaur’s friendly face contorted into an expression of pure hatred. Even Bessie on her shoulder had her feathers ruffled in rage.

“Yeah,” Katherine nodded. “We ran into him a week ago. He surrounded us with his troops and tormented us for a while, but let us go after taking all of our stuff.”

“That sounds like him,” Cleves said gruffly. She stamped one of her hooves, and Katherine could feel the vibrations throbbing through the floorboards. “So he must have been the minotaur you mistook me for. No wonder that little Tiefling was so scared.”

“You know him?” Katherine asked.

“He was in my herd growing up,” Cleves explained. “He was always causing issues. When Bessie showed up,” She raised a large hand and the Kenku nuzzled her beak into it with happy chirps, “he was constantly trying to hurt her, but wrote it off as him just ‘playing’ with her. Bessie and I have been trying to track him down for a while under the orders of the queen.”

Katherine’s ears perked up. “The queen?”

“Shiny, shiny, shiny!” Bessie chirped helpfully.

“Queen Jane Seymour,” Cleves said.

Katherine’s heart lifted. “You work for her?”

“One of her best knights,” Cleves said proudly. Bessie nipped at her ear and she chuckled. “And Bessie is my squire, basically. I don’t go anywhere without her.”

The Kenku nuzzled lovingly against Cleves’ neck, cooing.

“We were actually needing to see the queen,” Katherine said. “Can we go with you whenever you leave?”

“Your story with Mannox could be useful,” Cleves said, rubbing her chin. “That can be arranged.”

Katherine brightened. “Thank you.”

There was a tug at her sleeve, and Katherine was soon brought back to the terrifying reality that she had momentarily been distracted by. She turned to Catalina, shaking and crying, and wrapped her back up into her arms.

“Is there a doctor in this village?” She asked Cleves and Bessie.

But before either of them could answer, Catalina choked out, “Sh-she already saw me. Sh-she said there was n-nothing she c-could do.” She made an anguished noise that ripped mercilessly into Katherine’s heart. “I don’t wanna lose my baby, Kat! I can’t!”

“Shh, shh,” Katherine murmured, rubbing Catalina’s back. She could feel the wetness of tears running against her neck, warm and miserable. “It’s going to be okay, Lina. I promise.”

Catalina babbled something wet and grief stricken in response, but Katherine couldn’t understand her from where she was buried in her chest.

In the doorway, Cleves frowned deeply. “I am terribly sorry for you.” She said to Catalina. Then, attempting to lighten the mood, she said, “There’s a small festival tonight. You can come if you’d like. We’ll be leaving tomorrow morning, so make sure to get some rest. We’ll get you some more food and water.”

Vegetables and cheese, soup, bread, and glasses of water were brought to the room Catalina was in. Joan ended up joining them inside, sitting at the foot of the bed with her tail wrapped around Catalina’s ankle in a form of comfort. Catalina stopped crying eventually, and Katherine got her to drink some water and eat a few pieces of food, but her expression never lifted.

The three of them attempted to go and enjoy the festival, but it quickly proved to be too much for them. Katherine was consumed with far too much worry to think about anything other than the wellbeing of her companions and the journey to the Unbreakable City, Catalina was completely distracted in her depression, and Joan was badly shaken. The music and many people overwhelmed all of them, and they soon had to return to the inn to calm down and rest.

In the middle of the night, Katherine woke up to crying. Instantly, she knew who it was, and she got up to go to Catalina’s bed, climbing in next to the trembling Aasimar.

“Come on, honey,” Katherine murmured to her, grabbing the glass of water on the nightstand and easing it to Catalina’s lips. “Drink. Slow sips.” The poor thing was going to dehydrate herself with how much she was crying.

Catalina obeyed her, drinking a few sips of water, but then quickly dissolved back into tears. Katherine barely had enough time to set the cup down before Catalina collapsed against her, weeping uncontrollably.

“My baby,” The Aasimar moaned. “I-I can’t lose my baby! I can’t, I can’t!”

She was completely hysterical, and Katherine didn’t blame her. To lose her child after everything she’s been through… It must have been heartwrenching.

“Oh, Lina,” Katherine hugged her against her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Oh, my dear Lina… It’s going to be okay. Your baby is strong, just like you are.”

“Why can’t I feel them?” Catalina beseeched. “Why-- why aren’t they--” She began to make concerning gasping noises, and Katherine quickly lifted her chin to make eye contact with her.

“Honey, look at me.” Katherine said. “You’re okay. It’s all going to be okay. Just try to breathe. Can you do that? Follow me if you need to.” She took deep breaths to demonstrate, and Catalina copied her. She stroked her hair back, cooing. “Good girl. Just like that.”

Catalina whimpered, her rich brown eyes shiny with tears in the moonlight slipping through the curtains. Katherine kissed her forehead, and she folded deeper into her warmth.

“I’m right here, my darling Lina,” Katherine murmured, easing Catalina back into a lying position. “I’m right here.”

“W-will you stay with me?” Catalina sniffled.

“Of course,” Katherine said. She felt Catalina press close against her with her nose buried in her neck, still whimpering softly, but now slightly calmer. Katherine slid a hand onto her belly and rubbed it gently, hoping to provide some comfort as they both slowly drifted back off into sleep.

And then--

A kick.

Katherine and Catalina both sat up straight. They looked at each other with wide eyes, then both set their hands on Catalina’s stomach, waiting.

There was a kick. And then another. And then another.

Catalina burst into tears all over again, but this time they were tears of joy.

“They’re alive,” She whispered.

Katherine grinned brightly. “I told you, Lina. They’re a little fighter.”

“They’re alive!” Catalina exclaimed again. She threw her arms around Katherine and hugged her tightly. Katherine laughed, and was able to feel the fluttering of the baby from Catalina’s stomach pressed against her. Catalina suddenly groaned and leaned back. “Great, now they’re moving a bunch.” She poked her belly. “Hey, jerk! You think that was funny? You nearly scared me half to death! Ow! Don’t hit me! I am your mother!”

Katherine was unable to smother her laughter. “Little Mary is a trickster, huh?”

Catalina grinned. “Or Hal.”

“What’s going on?” Joan sat up from the bed she was in, rubbing her eyes sleepily. “Why’s it so noisy?”

Katherine and Catalina both laughed.

“You’re going to be a big sister, Joan!” Catalina told her, beaming. She rested her head against Katherine’s shoulder, unable to stop smiling. “They’re still here…”

“I told you, honey,” Katherine said. “They’re strong. Just like their mama.”

#dnd au #dark souls #six the musical #six the musical au #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fic #six the musical fanfic #tour katherine howard #katherine howard #tour catherine of aragon #catherine of aragon #tour anna of cleves #anna of cleves #tour bessie on the bass #tour joan on the keys

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in-maidjan · 5 years ago

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forcekenobi replied to your post: actually seeing as how my homebrew dnd campaign is...

HELLO??? WHOMST ARE THESE??? NEW CHARACTERS TO LOVE?????

NOT SO MUCH NEW BUT DEFINITELY UNAPPRECIATED FOR SOME TIME ASDFG

cerse is a lil shadar-kai warlock(???), she basically woke up with no memories one day and a mysterious raven following her around (and in a cowboy au i can rly see her...waking up in a swallow grave not knowing anything behind her name and the fact that a crow won’t stop following her, so she thinks she’s been cursed but the birdie is friendly to her surprise)

callous on the other hand is from an old homebrew dnd campaign i used to run, a tragically hot tiefling npc who [redacted]

and actually now that i think about it i also have another shadar-kai npc (ceva) from that campaign who was a cleric that i could throw into this group but i’d pre much have to redo the darling all over again because they Certainly wouldn’t fit as they are now

some old faces for callous (right 👀) and cevahiir (left) tho!

#forcekenobi #kite replies #callous is arguably the hottest character i've ever made and its a SHAME i forgot about him for as long as i did #tumblr butchered the picture rip

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birrdies · 2 years ago

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the ethics of the artifice day 1 of shep's hermitcraft character design event second / lighter version under the cut

#ShepsHermitDesign23 #when I saw the prompt I knew I had to partake #thinking about my own dnd au hmmm #hermitcraft #etho #ethoslab #etho fanart #hermitcraft fanart #life series #third life #last life #double life #birdie draws

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birrdies · 1 year ago

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Chapters: 1/? Fandom: 3rd Life | Last Life SMP Series, Hermitcraft SMP Relationships: Ethoslab & TangoTek (Platonic) Additional Tags: Inspired by Dungeons & Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, EthosLab-centric (Video Blogging RPF), EthosLab Angst (Video Blogging RPF), TangoTek-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Childhood Friends, Platonic Relationships, Prince Tango, Mercenary Etho, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Discrimination, Not RPF, War, Swordfighting, Etho and Tango are just babies and they deserve the world but they won't get it,

Summary:

Orphaned at a young age, Etho finds himself indebted to the Frost Kingdom as a mercenary in the face of a looming war. Growing up in a castle that is as cold as it is heartless, he finds the unexpected: solace, pain, family, and then a reason to leave it all behind.

#birdie writes #traffic smp #life series fic #last life fic #third life fic #hermitcraft fic #ethoslab #etho fic #tangotek #tangotek fic #finally sharing the fantasty/dnd au i've been sitting on for months and months #not enough people write about etho and tango's friendship so i took it upon myself

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birrdies · 2 years ago

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the king & the exile | (part 1/? of third life dnd au)

It’s odd how a place that once bit with sharp teeth now welcomes him with open arms, the iron gates at the northern wall wide open and granting entry for all. Come and rejoice, the open gates scream. Come and witness the new era of the kingdom. A coronation, as he had heard by word of mouth. The first in nearly twenty years.

A new King is to take the throne. Etho always knew this day would come. But it always felt like something so distant, back then. Intangible, even. Someday rather than today. But the day has arrived, and the jubilant coronation has claimed every inch of the city. Festive banners and streamers, ice blue and white, hang between the awnings of local shops on either side of the narrow street. Just up the hill, through the winding shopping district, the path leads to the base of the Frost Kingdom’s sanctioned chapel.

He’s never seen the city so crowded. But then again, he hasn’t seen it (or walked these cobblestone paths) since he was half as tall as he is now. The world always felt so much larger when he was that small. When he still had to crane his neck back to take everything in, when his bow was too big to fit in his hands. A minnow lost in the depths of what he saw to be a bottomless ocean. To young eyes, the curve of the world would give away to that black water and carry on deeper and deeper and deeper until there was nothing.

Etho knows better now. He knows, now, the tightness of these alleyways, the deals that are made in the shadows of them, and the worse ones made underground. He knows how much space he takes up, and how much he needs, and that he’s bound to brush against a stranger’s shoulders more often than not. He also knows the tight muscles behind the smile on the parchment portrait plastered on every free surface in the kingdom. But most of all, Etho now knows that all oceans end somewhere.

“There’s seven of them!” The young prince splays out a large book of maps, the edges of the paper worn yellow with use and age. His small hands trace the outlines of the continent and over the names of oceans that Etho can’t read. He hasn’t been taught yet.

Etho hooks his chin on the table's edge and frowns at the book. How impossible it all seems. “But where does all the water go?”

“It’s like a soup bowl,” Tango says, cupping his hands over the pages. “Because of the way the ground is shaped, it can hold all that water! And it just goes on and on for miles! You need to ride a big ship to go over it all. My papa says he’s sailed over at least three of the oceans!”

The thought is scary, a place so far and vast. Endless, it sounded. “Are they really that big?”

Tango smiles at him and it’s so certain that it manages to melt some of Etho’s worries away. “Well, it doesn’t go on forever and ever. You’ll hit land eventually, no matter what direction you go. There’s always a new place to go, and new people to meet. Isn’t that so cool?”

Etho adjusts the fur-lined hood around his head, shielding his face from guards standing post outside of a leather shop on his way up the cobblestone path. Best not to be caught reminiscing in a place like this: a place meant for hiding. Etho’s not welcome here. He hasn’t been for quite some time. But there’s unfinished business for him to take care of before he goes on his way.

The fanfare carves a path through the merchant’s district towards the base of the massive hill on which the royal family’s Frost Castle had been erected. At the base of the hill is the chapel, an old building made of worn stone and oxidizing copper. It hasn’t changed much since Etho last sat on its front steps, his feet unable to touch the ground. The chime of the churches' bells draws the crowds to the lush courtyard. Alstroemerias grow on the buses lining the courtyard, great wefts of graying veins clinging to the stone walls.

The crowd’s so thick around it, Etho can hardly move— not as well as he’d like to. So he steps out of the mass of townspeople and slinks into the alleys. It’s easy to find shortcuts and workarounds in a place like this. The city may have changed some over the years, a new king on its horizon, but its secrets never truly fade.

Etho finds a narrow passage through an empty tavern just as he’d found it several years ago. There’s a door with a broken hinge hiding a rickety staircase that leads to the roof. The steep roof allows a broad view of the entire church courtyard and front steps. From here, the chapel seems even larger than it ever did on the ground, the steeple puncturing the sky like a great sword cuts through the northern waters’ ice.

He can’t risk getting any closer than this vantage point; not with wandering eyes that could recognize his snowy hair. So he stays perched, his hood drawn, and eyes heavy in wait. It’s beautiful if Etho blinds himself to the rest of the city and the memories that refuse to die here. Not all good, these memories, but not all bad either.

“Take me to the library again today?” Etho’s itching to go. He’s taller now and he’s started to make sense of more of the letters. Tango has esteemed tutors to teach him these things, to sit him at a desk and straighten his collar and teach him names of oceans and the histories of men that came before him. And Etho has Tango, who taught what he learned right back to him.

Only today, Tango lies upside down in bed, his feet propped on the headboard. It’s not very prince-like, from what little Etho learned of princes during his time in the castle. But it’s Tango-like, and to Etho that’s all that matters.

“We just went yesterday,” Tango argues, a bit tired and worn, as he had said the day before and the day before that.

He may argue, but he never says no. Today, like every day, Tango pulls himself from his bed and escorts Etho to the royal family’s private library. Fading are the days Tango would sit beside him in chairs that didn’t allow their feet to quite touch the floor yet, ogling over old history texts and ancient atlases. But Tango goes with him anyway, mindlessly stacking books or tossing a small ball back and forth against the wall as his hands grow more restless.

“What’s this word mean?” Etho asks, showing Tango the open book in his hands.

Tango squints at the page. “Pitiless,” he reads dutifully, as he always does when Etho stumbles upon a word he has yet to learn. “It means to be cruel or show no pity. Like my dad, for example. He's, like, classically pitiless.”Etho knows better than to agree out loud. Tango’s father is not a man Etho particularly likes, but he keeps a roof over Etho’s head and food in his bowl at the end of a long day of training. Nor does he punish Etho beyond a lash on the wrist when he discovers him studying with Tango in the late hours of the night. Not exactly a just king, as his parents would say. But they also taught him that was an opinion to keep to yourself, lest you wanted an axe through your neck.

The Barbarian King was not known for his kindness. Etho, even as a child, knows as much. Tango, however, is the only person in this castle who treats Etho with a morsel of kindness. It’s hard to imagine how he and the King came from the same branch.

Etho sets the book in his lap. “You’ll be King too one day, won’t you?”

Tango turns his toy ball over in his hands, rolling it between his palms like the bakers roll dough for biscuits. “I guess so.” He’s less than thrilled. “Someday. Hopefully far, far away.”

“Will you be like him, when you do?” Etho clutches the book in his hands and remembers the pain that laced through his wrists at the Barbarian King’s hand. The skin had been red for nearly a week after. “Will you become pitiless?”

Tango’s face crumples at the question. It’s an honest question, but not a harmless one. He lets the ball drop between his feet; Etho watches it bounce and roll away underneath the table they always sat at to study before supper.

“I don’t want to be,” Tango admits quietly, his all-blue eyes glassy.

Etho turns his gaze to his own boots, worn at the heels as they are and muddied from a long day of training in the muddy courtyard. “What do you want to be?”

“Kind,” Tango says as if he’s had it decided for years and was waiting for someone to ask him the right question. His face softens when he says it, but those tears still fall from his cheeks and into his lap. “I want to be kind.”

As the parade weaves its way through town, led by a band of brass and string instruments, Etho slides from his perch and disappears into the crowd. A disconnected view suddenly feels too clinical, too impersonal. He despises the crowds (and the extravagance of this particular one), but his desire to see things up close is too powerful. Especially as the royal carriage, wedged in the center of street performers and a procession of armed King’s Guard soldiers, approaches the cobblestone entry of the chapel.

It’s heavy and oversized compared to the rest of the parade floats, the wooden fixtures painted ice and blue, like the frozen ocean just north of here. Etho can practically feel the chill of it, several hundred feet away as he slips his way through the crowd.

Etho follows the madness until he’s among the few lucky civilians who managed to slip into the crowded space of the courtyard. It’s risky, being so close, but what is Etho without a little danger? Besides, he deems his own curiosities worth it for the time being. It’s been years since he’s laid eyes on the little prince. He wants to see if he’s grown into his ears yet.

Still, he is not without caution. He sticks on the outskirts of the lawn, back pressed against the stone walls and hood obscuring most of his face. The crowd helps him in this regard— remaining hidden— but the importance of such a day only makes the wandering eyes of patrolling guards much more dangerous.

The music tapers from a roar into a dull static, silencing the crowd just enough for a bard with an extravagant head of bluish hair to stand atop one of the parade’s floats. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he announces the King’s presence, his voice loud and boisterous yet musical in a strange sort of way. Etho pays him no mind. His eyes never leave the doors of the carriage.

It rattles as the door finally cranes open. Etho holds his breath. He’s not sure what he’s expecting. Years change a man in more ways than one; he knows this better than anyone, perhaps. But the idea of his friend changing is a startling one, a damn near impossible one. Kind, Tango’s voice is all he can hear above the growing roar of the crowd as their new King steps into the daylight.

He looks the part, adorned with black fleece and furs that pile high around his neck. A golden circlet sits on his hair, the glint of it enough to blind Etho where he stands. His sharp chin, held high and poised, resembles his father’s. There’s a practice to the way he moves, but his uncertainty shows. A prince masquerading in a King’s armor much too big to fit.

Tango’s always been far too honest for his own good.

The guards carve a path from the carriage toward the entrance of the chapel. It takes four men to pull open the oversized, grand wooden doors. Tango allows the guards to take the lead. He gazes out upon the courtyard, upon his people. His smile is small and forced; the burden he carries is always too heavy. Etho can feel it from here.

Through it all, there’s a single and brief moment. Maybe Etho only imagines it; he can’t be too sure. But Tango takes his time scanning the crowd, studying the faces of the people who will, in a few hours' time, become his subjects. And for that one selfish second, Etho thinks Tango’s icy eyes meet his own.

“Why won’t you agree to fight?” Tango asks, cornering him in his quarters with fury in those eyes. Fury he knows Tango hates because it makes him look too much like what he is— a barbarian.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Etho says. The words catch in his throat. He feels like choking on them. It’d be easier than this: Tango’s anger. It’s not the first time he’s faced it, but it doesn’t get easier with each passing time. They’re older now, too. Tango’s words hold far too much weight.

But they’re still just two boys. A prince nearing his time as a reluctant King. A nobody who is equally afraid but cannot show it.

Tango’s hands fly in the air in exasperated surrender. “Then help me to. You know what they’re going to do to you if you refuse, don’t you?”

One night. Etho’s been gifted that much time to consider his invitation: shackles disguised as an extended hand, masked in promises of glory and a new suit of armor. He’s been asked to fight for the King in the upcoming war. A place in the King’s Guard as a respected soldier. But that’s not Etho; it’s never been Etho. Had they been children still, maybe Tango would remember that.

“I know quite well what your father will do to me if I refuse.” It’s cruel to choose such wording; Etho knows. Maybe it’s Tango’s fault for arming him with these weapons. “You know what he did to my family. What he’s done to me. I can’t do it.”

“He’ll kill you,” Tango pleads, as if somehow Etho hasn’t realized his own fate. “He’ll call you a deserter, a traitor. A private lynch if he’s feeling merciful. A public execution otherwise. I can’t watch him do that to you. I can’t bear it.”

“Don’t beg me to stay.” It’s the closest he’ll ever come to asking Tango for anything outside of sneaky trips to the library in the dead of the night.

Tango’s face is as telling as any open book on the tables of those libraries. Tango taught him to read the words on the pages just as he unwittingly taught the cartography of his face: the vulnerable crease in his brow, the crooked downturn of his lips. His face is as kind as it is devastated.

“I won’t beg,” Tango says. “But that does not mean I’m going to let you die either.”

The coronation passes as the sun carves a path through the sky. Two hours, by Etho’s count. He sits idle for a while, eavesdropping on the idle chattering of the crowd around him. Public opinion seems nervous, about the new King, the new era, and the future of their beloved Kingdom.

Etho can only sit and listen to their doubts for so long. The coronation must be nearly over, so he makes his own path through the crowd. He slips behind market carts lined up outside the chapel (sellers capitalizing off of the hungry and thirsty crowd) and circles around toward the back of the church. King’s Guard members crawl the grounds like an army of fire ants. Their armor makes them easy to spot and avoid, Etho making like a shadow between families walking in tandem and dark corners around buildings.

Unfortunately, his hair and eyes make him entirely too noticeable for his own liking, even with a hood and cloak. If he stands a chance of making it inside the chapel, he needs to get close and personal. He cracks his knuckles and approaches the back door of the chapel. Two guards stand by the door, their broadswords sheathed on their hips.

Their first mistake.

Etho approaches them, his chin tilted down so as to hide his face in its entirety. He hobbles to the pair with a fake limp in his left leg and one shaky hand outstretched. “Halt,” the taller of the two orders, hands on the hilt of his sword.

“I’m sorry. I just need some help.” It’s been a while since Etho pretended to be elderly, so the voice certainly could use some work. But there is no time like the present to shake the rust off, he supposes. His hand trembles when he points to the guards and then once over his shoulder. “My satchel was stolen by some pickpocket!”

“Sorry, sir, but we’re not able to help you,” the other guard says, though his voice is uncertain. Etho can hear the way he glances at the other guard for approval. “You better be on your way. This is a restricted area.”

“Oh, that’s a shame.” He stares at their hands from beneath the safety of his hood. The first guard removes his hand from his sword hilt. The second mistake.

Etho makes quick work of them. He’s no stranger to fighting, and he’s taken on far worse than trained members of the King’s Guard. The thing about royal soldiers is this: they pretend they have a certain kind of class and dignity. In the streets or fighting rings, there’s no room for such petty things. Pulling hair, breaking noses, cracking teeth; everything is fair game. There’s no room for grace or honor or justice. Only the game. This is something the King’s Guard has yet to understand. They’ve never really had to fight and dig their fingernails in the dirt.

After the fight, he knocks them unconscious with their own swords. But he doesn’t succeed unscathed. One of them knocked his elbow right against Etho’s right eye, the skin there already starting to bruise, red seeping into the white of his eye. It certainly hurt, being hit upside the head with a sheet of metal. But he quickly clears the stars from his eyes and begins prying the armor off their unconscious bodies.

Etho kneels before Tango’s father. All eyes are on him; something that has not happened since he was a child, unruly and needing to be tamed. He stares at the marble flooring, and studies the patterns in it, lest he goes insane at the mercy of the royal court’s curious gazes. Worst of all, Tango sits among them, just behind his father with his face a terrible shade of white that reminds Etho of nothing but death.

It won’t be Tango’s death that is secured tonight. But it nauseates Etho all the same. He’s made his decision. Now all that’s left is to lie with it, let it bury him with dignity. He likes to think his parents would be proud.

“Your decision, child?” The Barbarian King asks from his place upon his ice throne.

Etho pretends to debate it. Small mercies not for himself, but for Tango. The prince with a bleeding, tender heart. The best of them all. Etho’s only regret will be not being there to see how he becomes what he’s never wanted. A King.

“I won’t fight.” Etho gives himself the dignity of raising his head when he says it. He’ll look the King in the eye when he signs his own death sentence because he isn’t a coward. And he refuses to be remembered as one. “You’ll have to find another mercenary.”

The Barbarian King’s eyebrow twitches (the same way Tango does when he’s perplexed), and his knuckles turn white from his grip on the arms of his cold throne. “Think about this very carefully, you pest. I’ve all but raised you from the dirt. I fed you, put clothes on your back, and trained you. You would be nothing had it not been for this kingdom. Does that debt mean nothing to you?”Etho looks past the King’s shoulder to Tango. Tango stares right back, eyes red-rimmed and brimming with tears. There’s a small part of him that believes Etho will change his mind. The same part that giggled and smiled with Etho as they hid beneath the tables reading ghost stories and mythology tales. The same part that started to die, little by little like a candle running out of wax, as the burdens of his bloodline began to grow too heavy.

“It means nothing,” Etho says, returning his gaze to the King. “We never asked for your help. Our debt was forced upon us. I will not fight for you.”With that, the King sits back. Etho remembers thinking as a child he was always so big. Impossibly so, like a mountain from Tango’s atlases that he claimed no man could ever overcome. How silly that seems now. A few words are all it takes, really.

“Very well.” The King speaks with the finality of a rope around Etho’s neck. “To defy the crown’s call for arms is an official act of treason. Without a trial, you are to be sentenced to public execution in the square. Tomorrow morning. Guards.”

The guards blocking the door come forward. They’re men Etho knows well. Men that trained him, men that picked him up from the dirt when he was too weak to carry a sword or pull back the string of a longbow. He feels their sadness in their gentle hands as they pick him up from the floor. He doesn’t fight. There’s no reason for it now.

Instead, he focuses on Tango. He cries in earnest now, open and unhindered by even his father’s cruel stare. Etho thinks better of trying to comfort him at that moment. Tango won’t listen. All he can do is offer him a smile as he’s escorted from the throne room, heavy stone shackles around his wrists and the title traitor nailed to his chest.

He finds Tango alone. In the back of the chapel, in a type of confessional suit with the middle partition taken down in the name of saving space for the King. The sallet covers Etho’s hair and eyes, and the golden broach on his chest is a strange mockery of a life he could have led.

Tango turns upon hearing the door shut behind Etho. His eyes are tired and wet. A familiar sight. “Leave me,” the new King demands, lacking the bite his father always had.

“Forgive me, Your Highness,” Etho says, no longer disguising his voice. He pulls the sallet from his head and allows his hair to fall in his face.

“You…” Tango’s eyes widen with the relief of sighting an old friend. Or the disbelief of seeing a ghost. “ Is that— Etho? What are you doing here?”

“Maybe I just wanted to see a friendly face.” Etho leans against the doorway, head tilted to the side. This day, again, was always an inevitability— a throne separating them and the crown atop Tango’s head. Though he always imagined it a bit differently, when he was young and innocent. Etho at his side, maybe, wearing a set of armor that actually belonged to him.

It had been nothing but a child’s fantasy. One built upon his own naivety. Etho knows this now, nor does he grieve the opportunity missed. But he had grieved for his friend— the only one he’s ever had— and he’s grieved for Tango and what he’s been forced to become.

Tango was always too gentle for a crown; they both know it well.

Tango smiles sadly— the same smile he gave Etho that day in the library. I want to be kind, he had said. Back then, Etho hadn’t known what to say. Or how to comfort. It seems neither of them has changed. Not where it mattered. It’s a comforting realization.

He pulls Etho in for a hug without warning; Etho lets him. He rests his chin on Tango’s shoulder and wraps his arms around his old friend. A brother, he may have called Tango several years ago. He’s not sure brotherhood is something you can wash from yourself like blood from your knuckles. Nor does he know if it’s something that strains with distance, something lost if not reminded constantly of how strong it had once been.

Because returning to Tango’s arms feels a lot like coming home. For a moment, Etho can pretend nothing’s changed, even though he’s wearing stolen armor and has his arms around the officially crowned Frost King. Tango never wanted this. They both know it. But there’s nothing either of them can do about it. Defeat tastes the same in Etho’s mouth as blood.

Tango pulls him back and holds him at arm’s length. His smile never fades. “You look like death,” he laughs.

Etho reaches up to prod at the bruise around his right eye. It’s tender to the touch, and he imagines it’s rather unsightly. “I’ve certainly looked worse,” Etho says with a quiet chuckle. “I had to take out two of your guards in the back. Sorry.”

“Please. They’re still my father’s men more than anything.” Tango scoffs, taking in Etho’s face. The bruise is not the worst of Etho’s changes. There’s a new addition Tango hasn’t seen before, the scar through his left eye, puckered and pink. There’s a story behind it, but now isn’t the time for such things. Tango understands this so he doesn’t ask about it. Their time now is precious.

“You’re a fool for coming here,” Tango says but his tone suggests he believes anything but. “If someone were to recognize you—”

“There’s still a bounty on my head?” Etho teases with a tilt of his head. “You’re the King now, aren’t you?” “Hey,” Tango admonishes but his smile remains contagious. “It’s not like I expected you to ever come back. It’s not like you had anything to come back for.”

“I didn’t?” Etho challenges, his own smile faltering. He can’t blame Tango for believing otherwise. Etho had thrown everything away with a few simple words for his own pride. For his own freedom.

Tango falters, staring at Etho with wide eyes. It’s like they're in the library again, studying under the dull light of a nearby oil lamp. Tango’s knees are knobby and Etho still can’t make out half the words in front of him. Everything feels simple because things are simple yet. Neither of them carries the weight of the world on their shoulders; instead, it’s spread out in front of them. Ripe for harvest, for exploration.

“Will you stay?” Tango asks with a hand resting on Etho’s armored shoulder. But he already knows the answer.

Etho shakes his head. “You know I can’t. Not for long anyway.”

“So why come all this way?” Tango’s tone is one of defeat. It’s strange how small he makes himself seem, even adorned with black silks and armor and crowns. He’s suddenly drowning in his wardrobe. He averts his eyes to the confessional booth. “Why take the risk?” “When I heard the Frost Kingdom was to crown its new King, I had to come,” Etho says truthfully. He’s never been one for deceiving friends. “I wanted to know if you changed your mind.”

“About what?” Tango turns back to him in surprise.

Etho looks down at himself. The armor fits snugly in the wrong places, and pinches him in others. He remembers why he never chose this life, why Tango hadn’t been enough to keep him there. Not any fault of Tango’s. No, the matter of Etho’s pride is no one’s concern or fault but his own. But that does not mean that a tiny part of Etho— the childish one who loves library books— wishes it could have been different.

“About what kind of King you want to be. Do you still want to be kind?” Etho asks.

Tango’s lips press into a fine line, his eyes level and calculating. It’s the most kinglike Etho’s ever seen him. Like he suddenly fills the holes in his armor with that single look. This, Etho realizes, is where Tango’s strength is.

“I do,” Tango says. “And it’s not just a want. I will be kind.”

Etho’s smile is one of relief. “Good. It’s a promise, then.” He extends a hand to his old friend.

When Tango accepts it, he grips it tightly. Like he’s afraid Etho will disappear into the shadows if he lets go too soon. Etho doesn’t let go either. Not for a minute or two. They don’t know the next time they will see each other, but this little bit is enough.

“I can work on getting your bounty cleared,” Tango promises before he releases Etho’s hand. “That way, you can visit whenever you want. No worry about getting arrested.”

Etho lets go. “Eh, leave it. It’s more fun with a bounty anyway.” “You’re still a troublemaker, I see.” Tango’s hand returns to his side. He rights his posture as if suddenly remembering himself and the crown in his hair.

With a shrug, Etho says, “I like to keep things interesting.”

The roar of the crowd outside starts to stir again. It’s nearly time for the King to return to the castle in a flurry of joyous celebration. Tango’s saddened smile returns with a vengeance. He’s making peace with saying goodbye. Etho is too, though he keeps it hidden beneath the borrowed chest-plate.

“Don’t be a ghost to me.” Tango doesn’t leave room for argument. It isn’t a request, it’s an order. From the Frost King. “I will see you again, Etho. Understand?” Etho bows deeply, a hand over his heart. The same way a member of the King’s Guard would swear his loyalty to the King. A promise on the golden medallion engraved in his armor. But the type of promise he makes here is far more potent, deeper than any blood debt.

“Understood, Your Highness. I will return.”

“Go on, then. Before you get yourself arrested.” Tango fixes the furs around his collar, preparing to go meet his court and subjects once again before the sun sets and the day ends. This time, when he lifts his chin, he doesn’t resemble his father. He’s just Tango.

Etho returns the sallet to his head and leaves the way he came. Like a shadow in the crowd, nothing but a speck in a jubilant kingdom.

“What are you doing here?” Etho asks the damp darkness of the dungeon. For it’s not an empty darkness. Behind the rusting bars is the fearful face of the prince. Tango clutches the bars in his bare hands, his eyes narrowed and certain.

“I’m getting you out,” Tango says. There’s a soft jingle in the darkness. Metal hitting metal. A keyring in Tango’s hands. “I told you I would not let you die.”Etho sighs and sits from the cool bed of straw in the corner of his cell. The shackles are heavy, designed to prevent him from being able to fight. A problem Etho had been trying to think through before he’d heard Tango’s breath in the darkness. “I don’t need your help. I can escape on your own.”

The keys rattle in the cellar door. The metal screams as it swings open, the cool air flooding into Etho’s cell. He shivers against it, but it seems to only cling to the air around Tango as he steps inside. “Maybe,” the prince relents. “But I’m not willing to risk it. Let’s go.”He kneels at Etho’s side and takes another key to the shackles binding his wrists. The skin there aches, but the cool touch of Tango’s hands hurts far more. He shouldn’t be doing this, risking his own safety and crown for someone like Etho. A nobody.

Tango tells him there’s a tunnel beneath the kingdom. It wings beneath the city streets and empties by a river bed just outside the kingdom walls. Etho remembers the tunnels, used as an escape route during the Great Wars when Tango’s father had just been a baby. How could he forget such a story? Tango’s the one who read it to him, one of many nights they’d spent in that library.

At the entrance of the hallway, a void-like maw ahead of them, Tango hands Etho an oil lamp and a pack of rations. They don’t say anything in this exchange. Maybe there’s nothing left to say. Tango can’t plead for him to stay anymore. Etho’s already seen to that. Their nights together, reading, studying, and sparring, are to be buried with the rest of their unwritten history. Nothing but stories and memories to keep to themselves.

The last thing Tango hands him is a book. An atlas, with pages worn and small enough to fit in his pocket. It’d been Etho’s favorite; the book he’d smuggle into his bunks in the basement and read in the darkness so as to not be caught.

Etho accepts it with a soft smile. He tucks it away with the rest of the belongings Tango had gifted him.

Then, he turns to the empty tunnels. The light barely touches the darkness. He’s never been on a ship, but he imagines this is what the oceans feel like at night. Black and abyssal. Endless. It’s a childish fear that sneaks back to the forefront, not because he fears what hides in that darkness, but because he fears what happens after it. If there even is an after.

#the target audience for this is pretty much me and me only #(and worm thank you worm for supporting my etho & tango bromance endeavors)#this dnd au has been haunting me for a month now so it feels good to finally start writing bits and pieces #etho #ethoslab #third life #third life fic #last life #last life fic #hermitcraft fic #tango #tangotek #dnd au #summary: etho was raised in the frost kingdom basically to become a soldier. tango is the prince of the frost kingdom #my writing #birdie writes

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