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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 4 years

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Vampr Erik Origin

Okay so let me make a disclaimer:

I had to do a lot of research to try and create his back story in summary form. I basically learned a lot of shit that I didn’t know so with that being said, you guys can feel free to fact check me because I feel like this needs to be factual as far as the history of it goes. Also, Erik was born/reborn in an era that is very touchy. I mean, we go through crap as black people everyday but I used some very degrading words to represent how it was back in this time. If this is offensive, please feel free to let me know I will change it. I don’t want to offend or make anyone feel bad. So, here it is! This is the origin I came up with.

Erik Stevens is his alias but he was born Ricardo Dupoux. Erik was born in 1856 in New Orleans, Louisiana. Just 29 years before he became a vampire.

Erik’s mother was born in 1836. Her name was Fabiola Adonis and she is from Louisiana but her parents and family (Erik’s grandparents) are from Sainte-Dominigue which is now known as Haiti.

Erik’s father was named Jacques Dupoux. He was born in 1827 in Cuba and he migrated to Louisiana with his family when he was just four years old.

Both sides of Erik’s family originated in Sainte-Dominigue and began to migrate out during the black Haitian Revolution as free people of color. The Haitian Revolution was a successful insurrection by self-liberated slaves against French colonial rule in Saint-Domingue, now the sovereign state of Haiti. The revolt began on 22 August 1791, and ended in 1804 with the former colony's independence. It involved blacks, mulattoes, French, Spanish, and British participants—with the ex-slave Toussaint Louverture emerging as Haiti's most charismatic hero. The revolution was the only slave uprising that led to the founding of a state which was both free from slavery, and ruled by non-whites and former captives. It is now widely seen as a defining moment in the history of the Atlantic World.

Haitian Vodou, is an Afro-American religion that developed in Afro-Haitian communities amid the Atlantic slave trade between the 16th and 19th centuries. It arose through a process of syncretism between the traditional religions of West Africa and the Roman Catholic form of Christianity. Vodou is an oral tradition practiced by extended families that inherit familial spirits, along with the necessary devotional practices, from their elders. In the cities, local hierarchies of priestesses or priests (manbo and oungan), “children of the spirits” (ounsi), and ritual drummers (ountògi) comprise more formal “societies” or “congregations” (sosyete). In these congregations, knowledge is passed on through a ritual of initiation (kanzo) in which the body becomes the site of spiritual transformation. Many Vodou practitioners were involved in the Haitian Revolution which overthrew the French colonial government, abolished slavery, and formed modern Haiti. The Roman Catholic Church left for several decades following the Revolution, allowing Vodou to become Haiti's dominant religion. They referred to themselves as “serving the spirits” more so than using Voudou to refer to Haitian religion.

Jacques Doupoux and Fabiola Adonis were well respected within the Vodou community. Erik’s father was a hounsi bosale and Artisan. Hounsi is essentially a dedicated member of Vodou, an apprentice of priests. His mother, Fabiola, an Ounsi, oversaw the liturgical singing and shaking the chacha rattle which is used to control the rhythm during ceremonies. She had a voice that used to lull Erik to sleep. Jacques wanted Erik to follow in his footsteps and later become an oungan; a Vodou priest. He was born as a “child of the house” or a pititt-caye. Being an oungan provides an individual with both social status and material profit. Erik was present for his father's initiation when he was just a baby with his mother in a shared Ounfò; Vodou temple. There were four levels of initiation that Jacques Doupoux went through. That sealed Erik’s future.

The Ounfò was a basic shack in Bayou St. John. The main ceremonial space within the Ounfò is known as the peristil. brightly painted posts hold up the roof, which is often made of corrugated iron but sometimes thatched. The central one of these posts is the poto mitan or poteau mitan, which is used as a pivot during ritual dances and serves as the "passage of the spirits" by which the Loa; the spirits, enter the room during ceremonies. It is around this central post that offerings, including both vèvè and animal sacrifices, are made.

Free people of color owned the most property in Louisiana but of course, that didn’t go down in history because the whites didn’t like it. As for Erik’s family, his mother and father were free people of color that became sugar planters, for slave owners, and they also shared Haitian refining techniques to successfully granulate sugar. Erik favors his father more so than his mother, sometimes confused as his father’s younger brother.

The Colfax massacre and the Coushatta massacre happened in 1873. This sparked fear for Erik’s family and they held a certain Fete for Lwa which is a public ceremony. The drums beat, the congregation started to sing and dance for the Lwa. The Lwa came to the ceremony via possession. The Lwa prophesied, healed people, cleansed people, and blessed them and assisted them in resolving issues. Erik was 17 years old and he didn’t share this with his parents but he was running for his life from a group of white Southerners one day when he was walking the bayou of New Orleans. Erik ended up sleeping in Baton Rouge until the morning.

Erik often stays within the Ounfò, well into adult age. He became a hounsi bosale like his father, often participating as a ritual drummer or an ountògi. He would sing specific songs in Haitian Creole with some words of African languages incorporated in it. He was a Food Artisan like his mother. He admired her craftsmanship in the kitchen. Cheeses, breads, fruit preserves, cured meats, beverages, oils, and vinegars were some of her handmade specialties. This is one thing that attracted women to Erik besides his handsome features. He was Strong, tall, studly, rough around the edges and not afraid to challenge someone to a fight or a gun battle. Erik was charming, protective, heroic, funny, cocky which earned him the nickname “Big Ego Ricardo”. Erik was hard-working, religious, smart, sculpted, dependable, and an amazing lover in bed.

Long dreadlocks, whiskey-colored eyes, full, soft lips, and a smile with dimples so deep it charmed anyone. He wore fundamental ivory cotton band collar work shirts unbuttoned to show off his defined pectorals because he was proud of his body, sometimes paired the shirts with a vest, cotton brown or black knickers, riding boots, and a series of Vodou jewelry around his neck and on his fingers, some with symbols representing Papa Legba, La Sirene, Ogoun King, and Baron Samedi. During Vodou rituals, Erik would wear a cotton cloth around his head like a bandana, bare torso because of the amount of sweating he does during drumming to keep up with the dancers, Vodou symbols painted on his face to represent whichever Loa they were serving, white linen pants and bare feet.

He was obsessed with guns. He would often go down to the bayou to practice with stolen pocket pistols, shooting empty glass bottles and bean cans. He’s a protector, he did this just in case his family were in danger. The symbol of Vodou love on one of his ring fingers is what attracted his late wife, Justine LeBlanc to him when he was 27 years old. He was selling artisan bread one afternoon from an open shop window on Bourbon Street. Justine was six years younger than Erik. She was a Creole of color from Louisiana, like Erik, except her family were sent to Louisiana on slave ships from sub-Saharan Africa instead of Haiti like Erik’s family. She spoke a bit of English, and French with words from African languages. Erik spoke English and Haitian Creole with a little bit of Portuguese and Spanish.

Justine LeBlanc worked closely with Marie Laveau, who was rumored to be the granddaughter of a powerful priestess in Sainte-Dominigue, who began to dominate New Orleans Vodou that later became Louisiana Voodoo. These spiritual leaders served a racially diverse, mostly female, congregation. Weekly worship services took place in the homes of Voodoo leaders. Their sanctuaries were characterized by spectacular altars, laden with statues and pictures of the saints, candles, flowers, fruit, and other offerings. Voodoo ceremonies consisted of Roman Catholic prayers, chanting, drumming, and dancing. Vodou was brought of Haitian origin, however, the type practiced in Louisiana later in years is almost always known as Voodoo.

Erik was known to be a ladies man. He spent time flirting and fucking woman within his community. Pussy was practically thrown at him. Justine, however, changed all of that. They spent so much time together within one summer that Erik decided that he wanted to jump the broom with her which was symbolic of sweeping out of the old and sweeping in to the new to welcome a new household to the community. Justine lost her virginity to him the evening after their marriage and that’s when they started having children. Erik has two young twin girls; Rose Fabiola Dupoux and Felicie Ines Dupoux. After that, Justine couldn’t conceive anymore which she was often depressed about. Erik wanted to be fruitful because his mother came down very ill when he was five and she couldn’t conceive either. It was either her life or her ovaries so she had them removed.

Despite everything going on in America with slavery and racism, Erik; Ricardo, lived a happy life. He was feared and respected, a following of close male friends were like his comrades. They had his back, Erik had theirs. That all didn’t last very long. In June of 1884, when Erik was just 28 years old, things began to make a turn for the worst. Erik’s father, Jacques Dupoux, was lynched. With the 1880s dawning, a new era of violence ensued. White supremacy represented a central tenant of their platform and led to even greater levels of violence as they tried to reverse the advances made for African Americans during Reconstruction. They capitalized on rumors that black crime had expanded after the abolition of slavery. As a result, the number of lynchings soared across the South and hundreds of lives were being taken. Lynch mobs often justified their actions as attempts to defend white Southern womanhood from “libidinous” black males.

This angered Erik, causing him to gather a following of men who also lost family. Erik led the revolt to fight back white supremacy. They attached about 15 homes and killed between 55 to 60 whites throughout Louisiana. They also arrived on a local sugar and cotton plantation that often sought help from Erik’s own family for harvesting sugar cane. The revolt and about 20 slaves burned the plantation to the ground but that wasn’t before they hacked the entire family to death. Erik was made public enemy number one. His face was on wanted posters throughout the South but he was depicted wearing a scarf around his mouth and nose. Of course with Erik’s actions, some of his family and friends suffered. Vodou rituals were invaded and the members slaughtered. Marie Leveau and her following were protected but not Erik’s lineage.

Ricardo Dupoux AKA Erik Stevens returned home after successfully burning down another plantation and killing the entire family, including the children, execution style in 1886. Marie Laveau warned Justine that Erik was dangerous and he would endanger her and the children if she stayed with them. Marie instructed Justine to bring her something that belonged to Erik, something sentimental. Justine brought her Erik’s father’s ring that he wore around his neck. Marie performed a ritual that later informed Justine that Erik was in grave danger and this life as Ricardo Dupoux would soon come to a bloody, gory, gruesome ending. Marie told Justine that she couldn’t interfere because that could possibly go badly. Justine had to keep that big secret to herself to protect her children no matter how much she loved and adored Erik.

Erik wasn’t himself anymore. He became this angry, rude, vengeful man that killed without a backwards glance. He also turned to what is said to be evil magic in Vodou. Instead of becoming an Oungan, Erik became a Bokor and an occultist. A Bokor is a Vodou witch for hire who is said to serve the loa “with both hands”, practicing for both good and evil. Their black magic includes the creation of zombies and the creation of ‘ouangas’ talismans that house spirits. Bloods are usually chosen from birth but Erik was instead initiated in. He found the spirits, the orisha’s the Eruziles, not a priest in the flesh. The whites kept crossing the line in a spiritual and physical sense, it became Erik’s right to protect himself and his family with curses and hexes.

Erik caused moderate to severe suffering to those he seeked revenge on by hexing them and also using dark charms such as curses, the most heinous act on an individual; the worst kind of dark magic. He performed blood maledictions, a specific type of curse that may not kill the target but can remain within the victim's body, and be passed down as a genetic defect that can resurface generations later. Erik would inflict intense, excruciating pain on his victims, poison them, and cause flames called Move Dife which means “bad fire”, an enormous flame infused with dark magic to seek out living targets. Fabiola and Justine were afraid and they didn’t support Erik’s new choices. The light she saw in her son was indeed gone. He was of greatest fear within his community and within the Southern white community.

How did Erik meet his demise?

It happened in June of 1888, five months before Erik’s 33rd birthday. The White league and the Ku Klux Klan had been deactivated since the 1870s but some members worked closely together to hunt down and kill Ricardo Dupoux, soon to be known as Erik Stevens. He decided to use Erik Stevens as an alias since his name was so well known in Louisiana where he lived. No one besides the people close to him knew how his face looked since he wore it covered but his name however was remembered. If things didn’t go as planned for him and he needed to flee with his Mother, Wife, and children, he could have his name changed to Erik Stevens. A trusted friend named Augusto Richard’s wife named Beatrice Richard and her five children were held at gunpoint in their home. They found out where Augusto lives and used that as they way of finding Ricardo.

From what they tell him, Augusto’s family will be freed if he agrees to help the Southern white men capture and kill Ricardo Dupoux. At first, Augusto declined and said that Ricardo is a trusted friend of his. They punished him by beating his wife and threatened to hang her from a structure similar to a gallow. Augusto finally gives in, joining forces with the evil white men in exchange for his family's protection. Ricardo and Augusto have been friends since they were children. Augusto was sort of a co-planner with Ricardo to attack white supremacy and racists homes along with plantations. Augusto fabricated a new place to attack, suggesting that him and Ricardo go alone this time. Ricardo agreed without hesitation because he trusted Augusto. They arrived by horse outside of New Orleans near Maurepas Swamp……..

_______________

“Augusto...poukisa nou is it la?” Ricardo asked Augusto in Haitian Creole why they were there. He didn’t like speaking English just in case he was overheard. Ricardo’s eyes squinted suspiciously around him before he cut his eyes that looked black in the dark at Augusto.

“Mwen regrèt, frè,” Augusto spoke with a shaky voice, tears flooding his eyes. He told Ricardo that he was sorry.

Ricardo pulls out his pistol, aiming it at the shadows of the trees. He couldn’t believe he was being set up by someone that is supposed to be his friend. Ricardo told his wife and mother that he would be home safely and for them not to worry. He couldn’t trust anyone now. If he got out of this alive, he was going to cut ties with his followers.

“Well, well, well...look what we got here, a nigger with a gun!!”

Ricardo follows the source of that thick southern accent echoing in the night and finds a white man standing behind him with a gun pointed at his temple.

“Drop it, boy, or I will splatter this here swamp with ya monkey brains,” He threatened while making his gun click. Ricardo could see out of his peripheral more white men stepping out of the shadows. The moon light made the weapons in their hands shine.

“Listen to him nigger!!!” One yelled.

“AIN'T SO TOUGH NOW!!!” Another yelled while a series of laughter came soon after.

“Listen, I know ya can speak English, boy. Ya friend here told us everything. How ya niggers get a hold of books I wouldn’t understand,” He laughs before spitting in his face, “I’m gonna enjoy killing ya, just like ya enjoyed killing my friends ya fucking animal. This is how we’re gonna celebrate the ending of slavery...we’re gonna gut ya, and then we’re gonna throw ya filthy dead fucking body in the swamp so the gators can finish ya.”

The foul breath of this white man would have made Ricardo puke if it wasn’t for the gun pointed at him.

“Hey, Jenson, pass me my knife!” He yells, “I wanna Kill this one slowly.”

Like a swarm of stinky flies, the white men crowded Ricardo, some kicking him in his ribs, others in his face, bloodying him up. Ricardo didn’t drop to his knees willingly, he took each and every blow like a champion, even when his vision blurred from the blood trickling from a gash in his head from being pistol whipped. Augusto stood watching the entire thing. He was Disgusted with himself for allowing it to happen.

“Should we kill his wife? His mama? His little girls?!!!!” One of them punched him in the face while two men on each side kept him still since he’s so damn strong. It was almost inhumanly strong.

“AUGUSTO OU FUKIN TRÈT!!!” Ricardo yelled, before spitting out blood on the dirt covered ground. He called Augusto a fucking traitor, “Mwen gen yon fanmi! ti bebe mwen yo! ti bebe mwen yo! ou trèt!” Ricardo growled angrily with his deep fearful voice. He could only think about his family right now. What if some of these men were watching his house right now? They definitely were plotting something besides beating the living shit out of him in the swap.

“Kick this nigger down!!! It’s six of you and one of him!!!!”

A blow struck Ricardo’s spine so hard he felt it snap. He was on his stomach, his cheek hitting the dirt painfully. One foot was placed to the back of his head while angry tears fell from his eyes.

“Any last words? And say it in English before I slice your goddamn tongue off,” The man with the boot to his head spoke harshly.

Ricardo clenched his jaw while breathing in the dirt. He didn’t want to give them the satisfaction, however, the asshole in him wanted to toy with them.

“...Which one of ya is da father of Helen Landry?” He asks.

It was silent for a second until the boot on the back of his head was gone, being replaced with a hand yanking him by his dreads, lifting his head from the ground. Ricardo smiles smugly, his bloody smile almost as sinister as the blood from the gash in his head flooding his eyes.

“Let me ax ya something...are ya the reason my little Helen is dying? Doctor says she only has three days left...ya poison my little girl with ya voodoo magic?”

“I CURSED ya little girl with my Vodou magic…” Ricardo spits his blood in his face, “And if I were ya, I would go check on her, Doctors don’t always tell da truth.”

Augusto flinched when he witnessed Ricardo being kicked in the face. His jaw had to be broken now. He was being lifted off of the ground again, a sharp whimper of pain escaping his mouth. His feet gave out beneath him and now he was being dragged. His chest and abs were covered in dirt just like his handsome, swollen, and bloody face. His busted lip drooped and leaked blood while his groggy voice tried to form sentences. The men laughed at him but all Ricardo did was look at Augusto with unblinking eyes, one of which displayed broken vessels.

“Anything else ya got to say, nigger?”

The source of the voice didn’t matter to Ricardo. All he kept thinking about was his family and how he failed them. His father was probably ashamed. Ricardo looked towards the sky. If only he could call on Baron Samedi or Maman Brigette. He wasn’t in the safety of his Ounfò either. He could only hope that at this moment his mother, Fabiola, was summoning the spirits.

“Guess not, hold him down.”

With a dull, jagged knife, Ricardo was stabbed in his stomach. He felt like he was punched. The impact pushed him back a little and he wheezed. A tearing sensation and a noise followed. The pain took a while to kick but he could feel the blood trickling. When it was finally withdrawn, he felt something hot and cold at the same time, pulling the skin with it as it's removed. Ricardo’s cry was a brilliant sound to them, guttural chokes mixed with an agonized roar. His fists clenched and shook each time his skin was being torn to shreds. The knife rotated and the sound of his muscles and nerves being gouged growing louder. Then, without warning, the white man jerked it all the way into his stomach, until the shiny metal had disappeared inside him and the black handle was pushing against his broken skin.

“Die Coon!!!” They yelled in unison before celebrating with loud hoots.

“Look at him choking! This ugly motherfucker is bleeding out! Let’s take him to the water!”

Ricardo could feel his body falling to the ground. His hand clutched his wound but blood seeped between his fingers. He felt weak, his eyes opening and closing. Augusto stood there spewing apology after apology while crying hysterically.

“As for ya,” the white man that stabbed Ricardo multiple times drops his knife in the dirt, reaches in his back pocket with his bloody, cut up hand and pulled out a gun, “what? Did ya really think we were gonna let ya go free? Ya just another disgusting nigger too, and ya nigger bitch, ya nigger kids? Dem dead too.”

Ricardo watched with low eyes while Augusto took his last breath before being shot in the head, point blank range.

“Wastin’ all dese good bullets,” the white man pocketed his gun again, “Hall em’ up! Let’s take em’ swimming!”

_____________

Crowded tabletops with tiny flickering lamps; stones sitting in oil baths; a crucifix; murky bottles of roots and herbs steeped in alcohol; shiny new bottles of rum, scotch, gin, perfume, and almond-sugar syrup. On one side was an altar arranged in three steps and covered in gold and black contact paper. On the top step an open pack of filterless Pall Malls lay next to a cracked and dusty candle in the shape of a skull. A walking stick with its head carved to depict a huge erect penis leaned against the wall beside it. On the opposite side of the room was a small cabinet, its top littered with vials of powders and herbs. On the ceiling and walls of the room were baskets, bunches of leaves hung to dry, and smoke-darkened lithographs.

This is where Ricardo Dupoux rested upon a makeshift bed surrounded by oil burning candles. A sulfurous rotten-egg smell that is often associated with marshes and mudflats occupies the room. His entire body ached and the sharp pain prickled his scalp. Licking his dry lips with his equally dry tongue, Ricardo tried looking around with his sore eyes but the discomfort caused him to close them. It felt damp and gloomy around him, clearly nothing is quite what it seems to be. Ricardo could feel a powerful energy surrounding him, if only he could move his body. A few rickety floorboards creaked like someone was sneaking up on him and it made Ricardo jumpy. He wasn’t physically able to help himself.

“Ricardo Dupoux, ki sa yon sipriz bèl eh?”

A seductive voice of a woman spoke to him in Haitian Creole. This wasn’t a pleasant surprise exactly.

“Kiyes ou ye?” His voice was so hoarse and his throat felt raw.

“Who muh? Well...I’m yuh rescuer of course, handsome.”

“Kisa...ki kote sa a?” Ricardo coughs painfully. He could taste blood in the back of his throat.

“Well, don’t Yuh sound sexy speaking deh Creole to Mama Dalma. Yuh in muh shack, Ricardo.”

“Mama Dalma? Prètès Vodou a?” He spoke with astonishment.

“So, muh assumin’ yuh heard stories about muh from way back when...what else do yuh know bout’ me?”

“...Nothing.” He finally speaks English.

“Yuh know so much about muh voodoo mystic powers in the Caribbean 175 years ago…I’m honored.”

Finally, standing above his shell of a body was Tia Dalma herself. Tia Dalma was a practitioner of voodoo, a hoodoo priestess with fathomless powers that was perceived as a legend. Supposedly, she has uncanny powers to foretell the future, to summon up demons, and to look deep into men’s souls. She’s mysterious and beautiful with delicate patterns accentuating her hypnotic eyes, long but slender dreadlocks like him, deep melanin skin so smooth and unblemished, and lips painted black. She wore a sheer black dress that showed off her nudity beneath it, so many curves that looked delicious, and a mystical necklace dangling between her small breasts. Ricardo could feel her seductive energy enticing him into a tangled net. She playfully giggles while stroking Ricardo’s bare, sweaty chest with her long black nail flirtatiously.

“Poor baby, him carve yuh up?” She spoke with her Jamaican Patois. Mama Dalma looks Ricardo up and down like she wanted to mount him. She was so happy she couldn’t hide her beautiful smile.

“Did ya heal me, Mama Dalma? I thought I was gon’ die by a white man’s hand.”

“I’ve seen yuh fight big brawla, I’ve seen yuh cap a shot, I’m impressed wit’ yuh...haven’t seen a man deh brave in a while...queng dem white boys.”

“...ya been watching me?” He squints his whiskey colored eyes,“who ya for ya to be watching me?”

“Mhm, I been watching yuh, handsome...It’s because I want to save yuh...give yuh a better life than this.”

Ricardo was shivering, his skin pale and cool, difficulty breathing, mentally confused, and his blood pressure kept dropping. His chest was rapidly moving from breathing too fast, heart rate beating so fast it was almost painful, and he felt like he was running a fever.

“Easy nuh, yuh going into septic shock.” She takes her hand to pet his dreaded hair like a baby with the back of her hand.

“W-what?” His lips trembled. He was numb.

“Awoah. Muh herbes are keeping yuh stable but if I take deh herbes away...yuh die.”

Ricardo closes his eyes.

“Unless...yuh have two options, handsome.”

“One’s that I should trust? How do I know ya not poisoning me? Hm?”

“I’m gonna ignore deh...here are yuh options. Yuh can stay here on muh table and die slowly...or I can give yuh immortality.”

“Imòtalite? Baron Samedi?” He almost choked on his own spit from trying to speak.

“Better than the power of a Loa...yuh be immortal until meeting deh true death. Yuh have superhuman physical abilities, senses, flight, and healing.”

“What power is dat?” Ricardo’s eyes are glossy. He didn’t have much time. Mama Dalma was cunning, she could have healed him with her voodoo but what’s better? Healing him with the possibility of him dying again or turning him into what she became 175 years ago back in her little shack in a tree in Cuba, hanging onto her last breath. Ricardo was perfect in every way and she wanted to walk the earth with someone close to her...someone attractive and strong.

“Yuh ain’t got much time...make a decision, Ricardo Dupoux,” Tia strokes his face, “It could all be yours…”

Ricardo’s eyelids fluttered before he nodded his head. Anything to stay alive. Anything to get revenge. If he was going to come back stronger and immortal, he could wipe out every single one of them. He needed to get off of that table. Mama Dalma was convincing. Maybe it was her magic that persuaded him but none of that mattered.

“I’m glad Yuh agreed.”

Sharp, fangs extended from her teeth while she looked at him excitedly with hungry eyes. She came down on Ricardo with superhuman speed like a blur, causing his eyes to grow wide with surprise. It was almost painless, more like a pinprick considering how his body felt at the moment. The sharp points sank into his flesh like a knife to soft butter. His body twitched as his blood pooled around the back of his head, dripping to the floor of the shack and seeping between the wood. He started feeling even more woozy and lightheaded. She was really applying pressure with her fangs. He could feel his body going cold and then it felt as if his soul had left his body. Ricardo didn’t know how long this went on but it felt like forever.

Mama Dalma retracts her fangs, lifting her face from the crook of his neck slowly before staring down at Ricardo with her enchanting eyes. Her fangs pop out again and now she bites her own wrist before placing it over Ricardo’s mouth. He hesitated at first but Mama Dalma opened his mouth for him. Ricardo tasted his own blood before from his busted lip or if his gums were bleeding. He even tasted blood during a sacrifice at a Vodou ritual. It was vile with a salty metallic taste. However, Mama Dalma’s blood was surprisingly sweet, and scrumptious. Just that small amount dripping on his tongue gave him the effects of alcohol consumption.

“Deh is enough, Ricardo,” She tells him, “Ricardo...deh is enough.” She says with a more stern voice.

Ricardo wraps his hand around her wrist, applying pressure to keep it there. He could feel his body changing for the better already. Her blood...he couldn’t stop. He grunted, growled, and moaned from the taste. His tongue swiped her wrist and his own teeth tried to bite her for more but he was still so weak.

“Ricardo, deh is ENOUGH, no more!!!!!”

Mama Dalma yanked her wrist away speedily, her eyes staring down at her wound healing before her. She gave Ricardo a cold look, one that has him wishing he would have listened.

“When I tell yuh to stop, yuh listen,” She spoke with a spiteful tongue.

“It was so good,” Ricardo spoke with a weakened voice, “I want m-more.”

“Soon, muh child…” Mama Dalma kisses his lips, “Now we go to rest,” Mama Dalma wraps her arms around Ricardo and then with her superhuman speed they were out of her shack and laying in a dug up ditch. The soil was cold against Ricardo’s back. Mama Dalma places him in a wooden coffin, the moonlight creating a halo around her. His eyes drooped shut and he could feel his body shutting down like his organs were no longer working. Mama Dalma crawled into the coffin with him, resting her head on his chest and wrapping a single leg around his waist.

“When yuh wake, muh child, yuh will be Erik Stevens now...Ricardo Douboux died tonight.”

Mama Dalma kissed his cold cheek before she shut the coffin so they could finally rest until tomorrow night when Erik Stevens will finally be immortal.

#killmonger #Erik Killmonger #black panther killmonger #nahimjustfeelingit-writes

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covrtofnightmares · 3 years

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&&. cauldron above, ( ronan ludolf ) was just spotted in the fae lands — word has it ( he ) is affiliated with ( the wild hunt ). ( he ) is a ( 480 / physically 42 ) year old ( wild hunt fae ). it’s been said that ( he ) resembles ( idris elba ). ( he ) has been said to be ( practical & observant ) but also quite ( distrusting & skeptical ). ( he ) is currently serving as ( the spymaster of the wild hunt ).

— ❝ i’ve had to burn your kingdom down. ❞

name: ronan amari ludolf

birthday: august 22nd | leo

scent: vanilla, fresh pine, cedarwood, jasmine, the earth after its first frost

appearance: standing at 6′3″, ronan wears his years of experience and training on him like a tight-fitting glove. being a spymaster is physically demanding work and his physique reflects that. he tends to keep a bit of a beard, now flecked with bits of gray with age, and keeps his hair cut close to his head.

current familial / relationship status: ronan’s entire family has passed away as of present, leaving him effectively alone, so to speak.

biography: ronan ludolf was born to a bright, vibrant, and bustling wild hunt family. he was the middle child, with two elder siblings (an older sister and brother) and three younger siblings (two younger sisters and a younger brother). his parents were poor, but loved each other dearly; together, the ludolf family settled on the fringes of the widowed oak, keeping to themselves while the nightborne family ruled the isolated lands around them. their happy family was not meant for long, however; as darkness settled over astralis and erik newblood fought for control of the spring court, skirmishes broke out across the fae realms. the widowed oak, being as isolated as it was from the dealings of the seasonal and solar courts, was relatively safe. ronan’s family, however, was not. his father was a tradesman, and as the entire family traveled towards the neutral territory to sell their wares, they were attacked by members of erik’s legion. the fight was bloody and brutal, and at the end, fifteen year old ronan ludolf was the only surviving member of his family. he only narrowly missed detection from the enraged warrior fae by pretending to be dead, covering his face and abdomen in his family’s blood so that he would go unnoticed by the creatures who had terrorized, robbed, and destroyed his family.

after that, ronan’s entire world changed.

when news of his family reached the wolf queen’s ears, jade nightborne was quick to take ronan under her wing. he was given lodgings in the royal palace and began work, first as a servant, and then as an apprentice to the queen’s legion of soldiers. ronan grew up and allowed his anger and grief to mold him into a weapon; he would live and die by the throne, no matter what it took. when the queen welcomed her first child into the world, a smiling little baby named laurent morningstar, ronan felt something akin to awe and wonder. ronan loved laurent, and swore on his life that he would do whatever it took to protect the queen’s newly prized jewel, no matter what court he was in. but no matter how much ronan loved and cared for laurent, as though he was a missing piece of the family the jaded young man had lost so many moons ago, it wasn’t enough. laurent rebelled against the very idea of the wild hunt, seeking solace in his father’s home of the day court and all of its wares. he rebelled against jade and against his parents’ fractured relationship. and try as ronan might to support the young prince unconditionally, ronan could not make laurent love himself and honor his title of the lupine throne if he didn’t wish to.

when jade beget another son, this time to her bonded mate, kieran nightborne, young pup lucien became the sort of heir jade had always envisioned for the wild hunt’s throne. ronan continued to serve as a faithful soldier, committing espionage and mercenary work on behalf of the crown, as he sought out information on the men who had killed his family so many moons ago. though the nightbornes had become a sort of makeshift family for ronan, he could never forget the laughing, happy faces of his parents and his siblings. most nights, ronan felt that he didn’t deserve to live while the rest of his family was dead. he swore vengeance and retribution for the crimes committed against them, even if it was his final act. kieran supported ronan’s thirst for vengeance, supplying the spy with the information and tools necessary to protect and defend himself against any assailants. one by one, ronan tracked down each and every warrior fae responsible for the death of his family on that fateful evening on astralis’ dirt roads, and after he pulled their secrets from them, he tore their hearts from their chests, just as they had done to him so many years ago. an eye for an eye. one heart for another.

by the time ronan returned to the wild hunt, tension and unease had descended upon the royal family. ronan had tried his hardest to keep his favorite boys--his pseudo-children, frankly, if he was being honest--together, laurent and lucien had created a rift between each other that would eventually culminate into the downfall of a prince and the dejection of a king. he might have been uncle ronan to them, but they were also so much more to each other. ronan’s skills and prowess were rewarded, and he climbed his way up to the coveted rank of spymaster. ronan was quiet, cool, and assessing; he had more scars than he could count, but he also had the grit, determination, and fierce loyalty required of the job.

throughout his travels, he found solace in a woman made of fire and ice. kamali was both similar and different to ronan in nearly every single way, and together, they burned bright enough to split the world in half. the two tumbled into a passionate love affair with one another before eventually producing a child together. kamau, a bouncing baby boy, was the light of ronan’s life. finally, for the first time in what felt like forever, he had a family. a family to call his own. kamau was the light of ronan’s life; a boy who grew up to become a young man full of passion, love, light, and promise. when kamau was in his late teens, still a pup in the eyes of ronan and kamali, the wild hunt received word that the human resistance was planning an attempted infiltration of the widowed oak. kamau and his friends, hearing this news, decided they wanted to do right by their parents and make them proud. the fledgling pups, having recently ascended into the hunt as full pack members, attempted to ward off the blossoming human resistance. however, having next to no control over their powers and lupine abilities, the young wolves were slaughtered by the rebellion before the humans descended back into the hidden underbelly of the underground of cloverwood forest.

kamau’s untimely death devastated ronan, and what remained of his kindness and humanity retreated back into him like a shell. his relationship with kamali frayed apart as well and the two, burdened by grief, fell apart. kamali disappeared in the dark of the night, and ronan has not seen or heard from his son’s mother since.

years and years have passed since ronan lost kamau, but not a day goes by that he doesn’t remember the bright, burning flame that was his son. he keeps a chain with the family ring kamau had inherited around his neck at all times, tucked underneath the lining of his clothing, pressed against his chest. throughout it all, ronan has had lucien and the other members of the wild hunt. though he tends to keep to himself, a quiet, lone wolf, he is fiercely protective of his pack. even laurent, who was banished so many moons ago, holds a special and close place in ronan’s hardened heart. he has also taken the blackthorn brothers under his wing, working alongside lucien to train them into the double agents they serve as today. ronan ludolf has known nothing but strife, pain, and despair at the world raging outside of the wild hunt and the garden, and there are only two thoughts that guide him through life.

first and foremost, the other courts must suffer for failing to protect their own. second, and perhaps most potently, the human rebellion must be obliterated.

affinity: ronan is a wild hunt fae, so he possesses their lupine skills and talents

wings: similar to the wings of predatory birds found in most all wild hunt fae, ronan’s wings are reminiscent to that of a breed of forest falcon.

#RONAN //#shadowstalker: ( intro )#ptsd tw #death tw #trauma mention #blood tw #violence tw

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thenorthernrecords · 4 years

Text

Family Matters

[ The following is a log of a scene between Jacob and Carolina, shortly after the Sargenis family meeting. ]

@seawitchtales

Well that was exciting! Carolina’s heart hurt for Lani, she could completely understand the pain she felt from her Brother’s actions. Sea-colored irises watched Jacob as he told everyone goodbye, and closed the large doors of the long house. “...I don’t really know what to say about all of this. What a mess..” Using her arms she pulled herself up to stand using the help of the table. With a little wobble she’d reach into the pocket of her dress to pull out a flowered crown. With a weak smile she’d extend it out to Jacob. “... I was able to make you this..” And she was proud! (D)

So, dinner had been served, and he got to do some chitchat with the two elder 'cousins', which was nice, and for the most part, as messy as the situation was, dinner wasn't so bad! Riley had chosen to stay in a spare room in their home, and she went in for the night (probably to cry more) while the Areli family went to stay in the inn. Jac practically looked drained by the end of it. He rubbed the back of his neck, as he approached the table. "The man was a fucking prick. I'm glad you didn't get to meet him. The way he insulted his own sister?" He still got pissed off over it. Now, Michael Blackwood was horrible, but Eamonn Sargenis had an edge to his cruelty that made his blood boil. "Lani's holding up better than her two older sisters. It's a fucking mess, but his departure means we never have to worry about that idiot ever again." Good riddance! Jacob sat down with a huff, but the sight of a flower crown did make him feel better. He took it and just placed it on his head. "Look at you! You've recovered enough to start making me these again." Plus she was standing! He looked so proud of her progress. [d](edited)

When Jacob sat down Carolina took the opportunity to sit back within his lap, but this time she faced him. Gently both of her hands held his face with thumbs toying with his beard. For a long moment she looked into his eyes. She had thought she was damned to be trapped forever within the horrors of her mind. “...I’m so happy that you are real, Jac..” Her voice squeaked just a little bit as tears were held back. Her arms would wrap themselves around his neck so that a tight embrace could be given. “...I’m also glad that I never met him. He sounds like a real peach..” A rotten one. (D)

Jacob frowned, and reached up to stroke her cheek with his thumb gently. "Of course I'm real, sweetheart, and I'm not going anywhere." He smiled a tired, yet sincere smile, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her tightly for a moment, reflecting just how damn happy he was that she was wake and with them again. Then, he scoffed. "Oh he was. The man was miserable -- I still can't believe I'm blood related to that man." Plus, they looked a little similar too, which annoyed him further. "I actually felt bad for him for a moment, but after today? Fuck that, and fuck him." He turned his head and spit on the ground because he was super serious! "That's another destructive relative I don't have to worry about anymore." [d]

Slowly Carolina leaned back so that she could lean against the edge of the table to watch Jacob as he spoke. “...what is it about Brothers? I mean everyone we know has the same issues including myself. We’ve got to make sure Erik is a good Brother, or I swear to Odin that I will hang him from his toes..” Because fuck this shit, their children would NOT be like this. Headache city. “..you look exhausted, my darling Jarl. We could go get close under the furs and sleep..” Before their darling children woke them up at the ungodly hour of the morning. (D)

Jacob let out a short sigh, leaning his head back so he can look up at the ceiling. "I don't know. Each case I know about has this odd sense of unearned entitlement, and maybe, their sisters have made them feel insecure, so they had to lash out." Jacob let out a snort, "But it proves just how weak and ball-less they were. This one --" Meaning Eamonn, "--respected me more than his own sister, but that's not saying much. Did you read the letter? ‘Jacob may carry our name if he wishes.’ As if I need his permission when I have Slania's already." Jacob simply chose not to carry it. "No, our children will be better because I'm making sure Erik never harms his sister, or lets harm come to her. I'm not going to coddle him and shit if he does." He raised his head to look at her. "We could, but we haven't had any time to just be together. It's been so long since you and I just spoke like this, without a care in the world. I missed it." Did he pout? Yes. Yes he did. [d]

A brow perked as she watched her Husband, pout? Carolina couldn’t even hold back a giggle. “...what’s this, Jacob Adair?” A content sigh was given as she leaned forward so that her face was directly in front of his. Her finger reached out and poked his nose. “...I missed it too, Jac, and I missed you. Don’t get me wrong..I missed our children. But the love I have for you is just different if that even makes any sense at all. I thought that I was going to die that night in the fire, and I was...well..never mind about all of that. Tell me everything that I missed, even if you think I wouldn’t be interested..” She had missed a whole lot, she was sure! (D)

The pout vanished almost instantly, and Jacob shrugged. "What's what? I don't know what you're talking about." He said casually, as if the pout never had occurred in the first place. But, he still smiled and gave her a wink. "Are you saying I'm more lovable than a child? Carolina Adair, I never!" He teased her, grinning ear to ear like the dork he really was inside. "Well, as you heard, Lani got hurt, but that big big guy, what's his name ... Keiran, saved her. You should have seen it, He came in with her in his arms, bleedin' all over him, and the man was worried." Which surprised him because it looked like Keiran had a sour grape in his mouth at all times. "But she recovered, thankfully. Benjamin Areli got hurt too, but he was nursed to health by Harper Maxson I believe." He raised his brows at that one. He had a feeling Katy wasn't feelin' too happy about that. "Oh, we rebuilt the orphanage, or rather, made it bigger and better. Most of the city is rebuilt, with newer defenses too. Leviticus has a brand new forge now -- the apprentice has become the master." And they totally did not want to give each other the biggest hug ever when Jacob told him he was to have a new forge because that would be crazy. Jacob then looked pensive, as if trying to decide something. He then let out an annoyed groan, and decided it was best to let Carolina know what had come in for her. He fished a letter from his pant's pockets and held it up to her. "So... this was for you. I normally would not open your letters but ...It's from your brother, Michael." He looked so disgusted just saying his name. [d]

“...you are the only man I will e v e r love the way that I love you, Mr. Adair...” Forever and always this fire would burn. Carolina watched Jacob as he explained the happenings over the past few months. “...Keiran is a good man, so I’m glad that he has decided to stick around.” Destiny would of never summoned him if there had been any doubt. Now a brow rose when Jacob mentioned Leviticus, followed by another giggle. “...you guys are disgusting, you’re going to have to control yourself with your mistress. She’s still a newlywed.” Oh ho! Quick with the jabs, lulz. And then her stomach fell. For a long moment she peered at the letter that Jacob held out to her. Slowly a hand would reach out before her gaze fluttered across the words that her Brother had written. By the time she was done reading, her whole body was shaking.

Rage.

The letter fell against the floor as she quickly stood from Jacob’s lap. That might of been a terrible idea because she was still way too weak to support herself. Both of her knees were shaking. “...why..why did HE kill Andrew. That was supposed to be..this motherfucker!” Carolina hissed, tears rolling down her cheeks. The one thing that had been promised to her was stolen. Andrew had only tortured her for almost her entire life. She always had to stay one step ahead, sleep with one eye open, and he still managed to catch her. Not once, but twice he almost succeeded in killing her. Because of him her whole family had been murdered. “...and I couldn’t even see the look on his face as he took his last breath..” Her knees gave way as she collapsed to sit on the floor, pulling her legs up under herself a bit. “...I’m going to have to go home, Jacob..” There was an emptiness to her voice, she couldn’t even look at her Husband. (D)

Jacob had frowned at the whole mistress bit. "Pfft. I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. That man is an asshole." Said another man who was also an asshole. Now, when Carolina stood up, on instinct, Jacob reached out and put a hand on her waist, trying to keep her steady, but also, it would give him a chance to catch her if she stumbled. Jacob had a deep frown on his face. "If there's anything I know about your brother, it's that he acts before he fucking thinks. He also thinks he knows whats best." Which is a quality he shared with the shit brother he had just finished talking about. He began to rub her back, to comfort her, but then, he stopped. "Carolina, first of all, this is your home now. I thought we had talked about this," Jacob began, already beginning to feel that anger begin to boil, "You don't have to go home, and you don't have to fix his fuckin' mess. Didn't you just see what happens when you run and fix a shit brother's mess?! We just had a dinner with a set of sisters who did just that, and look how well that turned out!" Jacob was shaking his head. He didn't like this one bit. [d](

Carolina winced hearing Jacob’s tone, but she still never rose her gaze to look at him. Again her eyes scanned the letter as if somehow it would change. “...I cannot allow my Brother to be punished for killing a man that should have been hung in the Palace Square for his crimes. My parents are dead because of him, he’s tried to kill me multiple times. This is bullshit..” And in a small struggle she stood on bare feet, standing as strong as she could for the moment. “...family is always the most important thing, Jacob, even if they don’t deserve it.” Finally she looked at him, her long chestnut tresses spilling over just one shoulder. “If Caspian made these arrangements then there’s a serious problem brewing, and even if I wanted to ignore this..I cannot, nor will I.” Even if he was furious with her, she didn’t care. (D)

Jacob just stared, his face blank for a moment, but soon, he was breathing a little more heavily than usual -- an indicator of his growing exasperation. "He chose to kill the man, and even the right choices have consequences." He first state firmly. Oh, but the family bit? That made Jacob stand up and step away, his back towards Carolina for a moment. He tapped his foot, trying to not let his growing anger get the best of him. "What about our family?" He said slowly, strain in his voice as he turned around to glance at her, "Let's say something happens to you while you're out saving your idiot brother. What of our children? Shall they go motherless because you wanted to help the one family member who failed you time and time again? You just fuckin' came back to us, Carolina." He turned his face away, balled his hand into a fist and began to tap his fist into his other hand. "Just when I thought I was rid of all these cocksuckers." Yep, he was mad. His entire body was tensed up, but he was trying his hardest to keep it all from just lashing out. [d]

Irises narrowed slightly as she listened to her Husband. Oi, YES, my Brother is a fuckin’ douche...and then she sighed. Slowly the distance between herself and Jacob was closed as she stood in front of him. Both hands rose so that she could gently take his face and pull him closer to her level. “...Jacob, I will n e v e r leave you, nor our children. I love you more than I have ever loved anything else, and that is the o n l y reason I am standing before you today...” For a long moment she searched his face, her eyes starting to well up with tears. “...maybe I can bring a group with me. Harper needs to get her ass home instead of playing house with Ben..” Heh, trying to lighten the mood. “...we have peace for a moment, and I swear that this will be the one and only time that I return to Snow. If you allow it, I will never go back after this..” And she meant it. (D)

He crossed his arms tightly, and when she put her hands on his face, she would feel that his jaw was clenched. He studied her face silently, and when he saw the tears? He began frown, and looked away for a moment. He was trying to remain mad, but it was difficult to do so when his wife was being vulnerable. It made him feel like a dick. "... Tears won't work on me, Carolina." He said, but by the way he slightly pursed his lips? Yeah, it worked, much to his dismay. He let out a groan and aggressively rubbed the nape of his neck. The prospect of never having to worry about her going off to Snow Mystic was incredibly tempting. "Fine! Fine." He grumbled, extending his arms and letting them fall to his sides in defeat. "Yes, I want you to go with a group -- with at least one person I Trust." He crossed his arms again because he meant business! Clearly. [d]

“Really?!” Whoa! Mark this shit down in history, MARK IT DOWN. This was the same man that used to fight hard to push her away from him, y e a r s of being a dick. Carolina couldn’t help but to smile wide, wrapping her arms around his neck, basically climbing him so that she could wrap her bare legs around his waist. The Jarl’s wife may have attended a family meeting with nothing but Jac’s tunic on, heh. She was recovering! “...you can pick whom ever you want to, Mr. Jarl...Sir Jarl? Jarl Studmuffin..” Oooo, Daddy! Slowly she used her nose to turn his face back towards her so that the softest most sweetest kiss was offered to his lips. “....thank you, Jac..” Heh. Carolina’s cheeks may have been a little pink, but she was so...content. (D)

Naturally she started to climb him, he unfolded his arms and held her against him, with his hands in place beneath her. "Hah, now you're just patronizing me." He started with narrowing eyes, "If anything happens to you, I'm killing your brother. That's a promise." More like, the entire of Snow Mystic would burn to the ground if anything happened to his wifey, dammit. He'd have the army there in seconds, somehow. And like the softy that he begrudgingly was, he smiled slightly and gave her a peck back. And then another. And then a third for good measure. What a sap. "...I love you too. I only get angry because I'm tired of bad shit happening to you and the rest of our family. But, if you doing this means I don't have to hear Caspian Fucking Maxson's name ever again, then I suppose it's a reasonable risk." Imagine?! He smiled at the thought. "I'll pick, but you'd have to agree. I wouldn't want you to be in company you don't like either." [d]

Carolina giggled after the third kiss, but made sure to return every damn one. Honestly if she could ride around like this on Jacob, everyday, she would do it! If she had to move Heaven or Hell for him, well, y’all get it. “...I know you were scared, Jacob, I felt it..that’s how I stayed connected to you. And you’ll still be connected to me when I leave. Plus I know you’ll have a pair of beady little eyes watching for you. If anything happens I know you’ll come for me..” This War had done a number on the both of them, and she knew this wasn’t the best time to be going to a whole other country on some fuckshit, but it had to be done. “...and I will be okay with anyone from here. I know and love all o u r people..” Daw, she was so proud of Jacob, and now he’d know. She hadn’t really had the chance to tell him anything, ya know, comas and stuff. (D)

The war had basically almost wiped out the family he gained, through marriage and discovery. So, he was terrified deep down for sure! One bad brother had caused a shitstorm, and now another was causing another. it never ended! He didn't have to say it, it was all over his face how much it had all affected him. "A certain crow would be wise to watch over my wife lest he wants to be a stuffed animal!" He said in a raised voice, knowing the black feathered friend had heard it somehow. "I have someone in mind, but I gotta convince 'em first." He was worried about that part. But! That was a worry he'd deal with in the morning. "We should get some rest. If you want to go on this journey, I want your fully recovered, and ready. I want you to be ready to give them all hell."

#Jacob #Carolina #Jac's tired of his girls cleaning up after their dumb brothers y'all

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myriadimagines · 5 years

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Hey if you haven't done it yet could I have some headcanons on being Erik Lensherr's daughter.

Being Erik Lensherr’s daughter:

Erik treating you more as an apprentice than his daughter because he’s not quite sure how the whole parenting thing works

And although he doesn’t admit it, being a parent scares him

Working with you closely when your powers first start to emerge, which are similar to his

Pushing you out of your comfort zone in order to get you familiar with your abilities quickly

Always being incredibly proud of you when he sees your powers growing stronger by the day

Drilling it into you from a young age that, with the exception of him, you really don’t need to answer to anyone and that you are stronger than you think you are

Him also teaching you to be proud of your powers and to be proud of being a mutant

Erik always getting on the defensive side whenever Charles or Hank or any of the others try to give you advice, because Erik thinks he knows you best

Erik not really approving of you becoming closer to and becoming friends with Jean, Scott, Ororo, Peters and the others at Xavier’s school, because he thinks they’re all troublemakers

“Come on, dad, everyone’s kind of a troublemaker at this school. Am I just supposed to not make friends?” “I mean-”

He can be somewhat of an embarrassing father, and although he didn’t think so at first, he definitely figures out what annoys/embarrasses you and does them on purpose

Teasingly messing up your hair whenever he’s praising you during training or even when he just passes by you

“Dad, stop!” “What? I think it looks better that way.”

Incredibly protective of you, although the rational part of him knows you are more than capable of handling yourself

Charles trying to encourage him to let you go sometimes

“You can’t protect y/n forever, my friend.” “I just want to give her the childhood I never had.”

Being hesitant to allow you to go on missions, because although he trains with you every day, he’s afraid to let you into the field

“Dad, I’m going to be okay. We’ve been training all my life for this, remember? I remember everything you taught me.” “I know, I know. You’re going to be brilliant, y/n. Go get them.”

tags: @proudchocolateaddict / @myfriendmagislit / @fire--pheonix / @sheridans-dynamos / @beautifulbows924 / @writinqss / @woah-imagines / @steve-rogersirl / @musicallisto / @gofandomsandotherstuff / @melannchoholic / @lena-stan-xavier / @just-shuri / @natalia-helena-alianova-romanov / @iammyownsaviour↳ want to be added to the tag list?

#marvel imagine #x men imagine #erik lehnsherr imagine #marvel headcanon #x men #x men headcanon #erik lehnsherr #erik lehnsherr headcanon #imagine #imagines #reader insert #headcanon #headcanons #anonymous

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swindlersstole · 5 years

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7, 32, 42?

i really hate to do this to you right now because it’s Go Time but also. it’s Girl Time

32. hammock

Gemma was learning a lot of things about herself these days. Specifically, about herself and travelling, and the lesson of the day was this: she was not good with boats.

This was good to know for the future, because now, as the official first apprentice of the master merchant Derk (titles pending), she would be doing a lot of traveling, both with him and alone as his proxy. Traveling to Dundrasil now was exactly such a proxy service--Derk had been away from his wife for far too long, and Gemma had done such a remarkable job organizing Cobblestone’s repairs, that Derk insisted that she help oversee Dundrasil in his stead.

Of course, even if he hadn’t asked, Nova had wanted her to come along for the exact same reason. It would be hard work, to be sure, far harder than their village, but Gemma would do anything for her best friend--and she couldn’t turn back from a challenge. The people of Cobblestone were resilient, perseverant, and did not give up, and Gemma was no exception.

The boat did not respect that resolve in the slightest.

Gemma rose from the table on unsteady feet, and Nova caught her before she could hit the floor. “Oh, crumbs…”

“Not a fan of the ocean, huh?” Nova laughed, very obviously worried.

“Ugh…” She pushed herself up off his shoulder, one hand holding her stomach. “It’s not your grandad’s boat on the river, that’s for sure.”

Sylvando leaned out from behind the partition of the galley, chin in his hands and a frown on his lips. “Oh, Gemma, honey, I’m so sorry! Everyone got their sea legs so quickly before. I didn’t even think about someone getting sea sick.”

“If memory serves, Sylv, we didn’t have much of a choice on the sea legs front.” Erik poked out from behind Sylvando; without Jade on board, he’d been tasked to help prep dinner in her stead, but he seemed ready to jump at the slightest inclination that Gemma needed another hand. “You gonna be alright there?”

“I’m going to hafta be, aren’t I?” Now standing straight and independent of Nova, Gemma forced a smile. “So, I’m a little green around the gills--it’s alright! Better I find out now than later. I’ll just… ask to go on foot next time! That’s possible, right?”

It wasn’t the most convincing bluff of her life, and whatever parts of it actually held up as believable were quickly dashed when her stomach lurched again, loud and clear and impossible to disguise as creaking floorboards. Gemma doubled over the table with a groan; Nova raised his arms ready to catch her again, and Erik leapt over the counter in a bolt, and the only thing that stopped them was her was the hand she held up.

She took a few deep breaths, and then stood tall, but much more pale. “I’m okay!”

“Oh, no, darling, you’re really not.” Sylvando had crossed into the dining cabin, hands on his hips. Gemma might not have known him for as long as Nova had, but she definitely understood right away why Nova had said he reminded him so much of his mother. “Now, you need to go take that pretty little face of yours to the sick bay and get some rest. Captain’s orders.”

“But…” She looked between the three of them, somewhat helplessly. “What about dinner?”

“Honey,” Sylvando raised an eyebrow, “do you think you’re actually going to be able to eat anything right now?”

Gemma opened her mouth.

“Without throwing up.” Erik added.

Gemma closed her mouth.

“Please, Gemma,” Nova pleaded, “We need you at your best in Dundrasil, and I don’t want you catching something more serious because of this.”

Gemma wasn’t sure that seasickness was an open door for pneumonia, or shypox, or--well, actually, it was probably more of a prelude for shypox--but the point was, even after a near two decades of knowing him, she still hadn’t built up an immunity to Nova’s puppy-dog eyes. Which, she supposed was fair, he wasn’t very strong against hers, either, but this was a weakness that had worked against her time and again, and this was no exception. Gemma accepted defeat with a sigh and falling shoulders.

“...Fine, fine. You win,” She’d accepted her defeat, yes, but that didn’t mean she had to be happy about it. “I’m awful sorry, Sylvando, it smells lovely…!”

“Darling, I won’t hear of it!” Sylvando had a complete turnaround from his motherly insistence, clasping his hands together in delight. “This ship runs on happy faces, you know, but forcing a smile on someone isn’t how I do things. So, you go get lots of rest, and then you come back and show me the best smile you’ve got! Deal?”

“Deal,” Despite what he’d said, that did get a smile and a laugh out of Gemma--but, she knew she could do better, and a deal was a deal. She breathed in deep, and steeled herself for the brief trek ahead, turning towards the door to the deck.

As she walked, Nova turned to Erik. “I’ll go with her to be safe. I won’t be too long, just a--”

“Ohhh, no you don’t!”

It didn’t matter how ill she was, nothing could have stopped Gemma from turning on her heel and stomping back to Nova, just to stick the scolding; he jolted back from her shift in mood. “You’ll be up all night worrying about me if you do that, and then what are we going to get done in Dundrasil? Maybe I have to skip a meal tonight, but that’s not an excuse for you to, Nova. You’re so much more worse about taking care of yourself than I am.”

“Gemma, you’re over exaggerating,” Except she wasn’t, and everyone present knew that, but Nova persisted. “It really wouldn’t be that bad if I--”

“Ah-bup-bup!” She raised a finger to his mouth, effectively shushing him, before turning to Erik. “Erik, you have to make sure he stays put while I’m out. Feed him yourself, if you have to. He had a dream about it once. I read his journal.”

Nova’s face erupted in red. Sylvando cackled. And Erik brought a hand to his chin with a devious smile. “Oh, he did, now?”

“He’s a gentle, romantic soul, you know,” Gemma returned the smile despite her weariness, saccharine sweet and sly, “So I’m trusting you to do whatever you have to do to make sure Nova won’t leave to check on me--or even want to.”

“Ooh, Gemma!” Sylvando howled with laughter, slapping a hand on the dining table. “You naughty little thing, you, I love your style!”

Nova opened his mouth to object, to Gemma, to Sylvando, to anybody who could understand his sputtering, but whatever words he had turned into a gasp and a jolt when emerald-clad arms wrapped around his waist. Erik laid his chin on Nova’s shoulder, and looked to Gemma, all too proud like the cat that ate the canary.

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am,” He sounded far too enthusiastic about this allowance, and it made Nova groan and hide his face in his hands, “I won’t let you down~”

“...You know,” Nova said at last, after the resounding ‘clap!’ of Erik and Gemma’s high-five had faded, “there was this… a good ten minutes, when I was so happy you two became friends? I would love to live in those ten minutes again right now.”

Gemma found her way to the infirmary cabin without much difficulty. Once she was on her feet and moving, it was fairly easy to find a rhythm that could deter the rocking of the boat, and she reached her destination with little stumbling.

The sick bay itself looked not much different from the regular cabins. It was certainly bigger, to accommodate all the beds needed for an infirmary, but much of the room for closets and bookshelves replaced with a good deal of cabinets for medicines and herbs. She thought about taking an herb for herself, to see if it would ease the pain, but decided against it; if it was that easy, Nova would have just used magic in the first place, and that would have been that.

Interestingly enough though, Gemma noted, was the hammock strung up near one of the windows--at least, she thought it was a hammock, she’d never seen one shaped like a box before, but there wasn’t much else she could think it to be--which struck her as a bit odd, considering. A hammock on a ship wasn’t a strange mental picture, but in a sick bay, it seemed more… counterproductive, to the seasickness problem. Not that seasickness was the only reason to go to a sick bay but--

A loud churn from her stomach cut off her string of thoughts, and Gemma crumpled over onto the nearest bed with a whine. The more she thought about being sick, the worse it was going to get, and she wasn’t about to spew and make a nuisance of herself on Nova’s account. And that was a worry that was already eating at her appetite enough without the ocean’s help, thank you very much.

Gemma shuddered miserably at the thought, and when her stomach had stilled once more, she kicked off her boots and tucked herself under the blankets, waiting to slip away into troubled sleep.

A knock at the door roused Gemma with a groan. She glanced at the window, and grumbled when she saw the sun setting above her, turning her back to the door, and tugging her headscarf over her eyes. “Novaaa, go to dinner…!”

“Oh no, he’s there!” came a voice that was very much not Nova’s, “I brought you something to eat, Gemma.”

It took a moment for Gemma’s groggy mind to fully recognize the voice, but when she did, she rose out of bed slowly from surprise; her headscarf fell around her neck. “...Serena?”

Serena came in at the sound of her name, all smiles and polka dots--she was in that pretty red dress that Gemma had complimented to no end (and that Nova had said he’d made her, and that Gemma could still not believe that Nova had made with his own, human hands), carrying a tray of bread and mugs along with her. She reminded Gemma in that instant of the old picture books her grandad would read to her when she was little, of milkmaids and farmhands living happily in the flower fields of Zwaardsrust before heading off on a grand adventure; all Serena needed was her hair in braids.

Well. Not really, actually, Gemma thought, because then Serena would look too much like Veronica, and she rather liked Serena the way she was.

“Oh, my! You’re looking much better already,” And if such a profound healer like Serena was saying that, Gemma supposed it had to be true, “Do you think you’re well enough to eat something?”

Good question, actually--Gemma supposed she was feeling a bit peckish now. “I… maybe? Is that a good idea for me?”

“As long as it’s nothing too heavy, yes.” Serena closed the door behind her with her back before entering the room in full, setting the tray she’d brought on a nearby table. “Some fresh, warm bread ought to do you good. And ginger ale will do wonders for nausea!”

The scent of the bread wafted through the room. That was one of Gemma’s favorite smells in the world, and her stomach made a noise again--but this time, it was an honest to goodness growl, and she was too relieved that it was a normal sound to be embarrassed that Serena heard it. Then Serena giggled her sweet giggle, and Gemma felt just a smidgen of embarrassment, but not enough to deter her from food.

“That sounds... really good, actually,” Gemma stood up from the bed, blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and made her way to the table with care. “Did you bring all this for me, Serena?”

“I did!” Serena waited until Gemma had sat down before doing the same. “Although… I was hoping if I could join you, if that was alright. I couldn’t eat much of dinner tonight.”

“Oh, no! Ah, I mean--of course you can stay, but did you get queasy, too?”

“No, not quite,” Serena waved aside the worry bashfully, and reached for the bread; she cut a generous slice for Gemma before serving herself. “There was cabbage in some of the servings. I’m allergic.”

“Oof, that’s a rough one,” Gemma nodded in sympathy as she reached for the butter, “My grandma? She’s got a little onion allergy. Refuses not to eat it, though, so it makes cooking a right nightmare sometimes.”

“Gosh, I can imagine!” Serena covered her mouth while she chewed, soft and dainty, like a pretty princess Gemma had dreamed up long ago. “You’d have to substitute it, I’d imagine?”

“Oh, of course--but Grandmum’s so stubborn about it, y’see, so we have to be careful with switching things around so she doesn’t see. Nova’s had to sneak me fennel from him and his mum more times than I can count,” And speaking of, actually... “You know, I’m surprised Nova didn’t come with you!”

“Ah ha, well! He tried to, bless him,” And Serena laughed behind her hand, and that princess Gemma had dreamed up seemed more and more to come to life, “But we all know what he’s like when he gets worried. Nobody was having it when he said he wanted to come with! Erik had gone far enough to sit in his lap to feed him by hand so I could leave alone.”

Gemma squeaked, and put down her mug before she could take a drink and choke on her laughter. “Crikey, I didn’t think he’d actually do it!”

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“Oh--I was teasin’ Nova, before I got here. Told a little fib about reading his diary. And I said to Erik, if he tried to follow me, to do whatever he had to to stop ‘im,” Gemma raised her mug again, and grinned around the rim. “Might’ve given him a few ideas on how to do that.”

Serena’s eyes went wide as dinner plates, her cheeks tinged pink, but she soon fell into a fit of laughter--a bit more boisterous than her giggles, Gemma noted, but no less elegant and lovely. “Goodness, I wish I’d known it was that easy! Veronica teases him sometimes, too, but he always seems to shake it off. I didn’t think anything could get under his skin! You must have a gift for speaking ‘Nova’, Gemma.”

“Aw, it’s nothing special, really,” Gemma tugged off her headscarf and fiddled with it in her lap just the slightest bit shy, “I’ve just known him a long time, is all. I know what buttons to press.”

She wasn’t sure she could keep talking about herself, with Serena praising her so genuinely for something so small. She had to shift the topic. “But, you said Veronica’s tried? What’s she done before?”

“Oh! So,” Serena set down her mug, and her hands fluttered to life, a story on her lips and fingertips, “there was this one time, I remember quite clearly--we were visiting Gallopolis, and it was a particularly dry day—Veronica made a joke about Nova’s hair, and how he must use an army’s worth of conditioner?”

Gemma hummed, already understanding where this was going. “And he had no idea what she was talking about, right?”

“We were floored! Erik looked like he was about to lose his mind when he said that. I wouldn’t be surprised at this point if you told me he’s never used a brush in his life.”

“Oh, he wouldn’t get away with that one, not if his mum had anything to say about it,” Gemma shrugged, clearly faking exasperation, “Dumb boys, right? What can ya do?”

“Not very much at all!” Serena laughed again, and it struck Gemma now that Serena’s laughter was so striking to her because it sounded like a melody--a sweet, simple song that made Gemma fall into laughter too, and into a gentle, easy evening gossiping with her new friend.

They talked late into the night, much later than Gemma had realized, but not enough to make it urgent. Serena had a calming aura about her, which was something she’d always known since meeting her, but her voice had such a timber to it that all of Gemma’s earlier troubles were forgotten.

They swapped stories, about nothing, about everything. Gemma talked about Cobblestone, about growing up with Nova (“I can’t tell you the real embarrassing stories, he found out I told Erik about when he put the slimedrop in his hair and he’s still mad about it,”), about how she wanted to go into the clothing business, and how some of the other kids thought she was odd for liking math so much. Serena responded in turn with stories of Arboria, about her and Veronica’s misadventures (“Oh, I was so hungry, Gemma, you have to understand, I was desperate to get out of studying! And the page had a picture of an herb on it, and I just--”), about all her favorite books and songs and plays, and, “I would be happy to loan you something, I have some books I think you’d rather like!”.

And Gemma was sure she would like them, but hearing Serena tell her about those stories instead was fulfilling in its own way. She was such a gifted storyteller--Gemma could have listened to her forever.

She might have very well done just that, the way they were going; Serena was just finishing up an explanation on the musical complexity and range of Graham Globe when Gemma yawned, much louder and longer than she’d meant to. She clamped a hand over her mouth in shock, and it took her a moment before she could meet Serena’s worried gaze.

“Oh, gosh,” Gemma felt her cheeks burn. If it had been Nova, she wouldn’t have been nearly as embarrassed (he’d seen much worse with nary a blink as a response), but she couldn’t stand the idea of Serena having seen that, “Serena, I’m so sorry! I’m not bored, or anything, I promise.”

“No, no! You’re perfectly fine, Gemma,” Serena took it all with grace, as Gemma must have imagined she did with everything, “If anything, it’s my mistake. I didn’t even realize how late I’ve been keeping you.”

“‘Late’? But it’s not…” Gemma’s point was lost as soon as she turned to the window and was met with the dark, night sky. “Oh! Well, what do you know?”

“The lamp’s almost out of oil, too,” Serena noted, “Time flies when you’re having fun.”

“I’ll say,” Gemma wasn’t about to comment on how happy she was to hear that Serena had fun talking with her, there were bigger concerns at hand, “Should you be getting to bed, Serena?”

“Hmm… oh, probably,” She sounded disheartened by the idea. How odd, “but I would hate to leave if you’re still unwell.”

Oh. That was right! She was seasick! That’s why they were here! Gemma had all but forgotten about it, though now that Serena brought it up, she was conscious of the dull ache slowly growing again in her stomach--not painful, yet, but present.

“Well…” Gemma placed a hand over her stomach, brows furrowed, “We dropped anchor already, didn’t we? I don’t think it can’t get much worse until we start moving again.”

“No, you’re right,” Serena admitted, “I suppose I’m just being a bit of a worrywart… but, since we’re talking about it? I wanted to ask you something, Gemma.”

“Yes? What is it?”

Serena reached forward, tentatively, curiously, and picked up one corner of the blanket around Gemma’s shoulders. “Why didn’t you lay down in the hammock?”

“Uh--” Her sudden forwardness stunned Gemma into silence, and it took a moment for her to collect her thoughts. “I--it didn’t seem like the best idea, you know? If all this rocking is what’s making me sick, then more of it would just make it worse, wouldn’t it?”

“Oh, no! Quite the opposite, actually.” Serena clapped her hands together; her expression was still no less concerned, but her eyes sparkled with knowledge she was more than happy to share. “Sea sickness is just motion sickness. Laying in a hammock helps cancel out the movement of the boat, so you should have a much easier time sleeping in one than a bed.”

“Ah--no kidding!” So much for the hammock being a weird addition to the room. She wished Sylvando had mentioned that earlier. “You think that I should…?”

Serena, ever the dedicated healer, nodded assuredly. “With how out of sorts you were, I don’t think it would hurt.”

“Well… I guess you know best. Gosh, I hope it’s as comfy as the bed was,” Gemma fiddled with her scarf in her lap, laughing a touch awkwardly to herself, “Definitely won’t be as easy getting in, that’s for sure. Never was too good getting settled in a hammock.”

“No?”

“No, but… hm. I guess I might’ve been just too little, then? I could never get in one without… oh.”

Gemma stopped.

“...O-Oh.” Oh.

Something… struck her, just then. She’d been sharing so many stories tonight so haphazardly, she’d barely given it much thought, but now that she was giving them thought, the dull ache in her stomach began to grow into a pounding intensity--the strongest it had been all night. She doubled over, wincing and whining and clutching onto her abdomen, and all too suddenly, she felt far too small.

“Gemma!” Serena was upon her in an instant; she’d barely let a gasp escape her before she began to reach out. “Gemma, what’s wrong? Is your seasickness back?”

But Gemma shook her bowed head, quietly denying the hands that came to her aid.

“Gemma…?”

“I couldn’t do it,” Gemma spoke quickly, and pained, trembling in voice and body, “I couldn’t do it without Nova’s help.”

The confession alone made Gemma run cold. She’d agreed to this trip--to work in Derk’s stead, to organize the reconstruction of a kingdom she’d only seen in storybooks, to help her friend when he called on her--to make a point to herself. To prove to herself that she could stand on her own two feet, without relying on Nova all the time. Gemma had grown dependent on him, and complacent, she could admit that now, and such a thing wasn’t fair to her or him.

She wasn’t jealous. She wasn’t bitter. They would always be best friends, Gemma always in his heart, and Nova always in hers, but Nova wouldn’t always be right next to her to catch her when she stumbled. She had to learn. She had to get better, but she’d already caused Nova so much trouble and worry with just a stomach ache--and now here she was, being a nuisance to Serena, too. Serena, who was so soft and gentle and impossibly lovely, who said her name so sweetly, who had only ever shown her kindness since they met that night in Heliodor, and Gemma couldn’t understand why, but it didn’t matter. A burden was still a burden.

She didn’t think her heart could bear much more of this.

“Gemma.”

Serena’s hands were warm over her own, pulling them away from her stomach, and Gemma realized just how badly she was shaking. And when she finally made herself meet Serena’s gaze, she found that Serena was looking at her with soft, gentle, almost revering eyes, and any response Gemma could have made was gone before it saw the light of day.

“...You know,” Serena started, “you and Nova are very much alike. You both think far too loud.”

Gemma sniffled, and pulled away one hand to rub at her eyes. “W-What do you mean?”

“You’re both rather hard on yourselves. You both take on so much, on your own, because you think that you have to do it on your own. And… to be fair, that might be true, for some things. But certainly not everything, and I think that ends up forgotten along the way.”

Serena paused, breathing in deep. Gemma couldn’t think of a time she’d ever seen her so serious. “Nova’s gotten better about it. He has a lot of help from a lot of people...plenty of people who are happy to remind him that he doesn’t have to do everything by himself. But, Gemma… I’m not sure if anyone has ever told you that.”

She swallowed. “So. I’m going to.”

Gemma felt her shoulders tense, and her cheeks burned in the dimming lamplight. Her lips parted, as if to speak, but so in shock, she didn’t dare interrupt Serena now.

“I… I think you’re very amazing,” Serena said, “If I try to put myself in your shoes, I’m not sure I could do what you do. You’re a much braver and more resourceful person than I think you’re giving yourself credit for, Gemma. And I really mean that.”

And she really did, Gemma could tell, but she didn’t think she’d ever know why.

“So… please, don’t be disheartened. We can’t make it on our own--we need other people to help us, and they need us the same. Asking for help isn’t a crime, Gemma. It’s in our nature. It’s what makes us human.”

Serena bit her cheek. Her thumb ran circles around Gemma’s knuckles.

“...I wish I could make it better for you, just saying that, but… we both know I can’t. It’s a deeper problem that magic and words just can’t fix. But if nothing else… you should know I’m here for you. And I’ll help you in any way I can. If you can’t turn to everyone yet, please know you can turn to me.”

Gemma swallowed, but she nodded a grateful nod, and subconsciously squeezed Serena’s hands. She really did know, Gemma thought, she understood, and the world didn’t feel so lonesome anymore.

“...Thank you, Serena,” she sniffled out her thanks, but Gemma managed a tiny, grateful smile, if only for a second, “I’m… sorry, you had to see all that. I was planning to talk to Nova about it all, I swear…”

“Please, don’t be sorry, Gemma--I truly did mean what I said,” Serena patted her hands consolingly, “We’re all companions here, remember? And that means you and I, too.”

Companions. Right. The word alone alleviated some of the pain in her stomach; in retrospect, it figured that Gemma would stress herself sick. But it had been reassuring beyond measure for Serena to say that regardless. Nova would never tell her if she was causing trouble, so he was an unreliable opinion, but Serena had no previous attachment or ulterior motives to lie.

If Serena said she wasn’t a bother, then Gemma could finally, slowly but surely, start to believe it.

“Now then,” Serena stood from her chair, her hand still holding Gemma’s, pulling her up with her, “let’s go and get you all settled, shall we? I don’t know about you, but I’ve always found a warm bed the best comfort after a good cry.”

She bent down a moment, to pick up the blanket that had fallen off Gemma’s shoulders, and wrapped it back around her. Gemma watched her, stunned, but vacantly grabbed at the blanket’s edges and tugged them over her chest. Satisfied with this, Serena gave her an affirming nod and smile, and stepped around her to prepare the hammock, and she watched her go, a thousand thoughts spinning in her mind, and suddenly--

“Serena?”

Serena stopped. “Hm?”

“Could I ask… would you stay with me? If it’s… not a trouble to you,” Gemma fidgeted with the blanket, burying her face in the fabric, “I--I’m feeling better, really, but I… I’m not sure I can be alone, right now.”

Goodness. Asking for help did ease some more of her aches, but it did nothing for how embarrassing such a thing was to say out loud. It wasn’t as though Serena hadn’t made… something of an offer like that herself earlier, but that had been before she’d seen first hand how needy Gemma could be. It felt silly of her, to bank on Serena’s support so soon after she’d made it known.

“It would be my pleasure.”

But Serena, voice tender and delighted and relieved, answered her as clear as day, as easy as breathing, and a part of Gemma had to wonder why she’d been worried in the first place.

As promised, Serena helped Gemma in first.

The hammock was snug, to say the least. Gemma wasn’t sure if that was because it was meant for only one person, or because she and Serena were just too big. Distantly, she remembered those warm autumn days where she and Nova and Sandy would nap in her grandfather’s hammock, but they’d only been children, then, and Sandy still a puppy; a part of her wondered if this hammock might fall over like Grandad’s did, too, when Sandy jumped on it fully grown.

But Serena climbed over the edge and settled in beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist like they’d done this a thousand times before, and Gemma pushed the thought away, because that was then and this was now, and now felt much more important to address.

Their legs brushed together, and Gemma jumped from the contact. “Ah! Sorry—“ It was unavoidable, but Serena was so warm and soft the brief touch made her heart race.

Serena whispered a laugh, and her smile illuminated by the moonlight made Gemma’s heart race even faster.

“It’s alright,” she explained, hushed, “I’ve done this before. Veronica--she never got seasick before, but when she shrunk, it changed her center of gravity. The first few nights we were at sea, I stayed with her here like this.”

“O-Oh,” said Gemma, unable to parse if that actually did set her at ease or not, “was it... easier with her?”

“Easy or not doesn’t matter,” Serena answered, “I just want to protect what’s important to me.”

Something about hearing that made Gemma let go of a breath she hadn’t noticed she’d been holding, and as her mind and lungs reeled, Serena raised her hand to the back of Gemma’s head, stroking her hair idly. She hadn’t realized until now, with her head near tucked under her chin, how much taller than her Serena was--or perhaps, Gemma was projecting confidence onto stature. It wouldn’t be the first time; Erik still refused to tell her his real height because her (apparently wildly incorrect) guess had fed his ego far too much.

“Shh--don’t overthink it,” Serena’s voice grew softer, more soothing than it already was, and Gemma felt her muscles start to lax from that alone, “Just feel. Let yourself relax. I’ve got you.”

Gemma had heard stories of mermaids before, and about how their songs could hypnotize even the most fearsome of sailors the seas had ever seen. Nova had explained that those stories of sirens were greatly exaggerated, but listening to Serena talk, and feeling the way her body gave in to her every kind request, she had to wonder if that was really the case.

Serena had told her to relax, and she did. Serena had said that she had her, and Gemma felt beyond secure. She let her eyes close, to fully immerse herself in the feeling; the scent of a bakery was on Serena’s skin, and a hum buzzed delicately from behind her lips, and Gemma thought--

No. Don’t think. Just feel. And what she felt was...

“...Serena?”

“Yes?”

Gemma nuzzled herself closer to Serena’s chest, as close as she could dare. If she concentrated, she swore she could hear Serena’s heart beat like the beat of a drum, in perfect tune with her voice. “I think you’re amazing, too.”

Serena stilled against her, and for a second, Gemma worried that she’d gone too far, but she was pulled into a tight, warm hug, and the worry ebbed away with the quiet lull of waves.

~~~

“Knock-knock, get the door, it’s Erik.”

Serena looked away from the window--she’d been watching the clouds roll by the rising sun as Gemma slept--and craned her neck towards the door with a smile. “Quiet now, it’s Serena.”

It took a moment of fumbling with the handle before Erik opened the door just a crack, slipping in without so much as a creak. From Serena’s angle, he looked like he’d just woken up, still in his pyjamas and hair more wild and askew than usual. It must have been earlier than she’d thought; Erik was usually one of the first awake, and he put enough care into his appearance to be dressed before anyone could see him this disheveled.

He closed the door behind him with a soft ‘click’, then turned to her with a knowing grin. “How’d I know,” he whispered.

Serena smiled at him, and there was an underlying air of mischief in her smile that she knew he would pick up on, and she whispered back, “Oh, you knew, did you?”

“Not exactly, but I had a pretty good feeling,” Erik shook his head with a sigh, but he wasn’t trying at all to hide his amusement as he made his way over, “Leave it to you to vanish for the night, and then be found cuddling a cute girl.”

“Well, that was just a pleasant surprise. But you and I have always had similar priorities, Erik,” She spoke wisely, knowing full well that she was correct, “I’m impressed Nova let go of you long enough for you to make it here.”

“It’s never easy. Despite what dinner would have you think, he’s incredibly clingy.”

“And it’s great?”

“The best,” He peered over the hammock to look at Gemma, still nestled up underneath Serena’s chin, “Seriously, though. Is she doing alright?”

“Mmn. Much better now,” Serena fiddled with the ends of Gemma hair between her fingers, “I think she was just anxious, is all.”

“That’s seeming more and more like a Cobblestone standard every day. Not that I can blame them.”

“It’s a good thing we’re here for them then, isn’t it?”

Gemma sighed in her sleep, and the two of them fell silent, but it quickly proved to be a false alarm; instead of waking up, she burrowed herself further into the blanket, and into Serena’s arms. Serena beamed at the sight.

“Man,” Erik whispered with a roll of his eyes, “and here I thought I had it bad.”

“You did,” Serena didn’t look up, “You had it worse.”

“Details,” he nudged Serena on the head with one knuckle, drawing her back to look at him, “I’m gonna go get dressed. I’d say you have another two or three hours before breakfast happens.”

“How long before Nova comes to check on her?”

“If we play our cards right? Hopefully he’ll sleep till midday,” Erik raised his fist above her, “I’ll keep him in bed long as I can.”

Serena raised her first in turn, bumping it quietly against Erik’s. “You’ll succeed.”

“Not unless I want to eat, too. But thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“And thank you for yours.”

Erik pulled back, his fist becoming a two-fingered salute, and he stepped away as quietly as he came. The door opened and shut again with barely a sound, and soon enough, the only sound remaining was the quiet crash of waves against the boat, and Gemma’s soft, peaceful breathing.

Serena had to watch her while she slept--to watch the way her lashes fluttered and chest rose and fell, to watch the subtle puff of her cheeks and the way her lips puckered ever so slightly, and Serena had no other option but to smile at the sight.

She already knew that Gemma was amazing, for a multitude of reasons both said and unsaid, and had long since thought that--but it was always nice to see those facts take shape.

#panda does a write #ladies and gentlemen we have entered REAL SEREMMA HOURS #nedryn-laughs #seremma

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ivemetyouathousandways · 5 years

Text

Frokost på Sven's (Breakfast at Sven’s)

It’s kind of funny how, since the individualization of mankind, we have grown to attach such importance to names to find security in a somewhat clear cut identification. And it’s kind of funny how, I didn’t yet care to know this stranger’s personal identifier, considering that he had paid for my breakfast yesterday, followed by a bear and a coffee. It had somehow not occurred to us, during the span of our time spent together, to exchange the frivolous triviality of names and the likes of such meaningless details.

And here we were, the next morning, walking down Østerøya, the village’s main road, to get to his humble place located past the edges of Kvennesviga, which name I wouldn’t even attempt at pronouncing. He had casually slipped an arm around my shoulders and it took me a moment to realize that I appreciated the gesture, fascinated by how comfortable I was with it, normally having had slipped out of such contact or having voiced my discomfort.

I loved every aspect of the early signs of life animating the place, light washing the quiet streets in a pale golden light, with actual dew on the the grass and plants, two tourists already on their bikes headed out to explore the neighboring landscapes - I imagined - the constant murmur of the North Sea whispering it’s seductive tales carried by the early morning wind. I almost stopped mid step when it hit me that this was just perhaps the Norwegian equivalent of a French Breton place I had fallen in love with called La Hague, magnificently portrayed by Claudie Galley in her book The Breakers. I smiled and bemused to myself; what would be the odds that this stranger was a sculptor too ? And then I remembered his attire of yesterday; a light ashen grey tweed suit jacket over white shirt, complemented by a dark tie with silver accents... fairly early in the day. Perhaps a journalist?

“Watch your step.”

His voice came about at the same time as my foot bumped into the small concrete step at the foot of our destination.

“Are you okay?” He asked with an amused smile on his lips.

I nodded. Totally fine! Love losing my face in front of strangers I otherwise wouldn’t mind impressing.

And then I had to refrain myself from not fangirling over the inside of his house - being absolutely authentic vintage European, or in this case, Norwegian; wide open spaces, flooded in the early sunlight, bathing the rich golden caramels and chocolate browns of the woods of the flooring, the table,chairs and counters. Somewhere in the forefront of my mind, I was literally an animated character with heart shaped eyes squealing, shaking my head, overly excited at the exquisite charm of the place.

“Take a seat - make yourself comfortable.” He said dropping his keys in a dish on an accent table near the door.

I realized I was standing there frozen in time and space and I suddenly appreciated the soft squeezing weight of his hands on my shoulders nudging me forward in. Midway in, though, he gave a final gentle friendly tap and preceded me to open the fridge and cupboards to set the table. I shyly walked around, looking at the various small decorative items, all more or less sea related; light house sculptures, boat miniatures - those rather expensive and detailed one, hand assembled, probably based off real life ones which had sailed the seven seas at some point in History, complete with real ropes, real linen and real wood or metal bits. And then - there was that one framed photo. I instantly recognized him. His hair was the same, his glasses - the only difference was his smile. He was smiling, a genuine happy smile. There was a rather handsome blond young man next to him, holding a small cherub like toddler, and a beautiful blond woman hugging the young man from behind.

“This is your son?”

He turned around and an unbearable sadness washed over his face, making me instantly regret my absolute lack of self control and curiosity. I could see his hard gulp, swallowing down his sadness as he walked over to join me.

“That’s Erik, my nephew.” He said, his warm breath behind my ear. “Also - my apprentice.”

Silence dropped on us like a bomb and I could literally hear my heart thumping and his sadness fill the kitchen.

“The girl is Hanna and the baby is Jakob.”

I swallowed dry saliva. I’m so sorry!

“One night he didn’t go home. Instead, he went to the rocks where I found you this morning. He had brought a rich variety of pills, later identified as black market drugs, and a bottle of akvavit.”

His voice was the shadow of a whisper.

“He was found the next morning by a couple of tourists who wanted instagram photos of the sunrise.”

I could just about hear the sour sorrow in his voice.

“Is that why you ... you often go there?” I asked trying to hide my own shock.

“Every morning since his death.”

He took a deep breath, a sigh, letting go of the past and I felt his hands on my shoulders again, a gentle pressing squeeze, motioning me to turn around and head to the main area of the kitchen.

By the time I thought of offering help, I noticed that the table was set for two, with a choice of cold meats, cheese, bread, sliced tomatoes, and grapes. I pouted and slapped myself in the back of my mind. Way to go, Illy! First, sting the man’s memory with an insensitive question, and then just be a typical tourist, not a helping guest. He, on the other hand, kept being an impeccable gentleman, placing slices of sausage, brad and cheese in my plate.

“Mmm - this sausage is to diiiie for!”

He smiled amused and cut a few more slices which quickly ended on my plate.

“I’m sorry for my assumption a moment ago.”

“You couldn’t have known.” He smiled gently and took a piece of cheese. “His father was my younger brother. He was a proud fisherman who wanted to follow the traditional ways of our father and grandfather. Kristian got caught in a real bad storm one trip out - and he didn’t came back. Erik was intensely and very deeply affected by his death. He loved the ocean, he loved and held a great deal of respect for our father. He couldn’t understand how the ocean he has learned to love and revere has had the cruelty of taking the most important figure in his life. He had just met Hanna and it had been a strain on their relationship, but they grew stronger together. And then baby Jacob came along and I thought everything was alright. We were working on a homage piece, to be put on the family tomb.”

He looked at his plate and I could just about understand his sudden lack of appetite.

“I should have asked him to leave the project, to let me finish it alone. I didn’t see his pain, his suffering. He had insisted so passionately. I was the only family remaining, he refused to let me carry all the burden.”

I wanted to lay my hand on his but he was keeping them both to himself and I felt I would have overstayed my welcome had I reached out that extensively. Or perhaps I simply saw the clutter of breakfast as a polite barrier he had set up to keep a certain frame of intimacy.

“I know your lineage back to your grandfather but I still don’t know your name.” I chimed in to try to lighten up the mood a notch.

He chuckled.

“Markus.” He smiled as he extended his hand for me to take and shake. “Markus Sven Iskaar.”

Markus Sven Iskaar. MSI. Like my favorite computer brand! I refrained from voicing that odd finding though.

“Illy Szofiana Máté.”

MSI in the reverse. I smiled to myself. I was actually pretty proud of this nifty little coincidence and perhaps it quite heavily biased me in my overall preference of the Chinese electronics producer.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Illy.” He half got up to be more comfortable in kissing the hand he was still holding in his. “I believe you Magyar folks still somewhat abide by this tradition?”

“I guess the older generation - yes. Most people just use the vocal version of it - as a common greeting.”

“And how would that sound like ?” He sat back down and laid a piece of sausage on a slice of bread.

“Kezét csókolom.”

"Velsigne deg!”

I giggled at his joke. I liked seeing him happy and smiling. How odd - a man I knew for less than twenty four full hours and I already cared and wanted to see him solely happy and smiling.

“You quite surprised me with your cards yesterday.” He commented, finishing off a few grapes.

I smiled triumphantly, my mind caressing the deck in my purse.

“Can I at least help with the dishes?” I pleaded as he collected our empty plates.

“Slå deg løs!” He cheered, handing me over the plates and utensils.

I gave myself a mental memo to ask him later what that meant.

Sven crossed his arms on his chest, shoulder against the refrigerator and stood there watching me wash his dishes as if it was the most entertaining thing he had witnessed in an appreciable while - which made me unreasonably blush. It was odd, being scrutinized by this - wait - let me rephrase that more appropriately; that moment of my life where I washed a Norwegian man’s dishes after breakfast in his kitchen. Talk about living life!

I dried my hands on the cloth hanging under the sink and asked, wondering if I sounded more like a housewife or a sports rookie addressing his coach.

“So - what’s next?”

“Well, we could settle down in the living room and talk.” He offered casually. “You like tea?”

“Green or chaï, if you have...” I sort of asked.

Anything but fruity lies which are sour flavorless disappointments without three spoonfuls of sugar. Also, not a huge fan of Orange Pekoe, not that I want to be a fine mouth but - and please for the love of... whatever or whoever applies - no Earl Grey. I will straight up punch you in the face if you offer that drinkable hot liquid aftershave. I rambled silently at the speed of light. Sven opened a cabinet and presented me a box of Twinning’s Green Tea.

“Sold!”

“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll put the water on.”

(1) Kezét csókolom = I kiss your hand (formal, courteous greeting)

(2) Velsigne deg! = Bless you (after someone would have sneezed)

(3) slå deg løs = Knock yourself out

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wethreedovahkiin · 8 years

Text

Chapter 1:Introduction

Introduction: You're Dragonborn Too?

Three strangers meet in an inn and all of them claim to have been called by the Greybeards. Could they really all be Dragonborn? Only time will tell.

Click the read-more to read or Read on AO3 here [xxxx]

The sun was kissing the horizon when they arrived at the small town of Ivarstead. Making their way through, Erik craned his neck to look up at the mountain they would soon be climbing and gave a long whistle. Alepotrypa let her gaze run up and down the mountain, but she made no other comments and kept walking. Erik hummed questioningly.

“Mam, do you think perhaps we should wait until morning to start our climb? Nightfall will surely fall upon us before we make it to the top.”

Alepotrypa waved a gauntlet covered hand in dismissal. “We’ll be fine. I want to get this business settled as quickly as I can,” she answered. Erik nodded and shifted the weight of his sword on his hip. There was little gained from arguing with his employer, something he had learned early on in their adventuring career. He too wanted answers, but he also would like to reach the top of the seven thousand stairs in one piece.

The sun sunk ever lower as the two reached a bridge separating them from their goal. Alepotrypa had one foot on the stone bridge when a local man suddenly shouted, “Wait!” The duo turned to him as he made his way up from the river below the bridge, fresh caught fish hanging from lines in his hand. He panted as he came to a stop in front of them.

“Good evening, sir,” Erik greeted. The man nodded at him.

“Good evening, yourselves. Are you two planning on making the climb to High Hrothgar?” The man asked, pointing towards the top of the mountain.

Erik nodded, “Yes, sir, we are.” He glanced to Alepotrypa, unsure how much of their quest she was willing to give away. She just nodded at the man in answer.

“Tonight?” He asked, a slip of panic in his voice.

“Yes…” Alepotrypa narrowed her eyes at him.

“Oh, no,” the man shook his head solemnly. He shifted the fish in his hand. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. The road is dangerous in the day time alone. I couldn’t even imagine what comes out at night. You’d best get a room at the inn and start your climb in the morning.”

“That does sound like a good-,” Erik started but was cut off as Alepotrypa put a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sure we can handle ourselves, but thank you for the concern,” She said, starting to turn back towards the bridge. The man threw his hand out, the one holding his fish, causing her to recoil back from the swinging, slimy, animals. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Sir, believe-,”

“Miss, I am sure that you wield that great sword at your hip with much power and skill, but you do not know what lives in these hills,” The man’s voice got low and a shudder ran up his spine. “I greatly advise that you do not make this climb at night. Let me pay for a room in the inn for you and a nice flagon of mead! I insist!” He gestured back into town, assumedly in the direction of the inn.

Erik looked up at Alepotrypa, who was trying and failing to keep a scowl off her face, and nudged her with his elbow. She looked to him as he said, giving a shrug and little smile, “It’s just one night.” Employer and apprentice stared at each other for a beat before Alepotrypa sighed in defeat, her shoulders slumping forward. Erik grinned.

“There’s no need for you to pay, but could you kindly show us the way to the inn?”

Slumping off the heavy armor from his back and onto his bed, Erik stretched his arms over his head and leaned backwards, groaning when his back popped in a few places. He moved the armor to the chest at the foot of the bed and debated about storing his sword as well, but ultimately decided to keep it on his person. Just in case. Looking over, Alepotrypa had removed her helmet and placed it in her own chest, but she seemed content enough to keep the rest of her heavy carved armor on. She didn’t take her helm off very much, but Erik always liked it when she did. Her Altmer features were strong and striking, and Erik felt proud to be apprenticing under someone of her stature, despite what many of his Nord cousins would say. Alepotrypa cocked her head towards the door of their room. “Thirsty?”

With a flagon of mead each, the duo sat down at an empty table near the hearth fire in the middle of the inn. The sun hadn’t set all the way yet, but Wilhelm, the innkeeper, was going around to each table and lighting the candles that sat upon them. The bard plucked on her lute softly from a stool near the fire, humming a gentle song. There were a few people scattered amongst the other tables including two Nord men having a quiet conversation and a lone figure with their hood pulled up sipping a bottle of wine. The fisherman, Klimmek they learned his name was, who had led the way to the inn, was currently seated at the bar front.

Erik took a swig of his drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He smiled and thanked Wilhelm when the man lit the candles on their table, and reached out for a piece of cheese that sat on a plate in front of him. He broke it in half and offered half to his companion, whom he at that point noticed was holding her cup to her lips but not drinking. Instead she was staring at the lone figure at the table across the way from them, her eyes practically burning holes into their back. Erik tapped her arm gently, “Mam?”

Alepotrypa started, almost sloshing her mead from her cup, and looked down at Erik who gazed at her with concern. He still held out the half of cheese wedge, so she took it from him and thanked him, taking a bite. “Is everything alright?” Erik asked, biting into his own food.

His employer tilted her head towards the lone figure and loud enough so that only he could hear said, “That person is a vampire.” Erik swore he saw the alleged vampire’s shoulders suddenly hunch as if they were trying to shrink down and hide. Alepotrypa’s grip on her cup tightened. “A powerful one at that. I smelled it when we walked in, but I couldn’t pinpoint who it was till now.”

“Should we do something about it?”

“We will, but not in here. Let’s wait until we can get it alone,” She took a deep drink. “Just keep an eye on it for now.” Erik nodded solemnly and took another bite from his cheese wedge. A companionable silence fell over them as they ate and listened to the bard’s soft music. They waved goodbye to Klimmek when he left a few minutes later, wishing him a good night, and Erik got up to get refills on their drinks. When he sat back down, two new individuals were entering the inn, a Khajiit and a Nord.

“Ahh!” exclaimed the Khajiit much too loudly for the current atmosphere, his tail swishing back and forth from under his armor. “It is so warm in here, Argis!” His partner, Argis, just nodded at him and set a heavy hand on the small of his back, leading him to the bar where Wilhelm stood cleaning a flagon. The two paid for a room, disappeared into it for a few minutes, and then reappeared with less armor. They ordered drinks and sat down at the empty table to the left of Alepotrypa and Erik.

Erik couldn’t help but stare at the Khajiit. He had seen so few of them, mostly in passing as they sold their wares along roads, that being so close he wanted to take in everything about him. An elbow to his side told him that his employer thought this rude and to stop it right then.

Argis pulled out a worn leather bound notebook, opened it to a bookmarked page, and began writing in it. The Khajiit scooted so close to him he was practically in his lap and watched as he wrote. After a few minutes the Khajiit, who had no idea what volume control was, pointed to something on the page and shook his head, “No, no! It was not brown! It was definitely bronze. Ricardio remembers this well.” Argis paused for a second and then continued writing under close scrutiny of the Khajiit, Ricardio. A few more sentences and he once again pointed a claw at the page and questioned, “Is that how that is spelled? Is it not D-O-V-A-H? Do-VAHkiin?” Argis studied the word a moment before correcting it, Ricardio grinning. What they did not notice was that three others in the inn suddenly looked over at them at the utterance of the ancient word.

Erik tapped Alepotrypa’s arm and whispered, “Mam, what do you think it means?” but she just shushed him and continued eavesdropping. Not that it was very hard to do so with the way Ricardio spoke. He had finished his drink and thus untangled himself from Argis and went up to the bar to get a refill. He thanked Wilhelm when he handed him the full cup.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” Wilhelm asked conversationally. Ricardio shook his head and grinned.

“Ah, what gave it away? Ricardio’s accent or tail?” He laughed at his own joke and Wilhelm chuckled. “Ricardio has actually lived in Skyrim for many years now, but this is the first time visiting Ivarstead.”

“And what brings you to our little town?”

“We,” he pointed back to Argis who was still writing. “Are going to see the Greybeards!”

“Ah, well good luck to you. The Greybeards are a solitary lot. I don't think they've ever ventured outside their monastery. We get the occasional pilgrim passing through here on their way to the summit, but almost all of them have returned disappointed,” Wilhelm informed. Ricardio nodded and assured Wilhelm that they definitely would get an audience with the Greybeards, he was positive of it. Wilhelm gave him an ‘if you say so’ look. He thanked Wilhelm for the drink and talk and sat back down next to Argis, who had just put his journal away. Before either one of them could take a drink, a figure sat down at their table directly across from them.

Alepotrypa’s head whipped back to the table across from her as she did a double take. When had the vampire risen and moved all the way across the room? Erik did the same thing, his hand instinctively going to his sword hilt at his waist. Alepotrypa bade him wait, curious to see what the vampire wanted with the couple, but ready to attack at a moment’s notice.

“Oh, hello!” Ricardio greeted the figure with only vague uncertainty. He glanced around the inn, confirming the fact that there were empty tables, so why had this person sat down with them? Argis narrowed his eyes at the newcomer.

“Hello,” uttered a smooth voice from under the hood. The vampire placed her elbows on the table and gestured towards the couple nonchalantly. “I couldn’t help but overhear you talking about going up to High Hrothgar to see the Greybeards.” Ricardio nodded. “That is the very reason I am here too.” When she tilted her head back, Ricardio could see yellow eyes shining bright in the darkness of her hood.

“A-are you a pilgrim?” He asked, scooting minutely closer to Argis who placed his arm around his waist.

“No,” The vampire replied with a slow drawl. She glanced over to neighboring table where the other duo sat (and were busy pretending like they weren’t eavesdropping) and then back to Ricardio. “I was summoned by the Greybeards.” Both couples gasped, and then Ricardio grinned and started giggling.

“That’s why we came!” He patted Argis’s shoulder excitedly.

“Oh? Where did you hear the call?”

“Ah! We were outside of Markarth just a ways fighting uh…”

“Bandits,” Argis supplied, deadpan.

“Bandits! Yes! And we were on our way back, when suddenly a dragon shows up! A bronze dragon,” Ricardio looked pointedly at Argis who rolled his good eye. “So, we fight and take it down, yes? But suddenly, it begins to glow, and Ricardio begins to glow, and it is like Ricardio absorbed the dragon’s soul. Was very exciting, yes?” He looks to Argis who nods and then back at the stranger. “It is not long after that the sky shakes with the sound of the Greybeards calling out-,”

“Dovahkiin?” Ricardio, Alepotrypa, and the stranger all say in unison. Ricardio and the stranger look over at Alepotrypa in confusion. She finished her drink before standing and making her way to the end of the adjacent table, Erik right behind her. Ricardio leaned forward to greet her while the vampire leaned away.

“You heard it too? And felt the pull to answer it?” The stranger questioned with a sharp tongue.

“Yes, I did,” Alepotrypa snapped back in the same tone. “We,” Erik waved. “Killed a dragon about a mile from Windhelm, and I too seemed to absorb its essence. It was then the Greybeards called, and I knew where I was meant to go.” She glared at the darkness under the hood but when she looked to Ricardio she was surprised the man hadn’t burst apart from excitement. He was practically vibrating in his seat, a huge smile plastered on his face. “What about you? What’s your story?” She asked the vampire, crossing her arms over her chest.

The vampire chuckled and circled her hand in the air dismissively, “I too took down a dragon, right outside Whiterun, consumed its soul, and heard the call. People who were around at the time kept calling me ‘Dragonborn, Dragonborn’, and so here I am to figure out what it all means.”

“But what does this mean? I’ve never heard of there being three Dragonborn at once,” Erik spoke up from beside Alepotrypa.

Argis nodded in agreement. “He’s right. I’ve never heard any legend mention multiples,” he said in a gruff voice.

“That’s what makes this so exciting! Oh, Ricardio cannot wait to see the Greybeards and hear what they have to say about this!” Ricardio clapped his hands excitedly, small bits of sparks shooting from them. “When are you planning to climb the seven thousand steps? We were going to head out at first light.”

“That is when we were planning to go too,” Alepotrypa said, moving her hands to her hips and looking towards the vampire with a raised eyebrow.

Glancing at the window behind her apprehensively, the sun was completely set now, the vampire nodded slowly and said, “Yes… first light. That was my plan as well.”

Ricardio clapped his hands again. “Then it’s settled! Let’s all meet at the bridge in the morning and we can set off together!” The others nodded and agreed. “Great!” Ricardio stood suddenly like he was going to run off to bed that second so that he would be ever closer to the morning.

“Uh, perhaps we should introduce ourselves before we do anything?” Erik suggested. Ricardio gasped and his hands flew to his face.

“OH! How rude! I apologize! Please, call me Ricardio, and this is my husband Argis,” Argis waved.

“I am Alepotrypa, and this is my apprentice Erik,” Said apprentice nudged her and she rolled her eyes. “Sorry. Erik the Slayer.” Erik beamed and Ricardio chuckled. As they turned to the final member of the group, she reached up and pulled back her hood. Her shining yellow eyes were dulled in the candle light, but when she smiled her teeth were sharp and white.

“My name is Katasandra. Pleased to make all of your acquaintances,” She said, spinning her hand in the air and bowing her head. Alepotrypa scrunched her nose in displeasure. Of course it would be a Bosmer. Katasandra shot Alepotrypa a stern look, but then smirked and winked at her. Alepotrypa glared.

“Wonderful!” Ricardio giggled. “Katasandra, Alepotrypa, Erik the Slayer! May you all rest well tonight for tomorrow we begin a long journey together.”

#skyrim #skyrim oc #the elder scrolls #story #alepotrypa #katasandra #ricardio #argis #erik #chapter 1 #intro

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