#first time drawing wolves so no criticism allowed | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jjungkooksthighs · 4 years ago

Text

Claws of Carnality | jjk (3)

Pairing: alpha jungkook x omega reader

Genre: smut, fluff and angst, abo/werewolf, fantasy

Rating: 18+ / nsfw

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: alpha!jungkook, possessive!jungkook, omega!reader, mentions of breeding/ruts/heats, mentions of a mark, slick and pre-ejaculatory production, scenting

Summary: Denial is a crude adversary in how it battles your want to accept the alpha that has no shadings of doubt that you are, in fact, his mate. He intends to clear things up for you using the one surefire thing that will, however, prove him to truly be yours and you are utterly helpless in denying him.

A/N: So, here we are with part three already. Goodness, I can’t even believe how much attention this has gotten so far. Please keep it up, you guys! It really feeds my creative juices and encourages me when you guys let me know what you think of the stories I put out! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this next part. Things are gradually going to begin to heat up from here on out and I can’t wait to see how you all react!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

You try to swim through the flurry of thoughts, the floundering disbelief heavy as you wade through it in spite of the amused alpha that watches you with interest as a myriad of expressions pull at your features. It’s difficult to keep yourself afloat amidst the frenzy of emotions that cascade over you and your alpha notices this in the way that you fidget where you stand in the intensity with which he regards you, your hand clutching at your skirt as you inhale through your mouth to attempt to replace the air that eludes you.

One side of his lips curl upward in the effect he’s already had on you that only deepens in your silent refusal to acknowledge the final piece of the puzzle that would complete the missing segment of conviction still lost to you.

Unlike you, Jungkook has not an inkling of doubt that you are, without question, his mate. He just hadn’t known up until a few moments ago that you are to become something so much deeper than that to him that will extend into his very being, for even he’d had no idea that you are destined to be his soulmate in which there hasn’t been a pair of wolves like that for many thousands of years.

It all made sense to him in how his eyes had found themselves magnetized to the opposite pole that was you, the constant holder of his attention whenever he’d had the privilege to watch you frolic gleefully with your omegean friends outside your den whenever he passed by through the cover of the trees after a successful hunt, his own scent masked by the carcasses of his prey.

He’d never been able to explain the inexplicable pull toward you that had grasped him unrelentingly until he’d managed to catch sight or smell of you to, nor had it made sense to him why he’d wanted to express himself to you so much so that he’d danced in effort to satisfy the need to bask in the warmth of your intrigued gaze.

Nothing has ever quite compared to the way that his blood races when you so much as glance at him now that he thinks on it and gods, he longs for you to welcome him now as eagerly as you had in the supposed safety of dreams. Even now the inebriating scent of you coils around him insistently as it begs for him to come closer to the source of his desires he’s yearned for years.

It’s not as easy for you to accept this, though, no matter how much you want to. Gods, do you want to.

In light of the bright, flashing signs that your wolf begs for you to heed, there’s a very critical and very crucial element that would immediately clear away the lingering shadow of denial that this creature before you who looks to have been crafted by the gods is meant to be yours. Despite your purebred omegean blood that distinguishes you as the most desirable of candidates for alphas and betas alike in the rarity of such a pedigree amongst your dynamic, Jeon Jungkook could have any bitch in the pack he wished. There were many others who you believed looked better and gave back to the clan more than the likes of you.

And in the self-consciousness that shackles you, you had not breathed through your nose ever since he’d brought himself near to you.

You know that the moment that you do, there will be no question that he is truly the alpha from your dreams who boldly claims to be your mate, for the intoxicating scent of him that had incensed itself within you was deliciously unforgettable in the way it had had the power to have you glistening with slick upon a single whiff. Because of that, there is a reason that you are actively choosing not to use your olfactory sense around him.

Only within the old tales written in the aged tomes of the compound’s archives which are guarded by the elders has there been recollections of the legendary lupi antiquis, who were the progenitors of the werewolf race. These creatures were incarnations of nature manifested into the bodies of wolves that were guided by the moon’s phases in the celestial body’s wish to bring life to the earth in the decay of other mythical creatures who had grown sad and lifeless without a companion in the rarity of which they’d roamed.

To ensure the strongest and most virile of the moon’s creations found a partner that would belong and be designed solely for them, it was said that the celestial body preselected the companion that would remain loyal to them through the entirety of their life by choosing for them a soulmate.

The word has always been held close your heart in the romantic radiance of it, for it had been said that a bond unlike any other in the lupine world burgeoned inside two destined mates of the moon’s selection among the abilities that allow such a pair to share thoughts and feelings with one another telepathically across insurmountable distances in addition to each wolf becoming stronger where the alpha would gain physical strength while the omega would be granted bolstered mental fortitude.

Beyond that, the wolf’s kiss could cure their mate of any ailment or injury in the profound love that the very essences of each kindred spirit were vested with as they longed ardently to remain together forever and always.

As time had passed, the word had begun to become diluted in the diminished occurrences with which it happened as more and more werewolves began to populate and once pure bloodlines became soured by excessive mating between different partners in the uncontrollable ruts and heats that drove them to couple with any wolf in the vicinity under the influence purely of instinct to breed and be bred.

Many lives had been lost during the violent, territorial battles over both alphas and omegas for a partner that often ended in death to one or both participants, the lessons of the past yielding guidance to the future generation in the written accounts left behind so that the fledgling pups that came after would not suffer as the earlier wolves had.

It is why your pack has such defined rules now upon the presentation or period of peak maturity for omegas in particular because they have always been the desired mates of alphas.

It is also how the entire compound knows when the last happening of two soulmates was, which had been a couple thousand years ago when the moon had aligned with the rest of the planetary bodies in the meticulously structured history courses that all maturing wolves are mandated to take and in the stories that are told by the elders over annual bonfires celebrating the bonding between two wolves.

Perhaps it is all of these reasons that have every wolf in your pack still able to discern and recognize the defined series of circumstances that present themselves between two lupine creatures fated to be each other’s soulmate.

The first is the gift of sight, which allows each lupine creature to see the eyes of their mate. The second is the gift of olfaction, which is the amalgamation of scents naturally produced from the scent gland of each wolf that have the ability to draw the undivided attention of their destined other so temptingly that it causes sudden production of either slick for omegas and pre-ejaculative fluid for alphas. In addition, this one is powerful enough that it acts an effluvious vice that impulses each lupine creature in how desirously their mate can waft into and draw out their counterpart’s instincts.

Each are granted only after the moon lights a path for them both to meet, but that hadn’t happened for you, had it? After all, it’s not like the stream of dreams every night after the last eclipse could have-

Your eyes widen bigger than the largest star as your cheeks color themselves redder than a ruby in mortification as the links join together and that has the alpha relishing in the adorable sight of you as he croons, “There it is, pretty. I knew you would come around soon enough,” he fixes his sight on the edge of a reddened petal he’d caused to fall over your skin in your supposed fantasy that peeks out from under the edge of your silken choker that he wishes he could tear off of you and add more of his marks to as he continues, “Did you think I would allow my mate to suffer with how desperately you whined and how loudly you howled for me?”

You fumble for words in the embarrassment that soaks you as you try to speak past a mouth that is dryer than the desert while you shake your head like you’re in a daze and you might as well be in how incapable you are of rationalizing at this point.

“This can’t be… it can’t be possible.” You whisper quietly as if thinking aloud and Jungkook finds that he appreciates the sound of you, that he is pleased in how you’ve finally chosen to use that cute voice of yours and let him into your thoughts.

The alpha coos, “Oh, my pretty omega, but it can,” he takes one calculated step closer, “Come on, little omega, smell me. Do not think that I have not caught on to the fact that you haven’t used your nose in your efforts to deny this, to deny me.” His honeyed voice slathers itself over you, as you melt under its thickness, “You asked your alpha to come find you and I have, pretty. Now, it’s time for you to do the same. Scent me and see that I am the one the moon has promised you to, that I am the alpha you belong to.”

He delivers his words to you in the form of a command as he takes another step toward you only to have your heart beat faster against your ribcage, your wolf lowering its head in submission as you try to make yourself smaller under his searing, prompting gaze and the longer that you dangerously surrender yourself to those golden irises that are still speckled with the silver that mirrors your own, your resistance cracks and folds gradually under his increasingly prominent pressure. It can only be compacted and compressed so much until nothing remains and, unable to disobey his directive, you swallow a thick lump of nervousness down your throat before clearing it as he looks on expectantly.

His avid attention sears into you doggedly and, under its power, your omega blood boils in need to heed him and, purely driven by your body’s desideratum to yield to him without the input of any cognizant thought, your hand finds itself slowly and tentatively lifting toward the exposed neck that he has bared torturously against the obscenely opened shirt. The fluttery wings of anticipation flap animatedly within you as the alpha watches with intrigue, allowing you to slowly near him.

Your fingers do not stall as they ghost over the notch between his collarbones as you dare to allow yourself to touch the skin that tries to reach for you in the waves of heat that roll off of him and when you turn your hand so that the soft underside of your wrist just barely manages to rub against his sensitive scent gland that all but strains and pulses against you, your breath hitches as a deep rumble of a growl tumbles from his throat in response.

It is not a sound born of aggression, but of satisfaction that has your omega preening under its euphoniously low trill and when his fingers close around your forearm to possessively drag your radiocarpal joint back and forth over the intimate area that secretes pheromones wantonly for you, your wolf sings at his hot touch, at the way that his fingers curl deliciously over your delicate skin.

The whole time, his irises flash tellingly in gratification that has you helplessly falling for the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that exists, the only thing that matters as he greedily drinks in the way your mouth has parted dazedly while he coats himself in your own essence that is produced richly from the glands in your wrist.

The scent glands of the neck were far stronger, far more potent, but right now, he will take from you what you decide to give. There will be time for more later, he is sure.

Your delicious scent is quick to consume him, the sound that drips from his lips deepening in pitch as your aroma drapes itself over him in its entirety before sinking into his very pores until he’s momentarily drunk off you, his pupils enlarging until there is only you.

“Gods,” he utters, “you smell like sin, pretty. You’re like a fucking aphrodisiac in how you tempt me.” Somewhere in his pants, his cock twitches to life at the mere scent of you as your carnal essence awakens something far too primal within him.

“J-Jungkook,” you whimper, your wolf baying in delight at his admission and wantful actions.

In response to him, your own irises dilate as your heart pangs wildly against your chest, breath a hard companion to come by in his overbearingly alluring presence that seeks your own in the warmth of his skin that reaches longingly for you.

You can’t begin to rationalize how long he slides your wrist sinfully against him as he makes a point of trailing your radiocarpal joint over the vast expanse of muscles that line his neck as they all but jump at your touch as the sound that tumbles from his lips darkens impossibly more only to draw out a whine from you. Minutes or hours could have passed since this started, but you have no care in the world because of how caught you are under his simmering stare.

Once he’s secure in the knowledge that succulent scent of you has smeared him to the point of no return, that’s when he pulls your hand back until he holds it under your nostrils while his mouth waters at the delectable waft of you through his own that sets his very blood on fire.

His fingers sink wonderfully into your skin and it is positively unholy in how his heat permeates you until you’re filled gloriously with it he orders, “Go on now, my pretty omega. Breathe me in until every last doubt is torn from you and all you can think about is me,” his breath is hot against your cheek as he inches impossibly closer in the need to be impossibly closer to you as you shakily exhale while he finishes, “Drink me in until this little body of yours is sated in the sweet recognition of the alpha that owns it.”

His words settle viscously over you and in the command of the alpha that you are helpless to resist with your omegean blood, you do. You did not want to fight this, did not want to fight him. It went against your baser instincts and nature to do so. It was all just your self-consciousness that had bound you back and away from him, but under his attention that does not waver in the imposing neediness of it that glints with a savage saturation dripping from his very being, you can’t withstand it. So, you obey.

The change is immediate.

Upon the first whiff of him that drizzles up through your nostrils to trickle fluidly like that of a delicious philter through you, your every cell is flooded with stimulation that is guided by the heady essence that is decidedly and uniquely him. He tastes of newly dewed grasses that are accented by an earthly underlayer and somehow it is all bolstered by the overwhelmingly delicious amalgamation of blooming gardenia, black vanilla and freshly matured pear.

A sudden deposit of slick finds itself between your folds that glisten to life and it earns a sharp growl from him as he brings one lip between his teeth.

He reeks of pungently dangerous desire that beckons your very being and your eyes roll to the back of your head at in its insistent invitation as he fills you with his quintessence and soon your body can no longer bear your weight in the way that his strong incense curls around you to have your limbs grow weak under its inexorable consummation of you.

Your weakly whisper, “Alpha…my alpha,” the concession quick to run through your veins as you yield to him.

Your legs begin to tremble precariously with each breath you take in effort to collect as much of him as you can, the familiar smell exactly alike to that of the one belonging to the wolf from your dreams as understanding and recognition saturate your being.

“Omega,” Jungkook breathes, satisfaction washing over him as he watches your body react so affectedly to him.

And when your body is no longer able to bear your weight in how quickly the alpha has drawn away their strength through his own power, he is there.

At the same time that your head falls back and your sense of equilibrium leaves you through numbed legs, one of his large hands finds its place along your nape while one muscled arm wraps around your back to pull you against the built planes of an aureate chest as he croons, “My beautiful omega. You’ve acknowledged me at long last. Such a good girl for me, you are,” he angles his head low so that his heated breath once more billows against you, “I’m going to take you with me to the forest now, pretty. Once we’re there, you’re going to watch me shift so that I can hunt just for you. When I return,” his pink tongue darts outward to wet his lips as his gaze surges with hunger, “I expect my mate to be waiting for me before I let every wolf in this fucking compound know that you’re mine when I claim you at the ceremony tonight.”

Your breath stutters at that and when his arms dip to collect you like his bride as he tucks you against the muscled chest that you subconsciously lean into you in the safety that pours from him that your wolf relishes in. Through it all, you can only barely utter, “As you wish, alpha.”

As he holds you close, you nuzzle your alpha and there’s a high-pitched, satisfied purr that easily cascades through your throat in the warmth and security that his able body offers. You care not how far your song of satisfaction is carried in the winds that swell against you only to roll tauntingly over all the alphas in the distance that Jungkook is in charge of as the pack alpha’s son who is meant to one day lead the compound.

All that matters is that you’ve found your alpha and that he, in turn, has found you.

High in the sky, the moon hides behind the awakening sun as golden rays begin to filter searchingly through the thick underbrush of the forest lining the horizon as far as the eye can see.

#btsbookclub #bangtanarmynet #werewolf!jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #bts smut #bts abo #bts #jungkook #dom!jungkook #alpha!jungkook #alpha jungkook #alpha omega bts #alpha jungkook x omega reader #werewolf jungkook #jungkook hot #soulmate au

2K notes · View notes

aion-rsa · 3 years ago

Text

Squid Game’s Scathing Critique of Capitalism

https://ift.tt/3kOEMpF

This Squid Game article contains MAJOR spoilers.

From the very first game of ddakji out in the real world with Train to Busan actor Gong Yoo, Squid Game poses the question: how far would you go for money? How much of your body, your life, would you trade to keep the wolves at bay and to get to live the life you’ve always dreamed? Once you start, could you stop, even if you wanted to? And in the end, would it even be worth it? While Squid Game depicts an attempt to answer these questions taken to the extreme, they are the same essential questions posed to everyone living under capitalism: What kind of job, what terrible hours, what back-breaking labor, what level of abuse, what work/life imbalance will we tolerate in exchange for what we need or want to live? Unlike many examples of this genre, Squid Game is set in our contemporary reality, which makes its scathing critique of capitalism less of a metaphor for the world we live in and more of a literal depiction of life under capitalism.

Squid Game’s Workers

At the most basic level, the entire competition within Squid Game would not exist without extreme financial distress creating a ready pool of players. It’s no coincidence that Gi-hun’s hard times started when he lost his job, followed by violence against the workers who went on strike. Strike-breakers and physical violence against striking workers may feel like an antiquated idea to an American audience. South Korea, however, has something of an anti-labor reputation, with only 10% of its workers in unions and laws limiting unions to negotiating pay, among other restrictions. In the US, the anti-labor fight is alive and well, though transformed, where it takes the shape of the deceptively named “Right to Work” laws, which benefit corporations and make it harder for unions to operate.

As noted in our review, (most of) the players choose to leave and then willingly return to the arena, which separates Squid Game from other entries in the genre like the Hunger Games series and Escape Room. This element of volition contributes to the series’ primary critical goal. As Mi-nyeo and others brought up early on, they’re getting killed in the real world too, but at least inside they might actually get something for their troubles.

As an anti-capitalist parable, the only ways to fight back or upend the game in some small way are through acts of solidarity or by turning down the allure of the cash. The final clause in the game’s consent form states that the game can end if a majority of players agree to do so. After the brutal Red Light, Green Light massacre in the first, they do exactly that. The election might as well be a union vote. It’s shocking that the contract for the game included an escape clause at all, but it seems the host and his ilk enjoy at least allowing the illusion of free will if nothing else. The players who didn’t return after the first vote to leave the game, though unseen in this narrative, are perhaps the wisest of all.

Squid Game’s Most Heartbreaking Hour is Also Its Best

By Kayti Burt

Squid Game Ending Explained

By Kayti Burt

During tug of war, Gi-hun’s team surprises everyone by winning. Their teamwork, unity of purpose, and superior strategy help them defeat a stronger adversary, which is a basic principle of labor organizing, albeit usually not at the expense of the lives of other workers. Player 1 (Il-nam) and Player 240 (Ji-yeong) each find their own way to beat the game by essentially backing out of the competition during marbles. In exchange for friendship and choosing the circumstances of their own deaths, Ji-yeong and Il-nam each make their own, ethically sound choice under this miserable system. Il-nam gets an asterisk since he was never going to die, but he still found a choice beyond merely “kill” or “be killed” by teaching his Gganbu one “last” lesson and helping him continue on in the game.

In the end, Gi-hun confounds the VIPs and the Front Man by coming to the precipice of victory and simply walking away. Under capitalism, this group of incredibly rich men simply could not understand how someone could come so close to claiming their prize, and choose not to. But for Gi-hun, human life always had greater value. Gi-hun followed (Player 67) Sae-byeok’s advice and stayed true to himself, refusing to actively take anyone’s life, especially not the life of his friend.

Squid Game’s Ruling Class

Since the competition only exists because of the worst aspects of capitalism, it’s not surprising that in the end, it is itself a capitalist endeavor. Ultra-wealthy VIPs, who mostly seem to be white, Western men, spectate for a price and bet on the game. In their luxury accommodations, they lounge on silent human “furniture” and mistreat service staff. In one notable example, a VIP threatens to kill a server (who the audience knows to be undercover cop Hwang Jun-ho) if he doesn’t remove his mask, even though the VIP knows it would cost the server his life.

Perhaps most enraging of all is what Player 1, who turns out to actually be the Host, has to say to Gi-hun a year after the game ends. It all circles back to the game’s existential connection to economics; on the one hand, there is the unshakeable link to a population in which a significant portion of people suffer from dire financial woes. On the other hand, there is the Host and his cronies, the ultra-rich who are so bored from their megarich lives that they decided to bet on deadly human bloodsport for fun just so they could feel something again, as though they were betting on horses.

In spite of the enormous gulf between the two, the Host attempts to draw comparisons between the ultra-wealthy and the extreme poor, saying both are miserable. His little joke denies the reality of hunger, early death, trauma, and many other ways that being poor is actively harmful, both physically and mentally. It’s the kind of slow death that makes risking a quick one in the arena seem reasonable. He and his buddies were just kind of bored. Moreover, the Host denies the role of economic coercion in players taking part in the game, insisting that everyone was there of their own free will. But what free will can there be for people who owe millions, with families at home to care for and creditors at their back, when someone comes along and offers a solution, even a dangerous one? Anyone who has taken a dodgy job offer to get away from a worse one, or because they’re unemployed and the rent and college loans are due, knows that there is a limit to how truly free our choices can be when we need money, especially if there’s little to no safety net.

Why Are Squid Game’s English-Language Actors So Bad?

By Kayti Burt

Best Squid Game Doll Sightings

By Kayti Burt

Throughout the series, it is clear that someone had to be funding Squid Game at a high level. Unlike science fiction or fantasy takes, the show is grounded in our current reality, so the large-scale, high-tech obstacles and the island locale must have cost a pretty penny. Of course for any who see it as unrealistic, consider the example of Jeffrey Epstein, a man who bought an island from the US government and ran a sexual abuse and human trafficking ring not entirely disimilar (though far more pedestrian in its purpose) from this one.

The Host is able to pay for everything because he works in – you guessed it – banking. It’s a profession where he gained wealth by moving capital around. Given the Korean debt crisis – South Korea has the highest household debt in the world, both in size and growth – his profession makes him a worthy villain, in the same way the Lehman Brothers were after the 2008 crash. The bank executive calls in Gi-hun to offer him investment products and services, because of course someone with 45 billion won can accrue significantly more money passively, and who wouldn’t want that? Gi-hun’s decision to walk away is a callback to his earlier attempt to walk away from Squid Game when millions of dollars was within his grasp.

Throughout the series, the people running the game actively pit the players against one another in much the same way capitalism pits workers against one another. Whether they’re giving the players less food to encourage a fight overnight, the daily influx of cash every time another player dies, or giving them knives for the evening, the mysterious people pulling the strings want the players to fight each other like crabs in a barrel so they can’t work together to figure out what’s going on or take on the guys in red jumpsuits. Though there are notable examples of the players working together to succeed, it is always within the rules of the system. It is never treated as a viable or likely option for the players to team up and take the blood money literally hanging over their heads or to prevent death, merely to redirect it or choose how they will die. No, to win that, they must play the Squid Game’s rules.

In our society, this kind of worker-vs-worker rhetoric takes the form of employers telling workers their workload is harder or they can’t go on vacation or get a raise because of fellow employees who leave or go on maternity leave.. In reality, these are all normal aspects of managing a business that employers should plan for, and their failure to do so is not the fault of their workers. Much like in Squid Game, it benefits managers and owners if workers are too busy being mad at each other to have time or energy to fight the system and those who make unjust rules in the first place.

Squid Game’s Managers

The Front Man insists the game is fair, gruesomely hanging the dead bodies of those involved in the organ harvesting scheme because they traded medical knowledge for advanced intel on the game. However, like capitalism, there are many ways that the system is clearly rigged, no matter what the people at the top insist. There’s the obvious corruption in the organ harvesting ring, but even at its “purest” form, the game is not equitable. Sometimes the managers and soldiers in red jumpsuits stand by when unfair things happen, like Deok-su and his cronies stealing food. At other times, the people in charge intervene in player squabbles, like enforcing nonviolence during marbles and elections but encouraging violence at other times. They especially set things up to their own advantage, such as cutting the lights so the players couldn’t see the glass in the penultimate game, or the way they set up the election. Everyone knew how everyone else voted, they shared the total amount of money immediately beforehand, in an attempt to sway votes, calling to mind Amazon’s scare tactics before the recent unionization vote.

Culture

Squid Game Competitions, As Played By BTS

By Kayti Burt

Movies

Squid Game: Best Deadly Competition TV Shows & Movies to Watch Next

By Kayti Burt and 3 others

Ultimately, much like any manager/employer, the Front Man’s insistence on fairness has nothing to do with the actual value of equality, but rather the capitalist need to ensure betters are happy with the stakes and their chance at a favorable outcome.

Even the workers, soldiers and managers in red jumpsuits, who seem to be in charge, are ultimately only in power (and alive) so long as they serve the needs of the system. Like so many low-level managers, many wield their tiny amount of power ruthlessly, shooting players with impunity or running their organ harvesting side gig. It soon becomes clear that they’re as expendable as players, if not moreso, and the Front Man shoots them without hesitating. A player asks (and it’s too bad we never learned) what “they” did to the people in red jumpsuits to get them to run this game, but it’s not too hard to guess. They seem to be very young men, who likely needed money and wouldn’t be missed if they never returned.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

The biggest trick capitalism ever pulled was convincing workers it’s a zero-sum game, that anything we want but don’t have is the fault of someone else who “took it” from us. Within the game, that means every player was a living obstacle to the money, and that Gi-hun should kill his childhood friend to succeed and celebrate when he’s done. But as we see after he “wins,” even without taking Sang-woo’s life himself, the money isn’t worth it. The greater success would have been both men walking out of the arena alive.

The post Squid Game’s Scathing Critique of Capitalism appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3CUfVXz

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

8 notes · View notes

razieltwelve · 4 years ago

Text

Kill Order (Final Rose)

As the explosion raged against her glyph, Weiss activated Luna’s personal forcefield and all but threw the girl at one of her bodyguards. “Get her behind cover.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The explosion finally began to peter out, and Weiss began to bark orders at the other bodyguards. “Team 1, you’re with me. Team 2, I want you to split, take the buildings on either side. Sweep the rooftops.” She paused as a low, angry growl filled the air. “Zahn...” The wolf glanced at her, and Weiss gave the order. “Kill.”

X X X

What sets Oerban timber wolves apart from most of their lupine kin is not merely their size although they are the largest wolves in the world. Instead, what truly makes them unique is how heavily they make use of Aura during combat. Like chocobos, Oerban timber wolves have learned how to enhance their strength, speed, and durability using Aura.

An adult Oerban timber wolf is more than capable of completely ignoring small arms fire, and more powerful wolves have been known to remain combat capable even after being struck by anti-tank rounds. To maximise their combat effectiveness, the Yun often equip their wolves with collars and bracers that contain personal forcefields and Aura batteries. The objective is to allow the wolf to reach their opponent without sustaining major damage. Once the wolf reaches their target, the result is often largely academic.

X X X

Zahn reached the first White Fang assassin and simply clamped his jaws around the Faunus’s head. The assassin’s Aura flared briefly and then shattered like glass. The wolf’s massive jaws closed with a wet thump, and he tossed the dead man aside as a stream of gunfire raced toward him.

Instincts that had been honed by years of training allowed him to zigzag through the oncoming barrage until he reached his next target. This one drew a sword and swiped at his side. The wolf leapt over the blow and crashed into the rabbit Faunus. The woman screamed as he brought one paw down with punishing force. To her credit, her Aura withstood the first blow, so Zahn twisted, seizing her leg in his jaws, and swung her into a nearby streetlight.

The metal bent beneath the force of the blow, and he shook his head and brought her down onto the pavement. Her Aura broke, and the concrete sidewalk cratered. Blood splattered the ground, and he fought the urge to howl as he bounded toward the group of White Fang firing on the members of his pack.

They saw him coming, and he understood immediately that he would not be able to dodge so many attacks. Instead, he would have to rely on his Aura and the defences his pack leaders had given him. Light flashed around him as those defences and his Aura withstood the onslaught. One of the White Fang gestured sharply, and an explosion threatened to drive him back.

Zahn roared and threw himself forward through the cloud of fire and force. He slammed into the closest assassin, and his sheer mass sent the man tumbling back. Rising to his feet, Zahn rammed another Faunus into a car, crumpling the vehicle and crushing the woman against it. A swipe of his paws sent a male Faunus tumbling through the air before he lunged at the one with the most Aura.

Another explosion bloomed to life against him, and Zahn felt the bracer on his rear left leg crack. That wasn’t good, but he still had three others and his collar. More importantly, he had managed to reach his opponent. With a blur of movement, the Faunus drew a spear and stabbed at his side. Zahn dodged as best he could, and the blow skittered off his flank. His teeth closed around the man’s wrist, and he tried to bite down. His opponent’s Aura resisted the attack, so he turned it into a throw, heaving him into the wall of the building beside them.

“You damn monster!” the Faunus drew a knife with his other hand and drove it toward Zahn’s face.

The wolf let go of the man’s wrist and jerked his head back before lowering his shoulder and driving it into his chest. The corner of the building broke off, and the pair of them rolled across the road. Zahn was on his feet first, and he struck with brutal force. He seized the Faunus’s left ankle in his mouth and used it to slam him into one of the trees that lined the sidewalk. Wood cracked, and Zahn bit down harder. Still, the White Fang member’s Aura refused to break. A desperate slash of the knife clattered against Zahn’s defences, and the wolf swung his head back around and smashed his opponent back into the ruins of the tree. Finally, his Aura broke, and Zahn darted forward.

“Get away from -”

CRUNCH.

Zahn tore off his head and most of his torso with one bit and then turned to scan the rooftops. One of his pack leaders was leading an assault further down the street. There was no need to go to her side. She was well protected. Instead, he would do what he did best. He would hunt. Movement from a nearby rooftop draw his eyes, and Zahn broke into a speedy lope.

X X X

Granite had worked for Weiss Schnee for the better part of five years. He’d been forced into battle several times while serving her, but this was by far the largest conflict he’d been involved in. In a way, he wasn’t surprised. With her wife away on a critical mission, Weiss was far more vulnerable. If Ruby had been here, it was entirely possible that all of their assailants would already be dead. Teleportation and ultra-high-speed movement were absolutely unfair sometimes.

Of course, that was what he and the others were for. Weiss packed more firepower than entire teams of hunters, but she was relatively fragile compared to her teammates. If she got hit - and that was a big if given her defensive glyphs - she wouldn’t be able to simply shrug it off the way someone like Yang Xiao Long could. But as long as he and the other bodyguards could protect her, Weiss was essentially living artillery.

Case in point: the majority of the White Fang’s forces further down the street were currently being bombarded by bolts of super-heated ash travelling at rail-gun-like speeds. Upon impact those bolts would not only inflict hideous damage due to their speed but they would also explode, completely enveloping their target in ash that had been heated to thousands of degrees.

The only thing he and his team needed to do was keep the rooftops clear. A sniper was one of the only threats that stood a chance of getting Weiss, and they’d already eliminated several as they swept the rooftops. Once this was all over, there would definitely have to be an investigation. The White Fang had been all but destroyed for years. How had they managed to gather the resources for an attack of this magnitude?

However, his thoughts were soon interrupted as something burst out of a nearby roof. Well, crap. That was a war mech, a salvaged and heavily modified Atlas model by the looks of it.

“Take it down!” Granite shouted. “Don’t let it fire!”

It was impossible to be completely sure of its load out, but the mech had several missile pods and what appeared to be a heavy plasma cannon on one arm.

“Take out the plasma cannon!” Granite pointed. “Aim for the plasma cannon!”

Missiles filled the air, and he and the others were forced to take cover. He peeked around the corner in time to see the plasma cannon beginning to charge.

“Damn it.” He raised his rifle and fired, but the bullets simply bounced off the mech’s forcefield. However, he must have done some damage because there was a sound like breaking glass as Zahn crashed through the forcefield and bit down on the cannon hard. “Watch the wolf,” he barked.

Swinging back and forth, Zahn managed to brace his feet against the mech’s chassis. With a savage jerk of his head, he ripped the front half of the plasma cannon apart. The weapon shrieked and began spewing plasma everywhere. The wolf leapt clear, and Granite gestured wildly.

“Bring it down! Bring it down!”

One of the other bodyguards picked up a piece of rubble and threw it. The other man’s Semblance turned the projectile into a makeshift grenade, and it exploded against the mech’s side. The machine lumbered and then toppled off the rooftop.

“Don’t let up!” Granite pointed. “Target the cockpit!”

X X X

Weiss took a moment to scan the street for any further danger. Good. The White Fang had been dealt with. Even so, she asked for a full sweep of the area before moving to where Luna had thankfully been kept safe. At her side, Zahn walked proudly. The wolf had proven his worth yet again, and nothing made him happier than doing his bit for his pack.

“Good boy.” Weiss reached over to scratch him behind his ears. “Good boy.” She noticed the blood staining his jaws and muzzle and paused. Hmm... she should probably clean him off a little before they met with Luna.

X X X

Author’s Notes

It’s easy for people to forget because he’s so friendly and easy-going, but Zahn is more than six hundred pounds of lupine death that has been carefully honed over generations of selective breeding with years of training to hone his instincts. Backed up by technology, an adult Oerban timber wolf is extremely dangerous. That said, those same things that make him dangerous make him perfectly safe around Luna. The idea of actually harming her goes against all of his instincts and training. What makes wolves like Zahn even more dangerous is that they are also trained to work together if necessary. Together with their handlers, packs of Oerban timber wolves can and have brought down even S Tier Grimm.

The best bit is that after this, Zahn will probably spend his night being used as a teddy bear by Luna. Since she was kept safe behind cover during the whole fight, she wasn’t scared for herself so much as she was scared that something might happen to Weiss, Zahn, or the bodyguards, many of whom she has come to think of as friends since she’s known them for as long as she can remember.

If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.

I also write original fiction, which you can find on Amazon here or on Audible here.

#final rose #fanfiction #weiss schnee #zahn

8 notes · View notes

quasieli · 4 years ago

Note

top six: fictional characters that give you gender envy, flowers, little things that make you happy and d&d moments :D

Ooh lotsa questions!

Gender Envy:

1) Bow from She-Ra (2018). Something about buff athletic dude who wears crop tops and is soft as hell is very Gender to me.

2) Vax from Critical Role. Pretty boy, kinda goth rogue? That’s sexy as hell and I wish that was me.

3) In a wildly different idea of gender envy, I’ve been thinking about it lately and @quantum-lesbian’s character in the Frostmaiden game I’m in with them, Ambrose, is Big Gender. Beautiful non-binary drow with a starry and kinda witchy aesthetic that dresses super grandly and ostentatiously no matter the occasion? Yes please.

4) Pete from The Unsleeping City, specifically season two. I adore season one Pete but season two Pete that works in a queer bookshop and has a teapot arcane focus, is artsy and is unapologetically a trans man who doesn’t give a shit about gender roles? Sign me the fuck up.

5) Beau from Critical Role. Buff GNC lesbian mixed with academia, but like academia from the prospective of a grad student with ADHD trying to learn everything about their special interests? A+, I love her and I’m jealous.

6) I’m gonna cheat a lil bit for this last one. I know the prompt is fictional characters, but Julia Lepetit and Jacob Andrews in their Hitman streams? Simultaneously both of them were Gender for me. Jacob esp felt like that for me, which is weird cause dresses can make me dysphoric, but I am also slightly envious of the Dude in a Dress type of gender presentation.

Can you tell that I’m a confused trans masc enby

Gonna put it under the cut from here cause oof, there’s still a lot more.

Flowers:

1) Big slut for Sunflowers, always have been, always will be.

2) Fun fact, my dad’s family used to own a flower shop (in like the 70s, so I never got to see it :(), and one of their big things was hydrangeas. My dad has always loved them and now I love the snowballs too!

3) A recent favorite, the Baker’s Globe Mallow. It’s a type of flower that only grows from the soils of forests that have been affected by wildfires. It’s a simple little flower but I love the idea of something beautiful rising from the ashes after tragedy. A little dramatic, but I’m queer, ofc I’m dramatic.

4) Roses are another important flower to my family (Rose was a family name for a couple generations), and ya know, they’re a classic.

5) There’s this beautiful magnolia tree in front of my house that blooms with the most beautiful white and pink flowers every spring, and it’s one of my favorite things to see every year.

6) There’s so many different types of Lillies and they’re all very pretty, but the Purple Stargazer is prob my favorite.

Little Things That Make Me Happy:

1) My cat, Maddie. She may be a cranky girl at times, but she is also very sweet and will always be my baby (even though she is 12).

2) Not a little thing really, but my best friend. Just getting a sweet/silly text from her or the two of us chilling in a room, sitting in a comfortable silence because we just like being together, nothing better.

3) Baking, esp if I’m doing it for others. I’m not much of a sweets person myself, a little treat every once in a while type person, but I love baking. It’s a very relaxing process for me, even when it can sometimes get stressful, but seeing people enjoying something I made, especially something that brought me great joy to make, is simply the best.

4) In the same sorta vein, crafting and other art, but that’s a bit more personal. I love making things for others, but art, particularly drawing, is something I do more for me. It’s such a great feeling when you can get into a really good art mood and just sink yourself into a project. I love it.

5) My plush toys. Yes, I am a 23 year old, no I will not stop loving my plushies. I just got a few new friends, which I made a post about recently, and they such good cuddle buddies. However, there is one king amongst them all. I have this old, beat up christmas puppy beanie baby, on his tag named Jingle Pup, but I just call him Jingle. I had one version of him since I was like 6, but he currently lives on a shelf cause he is very beaten up and fragile, but his “brother”, who I got when I was 8, is still in kinda good shape and is currently chilling on my chest as I type this lol.

6) Again, not a little thing, but it’s important to mention; D&D. The game itself is such a joy, but truly the best part of it is the people. I love creating stories and memories with people through this weird little game. Truly one of my favorite things to do.

D&D Moments:

These are all gonna be personal moments, rather than anything from actual play shows/podcasts. RC is Reforged Campaign, where I play Saube, and FM is Frostmaiden, where I play Sparks.

1) RC - Meeting Mahety, Saube’s girlfriend. We met her way back in session 12 and we are now up to like session 73. Saube saw her and was immediately big heart eyes at her but also felt a bit awkward and shy. So, being a game a dice, I decided to roll. 10 or higher, Saube would talk to her, 9 or lower, she’d stay put. I rolled a 17, 17 is now a lucky number for me. I love Mahety and I’d die for her.

2) FM - This was an insane fight that should not have been so crazy, but in a fairly early session, my group went up against an angry druid and her awakened animals. So much batshit stuff happened in that fight, and we unfortunately lost our bread loving bard (RIP Agneyis), but one of my favorite combat turns happened in this fight. Our artificer, Omaren, has a robe of useful items and one of the patches on it creates a large pit. Thinking quickly, Omaren tore off the patch, slid it under one of the dire wolves we were fighting and created a looney tunes style pit under it, allowing us to take it out easily via pot shots. Such a clutch move and such a funny visual, especially because the dire wolf kept failing the checks to get out of the pit.

3) RC - Saube’s Zebrith (I will never remember how this actually spelled RIP). So, for context, Saube ended up with a death curse (long story) that mechanically meant they had disadvantage on any death saving throws. Scary as hell, need to get that fixed! So, Saube and their party had to be smuggled into another country to talk with some religious leaders of a goddess known as The First, the goddess of death. They were told that Saube would have to go through the aforementioned ritual, which included her soul leaving her body for a short period of time. During this ritual, her friends had to call back to her, to say things that would bring her back to her body and I still cry thinking about that game. That ritual was not only important for Saube bodily, but spiritually as well. After that ritual, Saube officially became a cleric of The First!

4) A real sappy one, RC - Saube meeting all of her friends. Anyone who follows along with the rantings on my blog probably knows how important this game is to me. I met this random group of strangers on tumblr and formed a D&D party with them and now, a year and a half later, I honestly think it’s one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I know that sounds silly and dramatic but not only has this game brought me so much joy and comfort, but I also gained a group of really amazing friends who have been nothing but amazing since day one. As much as Saube knows she can depend on SICL, I know I can depend on my group of weirdos lol. We both love our friends very much and even though we’ve all been through some crazy shit, we wouldn’t change it for the world.

5) RC - Just playing Saube in general. I really didn’t intend for it to be this way, but Saube is very much a reflection of myself. She is the first long term character I have ever played and so much of me is in her. I try not to treat D&D like therapy, because that’s unfair to my DM and fellow party members, but playing Saube has allowed me to work through some of my own problems, especially social anxiety, in a lot safer of an environment. It isn’t so much that I’m asking this game to help me fix my life, but playing out these scenarios that, in the real world, would make me anxious or make me freak out, I can stop, take a moment to breathe and work out these issues in a way that makes sense to me. Playing her has led me to understanding myself a bit better, as well, and that’s truly such a wonderfully unexpected gift from this whole experience.

6) Lastly, a silly one: RC - Getting a crit 6. The last session of this game got real interesting. Saube’s party ended up in the ethereal plane and magic got real fucky there. So, any time any of us tried to cast a spell, we’d roll a d20, not look at the result, and then try to guess what number rolled. The closer to the number, the better the result. A few times, a few people managed to get within like 3 or 4 of their roll, but oh the power I felt when I rolled a 6 (on Saube’s die!) and guessed it correctly! So, not only did the spell (Bless) work, but it worked super well. So instead of getting +1d4 to attack rolls and saving throws, Saube and two other party members got +2d4 to attacks, saving throws and skill checks. So powerful I broke the rules of D&D lmao.

#asks #ask games #floralprintshark #D&D #Flowers #Saube #Sauhety #SICL #Sparks #long post #thanks <3 <3

13 notes · View notes

thetypedwriter · 4 years ago

Text

The Gilded Wolves

The Gilded Wolves Book Review by Roshani Chokshi

This book was...I can’t quite place it.

I definitely enjoyed it! And to me, it seemed like the reading experience went very quickly, which is usually synonymous with an enjoyable read, but there were definitely other moments when my head would cock to the side and I would think, “Huh?” and “I don’t get it” and “What even is happening right now?”

That about sums about my experience with The Gilded Wolves, thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

No, but really,

is the epitome of my exact taste and preference when it comes to a YA novel, at least on paper. Let’s go through the list:

1. A group of misfits coming together in some sort of friendship group/intimate team? Check.

2. Banter and fluid dialogue? Check.

3. Whimsy, magic, imagination, and world building steeped in exaggerated history? Check.

4. Romance galore? Check and check.

So if this novel checked all of the boxes, why aren’t I lauding it as the best thing I’ve ever read?

I’ll get to that, don't worry.

First, I’ll start by saying that this book isn't the most original thing I’ve ever read. In fact, it probably doesn't even crack the top ten. This criticism will likely come up time and time again so I’ll just say it from the get go: having all the ingredients for a good book does not make it a good book. I do think The Gilded Wolves is a fun, fluid, and interesting read, but it's not the best in any category compared to other YA books out there.

It’s not the best romance, the best friendship, the best magic, the best history, the most well-written, and it’s certainly not the best heist novel I've read, that cake definitely goes to Leigh Bardugo’s Six of Crows.

It’s like this novel has everything you want and nothing at all simultaneously.

Our main characters consist of a group of five individuals, all within their stereotypical archetypes of course.

You’ve got the stone-cold calculating leader that chews cloves of all things, the beautiful girl that’s sort of a robot, the half Filipino boy who struggles with his identity and proving himself, the flamboyant aristocratic outsider, and the girl who can only think, breathe, and speak science, but doesn’t understand a modicum of social interaction or communication.

They were good characters, but they just weren’t the best. They weren’t memorable in the slough that is the ocean of YA original characters. They had good moments of banter, friendship, and interaction, but also moments of overbearing cliche, unbelievable character dialogue options, and very predictable motivations and actions.

The plot is worse believe it or not.

The bare bones of the story is that you have a society in which there are secret Houses that possess Babel rings-artifacts that display their House’s standing as well as give them unique powers- and things called Babel fragments which are buried...somewhere.

These fragments essentially gift certain people of the population abilities and advantages while other people are just...normal, I guess. I don’t know, no one seems to care about the disparity.

Then there are other things like Sphinxes which are...guards, I think? But not? I actually don’t even know if they’re truly human. And other cool technological and magical items like Mneno Bugs which record stuff and umm, Tezcat Doors which allow you to see out, but not in or something?

If you haven't caught on by now, the magic and world building of this novel has much to be desired.

It’s like Chokshi has the ideas down, the rough outline of what her world looks like and how it operates and how the characters live and struggle in this world, but instead of giving it to us, she gave us the Sparknotes version.

Half the time I was reading, I felt like I was missing a good 50% of the content needed for the stakes and tension to actually mean something, which is such a shame because her ideas are interesting. They have so much potential.

I love the idea of old Houses and historic artifacts and complicated political histories interwoven with social implications and new-age technology, but the world-building and magic system just falls flat on his face. I needed more from Chokshi about the world and how it operated and less conversation about Tristan’s goddamn tarantula.

We read as our main group of five attempt to steal and retrieve a Horus Eye-some piece of something that acts as a Somno-a default button basically-to Babel Fragments. Confused? I am too.

This book, at the end of the day, is nothing special, but it is enjoyable. This book has several tropes and several things I love, which honestly made this a fun, amusing, and worthwhile read. I’ve actually already gone out to buy the sequel The Silvered Serpents already which is a positive connotation in and of itself.

I genuinely found this book delightful, but I also think it's because the parts that comprise this novel are all things I adore, whilst the sum of the parts is...lackluster and unforgettable.

Since we are still in Quarantine and I miss concerts dearly, here is a metaphor for you: if anything, this is the opener to the band that you've actually waited at the concert to see. The opener isn’t horrible by any means, and it’s similar to other musical artists you like, but it’s not the main attraction or the highlighted draw, and at the end of the night, you’ll forget you watched it in the first place.

Recommendation: If you like what I like, which are misfit groups, romance, historical Paris, magic, and heist novels, then you will definitely find it as engrossing and fun as I did. If you want something to rock your world, to compete with the likes of other YA juggernauts, then well, this book is not for you. Go read Six of Crows instead.

Score: 6/10

#the gilded wolves #roshani chokshi #ya fiction #YA Books #YA literature #book blog #book review #Book Recommendations #YA Book Review #book rec #book reccs #heist

14 notes · View notes

oleasters · 4 years ago

Text

real name : Oleana Taylor

single or taken : verse dependent; generally single

abilities or powers : nothing superhuman, but she is well-versed in sciences and good with machinery, as well as a master of paperwork and resource management

eye colour : green

hair colour : strawberry blonde

family members : Eleanor Taylor (mother; alive, estranged); Alphonse Taylor (father; deceased)

pets : only her Pokémon, who are generally more like respected business partners to her than pets (with the exception of her Garbodor, who is more akin to family)

something they don’t like : being talked over or ignored. doing so will Unleash The Beast

hobbies/activities : reading, drawing, organizing things, building things, dumpster diving, causing the apocalypse

ever hurt anyone before : yes, plenty of times, both physically and mentally

animal that represents them : secretarybird i associate her with wolves, snakes, and doves…no i cannot explain

worst habits : is constantly bottling up her emotions, often leading to them spilling over in the form of violent outbursts. frequently allows her work to take precedence over all else and buries her feelings in paperwork. is her own worst critic

role models : Rose, Magnolia (to a lesser extent, unfortunately)

sexual orientation : bisexual

thoughts on marriage/kids : fuck them kids. disinterested in marriage and just a little terrified by the idea of raising children. is convinced that she would make a terrible wife and an even worse mother and can hardly even fathom the possibility of anyone truly loving her

style preferences : tends to wear feminine, modern fashions with close-fitting garments. a bit of a trendsetter. almost always wears platform heels, even in locations she absolutely Should Not wear them. she just likes to be tall

approach to friendships : never seeks them out purposefully and instead generally winds up falling into them wholly on accident (this is one regard in which she is rarely the initiator). “i don’t need friends, they disappoint me,” says Oleana as she accidentally allows herself to catch feelings for someone after infodumping to them for 3 hours straight once again

thoughts on pie : It’s Fine I Suppose.

favourite drink : coffee at work and tea at home because she’s a good posh PokéBrit. in terms of alcoholic drinks, she often drinks wine to look classy…..but in actuality, most alcoholic beverages taste the same to her (at least partially due to her anosmia). it’s all gasoline to her. when drinking for pleasure, she’ll always pick the sweetest thing on the menu so she can actually perceive a taste

favourite place to spend time at : probably her flat. maybe the lab or the library……….god she’s so boring. she’d probably go mad at the Max Lair if she thought to go there for any amount of time

swim in the lake or in the ocean : neither; she can’t swim 😔

their type : she tends to be drawn to people who are passionate and ambitious. though she isn’t exactly conscious of it, kindness is also a factor; despite being pretty antisocial, she tends to stick with those who showed her compassion first. you were nice to me once now i am indebted to you For Life, damn you

camping or indoors : indoors

tagged by: @drakenskies ♥ tagging: @savageorchids, @hatsudenki, and fuckin uhhhhh the girl reading this

#it girl / rag doll〔 HEADCANON 〕#convenient basic info sheet for my sexy new followers

5 notes · View notes

kleml · 5 years ago

Text

Geralt’s Curse

Title: Geralt’s curse

Ship: implied OMP/Geralt

Prompt day: 3 Curse, 1 Ostracism

Medium: Netflix, Books

Warnings: verbal abuse

Summary: My take on book Geralt's lifestory, as if he'd look like Henry Cavill his own life. Blaviken is based on the books too (where I'd say Renfri was kinda just as evil as Stregobor).

Timeline is all wrong, witchers are not hated per se, Kaer Morhen still stands.

Geralt is around 30 during Blaviken.

Word count: 2698

Author’s notes: Planned as crack, turned out more serious. Please criticize :)

@geraltwhumpweek

...

They loved to call him pretty.

Other wolves.

People in the villages.

Partners he took to bed, smiling and tracing his face features.

And as much as it should have been great to be considered beautiful, it was a big obstacle in his life.

All the kids brought to Kaer Morhen underwent the Trials. Trials of Grasses took place as soon as they got strong enough.

From the "before" Geralt remembered lots of food. That it was nice and cozy to sleep among the other kids, even though many kicked under the blankets or snored, catching runny nose in the cold castle corridors. He remembered there were many of them, so many they had huge kid tables, and that they were washed in groups by adults who promised to cut their hair if they continue to complain about the process.

He remembered thinking his mom will return and take him back. Same did the others, telling stories about their parents. How they loved them and read stories to put them to bed.

It was a blur.

Geralt didn't remember much.

The white hair, the heightened senses, quickened reaction and constant hunger - all of it came after the Trials. But he was sure his face stayed the same. His hands looked just as they looked before too, and the scars on his knees were still there, even though he wasn't sure how he got them. He also didn't feel like he himself changed in any way.

When he lost all memories so terrible his mind couldn't stand to keep them.

When common big beds became smaller, and suddenly there was only a handful of them sitting at the table.

When they made them eat sickening mushrooms and drink strange juice before they were allowed to eat normal food.

When he started his life as a witcher.

And it wasn't all bad. There was a lot of training. They learned how to fight, how to survive, how to recover. They studied all the creatures big and small, writing, reading and some manners.

He was ten, when he woke up with hair gone all white at the roots, paler skin and sense of smell so sharp his head got dizzy.

Some teachers treated them harshly. Others knew how to make studying exciting.

Autumns were the best time of the year. Traveling wolves returned home, bringing sweets and stories, laughter and tons of food, more than Kaer Morhen's fields and gardens could ever provide.

It wasn't until he turned fourteen that he got called pretty for the first time.

Extra Trials meant he had to be better. Meant he was better at many things, mastering challenges faster than others. It was all fun and games until the other

boys started to hate him for it.

"Ksemir! Hold your stance! You're doing it again!"

They were sparring with training blades, circling each other in the yard. Geralt huffed his hair that started falling out of the tail onto his face, and waited while the teacher explained things again.

"You cannot do that. You just cant, you don't have enough speed nor strength to pull it off. You should be staring less at the adults' training. Concentrate on what I'm telling you. Hey! Are you even listening?"

Ksemir was, indeed, staring at older wolves, dancing with proper swords further from them. Varin, the second fencing instructor who prepared to the Trial of Medallion, screamed at them every single time they made a mistake, and Geralt silently wished to stay fourteen for a little longer. Vesemir was on the Path this year, taking his time off teaching, and they had a replacement, Lestek. He was trying to kick some sense into Ksemir, but failed because of young age and compassion.

"Geralt did it but a minute ago!" another boy screamed. It was Ivur. Geralt didn't like Ivur and Ivur didn't like him back.

"You're not listening again. Geralt is faster, he can do that without getting hit. For the rest of you, it's too risky, hence, don't fucking do it!" Lestek was getting angry.

Geralt raised an eyebrow to Ivur and shrugged.

"Why is he always so fucking special?!"

"I'm not special, you just suck at fencing," Geralt got offended.

"Oh excuse me, and you suck at making potions. Do you think you'll stay this pretty long if you don't know how to treat your wounds?" Ksemir pointed back.

"What?" Geralt knew he looked fine, but what it had to do with anything? Why call him that as an insult?

"He's not gonna be a witcher, he's gonna be a whore like his mother. Look, he even grew his hair like a girl," Ivur jumped over and tried to jerk the tail Geralt's been growing for several years to be more like Vesemir. Vesemir was swell and ladies liked him a lot.

"Kids, shut up! What are you even talking about? Ivur, sit back!"

Geralt didn't pay any attention to that, stretching out to hit Ivur in the face.

It was ugly and quick. Ivur managed to rip off some of Geralt’s hair and received a slap across his cheek and nose.

"Look, he even fights like a girl!" Ivur cried out with a nosebleed.

Geralt got even angrier. And his head hurt. He threw his blade without looking in the direction of Ksemir and rushed away, heading to the tower.

"Geralt, come back at once. You're grounded!"

"Fuck off!"

Maybe he was pretty. Maybe he was special. He didn’t ask for that, nor he asked to be grouped with Ivur and Ksemir today.

Eskel said Ivur was jealous because he himself was ugly as shit, and his mother actually was a whore. Eskel also told Geralt he did sometimes act like he was better than all of them.

It took him time to think it over - during the punishment was as good as ever. He decided he wanted to be not only better, but the best. Learn potions. Learn to braid his hair so no one would be able to touch it. Learn to fight so good no one will ever get in his reach.

Felix got back the next autumn. They had sex on the very night he returned, and it was so much better than jerking off alone. Felix kissed him and fucked him and called him pretty. And Geralt didn't mind, because Felix was beautiful too. He maybe fell in love with him, lighting up with a smile every time he spotted familiar red hair in the halls, and that love lived in him for several years. They stilled called him pretty and special. Felix rubbed his nose over Geralt’s neck and asked “so what?”

"You'll make it. They trained you well, didn't they?" Felix said, and Geralt believed him.

Trial of Medallion only left four of them alive. Ivur died. Geralt didn't feel sorry.

They started to study signs after that, their medallions humming on their chests warm and pleasant. Eskel suddenly turned out genius at it.

Geralt forgot about potions and started to spend more time in the library, reading Monster books and History. He copied the stories about knights on their writing classes. Kaer Morhen only had so many books in the library because witchers wrote them themselves, page after page. Geralt did it well enough they even let him copy a small bestiary with drawings.

He trained more. Got good enough they let him enter their annual fighting contest, with witchers of all ages competing in front of others. He had learned enough potion recipes to survive. How to help wounded people and wounded witchers. Funnily, he also got excellent at scything, making sure Kaer Morhen's horses always had enough grass for the winter.

The first time he's been to a contract with a mentor, it went well. The first time he went to clean a wyvern in the mountains, he came back with not a drop of blood.

When he turned seventeen, Geralt met Felix. He had no idea why they never spoke before. Felix was five years older and has already spent his first year on the Path. They spent evenings on the castle walls, talking about everything, starting with the stars and ending with the upcoming Trial.

He could not make a Quen just as steady as Eskel's, but his Heliotrope worked well, and it's not like there were many bruxas out there.

With a newly chosen name (sadly not the one he wished for), he was ready. Or so he thought. Because aldermen had different opinion.

"Alderman Mislaw? You've written you have harpies nesting nearby. I can..."

"Do they have girl witchers too, now? Get out of my sight! Thank god a normal witcher already took care of them."

Maybe he had to break his nose of something.

"Sorry, what?"

"I'm here about your contract. It says you have a wraith. I can help."

"Sorry, boy, I guess I wasn't clear enough. Get the hell out of here."

"But it's a wraith. You need a witcher for that, I know how to deal with them. You are the contract issuer, right?"

"And a witcher we'll wait for. You are no witcher."

"I am! You see my medallion?"

"I don't care who they give those to these days, but you look younger than my son, and he's fifteen. Get out and stop wasting my fucking time."

The son was taller than Geralt and had a small beard. At fifteen. Kids these days...

"I've killed a cockatrice just a mile away from here. Is there a reward for it?"

"A cockatrice?"

"Skoffin? Kurolishek? I don't know how you call it, but it's there, too big to carry here. I have its feathers and claws with me, if we could just walk..."

"You say you killed our skoffin? Sorry lad, don't believe you. He's a tough one, our skoffin. And you should better go ask for a place in a brothel. All better than to try and portray a witcher. Feathers, huh. I can take those from my chicken and say I killed a skoffin too!"

He had to buy a horse. Absolutely had to. Or get better knives, suitable for ripping off cockatrices' heads.

It took time, but he got there. Started to be recognised around Kaedwin. Used connections other witchers had, spreading their tale about people the same way people talked about them. Geralt had a good reputation and almost felt he became a bit of a knight from those tales he loved once.

And Blaviken stayed that way. Even with the massacre that happened on the market, people were safe. Stregobor left, Renfri was dead as well as her henchmen. People will bury them, clean the blood off the streets, forget it ever happened and live their life in peace, as earlier.

But it all changed so much after Blaviken. So much he never thought it could.

Blaviken used to be a nice place. A place with friends, with good folk who were friendly on the streets and treated wounded witchers well. Caldemeyn, the alderman, knew him thanks to several contracts and always made sure he had a place to stay. It was a peaceful town. No serious monsters around.

There were no real monsters in the world. Only the ones created by humans and humans themselves.

Geralt trailed away, deeply affected by the turn of events. He didn't care about Stregobor's fate. He didn't care that Caldemeyn despised what he had done. But Renfri, the Shrike, and her choices... He only had himself to blame, really. Blame the hope, the belief he had in people. He trusted her to leave town, trusted her to step back and be reasonable. And now he had blood all over his hands, hers and of those murderers, she brought with her.

It wasn't his fault. She had her chance to leave. She was the once making the wrong decision.

Roach got left in a nearby village. He walked there, buried in his thoughts, happy that all the potions and possessions were there, and that he had a paper about that donkey will be returned with him. Getting problems in the village as well would have been a nightmare.

It felt like a dream. The cozy evening they had a night before with alderman and his wife, Marilka asking stupid questions five-year-olds asked. The sex. The morning, the realization.

Snow was late this year, so he made it in time. The castle met him with familiar noise, hugs, warm bathhouse, cellars full of grain and wine, and children, jumping around in excitement. His story about what happened only got one reaction: advice to stay the fuck away from humans, Geralt, when will you learn. It was home, warm evenings, the silence of the land covered in snow and nights not so silent. When the spring came, he almost forgot about it, pushed far enough away not to think.

Eskel, Emir and Geralt left together. They took a contract together too, taking care of a huge and mad troll near Ard Carraigh, and split up, deciding to meet in several months in Tridam, to make a run for Kovir with its never-ending gold.

It was a good year. Until Geralt got to Tridam, as planned.

Roach, his good old Roach, smelled familiar and grounding. Geralt explained the donkey cart situation, thought about everything for a moment, collected his stuff and rode away, now to Holopole instead of Yspaden. After Blaviken, he wanted to spend the winter home.

The nickname followed him from a town to town. Ironically, he was now known as a Butcher in the northern part of Nothern kingdoms, the areas surrounding Kaer Morhen. In Temeria, Lyria and Cintra people didn't care much. Maybe Vesemir was right all those years ago, and saying he was from Rivia was indeed a good choice. He now spent most of his time further and further from home, avoiding the villages who's managed to learn the word of mouth. Only fifteen years later he passed by Blaviken, heading up to Kovir. Rode his horse cautiously and listened carefully to people murmuring around.

"Geralt! You're here too. Come over, join. Lech, this is Geralt, Geralt, Lech is a genius in gwent. You need to play with him. I lost twice already, and his cards aren't even good! Come."

It was good to see Emir again. The Path was lonely, but with other witchers around, it was easy to feel included. Normal.

Lech was already drunk and sent Geralt a wink.

"How bout strip gwent?"

Geralt smiled, unsure of what to answer. He set his saddlebags down, planning to sit down next to Emir on the bench, when someone pushed him forward. The push was strong enough that the table shattered, making Emir's ale fall on the floor.

"What the fuck," Geralt muttered and turned around.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing? I payed for that!" Emir raised to stand.

"We don’t want him here."

"What do you mean?" Geralt held Emir's shoulder.

"I mean, we don't want your kind here!" the man, who appeared sober and pissed, spit on the ground between them. It attracted attention and the tavern turned almost silent, deafening after the noise it usually produced.

"What do you mean, our kind?" Emir has met some witcher-haters, but he wasn't in the mood.

"I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to him," the man pointed to Geralt. "He killed half a village in Blaviken. Everybody knows that. A witcher with white hair. He's a monster! A butcher!" the man screamed.

The murmur around got louder.

"Hey, it's my brother you're talking about! Geralt is a decent man!"

"But I haven't... I killed the Shrike. Blaviken was safe," Geralt muttered.

"I've heard that too!" a woman from the crowd screamed suddenly. "My son was there, he helped to bury the bodies. It was a massacre!"

One by one, food started to hit them. The man pushed Geralt again, and suddenly the whole tavern became a pitfall. Geralt grabbed his bags and squished through to the exit door, followed by Emir screaming out blusters back. They had to run to their horses, axiing them and as many people around as they could, and abandoned the Tridam on full gallop, hearing the screams thrown their way.

"This is the Butcher of Blaviken," the village boy whispered to a girl who looked like his sister.

"Are you sure?" the girl whispered back.

"Yes. It's him. White hair, you see, pale as a witcher, and the two swords."

The girl's eyes went round as she blushed.

"Oh. I just didn't expect him to be so pretty."

Geralt hid his smile by lowering his head. Well, maybe it wasn't a curse after all.

There was a man standing behind him with a determined look on his face.

#geraltwhumpweek #he's not really suffering here #but i tried #pretty geralt #kaer morhen #or at least some descriptions of it #hard witcher fate #lol #did i really write this

11 notes · View notes

mermaidmafia-official · 5 years ago

Text

{ PART I: THE BLOODMOTHER }

written by: @bebemoon

outfit ref: for the party .

tag list: @ayzrules @interluxetumbra @vampirkaninchen & @blubbingbeautifully

The Bloodmother of Bilitis House was preoccupied with the floors.

As evening was settling in and the house was beginning to stir and creep with her sisters and daughters, she discovered that the petals still needed to be strewn in the foyer, over the newly-refurbished wood flooring, and there was nary a helpful cherub in sight.

The Bloodmother- called "Ysabelle" familiarly- stood on the bottom step of the wide foyer stairs pondering the naked floors. The house held the aroma of blood almost romantically, and the rose petals were necessary to somewhat hide it from the historical society mortals who would be arriving soon- along with (and utterly unbeknownst to them) some...prominent underworld figures.

Ysabelle clutched the banister with one hand, her bony hip with the other. A disaster was inevitable, but she still wanted those roses strewn.

"Vavassour." A velvety voice from above.

Ysabelle tipped her face up to see a ghostly figure in a curtain of inky hair leaning on the staircase banister overhead- someone spying with a scarlet eye.

"Zhang," Ysa said in lieu of a fitting evening greeting, and dropped her gaze once again to the foyer. "Have you seen either of the cherubs? Tonight of all nights, they decide to shirk duties when I gave them the strictest order to-"

She paused her tirade, feeling something light touch the top of her head.

Looking up, she could see Zhang was now holding a fistful of rose petals, as if her palm was slit and bleeding. "Chatham passed his rose chore off to me," she said languidly, and dropped a few more petals from her hand directly onto Ysabelle's dark head. She rested the side of her lovely, clear face against her free hand. "He said he did not have the time."

Ysabelle swiped the petals from her hair and turned to head back up the steps, trailing loose hair and billows of dark blue velvet robes and sleeves. "Did he say what was so pressing that he could not obey his mistress?" she asked.

The most Chatham would ever get from Ysabelle was sucked teeth or perhaps a drawn-out sigh if he was being particularly vexing. He, like his brother, was too childlike in mien, as most cherubs were, for Ysa to ever muster any sort of genuine dislike towards him.

Yinmei Zhang listlessly lifted herself from the banister as Ysabelle approached. A basket of rose petals sat on the landing at her feet.

"I did ask," said Zhang, "but he told me I ought to mind my own business." She then gestured at the basket as if there was nothing for it. “It’s really not a bother. They smell lovely.”

Ysabelle reached out to lightly flick her old friend's bare collarbone- a ridge of ice beneath pristine snow. "You shouldn't allow him to boss you," Ysa said as she began to move away. "After all, frail and aged as you are, you're hardly suited to labour- your bones could turn to dust at any moment. Do let one of the younger girls handle it."

"Yes, why not have your new little friend do it?" said Zhang, her tone less playful than Ysabelle's had been. She turned her head just enough to sharply eye the other woman. "It seems the least she could do after keeping the entire house up all day long."

Ysa paused, and after a beat, turned back to Yinmei. She wanted to ask...but thought better of it.

They weren't usually at odds. However, since Amaelia had come into the house, there had been the occasional bite to Zhang's retorts. Her feelings were not unshared by others in the Coven, but she was the only one who ever dared to openly second-guess Ysabelle's actions. Yinmei's disapproval was already well-noted, and Ysabelle was resolute in her decision to take Amaelia into the Coven.

And so, the two old friends were at an impasse, making their usual shared preoccupations...strained.

Ysabelle stood for a moment, wondering. Then, finally: "I hate to think Lia is disturbing your peace, my dear. I will see what I can do."

With that, the Bloodmother turned back into the corridor, leaving Yinmei to her rose petal chore.

[AN INTERLUDE WITH A CHERUB]

Ysabelle did not have to wonder where Chatham had gone for much longer than it took her to return to her room.

She stepped into the private parlour, golden-lit by firelight, to find him planted on a tasseled foot pillow on the floor, looking very like a horrific dog show contestant with his small gargoylish figure, gnarled digits, and fleshy little wings. Not to mention the rancid rat he was enjoying. Ysabelle understood immediately that the cherub must've hidden it from his brother, forgotten where he stowed it for a few days, and only just remembered it-

Hence the shirking of his rose petal chore.

"Here you are," said Ysabelle, closing the black bedroom door behind her. She pointed at the cherub seated and merrily devouring his foul treat. "What do you mean giving your chore to Grandmother Zhang? Her bones are older than yours and mine."

Chatham swallowed and adopted the expression of a distressed demonic toddler. "Mistress," he complained, clutching the half-eaten rat to his chest. "Well, I hate the Granny, and you know I do. Besides. Besides, I found my rat and I was hungry, and I hate chores like I hate Granny."

Ysabelle hummed. "I should've punished you more when you first came to me," she remarked. "You'd behave better. What have you against Yinmei?"

The cherub bounced his goblin feet, thinking. "She said I'm rotten. And I think she's ugly," he replied, pulling a face. "The ugliest woman I've ever, ever seen, I think."

"She's right, though," said Ysabelle, folding her arms. "You are unforgivably rotten. You and your brother. In any other house you'd be beaten with a fire poker for being a layabout."

Chatham appeared scandalised. "Mistress!" he wailed.

Ysabelle waved the creature off. He went into hysterics at any criticism, no matter how small or harmless- and since positively no one in the house found him the least bit pleasant, he was hysterical most of the time.

"Be silent, Chatham," Ysa chided, turning away. She flicked aside the heavy drape dividing her private parlour from the bedroom. "Amaelia still sleeps."

[OVERHEARD AT THE HOUSE WARMING]

"A truly skilled Blood-Weaver can portal through a living being."

"I don't follow."

"It's just as I said. Crack a chest, step in, and come through another warm body-"

"In...spirit?"

"No, in flesh."

"Sounds messy."

"Oh, it's ghastly."

It was much later, well into the house-warming, before Ysabelle laid eyes Yinmei again.

They were supposed to be posturing as wives for the benefit of the mortals from the Halacre Historical Society. A Vampire undetected is well-fed, after all- and the very last thing she wanted was to alarm the entire town. These days, people employed the Wolves to take care of their Vampire problems-

They couldn't be too careful, as far as Ysabelle was concerned.

Yinmei was being interrogated in the drawing room by the Historical Society's head- a squat woman clutching a black bag beneath her tweedy arm. She was quite out-of-place among the other attendees. Yinmei rather looked like a tall, benevolent alien in contrast with the woman.

"Ah, there you are!" said Zhang over the little woman's head. She had spotted Ysabelle passing through the foyer. Zhang raised her dark brows pointedly, an S.O.S., and beckoned delicately with her fingers for Ysa to come join her.

Ysa slipped her free hand into the pocket of her tailored trousers and stepped across the drawing room threshold, thumping her walking cane on the refurbished wood floors as she went.

"Dear," Zhang began with false cheer, "this Paulette Maminot, the head of the Halacre Historical Society." She introduced the small, be-wigged woman before her. She continued, "Paulette, this is my wife Ysabelle."

Paulette offered her hand to Ysa, palm down, like a duchess. "How do you do?" she said sourly. Her face somehow became even more lined while regarding the women together. "You two are married, then? My, my. How modern."

Only the mannerless insulted their host right away- she didn't even wait until the end of the night. Ysabelle leaned on her cane and grinned. "Oh, yes," she said, "for several, blissful years now. Have you met the children? They should be-"

"Actually, we were hoping for a tour of the house," the old woman interposed. "My father used to own this property- it's been in my family for ages. I was disappointed to know that my brother sold it. I see you've...taken the liberty of changing a few things. Thank goodness you kept the original flooring."

"Oh, what a shame," Zhang said, her tone light but her posture rigid. "The floors are the last thing to be dealt with. We just cannot agree on what to cover that old wood with. I say grey cork or perhaps vinyl."

"But I just adore shag carpet," Ysa put in. "It speaks of luxury."

Zhang lifted a shoulder covered in white lace. "You are right about that."

Maminot's face crumpled with displeasure and her colourless lips became a thin line. Eventually, she cleared her throat of bile and readjusted her pocketbook under her arm. "Well," she sighed, the notion of Bilitis House covered in shag having cost her both mental and spiritual strength, "burn it down for all I care. Shall I gather the others for the tour?"

Ysabelle held her free hand out, indicating the foyer filled with milling guests in black with leering eyes. A pulse, a warm perfume, would never go unnoticed in that crowd. One only hoped the other elders had not been lured away somewhere.

Maminot stalked out of the drawing room without another word, but /not without giving her disapproving gaze to Egon Schiele's "Two women embracing" as she went.

"Paper, scissors, stone," Ysabelle said once the old woman had gone. "The loser plays tour-guide."

Zhang pulled a face but nonetheless held her right fist out.

An hour past midnight, the house was filled with the voices of the damned and fiddle-cry from the dimly-lit ballroom- sounding like a shadowy thing hidden in fog, just out of view.

Zhang was still leading her tour (having lost the best two out of three) while Ysa continued holding court in the drawing room, but Maminot's griping was still audible to the ears of the undead.

(She did not care for the overly-ornate moulding in the corridors, nor was she happy with the "funerary" black doors. Even more incensing was the fact that Zhang was barring her from entering most of the rooms. The fact was, it was for her own good. Poppy ["The Devourer"] was locked in her rooms to avoid staining the walls red. Amaelia, in the throes of fledgling bloodlust, was under lock and key for the same reason. What the little fool didn't know was that some of those black doors kept a nasty end at bay.)

"I think I would have eaten her by now," ["A Collar of Spikes"] commented. She was leaning against the drawing room wall in head-to-toe black leather with a chalice of Rosenblut in one hand. Her dark eyes were rolled upwards, listening to the conversation taking place two stories above them.

Angelika ["ЛЕДЯНАЯ ЖЕНЩИНА"], seated on the arm of the dark velvet sofa, took a sip of her own chalice and came away catching her bottom lip in her bloody teeth. (Ysa wondered if Rosenblut gave her memories of her life as a human- or if it was only human blood that caused the flashbacks?) "Truthfully," she said in her small, tinkling-bell voice, "I don't like the black doors either. Makes me think of...decay, rot. Nasty things."

"You're drinking animal blood, 'Lika," ["A Collar of Spikes"] reminded her on a smirk. "You are a nasty thing. What difference does it make, anyway, what colour the damn doors are? We should all be out flying, driving- not stuck here with these stodgy, old elites and mortals."

[”A Collar of Spikes”] was at her best when leaned over a dimly-lit pool table, pool-stick against her ribcage.

Ysa slowly released the tension in her spine and let herself sit back in her chair, expelling the ineffable pressure of the evening. Lately, she had been experiencing small spells of fatigue that she couldn’t recall ever feeling before. It felt like being wrung out, pain included. And she suddenly wanted to be alone.

She dismissed [ACoS] with a flick of her hand. “I release you, dear. Go enjoy the night- someone ought to.”

[ACoS] didn’t tary. She drew away from the wall, put her chalice down and righted her black leather jacket. “Thank you, Mother, dear,” she said, and about-faced to the window, which she threw open and promptly jumped out of- taking wing on the night air. Gone.

Only a moment later, the sounds of discord resounded through the house, coming from upstairs. At once, Ysabelle drew to her feet.

[THE SCENE]

Zhang was shouting over someone else’s distraught shrieking. And the smell was unmistakable, luring throngs of party-goers to pack the stairs-

When Ysabelle arrived on the steps leading to the third storey corridor, it was as horrific as the over-powering smell led her to believe it would be.

“I tried to stop her, Ysabelle!” Zhang was frantically saying over the screaming. Her cheeks were speckled red- like gory, little freckles. “It happened so quickly!”

Her arms were full of a red-headed girl with thrilled eyes bright as pomegranate jewels. Her emerald velvet dress was soaked in dark fluid from neck to belly. The white lace collar was turned crimson. A pair of matching coral hair combs hung loosely in her hair, having come loose in all the tumult.

Poppy. She was screaming and raking at Zhang’s pretty white gown, catching at the lace and tearing the beads away. Her fangs were extended to needles and there was hardly a speck of pale skin to be seen- it was slick with blood.

And it wasn’t one or two or even three, but all of the Halacre Historical Society strewn in the corridor. Poppy still had a hold of Maminot’s wrist, clutched in a death grip.

Ysabelle wanted to know how this had come about. She had put Poppy away in her rooms, knowing something like this would happen if she was permitted to roam. Ysa had even struck the door with a Blood-Bind to keep her safely within- not even another Blood-Weaver could have undone the Bind.

The scene was confusing, but Ysa didn’t have time to ask questions or feel her bones brim with dread-

They would have to hide this.

She and Angelika flew to Zhang’s side, helping her wrest the girl back into her rooms for the time being.

Ysabelle slit her palm, left to right, using her thumb nail and raised her hand to the black door as Poppy threw herself against the wood on the other side, jolting it. Ysa struck the wood at the same time and felt a heavy energy, like thick chains snaking about her arms and into the very wood of the door, locking it fast against the girl within. Instantly, the violent banging from inside ceased.

Finally, the corridor fell silent...save the murmuring crowd of on-lookers packing the staircase.

Ysa felt weak, light. She went to her knees at Poppy’s door and placed her forehead in her hands. Something wasn’t right.

“Mother?” Angelika said softly.

“Send for Chatham and Weep-not,” Ysabelle sighed as she lifted her face. “Have them clean this up.”

“And the bodies?” Zhang inquired.

Ysa rose to her feet slowly and pressed her healed hand over her stomach. “Burn them.”

#aaaa this is sooo~ long. and thank you so so much to ally for helping me with yinmei’s dialogue !#C O M P L E T E #this took FOREVER #and i took out so much too :/#i hope everyone enjoys #btr #btr: story #written by fanfan #btr: the bloodmother #btr: ysabelle

8 notes · View notes

burning-clutch · 5 years ago

Text

Crashing Like A Tidal Wave With Cardiac Arrest: Part 1

Read on Ao3: here (Chapter 1 of 2) Pairings: Jack/Maddie Trigger Warnings: Blood and gore, Major character death Author: @burning-clutch (Team Ghost) Total words: 4711 prompt by: Anthropwashere / Anthrop AO3 and FFN: Anthrop

-.-.-.- **Important** There is a bit of excessive gore in here I wanted to try my hand at writing but I marked it between xXxX lines. it's not a lot just an over detailed depiction of the scene, but if you need to skip it, it will not change how the story is perceived, and you can continue on with out worry. -.-.-.-.-

The day was routine, or at least it started out that way…

Danny had woken up late for school having spent the night prior fighting endless rounds of Ectopuss, giant rats, a pack of wolves, a bear ghost, the Box Ghost, Skulker, some weird rabbit gorilla cross…. All in all nothing too terrible… Just relentlessly endless and annoying, eating into his sleep and making him generally miserable the next day.

Danny had gotten to the school in record time, not that it mattered really, he was already late and the added five minutes it took didn’t make any difference in Lancer’s eyes. He was sorely tempted to skip his first period altogether but didn’t really want to risk the phone call home to his parents.

He was a big enough disappointment to them as it was right now, and the last thing he needed or wanted to be the hollow sight from his parents as they looked on to him hopelessly.

“I really wish you would take this more seriously hun,” his mother would say

“I know these are your best years son, but the school’s important! Fenton’s are smart and you got a legacy to uphold!” his father would continue.

It was the same thing almost every time he screwed up, followed by his sensitive ears picking up his parents' hushed conversations mainly consisting of. “I don’t know what we’re going to do for him… nothing helps…”

He sighed as he landed in the janitor’s closet and transformed back to human. He shouldn’t worry about this now. Jazz and him were making preparations to be able to tell his parents the truth, and hopefully, that will allow him to smooth over most of the issues with his parents. He was concerned that he may have some loss of freedom though.

Or at least Jazz had warned him that may be the case. At the very least he could expect enforced ghost fighting curfews with a ghost shield around the house that a halfa can’t get out of.

He shook his head to clear the thoughts and moved to exit the closet swiftly making his way to class. “Ah, how nice of you to join us, Mr. Fenton,” Lancer said, hardly even sparing the teen a glance as he continued to write on the board.

Danny offered the teacher a sheepish smile that seemed to go unnoticed by the middle aged man, and hurried to his seat, throwing himself into his chair as silently as he could. It only occurred to him once he was in his seat that Lancer hadn’t bothered to issue him a detention.

Strangely that thought twisted in his gut painfully. Was he so bad off that even Lancer deemed him a lost cause now? He sighed deeply and just tried to push those self depreciative thoughts out of his mind, and decided instead that he should count his blessings that he could head home directly after school for a change.

Regardless he still opted to tune out the rest of the lecture as the day dragged on, Mr. Lancer did not make The Grapes of Wrath sound interesting at all and his opinion.

His friends beside him took in his tired visage and offered him a pitying look. The bags under his eyes made it clear that he was in need of sleep.

“What kept you up last night dude?” Tucker asked him with a quiet whisper.

“Box ghost and a whole bunch of animal ghosts all teaming up to make my night an endless hell…” Danny responded equally as quiet with an exasperated sigh.

“You should have called us man we would have been able to help you” Tucker whispered back eyeing his friend with a critical glance.

“You know we're always ready and willing to share the burden, you don't have to do this all yourself, as much as you think it's your ‘duty’ to,” Sam added from his other side.

“I know but it's not right for me to drag you guys into this. What if you guys get hurt? I'd never forgive myself!” Danny whispered back, with a slight huff, though a slight glow overtook his eyes. betraying his truest feelings.

Sam and Tucker exchanged a glance around him knowingly, it was pointless to try and argue with him when he gets like this. Even Jazz with all of her endless patience for psychoanalyzing him eventually gave up trying to understand the motivations behind his weird compulsions and all the faults and quirks that came along with having a Ghostly obsession to boot.

Danny lets out a long yawn. Man, was he tired. Maybe he could just rest his head on the desk for a moment, Lancer probably wouldn't notice right? No sooner was his head down were his eyes sliding closed from his exhaustion, unconsciousness taking him quickly.

From Danny’s perspective, he blinked and then was suddenly being poked by Tucker. Danny raised his head and took in his friend’s deep frown. “Bell rang, dude.”

Right good… “Yeah,” he yawned widely. Earning a sympathetic look from his friends and a flat exasperated sigh from the teacher.

Danny did his best to ignore the look as he stood and gathered his things to leave. He was just passing the classroom’s threshold when his ghost scene went off, fogging up around his vision and dissipating off into the air. He groaned.

“If it’s Boxy, I’m just going to lock him in the thermos and keep him there until the Christmas truce,” Danny growled.

“You want one of us to take care of him then?” Sam asked as Danny handed off his backpack to her.

“No, I should do it... “ He sighed. “I’m the one that everyone expects to be late anyway.”

“Still dude, you don’t-” Tucker started only to snap his jaws shut when Danny waved a flippant hand at him.

“No, it’s fine just tell the teacher I had a bowel problem or something. I’ll be back.” Danny said, already turning to leave and head for a closet or the bathroom to transform in. This was so second nature for him now, he had to wonder what he would ever be able to actually accomplish in school if he had the time to dedicate to actually sitting still for more than an hour and actually having time to learn things.

One flash of light later and Phantom was in the air following his ghost sense to the roof of the school. No sooner did he fully emerge above the building did he get blasted from behind. Danny rounded on the enemy expecting Skulker again but was surprised when he saw one of Vlad’s vultures panting from the exertion of its attack.

Instantly on high alert now, and looking for the elder half ghost himself, Danny fired an icy blast at the annoying bird's wings taking advantage of it’s needed recovery time.

The attack struck true and the bird fell to the ground with a squawk. Vulnerable now, he unhooked his thermos and sucked up the ghost easily. Capping it, and reattaching it to his belt, Danny flew around the school, trying to find the other two vultures or Vlad.

Using his ghost sense to guide him, he makes his way off the school property and into the woods that were just behind, Danny soon found the second vulture. It was odd though the bird was flying quickly away from the school instead of trying to attack him it kept on its trajectory.

It didn’t take Danny long to put two and two together and realize that the vulture was luring him somewhere. So he threw up a shield in front of the bird, which it flew into with a wet sounding thump before that minion too was sucked away.

“Ha, even dead birds fly into stuff” Danny quipped.

He flew upwards to get his bearings and realized he was halfway to Elmerton almost now. He cursed under his breath before doubling back towards the school, ignoring his ghost sense that was trying to draw him further away.

If Vlad was involved in this… whatever it was, he at least wanted to try and make it hard for him to execute whatever plan that frootloop had set up. Heading back towards the school he caught sight of a flash of green of a pair of Ectopuss in the football field.

“How did I miss you?” He muttered as he flew down towards them.

He hardly entered the school grounds when a pink blast shot towards him whizzing right by his ear. Only the sound of the static as it fizzed through the air alerted him to the attack, giving him barely enough time to dodge.

“Ah Daniel, I must admit I was anticipating you being gone for a little longer.” Vlad mused seemingly unimpressed by the teenager’s appearance.

“Did you really expect me to go that far once I realized your cronies leading me off?” Danny spat hands aglow with green sparking energy.

“Well of course I did. Your infernal hero complex is all too predictable after all.” Vlad chuckled dryly. “By the way little badger, how did you sleep last night? I had an unfortunate ghostly animal jailbreak.”

“Of course that was you.” Danny snarled before launching an attack at the man.

Vlad simply floated out of the way casually, smirking in that overly pompous manner of his. “As I said, predictable.” he chuckled darkly before a clone came up from behind and kicked Danny down to the ground.

The teen yelled and tried to slow his fall, but he still managed to leave a decently sized crater in the ground when all was said and done. Danny pulled himself free in launch skyward invisibly hoping to catch Vlad off guard.

Again, the elder half ghost dodged, before rounding on the teen and trapping him with a bear hug

"Now, now, Daniel. I can't have you messing up my plans my dear boy. Today is the day I Triumph and finally end that fool Jack Fenton and take Maddie for my wife," he purred

Danny's eyes go wide at the man's words. “What did you do,” He growled out. “Where are my parents Vlad! I swear-”

“Oh don’t worry it’s nothing dear Maddoline can’t handle. Tell me did you happen to get all three of my minions or did you simply come back here to confront me?” The man smiled in an overly sickeningly way that made Danny want to vomit.

“Wait, you - UGH!” Danny sees red, or rather green, as his eyes shine bright the need to protect overwhelming him as he stretches his body out and escapes the man’s hold. Snapping himself back to proper shape he lets loose a powerful mix of ecto plasma and ice.

It launched out of his palms so large and wide that Vlad had no choice but to try to shield, unable to dodge. The pink shield strained and shook, cracking with spiderwebs lacing the ecto construct.

Danny’s fury helped fuel his power and the added power backing him enabled him to break through the shield, hitting Vlad square in the chest... and destroying the clone in a hiss of melting pink sludge.

The teen whirled about in the air looking for the next attack, any possible sign of his enemy. How dare he! This was his town, his lair and he would protect the people in it. In a way, they were his too. It only fueled his rage knowing it was his father who was at risk.

Danny snarled in rage before shaking himself into a more coherent state. He fumbled about on his person managing to find whatever weird interstate his phone had gone into, and pulled it free to check it over.

He pushed it open and brought up the ‘Fenton Finder’ app that showed where the GAV was at any given moment, something that the citizens of the city enjoyed so they could avoid the areas whenever possible, usually meaning that there was a ghost attack wherever the Fenton’s were heading.

For Danny, it helped him avoid, or find his parents quickly. Finding his parent’s location was easy and after sticking his phone from what area it had come from, he’d shot off like a rocket. Thankfully they weren’t far, practically down the street from the school near the mall actually, which made sense otherwise Vlad wouldn’t have been able to maintain his clone.

Danny arrived on the scene just in time to see Vlad telekinetically tossing things towards the GAV. He had managed to split up the elder Fentons and lifted a few cars getting ready to toss them at Jack with a howl.

Danny slammed into Vlad tackling him to the ground, hands burning as bright as his eyes as he blasted the ghost.

The damage was already done though. As soon as Danny had tackled Vlad, the cars had become encased in pink energy causing it to still follow the trajectory that Vlad had wanted.

Both halfas slammed into the ground but were still high enough, the crater created not too deep in the pavement, to see what was happening.

Vlad smirked and took Danny’s distraction as a chance to escape phasing into the ground leaving a bewildered teen halfa unable to move, only stare at the scene before him.

The car sailed towards Jack who tried to bound out of the way. The large man was not as fast as he liked to believe and of course, was a large target, to hit. The car slammed into his leg knocking the tall man over and causing him to roll back from the force of the strike.

“Fu-e- Ouch! That’s broken…” Jack hissed out changing his swear last minute. The orange clad man struggled to get to his feet, his right leg bending awkwardly below the knee, but putting all his weight on his left allowed him to clamber to his feet… er, foot.

Danny heaved a sigh of relief seeing his father still standing, a little worse for wear granted but overall alive…. Or at least he was until he saw the man he always knew to be cheerful and boisterous, went quiet and pale, letting out a barely audible “N-No...”

Danny realizing Vlad had taken off, stood and followed his father’s gaze, heart and core both pounding anxiously, before burning away into a mix of sorrow and furry. There, just a little bit away, he could just barely make it out to what it should look like… but it was indeed a leg... in a very familiar, painfully familiar, teal colour, sticking out from under a car.

Danny gulped wishing silently that the red that was splashed about the concrete was just paint… A grunt and a crunch pulled Danny’s attention back to his father, who was trying desperately to meet his wife.

Carefully he flew to the large man before landing silently beside him, only to look away a second later ashamed. “I…. I couldn’t stop him in time…” He managed out, voice as broken as he currently was and glow dimming to an almost nonexistent state. “H-Here…”

Jack wrenched his eyes away from the blood and gore before him to stare listlessly at Phantom. Normally his scientific mind would be undoubtedly fascinated by the things currently being exhibited by Phantom, but right now…

Jack hardly said anything, not even so much as a protest as Danny looped his arm around the large man’s back allowing him to use the ghost as a crutch. That normally would have worried Danny but his everything was just stricken. He just…

He forced himself to move forward, urged on more by Jack’s listless hobbling rather than his own will to do so. He heard sirens, and couldn’t care less whether they were police, ambulance, fire or even the GIW coming for him… he just…

He had to know that the stillness of that form ahead really was due to...

He shook his head chastising himself for thinking such a thing before he had any proof. Though the closer he got, the colder the air around him felt.

Even Jack was shivering but his mind was numb to the biting temperature that Phantom was giving off… Nothing mattered just… “Madds… Oh, Maddie…” Jack whimpered, as they rounded the car.

Phantom turned green and fell away from Jack’s eyes widened. His stomach turned at the bloody scene before him. His mother… she was… “She’s... She’s dead!” Phantom cried out large luminescent tears falling from his eyes as he quivered in sorrow and grief.

It was a grizzly sight

XxXxXxX

Maddie was not in one whole piece for starters, her lower half had been cleaved off by the car leaving her legs to lay underneath while her upper body had rolled on, landing sideways against the curb, Her eyes, still opened, were glassy like that of a dead fish, and were quickly clouding.

Her skin now looked a sickly grey as opposed to the healthy pink and peach Danny had come to associate with his mother. Her face had been scraped deeply from when she had slid across the pavement, reminding the teen sickeningly of ground beef with how bad the scrapes were.

Entrails hung out from below her ribcage spilling their foul greenish yellow bile across the pavement, while chunks of… something Danny didn’t even want to identify was strewn about in various shades of whiteish, grey, pink, bright red and reddish black…

Bones... That was bones… or rather bits of bone that had been crushed and scattered from the impact…. Danny had seen bones before of course, there were skeleton ghosts after all but never like this… not something like this...

And all the red! Red was everywhere. No matter where he looked there was red. Large globbing splatters all the way down to the tiniest of pinpricks, it was there, and it was her. His mother… her essence...The iron scent was so strong now he could taste it.

XxXxXxX

It quickly became too much for the teen, and he had to turn away from the scene onto the nearest boulevard to vomit. A thick green sludge that awfully enough reminded him of a slightly glowing lime Jell-o tumbled out from his stomach, burning his throat and nose.

After having emptied his stomach of whatever was in there and turning away from the mess he’d made, he carefully returned to his father who was weeping openly having fallen to his knees as he did so. The broken man was unable to turn away.

Danny swallowed thickly doing his best to keep his eyes on the ground, thankfully his own tears made everything blurry so he didn’t have to focus in on the mess that his mother had become…

“D- Jack? ...Come on… There are paramedics…” The teen managed out weakly. Jack looked up at him as if finally realizing just who was here beside him. Danny forced himself not to look away from the lost broken look on his father’s face. When he tried to say more it was as if his mouth was suddenly filled with cotton, and he opened it and closed it a few times unsure what to say.

“What do you want, Phantom?” The man asked after a moment of silence passed, both openly letting their tears fall, but neither mentioning it. The accusation was there but it was so much weaker than he had ever heard before… “If you’ve come to gloat I-”

“What!? No! Never! I… I actually wanted to say I’m sorry… I wasn’t fast enough I… This is my fault…” He sniffed out.

“What?! You’re sorry? You’re sorry!?” Jack boomed anger getting the better of him. Danny had heard enough of Jazz’s lectures to know what this was. He was so distraught and hurt, that he was going to take out his anger on anything he could…

Danny couldn’t blame him for turning on him though… everything is his fault.

“Sorry is not going to bring her back! Sorry isn’t going to fix this! Sorry isn’t going to- '' The man's voice cracked, breaking as he screamed becoming silent a second before he broke down again. “She’s gone… Sh-She’s gone!”

“I’m so sorry... This is my fault! If I was faster! I-I should have figured out Plasmius’s plan sooner I-I’m such an idiot I… oh Mom…” Danny hiccupped and tugged at his hair, nails digging into his scalp. “Mom! It’s all my fault! I should have saved you!”

“Wh- What did you?” Jack sniffed head snapping up in an instant watching as Phantom seemed to be having a mental breakdown. “Mom…” he managed out between sobs. Jack stole a glance at his broken wife, before staring back at Phantom.

The ghost looked young. Maybe somewhere in his mid teens at most, and with his glow now as weak as it was, he could clearly see the ghost that was usually hidden within the usual ethereal fog. He was a boy really, he looked so small, not at all like the muscled form they usually see. His glow was pretty much gone, leaving his usually brilliant white hair a dull steel grey. His white gloves and even the sharp crisp black… all of it just looked so dull…

Even the usual bright radioactive ectoplasmic green of his eyes had faded to a more human looking colour. If one were to take away the slight green tint in his skin he could easily pass for a kid who just dyed his hair, so long as someone wasn’t looking too hard at him... It was so surreal and uncanny in how the ghost moved, like an old movie that was missing an occasional frame.

And he was clearly having some sort of… episode… Perhaps he had died in a car crash with his mother? Was that why this was affecting him so strongly? The soft sobs of the usually strong and cocky ghost, and watching the boy cry about his mother… It felt so wrong.

“What kind of hero am I if I can’t even save my own mother? I can’t help anyone!” he sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve leaving an iridescent slime trail along his sleeve.

“Phantom…” Jack tried softly. Instantly the ghost’s head popped up to look at him, though it didn't last long as a moment later he squeezed his eyes shut tightly.

“Just… Just get it over with… hurry up and tear me apart… just… It’ll make us both feel better right?” the ghost pleaded brokenly to Jack's dull green eyes staring blankly ahead. “At least then I… I can be useful… not a disappointment… I’m just a screwup… I- “

“Phantom…” Jack said softly.

“I- I’m sorry” He sniffed.

Jack blinked slowly. “I need you to help me get to the paramedics.”

“I’m- You want me to help?” He sniffled again. He really was a broken child at this moment and not just a ghost… besides, Jack didn’t have the fight in him right now to even bother trying to attack the ghost. “Really?” Phantom asked again, hope filling his green eyes.

“Yeah… I mean since I can’t walk,” came the simple response. “I…I need your help Phantom.”

The ghostly teen nodded and moved forward to help the large man. Storm clouds barely being contained behind his eyes, while Jack on the other hand, just felt numb.

As Phantom helped Jack over to the emergency responders neither one noticed the other ghost that was on a nearby roof, staring down at the scene in silent horror.

Vlad masters or Plasmius in his current form had undoubtedly, unequivocally, and unquestionably screwed up… big time. Not only had his plan failed in the most spectacular way possible, but he had also killed the love of his life. By his own power, his own hand, she had stopped breathing, her heart stopped beating… her life drained.

In trying to end Jack, the man who ruined his life, he had unintentionally ended another's. The one most precious to him… Second only to the kinship that he had felt with Danny…

That feeling had been the most notable change here…

As it stood now, Vlad was unsure if he still felt the same about the younger half ghost. It was Daniel’s fault his plan had gone awry… If it wasn’t for him that would be Jack’s corpse smeared across the pavement from the car. The hunks of metal crushing the fat oaf of a man, not his dear sweet innocent Madeline.

But at the same time… they still shared a curse. A curse that bound them together whether they liked it or not. It was something that bound them to walk a tightrope of life and death and experience a sensation of isolation like no other.

Though as Vlad watched Jack interacting with Phantom, how the ghost tenderly had started embracing the man, and Jack in turn squeezed and held the boy so tight it looked like he would pop, the man couldn’t stop the bit of jealous rage that fermented in his core.

And yet, the more human side of his brain was breaking. Maddie was gone and he had destroyed Daniel’s family in all the wrong ways… It was his fault here as much as it was Daniel’s, and now... Now he just needed some time to himself to reflect…

Danny wasn’t sure how long he’d hugged his father for, and in ghost form no less, but they both needed this and it seemed like it didn’t matter who was there to offer the much needed comfort. “I-I…” He swallowed thickly again when he looked up into the deep blue eyes of his father globs of tears rimming his lashes and streaking freely down his face.

“It… It’s okay… I… You just… you look so much like my son like this” Jack admits. “I… I couldn’t... I…Oh, Danny....”

“Dad… I wanted to tell you sooner, and … and Mom too but…” He sniffed, trying to clear his nose and opened his mouth to continue only to hiccup, his voice betraying him. As the paramedics, cops and of course the GIW start to encircle them Danny whispered simply. “We-We’ll talk at home I…”

“Ecto-entity Phantom, by the order of CR-2003-02 you are under arrest!” The agent called out earning several glares from the emergency responders that had shown up.

“Like hell he is!” Jack boomed, surprising everyone there, but none more than the ghost himself. “You leave right now or I swear...” The large man said in a rather flattened tone. Jack loud was one thing, that was normal… Jack talking calmly or quiet well… that meant hell was about to break loose.

The agents looked about the area awkwardly, before one brave one with dark skin piped up. “But the law states-”

“And the law can get you a warrant to take him,” Jack said simply eyes hardened. He was not about to deal with them after… after… he shakes his head to clear his thoughts before putting an arm around Phantom… Danny… Danny Phantom, and pulling him to himself. “Ghost’s mine and I’m a licenced hunter so I have possession. Now leave.” he barked

Danny watched his father in awe. He’d seen his father upset before of course, and even protective of him and Jazz before too, but never like this…

The agents shared a glance before backing off with glares all the way back to their van.

The paramedics were next to approach while the Cops started roping off the area. Everything was a blur after that. And Danny hardly remembers anything once the paramedics took Jack.

He knows at some point he flew home, not bothering to head back to school, as he sort of ‘blinked back into reality’ to realize he was staring at his ceiling. He really didn’t care about school right now…

He wasn’t sure what time it was when Jazz came home. Her eyes were red and she sighed in relief upon seeing him, before practically collapsing on top of him crushing him in a hug their father would be proud of. It only took a second before they both began to sob again… -.-.-.-.-.-.-.- Incomplete Total words: 4711

#Danny Phantom #Phic Phight 2020 #prompt fill #Danny #Maddie #Vlad #Jazz #Jack

3 notes · View notes

b-kitsune · 6 years ago

Text

Many ways to say I love you: Day Twenty-Nine.

Kidge-a-palooza 2019 Prompt: Elegance. Pairing: Kidge (VLD) Universe: Victorian!AU. Status: Part 4/4

She tightened his tie more tightly so that the knot was perfect enough and the collar of his shirt didn't get messy, earning a small claim from her son for pulling him while ordering the last details of his outfit made for that afternoon, where important figures and renowned people would visit the estate of her dear friend Allura that afternoon. Katie gave him a brief warning look to keep his still for a few more seconds as soon as she heard a refusal about the outfit that Katie chose so carefully while removing wrinkles from his suit with her hands to finish her job.

''Daddy, mom is squeezing a lot.'' The boy complained as soon as he saw his father enter the room looking for something in the furniture that decorated it. Katie raised an inquiring eyebrow.

''You are very wrong if you think that your dear father will help you escape, I still have to brush your hair.''

''Pope!'' The fearful boy groaned at his mother's words, but Keith just shrugged with a funny laugh as he continued searching through the drawers of the room.

''I'm sorry buddy, mom is ordering you properly so that all of our friends see how big you've grown since last summer.'' Keith said approaching his wife, drawing her attention with one hand on her shoulder. ''Pidge, do you know where I left the silver shirt cufflinks?''

''They broke up at Lance's house during your last friendly competition.'' Answered sardonic Pidge, hitting both hands in allusion to the fight they had months ago for drinking too much. Keith walked away ashamed of his wife. ''You can use the wolf shirt cufflinks, they will look good with your jacket.''

''Yes, I think you are right.''

She snorted in response listening to her husband head towards the bathroom with the ornaments on his hands while doing her best to battle with the hair of her beloved son. The knots that were created while sleeping could only be thanks to the genetic inheritance of the Holt family. So she would be lucky if she made Steven look presentable after playing around her dear friend's farm. Her son had the bad habit of jumping and jumping into the grass as soon as she lost sight of him for a few minutes, something he had categorically not inherited from her at all.

Katie had to make sure that her image looked impeccable at least until they arrived at Allura's house in a few more hours, or all her work during the morning would have been useless. Usually, they were the employees who had to take care of her son's attire, but Katie couldn't allow anyone to take care of Steven from birth, just as her mother did with her and her older brother, even giving him of breastfeeding during the first months. Something unthinkable for a woman in her class and strongly criticizing her social circle, but when Katie had given her son to a nurse the first days of his birth reluctantly, something inside her heart was removed from possession and jealousy.

She wanted to be the one to feed her son, take care of him, dress him and educate him in the sciences that her family loved so much. Having it only for her and that nobody dared to interfere in her upbringing. Keith on the other way, didn't turn mostly against when he learned that Katie dismissed the nurses he hired for the care of his firstborn, even thinking that it was much better for someone close to be in the care of his beloved son.

But Katie would never have thought that raising a child was such an exhausting task. Even at just four years old, Steven seemed to have a personal record of making his parents lose their temper before they could send him to military school. Keith used to have a little more patience with him, letting Katie know that during his childhood he also mediates his parents' patience with almost vandalism. Katie almost admired her mother daily when she had to deal with her son's attitudes in which she often saw her attitude and temper reflected in him.

In spite of everything, she loved her firstborn deeply.

''Keith, did you remember to lock the wolves before leaving?'' Katie asked when she saw her husband get in the car. He nodded securely indicating to leave.

''Yeah, Beezer will release them during the afternoon.''

''Mom, let's stay at home, Kosmo will miss us.'' Steven asked with a hint of affliction in his eyes. Katie stroked his head affectionately.

''Don't worry about him, you heard dad, they will be fine without us. Don't you want to see Uncle Matt and Uncle Shiro, honey? They have missed you all this time.''

''... Yes?'' Katie gave him a big hug at her innocent tone.

''Speaking of uncles...'' Keith said with a serious countenance. ''How long do you think it takes for Lance and Allura to get out of the shadows?''

''Who knows, sometimes I asked me which of the two is blinder to the interests of the other.'' Katie smiled wistfully. ''I remember that when I was waiting for Steven, they behaved quite collaboratively with each other... I thought they would finally realize their feelings, but I guess it wasn't enough.''

''This is ridiculous, at this rate they will die ignorant about what they feel for the other. Those cowards''

''Since when are you so engaged in the interests of others, dear?'' Katie asked somewhat surprised about Keith's recent interest, he removed himself uncomfortably from his seat, without connecting his gaze to her.

''How strange is my concern for a dear friend?''

''Yes, especially if it's Lance. You usually enjoy his misfortune.''

''... Okay.'' He answered resigned, he knew that lying to Katie was a useless task. ''I may have benefited economically from his indecision.''

''Have you been betting with Hunk again?''

-''With Shiro. And honestly, the game lost the fun for years.''

''Oh my god, you are terrible people.''

''That's what Matt said when he found out and started betting on Allura's favor three months ago.''

Katie was perplexed to learn that her brother had also lent himself to entertain the situation of her friends, preferring to change the topic of conversation before the new projects that her husband's company was starting and prevent her son from knowing the bad practices of his father. It was impressive how much Keith had changed since he began spending time with Hunk and Lance, but even for her to bet on her friends' private life was to cross the boundaries, she didn't want to deal with Allura's wrath as soon as she found out.

Steven just watched with disinterest through the window as if nothing they talked about had to do with him, which Katie thanked.

So neither of them realized that on their son's face there was a countenance highly concerned about the situation of his dear uncles, seriously thinking that that afternoon he had to prevent his uncle Lance from continuing to be ''sad''.

...

''Pidge, nice to see you again!''

''Hi Allura.'' She was greeted by a big hug from her dear friend who almost made her lose her breath. ''I see that my mother's plants have grown quite a lot in your garden.''

''Colleen was very kind in giving me the juneberries that remind me so much of my childhood, I couldn't help planting them as fast as I got home.'' She said looking towards the area where flowers were seen through the crowd. ''Romelle and Coran say they are the most beautiful and well-groomed flowers they have been fortunate to know.''

''That wasn't because of my mother, you have taken care of them with great care.''

Katie answered with fun; it was nice to see Allura smile when she talked about her past. After a terrible illness that took her father's life a few years ago, Allura's smile was difficult to appreciate for several months. But her mother's gift was certainly right.

Now her friend looked much livelier. As she remembered the first years.

''Steven, don't run around people!'' They heard Keith from the other side of the garden. Katie hoped her son wouldn't get in trouble just when they arrived.

''It seems that your son is still as energetic as I remember.'' Allura smiled, Katie growled slightly.

''Yes, I just hope that energy doesn't end by breaking a leg.''

''Come on Pidge, I remember that one of your biggest fears was to become a copy of your own mother. Let your child make his own mistakes while enjoying a good afternoon. I asked my pastry chefs to prepare peanut butter cookies.''

Katie nodded after a few seconds and wanted to taste the cookies that Allura ordered for her delight. She could enjoy a quiet afternoon at a party of great elegance without thinking that her child would get into trouble for a couple of hours, isn't it?

...

He took his son's neck before he dared to get away more than allowed and escaped again as he did fifteen minutes ago while talking with Hunk about his new recipes at his restaurant.

''You know you shouldn't walk away, Steven.'' He scolded him severely by approaching him, but his son just writhed on his grip trying to break free.

''I need to find uncle Lance.''

''Well, you found uncle Lance just the way you wanted!'' A jovial voice called the attention of both as soon as they saw Lance approaching his direction. ''I didn't know your son preferred me over you, mullet. I must tell you that it feels like a small triumph.''

''I don't think that's the case.'' Keith said irritably. ''He has been obsessed with you all day.''

''Oh yeah?'' He approached Steven to stroke his partially messy hair. His appearance was a vivid image of his father, with a malicious look very similar to his mother.

''Uncle Lance, I want you to stop being sad!''

''Ohh! Seriously?'' Asked surprised, Keith didn't seem to understand very well what his son was saying. But he preferred to follow the game. ''Very well, I listen to you.''

''Let's go to the garden.'' Steven answered determinedly while taking the sleeve of his suit with one of his hands.

''Do you know what he plans?'' Keith shrugged as he followed.

''My experience has concluded that it is better to follow the game. He won't tell you even if you ask him.''

Once they reached the garden where the meeting was on course, they saw how Allura was surrounded by many of her closest friends who enjoyed a pleasant chat under an awning, including his wife who was holding a tray full of peanut butter cookies just for her.

Steven started running towards Allura as soon as he located her among so many people around, taking him in her arms. Keith knew she was his favorite aunt and had a childhood crush on her since last winter.

''Aunt Allura, can you pass me your hand?'' Steven asked as soon as Allura left him on the floor. She nodded interestedly.

''Do you want to hold my hand during the afternoon?''

Allura said amused, Steven nevertheless effusively shook his head, placing it on top of Lance's hand without warning. A loud gasp came out of the mouth of everyone present who surrounded him. Allura, who kept her face from blushing when she felt Lance's warmth on her palm, watched her nephew confused.

''Do you want me to take Uncle Lance's hand?''

''Yes! Uncle Lance is sad, so if you take his hand as mom and dad do it when they are sad, Uncle Lance will stop being.'' Everyone's heart was tender at the innocent request of the child.

''But buddy, I'm not sad.'' Lance tried to talk with some fun in his eyes.

''No, you are. Mama said in the car that dad and the others were having fun with your misfortune because you like Aunt Allura and you are too coward to confess.''

A sepulchral silence traveled all over the place as soon as Steven's words came out without any bad intentions, causing both Lance and Allura's countenance to change from happiness to a stoic, almost contemplative face.

The next thing Steven saw was both his uncle Hunk and his father fleeing from his uncle Lance, and he didn't see Matt or Shiro again for the rest of the afternoon, listening to his mother who probably ran away from the party for fear of his aunt Allura. What seemed funny, since his mother didn't stop laughing for the rest of the day.

Steven remembered returning home early that day, his father seemed to have been irritated as his eye looked extremely swollen and his face bruised. His mother told him that he had fallen off a horse and didn't have to worry because he had earned it, nor the sadness of his uncle Lance.

A few months later, he learned that they were preparing for a long-awaited marriage. Steven was depressed for a moment knowing that his aunt Allura would marry a man other than him, but he knew that his uncle Lance would make her very happy.

#peith #kidge #kidgefanfic #monthofkidge #kidgeapalooza #kidgeapalooza 2019 #keith kogane #keith (voltron)#pidge gunderson #pidge holt #voltron #voltronship #victorian au

14 notes · View notes

robot-unicorn-attack · 5 years ago

Text

CHAPTER 03 - NYX

Taglist: @ayzrules @bebemoon @interluxetumbra @filthysoulls @jay-swagsby @shiftyprincess @now-on-elissastillstands / @elissastillstands

Walking through those doors, Sol was immediately bombarded with lights and sounds. It was a press conference, the same layout as it had been for every post race in the past and will continue to be for every one in the future. Though, Sol would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy them. Relatively speaking, of course.

She enjoyed the fact that she could string everyone along with whatever story she could come up with and the reporters ate it up like it was going to give them the answers to eternal life. 'Complete suckers' she had thought after the first round of questioning past back during her first year. Ever since, she's garnered a taste for the lime light. Well… maybe a bit before then…

However, even though she walked through as a villain would, something was off about this particular post event. There were reporters, yes, but something else stuck out to her and before she could narrow it down, someone was whisking her away to touch up her makeup - having it smeared from the heat of the race - and then ushered her to a seat.

A growl formed low in the back of her throat and her chest was tight with the expletives she was about to spew. A woman..

"Tell us, Nyx, did you have a hand in the fall of racer Basilisk of Abraxilis Racing?"

Coy Cheshire smile, "What ever gave you that idea?"

Lights continued to go off around the room as she waited for the reply from the others. They were getting wet with anticipation at the potential drama being sifted and sorted. Which way were they going to spin their stories this time around? Sol had to keep herself from the barf noises she wanted to make at the expense of everyone there.

"It's no surprise to anyone here. Or on the track, that your methods are less than honorable."

She allowed a hum in response as the reporter continued, "it only makes sense that the cause of Basilisk's... accident would be malicious in nature. And the only one devious enough to pull it off is you, Nyx."

"Oh stop it, Zaera," she playfully threw her hands at the reporter as if she told the funniest joke, "you're gonna boost my ego tenfold if you keep showering me with praise like that~"

There was a faint bit of uncomfortable chuckling from the other side of all the lights and Sol couldn't help but flash a big wicked grin in their direction. Eyes catching the flash of light and casting their glow across the room. It was surreal. As if they were in the presence of an actual deity.

"Nyx, Nyx! Tell us, c'mon, did you do it? Did you somehow sabotage Basilisk's ride?" The murmurs that kicked up were hushed but adamant. They wanted to know they wanted answers.

Sol shifted around in her seat to make herself more comfortable. Long limbs dangle where they could. Head tilting from side to side as if contemplating life's problems. As if she had the solutions.

Another wicked gleam and grin sent them in a frenzy, "Torrid Gorge is a tricky, tricky track. I can't be to blame every time a racer can't handle their ride."

More clicks from the cameras. More flashes go catch her molten stare. More questions were asked and then answered or just avoided entirely. The usual were thrown out.

Who are you wearing? McQuinth, of course. The label partnered with Noxian~ to create something perfect for a deity such as myself

What was going through your mind during the start middle end of the race? Oh, you know. How to take the turns, whether or not dashing into golems is going to ruin someone's run. How fucking hot it is on the track… the usual.

What was the incident at the Neon Demon about? The argument between you and Widowmaker? If my beloved teammate hasn't spilt the beans, than neither shall I. It isn't becoming of a lady to kiss and tell, now is it?

Etc. Etc.

In the midst of all the questioning came a moment where the air around the room became stagnant and almost icy. Sol can remember precisely when the goosebumps rose to the surface of her skin, almost tickling her in a way that scared her. Not a moment too soon after the experience the room was all a tizzy with alarms and chimes and bells gluing off signaling notifications to all the press present. She could even hear faint noises from the other rooms. Similar situation going on everywhere, she mused.

Even Allryn, off to the side, was answering a call in a heated hushed tone, while a small holoscreen in the palm of his hand lay open for his viewing.

A reporter called out to Nyx, drawing her attention and focus back to the room now occupied my hungry wolves rather than the timid reporters from earlier. What ever it was that came in, really got their journalism blood going.

"Were you aware that Basilisk raced for the company Abraxilis?"

The question was random and it took her a moment to process those words. Just what was it that came in that has everyone in a jumpy state?

"You have already asked me this." It was evident that she was getting annoyed with the badgering and focusing on her did she didn’t she sabotage bit. At least to Allryn, it was obvious. "Please, Nyx, answer the question." They were dead focused on her answers. Hanging to her every word more so than normal. Their eyes wide and if she had the ability to gauge the sizes of their ears she would have guessed they had enlarged enough to catch even a whisper from her lips.

Sol released a very auditable sigh, "Yeah, of course. I'm aware of all the racers and their teams and sponsors. It comes with the territory." A flick of her wrist to show her disinterest in these lines of questionings. Hoping they would get the memo and proceed to something with a bit more sustenance.

"So then you are aware that councilman Cedric Abraxas was the founder and CEO of said company?"

A slow nod from the goddess. "Yes? I'm afraid I'm not following..."

"Let me break it down for you," Sol noticed Allryn slowly approach her location, eyes trained in on the interviewer, "We have just been informed that Lucira Artelcro aka "Basilisk" is in critical condition and may never race again." The crowd that occupied the room around her was a buzz. That must have been what the notifications were about. Basilisk's condition. No matter. It wasn't like that affected her at all…

"Makes it a little less crowded on the track~" she let out a soft chuckle but the interviewer continued. Some people even began filing out in a hurry after checking their screens one last time. And to say that that wasn't interesting would be a down right lie. If anything it peaked her interest quite a lot. Why would they leave before the interview was over? It wasn't like they were there for very long… 45 minutes max after a race.

"Were you aware of councilman Abraxas' death earlier this evening?"

"What does that have to do with me?" Although, yes, it definitely caught her attention. The death of a political figure in Unicorn City, no matter how corrupt the guy was, still warranted a modicum of attention.

"As you are well aware, Basilisk's team is owned by the aforementioned councilman and his company, Abraxilis. So you can see how the two instances taking place tonight, at roughly the same time, looks very suspicious. Especially for you."

"Again. I fail to see the comparison." This was all too much. Even for Sol. Hell even for Nyx, the Goddess herself. Why was this reporter hounding her on the councilman's death? So what? It's not like she had anything to do with it. She was n the track, anyone with eyes and half a brain cell could tell you that that was where she was at the time of his death So, why all the questions?

"If you're looking to ask me something specific I suggest you find the backbone to do it, otherwise this is over-" she makes to rip off the mic clipped precariously to the fabric of her cleavage and begins shifting in her spot and get up when there was a voice that called out over the hustle and bustle, "Was it on purpose?"

"Hmm?" Her eyes narrowed as she locked onto her new target within the audience. Halting her movements, waiting for them to continue further.

"W-what I mean is. The accident with Basilisk and the attack on Abraxas. Was it on purpose? Did you do it?" They tried so hard to exude courage and confidence in their voice as they projected the questions towards her. She could literally taste the nervousness in the air.

"I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Was it some sort of political attack on Abraxas and his policies involving the rezoning of the Barzan provinces?" Cedric Abraxas, he voted against sending aid to Ser'hld IX more than enough times before the moon was finally destroyed. Sol remembers when the issue was fresh and it was all anyone was talking about those many years ago. And then when Leni entered her life and was able to open up to her, she would lean on Sol as she lamented her home's destruction. The only reason Sol knows so much and cares enough about Ser'hld is all thanks to Leni. So is she glad that the man, who could have stopped and saved an entire moon's population, is dead and murdered no less? Abso-fucking-lutely.

"So you aren't denying involvement with either incident then?" Shit did she say that aloud?

Before she shoved her foot any further down her throat as she likely would have, Allryn swooped out from the shadows and gracefully, yet forcefully, took Sol by the arm and raised her to a standing position. He muttered just loud enough for her to hear for her to keep her mouth shut and to act natural.

"Thank you all, that'll be all for tonight." The way he took over the room with the authority of power, it sent a shock of electricity through her. But it wasn't in a way that was pleasant. Not in the slightest. Allryn was taking control of a serious situation, a mess that she herself decided to dig in to. Any backlash on his part was due because of her. "Any further questioning will be taken up by the panel. Please submit any and all recordings through the correct LAZER channels and the other racers will be more inclined to answer at a later time. Thank you all." He waved them off, turning his back on them literally, in order to escort Sol off the small platform and back through the door she emerged from not but an hour earlier.

Still they shouted their questions and still camera and lights and flashes were going off. They even tried to push past the additional LAZER security at the back door to follow; all in the name to get to the bottom of the coincidence of the century.

Abraxas top racer physically unable to compete anymore and he himself out of commission permanently? Seems a bit suspicious.

And the only one at the center of it all, was Nyx.

#sol #nyx #writing #ch3 #written by kzzzz

5 notes · View notes

lou-bonfightme · 5 years ago

Text

Catnapped 2: This Time It’s Purrsonal || Part Four: You Know Nothing, Jon Snow || Merlou

In which Toulouse and Merida begin their journey...[February 2, 2020]

@heart-of-dunbroch

[tw: talk of violence, brief thoughts of suicide/self-harm]

TOULOUSE: They had been running all day. The way to London was to be done by wolf. This was decided in lengthy conversation with Belle and Hades, as they had stayed up late into the night, strategizing. Wolves could not be tracked by train tickets or calls to taxis. Wolves would not be expected. That didn’t mean Lou liked it.

When Toulouse had turned back from wolf to man, he ached in places he hadn’t even known existed. He walked back to the little clearing Merida had chosen rubbing his lower back with one hand and fixing his hair with the other, put off that Belle had tsked at his for trying to take along his hair gel in the small pack. It was enough just to take clothes for the three days they’d be gone. And perhaps a toothbrush. Otherwise, they had to travel light and quick. So, Lou was left disheveled and uncomfortable not just with aches but his appearance as well. He made a face as he sat down on the damp ground, his back pack that Belle had tied to his wolf’s shoulders, now in his lap. He took out his phone to check his messages, but there was no signal. It was freezing and even with having run all day and the wolf’s blood warm in his veins, he shivered miserably.

The wolf was unhappy with the stop too, though not for the same reasons. It wanted to run through the night. Claude had been gone a little over twenty-four hours at this point and to the wolf, that was far too long. To Toulouse it was far too long as well, but he was better at rationalizing the time. Telling himself that this stop was needed, for they had to maintain their strength and also work on building a proper strategy for infiltrating somewhere that had never been infiltrated before.

The wolf did not understand this. It saw only the moon rising once more in the sky and knew that it had been too long. That a pup left alone this long would begin to starve, if it had not frozen already in the winter chill.

It was futile to think as the wolf in the moment, because to give in to instinct was to give in to brashness and brashness would not get Claude back to him sooner.

Though, as much as Lou liked thinking this thought, over and over like a mantra, he did not know where to go from there. He refused to allow himself to be grateful to Merida’s knowledge, but even still, he was eager to hear her plan. Belle had told him to listen to her and he would heed her words; she’d never steered him wrong before.

The bushes rustled, drawing Lou out of his thoughts. He looked up from his phone and turned his head toward the sound so that when Merida appeared, their eyes connected.

"So," he started without preamble, "what is your plan?"

MERIDA: Merida could also run forever.

This was where she belonged. She had always felt that way-- wolf or no wolf. When she’d gone out campin’ with the DunBrochs, when she raced Angus through the hills, the world grew bigger to her, the colours rich and new, the wind like a song and the sky callin’ her name. There was nothing like the fresh air in her lungs. Nothing like the soil underfoot. It didn’t matter if it was the wolf’s skin she lived in or her own. As long as she was on the move, there was a seamless transition between the two. It was easier than ever to remain herself. And the journey ahead did not scare her. It raced toward her as she raced towards it, ready to snap it in between her jaws and make it her own.

When it was time to stop, the race was still alive in her veins. But she used it for kindling. She wasted no time to unhook her own bag and leave it on the ground for the Bonfamille lad to sit near. She grunted that she would gather the firewood and that’s what she did: clomping out into the dark wood and finding the best pieces. She returned with her arms full and the wind tugging at her tangled curls and the tips of her ears. It wasn’t that cold, but it would be soon.

She went to work on the fire, building it in seconds. It felt good. It felt like herself, like she was a child, and this was the job set to her by Fergus long ago while he went fishing with her uncles and Elinor set up the tent with her aunts.

A bit mad to leave a child with a flint and some matches, eh-- but that was the DunBroch way. Even the women were strong, calluses on their fingers and palms, a strong jaw set to the task.

The fire caught and licked the air. Its smoke climbed idly and the glow hit Merida, her rich red hair now orange, even with the dirt and the leaves and the oil from running all day. She sat back and was content to rest for at least this moment.

But the Bonfamille lad wanted a chat.

Well. Not a chat. He’d never voluntarily talk to the likes of her. He wanted details.

She tossed some nettle into the fire. “The best time to attack will be right before the baptism ritual. We’ll have to time it right, but most everyone will be preparin’ for the ceremony. The babe will also be with a few of the Order women. I doubt they’ll have a Knight or Prince with them. They won’t be expectin’ any trouble. So we’ll have to take out the guards in the front, then hopefully I’ll go through the women’s quarters and we shouldn’t have much trouble. Well.” She snorted. “Till they spot the guards at the front. Then all hell will break loose. So. Quiet, fast. No room for error. Gettin’ out with a babe will be ten times as hard as gettin’ in.”

TOULOUSE: Everything about this venture was foreign to Toulouse. When he traveled, he did so in luxury. His family taking business class on trains and planes to Paris. Only taking cars with tinted, dark windows to travel through Paris. He had never gone anywhere on foot for such a long distance and he’d certainly never camped before. Perhaps, if Hector was the kind of man who liked those kinds of things, he would’ve taken his sons out into the woods and taught them how to build fires. That was not the kind of man Hector Bonfamille was. Lou had learned other useful skills from him: how to make a cocktail, how to argue without seeming like you were arguing, how to tie a tie. In their world, these things were as powerful as striking flint and coaxing a fire to life.

While he had not hesitated to ask his question, he was wary of the answer—and rightfully so. Merida’s words had his brow furrowing, for this was foreign too. Lou did not like things he did not understand, and he did not understand battle strategy. He felt useless, a feeling that made him automatically restless. As he sat and listened, his fingers tapped out a quick melody on his knee, a subtle but anxious tic.

He mulled the information over quietly and thoroughly. It was silent except the crackling of the fire. The sun had not yet set, so the forest was lit with twilight—purple settling over the brown forest like a blanket. He wished it felt as peaceful as it looked, the whole forest still and centile. But with Merida and her wolf so close, he felt on edge. With their mission laid out in front of them, looming daunting on that purple-blue horizon, he felt almost hopeless. He wished for Hades, who had experience in these things, who would know if Merida’s plan was good or bad.

As it stood, Lou could do nothing but trust Merida. Something that would not sit well with him, if Merida was anyone else outside his circle, but was made all the more difficult due to her actions—both towards Belle and himself. All he could see when he looked at her was the person who had put him in this position in the first place. When he looked at her, he felt the sudden urge to push her down, like he used to do to Berlioz when his little brother would take his toys. Only now, the action would be with the intention to harm. Still, he had no other choice. If he pissed her off, she’d leave him alone in this forest, without a way to get home and, more importantly, without a way to get to little Claude.

Taking a breath, Lou let it out from his nose and stilled his tapping fingers, curling his hand into a fist. In lieu of his understanding, he did the only thing that he could think to do:

Ask questions.

“How do we know that the baptism is happening in three days? How do we know what time it is happening? How many guards are there?” How can I help? “If there is no room for error, it seems as if you are leaving an awful lot to chance,” he criticized, almost as an afterthought.

MERIDA: Merida’s eyebrow quirked.

She wasn’t doing nearly as much deep-thinkin’ as the Bonfamille lad (which she had a feeling about; just a glance at him and he was all furrowed brow and pursed lip, deep inside himself.) Merida was deep inside herself as well, but her brain was blissfully silent. In the wilderness, Merida was filled with forest-sound instead. That crackling fire, the cricket-song, the wind. She just focused on these things and let them think for her. Her wolf had no complaint otherwise. What was there to worry about at this stage? Just the absolute essentials: stay warm. Stay hydrated. Stay well-fed. Merida could focus on these things and answer these needs more than she could ever answer the yearning of her human-heart, or fill the well of her loneliness. Or silence her darkest thoughts. The ones that came in the shape of a gun and a silver bullet.

She thought such things late at night. She thought such things when the moon waxed and her wolf got louder and louder. Keeping herself alive was much easier when it was broken into the most mundane of tasks. Feed yourself, drink water, keep yourself warm. Do this, make it through the night.

She looked back up at Lou when he began to ask his questions. Merida nearly snorted at him. She swallowed this noise, her eyebrow drawn up instead.

“Tis a reason they came now,” said Merida simply. “It’s close to the end of the month. The baptisms happen every month, for the eligible Order babes born. He would be given a fairy gift if it wasn’t too late. Still an educated guess, but he needs the baptism to be part of the Order properly. They’ll do it sooner than later.” She sighed and leaned away from tending the fire, flicking hair from her eyes.

“There will be least two guards at each entrance. As for leavin’ it to chance-- there’s a difference between room for error and room for improvisation.”

Fergus had said that to her once.

“So we got to keep our advantages in mind, aye? They won’t expect us, that’s one. They won’t expect me, that’s two. And-- they underestimate me. They always have.” Merida couldn’t help but smirk, just a little. Everyone always does. “So we stay hidden as long as we can. Take out the guards quietly, use the ladies’ corridors against them, use their arrogance against them.”

TOULOUSE: Merida’s words were hardly comforting. She spoke with the cocky kind of air that reminded Lou of his more manic moments (not that he’d ever admit to that), moments where he was delusional in his own grandeur and briliance. He didn’t like how it still sounded like Merida was mostly just making assumptions. That much of this strategy wasn’t strategy at all, but flying by the seat of their pants. Lou hated that. He was not a boy to make rash decisions--well, he was, but not by choice. It was his mania that grabbed him in fits of lightning quick choices, ones that inevitably always complicated his life. When he was himself, he was not rash, he was careful and calculated, as was the Bonfamille way. They were snakes, laying in wait. They examined every angle, found the weaknesses, then chose exactly when to strike. That was how Lou dealt with his enemies, and it was always effective. Whereas his manic, split-second decisions always led to a bigger mess--things that haunted him.

The last thing Lou needed was for this mission to haunt him, he had enough ghosts. Not to mention, it was not Lou that was at stake here, it was his little cousin, whose care he was in charge of (self-appointed, of course.) This meant that they needed to be perfect. Every step of this plan had to go exactly as Merida said.

Lou was not confident that it would. However, there also wasn’t time. They would be in London the night after next and they would be running as wolves, unable to communicate for half of that time. Which meant little time to plot, to examine every angle, to strike only when completely and utterly sure that their enemies would be obliterated.

It would be messy.

Not to mention, part of this lack of confidence stemmed from Lou’s own inability to imagine himself doing the things that Merida was discussing. Taking out guards. Infiltrating the Order’s dungeon-like headquarters. These were things that Lou had never considered doing in his life.

“And what happens when they inevitably sound the alarm?” Lou asked, an anxious edge to his voice that he couldn’t hide. “The place will be crawling with trained monsters--against just the two of us.” Really, he thought, they should’ve brought others with them. Hades, for one. Even Peri’s frost magic would be more helpful than not. Not that he would put his friend or girlfriend in the line of fire if avoidable but he couldn’t deny the fact it would be strategically sound.

MERIDA: Merida raised her eyebrows. The answer was obvious. We fight them.

She kept these words inside her, though her other instinct, honestly, was to laugh. Perhaps it was just the glow of the fire, but the Bonfamille lad was looking a little sick. And for good reason. Merida wasn’t under any delusion that this was easy. She knew that Toulouse had little skill; what power he brought wasn’t even his own. It was his wolf’s, and she wasn’t sure what that meant in the end. If she thought too much about it, her stomach curled in discomfort at the thought of bringing a werewolf into an entire fortress full of men, women, and children. She might have renounced the Order but that didn’t mean she didn’t still love its people, at least a little. That didn’t meant that she wanted this curse for anyone else. She’d rather Lou slaughter the Princes than turn them, the way that Merida had been turned, out of revenge. (How else was she ever to love the wolf, knowing as she did, that it was given as punishment?)

This was why she should do it alone. There was a greater chance for her to get in and out undetected. If there were complications, she could handle them quietly. If they got too loud…

Then she failed. She failed, she was slaughtered, it was over. She’d die a Knight though, no matter what the Order thought of her. She’d not turn into the wolf. She’d not let the wolf save her.

But Toulouse? What else did he have?

It was grim. And Merida was scared, but it was a fear she knew how to live with, a fear that had always driven her forward, never backward.

“You’re not expectin’ this to be easy, are you?” Merida finally said, eyebrow still raised. “I dunno wut ye want to hear, min. There’s no gettin’ in and out without fighting anyone, and we can be as careful as we want, but yeah--we’ll be outnumbered and at a disadvantage. All we can do is anticipate it.”

Well, there was one thing.

“But we can take a hostage. Been thinkin’ about that. Adds its own complications, but...we need someone to carry the babe anyway, if not you. I’d strap the lad to me back but somethin’ tells me you won’t like that idea.” Merida tilted her head. “So. Grab a lady of the order. It will distract whoever we fight. They’ll hesitate and I won’t.”

This wasn’t an idea that Merida liked. It wasn’t honorable. It was against the Prince’s Code. And it was also Merida’s last mistake, wasn’t it? Taking Belle?

But it’d give them more leverage and, perhaps, just enough to get out safe.

TOULOUSE: “Yes, because that’s your first instinct, isn’t it?” Lou sneered without thought, his wolf rumbling in his chest.

He hadn’t meant to say it, not really. The agitation had snatched his tongue in its currents. He didn’t like how plainly Merida had laid out the predicament, it made the knot in his stomach tighten, like he was being drawn and quartered, slowly and painfully. It had felt like that since Claude had first been taken. Or it felt like he was a fish caught on a hook, being reeled in, without any ability to fight the pull. Even though they had stopped running for the day, Lou felt like part of him was still running, leaving him out of breath.

As much as the wolf liked the idea of sinking its teeth into all those Order people, Lou was nervous. He was not built for fighting, not the way the wolf was, not the way--he could admit--Merida was.

And, despite his snide comment--he was not particularly against a hostage. Whilst he bulked, generally, at the idea of physically hurting anyone who didn’t outright deserve it (he’d rather see the Order disbanded and behind bars, much more satisfying that way), he also would do whatever despicable action was necessary to rescue his baby cousin. He had already been branded a monster, even before the wolf had taken up residence inside his veins by those who thought him callous and cruel. Besides, taking a hostage may alleviate some of the violence, a concept he was a fan of.

It would work. Lou knew this because only the most vile of people would put violence over saving someone they loved. Even this Order was not full of mindless zombies, as Phoebus’ love for his own aunt proved. A hostage Would work against Lou--if his family was taken, a knife to their throat, he’d be paralyzed and helpless. If it had worked against someone such as Hades…

Lou had thought, only once or twice before of what would have happened if Merida hadn’t had a change of heart, the truth of the alternative to that night so disturbed him--

“It will work,” Lou admitted after a moment of stony silence. The words were weighted heavily on his tongue and he wondered, for perhaps the first time: were despicable things really justifiable by the honor of the reason they were committed? Would this decision haunt him? Would he not be absolved by the steely resolve that he had only done what was necessary to protect his family?

“Especially if we threaten with a wolf bite.” Lou was loathe to turn another, not because he was worried about transferring the curse to someone else--no, that would not be his problem. He was reluctant because he was rather proud of the lack of violence and grief his wolf had so far caused. After a year of living with it, he recognized it for what it was: a defensive mechanism; brutal and instinctual, but deeply loyal and easily controlled if allowed to protect those it cared for.

MERIDA: Lou sneered at her like she was the monster, but he was the one who talked about the bite like it was a weapon.

She wanted to sneer back. And that’s your first instinct, huh?

Merida didn’t.

But she would not do that. She would never. If he wanted to threaten, then let him, but she’d always remember Akela’s teeth and she’d always remember the fear darting through her in those last moments of her humanity. And how she curled up, quivering after, her entire arm throbbing as she thought about sawing it off, knowing it was too late anyway. So much was taken from her in those minutes. Not just her humanity, which she knew, objectively, she still had parts of. The divide in Merida between wolf and human was so strong sometimes she could not think she was all beast. She fought against what the wolf wanted-- she won, these days, more than she didn’t. (The wolf hated it. The wolf made her dream with the wolf’s eyes as revenge. She’d not had a human dream since that day).

And so it wasn’t about her humanity as much as it was about her body. She’d loved her body before, it had been her favourite thing about herself. It was strong and tall, she trained it well. After--

Her body didn’t belong to her anymore. Akela ruined her.

She fought for control every day, every minute, every second, every breath, every heartbeat. Right now, she was fighting.

To do that to another woman? To frighten her so? No. Merida would take a bullet between the eyes first and she’d die with that honor, knowing that she’d at least never be that.

“A knife will do it,” she said. Her eyes remained on the fire, those flames reflected in the blue of her irises. “Order women are soft. And if she has the babe, she’ll want to protect him too, so she shouldn’t fight back.”

Who would it be, Merida wondered. Which one of her sisters would she take and terrify, whose life would she risk for the life of a strange child? Guilt crept along the edges of her consciousness, even though she knew that it was the right thing to do and the Order had sinned first, ripping the babe from what family it had left.

She flicked her eyes up to Lou again. “Though in case she does-- tell me you at least know how to throw a punch without breakin’ ye thumb.”

TOULOUSE: Toulouse stared at the fire too as he listened to Merida and contemplated jumping into the flames. Not, necessarily, to die--but because he wanted to burn this conversation from his skin. He didn’t like the way it settled on his shoulders, or more accurately: like a collar around his neck; one of those medieval torture devices that slowly suffocated you with inward facing spikes.

He didn’t know why this was. Perhaps it was the physicality of it. Psychological warfare you could distance yourself from. He never saw the aftermath of what had happened to Sykes. It had been pushed from his mind. And when he’d helped defeat Bradley, he had watched it unfold from a distance, knowing Bradley was shackled and could not harm anyone ever again. He had never committed an act of violence, not against anyone. He considered himself a gentleman who did not engage in such dastardly affairs, with such dastardly criminals as Merida.

Perhaps she was the problem. He thought this idly, flicking his eyes towards the girl, whose hair was the colour of autumn leaves, who wore it in a tangle about her face. Her nose was sharp and her brow was high, the angles of her face all hard lines ill-befitting a feminine beauty. She looked, to him, the part of the ruffian criminal.

If, perhaps, he was with Hades, and it was his companion that voiced these things, he would not find them so ill-fitting. They would be easier to swallow, because Hades would speak with the gravity of the situation in his voice, but with a steely, passionate resolve that would bolster Lou’s own. With Merida, Lou couldn’t help but sense a reluctance and felt it seep into himself.

Or, perhaps, he simply was not built for battles the likes of which Merida was talking about.

At the mention of a punch, Lou visibly balked slightly. He still remembered the feel of Roscoe’s fist hitting his lip, crunching against his cheek. The bastard’s knee in his stomach. Just the thought filled him with a controlled kind of fury.

“I don’t see why I shall need it,” he spoke plainly, doing his best to keep the distaste for such acts out of his voice. “I will have my wolf.”

The wolf would protect him. It had not failed him so far and Lou found as they set out on this journey, that he trusted it, almost implicitly. If he was not so entangled in worry for his cousin and doing his best to keep the idea of the actual fight far, far away; he would perhaps grow concerned with how fondly he was beginning to think of the wolf. For without it, how would he ever rescue Claude from the clutches of the Order?

MERIDA: I will have my wolf.

How easily he said that.

She wrinkled her nose, not bothering this time to hide the expression. She only turned her face after Lou saw-- and then, it wasn’t to hide, but just because she didn’t want to look at him, this boy who thought of the wolf as an easy solution, when it simply wasn’t. How was she the monster here? It was not Merida who wanted to rely on the brute force, the paranormal strength, of a creature that should not be. Merida was trying to figure out the way to do this as quietly as possible… It was something she’d learned, she realized, from Phoebus. As shit as he was, he’d known something about strategy. And he gave that to her now. Despite the sour taste in her mouth, she was grateful. It was another skillset, just another weapon, like her bow and the sword and her passion and yes-- the wolf.

But the wolf was never first. The wolf…

If the wolf could give Merida anything, the wolf gave Merida a reason to sharpen the rest of her weapons and become deadly as Merida, not as the monster.

“The wolf is the back-up plan, you dolt,” she couldn’t help but say-- whoops. She snorted. “Think it through. If you’re the wolf, you can’t carry your cuz, nor can you hold a prisoner captive, can ye? You expect me to do that-- to carry your cuz, to secure a hostage, and to take out trained Princes? I’m a good fighter, but even I can’t do three things at once. If all hell breaks loose, fine, let the wolf out, hopefully most of the Princes will run screamin’. But you’ll want to be able to defend yeself without it. So. You ever throw a punch?” She cocked a brow as she repeated herself.

TOULOUSE: Toulouse, honestly, wasn’t sure what that expression was for. He just blinked once at her, his brow lowering down over his eyes—feeling slightly abashed and annoyed by this fact. Not that he put much stock in what Merida thought of him, but it was still jarring for him to be on such intimate terms with someone and not know and trust them explicitly. They were embarking on a quest so far out of his depth, they might as well be walking across a thin sheet of ice, and Merida’s presence was no wooden plank laid out across the path to stabilize him.

That look was illustrative of the chasm between them, almost as pronounced as the marked differences in their accents.

He was only further rankled by the patronizing tone of Merida’s voice.

“I do not expect you to do all the heavy lifting,” he told her, his voice cool though his emotions were stirred by the accusation. “You said yourself the hostage is partially in order to carry Claude, leaving me unencumbered. My point was that the wolf is obviously for defense. Why would I need to throw a punch if the wolf will protect me instead? And, for the record, if it was not obvious, I’ve never thrown a punch. I’ve never had the need. I’m not some vagabond,” he scoffed at her, all his bluster insincere, except for the question of his gentlemanly nature. “The first and last person who ever punched me ended up in prison.”

MERIDA: She laughed at him.

She had to. What a pure dolten, sayin’ things like ‘I’m not some vagabond!’ and with such a straight face, too. Think about that! He thought throwin’ a punch was prison-worthy. The look on his face at the suggestion, too, like she’d insulted his mam. This was a bloke who had never so much as been in a bar fight, let alone infiltrate a thousand year old secret society. Bloody hell. Wut sorta poof reports a min to the police after a punch? And he was so proud of himself too, so bloody proud, look at his face--!

She laughed harder, tossing her head back and letting this temporary joy fill her. When she looked back down, her eyes twinkled at him. She didn’t care if she set off his temper or annoyed him. This was easily the best part of her night.

Though really, it basically meant they were doomed. This jessie was going to die. She’d do her best to keep him alive but if he didn’t want to be a vagabond, well!

“Sorry! Sorry, whew, y’just made me whole night.” She snickered, wiping at her eyes. “First and last, he says! Ah,” she sighed out another breathy chuckle. “Well. That won’t do, Mister Bonfamille. Y’can’t go turnin’ into a pony-sized wolf every time someone insults yer ascot. Should at least know how to disarm an opponent. I’ll teach ye tomorrow.”

She flopped back then, putting his hands under her head and looking up at the stars. “I’ll wake ye up an’ we’ll practice before we head out.”

TOULOUSE: Merida started laughing and Toulouse just stared at her.

He wasn’t offended, because why would he care what Merida was laughing about? She was as inconsequential to him as a flea. Actually, less than a flea, because a flea you had to pay attention to, lest you wind up with an infestation.

If anything, it just gave him more of a reason to detest the Scot for being loud and uncouth. It was horribly rude. He would not concern himself with a bruised ego, if she was laughing at the fact someone had punched him, she was no better than a common bully and if she was laughing at the fact he’d never thrown a punch, then let her laugh. If she thought that was funny, she was nothing more than a brute, which didn’t surprise him.

So, he just stared quietly at her, finding her, if anything, annoying the way flies were annoying. Necessary for the environment (in this case, necessary for him) but horrible nuisances.

In that vein, he knew that she had a point and that learning tacticle defenses would be useful, even if he didn’t like the idea of it. His practical side easily outweighed any residual embarrassment he might feel at his lack of knowledge of combat techniques.

“Why not now?” he said, his voice impatient, as he watched her stretch out. “We have to leave early tomorrow if we want to make good enough time to be in London the evening after.” Not to mention, the whole idea put a pit in his stomach that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep with anyway.

MERIDA: Merida had closed her eyes, letting the travel from today sweep over and remind her of her body. She felt all those kilometers traveled in the stretch of her muscles. It was always a little bizarre to Merida, how exercising the wolf exercised her too, as ridiculous as that probably sounded to just about anyone. But for Merida there was still such a gap between wolf and girl. When she lived in the wolf’s skin, it felt like piloting a narrow aircraft, with controls that moved a second before she got to press them. In other words-- like she wasn’t piloting anything at all. Like she was cramped, uncomfortable the whole time. If anything, the soreness that came from sitting in the wolf all day should be similar to takin’ long road trips in a car or somethin’.

But the wolf’s body was her body. The muscles were the same. The heartbeat, the same. The exhaustion belonged to both of them and so did their different urges-- the wolf’s hunger, Merida’s hunger, the wolf’s desire… Merida’s desire.

It was just a mental thing that made it feel strange. But accepting this close connection would be the dirt thrown over the coffin of her old life. She clung, stupidly-- knowing it was stupid. But Merida still couldn’t uncurl her claws.

At Lou’s irritated question, her eyes sprang open again, and her chest rumbled with an annoyed growl, both Merida’s and Lou’s. But she sat up again and looked him square in the face.

“Well, thought you’d appreciate a little laydown, princess,” she mocked him. “But if ye want--”

She pushed up onto her feet and then dragged her dagger out of her pocket. She threw it and it pierced the ground right next to Lou’s boot, sticking straight up.

“Pick it up.”

TOULOUSE: Thing was: Lou wasn’t that tired; which was, frankly, bizarre. To all logic, he should be more exhausted than he’d been since, perhaps, he had been in the hospital that first night. Lou was not unfamiliar with flurries of activity that kept him up for days on end, in a hazy fog of concentration that meant the passing of the sun and moon was all but lost on him. However, those days were usually spent shut up in a room, not running through forests.

Lou was not someone prone to long or strenuous bouts of physical activity, but his body did not know this, apparently. The only indication of today’s trek, all the miles of uneven ground covered at a dead run, was a soreness in his muscles that was unfamiliar but not debilitating.

Rest was the furthest thing from his mind. It was Claude on his mind. It was rescuing him and getting back to their family in one piece. Nothing else mattered. If Lou got any sleep tonight, it would be a surprise. Instead, he felt this a much better use of his time. Those nonstop nights and days of frenzied activity made it natural now for him to push those muscles of his, to try and stop the whirring of his brain. He had no thought for his own wellbeing, nor Merida’s, nor for the fact that perhaps they should rest. His only thought was: I am awake, therefore, there are things that I can be doing to prepare.

So, he ignored her comment and readied himself to argue if she attempted to sleep.

Thankfully, an argument was unneeded and she stood up the next moment.

His eyebrows furrowed as she reached for something in her pocket. He only had a moment to register the glint of light on metal before the knife landed next to him. Instinct had him flinching away, but the wolf steadied him more than he would have been otherwise—the surprise of it might’ve had him lose his balance on the log he’d managed to perch on. As it stood, he only shifted slightly to the side and in the next moment, it was the wolf who had jumped into the forefront, eyes flashing and a snarl ripping from his lips before he could stop it.

He planted his feet on the ground again, steadying himself, his shaking fingers digging into the rough bark of the rotting tree. The wolf settled after a moment, but now Lou was concerned: how was he supposed to spar without the wolf bursting forth from his skin?

Reaching over, he yanked the dagger easily from the ground and stood. He adjusted the unfamiliar, heavy weight in his hand. Lou was used to the light cedarwood and horsehair of his paintbrushes. The blade glinted again in the firelight as Lou turned it over in his grip, eyeing the handle—it was beautifully carved. And he wondered briefly with a kind of morbid fascination, that deadly beauty.

When he looked up at Merida again, he sucked in a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Lou was nothing if not a dutiful student. His mother, he suspected, had not imagined him applying such a doctrine to something like combat, but still, it would serve him well.

“How do I hold it?” he asked, his fingers flexing around the handle once. His cheeks pinked slightly, but otherwise his features were set with determination.

MERIDA: Holding it was not the point.

She wasn’t planning on teaching the Bonfamille lad how to use the dagger. When you put weapons in the hands of those who had no idea how to use them, those weapons became more dangerous than useful, and one night of lessons would not change that. Give Lou a gun, he’d get it taken from him and then a bullet through the skull. Give him Merida’s arrows-- well, that idea was so hilarious she wouldn’t even finish it. A dagger was perhaps the most innocent thing if only because its reach was not great and if Lou could get close enough, perhaps through his werewolf’s strength, he could disarm, grab-- stab. Anyone could stab.

But it was the disarming that was the focus, the most important skill. Disarming an opponent might not stop them, but it did stop you from being dead. Merida’s most important job, besides retrieving the wee lamb, was to make sure Lou was not dead.

“An opponent will come toward you holdin’ it like a hammer. Most likely. You’ve held a hammer, aye?” One eyebrow twitching up again-- if his answer was no, she’d not be surprised, though that was an additional point in the This poofter is going to die column.

“So, like this--” she mimicked the fist and stretched out her hand so he could see her thumb wrapped around her other fingers. “Lock the wrist, hold it out-- come toward me and thrust it forward-- I’ll show you how to stop it.”

TOULOUSE: To the hammer comment, Lou just gave Merida a look. One which, he assumed, would become typical of their partnership. It was all raised eyebrows and pursing of the lips. A subtle blend of offense at the jibe to his intellect and the answer “of course” clearly marked. Therefore, a response was not deigned with a response outside of the look described.

He had handled hammers before. It was not his main medium, but Lou enjoyed a bit of woodworking. Whittling was something he actually did in his spare time quite frequently, when his fingers needed to move. It was more physical and satisfying than doodling. He had also completed larger projects that, yes, involved using a hammer. He was, after all, the defacto stage manager for Swynlake Community Theatre Summer Productions.

Anyway. Suffice to say he had sufficient experience wielding a hammer.

Just not as a weapon. Something that still settled uncomfortably in his stomach and was the reason his hold was so hesitant as he flipped the blade around and held it gingerly for a moment before his grip tightened with determination.

His wolf watched warily but did not feel as if it was considering interfering. The wolf knew the value of play-fighting the same way the man knew the value of learning what Merida would teach. It did not mean either of them liked it, though.

Lou moved forwards at a walk—his steps were confident, but slow, not at all the way an enemy would approach. He did as Merida instructed though, even baring down on her when she reached up to grab him. Lou felt the wolf in his moments but he didn’t try to push it down, if anything, he felt its instincts would only be an asset in keeping him alive.

MERIDA: Merida had never taught anyone but herself.

She only knew, then, how she had learned. She had learned by throwing herself at things. She watched, she absorbed, and then she charged, doing her best to play-act her father and her uncles and all her cousins. She thought be big! and be loud! and she was those things-- fast, strong, furious all at once. She got knocked down more than not, at least at first. But soon she learned how to fall down. That was always the first step.

She could only hope that Lou was smarter than he looked--smart in this specific way, that is. She had no doubt the lad could quote Shakespeare to her, point at paintings and talk about light or pastel or whatever bollocks his kind got their pants twisted around.

But could he pay attention when it mattered? And could he take a punch?

It took brains as well as guts.

And so when he swung, she caught his his wrist-- “Pay attention,” she instructed.

The rest happened fast.

She yanked him toward her, directing his arm down so the knife tip was pointed away. Her other hand smacked into his inner wrist and forced his grip to loose. The knife dropped-- Merida caught it, and in the next second, she’d pulled him close, the tip pressed to the boy’s neck.

“See what I did there?” She said, cocking an eyebrow. “Ye want to control the arm-- and target the wrist.”

She let go, still holding the knife. “I can come at you now, nice and slow if you’d like.”

TOULOUSE: Pay attention.

Two words all the Bonfamille children knew and knew well, though they were more accustomed to the short, quick "Regarde!" It was, perhaps, one of the first things they learned how to do. Pay attention to these names, these faces, how to use silverware, minding manners, singing scales, holding paintbrushes and dutifully learning the colours and strokes and techniques. Pay attention to the way your father sets down his bag when he comes home or the way your mother’s voice raises. Lou had been waiting and watching his whole life.

He was a quick study—and in this it was no different.

It was almost amusing, actually. Lou realised, as Merida grabbed his wrist and shoved the butt of her hand into it, that she was going for a pressure point. And Lou knew this because he knew all the muscles in the body—he could recite all three hundred and so by name and show you where they were. He had been able to do this since he was young: first for art, then for his brief foray into medicine, and now, he recognized how helpful it would be in a fight.

He was so focused on the learning that even the wolf was quiet as Merida manhandled him, pulling and then pushing and pulling again—bringing the knife to his chin.

Lou thought again of his father—and when he had first taught him how to shave; a proper shave, with razors thin and sharp.

"Regarde, Toulouse," he had said, "or you will hurt yourself."

When Merida and Lou parted, he blinked and rolled his shoulders. The wolf inside him shook out its fur.

He nodded once, expression drawn and concentrated.

One of his feet slid back slightly as Merida moved towards him, shifting his weight. She moved slow enough that Lou could easily gauge when she was within reach. He grabbed her wrist, just like she had done to him. As soon as their skin connected, Lou felt a jolt inside of him, as if his muscles had just spasmed uncomfortably. Almost instinctively in that same moment, he recognized the wolf’s power behind his own grasp. He yanked Merida forward, smacking the knife out of her hand with a quick jab to her wrist.

He fumbled the knife as she dropped it. Even with the speed of the wolf, the movement was awkward if unpracticed.

Lou scrambled for it anyway, blood pumping as if in an actual fight. Half kneeling, still holding onto Merida’s wrist with one hand, he managed to catch it just before it hit the ground. The tip pressed into the soft earth right by the toe of Merida’s boot. With a tilt of his head, Lou shifted the knife just slightly so it rested at the top of Merida’s shoe, pressing against her Achilles’ tendon.

"It’s not the neck," he commented with a shrug as he squinted up at her. A little smirk crept into the corner of his mouth. "But it’d do in a pinch, no?"

MERIDA: He could be worse.

In a real fight, she’d be much faster and stronger. In a real fight-- a Knight, a Prince, they’d know different techniques to stop this simple disarm, or to block the other attack. It begged the question what the point would be then, teachin’ Lou even the barest of basics when the enemies he’d come up against had years and years of trainin’. But something was better than nothing. Maybe they’d get a bunch of jessies who slept on their hand-to-hand (many of the Order boys did, whereas Merida had loved every second of her stolen lessons) and Lou would be able to stick the knife in a couple of tendons.

Or maybe he’d get stabbed or slashed. That was much more likely, and unfortunately, Merida knew that a stabbing or a slashing would waken the wolf. If Lou didn’t die, he’d kill others. It’d be a blood bath in those tight, dark corridors. Merida did not want a blood bath. For multiple reasons.

“In a pinch, aye. Though, you got to be faster,” she said. “If I were a real enemy, I’d smash yer nose into yer brain with my knee and you’d be a goner. Don’t make ye self vulnerable like that. Y’want to be facin’ yer foe, guard your body, aye?”

She grabbed his arm and hoisted him up, snatching the knife from him too.

“Now, I came at ye straight on the last time, but this time, ‘m gonna aim lower and slash ‘cross--”

She demonstrated the movement, a slash that would travel diagonal, from Lou’s hip upwards.

“When ye stop me this time, grab my wrist and bend the arm backwards, instead of dragging me forwards.”

She reached forward, grabbing Lou’s wrist and forcing it back, twisting it painfully so it was hooked behind Lou’s back. “From here yer gonna want to get your opponent to the ground as quickly as possible. How do you think I should go about that, eh, Bonfamille?”

TOULOUSE: Toulouse wrinkled his nose as Merida pulled him to his feet. He yanked his arm out of her grasp, the touch of her fingers sending sparks down his spine that he didn’t like, not at all. Those hands of hers had held a knife to Belle’s throat before. Who knew what else they had done.

Not to mention she was criticizing him, which Lou did not take kindly to at all. He could argue with her—even thought about it, that argument of his half-formed. Of course he’d gone slow, because they were practicing. She’d been slow too. Of course in a real fight he’d have to think much faster than he had, he knew that, obviously. (Of course, in a real fight, Lou had no idea how fast he would think or if he would be able to come up with something like slashing an achilles’ tendon—or if it would be random, flailing slashes, with the desperate hope something would land. Or, even worse: his wolf’s tooth, his wolf’s claw bursting forth to protect its very human, very weak other half.)

Merida didn’t give him time to form his argument. The moment he was on his feet, she’d swiped the knife from him and was slashing it through the air. She grabbed his arm, a shot of pain bursting in his shoulder as it twisted unnaturally. Despite himself, the wolf woke up at that and the power—and speed of what happened next was out of his control. He wretched his wrist from her grip with a snarl and elbowed her hard in the stomach.

“Don’t,” he growled at her, “do that again.”

What he meant was take him by surprise like that. He was perfectly aware that what she was teaching him was valuable but the wolf would not tolerate any actual harm. And Lou felt the manhandling unnecessary. He lifted his trembling hands, rubbing one over the other to stop the tremors, breathing in once, deeply. When he let it out it was a puff of white in the cold, dark air.

He eyed her warily again—the momentary ease of something akin to camaraderie once again lost as the man and the wolf remembered: enemy.

“By kicking in the back of their knee,” he answered her question after a moment, still rubbing little circles into the palms of his hands; massages he had been taught to relax the muscles after long hours of painting. “That’s how I’d get them to the ground. Or by continuing to wrench their arm out of the socket." This was said dryly, the distaste for such an action clear in his voice. However, he knew either method would be effective. One could not fight with a torn ligament or dislocated shoulder, thought the torque to accomplish either would need to be considerable.

MERIDA: Guess who wasn’t a good student?

Merida grunted at the smack to her stomach and her own eyes flashed-- her wolf awake too.

It thought about grabbing Lou, kneeing him hard in the groin to reduce him into mewls of desperate fetal pain, writhing on the ground. Where she’d kick him again, smash her fist into his face, keep him pinned until he held up his trembling hands and showed his belly in complete submission.

She would remind him. Who she was. The strength of her wolf, her determination, her ferocity, much greater than his. She could smell that on him and had from the first moment she had met the wolf in person. His beast was placid and defensive. It only ever showed its teeth when danger had already invaded its territory.

Unlike Merida’s wolf, so restless, always dreaming of running and running-- craving new land for its kingdom.

Merida ignored all of this. She blinked once and her jaw clenched, then ticked, and she swept her messy locks back from her face, a movement that was human and so it reminded her of her human parts...this hand, that hair, her naked skin. She would not be like Lou, growling like an animal. She would be in control.

You hear me? She thought to that wolf of hers. You show me your belly. I’m the alpha, not you.

(We’ll see about that, whispered the wolf, though it sounded like a growl.)

“You realize I’m tryin’ to help you, aye? I can’t help you without showin’ you. And you can’t learn without doin’. But you’re also not going to save yer nephew if yer wolf tries to bite my face off,” she mouthed off to Lou. “Now do you want to keep goin’ or do you want to sleep? We’ve got a long run tomorrow.”

TOULOUSE: Toulouse scoffed. It was an ungentlemanly sound, but well suited to present company.

“Right, like you have such impeccable control.”

He knew as well as she did how false that was and how hypocritical it was for her to say it. She had been the one to turn him into a monster such as he was now. Not to mention, he could feel her wolf the same way she could feel his. And hers was a proper beast, volatile and wild. It was one of the reasons he didn’t trust her, more than a simple grudge for past actions.

Honestly, the comparison made him feel better about his own wolf. His wolf had never damned anyone to this life. He had only ever chased people way, had only ever involuntarily turned in order to protect the ones he loved. (Okay, so, maybe the Bradley thing had been a touch overreactive, but that had been before his first full moon; he could be forgiven a minor hiccup.) The wolf’s docile nature was not something to be ashamed of, but proud of. Lou’s body may be home to a beast, but how often had Belle and Hades told him: you’re still you.

Toulouse felt like himself as he stared haughtily at Merida. He felt superior to her, he felt justified. His footing was so rarely sure, especially these days, but he knew his cause was noble, even if the means were unsavory at best. And, above all, he felt his determination like a hand on his shoulder, guiding him towards his goal. It was good to have a goal, Toulouse had always been better with one. lt was how he was raised.

“You can show me without actually hurting me,” he snipped back. “I can’t blame my wolf for wanting to protect me from you. Now, was I correct in my hypothesis on how to take the enemy down from the position you showed me?” he asked, impatient with this interruption and cutting off further argument. They did not have time to argue, as Merida said: they had to save Claude, above all else. Nothing else was important. Lou committed this mantra to memory afresh.

MERIDA: Another scoff.

You can show me without actually hurting me-- she almost pitched her voice to be nasally and uppity, to mock him like they were kids playing at a game, instead of adult monsters training for their hunt. Thankfully, Merida knew better. Lou wasn’t her cousin and would probably throw an even bigger fit. He was incapable of having fun, of that she was sure. He was incapable of fun just as he was incapable of taking even a little bit of pain-- of having his fur literally ruffled-- his clothes wrinkled, a speck of dirt on that pressed collar.

It’d be a shame when he inevitably perished, if only because it was a shame when pretty things died.

“Anyone ever told you pain was good for ye?” she said in response, tossing her hair. She was getting sick of it now, and she dragged it all the way up, twisting it into a messy, tangled knot on top of her head, securing it with a few ties. “I barely touched ye, Princess. But alright-- you ready for me to go again? I’ll come at you, you twist my arm. Let’s see if ye can make me whine. I’ll do it without the knife. That oughta comfort ye.”

And then Merida launched herself at him, mimicking the slash much faster than she had the first.

TOULOUSE: Contraire to what Merida might think, Lou was not the type of man to be bothered by being called Princess. (Well, if only in the very French aversion to Royalty kind of way.) He thought there was nothing wrong with not liking pain. And it wasn’t even him who had protested, really, but the wolf and he was not about to chide it for protecting him.

Besides, Lou had dealt with plenty of pain in his life—and the pain of his loved ones—and he didn’t know if he agreed with her assessment that “pain was good for you.”

Of course, he wasn’t going to rise to her feeble bait, but he still pursed his lips slightly. All he did was nod at her instruction and brace himself for impact.

She came towards him quick, her arm slicing through the air. Lou blinked and stumbled back a step on instinct, even though he knew he was supposed to be reaching forward and grabbing her. It was the wolf that again jumped to the forefront. Its quick eyes followed the path of Merida’s upswing and Lou managed to reach out and grab her arm. It was not as close to the wrist as he would’ve liked in order to get a proper angle, but it would get the job done. However, he had knocked himself off balance stepping back and Merida put up a bit of a fight, which he hadn’t expected.

It made it harder for him to wretch her arm around and by the time he managed, he was proper annoyed. She had never answered him about how to get an opponent to the ground—but he decided to take a stab (not literally) at it anyway. Pushing his knee into the back of hers, he made her stumble. What he did not account for was the fact he still had a hold of her arm and stumbled too, knocking into Merida and throwing her off balance until they were a pile of limbs on the ground.

MERIDA: His instincts weren’t good.

You couldn’t teach instinct. This was the most worrying thing of the whole lesson thus far. If Merida was more wolf than girl, fine-- but Lou was more man than beast and the man wasn’t made for this sort of thing. He’d told her upfront as much and she had no reason to doubt him. But he showed it over and over. He showed it in split-second hesitations, which was all it took to snatch the advantage back. Being a good warrior was half skill and half all guts. When you missed the guts, it didn’t matter how well you could swing a sword, if you thought about swinging it too much.

Instinct. It was something Merida had. It was why she’d argued again and again for her place in knighthood. It didn’t matter the sex, but the guts, and Merida. Had. Guts.

This time, when Lou hesitated, she showed him just a taste of that hesitation. She did fight back. Her eyes flashed and she wrenched her wrist. Lou looked panicked and angry and annoyed and just about every other shade of emotion besides the one he needed to win.

They toppled alright, but by that point, Merida knew the fight would be hers. She wrenched her wrist again, kicked her legs up from under him and pinned Lou, straddling on either side.

“Not bad,” she said with a shrug of the shoulders. “I mean. You would’ve died, but at least you made it annoyin’ for ‘em. You got to be more confident, Princess. Here I thought that’s what yer Bonfamilles were known for.”

She pushed off of him and spread her legs wide. “Shall we try that one again?”

TOULOUSE: Lou had no idea how he’d somehow wound up underneath Merida, considering the fact he’d fallen onto her back. The world turned, something in his back pulled, and suddenly he was staring up at the smoke of their fire wafting towards the trees.

The wolf growled, but it was more a grunt of indignant displeasure than anything particularly threatening. Perhaps the wolf had realized it wasn’t going to best Merida and didn’t feel particularly enthused to try. If she was a real threat, it’d be different, but the boy and the wolf had decided that—perhaps, that was not the case. Their guard was not down completely, of course, it would much more than one day of amiable silence for trust to be built, if there was even a possibility for a foundation. However, ever practical, Lou knew that what Merida was teaching him was valuable—and whatever her motives for accompanying him on this trip, she was useful and would not be useful if he snarled and snapped and ran her off.

While he might not have the urge to rip her face off in a beastly show of dominance—he wasn’t happy about being pinned to the ground. He’d not wrestled like this since he was young and even then, Ber had never been much of a playmate in that regard. Sometimes, his father, in his most fatherly moments, used to get down on the rug and wrestle with him or throw him squealing with laughter into the waves at their beach house. But Lou had quickly had to outgrow such instincts. They didn’t befit a Bonfamille.

The Bonfamille qualities involved being poised and collected and, yes, confident.

That comment did make him narrow his eyes slightly. Annoyed both at the insinuation that he was a coward (even if he was, no one wanted to be called one) and not upholding his family name.

Lou got to his feet as graceful as he was able to manage and brushed off the front of his sweater pointedly. His jeans were hopelessly dirty and he thought with secret despair about how there was no way Belle would’ve ever have thought to pack him a stain remover pen or lint roller.

No matter. Lou nodded his head once more at Merida’s offer to go again. This time, knowing what to expect, he planted his feet firmly. If asked, he would never admit to Merida’s irksome words winding like a vine down his spine and strengthening his resolve, but there was a determined draw to his brow as Merida moved towards him this time.

The wolf drew forth into Lou’s fingers as Merida lunged. His eyes flicked to where her hand would end up, not where it started. This time, he managed to grab her by the wrist, though as he twisted, he lost a bit of his grip trying to adjust. It was sloppily done, but he managed to yank Merida around, bending her forwards slightly as her arm bent at an awkward angle.

Perhaps, if he was Hades (or even Belle (the woman had a vicious streak he knew)), he’d take some pleasure in even the slight discomfort he caused Merida. Instead, he found the feeling of her tendons stretched beneath his grasp unsettling. He tried to ignore it, even if he hesitated again for a split second before wrenching her wrist further up her back so she’d twist and stumble. With her own forward momentum, he forced her to her knees.

Lou stumbled just slightly, having overextended himself. He let Merida go, lest they repeat the same mistake from before.

“Better?” he asked, his voice in a soft pant, irritated at once at the tone. It was conditioned in him to look for approval from teachers. Apparently, that included criminals teaching him how to hurt people.

Merida did not give him time to think on it much. She nodded, quick and sharp then came at him again, arm raised, knife glinting…

#bdrpmerida #merlou #catnapped 2: this time it's purrsonal #part four #you know nothing jon snow

1 note · View note

lucasrajan · 6 years ago

Text

The story so far...

The story right now

With Oyuki on the mend following the successful purge of her enemies, Lucas is stringing together new allies as he plans his next big move.

A young healer, Cilia, crossed paths with Lucas while she was tending to the sick and wounded in refugee camps outside Ul'dah. She's now become Lucas' alchemical apprentice. Will her secret past in Ishgard give Lucas the path he needs to extend his connections deeper into the cold north? Might she be able to help him clear Sangrid of her chains? Can he keep her safe long enough? Will she realize his desire for the power she can offer him?

Lucas has his work cut out for him merging Oyuki’s old information network into his network — or what remains of hers, anyway.The prize should still be well worth the effort of purging the cult that took it over.

Fate had a strange hand to play when Lucas began investigating the Garlean plot! Though Lucas revealed a Garlean spy to a smuggler, the smuggler panicked and shot Lucas. He was healed by a Sharlayan astralogian recently arrived in Eorzea, Cassandra Porter, hoping to rebel against the nonintervention policy of her homeland. She and Lucas have wasted no time in weaving schemes together, and her powers of divination have already proven critical in speeding along the unraveling of the Garlean plot!

Lucas has started an uneasy and potentially lethal partnership with Yasu Sasaki, an enforcer for the infamous Big Shot, a Kugane gangster. Together they are targeting Garlemald's duplicitous schemes in the eastern city, and seeking to make certain they do not extend too far into Kugane's underbelly. Will Lucas see the job through without drawing too much ire from Big Shot? Will Yasu try to kill him to avoid needless complications?

Lucas cannot help but wish he can help Sangrid reunite with her lost love. But is there any hope for a happy ending? Is tempering really at play? What lies ahead between Lucas and his most trusted guardian? The answers surely await behind another voidsent scheme!

It seems as though Lucas may well have found the solution to Master Valliere's affliction, but will the cure come without further cost? Now that the ledger is even again, will the two schemers end up as enemies or allies? Is any trust for the arrogant thaumaturge a mistake waiting to reveal itself? Lucas will have to be careful in utilizing this powerful ally!

Meanwhile, the refugee Veata Aydelotte has helped Lucas rediscover his love for dance. Early signs of a friendship are complicated by similar sins they’ve taken such different lessons from. And neither of them know how her past is about blindside Lucas’ own plans.

The Dirty Victim Job (The Garlean Plot)

Smugglers, slavers, nobles and their ilk were being blackmailed by Garlean spies in an effort to smuggle contraband and supplies into Eorzea, and to create safe havens for those sympathetic to Garlemald.

Lucas needs a more complete list of the people who are being targeted. An attempt to approach one such target, a smuggler, went disastrously, and further observation revealed it to be certain the Garlean assets are thoroughly terrified. A complete list needs to be found, as well as the evidence held against them. That should allow the authorities to round up the true criminals for their own misdeeds and/or free those who are merely victims. Either way, they won't be helping Garleans anymore.

A spy Lucas tortured revealed two details: The Garleans have a ledger kept somewhere in Eorzea, and in addition they're operating in a Kugane warehouse. Lucas compiled a list of possible Garlean safehouses, but there are too many options to search without notice with any reasonable speed.

R'adevh Khav, a pickpocket who impressed Lucas when she managed to pilfer a pickpoket challenge he carries around, further proved herself with a series of introductory jobs. Since then, she's helped him put the pieces of the puzzle together, and found the plot is bigger than Lucas learned.

R'adevh Khav found information on Jurmin Waller, a man who connects mercenaries and guards to clients in need of security services. She learned:

Waller is in deep with a Garlean intelligence team that has him by the throat with some sort of blackmail that has him terrified. As a result, it seems he's been instilling Garlean operatives into Eorzean organizations. For how long? That's the question.

In addition to Waller's proclivity for gambling at the Gold Saucer, he spends a lot of time betting on matches in the Wolves' Den. But what's more interesting is the amount of time he spends beneath the arena in the training areas seeing to it that a young miqo'te fighter, W'kultha Irel, has the resources and healing she needs.

Waller has some sort of big contract coming up.

With her powers of Divination, Cassandra Porter discovered the ledger is kept in a ship west of Eorzea. I'radebh Tykah, an adventurer Lucas pays on retainer, spent a week scouting on various ferries west of Limsa Lominsa, tracking the movements of ships. Her information, when compared to details from the divination, narrowed the target down to a ship that drfits just out of the range of the usual patrols.

Now Lucas will take all he can to Chief Sergeant O'rylah Yelho of the Twin Adders.

The Big Break

Not so long ago, it all came together for Lucas when he pulled off a job behind enemy lines.

Read about that here: https://lucasrajan.tumblr.com/post/185849970901/a-payoff-five-years-coming

It all traces back to the start

Everything that has happened so far had a first step. Here’s a quick timeline:

Lucas returns to Ul’dah

Lucas begins to conceive a plan to take a swing at the Empire behind their front lines and aid the Eorzean Alliance

Lucas reconnects with Iona Falconstone, who he trusts to help keep him in line

Lucas sells all his goods (For funding!)

Lucas meets Madeleine Pellegrin, who is a nice lady!

Lucas meets Ea Sangrid, whose skill he is impressed with

Lucas meets O’rylah Yelho, whose skill he is impressed with. Her connection to the Order of the Twin Adder and her veteran experience makes her a solid key to legitimizing insurgent action.

Lucas conceives of a plan to high high value targets behind enemy lines and damage Garlean logistical lines. He plans to promise conscripts freedom for their aid, but expects them to die in his plan.

Lucas sells most of his his high value, rare finds (for funding!)

Lucas seduces Oyuki Shirai, a xaela warrior who started an information network in Eorzea before fleeing to Kugane when her officers betrayed her. He needs her knowledge to round the network up for himself. Or did she seduce him to enlist his aid?

Lucas meets Captain Blacke, whose talents and assets could be critical, especially if Iona trusts him

Iona warns Lucas of the dangers of arrogance. He realizes how arrogant he has been to think a conscript’s life forfeit.

Lucas’ brother is killed on the front lines

Lucas decides he will instead use his sample of a disease he took when curing Ea Sangrid to try and concoct a biological weapon, and unleash it behind enemy lines at those critical points.

Madeleine unwittingly convinces Lucas not to be so cold hearted, and successfully gets Lucas to agree not to take too great of risks.

Lucas is still tempted to try and manipulate the (perhaps void cult member?) person responsible for Sangrid’s illness to work with him on a weapon, but early negotiations fail. In a later conversation, Lucas finds himself reaffirming to Madeleine that he will take care, and at last he completely abandons the notion of using a disease.

Lucas formulates a new plan. He wants to free conscripts at an inconvenient time for the Empire, without them realizing it, and leave a battlefront without critical reinforcements at a key moment. He wants to work with those conscripts to sabotage high value operations.

Lucas reconnects with Jaran Dotharl, whose engineering prowess may be key to his plan.

Lucas and Sangrid scout the mission objectives and build a general plan

Lucas and Jaran scout Caeru for further information, and to steal valuable items that later help shape the first mission’s plan.

Sangrid continues to scout and gathers intelligence that will likely be of value during the operation.

The operation happens (See The Big Break above)

2 notes · View notes

zeciex · 6 years ago

Text

Obsidian & Angelite Ch. 10

Oya has spend centuries bound to one single plot of land when one day a stranger with a voice of velvet and presence that can only be described as dark and outmost interesting. He comes with an offer she can’t refuse and suddenly her entire world changes, both for better and worse.

But what does Langdon need of her? And how can she use him to get what she want? Maybe they’re bound by something bigger than fate.

Warning: Dark themes, Strong Language, rape mention, blood, death

A/N: Since tumblr kills everything with links, I’ll reblog this post with the links to previous chapters and archive link

The stone ground of Venice clicked under their heels. Around them buildings rose from the floor, some old and cracked while others remained fine and proud. It was beautiful, with arches of all kind cut out from stone and marble, with channels and gondolas, green plants in window sills, marble statues. It was a whole other world than what she knew.

Michael had held out his arm for her to take and like that they walked over the stone, backs held straight, following the black wings in the sky that soared through the air. Tourists and inhabitants took pictures of them and why wouldn’t they when the two matched so perfectly, so out of place with their clothe that resembled something more fit for the runway than a walk through a tourist attraction. Michael wore a deep emerald green velvet jacket with a black shirt underneath, a fine black vest over it to keep the onyx tie in its place. On the tie were small silver specks, barely visible to the eye. His shoes were fine and polished with silver tips. In all honesty, he looked like a young god.

When she first saw him she stood still in silent admiration of his angelic look that turned something darker by the serpent gleam in his eyes. At the inner corner of his eyelids were the same emerald green that matched his jacket. That matched her.

Oya’s dress were black, the fabric thin and all too showy for casual wear. It showed the soft skin of her breasts covered in tyl that drew all the way up around her neck and only two strips went through the see through fabric covering up her nipples. The sleeves were puffy, with small silver specks. Her black hair waved over her shoulders, covering up heavy emerald earrings shaped as snakes.

This was what they wore, their war attire, their war paint. It was showing the best side of themselves, cover up insecurities and instead make them sharp weapons to be used ruthlessly against their enemies. And this was the exact reason why their pictures were taken.

They walked towards what looked like a cathedral, the roof in high bows, with spires shooting up from the fine stone, reaching towards the sky. Statues were carved out of marble, all of old deities and gods, none of which Oya recognized. Columns held it up, thick and round, with patterns carved finely into them just like the carvings on the walls. Outside the heavy wooden door, dark against the sandy walls, stood guards. They kept the tourists from entering, they stood as the first line of defence.

Oya’s crows landed on the roof, basking their wings and crowing. Craw, craw, craw. An omen of death. As they approached the crows landed at the stone floor, watching the guards look at each other before walking towards them.

“The cathedral is closed to the public, you’ll have to return another day,” one of the guards voiced first in italian and then in english. Oya and Michael continued towards them. “I said-,”

“We heard you,” Michael voiced, elegantly moving a finger through the air. The guards stiffened with their backs completely straight, eyes blank. They turned around and walked back to their spot by the door. Oya slipped her hand from his arm, walking further towards the cathedral, hand stretched out in from of her, moving it softly through the air as if she were moving it through water.

The spell put up were intricate but not unbreakable, it was to keep mortals and other witches out, it was to keep her out more specifically. Now that her chains had been broken her power had grown, flourished in the release and with Michaels guidance controlled. She crouched down and started to draw on the marble floor, a half circle resembling the sun with four spikes running through it, in each compartment she drew different sigils and outside a square. Her crows jumped closer curious of her movements and when she suddenly stood they violently bashed their wings in surprise.

She wanted to the antique door, disregarding the old wood and what the chalk might do to it and began drawing a square on it, each side given a symbol. Michael came up behind her, intertwining his fingers with hers when she finally finished drawing. The chalk discarded over her shoulder to break against the stone floor. Their powers laced together, humming at their fingertips. Words that had not been spoken for centuries left her mouth soon to be replicated by Michael who followed her lead.

He didn’t question her methodes, he didn’t correct her or think that he knew better, that his way was better, instead he allowed her to do this her way, it was her revenge and he would not stand in the way of that.

There was a part of him that wanted to tear down every column, every statue, every fucking stone and see it sunk to the bottom of the ocean for what they did to her, the pain they had caused her. But he knew just how much revenge was worth and how much it meant, she needed to be the one to do that, not him. He was there as a spectator, a witness, support.

The chalk seared itself into the door, glowing embers following the pattern, edged and still burning. The spell was destroyed, the defence fallen. With a groan the door was opened by the guards that closed it behind them as they entered.

The inside of the cathedral was all marble, arches cut from stone, statues with a dead gaze staring after them. The arched ceiling were covered in paintings, trimmed with gold and safferic blue. It was beautiful and old, a reminder of a different time. The air was still and cold, the only warmth coming from the candles.

Oya and Michael walked further in, passing rows of dark wooden benches all faced towards the magnificent alter and the circle of chairs all manned by witches and a few warlocks. They watched silently as the two of them approached, some panicked while others kept a mask of stone on their face resembling the statues. The seat with its back towards the altar, the single tallest chair, were manned by none other than her mother, dressed in a fine tailored suit that matched her surroundings. Her hair was pinned up in a tight bun, not a single hair out of order.

Obsidian eyes ran over the two intruders with a cold glance. “We knew you’d come.” It was strange the way her voice carried through the room, distant and cold but somehow striking. It had always been like that, devoid of warmth especially towards her oldest daughter.

“You think your little protection spell would keep me out?” Oya questioned and found her voice just as cold as hers. She entered the circle, all eyes on them. Michael stood a few paces behind her, hands calmly held behind his back while he observed with mild indifference towards them.

“No,” Haesoo spoke calmly. “You’d find a way to get in regardless of the spell.”

Oya glanced to her sister that stood a total opposite of her own form, embraced by golden sunlight, catching her blond hair that fell in soft curls down around her shoulders, lips fine pink and skin pale and soft. She wore a dress of white fabric, stars and suns and moons cut into the fabric. Darkness met with light.

“We wondered who it was that released you, who could be powerful enough to do that without our involvement,” Haesoo stood from her chair. With her mother standing it was as if it send ripples through the room, the rest of her coven moving in their seats ready for a fight. Michael wasn’t having it, he clenched his fist in the air and brought it down with a harsh swing to his side, nailing every single member to their seat, unable to move. The only one he let go was her direct blood, her mother and sister.

The sound of her mother's steps rang out into the silent room, echoing over the marble floor, climbed the arches and walls, filling it up with one step at the time. Oya remained a statue of stoic nature, calm beneath her mother's hardened gaze. The sound of flesh hitting flesh replaced the sound of her steps. It screamed in the cold room, making the flesh of her cheek red with scolding, the bite of her mother’s palm a familiar sting. Michael moved behind her, she felt his anger through the tethers of magic around him but he contained it to a poisonous glare.

“I knew I should have left you to the wolves when you were born.”

Oya rolled her head back in place, eyes black orbs fixed on her mother with a cold anger Michael couldn’t help but be proud of. Hidden beneath the stoic mask, the child that wanted nothing more than her parents approval cried. No matter what ones parents did to their child, there would always be a part of them, a tiny part hidden beneath layers of emotions, that wished for their parents acceptance, their love. She was no different.

“I was weak, you were my flesh and blood, my first born. How could I do such a thing?” Haesoo’s voice wavered if just a little. Softly she brushed the hand that had stuck her daughter over her burning cheek and it broke something within Oya. She flinched away from her mother's touch, anger burning in her eyes, tearing up her throat.

“You had me raped,” she hissed out venomously. “You had me raped and left bound to that fucking place for centuries!” Her voice echoed through the chapel, climbed the sacred walls and made home under the arching dome, painted gold and blue. The magic in her lashed out, every flame rising to critical levels with a hiss and the many rows of benches screeched over the floor.

“You slaughtered a village did you really think that would be forgiven? I made sure we weren't all hunted and killed, I made sure the world thought it be poisoned water and not magic,” Haesoo exclaimed at her daughter. “For that I should have bound you to a cave never to be found. But I was your mother and I could not do that. I loved you, in my own way, and your sister begged for you to have a life, a proper one.”

“You never loved me. You hated me since I was born,” Oya said with a deep and hoarse voice. “Lies won't save you.”

“You never did believe me, regardless of my words.” Haesoo smiled with sharp lips, eyes still as cold as ice. “But I did love you in a way. And you, my dear child, wanted to be loved so bad.”

“Years of imprisonment made sure that need were snuffed out. The moment you tore my powers from me, the moment he raped me, that need for you love died. You killed the girl and created something far more dangerous.” It was a wonder how her voice fell into a sneering drawl. For a moment she saw her mother’s eyes flash in fear, for just a moment. Haesoo had put everything into her entrapment, the spell draining every drop of magic in her blood. Oya could feel it, the void of it, the lack of magic around her mother's presence. There were nothing she could do, nothing she could protect herself with, she stood defenceless in front of a goddess and stared her dead in the eye. No one could deny she was brave in the face of death.

“If I knew you would break the spell, I would have killed you instead.”

“And now you’re without powers to defend yourself.”

“I’m without powers, yes. But I’m far from defenceless.” At this her sister rose in all her glory. Her magic radiated off of her with a pulsating glow, the feeling of sun climbing along Oya’s skin. It was strange how her sister had become the complete opposite, her magic being light and full of life while her own were dark and with a whisper of death.

“Oya,” her sister spoke, brows lifted in sympathy. She couldn’t get used to the blue in her sisters eyes, the color of clear angelite, beautiful. They matched with Michaels. Oya could feel him behind her, silently watching, his familiar tendrils climbing along her back with a soft caress, telling her that he was right there with her. His powers never wavered, never withdrew from her but instead luled her with its touch.

“You can still change. You’re my sister and I love you, please you don’t have to do this.”

The laugh that left her mouth were cynical and sharp. “I will do this. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be betrayed by the ones who should have loved you unconditionally! I trusted you and you held be down as I was raped and stripped of parts of me I didn’t think I could regain. And for that you will all pay.”

With a harsh flick of her hand Haesoo and Ina flew backwards over the floor, planting themselves firmly in their chairs, hands gripping so tightly at the armrests their knuckles turned white. She took over the iron grip Michael had held on the circle. Glass smashed above them, coloured pieces breaking in to much smaller speckles when they hit the floor. Her crows soared in and landed on her sisters chair, croaking and basking their wings at her magic.

She lifted one hand and watched as the coven did the same, forced to replicate her movements. They froze in position, some crying while others cursed, when their palms were forced to face up. The goddess looked over at Michael who stalked to her side, lifting his jacket to pull out a long thin dagger, the same one her mother had used during the ritual. He placed the shaft gently in her palm, letting his fingers trace the skin of her inner wrist. It was a sweet caress that stilled the nerves within her body.

“Don’t do this!” Ina managed to cry out.

“Please don't kill us,” someone else croaked at the same time.

“Oh, I’m not killing you. Most of you have done nothing but associate with the wrong person, the ones present at my binding died long ago, you’re just very unlucky. How you managed to stay alive all these years did surprise me, Mother.”

“I had to make sure you were never released.”

“You failed.” Haesoo looked at Michael, her face unreadable but eyes burning with anger Oya had seen so many times before when she was but a child. It was burning with disdain.

“Are you the one who took down the New Orleans coven?” Haesoo spoke. Her question halted her daughters ritual, who looked up at Michael. His face remained the same, the smug glinse in his eyes and a satisfied tug at his lips. There wasn’t a single hair out of place. He didn’t even blink at her question. Power, raw and unadulterated, emanated from every fiber of his being. In the face of this accusation, she couldn’t help the flutter in her heart.

“Yes.”

“Oya,” the fear was evident in her voice. “This man is far more dangerous than you can possibly imagine. He’s using you for your power. He will be your destruction.”

“This man released me, he didn’t tremble in fear of my power, he taught me control.”

“He is-,”

“I know who he is!” She screamed and let her power flicker out in the form of cracks climbing up the columns. The blade bit into her palm, drawing blood forth. It burned and stung, the pain nothing compared to the anger that was ignited inside of her. Did she really think so little of her own daughter that she wouldn't be aware of the circumstances? If Michael was using her then so fucking be it but she would not for one second let him destroy her, regardless of her feelings towards him. If he were her destruction she would be his.

Every palm held upwards now bleed, the steams of it running from the wounds and onto the marble, staining it red with blood. Michael took the knife from her and walked over to one of the coven members, her white shirt now ruined by the blade. He dried it off in her fabric before placing it in the pocket he had taken it from. One of her crows took wind under its wings and flew to land on her arm. It screeched as she picked feathers from its body, its claws biting into her skin and tearing at her dress.

“I will not kill you,” she voiced, placing a feather inside the wound and careful guided their palms shut around the feather. Some signed in relief and she couldn’t help but smirk at their naivety. “Instead I show you the future.” She when on to the next member and replicated the ritual she had just performed, placing the feather in the wound and closing their hand around it. Most of them shook, she didn’t know if it was out of fear or straining against her magic or just maybe it was at the prospect of facing of against a goddess of the underworld. There are no vengeance that can compare to a goddesses. “You will see and you will know. That is your punishment, knowledge of what the future will bring and how utterly insignificant your actions to prevent it will be.” Now every single wound were sealed with a feather. She let her tendrils grow, wrap around their fragile human from, go under their skin and reach into their very being. All eyes turned white, clouded by the vision of the future, the very vision she herself had experienced. It unfolded before them, the cries of billions, the bombs falling, the fear leaking into their souls. When they returned, their eyes were wide with horror.

“You will end the world because you weren't loved enough as a child!” Haesoo roared, trying with all her might to break free of her daughters hold over her body. Ina silently stared into the floor.

Oya walked to her mother, placing a hand upon her chest and forcing her back against the spine of the chair. Her mother clenched her hands, her wound bleeding in an endless stream while the other held the chair in a breaking grip. “I will burn this fucking world down because I can and you will all know what is coming but can do absolutely nothing about it. You are burdened with knowing and will never be able to tell anyone about it, not in any way.” She let her mother go, stepping backwards into the circle until her back were met with Michael’s chest. There in the middle the two stood, a pair of darkness. “I curse you with that but it is not the only curse. If you use magic, any form of magic, you will kill the people you love. For every flick of the wrist, for every spell, for every curse or blessing, whatever magic you use, you will kill someone in your circle, the more you use the more you kill.”

The feather burned in their palms, some screaming in pain, tears staining their cheeks in spite of wanting to remain as passive as possibly. The broke in the wake of her power digging into their very being. What they felt were a fraction of the pain she felt but the fear, the fear was a far greater weapon that caused so much more dispare than pain.

The feather grew into their flest and with black webs it climbed up their arms, under their skin until it settled in their hearts and only then the black webs disappeared. Her tendrils retracted, releasing them from their bindings. Ina gasped and fell to her knees on the ground, fingers gripping at the stone as if to steady herself in reality. Her mother weren’t so docile, she stood with force removing a carved out piece of the chairs arms producing a knife. She created a monster and she would do anything to make up for that mistake. With an angry howl she moved through the room, slicing through the air in an attempt to end her daughters life, to remove from the world what she brought into it.

Michael wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her back out of the way of the biting blade. The utter madness in her mother's eyes struck her, the desperate look of a woman who had nothing left to lose.

Oya stopped her, the anger burning through her skin, climbing over the floor with cracks to the marble. It climbed her mother’s pale flesh, blood pouring from the wounds that split open her skin, tearing through the fabric of her cloth with invisible claws. The noise she made, an inhumane sound caught between a wail and a blood curdling scream, echoed in the cathedral. The air seemed to vibrate the same way it does just before a thunderstorm, electricity knitting through the air.

“He will never love you, he cannot love,” she managed to utter as her eyes turned red and blood claimed the trail of her tears. There was a sound of ripping, of something being torn from her mother, yet she remained in one bloodied piece and fell the the floor lifeless. Her pupils had ruptured, exploded into the obsidian and ruby coloured eyes.

Oya felt Michael beside her, his presence calming. It was strange how her skin tickles with the touch of power, she felt her blood course through her and heart beat with impressive force within her chest. Every part of her were electric. In this moment she felt the world gravel at her feet and she loved every second of it. She was drunk on power and smirked when her sister screamed at the sight of her mother’s body.

Michael let her turn in his arms so that she could look upon him. The fire in his eyes send vibrations down her spin and lit up a fire inside of her, the fumes from her powers igniting just by the look in his piercing eyes. There were no other words to describe it other than desire, unrefined and in its purest form. Their bloodlust had been satisfied, her vengeance taken with out most pleasure and now they longed for something other, a more carnal satisfaction.

“Lets go home,” she said and took his arm. Behind her she listened to the coven members mourn their leader, lose their minds in the face of annihilation and most of all her sisters cries. Ina had been the good daughter, the one who loved the most and were loved the most, the prodigy. She had lost her sister long ago but never accepted that she was dark to the fullest. And now, sitting by her mother’s dead body, the woman she loved the most in the world, she felt herself hate her sister.

Oya’s crows left the same way the came in, with a haunting laugh leaving them as they flew through the broken window, a mocking of the life that had been taken. They carried the soul of her mother, the messengers of death, their wings carrying death with them.

Vengeance were a virus, it spread and spread until there were nothing left.

#michael langdon #michael langdon fic #michael langdon imagine #ahs apocalypse #ahs fic #obsidian & angelite

12 notes · View notes