#but he hones himself into a weapon and a healer so he never needs it

[dirtytransmasc]

scenario based on my atla/Avatar Spider au:

The first time Spider enters the Avatar state is when the humans return to Pandora, their flaming ships bringing inferno like wildfires to Eywa's forests act like a comet, and the boy loses control, and the only way to protect him from himself was for Eywa to induce the Avatar state so his body could withstand the way his own flames reacted. He ends up in the center of some of the worst of the flames, engulfed, but shielded by a sphere of his own flames, stone, and air, as he draws water up from the soil to soften the wildfire's rage.

When the infernos die down days later, he rises from the ashes barely scathed, ready to make himself known as the Avatar, despite his fear and the hostility he knows he'll face as an "abomination to Eywa's blessings". But he doesn't care. He's too angry, his eyes and stripes still glowing, the rage of thousands of centuries of warriors and healers and mothers and fathers and devotees coursing through him.

But he is young. He has had no teachers. So his anger only takes him so far, and very few trust him enough to allow him to truly partake in the battles and planning, not within the Omatikaya anyway, seeing him as some cruel hoax formulated by the humans.

The second time he enters the Avatar state is the night the recoms lay their filthy hands on his baby siblings. He rages. Beyond rages. His power comes in the form of animalistic rage. His eyes and stripes white out. One second his siblings are held in bounds, the next they're free and he's yelling at them in a voice they don't quite recognize to run. Then he is gone, his anger quickly spent, leading to his capture, but not without fight. The recoms never expected to deal with a fire bender like themselves, let alone the Avatar.

The casualties left behind that night were his doing.

The third time he reaches the Avatar state is the night Neteyam dies. The boy was a healer, but not with water. He had no teachers to show him the way of using it to heal. He had no herbs or plants at his side that he recognized as Neteyam bled out before him. He screamed to Eywa for help, for the strength and skill to heal his brother. He pleaded for her to force him into the Avatar state so he could keep his brother from slipping away. But she couldn't save him, not this time. She wanted to, but she could not allow him to upset the balance.

Neteyam dies as Spider weakly, despite all of his might, holds an orb of faintly glowing water over the hole in his chest, as his eyes track over the burns left by over eager fire benders with no true skill. He dies as Spider screams and begs. The one time he needed his blessing, his curse, his punishment, his reward- Whatever anyone wished to call it -to do Hun why good, it could not save his problem.

Instead it comes the moment it is too late to do anything, enough rage and grief and hurt pooling in his chest as Neteyam's eyes glaze over and Neytiri begins to scream and his Father's voice begins to mock. That is when he rises to the ground in a cast of white light. He ravages the ship. He isn't alone, but he claims his casualties.

It takes a very long time before he ever allows himself to enter the Avatar state again, and he learns to never depend on it. For anything. And while his faith in Eywa is not lost, it is jaded, because she blessed him with a curse, whether she meant to or not, and couldn't even answer his one prayer.

[maisonaime]

Give and Take

Softdom!Cassian x Healer!Reader

Premise: You get back after a long day of work and Cassian is ready to take over everything, you give him control so that you don’t lose it entirely. 

Splitting this into two parts so that I don't lose my mind over it anymore. Love to all who jumped on this prompt!

Warnings: Dom/sub dynamics, smutty fluff, emotional overstimulation, self-sacrificing, poor self-care (bordering on self-harm), injury and slight gore, 18+ minors DNI

Part 1:

The last flight of stairs up to the rooms you and Cassian occupied in the River House seemed steeper than you had ever remembered, dragging yourself up the stairs was utterly Sisyphean, the last stretch in a long day that had frustrated tears finally pricking in your eyes. You were tired to your bones, fed up with being hunched over a desk, and the day was still far from done over eleven hours after it had begun. You woke and dressed when the sky was dark, and were returning hours after the braziers lining the hallways had been lit.

You had two bags hanging in the crook of one elbow, full of brewing equipment that needed to be polished with a protective tonic before being used in class tomorrow. In the same arm, you were clutching a thick stack of essays requiring grading. Tucked under your other arm was a folio of research on restorative therapies for Illyrians who had their wings clipped. Slung over your shoulder from training was your weapons belt, sheathed with two daggers and a longsword Cassian had wrought for you as a wedding gift.  

The file of research slipped from your arms, scattering down all the steps you had just climbed in complete disarray. You made a small sound of anguish and finally, the tears were flowing freely. You were so grateful for it all, for this beautiful life you had. You were grateful for the research you were able to do to find a way to reverse the horrors wrought on Illyrian females. You were enthusiastic about teaching your students, passing along ancient knowledge to the trainees who would one day be your peers. You itched for training with Nesta, Emerie, and Gwyn; pouring intentional movement into your body after long days of obligatory motion.

Healing people, feeling your tendrils of power sweep over broken bones, seeking out the source of symptoms, touching the broken parts of people’s souls. It was the greatest gift, one that multiplied every time you held a newborn babe, watched someone run or dance on legs that had never worked before, and felt the relief of familial caregivers as you restored hearing or sight or even small amounts of lucidity to their aging parents. It was quite possibly the only gift that you valued more than your precious mate. The one who you had remade and been remade by. 

 You were so grateful for it all, for this beautiful life you had. But there were some days when you felt the burden of worlds bearing down on you. Days when failed healings left you shattered. Days when there was simply too much to do and not enough hours to do it. 

“What’s all this sweetheart.” Cassian appeared at the top of the stairs, his darkened gaze forcing you to rethink your current predicament. 

Despite his intimidating size and title, the Lord of Bloodshed was as gentle a lover as you had ever known. He had honed his resolve over the centuries, along with all his other skills. Even in the most feral moments between the two of you, lost entirely to the bond in skin and teeth and brutish groans, he would never lose himself. He could balance himself over you for hours with just the head of his cock pressing into your center, and could sit perfectly still while stuffed down your pretty little throat. 

What he couldn’t do was abide by disobedience. And disobedience to Cassian was self-neglect. Disobedience was forgetting to eat, not getting enough sleep. Disobedience was piling too much onto your plate. Disobedience was trying to lug over one-hundred pounds of shit up the stairs after you had left before dawn and were returning long after dark. And disobedience would earn you punishment.

—

Ever since you had helped Azriel rehabilitate his shredded wings after Hybern wrought his havoc, you had remained in close connection with the High Lord’s Inner Circle. Your attentive and tranquil care healed both Azriel’s wings and the lingering horror that wracked his soul in the following weeks as he tried to move on from those paralyzing moments of agony. You treated his flesh and soul with equal gentleness, cementing your regard as a healer with the capacity to treat vulnerability with as much tenderness as you treated wounds and sickness.

When Cassian lay broken and bleeding, of course, it was you who was summoned to the tent. He was like every other patient before in your ability and desire to help him. But he was also like no other patient before because he was your mate. You could still feel his screaming cleaving the air and reverberating through your jaw, dulling all senses to anything but him. His brothers had to hold him down with tears in their eyes; Feyre lost her stomach; Mor just sat in the corner silently shaking. You were cursed to remember every ounce of hopelessness in his eyes as he scrambled away from your hands, refusing any of your help or assessment for fear of what you might find.

You found femur bone shattered like glass, tearing into the muscle and tendon of his massive thigh. You found snapped cartilage, torn muscle, and severe hemorrhaging that nearly cut off blood supply to his entire left wing; the damage so bad it would have resulted in field amputation had you not been there. You found the husk of a man who had been so sure he was going to die without being able to save his family, without even being able to say goodbye. 

You burned yourself out with the raw power that flooded from you as you were confronted with the primal need to save him. You gave yourself entirely to the will of the goddess that had blessed your hands. At one point Rhys had to blanket your mind in darkness so that you wouldn’t drain that well of power entirely. 

When finally, the damage left could only be healed by time, you had collapsed over him and refused to move. Unable to. Gentle, weak arms had dragged you ungracefully to a warm chest, to a beating heart. The only thing you could hear through the thundering haze of your overwrought senses. 

“Don’t you ever do that again, for anyone. Not even me sweetheart.” 

And then it was Cassian’s turn to heal you. To watch over your trembling body as you recovered from the depletion of your powers. He fed and bathed you. Stretched and massaged the muscles that felt as though they had been filleted by lightning. Braided your hair to keep it from knotting during the long hours you slept. 

He poured himself into you in a way you had never had before. In a way you had only ever provided to others, never received yourself. In a way you hadn’t ever known you wanted so badly until you were sobbing hoarsely into his arms, years of self-sacrifice pouring out of you.

It didn’t stop there. Only when you had settled into living together did either of you realize the extent to which overextending yourself had become a way of life. The first time you came home past midnight, Cass was in a panic thinking you had been hurt or taken. When you stumbled through the door on legs bent with exhaustion and informed him that you had eaten exactly three crackers and a handful of berries all day, he just stared at you for a long time.

“How do you expect to save everyone if you destroy yourself in the process? This level of self-sacrifice isn’t noble, it’s irresponsible. Now, get on your fucking knees.” Your head snapped to him, pinning him with a disbelieving scoff. But he was dead serious. 

In a flash he had your hair gathered in a stern but gentle fist, and you had your mouth very, very full. He fucked your mouth with a fervor, his fingers finding the corners so he could pop your jaw open further and push himself even deeper down your throat. 

He came with a hiss, freeing a hand from your ruined mouth to pound in a fist against the unyielding stone wall. 

Then he scooped you up and laid you in bed, pouring water with lemon and honeyed tea down your throat. Leaving your side briefly, only to return with a veritable feast of foods specifically selected to strengthen your body and magic. His care was almost overwhelming, but you found yourself surrendering to his vigil over you.

—

“Put it down” he said, pure authority radiating from him.

“Put what down?” you feigned. 

“All of it, sweetheart. And don’t make me ask again. I’d hate to have to take you down to Az’s workroom. He put up such a fuss last time, even after I cleaned everything in front of him.” There was no room for disobedience in his tone, even if the remark had you chuckling. 

You struggled to unburden yourself, unsure of how to extend your arms and set down one item without imperiling another. You met Cassian’s gaze with pleading eyes that quickly turned fiery at his smugness. You drew yourself up slowly, eyes narrowing…

And dropped everything from your hands, letting the first bag of glassware slide off your arms and crash to the ground – even if the sound of tinkering glass made something in you twist and cringe. 

“Don’t be a fucking brat, you know it’ll only make things worse.” he snapped, lips pulling back in a feral grin as he raked his gaze over your body, your leather-bound dips and curves displayed to him unobstructed. 

The belt you set down gently, minding your beautiful blade. In the middle of the night after your mating ceremony, in the haze of your frenzy, Cassian had marched you down to the deepest chambers of the Court of Nightmares, where the mountain burned nearly as hot as your bond. You had watched with lust-glazed eyes as he hammered out a blade and fused it to the hilt he had already carved and polished—smooth, rounded obsidian imbued with the cavernous powers of the Mountains. 

He fucked you hard into the stone floor and then soared into the night sky with you and the weapon, cooling skin and steel alike. And when you finally touched ground again, he wasted no time showing you exactly why he chose that particular shape for the handle. 

A snap of his fingers had the scattered papers piled neatly beside it. Then you gingerly set down the second bag of glassware, cringing as you considered how your eager disobedience would reflect back in Cassian’s treatment.

“Good.” he crooned. “Now go bathe and wait for me in bed.”

Cass abided by your whims for the most part, always eager to take care of you but never pressuring you to submit. He could always tell when you needed to give away control. When you needed to be told what and when to eat, how to dress, when to speak, and when to be silent. When to “get on your fucking knees” and when to “lay down darling, that’s it, now hush my love and let me work.” And he would give it to you every time without tire, for the rest of his days. 

As you passed him to make towards your suite, he sidestepped into your path and halted you with a hand to your shoulder, the palm of his other hand cupping your face. He looked down at you with gentle eyes. You leaned into his touch instinctively, eager to shove away the pressures of your autonomy, even if just for the next few hours.

“I counted five things that you placed over your own needs today. Your patients, your students, your research, your training, your healing. Then you had to go and double it by bratting off and making a mess of your things.” He glanced around, unimpressed at your display of resistance. 

“It’ll take me time to fix and polish the glassware and reorganize your papers. So you’ll wait. You’ll be doing a lot of that tonight. It only makes sense, I think, that you take ten hard edges before we think about next steps.” His voice was hard, determined, even as his hands were so so soft.

Your eyes widened, head shaking even as his words had your blood thrumming with desire. 

“Yes, sweetheart. Yes, you will. Maybe this time you’ll finally learn your lesson about what happens when we deny ourselves what we need.”

[eirwensbook]

JUST A LITTLE GAME

I was just thinking that I've seen very few works in which Tav is a man, that's why we're here. I suppose this is only one part of the few, so... 1/?. I also want to say that English is not my native language, so if you notice any mistakes, please tell me about them!

Warnings: Fighter!Tav, soft on his own way!Astarion, suicidal thoughts, mentions of disordered eating, selfharm.

This day was really crazy. Tav and his companions survived an attack by a horde of evil goblins, during which he was hit on the head. He also broke his beloved bow, lost the ring carefully stolen by Astarion, accidentally bumped an elf woman with his shoulder and she dropped a fruit basket because of this. And now, barely standing on his feet, Tav was chopping wood for a fire and listening to Gale's next whining.

Tav didn't really listen to his friend's words, concentrating on the axe and the log. His strong pale hand wrapped around the wooden handle of the axe, skillfully and deftly cutting large logs in half. It was clearly not the first or even the tenth time he had done this. Gale didn't seem to care that his leader wasn't listening to him at all. He just needed to talk it out, to get the burden of emotions off his shoulders. And Tav was perfect for that.

Tav was perfect for everything, actually. He will protect, if necessary, warm up, offer a strong shoulder and a handkerchief to wipe away tears, comfortingly pat on the back, give good advice, lull, play the role of a cook, healer, hunter. And, what is most remarkable, he will not ask for anything in return.

Astarion was sitting near his tent, reading another book about herbs and their properties, occasionally looking up and watching Tav. There was really something to look at: a tall, strong half-elf with an excellent muscular body was concentrating on chopping firewood. His movements were precise, and his face was serious and thoughtful. Tav never had his head in the clouds, however, he always thought about practical things like the safety of his companions, for whom he was responsible, about their health and well-being. Astarion, to put it mildly, was mesmerized... it was just beautiful - Tav, this strong man, was beautiful. And it was nice to watch, that's all.

Astarion's gaze shifted to Gale. He couldn't hear what he was talking about, but it was clear from his facial expressions, gestures and active articulation that he was complaining to Tav again. Astarion chuckled, gently touching the image of herbs on an old battered book page. Gale could really be annoying sometimes... but Tav didn't complain, so it's okay, right?

Soon, when the firewood was chopped, Gale's problems were listened to, the fire was lit, and all the companions were sitting around firecamp cooking dinner, Tav, smiling delicately and apologizing, left towards the lake under the pretext of feeling unwell. The man's face became darker with every step that brought him closer to the pond. The body, which was not wearing armor, felt uncomfortably light and as if naked. No security, no safety, no imaginary support... right now he doesn't have a shell at all.

Tav sat down on the ground by the lake, pulling his sharp dagger from his belt. He had such a game - he had to throw a dagger and catch it by the blade, trying not to hurt his fingers at the same time. However, the problem was that it was impossible not to hurt his fingers — Tav always sharpened his dagger so much that he could easily cut a sheet of paper from one of these endless books of Astarion. "This is how I hone my mastery of edged weapons," the man justified himself, inside perfectly aware of what kind of tendencies this is.

His calloused, scarred fingers began to play with a dangerous toy, the gaze of his gray lifeless eyes stared into the slightly trembling water of the lake. Tav's head was stupidly loud. The demons of the past were literally screaming, sending impulses into his tortured mind. The man thought about how wonderful it would be to be in silence, where no one would bother him. Where there are no people getting into trouble, where there are no companions who, like blind kittens, mindlessly follow him, where there is no pain, cold and hunger. Tav thought about what would happen if he took this blade and cut his throat. Or what would happen if he undressed, entered the icy lake water and drowned himself there to hell.

Astarion will be worried, that's what will happen. That was the only reason Tav didn't finish... all of this. This man, full of sarcasm, mock selfishness and constant little giggles, was his moonlight in the dark. He wanted to save his life at least in order to hear this rare sincere laugh again and again, to see this even rarer smile. Not a smirk, but a smile. He wanted to hug him and not let go, he wanted to bury his nose in white curls, he wanted... Gods, he just wanted special someone next to him, next to someone with whom he could be a little more vulnerable. Next to someone with whom he could unclench his jaw and exhale. Next to someone with whom he could just be himself. Not a famous fighter, not a fearless leader, not a skilled hunter, but just… Tav. Who loves hugs, the smell of pomegranate and coolness. Who loves Astarion.

Quiet, cat-like footsteps were knocked out of Tav's thoughts. With careful tread, someone was coming closer and closer. Someone was standing right behind Tav, not daring to move. Someone with a quiet sigh still sat down next to Tav, carefully removing a dagger from his bloody hand. Someone wiped the blood off with the sleeve of his new silk blouse, which fit him just perfectly.

Astarion.

"How many times have I asked you not to do this to yourself!", Astarion sounded annoyed, but worried. His voice was not even and sometimes moved to high notes. "Darling, talk to me. Please", the last word was uttered so softly that it could be compared to the sound of the leaves of the trees in the forest in which they were.

Tav couldn't answer. He couldn't explain why he was doing everything he did. He couldn't explain why thoughts of death were ringing in his head like a tocsin. He couldn't explain why he was half-intentionally harming himself. He couldn’t explain why he systematically avoided meals, writhing from hunger pain — such a familiar feeling since childhood. He also couldn’t explain why now his iron impenetrable nature craved ordinary human affection and care. And maybe a kiss on the temple. Only if he's lucky enough.

Tav covered his face with his hands. His shoulders tensed and his lips tightened into a thin line. He tried to hold back the shameful, in his opinion, tears.

"I don't know...", the man muttered on the verge of hearing. "I just… I want to disappear, you know?".

Astarion knew. He knew too damn well. He didn't think for a second. Astarion crawled a little absurdly on his knees to Tav, pressing his big body to his own. The man's hot cheek touched the cool silk fabric of another man's blouse.

"Cry. Let it out", there was no usual sarcasm or mockery in Astarion's voice. Only sincere concern. And something else. Something so unusually warm. "You told Gale yourself that it's okay to cry."

Tav shook his head, gently stroking the fabric of his blouse. Damn pragmatist.

"I can't", Tav's voice was firm and didn't require any objections. "It’s okay for others. Not for me."

Astarion pressed the shaking man closer to him, slightly pulling a lock of his long curly hair. "Damn you...", his voice was full of despair. He knew it was more than useless to argue. Therefore, all that remained for Astarion was just to hold this obstinate man in his hands and rock him imperceptibly for him.

Astarion sincerely wanted Tav to break down. To grab his expensive blouse so furiously that he tore off a piece of it. To burst into tears, sobbing ugly, so that tears would flow in waterfalls down his beautiful and eternally frighteningly calm face. Maybe it's bad, but Astarion really wanted it. After all, it gets easier after that. He knows that it gets easier after that.

But now all Astarion had to do was just hold this obstinate man in his hands and rock him imperceptibly for him.

The moon was full that night. It shone on two broken men who found comfort in each other. They clung to each other as tightly as a drowning man grabs a cherished lifeline. The cool night wind blew Tav's long curls. And lips as cool as the wind touched a noticeable vein on his sweat-soaked temple.

[jealousraisin]

D&D/Medieval AU Infodump

I have been non stop thinking about this AU it's only fair to let it out of it's cage and let it run around a little, y'know,,,for enrichment.

Mind you I have never even TOUCHED DND so I'm sure my interpretation of things may be wildly off but LOL this is just a big game of pretend so WHO CAREEESSS (i do.)

Luke

Race and a bit of background:

- Human - Next in line to the throne, would much rather go on missions and tasks the Kingdom and the village requests for than prepare to rule over the kingdom (Much to father’s dismay).

Class:

- Fighter - Skills include intimidation and Athletics - Fighting Style: Great Weapon Fighting - Weapons: Sword, Shield and Dagger.

Role/Playstyle/Personality:

- Leader, finds jobs for the party, communicates with the King and such. - Perceived as a someone who isn’t serious about things. But when it comes to protecting himself and those around him, he can become quite scary. Think a dog. - Is the kind to be on the offensive, strike first and with confidence. - The one that does watch duty the most out of the party when they sleep. He has insomnia as is so he tends to stay awake longer than the others.

Dynamics/Relationships (From His POV):

Luke & Charlie: Siblings. Luke is highly protective of her; they have a strong bond and he tends to annoy her for fun. He believes she’s one of the best in what she does and wants her to be able to spend her days pursuing her interests rather than lead, therefore he will eventually take rule no matter how badly he wants to escape that. He tends to work on distraction by attacking head on so that Charlie can cast whatever magic she needs in the safest manner Luke & Jonothan: Thinks he could do a better job than Jonothan protecting Charlie but begrudgingly agrees to have him come along since more man power is always useful, don’t think he doesn’t notice the loving gazes Jonathan and Charlie exchange. Later on, in the campaign when Charlie and Jonothan have been together he starts to tolerate the guy more since he’s proved time and time again, he’s reliable and can protect and provide. He also loves annoying Jonothan. When Jonothan joins in on close range combat, he finds that they are very in tune with each other’s movements since they have had the same training

Charlie

Race and a bit of background:

- Human - Princess who is much more interested in magic and creative tasks than attending etiquette classes. Somehow managed to convince both her father and brother to let her join in on Luke’s Party

Class:

- Artificer - Skills include Arcana and Medicine - Base Spells: Ray of Frost and Firebolt - Weapons: Magic and her Staff (She will use it as a blunt weapon if pushed to do so haha)

Role/Playstyle/Personality:

- Magic assistance, healer of the party. Though not due to interest in such magic. Her magic interest is much more to do in creation of things like golems and useful magic items. - Perceived as a positive person, though can be sensitive, it is not rare to see her cry. - Attacks from mid-range as she does not handle weapons. Her offensive magic is honed to be precise and agile, easily dodging her party but hitting hard on opponents. - When out on quests and there is no inn or place to eat, she tends to be the one to cook things in tandem with Jonothan. - Has skill in sewing and mending. When back home she engages in her interest of fashion and clothing.

Dynamics/Relationships (From Her POV):

Charlie & Luke: Siblings; Sees him as very reliable. Classic sibling annoyance. Trusts him a lot, enjoys the downtime they have. He was always so encouraging about her magic. She does think he needs to be a little less overprotective though, she isn’t exactly defenseless. She does know basic combat from practicing some stuff with Jonothan back in the castle and her magic is nothing to sneeze at. Charlie & Jonothan: Lovers! The pining almost killed her (joking) but after a particular close brush with death for the two they finally confessed to each other. Thinks he’s just the coolest, but he needs to loosen up a little JESUS. Wants nothing more than to spend the rest of her days with the guy, he’s so affectionate whenever they get some downtime. Always seems to catch her when she slips or trips

Jonothan

Race and a bit of background:

- Elf - Employed under the Miller’s as a bodyguard. Specifically, Charlie’s bodyguard, has been that way since the day he could hold a sword. Despite this his specialty is in long range combat. He is the son of a King that cast away him and his mother for another, leaving them with nothing. Ended up in the Miller kingdom and was scouted as a soldier/bodyguard fairly quickly due to his background and being raised with such skills from an early age.

Class:

- Ranger - Skills include, Perception, Insight and athletics. - His fighting style is Archery - Weapons are his military issue Bow & Arrow which he has modified over the years and a Dagger.

Role/Playstyle/Personality:

- Second Line of attack/Cover. Is able to detect movement and attacks faster than the rest. - Is good with directing the party to where they need to go. - Perceived as someone who is difficult to approach. It is difficult to deceive him, he is able to detect when someone is not presenting their true intentions but won’t let you know, making him someone who is difficult to manipulate. - Despite this he is inept in interpersonal relationships such as romance and friendship. He is only good at seeing through a false persona or intention. - Attacks from long range, generally separates from the party to find higher ground to cover them from sides that are missed on the ground. If the situation calls for it, he is trained in Swordplay and defense techniques but is much more skilled from a distance. - Is the second person to keep watch when everyone else is resting, is able to stay awake long enough to cover whoever is next easily. - Is picky with his ingredients for cooking, for that reason joins Charlie on their ingredients collecting for input.

Dynamics/Relationships (From His POV):

Jonothan & Luke: Initially in the beginning of his Party days? Found him absolutely annoying, someone who couldn’t read the room. But also saw that he was able in battle and leadership. Nowadays he tolerates the guy and enjoys when they have sparring sessions since they both learn something but he won’t go out of his way to hang out when they’re not actively on duty. Jonothan & Charlie: I was basically raised to be by your side and protect you. Was the first one to catch feelings, definitely realized the full extent of his feelings last though. Thinks she is incredibly skilled in her specialization. Whenever they work together in battle it feels like they’re an extension of each other, especially when they’re both on long range. Whenever the group has a break between missions, he makes sure to take her out on a date, he really enjoys her company. He wishes they could be together properly but knows politics isn’t always the kindest to lovers of different statuses.

They are rotating in my head like 24/7 aaaaarrrghhhhhhhh

[shima-draws]

At last, here she is...best girl Olivia!

As usual, all of her info is under the cut c:

Olivia

Age: 18

Hair color: White (with pink/purple streaks)

Eye color: Green

Element: Fire

After a lot of debating I decided that Olivia is actually Jasper and Mouna’s daughter--if you don’t know them they’re two older OCs that I’ve had for a while! (I figured I might as well give her parents already existing within the ATS-verse anyway, and I planned on Jasper and Mouna getting together and having a child somewhere down the line so it fits.)

When she was born, Olivia was very weak, and most healers feared that she would not make it—similar to how weak and frail Jasper was when he was born. Because of this, Jasper and Mouna are both fiercely overprotective of her (Jasper more intensely) so she was sort of suffocated by their attention. She grew up within the Spinelrose Guild and was treated more delicately by the rest of the guild members, especially because of how slow her development was and how often she was ill as a child. She originally had a difficult time making friends because Jasper was so afraid she’d get into trouble and get hurt, and the other kids didn’t want to accidentally put her in danger. Olivia was pretty isolated from her peers as a kid, and that frustrated her, because she didn’t want to be treated differently from everybody else just because of her fragility. Unfortunately she was never really strong enough to make her point, and just ended up being coddled by the guild as a result.

As she developed into a teenager, Olivia eventually outgrew her sickly physique and started to become stronger, both mentally and physically. She started to speak up about her parents’ treatment of her more—she knows that they just want to keep her safe, but she feels smothered by their hovering tendencies. Mouna eventually realizes how important this is to her and starts to back off, realizing how strong her daughter has become. Jasper, however...it’s harder for him to let go lol because she’s his only child and he knows how difficult it was to grow up as the weak link, the one who got ostracized because of their general health and well-being. It doesn’t help that Olivia is very clumsy and gets into little accidents all the time, which just makes his stress skyrocket.

Even worse, Olivia is a fire elemental, which is considered to be one of the most dangerous simply because of how destructive it is without proper control. When Olivia was a kid Jasper forbade her from practicing any of her magic, too worried that she’d end up hurting herself. Of course, Olivia has a bit of a rebellious streak, so she tried it once by herself and inevitably ended up burning the side of her face with her magic. (By now the scar is almost faded, but you can still see it.) Both of her parents flipped their lids, and Olivia was so terrified that she decided to never use her magic again, viewing it as a curse. Mouna tries to tell her that her magic is a blessing, something that encompasses life, and that she just wasn’t ready to use it so freely without any training. But Olivia is insistent—scarred both in the literal and metaphorical sense, she refuses to use her magic, scared that she’s going to hurt herself again, or worse, somebody else. 

As the years pass Olivia starts to feel more and more unsatisfied with her current life—she likes the guild, likes her friends and her family, but she feels as if there’s more she could be doing with her life. Since she’s refrained from using her magic all these years, and because of how much of a klutz she is normally, she’s not really a strong fighter, and is pretty useless on guild missions. Seeing the rest of her guildmates put their all into what they do, and being able to succeed in it, drives her to eventually seek escape and try to start off with a clean slate. When she turns 14, Olivia decides that she’s going to leave the guild and travel to someplace new in an attempt to be more independent and maybe find a purpose for herself.

Of course she realizes that if she tells her parents this they’ll probably refuse her, so she corners her uncle Terrence instead. Seeing her drive, Terrence decides he’s going to escort her to make sure she arrives safely. Olivia initially refuses because this is something she wants to do on her own, but Terrence warns her that the world is a dangerous place, and since she doesn’t know how to fight or use her magic the trip would be near suicidal if she went on her own. Terrence tells her the best option is going to stay with Spinelrose’s sister guild, Amethystus, and receive proper training in order to hone her magic and her fighting skills. That way she’d still have a direct line with Spinelrose in case something goes wrong, but she’d be far enough away to be independent.

Olivia prepares to sneak out in the middle of the night, but she gets caught by both Jasper and Mouna (because Terrence is a good uncle and he told them lmao). Fearing that they’re going to stop her, Olivia stands up for herself and makes it clear that this is something she needs to do. Much to her shock, Jasper and Mouna encourage her to follow her dreams and come home a new woman. It’s a very soft moment when they all hug each other goodbye, and there’s lots of tears :’) Olivia leaves home knowing that her parents are worried, but they’ll support her decisions because they love her.

After their crazy trip (where Olivia second guesses herself a million times and wonders if she can really survive out in a world this chaotic), they finally arrive at the Amethystus Guild! Olivia literally bumps into Ginni and from there, they form an instant close friendship. Ginni respects Olivia’s desire to be independent and is somewhat envious she made the decision to leave her guild in order to become stronger. Olivia admires Ginni’s confident personality and her fearlessness. Together they get into LOTS of trouble lol, mostly led by Ginni who is a notorious troublemaker within the guild, with Olivia just along for the ride.

During all this, Olivia meets the guild’s official blacksmith and, upon seeing the incredible things he can create by using fire magic, starts to rethink her opinions about her own “cursed” fire magic. The blacksmith, normally a very closed off, grumpy, and rude person, notices Olivia’s conflict about fire, and decides he’s going to train her in order to help her overcome her fear. Through a lot of practice and very intense sessions, Olivia is finally able to confront her trauma and move past it—leading to her discovery that she’s a talented natural at using elemental magic, finding that it comes very easy to her and is something she can control without thinking too much. This is a rare skill, for normally it takes an elemental years of practice and training to have perfect control over their magic. On top of that, her fire is very pretty and beautiful to look at, a reflection of her soul. Her master berates her from hiding something so beautiful and pure for so long lol

Olivia finds passion in blacksmithing, and trains under her master in order to create beautiful and powerful weapons. She does get burned a few more times during this, leading to some relapses, but her master tells her it’s part of the job and something that every elemental will come across: they aren’t always the perfect masters of their magic, and sometimes can hurt themselves without meaning to. But being able to understand what went wrong and how to fix it will make her stronger. Within a couple years Olivia flourishes and evolves into one of the guild’s most fiercest fighters, with an excellent handle on her abilities!

Olivia and Ginni grow up together in Amethystus, and are pretty much inseparable. When Ginni gets kidnapped by the Forces and is missing for several weeks, Olivia is beside herself with worry. After Ginni returns with Kaz in tow, Olivia is one of the first people to accept him and trust him fully, because she believes in Ginni more than anybody else. (Kaz develops a soft spot towards Olivia because of this, and is forever grateful for her support.) Over time Olivia starts to realize just how awful Kaz’s life at the Forces was, and grows very sympathetic towards his situation. She understands wanting to start over somewhere new with a clean slate, though Kaz’s circumstances are much worse than hers, because she still has a loving family and home to return to someday. Olivia becomes determined to make Amethystus a home like that for Kaz, as well as Hiro, who they discuss recruiting to their side from the Forces. As Kaz continues to reveal more of his past, as well as Hiro’s, Olivia and Ginni both get very gung ho about going to fetch Hiro LOL because they both want him to be safe (though Kaz assures them Hiro isn’t in any sort of danger, being the colonel, as well as too intelligent to put himself in trouble).

Kaz meets with Hiro, who was actually sent out on a mission to fetch him, and they negotiate Hiro acting as a double agent for Amethystus to spy on the Forces. Hiro had already been planning on leaving the Forces at some point, so he sees this as a perfect opportunity to get back at them for years of mistreatment. Over the course of the next several months, Hiro routinely reports back to Amethystus of the Forces’ plans, their current hideouts, and everything he knows about the higher ups. During all this he and Olivia meet, and at this point Olivia has started to refer to the colonel as ‘Hiro’ in her head, because it’s too confusing for her to call him the colonel, and she reasons that since Ginni gave Kaz his name she might as well give Hiro his. (Also because she believes that he’s a true ‘hero’ for enduring all of that suffering for so long, so it fits ;D) She calls him Hiro by sheer accident, but luckily he takes to the name well haha and they start to grow closer >:’) Hiro comments on how close Kaz and Ginni have become and the two start betting on when they’ll get together lol

Eventually Hiro’s position as a double agent is discovered by Mallary and so he finally breaks away from the Forces (and Mallary’s manipulation) and starts living permanently at the guild. Olivia’s pretty happy about this. She can’t explain why but she feels very safe and at ease around him, and she’s the person he’s the gentlest and softest around—unbeknownst to her, this is because he’s fallen in love with her, but she’s completely oblivious to his feelings. She’s pretty dense when it comes to romantic stuff like this whoops. Olivia finds Hiro’s intelligence incredible and likes that he’s such a skilled fighter despite not being that strong physically. Hiro likes watching her do her blacksmithing duties and always has expert things to say on her craftsmanship. They get along very well! Olivia’s never felt more at home than with Ginni, Kaz, and Hiro, and likes the tight knit little group they’ve formed. She becomes very fond and protective of them and, upon realizing how important they are to her and how much she’s changed because of them and because of her decision to join Amethystus, she decides to cut her hair as another sign of her growth as a person, and as a sign of change! She finally discovers what she wants to do: become a master blacksmith, and work alongside her friends to protect everything they can, including taking down the Forces to set free all of the people forced to work for them, and bring peace to the land.

When the time comes to finally take down the Forces, Olivia starts to develop feelings for Hiro as well, though it takes her a while to figure out because she’s never really been in love before, and mistakes a lot of her attraction for simple admiration. As Hiro continues to put his life on the line for their group and do anything he can to protect them, Olivia starts to discover that maybe she wouldn’t mind spending the rest of her life with him. There’s a point where Hiro gets injured so badly in battle he’s certainly going to bleed out, so he pleads for her to use her fire magic to cauterize his wound. Olivia’s trauma comes crashing back in and her worst fears are confirmed: her magic will end up hurting the people most important to her. Hiro tells her that by doing this, she’s going to save him, that her magic is life itself. Encouraged by his words, Olivia burns Hiro to save him, though it’s an extremely painful thing for her to do :’( But it’s at this moment she realizes that she definitely is in love with him, and would sacrifice anything for him.

Not long after that, Mallary attacks, enraged, and accuses Olivia of stealing everything important away from her. It’s a really emotional battle;; Mallary basically vents out about being the one left behind, the only one who couldn’t find a happy ending, and who had the only people she cared about taken. She says some really nasty things to Olivia about Hiro lol and this really makes Olivia mad, so they basically duke it out over Mallary’s twisted feelings for Kaz and her perceived ownership of Hiro. And Olivia’s just like. Bitch you don’t own him!! He’s not an object or a toy for you to play with!! Yeah. It’s nuts

After the grand battle with the Forces comes to an end and everything is resolved, Olivia decides to confess her feelings to Hiro, but it doesn’t...really go as planned. Hiro gently rejects her, but Olivia takes it the wrong way, still not realizing how head over heels for her he is. Shortly after this, Hiro and Kaz part ways with the guild, deciding to go on their own personal journeys of self discovery. During the year they’re gone, Olivia laments over her feelings for Hiro, miserable that she didn’t realize how she felt until it was too late, and miserable because she might never see him again. Eventually she tries to move on from that, but Ginni repeatedly tells her that Hiro is literally holding a torch for her lmao and that she shouldn’t let it go so quickly. Olivia protests constantly and strives to work harder to become a better blacksmith and stronger guild member, trying to put her feelings aside and ignore them. 

Of course, when she and Ginni eventually reunite with Kaz and Hiro, Olivia realizes that shit I’m still in love with him and my feelings haven’t gone away, they’ve just grown stronger during the year we were apart;; luckily for her Hiro’s gone through a lot of self reflection and feels ready to be in a relationship with her, so, after a rocky road of awkward confessions and pouring out their feelings, they FINALLY get together. 

The four of them go on a journey together! There’s some problems when Hiro runs into his childhood friend and first love, Lorelai, but in the end he shows he’s pretty damn dedicated to Olivia and it’s super soft. I just. I just love them so m u c h //shakes fists

AND THAT IS ALL FOLKS!! Most of it anyway lol

Extra personality traits:

-Very compassionate and caring about others—she’s a very motherly type. She’s able to get people to open up to her easily because of how friendly she is. She also settles disputes within the guild often, being the mediator between arguments

-A social butterfly. Probably the most social one out of the group, and the one most used to conversing with other people

-She’s got a lot of self-esteem issues because of her upbringing (and really, I promise Jasper is not a bad parent!! He’s just concerned), but she’s learned how to handle it better. She’s definitely way more confident than she was before!

-Tends to be very indecisive when it comes to big decisions, and is hesitant about fighting—though she will put her all into it if the stakes are high. She CAN whoop your ass 

-Super passionate about blacksmithing! It’s her true calling, and something she throws herself into fully. She’s very artful with her work and makes gorgeous pieces, and tends to ramble on about the specifics even when nobody understands lol

-A bit oblivious and airheaded sometimes. She’s completely unaware of several of the guild members’ feelings for her, including Hiro’s.

-VERY affectionate. Because she was isolated from other kids as a child, she’s very touchy feely and loves expressing her affection through casual touches. And lots of hugs!

-Since she’s the sweetest and nicest person in the group, she is terrifying when she’s angry. She’s super protective of her friends and won’t hesitate to leap into action to keep them safe, often getting very fierce when she does so

-She hates being alone. Being raised in an atmosphere with so many people around, she isn’t used to being by herself, and her instant source of comfort is being near others

-Isn’t afraid to tease her friends or state her opinion when it really counts

[theodora3022]

The LoveSick Schemers

Summary: Claude and Yuri as Yanderes, as per requested.

Notes: Someone wants three houses yanderes?! Yeah I am also a FE blog pffttt- Anyway I assumed you meant separate, not poly(I’m not comfortable with that) or competition(sounds tempting, maybe I’ll do it once I clear out my inbox). I set the reader to be a fellow student in Garreg Mach for the convenience’s sake, hope that’s alright. I happen to love these boys a lot too, so hello fellow schemer lover!

These are pretty tame since you didn’t specify anything, I don’t want to accidentally trigger anyone! The Yuri one is gender neutral, the Claude one is a bit on the female side. 

Warnings: Spoiler for the game(obviously), possessive behaviour

Claude Von Riegan

“I’m from the ruling house of the Leicester alliance, but don’t worry about all that madness.”

To draw his attention, you’ll have to be a trickster yourself, or an ideal-bound conservative like Ingrid. The former would light that competitive fire, while the latter your serious ways are amusing to behold to him.

At first Claude would only see you as a pleasant distraction, he has grand plans after all. But sometimes he would find himself eyeing at your concentrated form as you swing weapons, or study magic tomes, with a genuine smile on his lips.

It was at that moment, Claude knew something had slipped out of his control.

His mother and father told him what love feels like, but this is the first time the seventeen-year-old prince has experienced it firsthand.

If you are in another house, Claude will find a way to convince Byleth(or anyone leading the Golden deer) to have you transferred. But seriously, he can be charming when he wants to be, you won’t be able to say no. If even that doesn’t work, how about scouting away all of your friends so you’ll have no choice but to join the Golden deer!

He will go out of his way to spend time with you, finding flawless excuses so you won’t suspect a thing (even if you are as cunning as him). If your goal is to become an archer, that’s more than perfect for Claude because expect him to invite you to target practice everyday. “It’s a house leader’s duty to make sure the member honed their skills properly. Now, do you want to try with this killer bow?” Authority class is also a good way to bond with you!

Expect Claude to invite you every meal possible, with Hilda. You will feel odd to dine with him at first, but once you get used to it, he is just another goofball who has good tricks up his sleeves.(Claude will deliberately make himself appear dumber so you would lower your guard) If you are a goodie-two-shoe(A/N:like Ingrid), you might even scold him for his lacking of table manners!

Claude would try to make your relationship as normal as possible. As a prince, he had seen enough toxic relationships in the royal court of Almyra. Someone as wonderful as you should not be a caged dove, a mere wife for your crest or bloodline(if you are a noble that is). He wants you to flourish alongside him, as a formidable mage/soldier. The future Queen of Alymra should be able to defend herself at least!

But him only. Don’t even think of getting into someone else’s arms.

That Blue lion lad who asked you to the grand ball? How unfortunate it is to hear that he had fallen off from a clift on a mission. That Black eagle boy who is getting too handsy with you at lunch? It was disturbing to know that his black magic backfired leaving him permanently disabled.

Too bad if you liked any of your suitors back. Because they will get their due for attempting to lure you astray from your dear Claude.

Would persuade you to become House Riegan’s knight during the timeskip so he can stay close to you. Golden deers need to stick together, especially during these chaotic times right?

Once you are in the Deirdru with him, that is when the new Duke will start trying to court you formally.

If you are charmed by his amorous advances during the five years, he will be overjoyed and the dark side of the moon will never come into play. Although Claude would be concerned about how to reveal  his real identity before officially announcing the marriage, and how his parents or the people of Almyra would think of another Foldanese Queen.

If you somehow didn’t get swayed by his smooth ways, that’s okay too! As long as you do not promise your hand to another! Surely he can work out something after this war. Since you are in his domain now, no one is allowed to make inappropriate advances towards you because of the Duke’s warnings. They wouldn’t want themselves and their family exiled from  Reigan territory, or even the entire Leicester Alliance.

Yuri Leclerc

“Don’t let that pretty face fool you. He is a rouge, through and through.”

I imagine Yuri would like someone who is naive, virtuous,kind hearted like Ashe(A/N: It’s a crime they don’t have at least a B support IS!!!). You are that refreshing breath of air, the one who reached out to help him when almost everyone looked down to the residents of the abyss.

You are probably a sheltered noble lady, who has not learned about the sinister world well enough to not display kindness towards anyone. Or someone like Mercedes, who loves to take the role of an older sister to others in the Academy.

He would want to preserve your innocence, that precious pureness in this dirty, corrupted world. Yuri is a rat who lurks in the cold shadows, it’s only natural your radiant warmth would attract him.

When he is taken in by Byleth to the Officer’s academy, you are the first to invite him to the dining hall for a decent meal. You even gave him half of your peach sorbet to him since it charges extra and he didn’t spend money on it. “You have a sweet tooth, right? Well, I haven’t touched mine yet, here’s half of it.”

Another naive little fool, guess it’s only fair for him to protect you, to make sure your kindness doesn’t get exploited by other people.

Yuri always has interesting stories for you, or if you are a bookworm, he will bring you some banned books from the Shadow library. Be careful though, better not let Seteth see you reading them.

This guy is smooth and he knows it. Yuri would slip in some flirtaious words here and there, they can be considered as friendly even.

You in turn helped the people of the abyss in any way possible. If you are a white mage, you are happy to heal their wounds or care for the sick, since only a few healers are willing to devote time to “the underground”. If you are a soldier, you would teach the people how to wield a weapon, to defend themselves from thieves and bandits.

Realization didn’t strike Yuri all at once. Constance and Hapi are the first ones to notice how his gaze never strays away from you, and they love teasing him for it. He would deny it, saying he merely thinks of you as a good friend. Then when the thick headed Balthus also agrees with them, that is when his composure would collapse.

Genuine affections? Romantic attachments? Those things should not take up so much space in his heart. They can be perceived as weaknesses, to be used against him. How dare you make him feel this way, who gives you the right?

Maybe the goddess does watch over Folan and this is her punishment for all Yuri’s sins.

Like Claude, Yuri knows how to wear a smiling mask as if that is his true nature. He is a gang leader, he is not afraid to dirty his hands. Yuri is a lot less merciful than Claude when it comes to rivals. While Claude would not takes lives, only causing them enough harm so they get the hint, Yuri will resort to murder as he sees fit. He got underlings at his disposal, his rivals will be nothing against him even if they come from an influential family.

During the five years, since Yuri cannot leave the abyss, you two will keep in touch via letters, unknownst to you he also got some of his trusted henchmen to watch over you, making sure you are in good health and safe.

Once you return to Garreg Mach, you two can pick up where you left off! Don’t worry, Yuri won’t let you die or out of his sight again!

[ofgoodmenarchive]

The sixth in a series of drabbles exploring my Blood Mage!Dorian.

Trust Fall

  “Careful with him-” Dorian grunted, shifting Lavellan's weight to a new pair of arms. “He's lighter than he looks- but his stature is still rather cumbersome.”

Noting his advice, the healers were cautious with their new patient, trying their best not to leave any limbs dragging. Dorian had carried him through the fort and now deposited his lifeless form at whatever passed for a surgeon's station. Hopefully their abilities surpassed the low expectation he had of this Southern, backwater hovel.

Released from his charge, he collapsed in exhaustion, back-against-wall, vaguely overhearing scraps of dialogue from within. Not even a gasp was allowed before his insides wrenched painfully, as if a small inferno struggled for escape.

Dorian jerked forward with a hiss and Desire sprung from it's host, swaying and dizzied.

  “For-the love-of-!” Though he squinted in displeasure, his shadow barely offered a glance before slipping through the door- after Lavellan.

With a groan he slouched into brick, not having the stamina to protest.

Paw-pads echoed softly through the hall- Lunis' dropped into his lap a second later.

  “Oof!” Sighing wearily, he pet the dog. “Yes, yes, that's a good boy...”

For a short time he sat and lamented the whole blasted affair. Not that there was anything to do for it- even if he could convince his Desire to abandon it's attraction, Thedas would be in disarray without its Herald. Then how would Dorian continue his much-favoured lifestyle of roaming, drinking and pleasuring?

Still- he was irritated. Drained of energy and lacking immediate options- Lavellan was in no shape to sustain him in any manner. If he couldn't locate a butcher for some meat or blood or some such, he'd be reduced to hunting vermin in the cellars. Not a favoured meal by any stretch.

  “I SAID- NO!!” A familiar voice barked out, brimming with panic- “DO NOT TOUCH ME!- THE BLOOD MAGE! I SAID- FETCH- THE- BLOOD MAGE!!”

Jostling practically out of his robes, Dorian and Lunis swerved to face the door in tandem. It flew ajar, revealing a servant who had led them into the property, pale-faced and obviously shaken.

  “L-Lord-um?” He struggled to address, a whirl of smashed glass and incoherent Dalish warring behind.

  “Pavus.”

  “Y-yes, ah, Lord Pavus- the Herald, he- no one can get near him! He's asking for you...”

For a second he didn't think he heard right- why would Lavellan ask for him? Just some hours prior the man had been undecided on whether or not to gut him like a 'Tevinter pig'!

Back on his feet, Dorian sprinted inside, where he was met by a trio of petrified healers, recoiling from the Herald. With radiant blade unleashed he stood in a corner, a cot toppled near him, along with a mess of fractured potions and poultices.

If the healers looked scared- Lavellan looked more-so; in his wide-eyed, snarling terror he'd chosen 'fight' over 'flight', the feral warping of his face ensuring to all that he would strike them down without hesitation.

  “Herald- I'm here!” Dorian situated himself between the healers and Lavellan, arms outstretched. “You can put that down! No one's going to touch you!”

Wordlessly, that rabid gaze flit between Dorian and the servants over his shoulder. Following the motion, he understood.

One of the healers looked dreadfully familiar- though last they'd met, his features had been significantly bloodied.

Granted- in the future they'd visited, that man had likely been corrupted in some manner, enslaved by Venatori. Obviously Lavellan couldn't be expected to digest such a nuance, not with his wounds- the physical and mental- so sorely fresh.

Dorian recognised immediately that everyone in that room would have to leave.

  “OUT!” He bellowed, whirling upon them. “All of you OUT!”

They hurried to obey, door slamming at their departure.

Lavellan bucked against the thrown cot, swearing in garbled Dalish as his weapon clattered, whatever adrenaline had willed his muscles to grip now absent.

  “I'm going to need to take a look at your arm.” Dorian said slowly, not yet approaching. “Will you allow me, my dear Herald?”

He was briefly sized up but soon offered a nod and Dorian was permitted to close the space between them. First he righted the cot, gently guiding Lavellan to relax upon it. All the while he was stiff as tree-bark, despite yielding to hands that steadied him.

  “...You know...” He decided to mention, thinking it might help. “Those men in the future- they were enthralled, influenced by the Venatori...”

  “I do not care.” Lavellan answered solidly, glowering at the floor.

  “...You've never been through any sort of torture before, have you?”

To this no reply was given- which said enough. It occurred to Dorian that as intimidating and firm as the Herald might appear, he'd probably lived an uneventful, idyllic life before coming into his namesake. That would fit in with what little of his upbringing he'd shared previously.

The poor fool was likely terrorised out of his wits. It was miraculous that he could speak in full sentences at all, or could come to such simplistic reasoning as 'Blood Mage saved me, therefore safe'.

A testament to how hardy he was under all that blood and matted hair, Dorian thought. Discarding such admiration for now, he honed in on the Herald's injuries. Asides from his anchor-bearing arm, he seemed only scraped and bruised- if not awfully malnourished.

  “Alright, just hold still...” He cooed, unwinding bandages from the mutilated limb. “I'll try to be gentle...”

Muscles flinched but didn't recoil, Lavellan remaining in stony quiet. With the wrappings cast aside Dorian was able to properly inspect the damage; flesh terribly scarred, covered in stitches, marred by old stitches that had been removed, then replaced anew. Incisions on top of incisions on top of incisions, malformed dents and whirls creating a mess that barely resembled a shoulder-blade anymore.

It occurred to Dorian with some dismay and horror that they'd simply begun yanking out muscles and ligaments when nothing else bore fruit. It was no wonder Lavellan could hardly move his arm- it was a wonder he could at all, let alone to threaten healers with a magical blade.

  “...You're actually missing pieces of your arm and shoulder, I assume you're aware?”

Lavellan merely issued a grunt.

  “...Alright, well, just sit tight.”

Turning away from his patient, Dorian perused what alchemical resources had been unharmed by the minor Dalish rampage. A well-mixed regenerative potion could regrow the vacant flesh overtime, though his arm would never work as well as it used to. With some of Dorian's own abilities to manipulate the process, there would be a better chance at adequate recovery- and a speedier one, which he imagined was important.

He began picking out chemicals and mingling them together, explaining as he did;

  “...I'm mixing a potion for you. It should numb most of the pain and eventually mend some damage- but I must inform you, my Herald...the destruction is severe. The best I- or anyone can do...is to prevent you from being crippled entirely...”

He noted that Lavellan's mouth twitched- the mildest of spasms. Asides from that the elf said nothing and made no eye contact, his expression a wooden mask.

With a tired exhale Dorian sat before him, potion in one hand while the other raised, curling to poise against a ring he always wore.

  “Do you trust me?” He inquired meaningfully, eyes pinning to the elf's face until he found it in himself to meet Dorian's gaze.

Mutely, Lavellan nodded.

  “Then trust me when I say this is for your own good, and won't benefit me in anyway.” It would, in fact, only add to his weariness, after such a long day with nothing to 'eat'.

The Herald continued to view him in expectant silence.

Tugging at a concealed hinge, Dorian pulled it apart from his ring and swiped the blade along his fingers, red instantly oozing from the slit. An old trick he'd acquired if he ever needed to utilise blood and no one else's was handy. Today, his blood in specific was precisely what he required.

Lavellan did not cease his observation but nor did he react- merely watching.

Dorian proceeded to dribble his life-force into the potion, squeezing until minor injuries clotted. He then swirled the bottle, allowing his vital liquids to assimilate with other ingredients, until the contents were dyed pinkish.

  “Drink up, Herald.” He held out the end result and was a little alarmed by how it was simply removed from his hand and sipped, barely afforded a second look.

  “You need to drink the whole thing.” He directed.

  “It tastes metallic.” Lavellan pointed out, flat.

  “Well, yes,” Dorian snorted. “That's because there's blood in it.”

Shrugging with his able shoulder, Lavellan gulped down the rest, wincing slightly at what had to be a peculiar and sharp taste.

  “It should stop hurting so much soon- and you might start feeling more relaxed.”

Though his chin bobbed in acknowledgement, still the elf had nothing to add.

  “Well...let's have them bring a tub in here, hrm? I'm sure you'd like to attend to your hygiene, after being stuck in a kennel for Maker-knows how long.”

Not waiting for a verbal response- there had been few thus far- he strode off to the exit and was thankful to spot that same servant, idling for any sort of command.

  “Have a tub filled and brought here, will you? Just because we're in Ferelden doesn't mean he should go about smelling of dog- and have one filled for me too! Elsewhere, wherever.”

When he turned back towards the room, Lavellan was regarding him strangely.

  “...Something the matter?”

  “You are leaving?” The elf mumbled, the strangeness of his gaze increasing.

  “Well- for a few moments...we both need a bath- and you're already caked in enough dirt for two.”

Lavellan appeared to battle with something internally, shoulders hunching, teeth gnawing a lip.

Eventually, he found his voice- as small as it was.

  “I do not trust the people here.”

  “I...” Dorian faltered, not predicting this. “Well, they're your people, my Herald...”

  “Are they?” He mumbled sourly, withdrawing further into himself.

  “...Alright, wait just a moment-” Sticking his head passed the door-frame, Dorian called. “Lunis! Where in the void did you-”

Feet scampered by, the loyal wolf almost shoving him aside in its haste to enter and pounce upon its master, who snorted with a hint of cheer, embracing the overgrown pup to his chest.

  “There you go! See, Lunis will look after you.”

The creature snarled in agreement, wriggling merrily in Lavellan's grasp.

  “Very well...” He said into Lunis' fur, very quietly. “...You may go.”

  “Why, thank you so much for the permission!” Dorian chuckled, rolling his eyes as he departed to locate wherever his own tub was being prepared.

On his way he felt Desire glaring at him as they walked- and needn't wonder why.

  “Yes, yes, I'm being terribly decent- I know you can't stand it.” He huffed, trying to dismiss his shadow. “But he's just so...pathetic right now. It's not especially attractive!”

Desire glared harder.

  “I know it's attractive to you- but that's because there's something wrong with you- more than usual!”

Waving the demon off, he tried to ignore how several bystanders were oddly spectating what appeared to be signs of madness.

 --

 Washing up swiftly, Dorian meandered to the kitchens, searching for anything that might sustain him in the meantime- blood, bits of fresh meat, anything. He did manage to come about a few scraps and was then prepared to watch over Lavellan.

He was surprised to catch sounds of laughter on his approach- subdued as they were. Sauntering into the room he found Lavellan sitting in a tub- with the bloody dog, of course! Southerners and their bloody dogs! Dorian was beginning to regret and resent his own gift, watching as a nude Herald covered the beast in suds and cackled as it flailed about, spraying bubbles everywhere.

  “...You know, the whole point of the bath was for you to smell less of dog...”

Lavellan blinked at that, Lunis panting contently alongside.

  “What is wrong with the smell of dog...?”

  “...You're certainly Ferelden, I'll give you that.” Eye-rolling along with his snark, he picked a towel that had been laid out with a fresh set of clothes, waving it to gain the Herald's attention. Obliging him, Lavellan clambered out and stumbled into the fabric, allowing Dorian to fold it around his wet frame.

He couldn't help but notice that even in his tumultuous state, the elf's body-heat sky-rocketed at any brief touch. Leashing himself was a trial- fairly sure that if his hand or mouth happened to slip, Lavellan would be more than receptive to the comfort.

Which was exactly the problem- he couldn't have recovered much of his sense yet. Dorian found he loathed the idea of adding more stimulation to what had to be frazzled, overworked nerves.

They should at least get one nights rest before he started thinking of anything like that...

  “Here...” He said awkwardly, patting through the towel. “Do you need help getting dressed?”

  “I think I can manage.” Cheeks blushed, the elf slipped passed to reach his clothes and Dorian faced the sodden wolf, submerged happily in soapy water.

  “...I'm not drying you,” He pouted, still juggling his resentment. “The bath wasn't meant for you anyway!”

With a mournful howl Lunis leapt from the tub, scrambling to brush soaked fur onto Dorian's robes.

  “What?! Stop that! Bad dog!!” He near-wailed, feeling truly assaulted while stumbling around the room, wolf at his heels and Lavellan snickering.

  “Now we all smell of dog, so there is no reason to complain.” He quipped, voice muffled by the shirt he was wrestling onto his torso.

  “Ugh!” Completely disagreeable, Dorian stormed for the other end of the room and flopped onto a mattress.

Soon Lavellan climbed onto the one opposite, accompanied by trotting paw-pads. Lunis hopped onto his same cot, curling against the Herald's chest, who appeared soothed by utilising the beast as a large, rumbling pillow.

Dorian again underwent a pang of envy- then annoyance, as he considered how ludicrous it was that he now longed for the placement of a dog.

He imagined Desire echoed the sentiment; his last memory before slumber was of a dark silhouette perched by the Herald's bed, staring intently.

[jolinar]

A Very Star Wars Fictober, Day 31!

Prompt number: #31 “I trust you”

Fandom: Star Wars 

Rating: Teen and up

Warnings/Tags: reylo, blaster wound

Word Count: 1674

Summary: At the beginnings of a Stormtrooper Rebellion, the Force once again connects Rey and Kylo Ren. Rey asks a question, Kylo makes a choice. 

Read it on Ao3:

Rey felt the blaster bolt make contact half a second before she felt the pain. It was just heat, at first. Heat and pressure. It soon resolved itself into pain and she cried out, dropping her weapon and clutching her side as her senses faded in and out. She heard people calling her name, felt herself being dragged away. Rose’s eyes swam in front of her vision and felt herself being propped up against a cold wall. There was another figure on her other side. Finn. 

“The doors aren’t open, they were supposed to open!" Finn said to Rose in a frantic voice.

“I know, I know.”

“You need to make them open.” He gestured towards a computer terminal. Rose shook her head."

“I will, give me time. I’m not a slicer.”

“You can do it, Rose, I know it.”

“Okay, you hold the door. I’ll get into this computer system? Deal?”

Rey tried to will herself to stand. She had to help Finn. Had to protect Rose. Her legs wouldn’t cooperate. She thought she saw Finn take Rose’s hand and kiss it lightly. “Deal.” he said. Then Finn was gone. She heard the clatter of Rose’s fingers flying against keys. 

“You’re hurt.”

The voice came, low and clear, cutting across the sound of Rose’s typing, cutting across all other sounds as the bond always did. Rey’s ragged breathing was still audible.

“Brilliant deduction, Supreme Leader," she said, wincing. "It looks like your lackeys have gotten to me after all. “

With a swish of his cape, he dropped to his knees beside her. “They aren’t supposed to hurt you,” a furrow appeared between his eyebrows. “I’ve ordered them not to hurt you.”

She pulled her arm away, so that he could see the cauterized mass of red flesh at her side. “You might want to talk to your troops, because not everyone got that message.” 

He didn’t visibly react at first, didn’t make a sound beyond a slight intake of breath. But she thought she saw his lips draw back slightly, his eyes widen, as he looked at the wound. She could feel, through the Force, that his emotions were a whirlwind. She had been honing this particular ability, over the past months. Years and years alone had made it difficult, sometimes, for her to judge the nuance of expression and discern their meanings. But you couldn’t hide from the Force. And in that, she felt his willingness to help her. It was comforting, in some ways, to know that after everything, he cared. It filled her with a strange hope. And yet, she remembered when they had been face to face, and he’d tried to force her to give up everything she cared about. 

“You know where I am,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

“You know what I need.”

“Yes.”

There was a long silence. He was fiddling with something outside of her view.

“Look, I’ll lay it out. If you can tell me how to get into the computer here and open the stormtrooper recruits’ doors, I’ll...I’ll…” she wanted to say I’ll give myself up, but couldn’t quite do it. She had nothing to offer but herself. “You want me to listen to you, to hear you out. Tell me how to get into this computer, and I’ll do it. I’ll hear your out.”

“That’s not how I want that.” He said, anger and frustration evident in his voice. He wanted her to give himself to him freely, as she had before. Coincidentally, that was the same thing she wanted of him. But neither of them seemed to be able to meet the other, this was their biggest hurdle. She sighed. “It’s all I’ve got, Ben.”

“That’s not my name.” He said it quietly. 

“It is. It is your name. Ben Solo. You’re a good person, I know it, I can feel it, even if you can’t.” He drew back and shook his head. She narrowed her eyes at him and tried to pull herself up further. “Oh, I’m sorry, Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader of the Galaxy, who is begging an injured nobody to talk him. How silly of me not use your full address, ahhh! --” she winced in pain and doubled over. It hurt so much. And even with Rose there, she felt so alone. She left like --

“It reminds you of when you were a child,” he said, and she realized with an internal shudder that she wasn't the only one who could read thoughts across the Force. “When you hurt yourself in that old star destroyer, beached on Jakku. You fell so far, it tore open your arm. There was no one to hear you, then. No one but --” he stopped, coming into the realization the same time she did. 

"No one but you," she offered. Her breathing was labored, but her mind still worked. She felt relief, after all these years, to know. 

"You thought it was your parents."

"I did," she admitted. "But it was you who heard me. I felt someone, telling me to hold on, to keep going. It was you. You kept me alive.”

He ducked his head, swallowed hard. The pain was getting to be too much and she fought against the loss of consciousness. She forced herself to continue: “I can’t believe that the man who helped me then would abandon me now. Will you?”

“You...trust me?”

"I’ve always trusted the person who helped me, all those years ago. I trust the man who killed Snoke for me, who fought side by side with me. If that’s who you are, then I trust you. Or are you Kylo Ren now?”

“If I tell you how to open the doors, they still might not fight for you.”

“They’ll fight for us.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because, no dictator, no invader, can keep a population imprisoned by force. It doesn’t matter how long it takes -- it could take a thousand years, but they will be free. People will be free. Nothing you say to me will change that.”

His fist clenched at his side, then loosened. He looked at her, his eyes softened and he looked lost. 

“Rey, I need you to believe me. I never wanted to enslave anyone.”

“Bit late for that.”

“Haven’t you ever found yourself pulled along, until it was too late?”

She thought about it. Her life had certainly moved very quickly since joining the Resistance. But that was, again, his fault. He had pursued them, pursued her, across the galaxy. 

"You know where I am, you know what I need," she repeated. "Will you give it to me?"

“You’re on Planterra, at the stromtrooper training facility. All of the stormtroopper recruits' rooms were sealed when the facility went into lockdown. You need the the control codes to open the rooms."

"Yes."

“I don’t know them.”

“Find them.”

She saw him look away, consulting a terminal. Only when he was focused on that did she allow herself to feel the pain of her wound. She choked back a cry of pain. She thought she saw his back stiffen in response...but no, she must have been imagining it.

The strange quiet that she and Kylo Ren inhabited pressed in on her. She could see where he stood at his console, but she could also see where Finn and Poe were, firing off shots as they held the line. For her part, Rose was still typing diligently at her console, chewing her lip, and focused wholly on the screen in front of her. The sound of blaster fire and shouting grew nearer, 

“Ben…” Rey said, surprised with how calm her sounded. “Either you help us now, or we’re dead. I’m dead.”

"Rey." He looked up at her and there was that same light, same decisiveness in his eyes she’d seen when he’d called his saber to her in Snoke's throne room. “Serial number XO7Y39-Alpha. Security code: obsidian.” 

Had she been stronger, Rey could have kissed him in that moment, but instead, she willed her head to turn towards Rose.

“Rose,” she croaked out. Her voice was somehow fainter, in the real world, than it was in the world she shared with Ben. “Rose. I know the code.”

“What?” Rose asked, "Oh, Rey, you look awful, hold on, I'll --"

With an effort, Rey shook her head. “Serial number X07Y39-Alpha. Security code obsidian.”

“You’re sure?”

Rey looked over at Ben. He was following Rey’s gaze, staring in the space where Rose stood, as though trying to see her. She felt, with a shudder, as though he could. 

“I’m sure.”

"Just a minute...” Rose input the codes and clicked the send. There was a tense moment, then they heard the doors flash open as every stormtrooper cadet’s cell opened up. There was a loud cry as these new combatants joined the fray.

“That worked, Rey!!” Rose looked at her, renewed hope in her eyes. “Let me tell Finn -- Finn!!” she darted back out of the room. Rey closed her eyes. 

“Thank you,” Rey said to him, Ben, Kylo, whatever he called himself. 

“You’ll get yourself to a healer.” He was doing something now, at her side, she could feel the wounded area go numb as something cold and gelatinous touched her fevered skin. “You’ll take care of yourself.” It was not a question. Rey nodded. She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Rose was back at her side. 

“They’re joining us, all of them are joining us, we’re going to get out of here...oh, good, you've already started putting bacta patches on,“ Rose said, reaching into her belt and pulling out a medicinal patch. Rey knew she had done no such thing. She looked around and found Ben, fading out of her vision, but still there, the wrapper from a large bacta patch in his hand. He was looking at her intently. Completely unaware of his presence, Rose continued her ministrations. “We’re going to be okay, you just stay with me, Rey, okay?”

Rey nodded, eyes still locked with Ben’s. "I'll stay with you."

[queenofcats17]

BATIM D&D Party

I wanted to write out backstories for the BATIM characters in a D&D world, so here we go. These are very much my versions of the characters, as well as some of my oc’s. 

I also kind of made a story out of it.

I used this to help me decide everyone’s classes upon first thinking about this, but this is also very helpful.

Thank you to @randomwriteronline and @chaostheparrot for their input and help in ironing out what classes would fit each character. 

I especially loved Random’s comment that the Music Department would be, and I quote, “just increasingly off the shit bards”. 

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

Timeline:

Joey and Henry meet up and decide to adventure together. 

Original party is formed: Joey, Henry, Norman, Wally, and the bard band

Henry and Joey get into a fight and Henry leaves the party

Shawn and Grant are inducted into the party

Joey’s party passes through Cordelia’s town and she joins as they are in need of a healer

Asmodeus reaches out to Joey and becomes Joey’s patron

Tom and Allison are brought on. Joey explains that they need another healer and Tom has some experience with magical artifacts. He refuses to explain what sort of magical artifacts he wants Tom for

Joey approaches Bertram to make an artifact for him which leads to Bertram and Lacie traveling with the party in order to gather the materials for the artifact

Joey leads the party to defeat a necromancer holed up in a castle, and takes up residence there once the necromancer is defeated. 

Joey starts conducting immoral experiments, occasionally kidnapping residents from the nearby town

Joey turns his attentions to his party members, beginning to experiment on them

Henry gets a letter, inviting him to the castle. Joey has something to show him...

Now on to the backstories. 

Sammy, Susie, and Jack are all bards who have been friends since childhood. Johnny is Sammy’s younger brother and also a bard. They each have their own reasons for wanting to go out adventuring. Sammy because he wanted to spread his music, Susie because she wanted to see the world and sing for people, Johnny because he was not about to let Sammy see the world without him, and Jack basically because he wanted to be around his friends. They’ve formed a band of sorts. Sammy plays banjo (although he can play nearly any instrument), Jack’s on violin, Johnny basically plays a keyboard, and Susie sings. They’ve been run out of a few towns due to Susie and Sammy’s strong personalities. Sammy gets into fights with people about music and Susie squares up when her friends are threatened. Although there was one time someone broke Jack’s violin and he did a number on them. 

Sammy and Susie will flirt with anyone and everyone. They are disaster bisexuals. Favorite targets are Norman, Tom, and Allison. Sometimes Wally, although that’s mostly Sammy. Meanwhile, Jack has kind of a thing for Grant. And sometimes Sammy. He’s a quiet and distinguished gay. Johnny falls in love very easily and it’s hard to get him to move on from them. He had a crush on Susie when they were all little and Sammy continues to tease him about it. Susie thought it was cute.

Joey: Warlock. His patron is Asmodeus, the Lord of Hells. Growing up, Joey dreamed of adventuring. His parents strongly discouraged this, knowing the dangers that came along with adventuring. They didn’t want him to get hurt. Joey, however, took this to mean that they thought he was too weak to make it in the world. It didn’t help that a lot of the other children liked to pick on him due to his small stature and sickly nature. He threw himself into studying magic, being too weak to class as anything particularly physical. His success was rather...mixed. He was alright at magic, but nowhere near as powerful as he’d hoped. 

He ran away from home at around 18 in order to adventure and find a way to boost his magical power. He ended up in Henry’s town and the two became friends. Joey suggested they go adventuring together and Henry agreed. The two set off on their adventure when they were in their 20′s, forming a party with Norman, Wally, and the bard band. Joey's search for power was temporarily forgotten as he reveled in the joy of adventuring with his friends. However, tensions began to run a bit high between him and Henry, who thought Joey was being greedy and pushing the party members farther than they were capable of going. The two of them fought and Henry left the party.

Joey was convinced he could make it without Henry, bolstering the ranks of the party and continuing to press on as though nothing was wrong. However, this was the beginning of his spiral downwards. He began to throw himself even more into trying to bolster his magic. He started dragging his party into even more dangerous situations in order to find a way to make himself more powerful. 

It was at this point that Asmodeus reached out to him. He appeared as a handsome red-skinned young man and promising he could give Joey everything he desired. Joey took his offer, becoming a rather powerful warlock. 

For a bit, things were alright. Joey was happy with his newfound power. He had to perform sacrifices to Asmodeus, which was a little inconvenient given his party’s moral compass, but the party was already killing evildoers. Asmodeus seemed perfectly satisfied with these sorts of sacrifices, though.

But soon...Joey began to wonder. Why did they have to rely on gods for magical power? Why couldn’t they just have it themselves? He’d seen many a warlock fall due to losing the favor of their patron. It was incredibly dangerous to rely on these gods for power when their favor could so easily be lost. If he could find a way to allow humans to have godly powers without the contract, then he could prevent others from falling. And so, unbeknownst to his party, he began to look into magical artifacts and rituals. 

Norman: Ranger. No one knows what his background is and he refuses to give a straight answer as to what it is. His story changes every time he’s asked. In reality, he was part of a rebellion against the tyrannical ruler of his town. The rebellion failed, unfortunately, and in retaliation, the ruler killed those who had taken part in it. Norman managed to escape, but his family and many of his friends died. He doesn’t like to talk about it. Sammy, Susie, Wally, and Tom are some of the only people he’s told the truth to. Prior to joining up with this party, he tried not to stay in any place for too long for fear of being recognized and turned over to the ruler. Initially, he wanted revenge against the man who killed the people he loved. He plotted out exactly how he would do it, fantasized about sticking the bastard’s head on a pike. But he’s been running for a long time. And that fire has long since been extinguished. Now he just wants to be free from that looming shadow. 

Henry: Monk. He never really planned on being an adventurer. He grew up in a small village that was pretty far away from any kind of danger. His parents ran a bookstore. He didn’t have any siblings. He had a pretty boring life. He met Joey after Joey ran away from home and ended up in Henry’s town. When Joey suggested they start adventuring together, he was excited. He’d never left his town before. So he left with Joey and the two of them began adventuring together with their party. Things were good for a while until Henry and Joey began to butt heads about Joey’s leadership of the group. Henry ended up leaving over this argument. Angry and upset, Henry went away to train at a monastery. It was during this training that he met Linda, who was passing through on her own errands. The two of them adventured for a bit after Henry completed his training before settling down together. 

Linda: Cleric. A follower of the Lliira. She came from a long line of healers, and while she wasn’t expected to follow in their footsteps, it was highly encouraged. Luckily, she was interested in helping people. She chose Lliira as her patron as she had little interest in fighting or continuing the cycle of violence in their world. Once she’d reached the appropriate age, and had trained sufficiently with her family, she set off on a journey to bring healing and joy to all she could. She met Henry when she stopped off at the monastery he was training at during her travels. She thought he was rather adorable, especially since he tended to accidentally hit himself in the face with his staff whenever she watching him practice. She was more than happy to journey with and later marry him. 

Henry works as a historian/librarian in their town while Linda is the local healer. A not-insignificant portion of the town has crushes on both of them. They’re both very kind and compassionate and surprisingly buff. Linda may be a pacifist, but she chops their firewood herself. 

Tom: Fighter who dual classes as an artificer. He’s made a bit of a name for himself as an artificer, but more often he’s just called upon to fix things. He grew up in an orphanage as his parents were killed in a monster attack. He made himself indispensable to the orphanage staff by being the best at fixing things. He taught himself to fix just about everything. Chairs, plumbing, wagons, weapons. You name it, he figured out how to fix it. Once he got older, the orphanage directors apprenticed him to a blacksmith. Tom tried to find fulfillment in it but couldn’t. He ended up training himself as a fighter, while beginning to hone his craft as an artificer, and set off wandering. He found Allison when she’d gotten herself into a fight she wasn’t prepared for and helped her get out. He thought she was a nice woman and decided to travel with her. She gave people hope and he wanted to be a part of that. 

Allison: Paladin. A follower of the goddess Istus. Her family are nobles and frankly bastards. She ran away from home at a young age to join a convent. However, during her journey to the convent, she saw the injustices of the world. So, instead of going to the convent, she went to join a paladin order. The paladins were initially a little unsure about whether to take her on, especially since she was the daughter of a noble and they didn’t want to have her father storming their building demanding her back, but she proved she was serious about the situation. After she completed her training, she set out to help those in need. She met Tom after stumbling into a fight she wasn’t prepared for. The two started traveling together after that. She believes that there is always hope, no matter how many times she is knocked down. There are many who take comfort in her unshakable faith.

Shawn: Rogue. He grew up in the slums of a major city, learning how to pickpocket and swindle in order to provide for his family. His mother constantly told him that there were other ways for them to get by, but no matter how many jobs she or his siblings picked up, they never had enough. Shawn saw stealing from the rich as the only viable option. It wasn’t like taking from the ultra-rich of the city would hurt them, he thought. And it didn’t. They just threw huge fits before eventually moving on. He earned a bit of a reputation among the city guards as a troublemaker. Shawn started having a bit of fun messing with them, which led to guards to target his family. He ended up leaving the city in hopes that it would improve his family’s lives if he wasn’t there. He began to travel, becoming a Robin Hood-esque figure. The poor lauded him as a hero while the rich saw him only as a villain. Joey found him in a holding cell after getting caught stealing from a corrupt baron. He continues to send money to his family even now, hoping that he can still try and make up for the mistakes he’s made.

Bertram: Artificer. Born to a well to do family, Bertram was never particularly interested in adventuring. He was, however, very interested in inventing and figuring out how to imbue magic into the things he created. He ended up becoming a rather successful and sought after artificer due to his uncanny knack for figuring out how things worked and how they could be improved. He began traveling in order to expand his business, which is why he hired Lacie. He needed a bodyguard and she wanted to travel. He ended up encountering Joey when Joey approached him to design an artifact for him. Bertram didn’t particularly trust him, but business was business so he agreed to do what he could for Joey.

Lacie: Monk. Kind of like an older, more tired version of Beau from Critical Role. Her family were wealthy and wanted a son, but they got Lacie instead. They tried to force her to be the ‘perfect’ daughter which led to her rebelling quite a lot. She ended up running away to join a monastery. The monks helped her to deal with the anger and frustration she felt, teaching how to channel it into more productive avenues. She stayed at the monastery for many years, gaining a reputation as a competent fighter and a general pillar of common sense, until she was approached by Bertram to be his bodyguard. She’s been traveling with him ever since. She tries not to pick fights, but she will absolutely finish any ones started by other people. 

Grant: Wizard. From a young age, Grant had an insatiable desire for knowledge. It was this desire that led him to begin to study magic. His family didn’t have much but wanted to send him off to a magic academy so that he would be able to study magic. Thankfully, a magic academy did take notice of his aptitude and sent him a letter. Although Grant excelled at his magical studies, he proved too anxious to function as a power player. He had no interest in playing mind games or working in a court. He was better suited to academia, and so became a professor and scholar after graduation. Grant was more than happy teaching others magic and often regrets leaving his position at the school to travel with Joey, especially since Joey doesn’t exactly treat him well. Joey wanted Grant for his vast knowledge and tactical mind, often treating him as nothing more than a walking encyclopedia. 

Wally: Druid. A follower of the goddess Eldath. He grew up in kind of a hippie commune. He has a really big family and the kids were basically allowed to run free in the forest and do whatever they wanted. He was happy in the commune, but he always kind of wanted to see the world. Plus, he felt a bit bad that he wasn’t as good of a druid as the rest of his family. He just didn’t take it as seriously as others did. He left the commune when he was about 16 and started just roaming around. He ran into Joey and Henry and joined their party because they thought he was absolutely adorable and just a little ray of sunshine. He’s not much of a combatant, because Eldath abhorres violence and won’t fight even to defend herself. The few times he’s tried to fight he’s lost his powers from her. It was easy enough for Joey to take him down in the end. Wally would never hurt a friend. 

Cordelia: Cleric. Follower of the goddess Hel. Despite Hel’s less than savory reputation, Cordelia follows her because it gives her comfort to think there is someone looking out for her parents, both of whom died from sickness. Had a rather sheltered upbringing in a small village where nothing much happened. Roy left for adventure when she was about 15. He returned when she was 17, carried back catatonic by a few paladins. She volunteered to take care of him since both of their parents needed to work. This is how she started learning how to be a cleric in the first place. She was 18 when Joey’s party rolled into town, making her want to go adventuring like her brother had. She specifically latched onto the bard band, wanting to be just like them. Maybe even travel with them. Her parents were averse to the idea, especially after what had happened to Roy, but they didn’t want to quash her dreams. They died later that year from a sickness she could neither treat nor cure. She was devastated, shutting herself in her room for days on end. But, upon Roy’s suggestion, the next time Joey’s party came around she left with them.

Roy: Former bard. Formerly a rather successful bard before an adventuring mishap put him out of commission. He got bored in their little village and set off for a life of adventure. Although he couldn’t play music too well, nor sing, he had a charismatic presence that drew people to him. He was part of a rather large adventuring group filled with similarly eager young adventurers. They were all predictably naive and foolhardy, rushing headlong into danger and getting into their fair share of scrapes and danger. One day, they ended up going on a quest that they couldn’t handle. Roy was the only one who survived. He was found, catatonic, by some wandering paladins who managed to get him home. He didn’t say anything for years until his and Cordelia’s parents died and he forced himself to step up and be there for Cordelia. He was the one to suggest she become an adventurer. Despite his own misgivings toward that career, he thought it would do her good to get away from their town and the memory fo their parents.

Esther: Paladin. Follower of the god Tyr. Although she’s not an adventurer, she still takes her job very seriously. She wants to protect those who cannot protect themselves. She became a paladin after Joey ran away. Specifically, she went on a journey to try and find her brother again. Along the way, she witnessed the injustice and cruelty of the world. It horrified her to see the way people treated each other and the abuses that people got away with. When she returned, not having found her brother, she went through paladin training and became the protector of her town. She later met the man who would become her husband, Robert, when he was passing through the town as a traveling bookseller. The two struck up a friendship, which later turned into a relationship.

[artofthero]

i made a post about this a while ago, but it got lost when i accidentally deleted the blog and i don’t think anyone reblogged it (that i could find at least)

so! i wanted to share the backstories for my hetalia/DnD au that i have so far, as well as a bit of their time as party. it’s not a complete story and some parts are lifted from other DnD shows bc i haven’t actually played much myself and don’t really have any other inspiration lmao, but i remember it being a well-received au so hopefully someone will enjoy this!

e.stonia/eduard – high elf bard

the heir to a long-standing family of elven military officers who offered their servitude to their king. the alliance had lasted so long, the position was practically hereditary. eduard studied military tactics and strategy dutifully, along with his music, but when it came to practice, he froze in the face of battle. raivis’s quick-thinking saved him and his soldiers, but he surrendered the position, ashamed of his failure and filled with dread at the thought of getting soldiers killed by his poor command. his family was equally shamed and shunned him. he left for the life of a bard, cutting his hair to signify his exile. he grew up privileged but not spoiled and adapted quickly to the lifestyle of a traveling musician. he is a studious reader and skilled with the kannel, with which he casts his spells. as a caster, he is rarely in the midst of a battle, and has proved himself a brilliant tactician from this distance

l.atvia/raivis – halfling trickster rogue

one of many street urchins who grew up in a large city. he scraped a living together through a combination of thievery and deception, using his small stature to gain sympathy, posing as a human child even as an adult. he never stole for the sake of stealing, just for survival, but became quite adept at slipping authorities by navigating through tight, small spaces. despite his skill, the life of a thief made him anxious and paranoid, and he is often quite fearful. he generally covers this with bluster and snark but can break if pushed. his greatest vice is his drinking, but his biggest virtue is his loyalty. though he struggles to make friends due to his paranoia, once he makes them, he will fiercely stand by them in the face of danger

l.ithuania/toris – tiefling sorcerer

his family’s demonic bloodline had remained dormant for several generations, so when he was born with demonic features, it was a horrifying surprise and he was abandoned, perceived as a bad omen. he was found by a traveling family and adopted, raised by the eldest sister, a cleric named katya, alongside her younger siblings, ivan and natalia. they helped him train and hone his inherent demonic magic, eventually finding he could channel it safely through amber. he grew up cared for, but his presence often created trouble for his adopted family. the guilt eventually drove him to leave, thinking they were better off without him, and he became a mercenary sorcerer, facing a lot of hardships on the battle field. having seen some of the worst of life, he aims to be kind and peaceful when possible, but will fight when needed

a.merica/alfred – human champion fighter

a native resident of a small village that bordered on two rival principalities, along with his twin brother matthew. as part of a farming family, he grew up doing significant physical labor and became very strong and durable. frustrated at the abuse his friends and neighbors suffered at the hands of both principalities’ armies, he began standing up to the soldiers, picking fights and often ending up beaten, bloody, and lying in the dust. however, he remained determined to defend his home and neighbors, training and continuing to fight until both armies went from seeing him as a pest to a threat. along with his brother, he drove the soldiers out of the town, even facing off against the armies’ officers. together, they chased the armies out and warned the princes to leave their home out of their petty fighting, lest there be consequences. incredibly brave, bordering on foolishness, he will rush headlong into battle, especially if someone needs to be defended. he has a strong sense of justice and makes friends easily. his fighting style is as loud and boisterous as he is, swinging his fists wildly and wielding massive weapons with ease

c.anada/matthew – human druid

a native resident of a small village that bordered on two rival principalities, along with his twin brother alfred. as part of a farming family, he grew up close to nature and animals, finding a deep respect for the natural world. frustrated at the abuse his friends and neighbors suffered at the hands of both principalities’ armies, he slipped into the surrounding forests to learn magic from the local fae, mastering the druidic arts. he grew powerful, especially after finding his familiar – a massive white bear being dragged around by one of the armies as a living weapon, which matthew freed and befriended. along with alfred, he drove the soldiers from their town, and made clear to the princes that their home would no longer be a part of their fight. generally quiet and reserved, he tends to be calm and logical, but has a sharp sense of humor. his magic tends to manifest through trees and ice

u.kraine/katya – human cleric

a traveling healer, she fled a destructive fire in her hometown with her two younger siblings, only to return to find they had no home to go back to. softhearted and strong, she prefers not to fight but will stand firm when needed. she worries often for her family, and sometimes fails to take proper care of herself because of it. ultimately, all she wants is a happy and safe life for the people she cares for

r.ussia/ivan – human caster (warlock? wizard? unsure)

fleeing his burning home with his sisters as a child, ivan grew up without much, and became very protective of what he did have. after he and his siblings took in toris, he began to quietly resent the tiefling for his inherent skills in magic. when toris left, he became determined to keep his sisters safe, seeking magical artifacts to use as weapons. though usually amicable and friendly, something dark lurks under the surface, something a more malicious artifact seems to be taking advantage of

b.elarus/natalia - human rogue

forced to flee her home due to a devastating fire when she was very young, natalia has grown up going from place to place with her older brother and sister, never quite knowing what “home” was. she has difficulty forming attachments outside her family and can come across as distant and forceful. though not an assassin by trade, she certainly wields the knife and stealth skills of one. she cares deeply for her siblings, especially her brother, who she fears is going down a dark path

eduard and eaivis met first, while eduard was still living with his family. raivis attempted to pickpocket him but was caught by family guards and quite violently roughed up. eduard stepped in, saying he was just a street urchin who didn’t know better (which raivis didn’t appreciate but he did appreciate eduard getting the guards to stop). the family demanded some form of penance though, and raivis was “appointed” as eduard’s attendant (it was either that or a dungeon…). though he was bitter at first, eduard proved to be kind and sensible, and raivis grew fond of him. he was the one to snap eduard out of his shock in his first battle, keeping his senses about him so he could call a retreat

as a mercenary, toris was hired to fight in the same battle as eduard’s failed debut and consoled him at the camp after the retreat. following his exile, raivis chose to stay with eduard, much to the latter’s surprise, saying he had no idea how to live out in the world and he needed some street smarts to survive. they sought out Toris, still staying nearby, and the three set out to adventure

on their travels they came across alfred and matthew’s village, under siege from the two rival principalities who aimed to starve out the pests who kept interrupting their fight. they slipped through the blockades and helped the two brothers fight their way out from the inside, dealing significant damage to both armies. assured that the princes were gone for good, alfred and matthew joined up with them

the party met up with toris’ adopted family by chance in what was a relatively happy reunion, but toris noticed something was off. ivan had gotten a hold of an artifact called the ring of winter, which gave him elemental power over ice and snow but subtly manipulated him, and it was already making katya and natalia uneasy. before long, ivan’s paranoia and jealousy, exacerbated by the ring, got the better of him and he turned on the rest of the party, only breaking its grip when natalia managed to sever the finger on which he wore the ring

from here on, the story is still unknown. but, i may be adding to this in the future!

[sxpersquad]

Muse Strength/Class Rank

So this is just the ranking list of muse strength/ where they stand in the class. This is just used for the teachers in the school (and me as the author) to understand who needs more work as heroes, and who are the ones most likely to make it to the top as pro-heroes. Listed from weakest to strongest under the cut

13. Scarlet O’Hara

Scarlet has no offensive power, and her hand to hand combat skills are fairly weak, so she really can’t attack anyone herself. In her Rogue’s Gallery days she was given powers by Kurai, which were stronger than anyone in the class, but those have since been taken away. Now she’s back to the bottom of the list and is happier there as a healer, and just that.

12. Aiko Saruwatari

Although she is the main character of the story, she is the weakest of those who can fight offensively. Her powers have far too many weaknesses and is fairly useless when she is fighting in the light. When she is able to master the Book of Spells given to her by Kimberly Van Der Graaf’s fiancee Velvet LaRouche, she’ll jump higher on the list.

11. Victor Van Bright

Though the explosions Victor can cause are very violent and dangerous, they have a lot of restrictions similar to Aiko. He can only make objects explode, and if he’s in a situation where there’s nothing to touch. If there’s something to explode on the villain, that’s a different story. Though, once more, if the villain specializes on long range attacks he has no way on getting to them.

10. Hahnna Ekstrom

Hahnna is only this low for one reason; her insecurities. Her sonic bursts are devastating, and it doesn’t matter how small the sound is, Hahnna can amplify it to have the sound blast give extraordinary damage. But she’s scared, and doesn’t know if she’s okay with hurting people even if it is to save someone else.

9. Link Jones

Link is only this low because he has no superpower. He’s the most physically fit out of everyone on this list, has the best hand to hand combat rank (yes, above Audrey who is a boxer), and has a mastery for any type of weapon and shield. It’s just that if he was to face anyone above him in a battle Link would lose because physical strength and weapons can only last for so long.

8. Riven Stone

Riven could have the possibility to be one of the top five. He’s a cyborg, has increased strength with his robotic arms and legs, increased intelligence, and ways to hack into systems and securities. Yet, he himself is easy to hack into. If there’s a person who can hack into the computer chip in his brain, Riven is useless. And if there is a situation where is arms are to break that poses a huge issue. So he sticks to information collection and being the brains behind operations. 

7. Xavier Mortimer

His Dark Energy manipulation is fairly powerful. His energy blasts hurt, and the building of shields and other things made of the energy are useful. Though, they have limitations that Rie’s powers do not have. So he is lower on the list. He’s also the least fit on this list, a scrawny little bird. But, his ability to fly keeps him high up.

6. Lucy Jones

The moment Lucy worked on her hand to hand combat she shot up in class rank. Her power literally takes other people’s abilities/knowledge. She becomes the mind of that person for half an hour. She would be in the top three, if she wasn’t extremely weak to long range attacks. But she’ll never let Link live through the fact she’s the stronger twin.

5. Ezra Amadeo

Of all the students on the list, Ezra looks the most like a hero. Buff, tall, handsome, and with a kindness that no one else can replicate. He can manipulate the earth, you know like an earth bender. There’s earth everywhere, so his weaknesses are limited. He has intense stamina and willpower. He’s in the top five for a reason.

4. Dimitri Romanov

Dimitri grew up in a Russian family that forced him to be stronger than he actually should have been. Pushed to his absolute limits as a child made the strength of his electricity devastating, and he is flexible between long range and short range attacks. Though, there are certain things his electricity can’t move through, which is why he isn’t one step higher.

3. Audrey Chu

She’s this high because she seems to be the perfect package of a hero. Strong hand to hand combat skills, perfect honing of her powers, and unlimited willpower. Not to mention, the venom imbedded in Twoeys teeth can render a victim unconscious for at most an hour, which gives Audrey a majority of her strength. When Twoey dies, she falls a lot lower on the list because her weaknesses are much more prevalent without Twoey around.

2. Jesse Reinhart

Like his father, Jesse is number two. And like his father, Jesse doesn’t mind because there is always going to be someone stronger than him. Yet, Jesse is an incredible hero and is pretty much guaranteed a future. His strength is insane, his ice abilities perfected, and able to be used in long and short range attacks. His flames are much more fickle, since they’ve only recently fully developed. Yet, he still knows when to use them and when not to. He isn’t easily blocked, and is an amazing strategist and an asset to the team.

1. Rie Santos

Rie has absolutely no weakness, which is why she is top of the class. She controls the physical manifestation of her body’s kinetic energy (which never runs out, so if she is in the middle of an attack and is passed out, the attack continues). She can create the physical blasts, steps and shields just like Xavier. Yet, she can do so much more. Her energy can surround a person and cause them to freeze, or she can control their actions. Once more, Rie also has a mastery of using her powers with long and short range. She is smart and can come up with plans on the spot. Finally, since she’s a gymnast and dancer, she is flexible and is the best at dodging attacks and using her tricks to her advantage. She also has a gentle soul, a kindness, and a love for people that gives her charisma. Rie is a guaranteed pro-hero. She is the number one, the ultimate future hero.

[shogetsus]

Stripes of Auburn, Eye of Sapphire

18. Mai

Read on Ao3 | Read on FFN |  Masterlist

Summary: “You want to teach me how to ride…?” Her enthusiasm dies down when her lurching stomach reminds her of the two trips with him. It’s a very good skill to have, though. And assuming I survive, I’ll never get horse sick again. “Well, thanks, Masamune. I’ll take you up on it. Just let me know when you’re free.”

That wicked smile gives way to a surprisingly innocent face. Then, Masamune laughs, and it’s a fun-loving, joyful sound. Damn, I could hear him laugh all day and not get tired of it. He has the most musical and beautiful laughter—wait, no. Brain, stop right there!

Mai

“Again. And spread your feet further apart this time.”

Truth be told, she can’t even recall why did she agree to dance with him in the first place, but now that they’re at it, it seems kind of rude to just stop. And so, Mai complies, flicking her fans open and waving them around the way she’d been taught as a child, putting on a charming smile to make it a little show. A blur of yellows, oranges and reds flutter prettily before her eyes, prompting a more genuine smile out of her, somewhat losing herself in her own happy place—a small moment of reprieve from the warring period she’s been plunged into against her will.

That is, until her wrist stings and one of her fans drops from her hand. “Ow! What was that for?” She pouts, rubbing her sore spot.

“I was testing your reflexes,” Nobunaga says flatly, scrutinizing her stance with a stern look. “Stop idling around and focus.”

“I thought we were dancing?”

“... No. We are training.”

The snarky remark brings them back at court, and she huffs in frustration. It’s been several days since their return from Shinano, and Nobunaga’s been more than insistent in attempting to ‘hone her skills’ with the pair of gunsen he’d gifted her, offering himself to train her at every one of her late visits to his tenshu.

“Are you still determined upon learning medicine?” She’s come with the request a couple of nights before, and Nobunaga’s brushed off the idea at every chance she’s brought it up. “That knowledge will bring you even closer to battle than this. You told me you hated war.”

Growing annoyed, she flicks her other fan close with a snap, crossing her arms. “And you told me you didn’t care what I hated. But yes, I do, and very much. I wish I could stop it from happening, but I’m well aware I can’t.”

Nobunaga’s gaze is intimidating, but she doesn’t quail before him just then. “You do show promise with the gunsen, and can do more than fine by training properly.” He frowns in thought, “Why are you so adamant with medicine?”

“Because I never meant to use these in a way that may hurt anybody. That’s not the way I’ve been taught to.” She insists, growing tired of falling on the same topic over and over.

“Weapons are meant to do just that—”

“—But with medicine, maybe I can learn to save as many lives as possible.” She emphasizes her words with a flick of her fan in hand, “While I’m willing to learn whatever it takes to survive, I’m not aiming for taking someone else’s life to do so.”

That has been one of the answers to the questions she’d asked herself after the bloodbath Nobunaga brought her to witness. Her reality is, if she’s intending to achieve her goals and dreams or even get to return to her time period, she needs to survive that dreadful place first of all—which is a feat in and out of itself. And as willing as she is to try to understand the people’s reasoning for going to war, in the end she’s not as determined and courageous as Masamune or Nobunaga to brand a weapon and fight for her own sake.

To be honest, she’s terrified of the mere idea.

He doesn’t reply straight away, however, leaving her to hesitate. That’s not an encouraging look on his face. Does he think I’m not serious? After seeming to ponder the matter—and her—he suddenly grins; a sight as strange to see as the first time he did it, the first night she came to his tenshu.

“What a naïve view of the problem. Yet I see how you came to that conclusion. It’s not without some logic.” He appears lenient as to admit that, “I’m curious to see how the real world grows and shapes your views.”

Mai quirks a skeptical brow, “… Is that a yes?”

With some reluctance, Nobunaga nods. “Ieyasu is a skilled healer and herbalist. I will ask him to teach you.”

“Really? Thank you very much!” Her face brightens at that, bowing to him in gratitude and before he comes to regret it. Having Ieyasu himself teaching her may be somewhat challenging, yet it doesn’t make her any less excited to get started.

A slight snort prevents her from going too excited, though. “Do not thank me just yet, little fireball,” Nobunaga takes a single step towards her, crimson eyes flickering in wonder. “If you truly intend to learn whatever it takes, you shall prove to me you’re up for it.”

“… You don’t mean to tell me you want me to follow you to another battle, isn’t it?”

He saunters past her with a flourish of his haori. “Masamune seems to hold you in high regard. He’s praised you as a fighter several times.” Heading to his decorative weapon rack, he calmly returns his fans to their proper place, sparing himself a moment to eye his precious collection, “We can’t allow your skills with the gunsen to go to waste, Mai…”

The comment makes her cautious, not liking whatever idea he seems to be coming with. “I don’t get it. What are you suggesting? And what’s Masamune got to do with anything?”

A mischievous smirk crosses his face as he returns to his working desk. “You shall ask him to partake on sparring sessions with you. If he’s too busy to comply, then tell him to assign one of his retainers to do so.”

Her jaw drops to the floor at that, alarms flaring in her mind. “You want me to ask Masamune to fight him!? But—”

That’s… that’s… the worst idea ever!

Nobunaga, however, pays her no mind, looking decided to return to his reading of several reports scrawled across his desk. “Didn’t you just say you want to learn ways to keep yourself alive? Northerners such as Masamune do so by charging at the vanguard of an army. And, as you can surely notice, their unrivaled strong will is what’s been keeping them alive. There’s a lot you can learn from them.” He says matter-of-factly, not bothering to spare her a glance, “Take this as your task for the day.”

“… How did I happen to get stuck with you? What was Nobunaga thinking?”

Despite the pretty much inconvenient deal she’s struck with him, Nobunaga keeps his word, and the next morning finds her with a message from a maid to meet Ieyasu before midday to begin her lessons.  Unsurprisingly so, her new assigned teacher doesn’t sound interested nor eager to work with her in the slightest.

“Clearly, he thought I didn’t have enough to deal with, with ghosts right on my doorstep, stirring up trouble.” Ieyasu rolls his eyes hard, leaving her to briefly wonder how they haven’t caught at the back of his head just yet with how many times he does that.

Maybe I should’ve held out for a different potions master? Troubling Ieyasu could go very wrong.

“Look, I’ll be a serious student, and I’m looking forward to learning from you.” Mai puts up her best diplomatic face, figuring out it’s the least she can do.

“… That makes one of us looking forward to it.” He sighs in defeat, lips curling into a sneer before pushing a stack of books on his desk towards her. “First, you should read all of these.”

She can only hope he doesn’t want them read by the end of the day—it’s been some time since college, after all. Regardless, the gesture doesn’t go unnoticed, “Looks like you’ve already got everything ready for me. Thank you.”

He does seem to be taking the whole ordeal seriously, so probably he’s not as bad as his attitude suggests. “You’re talking when you should be reading. Open the top book.” Ieyasu’s face remains stoic and impervious to any politeness, “I’m going to quickly cover the key points. And just so you know, I’m not going to stop or repeat myself. Are we clear?”

“Alright. I’m ready.” Mai opens the book to the first page, following his instructions to the letter.  

The sun is at its peak by the time Ieyasu’s lecture comes to a close, and she rubs the kinks in her stiff neck, completely unaware of the time. Whoa, I haven’t had to cram this much in so long. And now I really miss coffee. Mitsunari’s been helping her to figure out the writing system of the period to a certain extent, but reading such books still keeps being a pain and a half.

However, she’s saved by the fact Ieyasu explained almost everything in the books provided, so she can follow along somehow. “Now that you see what you’re up against, you should just give up. It’s not like you need to know this stuff.”

Well, he really sucks as a teacher, huh.

A half-apologetic smile clings to her lips, “Why, I can’t give up now that I’ve already started. In fact, I’ll be back tomorrow for more.” Mai insists, hoping her genuine interest would show and encourage Ieyasu somehow, “I’ll even have reviewed everything you told me today too.”

Her earnestness must have come through, as Ieyasu looks almost impressed, a brow quirking up, “I guess you’ve got resolve, at least. Maybe you’re not as weak as I—“ Sighing in apparent spite of himself, he trails off into a series of quiet incomprehensible mumbles, occupying his hands with stacking the pile of books and notes they’ve recently used. “I suppose it’s no wonder why Masamune has his eye on you…”

“What was that?” Or rather, did she hear him right?

“Nothing. I didn’t say anything.” Ieyasu doesn’t leave room to budge, though, an awkward silence hanging around the two of them.

Just then, the door slides open and as if he’d just been summoned, the very guy her teacher has been vaguely mumbling about makes his entrance, a massive grin on his ruggedly handsome face. Snapping her head to the door, she has to swallow a groan as pain shots from her stiff neck at the motion.

“Ieyasu, mind if I come in?” Her heart skips a beat for some reason. What’s he here for?

“… It obviously wouldn’t matter if I minded because you only asked after you already barged in.” The blonde warlord grumbles, returning to his regular exasperated mood.

She can’t say if it’s his smile what does it, but the room looks brighter at the presence of Masamune, that lively and gorgeous eye of his catching her entire attention. “I heard Mai was studying here and, well, knowing Ieyasu, I came to lighten the mood.”

If Ieyasu was annoyed before, his face twists into the picture of being absolutely done with everyone then. “We’re done studying. Thanks for lightening the mood, good job.” He deadpans, flat toned, “You can leave now. Actually, take her with you.”

Ignoring his associate, Masamune sits down next to her, his expression recalling the expectant curiosity of a hungry cat. To her dismay, Mai finds herself casting a sheepish smile his way.

“Hi, er—I mean, good morning.” She feels incredibly silly all of a sudden, mentally slapping herself.

Masamune’s grin goes delightfully wider, however. “Morning, kitten,” He says half-sultrily, giving her a once over look, “You look as stiff as the day I brought you over. You’ve been like that with Ieyasu? No wonder he’s in a snit.” He bumps his shoulder to hers in a friendly manner, “You can relax around him. It’ll be easier for him that way too, right, lad?”

“While you’re making all my decisions for me, you want to redecorate my room too?” Ieyasu scoffs, “But… yeah, Masamune’s right. It would be easier if you were less formal.”

“All right. Thank you. I mean, thanks,” Sinking into a more relaxed posture, she immediately feels like a weight had been taken off her shoulders. “To be honest, I wouldn’t mind another friend.”

“So, how’s progress, Mai? Has Ieyasu been putting you through your paces?”

She can’t help quirking a curious brow at that. Is Masamune keeping a very close eye on her schedule? Otherwise, how does he seem to know everything she partakes on?

Actually, that wouldn’t be surprising. Half of Nobunaga’s tasks are suggestions from him after all…

Speaking of more friends, Masamune’s carnivorous smile makes her suddenly question her choice in them. “Ieyasu’s been a good teacher. I really feel I’ll be able to learn from him.”

“That’s good to hear!” His eye gleams as he seems to be recalling something, and Mai can’t help but grow apprehensive at that, “I’ve heard you’re taking some reading lessons from Mitsunari as well. Your schedule grows tighter and tighter by the day.”

“Ah, yeah, Mitsunari’s been helping me too. I’m just glad to be able to keep myself busy.” She shrugs nonchalantly.

“If Ieyasu’s teaching you medicine, then I’ll teach you horseback riding. What do you think?“

“You want to teach me how to ride…?” Her enthusiasm dies down when her lurching stomach reminds her of the two trips with him. It’s a very good skill to have, though. And assuming I survive, I’ll never get horse sick again. “Well, thanks, Masamune. I’ll take you up on it. Just let me know when you’re free.”

That wicked smile gives way to a surprisingly innocent face. Then, Masamune laughs, and it’s a fun-loving, joyful sound. Damn, I could hear him laugh all day and not get tired of it. He has the most musical and beautiful laughter—wait, no. Brain, stop right there!

“Now that’s a good answer.” He makes it practically sound as if he just said ‘Good girl’. No, don’t strain away! Agh, how does he do that? “I wondered what our Lord was thinking to take you into battle, but you keep proving to be the bravest lass I’ve ever seen! I even want to see you in a fight myself!”

She gulps at that, “Me, fighting? Oh, I don’t think you’ll be impressed at all…”

Ieyasu’s expression shifts at the mention of that topic, looking at her. “Speaking of that battle, I heard Shingen and Kenshin were there. Did you see them?”

The mere mention of Shingen’s name makes her heart skip a beat. Alright, what the heck is going on with you today, Mai? “Um, yeah, I did.” Even then, the memory of them fighting gives her the chills, and she can only hope she’d never witness such a scene ever again.

But seeing Shingen again, that’s another thing entirely.

“… Knowing they’re still alive and that I might get the chance to face them gets my blood pumping something fierce.” Masamune prompts her out of her thoughts before she strains, his wicked smile seeming as if he’s picturing it already.

“You know, I have medicine for that.” Ieyasu points out.

She’s already aware of Masamune’s fighting spirit, but it’s not like his cool poise will stop amazing her anytime soon, “Huh, you really enjoy battle, don’t you?”

It’s Ieyasu who replies with a pained sigh. “Don’t believe what you’ve seen the other day with Yoshitoshi. Masamune’s horrible in a fight,” He remarks his statement with a glare, “He’s always rushing the front lines, changing tactics and demanding cooperation on the fly. I have to be out there cleaning up his mess for him,”

“It sounds like you two team up every so often…”

Masamune smiles with a—very—handsome confidence, “Yeah, and it’s because I know Ieyasu’s got my back that I can fight so freely.”

“… If you’re trying to flatter me, don’t bother. It won’t work.” Ieyasu’s unusually prickly attitude since Masamune’s arrival makes sense then. They’re a bit like brothers, bickering because they know each other well. “But you won’t need to drag me onto the front if the Tiger of Kai shows up. I’ll be one of the first out there. I haven’t forgotten how close he came to beating me at Noda Castle.”

Ieyasu’s young features harden, his eyes gleaming with a vengeful light. Looks like he’s got some trauma to deal with. “Noda Castle. Was that the battle where Shingen supposedly died?”

“Huh? How do you know that?” Ieyasu frowns, growing skeptical.

“Um, Nobunaga told me some bits and pieces when I asked him about Shingen.” There’s also the small knowledge she has from the history books and the little Sasuke told her, but that’s not something she’d mention anytime soon.

Masamune shoots her a knowing glance, but—and gratefully so—doesn’t seem willing to let his associate in on her secret handicap. “Did he tell you that battle was just part of Shingen’s campaign against Ieyasu and Nobunaga?”

She shakes her head. “Nobunaga and I are in an alliance such as Masamune here, and my province, Mikawa, bordered Shingen’s Kai. Basically, he had to get through me.” Ieyasu’s face tenses as he speaks, as if recalling a pretty bad memory. “Back then, Shingen was strong. Nobunaga and I constantly struggled against him, even working together.”

That admission makes her frown in thought. Just how strong is Shingen to be able to easily fend off two powerful warlords like Nobunaga and Ieyasu?

“Then, in the middle of battle, with victory in sight, Shingen disappeared.” Masamune continues, “Supposedly he died of pneumonia. It’s probably true that he got sick, but obviously it didn’t kill him.”

“In that case, Shingen’s a master manipulator. He probably thought laying low was for the best and let the rumors spread to his advantage.” Paired up with Ieyasu’s assumptions, Nobunaga already mentioned Shingen’s use of espionage, leaving her to believe it’s the most plausible response.

“Now that he’s stopped squabbling with Kenshin and joined him, I’d love to fight the two of them.” All in a sudden Masamune perks up, turning his single eye on her, “And this reminds me, I heard about Nobunaga’s suggestion for you…”

At that, she can’t help groaning out loud. Ugh, that’s just great. Why I am always involved in those two’s crazy ideas? His mischievous smile isn’t of any help, and as much as Mai has secretly missed it in the couple of days they haven’t seen each other, she’d rather for that alluring gesture to show up for another reason entirely.

“Why don’t you come spar with me and Ieyasu? I can teach you a thing or two,” His massive grin leaves very little to object about, but the subject at hand is strong enough to make her resist his proposal.

Aside from her natural eagerness to learn something new and pick up more skills, training with weapons such as swords and fans is just leaning on a bit too much for the current moment. It’d sound more acceptable if she were picking that up for self-defense, but truthfully, either Masamune or Nobunaga are the right people for that.

“Um, maybe another time?” Wincing a little, Mai turns to Ieyasu for both a little of help and to come up with an excuse, “I mean, thanks for the offer, but I need to practice my reading and writing for my lessons, and I was thinking of visiting Mitsunari after this…”

Thankfully, Masamune merely shrugs in dismissal. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot on your plate, alright. What do you think, Ieyasu? She’s a hard worker, isn’t she?”

“Stop nudging me. Anyway, if you want some books to practice with, you should check out the archives.”

“You have a nice point, there. I’ll ask Mitsunari to pinpoint me, then. Thanks for the suggestion, Ieyasu.”

“Oh, Mai? Is that you?” Mitsunari perks up from behind a pile of books at her arrival, finding him in the company of Mitsuhide. “I don’t recall us having reading lessons today?”

In between several tomes spread open before the two of them, Mitsuhide quirks a curious brow, “Or should I assume you’ve come to grab some books to make a step ladder out of?”

Mai snorts softly, not expecting a different kind of greeting from either of them. “Hello, you two. And no, Mitsunari, we didn’t have an appointment today. I’m just looking for some good starter books to use for my medicine lessons with Ieyasu.”

“I see. Isn’t it wonderful, Lord Mitsuhide? The Princess is becoming another fellow scholar!” For all the energy Mitsunari uses in praising her, his associate appears to turn it in another source for his endless amusement, snickering to himself.

“You’re too kind, but I’m not as serious as you, for sure,” She can’t help but fluster a little, “But am I interrupting something? Or are you two studying as well?”

“We were discussing our investigation on the incident at Honno-ji,” Mitsuhide replies solemnly.

Right. Since he clearly isn’t the perpetrator—at least not in that timeline—the real culprit remains at large, and their research doesn’t appear to be close to a breakthrough anytime soon. Pondering about it, she revisits her own memories of that night; recalling the people she met and those who may have had the motive and the means.

Only two faces come to mind. “Mmh, is it possible that Shingen or Kenshin had anything to do with it?” She wonders vaguely. All things considered, Shingen is her first guess for someone who holds a very hard grudge against Nobunaga, and those two were watching the temple as far as she’s aware of.

“No.” It’s Mitsuhide who shoots down her idea with the precision of a sniper, slamming a tome close as if to remark his point. “Uesugi’s renowned for his battle lust. Assassination would rob him of the one thing he loves.”

“Shingen has a strategic mind, and while he has a network of spies, when he acts it’s in the open for all to see,” Mitsunari adds matter-of-factly.

“So, you don’t suspect either of them?” It may be odd, but she’s actually relieved to hear that. Of anything, she doesn’t truly want to believe Shingen would be the kind of guy who’d sink to assassinating people in such a shady manner.

Honestly, it’s even hard to see him as my enemy at this point. But as soon as she thinks about that, the word ‘enemy’ triggers a crushing realization in her.

Her hand stops midway of idly returning one of her books to its proper shelf. Sasuke and that young guy who prevented her from falling down a cliff, Yuki, were joining those two that night in the woods. And if she remembers correctly, he’d even addressed Shingen and Kenshin as if they were his superiors.

Sasuke mentioned having employers… He must be working for Shingen and Kenshin. That’s why he didn’t tell me about it.

The mere thought devastates her. Does that mean as long as she’s on opposite sides with those two warlords, she’s on muddy grounds with her one true ally?

“Mai?” Concern gleams in Mitsunari’s bright and cute amethyst eyes, attempting to shake her out of her reverie with a hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright? Has something sad occurred to you?”

“N-no, no,” She partially lies, shaking her head too fast to her liking. “I-I was just trying to think if there was anyone else suspicious, but I can’t think of anyone.”

Truth is, she needs out of that conversation and fast. As much as Mitsuhide may know of her past interactions with Shingen, if he isn’t really tied to Honno-ji, there’s no reason to bring up Sasuke to the map. And she needs to keep him a secret until she could leave the current time.

Hopefully Sasuke would show up soon to clear everything out. I’ll remember to ask him for the full story.

She notices Mitsuhide smirking at her, quite unpleasantly so, and the room seems to grow colder around her just like the other day. “Oh, really? Mmh, I think you’re suspicious, Mai. You seem to be hiding something…”

“What could I be possibly hiding now?” And why does she constantly need to be in guard with Mitsuhide? It’s too frustrating!

“I believe a little torture might prove revelatory.” Her eyes almost bulge out of her sockets at that. What has she gotten herself into?

Mai glances to Mitsunari for help, but he appears poised in thought. “… Do you mean tickle torture, Lord Mitsuhide?” The young strategist smiles sweetly at his own occurrence.

“Why, Mitsunari, that’s an excellent suggestion!” Rubbing his hands and with a mischievous look plastered all over his face, the sly warlord turns to her, expectant, “Well, Princess? Will you confess everything, or shall we tickle you until you can no longer speak?”

“I’ll… pass on the tickle torture, thanks. I’ve got some books to grab and you two an assassin to catch.” Mitsuhide keeps his piercing eyes on her, chuckling in wicked amusement, while Mitsunari helps her to sort out the tomes she needs to get started. 

Soon enough, the regular ruckus of the castle comes to a pause as night falls, a crescent moon meeting her past the doors of her balcony, giving her room a sort of melancholic ambiance. As breathtaking as the clear sight of Azuchi town may be that time of day, it’s hard for Mai not to be feeling somewhat anxious; the silence and tranquility stretching on too thin for her liking, prompting her running thoughts to make more noise than healthily necessary.

Shogetsu’s late random visits have been helpful so far and she’s grown to appreciate the cub’s company, yet as much as she tries to occupy herself with her studies or with the little tiger, her mind keeps finding ways to stray, piling up all her concerns one by one.

I can’t keep turning a blind eye to the reality of this time…

Laying out her cards, so far it looks like all the people she’s met and talked to appear to be pushing her onto the one single thing she’s terrified of—fighting to survive. Shingen had warned her of Nobunaga’s apparent corruption, and offered to whisk her away from what would be inevitable should she keeps staying in Azuchi. Masamune has made a point of how the way of the sword seems to be the only way for most people to stay alive. The rest, such as Ieyasu, appear to deem her as weak or hopeless merely for refusing to brand a weapon.

And Nobunaga, he’s been more than clear in how the long road for peace seems to be built from the blood and bones of all who oppose him.

Her wandering eyes find the decorative sword resting on one corner of her room, her pair of gunsen not so far away from the rack. Is the way of the samurai all there is to the period?

“No, there has to be more to it…”

Just then, Shogetsu plops onto her lap, bumping away an open book and all but demanding her attention. His purring and the feeling of his soft fur brings her back onto more pleasant memories—most specifically, of one of the most enjoyable afternoons she had in the current period, watching the same playful tiger in her arms playing at the riverside, and eating snacks languidly with a ruggedly handsome guy at her side.

“Come see me anytime. You’re always welcome…”

Flopping down onto her futon with the little cub, Mai finally makes up her mind. If he still allows it, then she’ll resort to Masamune once again.

Gunsen: A type of folding war fan used by the average warriors to cool themselves off. Tenshu: An architectural typology found in Japanese castle complexes. They are easily identifiable as the highest tower within the castle.

[sparkleywonderful]

The Prince of Ice: Ch.21

Part 21 of The Prince of Ice series, a retelling of Heir of Fire from Rowan’s point of view.

The Prince of Ice: Parts [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ] [ 4 ] [ 5 ] [ 6 ] [ 7 ] [ 8 ] [ 9 ] [ 10 ] [ 11 ] [ 12 ] [ 13 ] [ 14 ] [ 14.5 ] [ 15 ] [ 16 ]  [ 17 ] [ 18 ] [ 19 ] [ 20 ]

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He sat at his work table monitoring Aelin. His instincts to protect had battled for hours against his demons. He had never fussed over his mate, the same way he was fussing over Aelin. If he had, maybe… He froze that thought deep into the dark abyss that had become his soul. If there was one lesson that was deeply ingrained, it was that he could never go back.

He looked over at Aelin, noticing she looked peaceful. At this moment he could easily see the Ashryver lineage in the gold of her skin and hair. He remembered decades ago when Rhoe had fallen in love with one of the fair princesses on a trip to Wendlyn. He had given up his right of succession to marry Evalin. The royal court in Terrasen had feared that she would would stay young as he continued to age. With no heir possible from King Orlon, it was determined that their child would be the heir to the throne.

He had a feeling it was a concession on the part of the nobles. Rhoe and Orlon were the last of Brannon’s line. He recalled the lessons that he and Edna sat through, the lessons to mold them into the heads of House Whitethorn. He recalled his uncle mentioning that Terrasen had a great distrust of Maeve and in some ways Wendlyn. Terrasen would never kneel to a princess of Wendlyn.

His eyes dropped to the scared hands and wrists that rested on her abdomen. Instead of being groomed for the crown, she had spent the past ten years being trained to kill. Instead of attending balls and royal functions, she had spent a year as a slave. She was much stronger than he had initially given her credit for. The spoiled brat facade was just that, a mark she wore to face her world.

The scent of two familiar demi-fae pulled him from his thoughts. He had always enjoyed the company of the old man and Luca was starting to grow on him, much in the same way Fenrys had. Even now in her current condition neither male were a true threat to her well being. So the growl that erupted from his throat took all of them by surprise.

Emrys flashed a knowing smile, “Well Elentiya, it seems you are in competent hands, we’ll come back in a few days.”

He appreciated the old man, but that knowing smile ruffled him. He needed to bury the thoughts that blossomed from that smile. The guilt to move forward and live while is mate has died could consume him if he let it.

He continued to study the map marking the location of the found bodies. There was not an easily seen pattern, except that the locations made little sense. He could not remember a time where he had stared so intently at a map hoping it would give him the answers he was looking for, while providing the escape of not facing the current situation in his room.

Aelin pulled him from his thoughts, “You know, I highly doubt anyone is going to attack me now, if they’ve already put up with my nonsense for this long.”

“This isn’t negotiable.”  And it was not negotiable. He could hardly explain the strength in his desire to protect her.

“So you mean to tell me that whenever someone comes close to burnout, she not only goes through all this misery, but if she’s female, the males around her go this berserk?”

He set down his pen and twisted to examine her. Was this berserk? No. Berserk would have been barring the doors, eating only meals prepared by himself. Berserk would be incapacitating every demi-fae in this fortress until she was healed. No, he was fighting against berserk.

“This is hardly berserk. At least you can defend yourself by physical means when your magic is useless. For other Fae, even if they’ve had weapons and defense training, if they can’t touch their magic, they’re vulnerable, especially when they’re drained and in pain. That makes people—usually males, yes—somewhat edgy. Others have been known to kill without thought any perceived threat, real or otherwise.”

He pulled her mug from her, seeing that it was drained he refilled it.

“What sort of threat? Maeve’s lands are peaceful.”

“Threats from anywhere—males, females, creatures … You can’t reason against it. Even if it wasn’t in our culture, there would still be an instinct to protect the defenseless, regardless of whether they’re female or male, young or old.”

She was looking a little peeky. He reached for a slice of bread and a bowl of beef broth. “Eat this.”

“It pains me to say this, but one more bite and I’ll be sick all over the place.”

Ignoring her, he dipped the bread into the broth and held them out to her. Before she had a chance to argue with him, “You need to keep up your energy. You probably came so close to burnout because you didn’t have enough food in your stomach.”

He should have been closely monitoring, before he asked her to keep three fires alight, he should have ensured she had a full meal, something more than an apple. It was his job to instruct her and even though they had already determined he was the worst teacher in the world, he never recalled telling her that her fae body requires more food than her human form.

While she ate, he fussed around the room before grabbing the now empty bowl from her, returning to the worktable trying to ignore the pain that was written between her brows.

“So when the magic runs out,” she said, “that’s it—either you stop or you burn out?”

The fact that he suspected they shared a carranam bond, her question allowed him to ease into a conversation he had been avoiding the last few hours. He knew her training on her fae nature was limited, would have been limited even if the last ten years had not occurred. Demi-fae rarely were powerful enough to have experienced the carranam bond.

Rowan leaned back in his chair. “Well, there’s the carranam.”

“It’s hard to explain, I’ve only ever seen it used a handful of times on killing fields. When you’re drained, your carranam can yield their power to you, as long as you’re compatible and actively sharing a blood connection.”

She tilted her head to the side. “If we were carranam, and I gave you my power, would you still only be using wind and ice—not my fire?”

He nodded his response.

“How do you know if you’re compatible with someone?”

He thought for a moment, “There’s no way of telling until you try. And the bond is so rare that the majority of Fae never meet someone who is compatible, or whom they trust enough to test it out. There’s always a threat that they could take too much—and if they’re unskilled, they could shatter your mind. Or you could both burn out completely.”

He felt the guilt he had been hoarding over the deep need to care for Aelin in ways that he did not Lyria fade completely. While the mating bond was sacred, to experience it did not leave you completely defenseless. To share a carranam bond with another soul, to allow yourself to open completely to another soul, to trust them enough not to harm you, that was an entirely different matter. To trust another soul that deeply explained the strength of his need to protect her.

“Could you ever just steal magic from someone?”

“Less savory Fae once attempted to do so—to win battles and add to their own power—but it never worked. And if it did, it was because the person they held hostage was coincidentally compatible. Maeve outlawed any forced bonds long before I was born, but … I’ve been sent a few times to hunt down corrupt Fae who keep their carranam as slaves. Usually, the slaves are so broken there’s no way to rehabilitate them. Putting them down is the only mercy I can offer.”

The memories of those times threatened to overtake him. The only reason he survived those deaths was because he often prayed for the same mercy he granted to those broken souls.

“Doing that must be harder than all the wars and sieges you’ve ever waged.”

It was those times that he had prayed to the gods, begged to them for a better world, a world without monsters.

“Immortality is not as much of a gift as mortals would believe. It can breed monsters that even you would be sick to learn about. Imagine the sadists you’ve encountered—and then imagine them with millennia to hone their craft and warped desires.”

He watched Aelin shudder at the thought. She had also seen and known the monsters that plagued their world, but only from the human aspect. “This conversation’s become too awful to have after eating,”

“Tell me which one of your little cadre is the handsomest, and if he would fancy me.”

He could not hold back the choke that left his throat.  The thought of her and Fenrys made his blood boil, it was amazing how the boyo could annoy him even in a general conversation. But her with the others caused him to feel a strong dread in the pit of his stomach.

“The thought of you with any of my companions makes my blood run cold.”

“They’re that awful? Your kitty-cat friend looked decent enough.”

It took all of his being not to choke out a laugh. Kitty-cat?

“I don’t think my kitty-cat friend would know what to do with you—nor would any of the others. It would likely end in bloodshed.”

He crossed his arms at the grin that alight her face. While there was a part of him that wanted to see her smile, the other part did not want her to smile at the thought of being with one of his companions. He needed to end this conversation before it morphed into another line of questioning.

“They would likely have very little interest in you, as you’ll be old and decrepit soon enough and thus not worth the effort it would take to win you.”

He almost smiled when she rolled her eyes, “Killjoy.”

When he looked over her again, his eyes caught on her wrists, the proof that she had once worn shackles.

“A skilled healer could probably get rid of those scars—definitely the ones on your wrist, and most on your back.”

He was not sure why he offered the fleeting thought, her scars told a story that should not be erased.

“There were cells in the bowels of the mines that they used to punish slaves. Cells so dark you would wake up in them and think you’d been blinded. They locked me in there sometimes—once for three weeks straight. And the only thing that got me through it was reminding myself of my name, over and over and over—I am Celaena Sardothien.”

It took all of his two centuries of being Maeve’s blood sworn to lock down the rage that was boiling inside him. He sat listening to a girl of eighteen tell him about her hell.

“When they would let me out, so much of my mind had shut down in the darkness that the only thing I could remember was that my name was Celaena. Celaena Sardothien, arrogant and brave and skilled, Celaena who did not know fear or despair, Celaena who was a weapon honed by Death.”

“I don’t usually let myself think about that part of Endovier, after I got out, there were nights when I would wake up and think I was back in those cells, and I would have to light every candle in my room to prove I wasn’t. They don’t just kill you in the mines—they break you.

“There are thousands of slaves in Endovier, and a good number are from Terrasen. Regardless of what I do with my birthright, I’m going to find a way to free them someday. I will free them. Them, and all the slaves in Calaculla, too. So my scars serve as a reminder of that.”

The name whispered on the wind all those weeks ago came forward. Fireheart.

What other pain was she caring close to her heart? Before he could stop himself, “What happened ten years ago, Aelin?”

“I’m not going to talk about that.”

“If you took up your crown, you could free Endovier far more easily than—”

“I can’t talk about it.”

This is when he knew that she blamed herself in some part for the events that occurred ten years ago.

“Why?”

“There is this … rage, this despair and hatred and rage that lives and breathes inside me. There is no sanity to it, no gentleness. It is a monster dwelling under my skin. For the past ten years, I have worked every day, every hour, to keep that monster locked up. And the moment I talk about those two days, and what happened before and after, that monster is going to break loose, and there will be no accounting for what I do.”

And there it was. He had worked through that rage when he slowly killed the Fae that had murdered his wife and child. He was able to settle the rage knowing that those responsible were dead. He could not imagine what it would have been like to have to bottle up that rage because he was helpless to seek vengeance.

“That is how I was able to stand before the King of Adarlan, how I was able to befriend his son and his captain, how I was able to live in that palace. Because I did not give that rage, those memories, one inch. And right now I am looking for the tools that might destroy my enemy, and I cannot let out the monster, because it will make me use those tools against the king, not put them back as I should—and I might very well destroy the world for spite. So that is why I must be Celaena, not Aelin—because being Aelin means facing those things, and unleashing that monster. Do you understand?”

He did, more than she realized.

“For whatever it’s worth, I don’t think you would destroy the world from spite. But I also think you like to suffer. You collect scars because you want proof that you are paying for whatever sins you’ve committed. And I know this because I’ve been doing the same damn thing for two hundred years. Tell me, do you think you will go to some blessed Afterworld, or do you expect a burning hell? You’re hoping for hell—because how could you face them in the After-world? Better to suffer, to be damned for eternity and—”

“That’s enough,” she whispered.

What a pair they were. He continued to sit at his work table, knowing that if laid next to her in this very moment he would pull her into him. That was a line he could not cross. It was bad enough that he did not request a cot, sharing a living space would blur the lines, sharing a bed would blur then even farther.

He also knew that he should not get attached, that in a short matter of time that he would have to leave. That this chapter of their lives would end and at that time they would have to part ways.

For tonight and for the days to come he would live in the moment, take the small reprieve from the darkness that she had to offer.

Together. He knew that the together they spoke of did not end here. With that thought, he laid beside her allowing her scent of jasmine, lemon verbena and embers caress over his battered soul, before he spoke,  “At least if you’re going to hell, then we’ll be there together.”

Tired of fighting the urge to touch her, he brushed a large hand down her hair, hiding the smirk when she flatly stated, “I feel bad for the dark god already.”

“When I’m back to normal, can I assume you’re going to yell at me about almost burning out?”

He let out a soft laugh but continued stroking her hair. “You have no idea.”

In that moment he decided that the day she decided to free the slaves from the labor camps, that he would be beside her. Even if Maeve whipped him within a millimeter of his life, it would be worth the pain to see a single wish of hers to come true. “I have no doubt that you’ll be able to free the slaves from the labor camps some day. No matter what name you use.”

When he felt her hand against his chest, and she whispered “thank you for looking after me,” he grunted to fight the urge to pull her closer. Boundaries. She was off-limits for a thousand reasons, not to mention that even if he could open his heart in that way again, he was sworn to Maeve.

@awesomebooksuniverse @loppymooney @queen-elain @inrealliampain @namjoonseuphoria

[firjii]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dragon Age II Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Fenris/Female Hawke

Words: 3286

Tags: Pre-Relationship, Early Relationship, Nervous Fenris, Touch-Starved, Touch Phobia, Hands, Lyrium Tattoos, Kirkwall, The Hanged Man

Summary: Confused but encouraged by Hawke’s friendship and desperate to re-learn the habits stolen from him years earlier, Fenris realizes that he craves a surprisingly simple - yet for him, infinitely risky - gesture. Set sometime after when Fenris first acknowledges his feelings for Hawke but long before their first night together.

Woot woot, my first fanfic of 2018 which I’m posting a 1AM because I have terrible impulse control. :D Plain text version is under the cut.

It’s easy to hide it in Kirkwall.

With so many damned scuffles and thieves and criminals, there’s really no point in taking the armor off, even in Hightown. Those who don’t dare to fight him or haven’t seen him in combat notice the armor and respect him all the more. It’s never an entirely bad thing. Most Kirkwallers’ assumptions are both fitting and honorable: he’s a hired bodyguard, a soldier from a faraway regiment no one in the city is familiar with – or maybe just an elite mercenary on assignment. No one questions it. It’s easy to hide it in Kirkwall.

But as he steps out the door on this blurry, clammy morning – as his breath floats above himself too soon on each exhale and his throat struggles to stave off a strange, wordless noise – he senses change in earnest, or at least the tiny shift in the world that grants room for change. It plagues him, and he must be rid of it now. It’s such a little thing, after all – or it should be.

He wants to remember. He’s only surprised that he wants to remember this. He shouldn’t want to. Its true meaning deserted him long ago. At best, he sees it as a mockery. At worst –

No, there’s no point in admitting that. He left it behind. He left them behind. Kirkwall is far from free, but it’s enough for him. He’s been happy with “enough.”

Until Hawke.

She said things that – things that made him think instead of blame. His thoughts eventually turned into ideas, questions, challenges. A new one – more than a thought, better than an idea, but whose challenge? – drives him to leave the mansion earlier than usual for the day. She’ll be there this time of day. She always is. Varric began the tradition, joking that the middle of the week needed an occasion to bridge the divide between calm dreariness and frantic fighting. She’ll be there. She always is.

Between the armor and the sweltering, salty air, the skin on his hands labors to breathe on this morning. If it’s this warm an hour after sunrise, midday will be excruciating. Yes. Today is a good day to test it. He has a fine, practical excuse in case – just in case she laughs.

His perfect stride alternates between hesitation and hurry as he makes the long march. His steps have a proud bounce through Hightown. He even returns a merchant dwarf’s gruff greeting with a curt nod and grunt. But his feet quiet themselves a little as he descends through the city. His knees stiffen as waves of – embarrassment? – prod him into turning around, or perhaps collapsing like a silly girl or an invalid.

No. He will not go back. The notion has pestered him for two weeks. Hawke’s wit may be ill-timed on occasion, but at least she has a decisive way in most matters. He thought he already had it, too, but there have been too many – irregularities to ignore.

His striding slows to an amble, then a saunter, then a series of pauses punctuated by occasional forward movements. Hawke lies to protect those who have found true love. She loathes slavers. She bankrupts herself giving money to orphans and poor mothers. Granted, she openly defends most mages, but – but she doesn’t act like a mage.

She doesn’t act like a lot of things. She defies his understanding of the world without speaking a word against him. She destroys his doubt with a single smile – and then renews it by assuming that he knows all that she does. But that isn’t her fault. He refuses to blame her for that.

No, she won’t laugh at him.

He walks on, resolve mustered.

It’s a strange little request, really. So many of Hawke’s actions and habits are better suited to great deeds, or at least equal ones – decisions that will reward her in some way, even though she has sometimes refused a reward if the person she aided was deserving. What reward is there in this?

But Hawke is the only one he can ask this of. She is the only one who might –

He wants to remember this one gesture, and not just the meaning behind it. He can wield a sword thrice bigger than any Templar’s. He can crush a bone with his combat maneuvers, the deadly dance he taught himself more from need than desire. He can rip an organ from someone’s very chest without any help from a weapon.

But – but sometimes, his fingers weary of that. He supposes that anyone would eventually. Some men fight because they long to smell the blood. But he never did. There are so many other things in the world. He wants to remember them now.

He finally reaches the shabby tavern’s shabby door. His breath catches one last time, partly from the rank smells within – but partly not.

When Hawke sees him, she grins broadly, warmly, and Fenris almost loses his mettle – but only for an instant. She promptly waves him over to her table with her customary flourish. He clears his throat to hide his cavernous swallow, glad that she is out of earshot to hear the awkward noise that accompanies it.

“The esteemed warrior,” she chirps as he sits down across from her.

“Hawke,” he grunts promptly.

“Varric was just telling me about the –”

Fenris blinks, caught off balance by the dazzling string of alliterations that follow from her mouth, his superb fluency in Common suddenly faltering. “Excuse me?”

She repeats it flawlessly.

“Ah.” He nods. Good, he notes: if she can manage verbal acrobatics like those twice in such short order, the drink hasn’t taken effect on her yet, or else she chose to abstain from it today.

Hawke and Varric gently bicker for a few moments, but their subject eludes Fenris. They both adore sarcasm so much that his reflex is to block out their conversation. He flicks his eyes about. The tavern’s mood is quiet, even for this time of day. Isabela is absent, possibly still sleeping. Anders is rarely here before lunch, if at all. Aveline, of course, is nowhere to be found since this is a tavern and she daren’t risk dereliction of duty so early in the morning. Merrill is poised on a bench on the far side of the room, eager to watch an old lush hone his rodent-killing technique.

Yes. This will do.

He waits for the talk to subside, but Varric is especially long-winded today. Fenris nods several times as the dwarf’s story unfolds. He even smirks once, feeble pretending that he has come here for the talk rather than the company. But finally, something in his face shifts - just a twitch, really, more of an attempt to suppress a sneeze than a reaction to the conversation.

Hawke notices. “And what do you think about it?” she asks him, not snidely but in the bright and eager tone she had so blithely used when they’d first met – her fearless one, since she had used it mere moments after witnessing Fenris unburden someone of a vital organ.

He swallows. His stomach churns and he is immensely grateful that he scarcely ate this morning. His hands, so carefully situated on the table, slowly clench and the spikes of his gauntlets scrape the battered wood – and then he breathes again. “I –” he croaks. “I –” On his second failure, his brow turns to self-scorn as his head jabs downward at an unnatural angle. “I must speak to you,” he blurts.

Hawke’s eyes change sooner than the snap of fingers. Fenris tries to look at her – tries – but is too busy checking for Varric’s reaction. Hawke’s eyes train on Fenris steadily, quietly, searchingly, but without a trace of a demand, not like – not like anyone else in the world.

Varric only smiles and softly squeaks his chair back across the floor as he stands. “I feel like another bowl of the mystery swill. You two go talk about – things.”

For the first time in a very long time, Hawke hesitates. “Varric, I don’t think this is a quick matter.”

Varric raises a jovial hand. “Don’t worry yourselves about that,” he lilts knowingly. “Use my room.”

Fenris pitches a fierce glare and half a sneer in Varric’s direction, but Varric has already made for the barkeep.

They saunter through the main hallway and down the long corridor to Varric’s suite, narrowly avoiding bumping several hung-over residents on the way. Once they reach it, the door scarcely closes correctly.

He moves away from her. There isn’t a reason to – her stance is neutral, her shoulders neither rounded nor squared – but the air in the room seems hardest to breathe in her vicinity.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, neither forcefully nor flippantly.

“I –” He strains for an excuse. He has already forgotten. His eyes scan the floor rapid-fire. “I may have injured my hand when we cleared those spiders from the last cave. I was hoping that you could help me – assess if I need tending from a healer.”

She pauses. Her face is neutral but utterly unfathomable.

He swallows.

She starts to bridge the distance between them.

His shoulders arch back a fraction, but his feet remain staunchly in place.

She stops, noticing it – or perhaps content to stay where she is. “You could just ask Anders.”

“I know.”

“He’s never refused someone in need.”

“But I –” He stops himself. His head droops and he growls into his chest. He paces.

He feels her watching him. He always does – but her watching is simple, honest, not a threat. He can abide it.  

“Your markings,” she murmurs after a moment.

He stops short. “I – yes,” he sighs shortly.

“I’m –”

But he knows the words before she can finish. He glares at her – and then regrets it. He flicks his eyes away and makes for the door. “I apologize. It was a foolish thought.”

She hurries to block him from leaving – her scrawny, underdeveloped, half-starving mage frame blocks him. Him.

He blinks and tries – tries – to look at her.

She frowns. “You’re not a fool.” The words pour from her effortlessly, like water, like the coin she gives away so freely to the poor or the blood she spills to punish injustice and tyranny. Those words are the permission that he sought – and the request. She touches a bare section of his arm – only slightly, only fleetingly, only enough to guide him to a chair at the table.

He settles himself, his knees bent rigidly and his feet curled under the chair – but only to stave the incessant tapping of his toes.

She sits down, across from him rather than next to him, but still close – the closest he has ever been to her in a moment not occupied by combat. “Can you –” She stops uncertainly, points at the gauntlets instead of finishing the question. “Should I –”

“Please,” he blurts with a nod, but then he swallows. Has he spoken too quickly? “I –” he begins. “Yes.” He sighs to himself, barely blunting the edge of the teeming storm collecting in his brow.

She unbuckles the gauntlet, somehow never bumping the armor against his skin or pulling anything too tightly. But when she moves to take it off, it slides across the top of his hand.

He winces, but only in one arm, and only from his forearm down. All else remains still. In Tevinter, too much of his life depended on being able to defer, direct, channel, translate a pain reflex. But still, he winces.

Hawke notices but doesn’t waver. “You never quite explained how you came by armor like this.”

“No,” he mumbles. “I didn’t.” He stares at a lacy snatch of cobweb on the wall, a rug on the floor, anything but her. It happened too quickly, and now he must adjust his plan.

Hawke’s eyes dull half a fraction, but her gaze remains fixed on him, intent, interested, curious. He can feel it. He always does. “There’s nothing wrong with your hand, Fenris.”

His mouth twitches. His eyes flick faster. “No.”

He didn’t care before – not until Hawke came. He wants to remember.

“You could have asked me sooner.”

He blinks, his thoughts already lapsed into a blur despite the short span of time. His pulse twists twice. What did he miss? What did he do? What will –  

He looks at her – he tries. “What?” His voice jigs, both accusation and defense, an unusually high tone that he has forgotten he is capable of and ashamed – an instant too late – that he has displayed.

She chuckles voicelessly, but not – no, not ridicule, not a dare. Something else, but one of the things he forgot. Only a benign exhale ribbons the air.

He waits for the prickling fear to come, but – but she isn’t like that. She only punishes the guilty. She only scorns the deserving.

But still, his eyes dance to the corners of the room.

“I only haven’t said anything before now because I know you don’t like to be asked,” she murmured. “It’s not so easy – refusing. That’s why I don’t ask.”

He rips his hand away from the table. He leans back in his chair. His gloved hand fusses with the bare one, just barely. “Is it so obvious?”

She folds her hands on the table. “When you come, it’s by choice. When you stay, it’s by choice.” She sighs, ragged at the edges, but not – not in anger. “If you want something, tell me. You’ve saved my life more often than I’ve saved yours.”

He stares at the tattoos, unimaginably thin but unimaginably stubborn layers of lyrium spanning most of the length of each finger. He didn’t care before – not until Hawke came. He wants to remember. He wants to. He –

He can’t.

But he does it all the same.

He unlocks her fingers and holds one of her hands fast. He waits for her to pull away or glare at him in surprise. She doesn’t.

He looks at her. His eyes don’t flinch away this time. Green – her eyes are green. He’d forgotten. Where has he seen a color like that? A gem? A potion? Another thing he can’t remember.

She sits as still as a statue, but far from lifeless. Her pulse is perhaps a mite faster for a moment, but hand is patient, her fingers quiet. She doesn’t stare down at the hideous markings. She doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t try to fold his hand within her palms. She only sits there, waiting.

Like a beast slowly stalking prey – but no, it isn’t apt, he scorns himself for thinking it – he lets his fingers move enough that he can line up his hand against hers, palm against palm and finger against finger. It takes a long moment – several, even. And she knows – somehow, she knows – exactly when to raise her forearm when he does his. They each prop their elbows on the table, palms flat against each other – not moving, not twitching. Only resting, the pressure of each arm maintaining the upward angle.

A ghost escapes him – a ghost of a chuckle, more like an exhale of relief, but enough to release the building tension in his shoulders. One corner of his mouth creases upward. Hawke smiles back. The other corner of his mouth raises a fraction. The movement is – unnecessary, strange. But he wants to remember that, too.

His knuckles bend – only a little, but they bend all the same. Slowly, slowly, like an enfeebled old man with rheumatism, his fingers lace with hers. He squeezes her hand – only a little. She returns it. She smiles wider, until her lips part and a slit of her teeth show. She –

He blinks. He frowns. His face is wet. Why? It isn’t fear. It isn’t sorrow. It –

His nerves engage. He remembers, but not what he meant to. He looks down. Three of her fingers are resting squarely on the marks. Three ripples of scalding rise up his wrist. But he has done what he meant to. He came here to face it. He must hold. He must stem it a little longer. One more moment. He must. He must. He can almost see it. He can almost reach it. He almost finds it. The scalding changes to freezing, then scorching, then – sparks? Yes, lightning sparks as strong as the ones in Hawke’s staff when she fights. But also as strong as –

He breaks the contact. He pulls away and stands hastily, his chair issuing a muffled protest against the floor. His gauntlet scrapes the table unmusically as he scoops it up.

“I–I’m sorry,” Hawke falters hurriedly as she stands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t meant to–”

He waves a hand to silence her. Remnants of sharp prickling remain, his untouched hand joining the offended one in sympathy. The marks are angry. They always are if someone touches them. It can be useful in battle – he knows this. It can rouse him to the last fierce blows when his friends are too battered to go on. But it will take hours for it all to quiet down, hours for him to forget the experience sufficiently to be able to think and act rationally again, never mind courteously.

But if he forgets the pain, he might also forget –

He shakes his head – not dismissively, not quickly, but in Hawke’s manner. “No. You did nothing. The blame is mine.”

“That’s not true. You should never say that.”

Her voice is a well of righteous anger. As ever, it overflows from her so much that he can almost see it in the air. She speaks both well and kindly, and he knows it. But he walks away from her. There is nothing more that can be done for now. Even if he does it in stages, he must steel himself against pain again. He must. In time – if Hawke wants more, and he knows that she does, her face is always so plain of motive – even she will be a harbinger of pain. She will bring other things as well – good things, not merely pleasant ones – but it is inevitable. If he wants to be with her – if he expects to ever do more than this –

His eyes shine, partly from pain, but partly something else. “I –”

He swallows. What else can he really say?

“Thank you, Hawke,” he manages. His candor hiccups, but he nods as calmly, smoothly, cordially as ever.

He refuses to look at Varric or Merrill as he leaves the tavern. He refuses to look at anything. He only glides out into the ocean-choked light of day, squinting from the ever-intense humidity. He has lived in Kirkwall for years, and yet he still finds it harder to abide than Tevinter’s heat.

He strains for a moment to catch his breath. He leans against the wall as he adjusts his gauntlet into place. The markings still protest, even against himself. They often do.

But he smiles. Against the enraged, confused nerves in his skin, he smiles. He looks down at the hand that Hawke blessed with a touch. He slowly makes a fist. Yes, he will remember the pain for hours.

He will also remember her for hours.

It is enough. It must be, though it seems like a mild cruelty just now. But – but perhaps it was Hawke’s version of enough –

and that is far, far more than he has ever known.

He makes a quiet fist. He closes his eyes, still warm and wet from the pain – and something else.

A strangled sigh escapes him, the best he can do to hide the one sob he allows himself.

“Thank you,” he whimpers under his breath.

[dandelions-sea-blog]

Sushi Chop Suey Chapter Six

Read on AO3

Cringe goes exploring And meets someone new

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If someone had informed Cringe of the fact that he would one day be without his fins he would have started learning how to summon ecto-fins as a guppy. Much of his skeletal body rarely needed extra parts, however seeing how much water resistance his new belly provided gave him the idea to try to summon more parts made of magic. If he could make webs around his fingers and tail then maybe he could swim like a true merperson again!

Of course, it wasn’t that simple.

His body is made to create ecto-parts to house young, feed himself, and provide him with organs that he needed to function. He is designed by nature to use a tail made of flesh, and every attempt to summon ecto-fins down below caused his magic to spark uncomfortably. He was able to cast his magic down where his fins should be once, however the result is that the magic had nothing to stick to and simply floated off into the water.

It was draining and frustrating, and ultimately Cringe was forced to give up. He huffs and lays out against the wall, thumbing over his eggs. They have settled again and for the past few feedings haven’t given him even an ounce of trouble, though that might have to do with the fact that there are only two of them left. Thankfully, the ones that remain have yet to show signs of breaking down; it seems that his first pregnancy is a success after all. And quite frankly it is a relief for the number to be so small with the eggs so large - he isn’t sure his body could take the strain of delivery if it were any more.

Cringe is starting to grow attached to his babies now that they aren’t a constant source of unending misery in his life - well, not as much as they were before. He tries to name them every so often, thinking of his sisters, his mother, his mate… Ultimately, though, they are impossible to tell apart and with their soft shells and ever-changing shapes there is no way of knowing in the first place which is which. And even if he could narrow down his choice of names to just two it seems strange to name someone before he could meet them.

Cringe sighs, waiting for his merperson to return. The vermilion-mer (who he has since named Vermilion when he found it impossible to name his children) hasn’t seemed to forgive Cringe for biting him. Which is stupid - fine by Cringe, but still stupid. It was a tiny nip! It barely left a scratch once as it healed up… which it has now, by the way. So there is absolutely no reason to still be holding a grudge.

Cringe huffs. He has been taken by the most immature merperson to ever live… he hopes at the very least the babies take after himself in temperment...

Cringe summons a bone and twirls it in his fingers. His magic is too limited, he realizes. Before he had everything he needed with his bone constructs and occasional blasters - they were perfect for making knives and tools and weapons… He could use blue magic as well, though it was very limited. He could do little more than force a creature to slow down or fall into a trap.

Now that he is without his ability to swim he realizes just how foolish it was to hone his magical skills only on his natural talents. What he wouldn’t give for the ability to summon something more malleable… or at the very least be able to lift himself up with blue magic and just… fling forward instead of needing to rely on the ground. However, just because he can’t now doesn’t mean he never will - therefore he continues to practice every kind of movement he can trying to find one that will work for him.

Cringe sighs, ready to start his endless search for ways to move once more when he feels the water shift. His brow creases as he feels the current shift significantly. What on earth is that…? He summons a second bone and stakes them into the ground, using the tools to hoist himself along the ground toward the exit. Not wanting to get lost, Cringe has previously never gone much further than the natural corridor of the cave.

He goes down as far as the tunnel leads, making a turn that he’s seen Vermilion take many times before and peering out into the ocean through a crack in the cave.

His eyes widen at what he sees.

Merpeople - hundreds of them, each one as large as three of his clan’s best hunters smashed together and in numbers that would swallow the latter whole.  No two are alike - all hailing from different species yet somehow communicating and working together. They are chasing down a herd of porpoises with magical spears and nets and hooks.

Cringe can’t believe his eyes - how is this possible?? Porpoises are much further south - even when his clan swam at top speed it would take them weeks to get that far from here. The lead hunters lay traps ahead of the chasing party, and Cringe watches in awe as their strategy unfolds, separating the two leading porpoises from their followers. One particularly fast merperson chargers the larger of the pair and gets a summoned chain around its neck, hoisting it down for the others to take out its eyes. The creatures are not able to fight back in the warmer water and are quickly overwhelmed by the attacking party.

It is, quite honestly, the most spectacular show of skill and strength that Cringe has ever seen. He is content to sit there for hours, watching the last of the porpoises felled with mesmerized glee. He is reminded of being a child again, watching his own hunters battle prey with deep excitement; the nostalgia encourages him to cheer them on despite the misery he should be feeling at his inability to ever hunt like that again.

In the end Cringe counts five porpoises - that is enough meat for weeks, maybe even months, though he is still thinking in terms of his own clan. A school this size would need at least ten times as much food, maybe more since they are all so big. He continues to watch even as the warriors start to dwindle off, going to greet their mates and their children as they return from their hunt. There is a small pang in Cringe’s chest that he brushes off. No time for feelings when there is something this cool to be watching…

The merpeople stay for hours after the hunt is over, collecting the meat with knives and bowls to carry away to a reserve somewhere. Cringe absently wonders how they are planning to carry so much meat when they plan to leave... Surely they will migrate soon - Cringe has been here for several days now, probably closer to a couple weeks; his clan never stays somewhere this long between climates…

Could it be this school doesn’t move?

At some point he must have completely forgotten his surroundings because he feets a hand on the back of his neck. He jumps, rolling over and summoning his weapon. Since the eggs have shrunken there have fewer times where his magic has failed him, and right now he couldn’t be more thankful for that as he faces down what has to be the largest, roughest looking merperson he has ever seen in his life.

This one is covered head-to-toe in rough, yellow scales. She looks down at him with a scarred-riddled face, growling as she summons her axe to respond to the sudden threat from the young mother. Cringe recognizes her as the mer who took down the first porpoise just moments before. He had been impressed with her then, and he is tempted to put down his weapon in a show of respect for the creature who is clearly the most skilled fighter he has ever met. However his pride refuses to allow him - he won’t back down first, it would look weak.

Her single eyes scrutinizes Cringe and he sits up tall through it, refusing to even imagine himself cowering in front of the much larger, more powerful mer. He knows how he looks, small, weak, pregnant and pathetically injured, yet he refuses to be seen as a coward as well.

They stay at each other’s throats for a while, yet neither of them take the first strike. Eventually, though, the larger merperson’s stance falls; Cringe’s prideful gamble has paid off. The woman smirks at Cringe - obviously she must be impressed that one so small and so injured would be willing to stand his ground against her - and lowers her blade, lightly tapping his bone-sword in request that he do the same. The two dispel their weapons as a rush of water hits them both - Cringe being plucked up by Vermilion and clung tightly to the other mer’s chest while the yellow alpha-mer is doted over by the healer from before.

Cringe wines at the touch, flailing to be free of the oppressive hold. Vermilion pays him no mind, clutching Cringe close with relieved worry in his eye. It seems that when he found Cringe missing from the cave he panicked - finding him about to cross blades with the Alpha probably did little to relieve his stress.

Cringe eventually gives in to the doting, figuring it non negotiable. He sighs. He supposes he’ll allow it just this once if it will put an end to his not-mate’s constant pouting. The Alpha looks over the two of them, giving Vermilion a distasteful look. It seems she doesn’t much care for him, Cringe thinks. At least she has good judgment.

It does lend weight to his growing suspicion that Vermilion’s reason for choosing him as his mate is that the mer is considered substandard for his school - however, if his school is this impressive, then being with even a lesser mate would be miles above anyone his clan had to offer…

…He still does not approve of this lazy thing mating him - he wants his true mate back, even if it is a fools dream at this point.

That is the thought that finally breaks him free of Vermilion’s arms, brushing himself off as he floats to the ground. The healer rolls her eyes as the alpha laughs at Cringe - somehow he gets the feeling that it isn’t entirely unkind. The shark-mer turns him over, checking his bones, tail and finally his stomach. She presses down on his ectoflesh and a shudder rips through his spine as the eggs shift around. Dammit - they had been so still up until now!!! He clenches his fists as not to seem weak in front of the mer he has begun to admire. He steals a glance her way and is relieved to find that she has turned her attention more towards the healer - her face relaxed in thought.

As the shark-mer leans forward Cringe catches sight of something that makes him pause. Her hair hung down partly over her shoulder last he saw, but with it all gathered up now he can easily see a large portion of her neck has been bitten away - the teeth marks and grooves familiar to the ones covering Cringe’s tail. He reaches out slowly to touch them - and is immediately interrupted by both the shark-mer and Vermilion. His not-mate gathers his hands up and picks him up again, though his eyes remain on the wound. It strikes him how severe the injury must have been to leave such a scar. His own injury, while more severe, was on a much less vital part of his body; he’s never seen someone survive a wound to the neck.

He gains a new respect for the midwife, his growing appreciation for the clan’s strength stretching out to include her. The Undying mer… Undyne. He decides with a small nod that is a suitable title for her, though he doesn’t have time to dwell on it as Vermilion whisks him away. He attempts to communicate for the first time in a while and simply makes a curious sound - he wants to know where he is being taken to. Vermilion looks down, startled by the sound. Cringe feels mildly offended. Does this mer really not know that Cringe has a soft voice - it’s not like he has given him a lot of chances to use it. His mate loved his cute, curious sounds.

Mood suddenly soured, Cringe turns his head away from Vermilion.

Cringe decides to allow being carried for now regardless of his mood, primarily due to the fact that he’s finally getting to see more of the den. Hopefully he will be able to interact with someone else. Anxiety floods through him at the thought, more than he expected. He remembers just how strong and capable this school has proven to be - what if he is immediately outcast? He’s clearly weak and defenseless, so handicapped by his missing tail that he will never remotely be useful to a clan this powerful... Then again, he supposes he is being useful by being a mother. Perhaps that was a saving grace. As much as he hates that wanna-be mate of his, it’s crystal clear how much he owes him his life.

His face scrunches up in disgust and despair as he is carried off into the unknown.

[fistofthesun]

                                                Starter Call. | @amongwolves-xiv

                 ALBEIT ONE MOON HAD PASSED – enough time for his brothers and sisters to swallow their very PRIDE and instead rise from the earth they now believed to live until next Tsagaan Sar – Khashin found little reason to discover the seemingly godly secret about the strength the Mol had  p r o v e n  to possess during the last Naadam. He did know how capable each of their warriors truly was; but even as children of the Sun they were far from being i n v i n c i b l e  – even if the DAWN FATHER was granting them his very strength and protection just by worshipping him. Out of flesh and blood, mere mortals, they could bleed, fall and wither like the grass on earth. All of them, with maybe the exception of their big brother Magnai. Perchance, since Khashin had lived with shame for the past decade, needing almost too many years to  o v e r c o m e  such weakness, he was not as ignorant as many of his brothers who so eagerly honed their skills.

                HOW AMUSING IT WAS to think that he, who only silently prayed to their Father, had gained so much more than they had. Nonetheless, as someone who was proud to be a child of the Sun, his pride would not allow another defeat. After the many years he had spent to become a WEAPON himself, hidden from anyone’s eyes, he was certain that he was by now stronger than most. He had bled until he had fallen unconscious; he had endured the sharp stinging pain until he became too  n u m b  to feel it anymore and he had broken his bones more than just once to make them become as robust like the stony monuments near the Dawn Throne. All to forget the very moment when all of his brothers and sisters eyes had rested on him whilst his own BLOOD already started to dry on his skin and scales with his opponent smiling at him with such arrogance. All of it to protect his younger sister who had been the first one to smile at him with such warmth. Just like their deceased mother.

                WITH THE BROTHERLY CONTEST OF THE ORONIR fast approaching, the young man could not ignore the fleshy wounds he had suffered only recently by tracking down an entire PACK of Gedans by  h i m s e l f – not, albeit he would certainly not admit this when asked, to brag with such dangerous accomplishment in front of his tribe and to receive lucrative goods to trade with but rather to keep them away from a nearby settlement. The beasts were quick to be slain by any decent hunter; but only few would  d a r e  to go against an entire pack alone. Yet Khashin was indeed a reckless one; and the very opportunity to test his strength was one he had welcomed. Naturally he did not win unharmed. The beasts had managed to carve into his flesh with both claws and fangs – and albeit none of the WOUNDS were lethal, they indeed made it impossible for him to properly hunt by now, let alone fight his brothers.

                KHASHIN HAD ALWAYS TENDED his wounds himself, not expecting any KINDNESS of his brothers and sisters who only saw the mud and blood on him. Equal by birth, they still held such low opinion of someone who had not even won one fight under Azim’s grace – and to ask for help was another proof for weakness. Truthfully, he feared that his very skill alone would not make him recover  f a s t  enough – but such concern was none he would ever voice out loud. He had his pride, even if they failed to grasp why. And, to admit as much, he would not even want it any other way. He had grown used to this LONELINESS by now, fully embracing it – as it had only made him stronger.

                OUTSIDE THEIR SETTLEMENT, particularly in Reunion, most Steppe habitants knew him or his face – and the last he wanted was for them to see and realize how  l i t t l e  his own tribe actually relied on him. He had spent so much time defending his tribe in front of those who did not understand; and he had also bragged with his SKILL more than just once – albeit he had never lied. No one did know, however, as he kept so many matters to himself. Smiling, silently enduring just to set up such mask of arrogance. Oh, he  n e v e r  needed their pity, after all. He did not need it. And they would also learn what he was capable of.

                WHY HE HAD COME TO THIS VERY PLACE he did not know; mayhap because he did not know where else to go. He felt only so very little of the PAIN caused by his very wounds but he knew his limbs, his entire body, to be incredible exhausted compared to the days before. It was certainly no longer uncommon for an Oronir to approach one of the Mol without any ill-intend – at least for the time being – but what he meant to ask had nothing in common with his brother’s desires to become  s t r o n g e r. He was not even certain if it was true what he had overheard when he had last visited the settlement; but apparently the Mol knew much about healing both body and mind. The latter was one he could deal with by himself, but the first one was never one of his priorities. In the end he never held back his strength; never wasted an opportunity no matter how  d a n g e r o u s  it was. And now, for the first time, he could not afford this recklessness of his.

                NATURALLY HE HAD NO INTENTION to straight walk into the Mol’s settlement; but fortunately there were always a few nearby he could easily spoke to. And indeed – he spotted a rather petite silhouette in the Mol’s colors in some distance to their settlement, close to his current position. Khashin never had a weapon with him – using his entire body as weapon by now – but perchance this was  c o n v i n c i n g  enough that he had no ill-intend. Most were wary, often rightly, when encountering different TRIBES outside Reunion. Khashin kept his distance, halting his steps far enough to hopefully not scare her but also close enough for her to easily hear him. 

                       ‘YOU. I am  i n t e re s t e d  in something I’ve heard of.                         I heard the Mol have a capable healer.                         You  k n o w   who this might be?’