#c: orla

[vapolis]

If Merc just turns up dead one day, would any of the ROs take revenge? Or would they just let it go... or would they stew in the trauma of merc's wide, lifeless eyes staring at them from the sockets of their bloodless sunken face, expression and body contorted and broken in such a horrible way that it could only suggest the merc did not go peacefully?

well, that got intense...

dante/delilah and jax would for sure take revenge if romanced and try to take from the person that killed merc the same thing that got taken from them.

orla kind of expects merc to go out in a fight one day and while she would be devastated, taking revenge could turn the killer's ire on her and make her a target which she can't afford.

royal would be affected most bc while they know death, they don't know it as intimately as the others do and would have a hard time coping with a merc that's ripped away from them so violently.

with echo it depends because a part of them, much like orla, always imagined something finally taking merc out but they also have a lot of people owing them favours they'd be willing to cash in to get retribution in merc's name and lay them to rest.

[rising-volteccers]

I've been working on this piece slowly over a few months and finally had the motivation to complete it. This is just a self indulgent piece on the aftermath of HZ044-HZ045. Obvious spoilers for those episodes of course. I'm a bit rusty but hopefully it's still an enjoyable read!

Series: Pokemon Horizons

Characters: Friede, Orla (Major) | Mollie, Murdock, Cap (Minor)

Warnings: Description of a character experiencing a panic attack

---

It's only after the kids have retired for the night that Friede calls for a private meeting. He doesn't have to elaborate on its reason, a quiet sort of understanding prevalent as they all made their way to the meeting room. 

Friede doesn't immediately enter once everyone else does. He stands outside, forehead pressed against the cool wall as he breathes deeply. Once, twice, three times. When he feels a little more centered, that's when Friede slips into the room.

Four sets of eyes turn to him. Graciously, no one comments on the tightness around his own eyes, the way his assuring smile is simply a knee jerk reaction in the face of trouble. It takes a moment for Friede to remember that he doesn't have to, and the smile drops.

Friede gracelessly drops onto his chair. Cap joins him moments later. Usually he perches on Friede's shoulder but his partner, likely sensing the heavy atmosphere, opts to stand on the table instead so he can get a proper view of everyone.

Heavy frowns marred all of their features. No one speaks for a good while, as if fearful of what'll spill out the moment this tentative silence is shattered. The Copperajah in the room is something that needed to be discussed but…

“... I'm glad that you're all alright,” Friede finally whispers. He can't easily shake off the pure dread upon seeing Rayquaza crash into the ship, to see the Brave Olivine fall out of the sky and towards the ocean. If not for Murdock's skill in making an emergency landing and his assuring call afterwards, he wouldn't have been able to focus on the immediate danger in front of him.

“Yeah, us too,” Orla responds steadily. Friede doesn't realize that his fists are clenched until Murdock's warm hand settles atop of them. Friede breathes out, recalls the exercise Mollie taught him. 

In for four, hold for seven, release for eight. Repeat until his head clears up.

Friede is grateful that they give him the time to ease himself back into someone that's not crumbling around the edges. That's better left in private, after he can have a moment to really let the severity of what happened sink in. 

Right now, Friede has to pull himself into the leader of the Rising Volt Tacklers. They're turning to him for support and he'll do his best to become their pillar.

“Okay, so. How badly damaged is the ship?” Friede asks, turning his attention to Orla.

“I'll need time to properly assess it but it's bad enough that we won't be able to fly any time soon,” she replies, lips set into a thin frown. “This isn't like patching up holes. We just about fixed the damage done by that Orthworm last time but the damage here is to the balloon itself, not the ship.”

“Alright, so we're grounded until the balloon can be fixed. At least the ship can sail, so I'll see about getting permission to dock the ship at one of Levincia’s ports.” Friede supposed if there's one thing to be grateful for, is that they’re already close to a major city so that repairs can go underway as soon as Orla gets a full assessment. 

“How are the Pokemon? No one sustained any injuries?” Friede turns his attention to Mollie next. 

“All of them are understandably shaken. It's different from turbulence,” Mollie responds, leaning back against her chair. “Some stuff fell off the shelves but none of it hit the Pokemon. Chansey made sure to keep everyone calm while we made multiple trips towards land.”

“Good, good,” he mutters. It guts him inside to put the Pokemon through such a harrowing experience but at the very least, they’re in good hands with Mollie. Friede will bring Charizard to her later for a check-up.

Friede asks a few more questions about affected areas within the Brave Olivine before they tackle the next course of action: the repairs needed to be done.

“Orla, is the damage something you’re able to fix by yourself?” Friede questions.

She hums, arms crossed as her brows furrow in deep thought. “It’s definitely the most damage the ship’s experienced so far, and while I’ll need to get a good, proper look, I think I can fix it.”

That is gladdening news, even if it’s hard for Friede to feel properly happy about it. “Right. You’ll be having your hands full with it. As for the rest of us, we’re going to have to find ways in drumming up funds for the repair.” It’s not going to be cheap, that’s for certain.

“I know I saw an ad before in the city,” Murdock pipes up, having stayed silent for most of the conversation earlier. “About part-time work at Patisserie Soapberry in Cortondo. The bakery owned by Katy, the Gym Leader there.”

“I can do private consultations,” Mollie adds. “If we’re going to be grounded for a while, I can set something up on the ship. That, or I’ll do online consultations if safety’s a concern.”

“And I can offer online classes or take up researching gigs,” Friede says. “Or take on whatever jobs we get.” 

“That sounds good. Though, now the question is what are the kids going to do?” Murdock’s sporting a deep frown now. “I don’t want them to get bored staying here when we’re doing work.”

“Don’t worry about that.” For the first time since this meeting started, Friede’s lips from a small smile. “They’ve expressed interest in learning about Terastallization. I know someone that I can contact with so they can learn just that.”

He’s going to be pretty busy in the coming days. People to contact, plans to hash out, things to do. Nothing left to do but go at it full steam ahead if he wants the Brave Olivine to be airborne again. 

Seeing that it’s been a long, stressful day for everyone, Friede won’t hold them up any longer. He hangs back long enough to pass Charizard’s Pokeball to Mollie before returning back to his room with Cap trailing behind him. 

Inside, he finds the aftermath of such a violent collision. Anything that’s not taped down is strewn all over the floor. Fallen over books and research papers that are going to be a pain to rearrange greets him. 

Friede sighs deeply. He wants nothing more than to fall onto his bed and sleep but his head is still buzzing with all sorts of thoughts, wanting nothing more than to scratch the itch to be productive. He knows that he’ll feel much better later if he begins the task of cleaning his room up now.

After he hangs up his jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, Friede gets to work. 

------

It hits Friede thirty minutes later.

The mildly buzzing thoughts rush to the front of his mind all at once. A heavy weight drops in his stomach like an anvil. While he knows what’s happening logically, he's still powerless to stop his own spiraling. 

“Pika?”

Friede has experienced freefall before. Reckless flights on Charizard in his younger years meant instances where he flew too close to the sun. His body is like that right now, floaty in a way that gives him little control. Tremors ripple down his arms, causing his hands to start shaking. 

“Pikapi? Pika!”

Things could have gone terribly wrong. Every time he blinks, the scene plays out behind closed eyelids. The Brave Olivine with a gaping wound to its side falling into the ocean, most of the occupants inside powerless to do anything. 

He was powerless to do anything. 

Friede thinks Cap's trying to catch his attention. It's hard to tell over his increasingly labored breaths. He wants to carefully place the book down in a last ditch effort to exert control but he knows it's not working. 

Sadly, this isn't an unfamiliar sensation. Friede remembers the long and terrible nights where he questions his purpose in life, his brilliant mind viciously turning in on itself. All the times where he shook beneath the covers, grounded only by Charizard's head resting atop his legs. His partner is being checked up at the moment by Mollie after–everything.

Friede hates the cold but the trembles wracking his frame isn't caused by it. Muscle spasms perhaps from the sheer effort, futile as it is, to fight off his own thoughts and feelings. He sucks in air through the tiniest straw in the world and wheezes out a pathetic breath.

I should probably sit down, Friede thinks distantly, eyes flickering down towards his trembling hands. He quietly pleads for his emotions to give him more time to–not think about the memories that are coming out of their hiding place. Shoved to the darkest corners in the heat of the moment, prioritizing what’s in front of him (of Roy and Liko and Dot’s safety) instead of–

The Brave Olivine is fallingfallingfalling he’s not able to do ANYTHING but watch as his friendsfamilyhome falls out of the sky and they’re going to sink in the ocean they’re going to die–

Friede bites his lips, nails biting into the palm of his hands as he hunches over. His vision darkens, white sparks flashing behind closed eyelids from how tightly he squeezes them shut. His shaky legs stumble back, and he trips over nothing before he falls heavily onto his bed. A soft cry slips out when pain erupts from the back of his head as it smacks against the wall but he barely registers it. He’s too busy fighting back the stupid panic clawing at his chest, knowing that he’s being an idiot cause he’s fine, they’re all fine and well and present and they discussed on what to do so there’s no reason to dwell on it anymore.

Yet his ever traitorous mind keeps spinning what-ifs, of scenarios gone horribly, tragically wrong. People he’d have to contact, to comfort, to accept all the vitriol and hate from because he’s the leader so all of their safety should have been his top priority. Friede trusts his friends explicitly but he imagines they’d have regretted placing their trust on him. Can visually see their fear and terror and despair over having followed him in the first place cause now it’ll result in their untimely end.

Friede’s eyes burn. Amidst the sharp panic, he distantly feels a bitter anger growing in himself, at himself, and it’s not helping any. His chest hurt, his head ached, his everything is one giant mass of agony. He hates it. Hates it so so much cause now he’s being reminded just how much it hurts to be afraid.

Above all else, Friede is afraid. Terrified. He’s faced the world with reckless abandon that seeing how his world can easily crumble is a harsh smack to the face. 

He whines softly. Unsure whether the chill he feels now is real, Friede still tries to pull his blanket up to cover himself, hoping that the soft fabric is able to secure him in a way that he’s incapable of. His shaky hands struggle to get a solid grip, and for some reason, this small inconvenience is what finally made the tears bubble over. 

Arceus, this is such a stupid thing to cry over. (In between choked sobs, he fights for air). Friede’s just making a mountain out of an Excadrill hill. (He’s convinced he’s drowning). Everyone’s fine. (He feels lightheaded). The ship is grounded and in need of repairs but with Orla’s handiwork, it’ll be fit to sail in no time. (Black spots dances around his vision). He’s fine so why is he–?

“Friede!”

Warm hands gently enveloped his tight fists. A soft voice gently shushes into his ears.

“It’s going to be alright.” One of his hands is maneuvered into pressing against a soft surface. Vaguely, he feels the gentle rise and fall beneath his palm.

“Try and follow my breathing, okay?”

As he blinks waterlogged eyes, the orange blob slowly sharpens into a familiar face. It’s Orla, sweet, kind Orla who’s looking at him with such soft concern in her eyes. 

Friede doesn’t deserve it. She would have been in the engine room, the first place that would’ve exploded had the ship crashed. The thought causes his breath to hitch, triggering a fit of watery coughs that renewed his tears.

“O-Orla,” he gasps. “I’m–I’m so s-sorry–”

“Shh, none of that now,” Orla gently shushes him. “Just focus on my breathing, okay? I know you can do it. In… Out��� In… Out…”

He still desperately wants to apologize but the want to appease her is stronger. So Friede tries his best to follow along. He feels her drawing in a long, deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before slowly exhaling. Orla repeats this for the next couple of minutes, purposefully exaggerating the sound of each inhale and exhale so Friede can more easily follow along.

Friede focuses everything into following along, and soon enough he’s doing it more of his own volition than simply copying Orla’s motions. Slowly but surely, his mind winds down from the nigh high panic it was in before. At some point, one of Orla’s hands gently settles on the nape of his sweaty neck, easing his head down into resting atop her chest. 

Orla’s steady heartbeat further grounds him. It enables him to focus on the fact that she’s alive, unlike what his mind tries to claim earlier. Friede sighs quietly, frozen in this position for what feels like hours until Orla speaks up.

“Hey, are you back with me now?”

“Yeah,” he mouths, then clears his throat to say in a steadier voice. “Yeah, ‘m good now.”

Orla hums in response, and while she seems content to leave him like this for as long as he wants, Friede now feels the deep pangs of shame hitting him. Biting his inner cheek, he slowly pushes himself off of Orla, quickly turning his head to swipe at his eyes. It’s a feeble attempt of regaining back his tattered pride, not when a brief glance at her showcases the evidence of his breakdown on her shirt.

“So… I’d ask if you’re alright but–” Orla gestures lightly between the two of them. “–I’m guessing that’s not the case.”

“I’m sorry,” Friede coughs, feelings his cheeks burn in embarrassment. “I–I didn’t expect you to…”

“Oh, Cap came to get me,” Orla says, sporting a faint smile. “He seems–insistent that I follow him, so I did. And I’m glad.”

Right, Cap would do that. His partner always looked out for him, and in a situation where he’s unable to Volt Tackle his way through, it’s reasonable to assume that he’ll seek out someone who can deal with the issue. 

Friede’s grateful, even if it’s something that he’ll realize much later. Right now, he’s battling both shame and exhaustion. His brows furrow from the stress of it all, but they smoothed out when Orla pressed her finger against his forehead.

“I can practically hear the gears turning in that big noggin’ of yours,” she states. “Whatever it is, stop it. I know you’re going to just work yourself up again.”

Her light tone manages to make the corners of his lip quirk up. Friede’s eyes shift downwards and to the right, unable to properly meet her gaze.

“Heh, you know me well.” The faint smile drops moments later. He’s quiet for awhile, and Orla seems to understand that he needs time to regroup his thoughts. Once again, Friede’s grateful, even if there’s a part of him that thinks it’s undeserved.

“Look, with what happened today…” Friede swallows through the heavy lump in his throat. “It… it could’ve ended up a lot worse than it did. I’m sorry, it’s all my fau–hey!” 

The sudden flick to his forehead cuts off his apology. Friede instinctively covers the sting with his hand, looking confused at Orla.

Orla gazes back, nods once before lowering her hand. She crosses her arms. “Sorry but it sounded to me that you were trying to apologize for something that was completely out of your power.”

“But–”

“Nu-uh. All of us agreed to go. We all understood the risks of going up against the Explorers and Rayquaza.”

“Yes, but–”

“What happened was something no one could’ve expected. The ship suffered damage but everyone got out of it safely, did we not?”

“Yeah but it–”

“Should be all that matters, yes? Then I don’t see why–”

“Because you all trusted me, okay!?” Friede doesn’t mean to raise his voice but it does surprise Orla into silence. He covers half of his face with his hand, heaving out a deep sigh. “I’m the captain of the Rising Volt Tacklers. All of you trusted me and that trust nearly got you all killed.”

Friede closes his eyes, unwilling to see what kind of expression Orla makes. That only serves to make him vulnerable to the next flick on his forehead, this one seemingly harder than the last.

“Ow! Why do you keep doing that!?” Friede’s a bit annoyed now, gaze narrowing at Orla.

“It’s because someone’s being an idiot right now,” Orla replies, meeting his eyes with an unimpressed look of her own. “Look, do you trust me to make sure the ship’s engine runs smoothly?”

“Yeah?” Despite the confused note to it, he responds without any hesitation.

“Do you trust Mollie to look after the Pokemon in the event of an emergency?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, then do you trust Murdock to steer the ship in the event that you’re unable to?”

“Of course.”

“So we trusted you to look after the kids and deal with whatever trouble that came their way, simple as that,” Orla concluded. “I can confidently say that as infuriating as you can get, no one here regrets trusting you Friede.”

Stunned into silence, he remains still when Orla reaches out to bump her fist against his chest. “So put you trust in that at least.”

Friede stares down at the fist. Abruptly, he exhales deeply, shoulders dropping. “Alright, you made your point Orla.”

When she puts it like that, Friede can’t help but think his previous thoughts were silly. It deepens the embarrassment he feels earlier, though he also feels like a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders. At the same time, the physical and emotional exhaustion of today hits him like a full bodied Volt Tackle. 

“I think it’s better for you to get some rest,” Orla gently suggests. Friede thinks he nodded at her suggestion, though it’s hard to tell when it feels like his head is stuffed with cotton. There seems to be hands helping him lay down, and when his head hits the pillow, his blanket is covering him. 

“Mmm… but I still gotta…”

“Shh… don’t worry about everything.” A gentle hand settles over his forehead, slowly sliding down till it covers his eyes. “Just rest. Trust us to keep everything safe, okay?”

Trust. That’s something he can do.

[serendertothesquad]

Everyone likes to shit on Season 3 but did you know that Orla has the fastest flat-Earther-to-round-Earther conversion rate of any living human being

No but seriously, next to Oprah's "fuck the critics" spiel in the Season 2 premiere, this is the best jab in the entire franchise thus far

...Do anti-vaxxers in Season 4 next you fuckers, I dare you

[konigsblog]

DADDY ISSUES GANG!!!! I used to be so worried that something was wrong with me but I’m so glad I’m not the only one who needs a strong and sexy male role model 😂😂

you're not wrong he's so...

[grissomesque]

Terry Matalas, war criminal

[rosalie-starfall]

Tallinn

Star Trek: Picard - Two of One

[instantdepresso]

+ closeups

Bunch of sketches in preparation for veilguard

[stargirlrchive]

HI HI HI !! 🌷🌷

HI ORLA <3333 🤍

[glassshrew]

I wrote this for @vapolis Highly recommend you play their game demo, it's an awesome game and the main character can be such a feral trash goblin, I adore them!

I'm obsessed with their character Jax at the moment, and instead of working I've been daydreaming all day. I created this blog purely to post this because I'm too shy to post on my main! Writing is not my strong suit but t his was fun to do. Anyway here's some flirty sexy tension with Jax.

Written with a F!Merc in mind.

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

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

You grin at him tiredly, tugging your jacket tighter around yourself as you stand in the club foyer. You’re 100% sure Jax has seen you in worse states but standing in front of his unimpressed stare in nothing but underwear, a cropped gaudy carebear t-shirt and a bloody jacket made you feel more exposed than you ever had. Or maybe it was the way his gaze lingered on your bare legs, or his own half dressed form, hair still damp from an impromptu shower. His appearance unusually sloppy for him. “Jaxxie! New uniform? A little risque. I like it.”  You waggle your eyebrows and for a long strained minute, Jax didn’t reply, a frown on his face like he can’t decide whether to just throw you out or not. “Blood and vomit is more your style.”  

“Gross. True but gross. Sounds like your night was as fun as mine,” You point towards the growing lump and bruise on your forehead. “But my new accessories are cooler than yours.”

He stays silent, and you're forced to confront the sight in front of you that you were trying to ignore. His arms crossed over a dark red shirt that was fully undone, exposing his chest. Your brain helpfully shutting down until it was just screaming incoherent body parts at you. Pecs, collarbones, nipples, tummy. You couldn’t stop your eyes from following the line of his body down to the trail of dark hair below his naval.“Carpet doesn’t match the drapes then.” Fuck sake. You could scream. You swear to god that your mouth was not connected to your brain in anyway shape or form.

His head tilts as he continues to stare at you, but he doesn’t shut you down or even button his shirt and little warning bells start to twinkle in your brain. That ever growing sexual tension between the two of you sparks to life and you suddenly wished you had gone to Delilah for help instead. You couldn’t stop staring at him, his hips moving as he shifted his weight and your perverted brain took over again. If you dropped to your knees right now would he throw you out?  Or would he grip your hair tight in his fist as he -

You jolted as Jax cleared his throat, eyebrow raised. Shit. 

 “Uh right, I know it’s late, or early, closing time? Opening?” You tried to focus on what you were saying. “but I need you.” 

Fucking Christ almighty your stupid fucking mouth.  “Need me?” The corner of Jax’s mouth twitched, he looked a mix between entertained and annoyed.

“Uh no, not th-, you and Orla,” You stumbled over your words, cursing yourself internally as Jax made a low noise in the back of his throat. “help! I need your help, nothing else not that – I -, Is she still here?” You force your mouth shut so fast you almost bit your tongue. Why was it so fucking hot all of a sudden. Were you sweating?

“Yeah she’s still here,” Jax was still staring at you, and he had still made no move to button his shirt. Asshole was enjoying seeing you flustered. “Turn around.”

Turn around bend over be good –

“Seriously? Where exactly do you think I’m hiding a weapon?” You didn’t sound as annoyed as you were hoping for, you sounded a little breathless as your thoughts continued to spiral.

“Rules are rules,” Jax grinned at you, he was obviously enjoying the effect he was having on you. “Turn around, jacket off.”

“Fine.” You are moving to follow before you can stop yourself. Shivering slightly as you shrugged the jacket off, leaving you in your panties and cropped shirt.

It’s silent. You’re just starting to think that this was some sort of prank when his fingers lightly brushed over your wrist making you jump. “Stay still.” 

His hands trail up your arms, not his usual pat down but a slow, gentle touch, caressing you almost. “Are you hurt?”

Your body stiffened. The quiet genuine concern in his voice throwing you completely off balance. His gentle touch making you feel warm, and something else you didn't know how to name. Did he genuinely actually care? A lump starts to form in your throat, and you once again bite the inside of your cheek, hard enough this time to taste the coppery tang of blood, desperate to kill those feelings before they can become a problem.

“Not badly,” you shrugged. You wanted to run but wanted to see where this was going so very much. “Used to it. You know I could just nip in and see her, there’s no need to-,”

“Stay still.”

You cleared your throat. “Yes Sir, sorry Sir.”

Jax froze. Your momentary glee at having flustered him in return is short lived as the hand on your shoulder slid up the back of your neck and through your hair, causing a little flutter of panic in your gut. This was new territory for you both, usually one of you would have backed off by now. You could feel his breath over your skin as he tugged your head to the side, the sensation making your stomach tighten and your thighs squeeze together. “Can't you just shut up for once?”

Your sarcastic reply is lost as your breath hitches when his lips brush gently over the skin just beneath your ear. Its hesitant, but when you make no move to pull away his grip tightens in your hair, pulling your head more firmly to the side.

“I’m not hid-,” You start, and he makes a low warning sound at your inability to shut up, his teeth grazing harder over your skin. “- not hiding anything up there.”

Jax pulls away abruptedly. Disappointment growing in your chest as you realised you’d reached that point again. The point where Jax realises who he’s flirting with,  what he’s flirting with, and shuts down.

“Better things you could do with that mouth than yap all the time.”

You feel like you’ve just been slammed into an alternate universe. Getting lost in the moment is one thing, but jesus Who are you and what have you done with Jax?

He continues his search before you can ask the question, before you can, as usual, ruin the moment. Both of his hands sweeping down your back, pushing into your spine and round to the front of your hips.

“Easy ther-,” You flinched back against him when his fingers pressed a little harder over your ribs. The pain turning into something that drew a whimper from your throat. Jax went still behind you, you could the warmth of his bare chest, and - fucking fuck me sideways-  your brain short circuiting as you realized you could feel him.

“This is cosy,” You let out a breath, voice strained. Does he remember it’s you? The intrusive thoughts slip in, nagging and chipping away at you. He knows its you right? The two of you stand there, his hands holding you flush against him while his cock presses against your ass. The silence lingering for all of a second before the pressure to talk gets too much.

“Bruised, not broken,” You had no idea what was going on, what to do, whether this was actually happening or if you had done more damage to that already fucked up brain of yours. “probably not broken.” 

He hummed in acknowledgment, warm breath over the shell of your ear causing your back to involuntarily arch and he cursed under his breath.

“You're clear,” He lets go, steps back from you and the loss off his body heat hurts. “You can go through.”

 “Right, great. Told you.” you turn to face him, arms crossed over your chest, disappointment and rejection making your heart sting. For the first time in a long time you feel vulnerable. You want your jacket back. You almost, for a second there, genuinely believed he wanted you. A stupid foolish childish thought. Why would he? When you didn’t have anything to offer, when you didn’t deserve it. You’d destroy him, infect him, pull him down into the dark to drown with you. He deserved better. “Catch you on the flipside.”

Flipside? You cringe. You can feel him frowning at you as you grab your jacket off the desk, and you’re tempted to sneak out the little pen knife you have hidden to show him as a ‘ha ha fuck you’ but you don’t. Your heart is not in it. The abrupt withdrawal of his attention has you feeling cold, exhausted all of a sudden. You avoid looking at him as you move towards the door, and he makes no move to stop you as you go through.

[ajeckaea]

look i'm sure tara is a talented and lovely candelabra but mairead was a stick of elfin pixie dynamite and there just is no comparison

[iironwreath]

Bloom [Iona]

[214]

Iona walked at her most brusque, hoping the speed would tear off some of her hurt and frustration. Westruun was in repair around her—the scent of smoke hadn’t quite abated from burning cultist corpses and the blood hadn’t been fully washed from the roads and homes. For a siege that couldn’t have lasted more than a few hours, it would take them weeks, potentially months to fix.

The rhythmic knock of hammers were an assault on her senses after spending so much time in the Verdant Expanse, and it felt like a load-bearing part of her had collapsed as well, throwing her off-balance.

It would pass. It always did.

She recognized why the hurt was so raw, so familiar, why it had burrowed so far under her skin. There was the obvious part: the closer she was to anyone, the more any insult would hurt. But she had had arguments with Eireann of the same nature—flinging words with the sole purpose of wounding. A sisterly spat.

One of the guards outside Bramblebiew directed Iona to the backyard, towards the oak they used to travel. Iona startled. Theotae needed to teleport back if she was going to secure Syngorn’s support, but so soon? Theotae wasn’t even staying for a cup of tea. It pained her to cut past the main doors.

Laughter reached her like chimes on the wind. It made her want to fold herself into the nearest crevice and weep.

She trusted that Theotae wouldn’t need her help to coordinate military help, but Iona still would have liked to help; bolster her arguments with personal experience with the Thorns and use her rank as leverage. She was relieved to stay, all the same. She would have asked to if Theotae hadn’t told her to.

Duty and family were always competing for her attention. She had never mastered balancing them—anytime she tipped her favour towards one, she felt like she neglected the other. For someone so long lived, she felt as though she never had enough time. 

Iona didn’t enter the manor so much as she felt like she’d escaped, even if the estate was also under repair. She exhaled a slow breath through her mouth.

Orla’s head poked around the corner of the parlour before she burst into a run. Iona caught her in a hug, cradling her head and tucking her into her shoulder. They remained like that, Orla repositioning her hands every so often to find new ways to clutch at Iona—because she was clutching, some remnant fear from the city assault likely still present.

Iona’s heart slowed and her center re-aligned; she remembered her purpose. 

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” she whispered into her hair.

Orla crushed tighter. “Me too.”

Eventually, Iona pried Orla off, holding her by the arms to inspect her. No visible bruises, but a few shallow cuts had found skin around her face where she had no scales. Iona tucked an errant curl behind her ear.

“I eavesdropped,” Orla blurted.

Iona blinked, dropping her hands. She had expected Orla to fend her off and insist she was fine before Iona could air the question—that, or talk about the attack. “Eavesdropped?”

Orla worried her bottom lip with a mixture of nerves and consideration. She stole Iona’s hand and drew her back towards the parlour. “Come sit, I made tea.”

Orla led her to a couch seated in front of a large window overlooking the back gardens. The flowers, largely spared or cared to by Cihro’s father, danced and nodded their heads in the sunlight, creating a gentle, rolling wave of colour. The oak bristled behind them.

There were stragglers about, Cihro and Day’s family still talking, looking more relaxed. Orla would have seen Theotae leave. The window was like a frame for the stage of their drama.

Iona reached for the teapot on a coffee table, but Orla swatted her away, redirecting her towards dessert plates and a tray of sweet and savoury treats while she poured. Iona picked up a cannoli; she doubted Orla made them herself, but she’d requested her favourite in anticipation of her. Her sister’s kindness made her blink away fresh tears.

“I eavesdropped earlier, when you all arrived,” Orla explained, sliding a teacup and saucer towards her. She gestured to the cream and sugar. “I was waiting in the library for everyone to show up, but it sounded like you guys were talking about important business and I didn’t want to interrupt. Then it escalated.”

“A bit hard not to overhear, I’m sure,” Iona mumbled, spooning a thumbnail of sugar into her cup. “I’m sure the staff enjoyed listening as well.”

Orla’s cheeks flamed a shade similar to her roots, making her scales pop. “Yeah, they might’ve been gossiping about it when I went to make the tea and put the tray together.”

Iona sighed. She’d spent over fifty years in a noble’s home; that was expected, normal. 

“You’re not disappointed?” Orla asked.

“No, you were put in an awkward position. I’m sorry you had to hear. Normally this would be a happy affair.” It should have been, she refrained from adding, hiding her bitterness. Even if they hadn’t argued over Syngorn, there was still the matter of the Thorns’ ultimate goal and what that entailed. Stress was never far.

“Oh, I didn’t actually feel bad about eavesdropping,” Orla said, “I just felt bad there was a fight.” Orla finished preparing her own tea, setting the saucer across her skirt. “Is Elspeth okay? Did you talk to her?”

Iona’s mouth twisted of its own accord. “We had a disagreement.” ‘Disagreement’ was too soft a word for it, but Iona was reluctant to confess how poorly it went to Orla. Elspeth was Orla’s first true friend—not acquaintances by circumstance like the other outpost children, but staying consistent, connecting, being like-minded.

Orla laid her hand on Iona’s. “You should talk to me about it. Theotae’s gone, and I know you want to.”

“I don’t want to trouble you with it,” Iona said. “You just survived a city under siege. This feels less important.”

“We can talk about that after.” Orla waved a hand. “You’re allowed to break down with me, you know? I’m an adult. I’m your sister.”

Iona bowed her head. “I’m a hypocrite, aren’t I?”

Orla bent closer to catch her words, squeezing her hand. “Yeah, kinda, sometimes. Not sure what you’re referring to here, but if you have to ask, the answer is probably.”

Iona had to search for the words to explain, but she did, walking back through what happened step by step. She omitted some key details—that Elspeth’s mother killed the former Margrave, what she had said about Iona looking away if she changed the world. Iona was concise, sticking to what ached the most: Elspeth’s refusal to meet her eye, throwing Iona’s care back in her face. She didn’t cry proper, she had walked that out after all, but her face burned and her eyes misted over.

There was a residual, pearl-sized piece of anger through it all, something she hadn’t felt in the moment but had formed with time as a way to protect against the hurt. She didn’t deserve Elspeth’s ire, but her concern weighed heaviest, making it easier to dismiss.

There was a part of her that felt especially wrong telling this to Orla—not because she was her younger sister or for fear of burdening her, but because Orla was one of the many wronged by Syngorn, arguably among the worst.

“She’s so young,” Iona added as Orla digested. They had gone through two cups of tea each and stress-eaten almost half of the food. Iona had to push away the tray so she didn’t upset her stomach. “She’s so much like you. I must have thought I’d have the same sway with her, that she’d trust in me.” She cradled the empty cup closer to her stomach. “I feel like I made a mistake in going after her. I should have been here, with you.”

“You’re stubborn,” Orla said matter-of-factly. “It just means you care. You don’t like to leave things. It won’t change what you’ve done.”

“No,” Iona agreed. “But I do regret it, if only to save us both the discomfort.”

“If it wasn’t you, it might’ve been someone else.”

A heavy, uncomfortable silence followed.

“Does it bother you, how she talked to Theotae?” Orla wondered.

“Not exactly.” Iona was relieved to find she meant it. “I don’t like to see Theotae upset, but she’s used to derision. Comments and attitude like that usually slide off her; she’s too self-assured and she’s been doing her job for too long. I think the only reason it got to her at all is her respect for the Thorns and knowing that her brothers and I care for Elspeth. But my friendship with Elspeth is an unlikely one, I think.” She managed a shadow of a smile. “Theotae will be fine. She’ll use her frustration to get what she wants.”

Orla brightened with a return smile, but it dimmed shortly after. “She’s going through a lot. Elspeth, I mean.”

“She is. The Thorns, too. I fought with them, but…” The magnitude of their fight in Tempestar and in the Jungle eclipsed almost everything she’d done in over two centuries—and the Thorns did it again and again, interminably. “They haven’t had time to slow down and reflect. Or they’ve chosen not to, because if they do, they might hesitate to take the next step.”

“For a while I thought they were heroic,” Orla said. “And I mean, I still do, they’re pretty heroic. Can’t deny that. But having lived here, I can see how tired they are, too. I don’t know if I’m surprised there was an argument, they all seem like they’re holding on by a thread sometimes.”

Iona set aside her cup and framed Orla’s face in both hands. It wasn’t unlike holding Elspeth’s—their scales covered the same crest of cheekbone, but Elspeth’s had a spark to the touch where Orla’s were just warm. This time, her gaze was met, not rebuffed. Orla had truly bloomed into herself.

“What?” Orla asked.

Iona squished Orla’s cheeks so she resembled a fish, and laughed lightly. Orla tried to look unimpressed but couldn’t hide her amusement.

“You’ve just grown so much, is all,” Iona said. “I’m happy to see you this way.”

“You saw when I was born, of course I’ve grown.” Around the joke, Orla smiled in understanding.

“Thank you for listening, sweetie, it’s helped,” Iona said, and lowered Orla’s head to kiss the top of her hair.

[vapolis]

If a random npc had to describe the ros, how would they? (Say like a damcer or waiter for orla, an average customer for Echo, a regular at the club for jax etc just what's their general reputation)

orla is generally known as a simple club owner! most people are aware that she's doing business with mirage members, but they assume it's only about protection. very little of what she does with the merc and the weapons she takes off people's hands is public knowledge, and she prefers it that way. her business is legit like that and doesn't drive citizens/her dancers away out of fear.

jax is not exactly known to be more than her head of security but once an employee/a regular sees the eye tattoo he has, they tend to know that he's a gang member and try not to engage bc of the reputation mirage has about being especially brutal to anyone messing with them.

royal is seen as a bartender only (since it's all they are) and a good listener as well as a big flirt when regulars go on and on abt their issues or want to forget for a night.

echo's shop is somewhat infamous and even regular people know not to mess with them. echo has been known to allow people to stay on one of the floors of their apartment/shop building if they need to get away/need protection from an abuser or anyone trying to come for their head and even regular costumers know that and appreciate what echo does for their community. the relation to officer Ortega is thankfully hidden.

dante/delilah doesn't have much of a reputation since they're fairly new at the club but have risen to popularity amongst the regulars and are often booked up for weeks on end much to the annoyance of their coworkers. the fact that they're close to orla also rubs a lot of other dancers, and some men under jax's command the wrong way.

[premleague]

"let me answer those questions with a question. who wants to make sixty dollars?"

Callum doesn't really know how he keeps ending up in these situations. He's barely a professional footballer at this point, but part of him feels like he's been in the world of professional football for a lifetime, bringing with it all of the weird adventures he's seen in tabloids since he was a kid. It was stuff he never believed actually happened then, but now? Now, everything seems significantly more likely. "Erm... depends what I have to do for that money, I guess. Is this gonna get me in trouble?" It would be nice to have a bit of cash to blow on dinner tonight, though...

@nearestend's orla for callum from here !

[yorkcalling]

Festival Review: Live at Leeds (In the Park), Temple Newsam Leeds [25th May 2024]

Too many bands and too little time, Live at Leeds In the Park basks in the sunshiiiiine Words and Photos – John Hayhurst Checking the clashfinder for Live at Leeds in the Park was the first step to realising that it was going to be a day of running around catching half a set of one artist, before chasing to see the last few numbers of another. The day was 90% sunshine too, who saw that coming…

[konigsblog]

Wait, so out of topic lmao but you consider 12°C HOT?? 😧

Just curious because where i live we get 40°C everyday for like 10 months out of the 12, not just during summer or spring, is like every fuckin day, even on "winter", it's freaking Christmas and we're boiling hot over here

I'm writing this at 7:40 am and we're already at 30°C 😩😩

WHAT ive been in 30°C weather and i could barely stay awake, i think the sun exhausts me smh 😵‍💫

[thebrandxnharris]

Brandon couldn't quite believe the news when he found out about it. Out of everyone in the town, how did Lucas go missing? He was the golden boy, someone Brandon had never seen without at least some kind of company. His current theory was the old 'childhood star finally snaps', and he was pretty confident that that was all there was to this. So, when Orla sat down next to him at the bar and asked the question he couldn't help the scoff. "He probably just went to, um, t-to blow off s-some steam in t-the city and got way too fucked up," Brandon mused with a shrug of his shoulders. "Yeah, exactly... I mean, I-I like the dude now, but, um, y'know, he didn't exactly have it t-together like everyone thought he did."

venue: cadillac lounge @hidehillstart

coming in late to check up on her team, orla wasn't having the best of days. someone was missing, someone's child and there seemed to be little leads into what was going on - the unknown was terrifying. the woman kept thinking about if it was one of those children that used to call her 'mum', a title that was taken away from her in a blink of an eye. sitting at a table towards the front of the bar, the irish woman sighed. "do you think they'll find him?" she knew the odds were low but there was a hope the young man would turn up safe. "perhaps he didn't want to be found. people run away from stuff all the time. you hear about it on those crime shows about people having past lives and no one knows about it until... you know."