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ace-oreos · 4 years ago

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Could we have alpha-17 getting beaten the shit out of by priest, and first piecing him back together

Considering how much I hate Dred Priest, I’m surprised I almost forgot about him until now lmao

I wasn’t totally sure what you meant by the second part, so I borrowed Mij Gilamar for the medic-y stuff that I am totally, 100% qualified to write about.

I was imagining this taking place shortly after the Battle of Kamino, when the Alpha ARCs have just been taken out of stasis and are only just now finding out about Jango’s death.

(If anyone needs me to tag anything, please let me know.)

The hallways of Tipoca City are untouched as ever, but the silence that fills the endless white corridors is palpably wrong.

It took an awful lot of nerve, Alpha-17 thinks, for Fett to leave them like this. Because he couldn’t just let old injustices pass unchallenged. Because he’d been foolish enough to think his luck would hold.

Because Fett is dead, and the sons he rejected time and again are left to pick up the pieces of a legacy they don’t want to bear.

It’s just stupid, 17 decides with a spike of savage anger. Stupid of Fett to let himself be killed like that, stupid of the Jedi to brand him irrevocably other and take it upon themselves to right the balance of the galaxy, or whatever their latest tagline is. Stupid of him to think Fett might have begun to care, somewhere along the line.

Osik, things are complicated now.

It’s bound to settle eventually. Fett was the linchpin, but his clones were meant to take his place from the very beginning.

We’re not you, 17 thinks, but maybe we’re what you wanted us to be.

Regardless, Fett left a whole host of problems behind. Some are complex, too muddled for 17’s liking, the sort that keep him awake at night. But some are tangible, things 17 can work out himself, so he sets out to solve the first of these. The Cuy’val Dar don’t have any contingency orders, unlike 17 and his brothers. It’s not his place to start issuing them now, but the least he can do is make sure they don’t undo Fett’s legacy.

It doesn’t take long to come across one of Fett’s more questionable choices. Mando’ade are a cryptic, self-contained lot, but 17 knows where to find them. Encountering Dred Priest first is nothing more than a stroke of bad luck - the man is a hut’uun and doesn’t deserve to call himself a Mando’ad.

All the more reason to keep an eye on him, 17 tells himself, and keeps his face carefully blank when he greets the man. “Seems like you’re keeping busy, Priest.”

Priest flashes a cold smile that makes 17’s skin crawl. “Careful, verd’ika. Fett didn’t think you were ready for the big wide world, and I have to agree with him on that one.”

“I’m not looking to play games,” 17 says flatly. It’s in his best interest to tread carefully around Priest, but the man knows how to get under his skin.

“Is that it, then? You get to play at being Mand’alor? The armor doesn’t make the man, verd’ika.”

As if you weren’t enough proof, 17 thinks, but what comes out of his mouth is, “We have our orders. I don’t need you getting in the way.”

“So you’ll follow Fett’s orders even though he’s dead,” Priest remarks slyly.

17 won’t take the bait. “All the better for him.”

A look of surprise flashes across Priest’s face, and he inclines his head. “Not what I’d expect from you, Seventeen.”

“Are you hoping I’ll grovel like the poor shabuire you terrorize? Get over yourself.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Priest’s tone is mocking. “Mand’alor.”

It takes all of 17’s discipline to keep from smacking the look off Priest’s face. He’s sure the man can tell; he looks almost amused, like 17 is a frightened cadet in over his head. It would almost be worth it, 17 thinks, but Priest isn’t worth his time.

He doesn’t know what sets Priest off. He wouldn’t put any thought into it, either, if it weren’t for the sudden flare of pain in his right leg. He can’t see what Priest did - an honorable opponent would never attack from behind - but 17 stumbles. Priest delivers another strike that sends him to the floor before he can right himself.

17 rolls with the impact. Too slow, and the considerable weight of Priest’s armor will keep him pinned. 17’s lack of armor is a distinct disadvantage, but it allows him greater range of movement.

Priest recognizes his advantage and presses forward. 17 resorts to avoiding his attacks as much as he can - absorbing the impact from beskar isn’t the same when he’s only in fatigues. He would rather be on the offensive, armor or no, so he looks for openings that might give him a chance to catch Priest wrong-footed.

Maybe Priest knows Jango’s fighting style too well. Maybe 17 is a touch slower than usual. Whatever the reason, it doesn’t take Priest long to knock him down. 17 twists, trying to wrap his leg’s around Priest’s abdomen to unbalance him, but the man breaks free and slams 17 down again.

The base of 17’s skull collides with the floor hard enough to leave his ears ringing. By the time his vision clears, Priest has already hauled him up by the front of his tunic. 17 gets a grip on the man’s arm, but without stable footing he’s unable to wrench Priest over his shoulder.

17 curses when Priest uses the very same maneuver to send him crashing into the wall. There’s an audible crack on impact and a sharp line of pain sears through his chest. 17 lands hard, head still spinning and lungs burning when he tries to draw breath. He fights a wave of nausea as he struggles to his feet, years of training making him wary of staying down too long.

“You’re tenacious, I’ll give you that,” Priest says thickly through what 17 guesses is a broken nose.

“Slana’pir,” 17 snarls in return, but it doesn’t have the effect he wanted when he breaks off in a gasp. A number of mishaps over the years leads him to think he might’ve cracked a rib or two. Normally it wouldn’t take long to steady his breathing, but he’s left gasping now when each inhale results in a stab of pain.

There’s a mad light in Priest’s eyes. 17 knows the man won’t leave him alone until one of them is dead or too badly injured to stand. There’s always an off chance he could break away and lose Priest in the lower levels - his batch know Tipoca better than anyone, besides the Nulls.

But something holds him in place. Fett never ran from a fight, even at the end. And maybe it was senseless for him to think he’d never meet his match, but it hadn’t been too late for him to instill the same sense of pride and defiance in his recruits.

17 holds his ground.

___________________________

If Mij Gilamar is surprised, he hides it well. Only the tightening of his jaw suggests a displeased reaction when he looks 17 up and down with a studiously blank expression.

“I fell,” 17 says by way of explanation.

“Osik, ad’ika, can’t you come up with a better excuse?”

17 shrugs, ignoring the fresh ache that runs through his body at the movement. “You wouldn’t believe me no matter what I say, and I know you won’t believe me, so this spares us both a lot of thinking we’re not in a position to handle. Sergeant.”

“Ka’ra, boy,” Gilamar sighs, shaking his head. “Come on in, lad.”

17 follows obediently. He hasn’t set foot in Gilamar’s quarters in years - not since he got on Fett’s bad side and had been too willful to back down even though he was too young for it to be a fair fight. He hadn’t been hurt badly - nothing he couldn’t handle by himself - but Gilamar had somehow found him anyway and insisted on looking him over.

The man had called him verd’ika then. He looks faintly disapproving now.

“Want to tell me what happened?”

17 pretends like he doesn’t know what Gilamar is really saying and replies, “Feels like something might be broken,” while gesturing vaguely to his midsection.

And he can hardly get his vision to focus, and he’s pretty sure he felt something snap in his wrist somewhere along the way, and his shoulder aches something fierce when he tries to cross his arms, but that’s none of Gilamar’s business. His hairline is sticky with blood, too, but there’s no hiding that even in the dim light.

“You’re right about the ribs,” Gilamar announces after listening to 17’s uneven breathing. “It’ll be a few weeks, but so long as you go easy it should heal on its own. I can give you something for the pain if you’d like.”

17 shakes his head. At this point all he wants is to collapse on his bunk.

Gilamar matches his indifferent attitude. “Whatever you say. Now are you going to let me look at that arm?”

“If it’s all the same to you, Sergeant, I’d rather just get some rest.”

“No, it isn’t,” Gilamar says sharply. “Sit down.”

17 sits.

Gilamar stitches the jagged gash on his head with the ease of long practice, and sets 17’s shoulder before he has time to object. 17 has given up protesting by the time the man is done wrapping his wrist, and he keeps his mouth shut when Gilamar runs a rapid battery of tests to ensure what’s bound to be a nasty concussion isn’t anything more.

“Bad luck, ad’ika,” the man says, rocking bad on his heels when he’s finished. “But you’ll pull through.” He pauses as if chewing something over, then adds quietly, “Priest got a hold of you, didn’t he.”

It’s not phrased as a question. 17 doesn’t take it as one.

“Nothing I can’t deal with,” he says at last.

Gilamar doesn’t look convinced. “There’s no shame in it, verd’ika. The man’s a hut’uun. Even Fett wouldn’t - ”

17 stands. The sudden motion makes his stomach roll. “Vor’e, Sergeant.”

“Ba’gedet’ye,” Gilamar answers softly. 17 turns away before he can see the man’s expression approach something like pity. He’s hardly through the door when he hears the sergeant call, “I can’t speak for Fett, but for what it’s worth, Seventeen - I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” 17 says flatly, even though he knows perfectly well Gilamar isn’t referring to his run-in with Priest at all. If Fett were sorry, he’d still be here.

Alpha-17 suspects it will be a long time before things begin to settle.

#alpha-17 #alpha 17 #mij gilamar #dred priest #jango fett #republic commando #the clone wars #star wars #fic prompt #thanks for the prompt!#my askbox is open #tw blood mention

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adelindschade · 4 years ago

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Karma is a female-dog

Moroha found the dance between Setsuna and Hisui hilarious. Never one for romance, she enjoyed the awkwardness that surrounded the pair. The boy was much more in love in the half-demon than she was him. Inevitable heartbreak, Moroha predicted. She also relished in the red that overcame his face whenever she pointed it out. In front of her father, his father – anyone, really! And he’d lash out with his weapon of choice – just too slow to make a contact; she was too swift.

So, karma had to repay the favor.

One errand. That’s all. A trip from one village to the other for mere supplies. Of course, her mother insisted she wear something less conspicuous. A frivolous kimono borrowed from Sango. And no teeth. Be polite – don’t say anything smart. That part was uttered by her hypocritical father – though his intentions meant well, too concerned his daughter would be harmed by people propelled by prejudice. Not that she couldn’t hold her own…

Which is why she didn’t mind picking a fight with a demon that she came across attacking a procession of men. They were no match for the gigantic beast but she came prepared with her sword, hidden well. Not even her father spied the piece as she slipped off. Nor would he have said something because better safe than sorry. Her mother would have opted for a bow. Thankfully, she gathered that, too, having tucked it away out of her father’s sight and grabbed it as she rounded the hut.

A rebel through and through. Seventeen going onto forever. She was invincible.

Her hair was done in a much more mature fashion – much to her chagrin as she had to set aside precious seconds to tie it back. Another man had fallen from his horse; another slain. She raised her bow and shot it straight – piercing armor made of bone. The beast howled and glared down at the surprisingly small woman.

“You!” It thrashed, attempting to grab her. Her reflexes were keener than its own, evading capture with a simple jump back. She wielded her preferred weapon, a sword of strength and stealth that matched her own.

It screamed as its wrist was sliced clean up. Screw her kimono – she doubted it was the first time the fabric had been spoiled with blood. Sango would know how to clean it out. She made another slice, aiming at its neck. Blood was rampant in the air but she did her best to ignore the stench.

For a demon so large, it offered little fight. She was disappointed to see it cut down so fast. She wanted something more. With a heavy sigh, she yielded her sword and secured her bow back in place.

“Not even a bounty,” she lamented as she walked pass. A corpse or two lay in her wake; nothing could be done for them. Her father would’ve pitied them but moved on. The living would attend to the carnage. She had another mission. Her mother would have a fit if she did not come by sundown with the desired herbs.

“Miss! Miss!”

She paused mid-step, glancing back with curiosity. A man of noble tier scrambled her way, traumatized by the slaughter yet having not a scratch on his body. He must’ve been important to be protected.

“Yeah?”

“Miss! I must know your name to express my deepest gratitude!”

“Uh…” she mustered. If she said her name, it could come back to bite her. Yet, what harm could it do?

“Moroha,” she decided to oblige him.

“Lady Moroha? I am indebted to you. You have demonstrated great skill and bravery in face of true terror. As a reward for saving my life from certain death, I’d be honored if you would accept my proposal of marriage.”

“What…?” she stammered.

“I am Nobleman Akio Inoue, the youngest child and only son of Chieftain-”

“Sorry, but no,” she rudely interrupted. So much for avoiding harm. She just insulted some high-and-might-nobleman. Would her father care? No. Would he hate the idea of having to deal with the aftermath of a man’s wounded pride? Of course. But he’d rather deal with that than send his daughter off to a stranger. “My father would not accept,” she attempted to ease the brunt of the blow.

“Whom is your father?” he inquired.

“Uh…”

Myoga had called him a Lord. And her mother a Lady. But she had always known them to be called nothing more than a half-demon and a priestess. Informally, Inuyasha and Kagome. She always called them Mom and Dad. Yet, her heritage may claim more rank above the nobleman’s if she took into consideration the demon hierarchy. She wouldn’t explain such to him since she scarcely understood it herself.

“None of your concern,” she eased. “Your expression of gratitude will suffice. Carry on,” she dismissed hastily. Her steps fastened and she swiftly escaped out of ear shot, though she heard him call her out plenty in her retreat.

She nearly forgot the experience altogether, grumbling to her father about the scolding she received from her mother upon returning home later than usual and bearing blood all over the borrowed clothes. He laughed, patted her hair, granted her his usual line of “could be worse” before walking off into the village where she was certain he sought to converse with Miroku over their latest job.

Or tease Hisui over his crush on Setsuna. Inuyasha found it humorous a slayer was enamored with Sesshomaru’s offspring. ‘Kid is suicidal,’ her father would tease. Setsuna wasn’t as warm to Inuyasha as she was to Moroha – distrusting of the adult half-demon more so for his connection with her estranged father than anything else.

Talks of proposals were long forgotten until one unexpected visit from a nearby nobleman had Moroha hiding behind Kaede’s hut. Her mother was alarmed.

“I’ll be off!” she squeaked but her mother kept her cornered.

“Why are you so scared of being seen?” her mother questioned with crossed arms. “Shy is not a word I’d describe you as.”

“Uh…”

“Spit it out, Moroha!”

“I SAVED HIM FROM A DEMON AND HE PROPOSED TO ME AND I SAID NO!” Moroha breathed all at once. She was wide eyed and panicked, much like her mother who exhibited the same nervous expression.

“What?!”

“I DIDN’T TELL DAD BECAUSE DAD WOULD – WELL, YOU KNOW HIM! SO, I DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING AND I THOUGHT IT WOULDN’T BE A PROBLEM BECAUSE I’D NEVER SEE HIM AGAIN BUT THAT’S NOT THE CASE!”

“Moroha, one trip by yourself and we’ve slighted a noble family! I don’t know if your father would be proud of you or furious!”

“Just hide me! I was never here!!”

“Uh, oh,” Kagome winced.

“What?” Moroha whispered.

“He’s caught the village’s attention.”

“No, no, no, no,” Moroha pleaded helplessly. She hid into her mother’s shoulder.

“I seek a fair maiden by the name of Moroha!” the man announced. “I was told she resides here!”

The demon’s ears twitched.

“Did he just…?” Setsuna asked, eyeing the stranger whose caravan arrived in their measly village.

“Fair? Is he talking about our Moroha?” Hisui chuckled. That earned a small grin from Setsuna.

“She must have hit him too hard on the head,” she replied. He laughed at her jab.

“She is cute… when she wants to be,” Shippo jabbed. “She’s a bit of a tomboy.” He spied an emerging figure from the nearby tree stepping onto the road. “Uh-oh…”

“What about her?” Inuyasha stepped forward. His voice was harsh and cautious.

“I desire to seek out her father,” he replied sternly. “I have business with him that requires immediate attention.”

“How so…” Inuyasha insisted, arms crossed and eyes set in a beady glare.

“It does not concern you, half-demon! Step aside!” the man cast with a strong arm to the left.

“It sure as hell does when it’s my daughter you’re talking about,” Inuyasha spat. His hand wavered over the sheath of his trusted sword.

“We don’t know a Moroha! He is confused!” Kagome intervened with lightning speed. She bowed incessantly. Inuyasha looked down with utter confusion.

“Priestess, you know this half-demon?”

Before Inuyasha could say anything, Kagome snuck a small glare his way. “Don’t say anything!” she hissed.

“Okay…” he grumbled.

“We know a Moroha!” Hisui spoke out. He was the recipient of icy glares from both parents and child alike. Setsuna was unmoved.

“What business do you have with her?” her cousin pitched.

“I desire to speak with her father at once!”

“He’s right here – what do you have to say? Get on with it,” Inuyasha spat, baring his teeth.

“Inuyasha…” Kagome whispered, tugging him back by his arm to no avail.

“In no way could a half-demon like you reproduce such a fine creature as she,” the nobleman sneered.

“Thanks for the compliment but get on with it before I part you head from your body, idiot,” Inuyasha snarled.

Kagome paled. Moroha shrunk in the shadows.

“Perhaps I can intermediate,” Miroku intervened. He stepped between the two. “I can attest my friend, though foul tempered, is indeed the father of the woman you inquire about.”

“I agree with Inuyasha – what business do you have with her?” Sango joined. Her hand was purposely placed on her weapon, ready to draw.

“She is my betrothed!”

“No, I’m not!” Moroha shrieked as she emerged from her hiding place. “I said no!”

“You said your father would not approve,” Akio mused.

“I said no and that he wouldn’t approve!” she raised her voice as an angry red overcame her features.

“Which I don’t!” Inuyasha joined.

“Get that through your thick skull! Move on!!” Moroha seconded.

“You are… partially demon,” Akio nodded. “That explains your strength and bravery. Nonetheless, I am indebted to you, and your heritage does not dissuade me from fulfilling my promise.”

“The hell you will! Hands off my daughter, you freak,” Inuyasha snarled, drawing his sword.

Setsuna chuckled. Hisui sputtered, doing his best to hide his amusement after a reprimanding look from his uncle, followed by his own parents who were worried by Inuyasha retaliating.

“This is one big misunderstanding,” Kagome waved off before retracting her daughter behind her.

“A priestess and a half-demon… such a peculiar union…”

“If you got something to say, pal, say it!”

“Inuyasha! Sit, boy!”

A thunderous thud followed, with her father planted on the road.

“Ow!!”

Moroha stiffened, never so happy in her life to be free of such damning beads.

“Sorry, Dad!” She squeaked.

“Why do you approve of such a match? Surely, I’d elevate her station, and bestow our children with a better quality of life,” he made the mistake of justifying. “They would exhibit a lesser degree of demonic energy as she or yourself. We could disguise that properly.”

“CHILDREN?!” Both daughter-and-father cried incredulously.

Kagome sputtered. “Excuse me, she’s seventeen!”

“He’s surely digging his own grave,” Sango sighed.

“Perhaps it’s best we let her father do the honors,” Miroku agreed. He wasn’t naïve enough to think he’d react any differently where his twins were concerned. They stepped out of the way in tandem.

“This will be a slaughter,” Setsuna theorized.

“I am not a cow to be bred!” Moroha squawked. “I’ll kill you myself!”

“No one is killing anyone!” Kagome disagreed. She breathed nervously. “I’m sorry you came all this way… but marriage is not in the future for you two,” she attempted to mediate.

“Is she already spoken for?”

“No! She’s seventeen and under my care!” Inuyasha growled with a raised fist.

“Oh, so you already prepared a match with someone of your likeness,” Akio accused with narrowed us. “I disagree – it’d be a disservice for your daughter.”

“That’s not your call to make and she isn’t marrying anyone anytime soon! Not if I have any say in it!”

“Yeah! Marriage ain’t for me, buddy!” Moroha copied.

“I wouldn’t turn it down so soon if I were you,” Hisui humored. “This could be your one and only chance.”

Moroha steered towards him with raging eyes.

“No one asked you, Hisui!”

“Butt out, you! Miroku! Manage your son!”

“Now is not the time, son,” Miroku meekly said as he approached his offspring.

“I’m inclined to agree,” Setsuna joined.

“With me…?” Hisui prompted, hopeful she was aligning herself with him.

“This one or perhaps, if he’s still enamored, the wolf boy, too,” Setsuna added.

“Enough!” Inuyasha bellowed. He nearly drew out his sword had it not been for Kagome who stepped in front of him, guarding him.

“Would you decline nobility and comfortability?” Akio asked Moroha.

“I do! I’m staying right here! Time to go! Good-bye! See you never!”

“Manners,” Kagome warned.

“Screw manners,” Inuyasha cursed.

“So be it,” Akio dejected. He pulled the reigns of the steed, prompting the horse forward. He passed by the family of three as he did.

“No offense has been taken, I assure you,” he calmly said as his eyes set upon Moroha. “I bid you good fortune, Lady Moroha, and you, too… half-demon, priestess…”

Inuyasha was tense, hands fisted, alongside his daughter who bore teeth as he passed. A real feral child – however cute she may be in her mother’s eyes. Kagome waved awkwardly.

“You missed your chance to marry rich,” Hisui teased as he joined the threesome alongside his parents.

“You handled yourself pretty well given the circumstances,” Miroku chuckled.

“Moroha…” Inuyasha warned. She felt his eyes burn into her skull. She trembled.

“Mom can explain!!” She squealed, running away.

“Not a chance! Get back here!” Inuyasha gave chase.

“I wonder what your dad would do if someone tried to ask for your hand,” Hisui joked to Setsuna.

“Kill him, no doubt,” Setsuna answered promptly.

The color on his face drained.

“Maybe we should pick our battles,” Sango warned – enjoying the terror on her boy’s face as she, too, foresaw his crush teetering on delusional.

#humor #fluff #family #inufam #moroha #hisui #setsuna #hanyo no yashahime #hny #drabble #sango #miroku #brainstorming

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the-halo-of-my-memory · 4 years ago

Text

Nitpicking & Picnicking (DA Gift Exchange 2020)

Paring: OC Female Inquisitor (Marzeyna Lavellan) x Cullen Rutherford

Word Count: 4,9k

Summary: The Inquisition overhear that Cullen and Marzeyna are courting but have yet to spend some time together outside of Inquisition hours. They decide to help them out with a picnic, much to the chagrin of Cullen.

Warning(s): language, second hand embarrassment, Cullen nearly having a stroke, the usual Inquisition shenanigans, and fluff.

A/N: This is a note to my future self. Future Jess, never sign up for another Secret Santa thing here again. You got so distracted by bullshit this year, you nearly forgot and then panicked for the last 48 hours of this. Nice job!

Anyways, @crqstalite this is my gift for you for the @dagiftexchange! I figured a sorta crack fic with fluff would be perfect for your Marzeyna and Cullen. And naturally, the rest of the Inquisition came with lol. I seriously hope you like it.

I also wanna thank @dorathedestroyer64 and @callthedarknessdown for helping me a million by beta reading this and just being all around sweet friends (ily you guys <3)

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When she wakes the sunlight is in her eyes, and in the not so far distance, the noise of the men and women of the inquisition sparring rings. Swords striking, armor crashing, and the voices of many speaking, yelling, and giving orders.

Nuzzling the corner of her pillow, Marzenya recognizes one voice among the others.

It’s Commander Cullen Rutherford.

Her Commander Cullen Rutherford.

The kiss on the battlements. . . it still leaves her breathless a week later.

It was everything she wanted and so much more.

Yes, she had been kissed before. It was some years ago, back when she was with the clan. It was with a fellow elf and it was just a kiss for the sake of kissing. There were a few others as well.

But with Cullen, she understood why people did it. To have him near her, hands on her cheeks, and his warm lips upon her own...it stopped her embarrassment right in its place after being caught by that scout. Jim was his name.

Nevermind him. The kiss! The kiss was what she wanted to think about at this moment.

When they connected, she forgot to breathe. That kiss robbed her of breath and the burning in her lungs was worth it.

It was becoming a part of her schedule. She would always come up to see him before breakfast, before going off on her duties. To see him not yet the commander and her, not yet the inquisitor. But simply as Marzeyna and Cullen. To say his name without speaking of war tactics or about Inquisition affairs is almost like singing a melody. She can and will say his name whenever she likes when she’s at his office.

And when he says her name, it’s like the winds have said it, biting at her skin, and giving her chills up and down her spine. It makes the blood in her heart run warm and gives her butterflies in her stomach. She’d be lying if she denied that one of the main reasons why she runs to see him was just to hear him say her name.

Marzeyna. . .

And so here she was, in his office. His face lights up at the sight of her, like the sun rising.

“Good morning, Cullen.”

“Good morning, Marzeyna,” he smiles back at her. Oh, the butterflies are back.

“Are you busy at the moment?” she asks.

“Not quite yet,” he says. “But I can spare some time if you’d like.”

“I would, thank you.”

And so they carve out that little space and time talking to one another. Nothing about the Inquisition. That could wait for the time being. Cullen would sit at his desk and she would sit atop it, next to his paperwork.

The moment was only that: a moment. And it had to end eventually.

Usually Marzeyna would usually slip off the desk and give Cullen a kiss on the cheek before leaving, but this time they were interrupted.

“Commander Cullen, we need to make preparations for today’s—”

It was Cassandra. She entered the room with a board in hand with papers clipped on it. Her eyes, glued to the ink, failed to notice the two at first. When she did, she trailed off.

An uncomfortable silence settled in the air. It was awkward, no doubt.

Although caught in only a chaste moment of closeness, it felt scandalizing all the same. This time they spent together was for them alone, and to be interrupted turned the pure intimacy of conversation into an act far more compromising and less innocent than the simple poetry of their enlaced fingers.

There were already rumors circulating around the barracks and the rest of Skyhold as it is. They just had to kiss outside for some to see, didn’t they?

And now Cassandra knows. Great.

Well, she already had her suspicions. Cassandra always kept an eye on Marzeyna (which she was always grateful for) and no doubt she caught the dopey smiles and doe-eyes she subconsciously made when she looked at Cullen during war table meetings.

Yeah, Leliana and Josephine probably know too.

“I beg your pardon,” Cassandra says, “am I interrupting something?”

“Oh! No, seeker,” Marzeyna can feel the heat coloring her cheeks. “I was just heading out,” She slips off the desk and gives a nod to Cullen, who nods back with that crooked smile she adored on his face. Too bad she couldn’t kiss him with Cassandra here. She bids them both a good morning before leaving.

*********

The moment had to end. And so be it.

If only it was a moment longer, Cullen sighs. He didn’t get the kiss he found himself looking forward to every morning, but it was obvious why she didn’t give him one.

Back to business.

The seeker steps forward and lays her board of papers on his desk.

“I know it is none of my concern,” she says, carefully picking her words, “but I must ask. Are you courting the inquisitor?”

“Uh-”

It was a simple yes or no question and yet he did not know how to answer it.

Courting. It was such a strange word. It felt too proper for him, the son of Fereldan farmers. A word meant for royals and nobles. He was neither of them.

But technically speaking. . .

“Er uh . . . yes, I am courting the Inquisitor.”

Cassandra raises a brow, a smirk pulling aside her lips.

"But I assure you, seeker! We are keeping our personal affairs away from our duties with the Inquisition. We will not shirk our duties and—"

"Cullen, that's enough."

She hides her smile with a fist and she's laughing? At him?

"I know you two will not neglect your duties and will remain professional when necessary."

Oh.

"Oh."

"Another question, if I may?"

"Go ahead."

"Have you spent some time with her?"

Cullen’s brows draw together. "Some—some time with her?"

"Yes. You are courting here." She reminds him, amused to have to elaborate further.

"Y-Yes, I am."

Cassandra’s head tilts to the side. "Have you not spent some time with her after hours? Perhaps have taken her outside of Skyhold?"

If there were words in Cullen's head, they seem to have leaked out of his ears.

"I uh. . . haven't had the chance." He realizes.

“A chance?"

"You do remember that we have an Inquisition to run?”

"Of course I do," Casandra scowls and crosses her arms. "But you must make time for Marzeyna if you expect this courtship to be successful."

"Excuse me?”

"Do not worry. Myself and the others shall help." And with that she picks up her board of papers and heads for the door.

Cullen was struck by a bolt of confusion.

"What in the blazes....”

****

Early evening arrived, the sun soon setting in an hour, and candles would need to be lit.

With a familiar ache in his neck and shoulders, Cullen sits hunched over his desk with stacks of paperwork that needed his attention.

Scout reports, operations that require his permission, requisitions, letters, etc.

He could feel a headache coming on. The dull, slow creeping from the back of his skull. Having had so many since withdrawing from lyrium, he knows too well that it will soon spread and pulse along to the beat of his heart and grow sharp, clawing at his mind from the back of his eyes.

A sigh escapes his lips.

Maybe he needs to eat something. It was time for dinner. Perhaps he could find Marzeyna and have a meal with her in his office. Or maybe the garden, have a little picnic there. Watch the sunset together.

Yes . . . that would be nice . . .

Just as he’s about to get up from his seat, the door opposite his desk opens.

“Commander Cullen, may I have a moment of your time?”

It was that Tevinter mage, Dorian Pavus.

This cannot be good.

“Uh, you may.”

“Wonderful!” The mage walks over and puts his hands on his desk. “A little birdie told me that our dear commander is courting our sweet little inquisitor.”

“Was the little birdie perhaps Cassandra?” Cullen makes a face.

“Perhaps,” Dorian says with a knowing look. “Though if I must be frank, we all had our suspicions before the little birdie came flying.”

“We?”

“Don’t be foolish, Cullen. We’ve seen the way you two look at each other. It’s so sweet and innocent, it makes me ill.” Dorian gives a sort of dreamy sigh. “Reminds of my youth.”

Meanwhile the commander had grown two shades pinker. He doesn’t need a mirror to know that.

“It-It was that obvious?”

“I’m afraid so. But nevermind that. The same little birdie also told you that you have yet to spend some time with her outside of Inquisition affairs. Is that true?”

It occurs to Cullen that he wanted nothing more in this moment than to bury his face in his gloved hands and scream.

“Yes, that’s true. Look, Dorian. I don’t know if you noticed, but we are part of the Inquisition. We are in the middle of attempting to close the breach in the sky and defeat Corypheus, all while in the middle of mage/templar war.”

A moment passes for his words to settle in.

“Alright, I see your point.” Tucking a fist under his chin, Dorian appears to be deep in thought. “Have you thought about it nonetheless?”

“Of course I have, it’s just—” Cullen sighs.

“Just what?” Dorian prompts.

“It’s just. . . we have business to conduct. We can barely see each other outside of meetings.”

“Have you thought about making time?”

Wait a minute. . .

“Making time?”

“Yes, making time. Cullen, I know you and Marzenya are busy people. I know we are in the middle of something awful and the two of you and the rest of us are trying to fix everything. The issue here is that you need to spend some time together or your work will consume your relationship. At the end of the day, you’ll want you to remember the memories you made with her, not with all this shit paperwork.”

For a second, Cullen doesn’t know what to say.

“Dorian, that was . . . incredibly touching of you to say.”

“I know it was. People think I like to talk just to hear the sound of my voice, which is true. I have a lovely voice. Now come on!”

By now, Dorian had walked over to the other side of the desk and was pulling the commander up and out of his seat by the arm.

“Where are we going?” Cullen asks.

“To make memories.”

“I can’t I have reports to-”

“What did I say about making memories?”

****

The magister ended up taking the commander to Skyhold’s own pub, the Herald's Rest. Inside, the pub was packed with familiar faces, all engaged in banter and drinks sloshing in their hands. The music was lively and there was not a sad soul in sight.

At least the morale was looking high, Cullen thought.

Dorian takes him near the back end of the pub where the Iron Bull and his Chargers sat and made their new home.

“Dorian! Commander! It’s nice to see you here! Come, take a seat!” Bull did look happy to see them. As Cullen takes a seat with the group, one of them, Krem, hands him a drink—though drinking is the last thing he wants to do while this headache continues to grow.

“So what brings you here?” Bull asks after taking a swig of his drink.

“I did,” says Dorian, “and you can thank me for that. And also, it turns out Cassandra was right. Our dear commander is courting our little inquisitor.”

The incredulous look on Bull’s face says it all.

“Shit, really?! Hey Cullen, congrats, man! Didn’t know you had it in you.” The “pat” on the shoulder he gave him nearly knocks him off balance in his chair.

“Er uh, thank you.”

As Bull is about to say something else, something across the room catches his attention.

“Varric! Blackwall! Get over here! We gotta talk.”

Oh, Maker take him.

The warden and the crossbow dwarf take with them, and Blackwall obliges to take a drink while Varric denies.

“Curly, it’s certainly a surprise to see you here.”

“I could say the same, commander. What brings you here?”

“Nevermind that,” interrupts an impatient Dorian. “What matters is this: the seeker was right. Cullen is courting Marzenya.”

The two men’s eyes go wide and turn to Cullen.

“I knew it!” Varric had a large smile on his face. “Who made the first move?”

The commander’s face felt as hot as a kiln.

“I-I guess it was technically I did-”

“Ha! You owe a sovereign, Tiny.”

Bull groans as he digs in his pockets. “Dammit. I was hoping Zey would be the one to grow balls.”

“I was thinking the same,” Dorian hands a sovereign of his own to Blackwall.

“Excuse me, have you all been making bets on my personal life?” Oh, that headache is coming along quite nicely.

“Relax, Cullen,” says Blackwall, putting a hand on his shoulder. “We mean no harm. It was just you two were quite the spectacle, even back in Haven.”

“He’s right,” Varric nods. “I know a romance in the making when I see it.”

“Alright now, this is the important thing. Cullen has yet to properly spend time with Marzeyna .”

“Oh yeah?”” Bull raises a brow.

Cullen sighs as he feels a blood vessel near his temple about to burst.

“There is a giant hole in the sky we need to worry about first.” He points out.

“That can wait.”

Now that blood vessel is really going to burst. The commander stands abruptly from his chair, nearly knocking it over. His mouth is open, ready to debate, when a hand lands on his shoulder and pulls him back down.

“Dorian’s right,” it was Blackwall. “This is more important.”

“How?!”

“This is a chance of love. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity and you can’t neglect that opportunity.”

“I don’t-”

Dorian interrupts him. “We need to come up with some ideas for him to spend some time with Zey, any suggestions?”

“Have you thought about having drinks with her here?” Varric asks.

“This isn’t the most romantic or intimate place for us,” Cullen rubs the back of his neck.

“Have thought about having dinner with her in her quarters?” gestures Blackwall.

The room is suddenly warming up.

“That’s far too intimate for the time being.”

“Mm!” Bull wipes his mouth after taking another swig of his drink with the back of his hand. “Have you thought about having sex with her?”

The room is now on fire.

“I-! We’ve barely started!” Cullen says through his teeth.

“No no, that’s a brilliant idea,” oh Blackwall, please no. “Sleeping with her will give you a good outlook on how your relationship is and will be.”

“Hell yeah!” Spilling his beer, Bull is adding fuel to the metaphorical fire. “Take those damn gloves off for once and show her a good time!”

Cullen knows his face is as red as apples and he blames the blood vessel that has surely now burst and his hemorrhaging underneath the surface of his skin.

“Knock it off, the both of you,” hisses Dorian. “You know damn well the two of them are not like that. They can barely kiss as it is. We need to keep coming up with ideas. Cullen, have you thought of any yourself?”

Rubbing his chin, the commander gives himself a moment to think.

“I was thinking about having a picnic with her in the gardens.” He divulges.

“Hey,” Varric crosses his arms, “that’s not a bad idea. A little fruit, cheese, and some wine and there you have it.”

“Now that,” Dorian puts a hand on Cullen’s shoulder, “we can do.”

“We?” That doesn’t sound good.

“Yes, we shall aid you in your romantic endeavors.”

“I don’t think-” Bull shuts him up with a wave of his hand.

“Please, it’s just a picnic. How hard can it be to set up?”

Dorian leans over in his chair toward the commander.

“Just ask her to have a picnic with you tomorrow morning and we’ll have everything set up by evening.”

It was honestly difficult to trust these men with personal affairs. Considering his schedule, to have everything set up tomorrow was a gift.

So he sighs and agrees.

****

It was barely mid-morning when Marzeyna’s heart burst out of her chest.

Alright, not literally, but still!

When she went to see Cullen, he had just asked her to have a picnic with him in Skyhold’s garden this evening.

Yes, they’ve shared a fair share of kisses and warm embraces. . . but everything was still so new and so precious, like a newborn babe. So full of love.

She is still in the state that she was in when they first talked at Haven, long before the kiss. Now, her affection is acknowledged by the weight of his own affection.

Marzeyna said yes to the picnic, of course.

Much still needs to be done today and the picnic lingers in her mind in the meantime.

She needs to seek some consultation. And she knows the perfect person.

****

“Oh Vivienne, I’m so glad you have the time to help me.”

“For you, my dear inquisitor, I’ll always clear my schedule.”

They were in Vivienne's room above the court near the library. Evening was in a few hours and Marzeyna wasn’t exactly calm about this.

It was just a picnic with Cullen. No big deal. Noooope.

Oh, there goes her imagination.

“I’ve never properly courted before. I’ve shared a few kisses back when I was with the clan, but nothing as serious as this. I’m afraid I’ll say or do something and he won’t be interested in me anymore.”

Vivienne chuckles as they take a seat on the settee together.

“Oh my dear, you’ve only just started. Do not worry about making mistakes. In fact, this is the perfect time to make mistakes. It shall aid you on how to improve both yourself and the relationship.”

“Really”

“Of course, really. Besides, I doubt a few ‘mistakes’ would deter the commander away.”

As the inquisitor spoke about her conversation with Cullen from earlier, their heads swiveled towards the sound of the door opening.

“Did you two really think you could make plans without us?”

It was Leliana, and behind her were Josephine and Cassandra. They walk over to them and take seats on Vivienne’s bed and a stool.

“What are you three doing here?” Marzeyna asks.

“We thought we’d come and help you with the picnic with the commander,” Josephine said with a smile.

“Help me? How do you all know?”

Cassandra clears her throat.

“We overheard Dorian speaking with Varric about the picnic and gathering things for Cullen. We three thought we would do the same for you.”

Marzeyna swears that though her heart has yet to burst from her chest and out her ribcage, it certainly swells right then and there.

“Oh, you lot are going to make me cry.”

The five of them start to converse and throw ideas of what to do.

“For starters,” Leliana speaks, “We need to figure out what you will wear.”

“Wear?” Marzeyna shakes her head. “This is just a picnic, not a ball. Isn’t what I’m wearing right now just fine?”

“Sure,” said Josephine, “but it doesn’t hurt to dress up for a small occasion like this. It will show the commander that you care and that you want to look good for him.”

“I guess. . .” Humans are a weird race sometimes but that line of reasoning doesn’t sound absurd.

Josephine continues.

“I think I might have some simple skirts in quarters you could try on if you like.”

“I believe I may have some blouses you borrow as well,” Cassandra smiles at her.

“I also have some jewelry if you’re interested,” Leliana said. “Something light like small earrings and a simple necklace. Maybe even a bracelet.”

“And I shall aid you with a little hair and makeup,” Vivienne already had compacts of face paint ready for her.

Okay, now she really is going to cry.

****

Cullen made his way to Skyhold’s garden as the sun was about to set. Soon the sky would turn to different shades of colors and the stars would make their way in the dark.

And to have Marzeyna with him when that happens would simply be a gift for him.

When he arrives, the gardens are eerily empty. Nobody is there except for Varric, who holds a small basket in his arms.

“Curly! I was wondering when you were going to show up. Got everything set up for you.”

Walking over to him, Cullen spots the display before the both of them.

On the grass lays a plain worn blanket, threading at one side. There’s a plate in the middle that holds fruits, cheeses, and sweets. Varric sets the basket down and reaches in and pulls out a bottle of wine and two glasses.

“There’s also candles and matches in here in case you want to stick around past sundown.”

For a moment, the commander loses his words.

“You alright there, Curly? We didn’t forget anything, did we?”

Cullen snaps back to reality.

“N-No. No, this is . . . perfect.”

“Good ‘cause it’s not gonna get any more perfect then this.”

As Cullen takes a closer look at the display, he expects Varric to walk away, giving him the much needed space and quiet he’d like to share with the inquisitor. Instead, the dwarf walks over to the ledge a couple feet away.

Just as Cullen is about to call out to him, he hears the sound of one of the doors opening.

“Dorian, what are you-”

“Oh, I’m just here to take in some fresh air,” the mage brushes off. “I’m also meeting Cassandra here for a game of chess. Don’t mind me.” He walks past him to the chess board where he once shared a game with the commander not far too long ago.

Again, why is he here? Cullen goes to open his mouth to say something when the door opens again.

“Good evening, Commander.”

“Er uh . . . good evening, Cassandra.”

The seeker walks past him to join Dorian at the chessboard. They speak in hushed tones that he cannot decipher.

And then the doors open again.

It’s Leliana and Josephine who also say “good evening” before rushing towards one of the garden benches and sitting themselves down.

And then Blackwall walks in and utters his good evening and joins Varric by the ledge.

And then another door opens, but it’s not from either entrance to the gardens. Instead, it’s from the upper level where the bedrooms are. There stood the tall forms of the Iron Bull and Vivienne in her headdress, arm and arm taking what appears to be...a stroll?

The blood vessel from last night suddenly wants revenge.

“What in the Maker’s name-!” he starts but then the door opens again.

Oh . . .

It’s her . . .

“Good evening, Cullen,” Marzeyna says, “I got your note.”

Oh, that's right. He left a note for her in his office that told her to come meet with him in the garden at her earliest convenience.

“Good evening, Marzeyna. . .” he breathes out. “You look beautiful tonight.”

It’s true. He rarely saw her outside of her armor and indoor inquisition clothes that she wore to look the part. But tonight, she wore something else. Her hair is done up with strands of wavy hair outlining her face, showing off the earrings with red gems adorning her ears. Her face itself is painted, her eyelids swept with a glittery yellow, almost gold dust, and her mouth painted a brilliant shade of red that complimented her vallaslin. Her blouse hugged her exposed shoulders and from her neck hangs a simple gold necklace. The sleeves are long and rolled up below the elbow. Below that is a long skirt that exposes her ankles, revealing bare feet half wrapped in cloth.

It wasn’t much, and yet it still steals his breath away.

“Thank you,” she says and walks closer to him.

Their hands meet and he leans over to her to give her a kiss.

Until that is when someone coughs and reminds him they aren’t alone.

Without speaking, Cullen gently pulls her over to their little picnic and sits themselves down on the blanket.

“I am sorry,” he says while pouring her a glass of wine. “But apparently the Inquisition wants to witness our little picnic.”

“Inquisition?” Marzeyna looks around, her eyes widening at every angle. “Oh hell, almost everyone is here. Why?”

“I don’t know,” Cullen rubs the back of neck. He’s seriously going to rub it raw one day. “I was about to tell everyone off when you arrived.”

“Oh shit,” she murmurs into her wine. “They expect some kind of show from this, like a play. Maybe if we just sit here and whisper they’ll eventually get bored and leave.”

“Let’s hope for it.”

Conversations were attempted, but just as they really get into the meat of it, someone whispers, someone coughs, someone giggles. A near dozen pair of eyes were on them and Cullen could feel them burning into him in all directions.

“They really are a persistent lot,” he mutters mostly to himself.

“I’m afraid so,” Marzeyna replies as she takes a bite from a sweet tart from the plate.

Time passes. It feels like an hour, but it’s really closer to twenty minutes.

“Any minute now,” she says, her smile waning away, “they will all pick up and leave and it’ll be just the two of us.”

They both sigh.

Another moment passes. Nothing happens. Cullen’s pretty sure now that Dorian and Cassandra have yet to even make the second move in their game. Varric and Blackwall pretend to be interested in both the sky and ground. Leliana and Josephine appear to lean against one another, ready to fall asleep. The Iron Bull and Vivienne have long since gave up pretending to walk up and down the balcony and now lean against it.

Cullen and Marzeyna no longer stare at each other as they space off into the distance, near tipsy on wine and full of fruit and sweets.

“Alright, I give up.” Marzeyna takes in the rest of her wine and stands up. Cullen joins her as well. “Have you lot gotten bored yet? Nothing’s gonna happen. I don’t even know what you all expected.”

“Honestly, neither did I,” says Dorian getting up from his seat to stretch his legs. “I’ll be off now.”

“Dammit Cullen, take the gloves off already!” Bull yells from the balcony while making obscene hand gestures that Vivienne does not approve of.

“I am not taking my gloves off!” Cullen yells back, his face quick to turn red.

“Prude!”

With that, everyone got up and made their way out, some laughing along the way.

When silence finally fell and the two of them were the only ones there, they sat back down with a sigh of relief.

The silence is broken when Marzeyna starts to laugh.

It starts off as a small giggle and then it builds up to a good chuckle and soon enough, she’s cackling like a child does at inappropriate jokes.

And he laughs with her. They laugh hard and loud until Cullen can feel another headache off in the distance. One he won’t complain about too terribly much.

“I have to say, Cullen,” she speaks as she winds down, “this was the worst picnic I’ve ever had.”

“My apologies,” he replies, clearing his dried throat. “I had a much better idea in my head. It was much more romantic and intimate and not full of witnesses.” She scoots herself closer to him and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s alright, it’s the thought that counts.”

The commander puts his hand over the Inquisitor’s and holds it closer to him so he can kiss the knuckles of her hand.

“I appreciate that very much.”

Marzeyna leans towards him and he wraps an arm around her shoulders and holds her other hand in his.

“Let me make it up to you,” she says. “Let’s have breakfast in my quarters tomorrow morning. Just me and you. How does that sound?”

Just me and her . . .

“Dearest, that sounds lovely. . .”

“Good, I prefer the sun rises than sunsets, to be honest.”

“And why is that?”

Marzeyna shrugs. “It's something I've always enjoyed since the clan. I like watching the world wake up with me. It’s a beautiful sight that reminds me I am alive and have a day ahead of me to live. And it reminds me of you, when I see you in the morning before breakfast. You are the first thing I think of when I wake up with the sun in my eyes.”

She’s robbing him of words and breath again. He can’t help himself.

Taking a hand to cup the side of her face, he leans in, closing his eyes, and catches her lips with his.

With her, everything is perfect. With her, everything he’s been through is almost worth it.

They part and she starts to laugh again.

“What is it?” He can’t wipe the dumb smile he knows he has on his face.

“Nothing,” she shakes her head. “It’s just that my lip paint is now all over your lips.”

“Is it now?”

“Yeah. Here, let me help you make it worse.”

And she kisses him again.

#this fic destroyed my back #was it worth it?#i hope so #seriously i hope you like it friend #marzeyna is a big cutie #i adore her #my writing #female inquisitor x cullen rutherford #marzeyna x cullen #marzeyna lavellen #cullen rutherford #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #da #dai

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heartslogos · 4 years ago

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newfragile yellows [858]

“You're going to get us caught,” Ellana grumbles under her breath as Bull’s arms close in around her and pull her into a shadowed alcove. His mouth presses to the side of her neck, a quick, warm snip of teeth before he straightens up and rests his head over hers.

“We’re consenting adults,” Bull replies, voice amused but just as soft as hers. Neither of them risk moving too much. The walls of Skyhold may be stone, but you never know how sound carries here. “What are they going to do? Besides. Everyone knows I have a reputation for being charming.”

Ellana barely refrains from bursting out into laughing. Bull’s arms squeeze around her middle and Ellana’s arms move to cover his as she leans into him. She closes her eyes.

“You could’ve fallen for my seduction technique,” Bull says, palms spread over her ribs and stomach as he feels her struggling to contain her laugh. “I’m irresistible.”

“You’re an irritant,” Ellana whispers back to him. “Are you sure this place is secure.”

“Scouted it myself," Bull says. “Trust me. Unless someone’s directly above us or directly in front of the gap there’s no way we’re being seen. Being heard is something else entirely, but we should be fine. As long as you don’t laugh.”

“Then stop being funny.”

“I wasn’t."

“You were.” Ellana feels the steady thump of Bull’s heart against her back. “The idea that I’ve fallen for your seductive charms might work for some people. But there’s going to be a lot of people, and a very certain person in specific, who’ll know that isn’t true.”

“Yeah, five to six years from now,” Bull replies. “When they know the both of us better. But right now no one knows shit about you or me.”

“I’m supposed to be part of that no one,” Ellana points out. “We’re not supposed to know shit about each other.”

“And this is us getting to know each other better,” Bull says. “Nothing says getting to know you like getting physical.”

“You want to tell that to my brother?” Ellana asks. Bull’s entire body does a small jerk, an instinct he’s carried over from the future. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Didn’t go so well the first time around did it?”

“Your brother somehow figured out how to hang me off a cliff by himself,” Bull says, sounding awed. “I’ve never had that happen to me before. I still don’t know how he did it.”

“Let’s not risk finding out this time around,” Ellana says. “Seriously. You’re going to get us caught.”

“Again, trust me. You’re thinking about these people as if they were the people we know they become. That’s almost ten years of hard life choices and mistakes learned from down the line from now. These people right now? They’re practically toddlers in their professions. I almost got stabbed because I forgot Sera didn’t know how to do that lightning armor trick and I left myself open.” Bull shakes his head. “Stupid mistake.”

Ellana knows what he means. Ellana’s so used to Mahanon and his knives and the extended silent communication they’ve built over the years that in one of their recent fights against the Red Templars Ellana had looked at her brother, done the old signal for go low, and almost blasted him and the Red Templar with a solid shot of lightning. Lucky Mahanon was able to dive to the side in time. He lost about four fingers of hair. But the templar had a solid hole straight through his skull so Ellana thinks Mahanon got off light with that. And she thinks Mahanon would also be similarly inclined to think so too.

“I just missed you,” Bull admits softly. “We’ve got to keep this up for at least another year.”

“I know,” Ellana sighs, wanting to melt into his arms completely. “But we have to. No one can know the truth. Even if it gets a little lonely sometimes.”

She feels Bull’s fingers twitch, an abortive curl, or him trying not to reach for hers. He sighs, a warm brush over her hair.

“Sometimes I don’t know if I have that kind of self control. Not when it’s you.”

“Of course you do,” Ellana says. “You have the most control out of everyone I’ve ever met. I’d worry that you have a problem but for now it’s working in our favor so I keep my mouth shut.”

“Are you saying I’m controlling?”

“I’m not saying anything.”

They stand together in silence. And to prove Ellana’s point, Bull slowly lets his arms fall back to his sides. Ellana, exercising her own control, stops leaning on him. She’s instantly cold. And she feels smaller, weaker, and more frail. She feels alone again.

She turns to look at him and his face is so tired and old and then it’s gone, it’s the Iron Bull that’s meant to exist today instead of the Iron Bull who she went through war, went to war for, for almost seven years.

“We were so stupid,” Ellana says quietly.

Bull raises a hand to cup her cheek, thumb drawing a line down the side of her face.

“Things will be different this time,” he tells her. “We’re going to rip Solas out of the Inquisition by the roots. He won’t get to Evelyn like he did last time. She keeps both arms. And I’m going to rip both of Solas’ off of him and backhand him with them.”

“Not unless I get to him first,” Ellana says.

“Are you going to try and talk him into reason again?”

Ellana rolls her eyes, “No. I learned my lesson. Namely that he’s never going to learn his.” Ellana glances up towards the sky. “I’ve got to go.”

“I know.” Bull lets his hand fall. “I’ll see you.”

Ellana moves quick, and touches her lips to the corner of his mouth. It isn’t enough. It’s never going to be enough. But it’s something to take the edge off, she hopes.

“Vhenan,” Ellana whispers, forcing herself to take a step away from him and towards the world that hasn’t yet earned the scars both of them carry in their minds.

“Kadan,” Bull returns.

Ellana takes in a deep breath, closes all of her feelings and longing down, down, down, into a box in her chest, and leaves.

#heartsfic #gather your party and venture forth

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theworldofmycreations · 5 years ago

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Shredder’s Little Light Chapter 2

Aurora sat quietly with her knees on the floor coloring in the coloring book she got from the grocery store on the coffee table, her crayons from the faulty cardboard crayon box while singing along to a song playing on her little kiddy radio that Tiger Claw had found in the junkyard while scouring around and slaving over her father.

It had been over a week since Aurora had settled into the church and already she made this church feel like home to her, even without her mother.

In the morning, around 8 am, she would be woken up by Tiger Claw and treated to either a homemade breakfast or takeout breakfast from the nearest fast food restaurant by Xever, Bradford, or Baxter.

After breakfast, Tiger Claw would help her get bathed, cleaned, and dressed for the day. Once bath time was over, Aurora was free to do whatever she pleased, which was mostly playing with some of her toys or watching cartoons on the TV whilst Shredder’s henchmen we’re taking orders and going on patrols until lunch came around.

When lunch time came and went, Aurora had "quiet time" for an hour or two where she could either quote on quote read a book, or color, or take a little nap, or watch her shows on the TV until dinner was prepared or given to her via takeout.

After her bath and brushing her teeth, Aurora would sneak down to the dungeon to chat or have a bit of playtime with Karai before she crept up to her room to go to bed before Tiger Claw could even reach the door of her room to bid her goodnight or read her a quick story before she went off to sleep.

Sometimes, her routine would switch up a bit and instead of being in the lair for most of the day, Tiger Claw would take her out to the playground to burn off some energy, get some ice cream to cool off with the horrendous weather they've been having, or sneak to the community pool after hours to splash in the refreshing water.

This was the case during the hours of the day; Aurora went to the park for the whole day and now she was coloring a couple of hours before bedtime.

Suddenly, a shadow loomed over Aurora while she was coloring.

The little one looked up from her coloring book and turned off the radio.

The Shredder was standing over the coffee table with a blank expression on his face. However, what was different about the Shredder was that he was without his helmet and Aurora could easily see the giant burn marks on his face.

Aurora put down the red crayon she was using and held up her coloring book to show her daddy the page she was coloring in. It was of a cartoon lion and zebra walking around in a jungle scenery.

Aurora held up the coloring book and showed the page she was coloring to the Shredder.

Shredder only stared at her and the coloring page.

Aurora saw the look on Shredder's face and her smile turned into a frown and she lowered the coloring book, putting it back on it's spot on the coffee table and bent her head down in fear of her father.

Shredder then turned away and walked down the hall.

Now, she became curious.

Where was his helmet?

He never walked around with it on.

Aurora put down her crayon and quietly followed her father and peeked in the throne room from behind one of the doors.

In the throne room was not only her father and the Foot Bots, but there was Baxter, Xever, Bradford, and Tiger Claw standing before her father as he stood at the steps near his throne.

“...find my helmet,” Shredder demanded, his growling tone demanding respect, but earning intimidation and fear. “Until it is returned to me, you will do nothing else. Nothing!”

“Uh, Master Shredder,” Xever spoke up hesitantly.

“Can't you just get another helm-“ He wasn’t able to finish. The Shredder’s fist made a striking impact to the fish mutant’s skull, and he was thrown back a good way.

Aurora let out a small gasp when Xever got hit.

She wanted to go up to her father and at least get some attention from him by telling him off on how wrong it was to hurt Xever and fix Xever's injury, but she was to scared to do so.

The clunking footsteps of the Shredder’s armor approached Xever, and the Foot leader loomed over him.

Her father began to tell the story of how Shredder’s helmet came to be. Aurora listened with attentive ears as if she understood but really she didn’t.

The Shredder looked to his soldiers. “I am sworn to protect it with my life. You will find it, and you will bring it to me.” The blades on his forearm swung out and he shoved them into Xever’s face. The mutant tilted his head to the side as the blades got uncomfortably close to his scaly skin. “Understand?” Shredder demanded.

“Uh, Yes, Master,” Xever stammered his reply.

The Shredder pulled back his blade to point at his followers. “Xever, you go with the fly. Tiger Claw, go with Bradford.” His soldiers bowed in obedience to their master. He turned away, walking to his throne. He stopped to give one final warning, “Do not fail me. I promise you, the consequences will be dire.”

Aurora shrunk her head down a bit as the soldiers, Xever, Stockman, and Bradford left the throne room to prepare themselves to hunt for the helmet.

She backed up to leave to go back to her coloring until she bumped into a leg.

Aurora looked up and there stood Tiger Claw, his yellow eye glowing in the slight darkness of the hallway. The little one turned to face the giant tiger.

"Tigger," Aurora asked, "Wha's going on? Whewe's my daddy's hewmet?"

"Apparently someone has stolen it from under our noses," Tiger Claw explained, "a man named Anton Zeck who claims himself to be a master thief according to the buisness card he left behind."

"A fief?" Aurora asked, "but why wowld he wanna steal daddy's hewmet?"

"Probably to earn money or want power." Tiger Claw replied.

"You can eawn monies by deawing?" Aurora asked.

"Yes, but I would not advise you do so," Tiger Claw told Aurora, placing a paw on her shoulder, "Stealing is hate crime and you do not want to grow up to become a criminal do you?"

"No siwee!" Aurora said, folding her hands behind her back earning a chuckle out of Tiger Claw.

"Good," Tiger Claw said, "I'll be back within a few hours. We're all going out to find your father's helmet."

"Ooh! Ooh! Can I come wif you an doggy?" Aurora begged, almost jumping up and down.

"No Aurora, it's late at night and you need to start getting ready for bed soon," the giant tiger replied.

Aurora frowned.

Tiger Claw then added, "But, how about tomorrow I'll take you out to that aquarium that you've been begging to go to for the past week."

The aquarium?!

Aurora loved the aquarium! Even though she's never been to one… but she has looked at pictures of the aquarium in books and seen them on TV all the time and it looked super cool to her. All the fish and other creatures swimming around without a care.

"OK Tigger!" Aurora said, "I be goowd!"

"I know you will." Tiger Claw said before getting up and ruffling her hair.

He then left the lair and headed for the door.

-----

"Dere are dowfins dere too?!"

"In most aquariums, yeah."

"Woah! Yowr lucky Kawai! Ife never been to an aquareeam before!"

"Trust me Aura, you don't know what you're missing."

Aurora sat on the floor in front of Karai's cell, wearing her new Bambi pajamas Tiger Claw had ordered from Walmart.

Since she was alone with the exception of the Shredder, she had to skip her bath and head straight to brushing her teeth and putting on her clothing for the night before she ran down to the dungeon to talk with Karai.

Aurora, or better known by her newly anointed nickname "Aura" by Karai as of a week ago, was talking to Karai about the promise Tiger Claw had made about taking her to the aquarium the following day if she behaved and got to bed on time. Karai smiled and then began to tell her about her experience in the aquarium she had when she was around Aurora's age and Aurora couldn't believe what she was she was hearing.

"Oh, I awmos forgot!"

Aurora got up from her spot and handed Karai a drawing she did.

Karai smiled at the gift that her little sister gave her, "Aw Aura, it's a nice.. uh, what is it?"

"It's da wainbow fish!" Aurora said, smiling proudly, "Tigger read me the 'dory befowe I went to bed yesderday an I dwew this fow you!"

"It's beautiful Aura, thank you." Karai smiled.

Aurora smiled but frowned a little.

"Aura, what's wrong?" Karai asked.

"… I showed daddy the colowing page I was dowing an he didn' say anyfing to me.." Aurora sighed, "I jus wan him to like me.."

Karai frowned at the sight of her sister. She didn’t like it when Aurora was upset. She held her hand and rubbed it gently.

"…Hey, don't get upset about it. Dad was just worried about his prized helmet being missing. Like I said, he's selfish like that." Karai explained. "He likes you… in his own unique way."

Aurora understood and rub her eye a bit, it was getting late and it would soon be her bedtime.

"You should be getting back up there, the others should be coming back any minute and it's almost your bedtime."

"Kay," Aurora yawned, "An when I go to da aquareeam tomowwow, I's gowna tell you all abowt it."

Karai smirked and replied, "I'd like that. Night Aura."

"Nigh-Nigh Kawai.." Aurora said in between a yawn.

She slowly walked up to her bedroom which had since been cleaned out and made to look like an actual bedroom, climbed into her bed, and drifted off to sleep clutching Barley close to her heart, dreaming away of colorful fish, dolphins flipping above the waves, dancing sea lions, and sharks with pointy teeth swimming around in giant fish tanks.

Aurora smiled in her sleep as she dreamed that she was within all the fun, swimming on the back of a dolphin, holding on tight for a bumpy ride.

----

A giant paw gently shook Aurora's shoulder, causing the little one to stretch and yawn.

"Sleep well Aurora?" Tiger Claw asked as he helped her sit up on her bed.

"Mm-hmm.." Aurora replied sleepily, rubbing her eye, "I dweamed dat I was swimming wif all da fishies an dowfins too. Awe we gowing to da aquareeam today?"

"Yes Aurora," Tiger Claw replied, "Just you and me…. after breakfast. Now come, your waffles are on the table and I do not want them to get cold."

Aurora leapt out of bed and walked beside Tiger Claw down the hall to the kitchen as she talked on and on about her wonderful aquarium dreams.

#tmnt2012 #oc #fanfiction

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onwesterlywinds · 5 years ago

Photo

You each recognize one of the skeletons, intimately. You see their final moments playing out as though they were your own: a priest, a spy, a marquis, and a king.

The air around the tower becomes more turbulent, but it's nothing Akhutai Urit can't pilot them through. As the Prima Vista's shuttle approaches the isle by air, you see plenty of Garlean airships already docked there - as well as a sea vessel. Alaq'it Moks climbs up the back of a chair to see. Nivelth Ajuyn has elected to silently keep the cape that Zalera picked out, but she has an old battered flat cap on as well, her ears once more well hidden. Akhutai Urit slows the ship down considerably and steers around to attempt to keep them out of line of site of any Garleans. Akhutai Urit: Welcoming party. At least there's only a few of us. Sneaking in should be... easier. A'zaela Linh leans against the wall of the ship, eyes closed, a headache pounding against her skull. Sweat dots her brow, but she doesn't make any noise of discomfort. Alaq'it Moks: I kind of... forgot part of our problem was Garleans. Alaq'it Moks laughs awkwardly. Nivelth Ajuyn: Garleans are always a problem, Alaq'it. A'zaela Linh: ...We take them down if they're in the way. Akhutai Urit: Methinks you don't see the amount of forces that seem to be there. I don't care how powerful you or the stone thinks you are. Akhutai Urit starts looking for a place to land. Alaq'it Moks: You WERE saying much about how we are stronger than we believe. Akhutai Urit: I did. And I stand by that statement. Doesn't mean she can take on an army. A'zaela Linh grits her teeth, but says nothing more. Nivelth Ajuyn rubs her temples slightly, and settles back into what seems to be her default pose, of her right hand on her left shoulder. Nivelth Ajuyn: None of us can. That's why we work together. Alaq'it Moks pats A'zaela Linh's shoulder, careful to only touch the armor. There's a spot along a deserted cape that doesn't seem to be especially crowded - and you can see from the air that it is not patrolled. Akhutai Urit: Be ready to land. Akhutai Urit makes for the handy dandy deserted cape and begins landing operations. He keeps his attention out, however, in the case of needing to pull back out quickly. In all, the path ahead seems completely clear of Garleans, strangely enough. Nivelth Ajuyn: We're headed for the inside, correct? A'zaela Linh: Yes. I hear... A'zaela Linh trails off. A'zaela Linh: Inside. We need something inside. Akhutai Urit steps back from the controls and turns towards the others. Akhutai Urit: Unless we wish to go sightseeing, I'd suspect whatever we're looking for is inside, yes. If one looks to the entrance to the tower, the courtyard in front is completely devoid of soldiers at the moment. Nivelth Ajuyn frowns at A'zaela Linh and merely sighs slightly: she wants answers, but seeing as they're about to go find them, she can't say much more. A'zaela Linh: Are we ready? Are we landed? Alaq'it Moks looks around. Even if her head is still slightly scrambled, her eyes and limbs remember Edge Marbrand's training. Alaq'it Moks: Where... are they... Akhutai Urit: We're landed. We should be ready for anything. The lack of... anyone is disconcerting. Nivelth Ajuyn nods as well, and summons an Egi. The winged yellow creature lets out a soft cry, and lands on her right shoulder. A'zaela Linh: Perhaps it's a trap. We will find out soon enough. Akhutai Urit: I'm more or less assuming everything is a trap at this point. Alaq'it Moks shrug at Akhutai Urit. Alaq'it Moks: And, up to this point. But no soldiers arrive for the time being. The path ahead remains clear, and the massive golden door lies open, with an inscription beside it: Lo, seeker in days unborn, god-blade bearer. Know you: this tower challenges the sky. Ware the watcher; the ward of the Three waits, soul-hungry, unsated. He without power, want it not. He with power, trust it not. He with sight, heed it not. Rend illusion, cut the true path. A'zaela Linh can barely read that, let alone fully understand what it means. Alaq'it Moks mutters the choice words she CAN make out. Nivelth Ajuyn crouches down to get a better look at it, and scribbles the whole thing into her grimoire, while reading it aloud for A'zaela Linh's benefit. Alaq'it Moks: God... tower... sky? Alaq'it Moks sighs. Alaq'it Moks: There will be stairs. A'zaela Linh: Trust it not... Akhutai, you truly didn't need go through all the trouble to tell me twice. Nivelth Ajuyn: Ward of the Three, soul hungry. Great. Akhutai Urit: You don't appreciate it? A'zaela Linh: Perhaps less than I should. Alaq'it Moks nonchalantly places herself between them. Alaq'it Moks: Well then. We are to cut the path? Alaq'it Moks draws out a knife and moves to stab the door. A'zaela Linh: What are you- Nivelth Ajuyn: It probably doesn't mean literal cutting. Alaq'it Moks staggers back, as the stone door doesn't absorb the shock. A good ear MIGHT hear her swear. A'zaela Linh cringes with pain. Nivelth Ajuyn: ... Did we try... opening it? Nivelth Ajuyn's voice is just shy of sounding sarcastic. Akhutai Urit 's gaze falls back upon the entrance and the wide open door, not paying much heed to the door stabbing. Akhutai Urit: ...I'll take point. If there's no objection. A'zaela Linh: ...Please do. The Garleans have taken up the space inside the hall - including upon a wide elevator directly within the center of the tower. But so too do you see stairs nearby, in a secluded corner, leading not up but down. Alaq'it Moks is now very concerned that she helped A'zaela make the wrong choice - several wrong choices. She muses, however, that it is now far too late to do anything but continue. Nivelth Ajuyn frowns slightly, and edges to the darker corners of the room, keeping an eye on any Garleans. Akhutai Urit sees the many Garleans and his eyes narrow. Doing his best to not be seen, he inches his way to the stairs. He's not quite sure if down is the right way to go but it's away from the Imperials. Maybe they'll get lucky for once. A'zaela Linh's instincts are telling her up, up. Shemhazai wants to raise Ultima to the heavens, does she not? But her allies are going down... It isn't an easy choice, but the others are going down, and doesn't think she can be alone right now. Alaq'it Moks takes rear, carefully watching to make sure that the Garleans do not spy their descent. A'zaela Linh doesn't put up a fight, either - she simply follows where the majority of the auracite is headed. Nivelth Ajuyn makes sure that her Garuda isn't glowing nearly as much, and it trills softly on her shoulder. The darkness is so heavy as to be oppressive. And yet a power lurks here regardless - one that puts each of the Lucavi on alert. Alaq'it Moks blinks against the darkness, just dimly aware of Nivelth Ajuyn's bird. Nivelth Ajuyn unclasps her right arm from her shoulder, lifting Garuda up. The Egi's glow increases with a soft little shriek. Akhutai Urit's movements become stiffer and each step further becomes more and more difficult as his heartbeat quickens. Still, he leads, trying not to make his growing fear too obvious. Nivelth Ajuyn has the strong impression of having walked these steps before... long ago. Alaq'it Moks moves her hands and summons a star that should be blinding... but anyone who saw it in the Barheim Passage will notice the light is slightly greener. She frowns and tries to steel herself. The light isn't constant, and she needs time to gather herself each time she calls it down. A'zaela Linh's eyes adjust to the darkness fairly well - she isn't nocturnal like Nivelth Ajuyn, but her eyes still adjust quicker than the average Hyur. That doesn't mean she can see anything except her hand in front of her, yet... Alaq'it Moks: I cannot keep a constant light. We should move slowly... except, where are we going? Nivelth Ajuyn touches Akhutai Urit's gloved arm gently, patting him, before starting to head forward. Nivelth Ajuyn: I think I have an idea where to go. Alaq'it Moks puts her arm out to find A'zaela Linh's, to try to pull them both to the sound of Nive patting Akhutai Urit's arm. Akhutai Urit finds comfort in the small amounts of light. He doesn't say anything as Nive passes him. A small bit of orange flickers in his eyes and he swallows hard. A'zaela Linh is easily dragged away in any which direction needed to go. Nivelth Ajuyn pauses, then takes her stone out of her pocket. It glimmers slightly, and she frowns at it. Nivelth Ajuyn: You've been here before. Show me the way. It does so. The Gemini stone leads Nive - and, by extension, the party - thirteen floors down, past howling creatures and flickering ghosts. Alaq'it Moks intermittently lights the way with the star; as the party goes unchallenged, the light is cleaner. She keeps Scorpio resolutely in her pocket. Cuchulainn is, perhaps, lying inactive out of fear. Nivelth Ajuyn keeps walking forward, avoiding monsters and casting spells that instantly kill smaller ones. Garuda is glowing still, brightening up the room somewhat, but it's not that much. The party hears a keening wail. Nivelth Ajuyn: What was that? Alaq'it Moks: A keening wail... A'zaela Linh recognizes the sound: someone Shemhazai loved made it - several thousand years ago. Akhutai Urit: Does it matter. Akhutai Urit's voice is nearly absent, though. Something else was taking his attention. Alaq'it Moks pretends not to feel Nive's stare, alternating between patting Akhutai's arm and A'zaela's. A'zaela Linh: ...Yes. A'zaela Linh steps forward and instantly staggers, falling to her knees. Nivelth Ajuyn: A'zaela...! Alaq'it Moks: A'z- Alaq'it Moks kneels by her. A'zaela Linh: I don't know. A'zaela Linh presses a hand firmly against the side of her face. A'zaela Linh: I don't know, but she does. Shemhazai's stone burns an angry purple against A'zaela Linh's chest. Akhutai Urit: I don't particularly feel that is a good thing. Nivelth Ajuyn goes to check on her, but hesitates before actually touching A'zaela's shoulder. Alaq'it Moks: Do you sense... that she is angry? Alaq'it Moks is experiencing no small amount of regret over getting A'zaela into this; as Cuchulainn's voice is quieted in fear, she understands the depth of his manipulation. A'zaela Linh: ...Terrified. Akhutai Urit takes in the meager amounts of light around them and his eyes, for a moment, shine a brilliant gold. Akhutai Urit: ...I can carry someone if needed. We must continue as best we can. Nivelth Ajuyn: ... I suppose I'm the only one that feels right at home here. Althyk this is bad.... Alaq'it Moks looks to the others, clenching her fists at her knees and collecting herself. Alaq'it Moks: If they are afraid, then it may be that we are going the right way. Alaq'it Moks nods to Akhutai and tries to help A'zaela stand. A'zaela Linh picks herself up, ignoring the searing pain in her chest, and the fear swelling in her heart. She takes Alaq'it's hand in hers and continues on. Nivelth Ajuyn: Tai? Are you good to continue on? Akhutai Urit speaks quietly. Akhutai Urit: He is not afraid. Or, perhaps, he is. Fear and anger are frequently similar. ...Just need to hold on to what separates us. Don't worry about me. Alaq'it Moks: Too late. Nivelth Ajuyn inhales deeply and gives a big sigh, but nods. She's rather uncomfortable with how okay she is with all of this. Akhutai Urit: Let us continue. Far below, on the thirteenth subterranean level, there is a long, dark hall. Along each wall lies what might once have been some form of machinery, but it lies broken and still and rusted. At the end of the hall, however, lie four broken skeletons - and sticking out from the empty ribs of one is an intricate greatsword, wrought in a metal the likes of which none of you have ever seen. You each recognize one of the skeletons, intimately. You see their final moments playing out as though they were your own: a priest, a spy, a marquis, and a king. The king's grandfather told him of this sword, and so did he go into the earth with his trusted friends to take up the ancient relic - to rid the world of the cursed zodiac stones, and halt the legend of the Zodiac Braves from ever taking root again. His lineage had granted him the birthright of Belias, and he raged to be free of it. The priest sought only remedy to the world and its ills, but had grown bitter and disillusioned until he could feel that bitterness begin to threaten the very fabric of his soul. He sought Cuchulainn for counsel, much as he himself sought to counsel the king, to guide him until the end. The marquis, ever loyal, had seen the stone's true power: a fatal blow upon a battle for the king's lands had meant nothing to him, except now he was doomed to live in flesh as cold as the grave until Zalera took him and his twin daughters for true. The spy detested every one of them; she sought only to serve her queen. She told the king of the marquis' apparent treachery, planted a suggestion from Shemhazai that the marquis would kill them all... and thus did the king divert from his plan of doing away with the stones and instead plunged the Sword of Kings into his oldest friend's heart. Nivelth Ajuyn stares down at the skeleton of the Marquis, and crouches down next to it. Nivelth Ajuyn: ... We're just all the same in a long, long chain of hosts and tools to be used by these things, aren't we? Akhutai Urit walks over to the king and nudges the skeleton with his foot. His eyes fall upon the sword. Akhutai Urit: Don't speak as if it's not something we can break. A'zaela Linh forces down the bile in her throat. Her hands -- her entire body is shaking, as though a chill had run her through. Nivelth Ajuyn: Chains can always be broken and rusted, Tai. I think you know that. Alaq'it Moks feels A'zaela's shaking through the hand she holds. Akhutai Urit: Considering the many bindings I've had to break free of, I am intimately aware of their fragility. A'zaela Linh reaches up to grab her auracite, to rip it from her throat and leave it here, never to be seen again - but pain rushes through her body, and she cannot commit. She squeezes Alaq'it's hands tighter, so, incredibly grateful that she still has someone by her side. Alaq'it Moks winces in pain as A'zaela's grip tightens, but holds the hand tightly. She knows now it is not only her own regret she is feeling; she feels the heart of the priest, and knows he had sought to do only as Alaq'it did. To find the wisdom to save what was dear. Nivelth Ajuyn goes to touch the sword that's stabbed through one of the skeletons, and flinches as she can feel a phantom pain in her own chest. A'zaela Linh: What... what do we do now? We cannot... let this happen to us. And if I was the one who did this, I... Nivelth Ajuyn: You were not a spy for some Dynast-Descendant several centuries ago, A'zaela. This was not you. A'zaela Linh thinks of how her hand had almost grabbed for her knife - how Shemhazai had tempted her to plunge it through Alaq'it's heart. In the darkness, it all feels too much, like it might swallow her up. Alaq'it Moks: Nive is right. THIS is you. Alaq'it Moks wiggles the hand she's grasping in the air. Akhutai Urit walks up to Nive's side, eyes never leaving the sword. Akhutai Urit: They were so easily manipulated. They were weak. We are not. A'zaela Linh: You're right. A'zaela Linh stares at her hand in Alaq'it's. A'zaela Linh: Disarm me. Shemhazai protests, loudly, painfully, but A'zaela Linh has never felt more clarity. Alaq'it Moks deftly moves to comply. Her body almost seems to miss close combat. She motions to Akhutai to get the lance; it looks heavy. Akhutai Urit nods and moves to relieve A'zaela Linh of her lance. Nivelth Ajuyn hasn't pulled up from the greatsword, and watches the changing of weapons with overshadowed eyes. A'zaela Linh: ...Perhaps the rest of you should leave. A'zaela Linh's gaze focuses on Nivelth Ajuyn. Alaq'it Moks is thinking furiously, but she is so, so out of her depth with such magic. She moves to see what sense she gets from the sword in the priest. Akhutai Urit sets A'zaela's lance on his back next to his own. Akhutai Urit: Leave? I don't know how well any of you know me to make such a suggestion. The priest had been the second to be cut down, after he had tried to reason with the spy. But the moment his lifeblood had spilled across the stone floor, he had been unable to stop the king from sending the sword through her gut. Alaq'it Moks gingerly lays her hand on the hilt of the sword, muttering the closest thing she can think of to a prayer. Alaq'it Moks: I made your mistakes, too. Please give me the strength to help correct them. The sword gives no response that you can perceive; however, again the demons within the stones seem to shrink back, preparing to possibly rise up. Alaq'it Moks feels the retreat of the stone, but instead of feeling relief, she remembers the sight of the ocean pulling away from the shore before a tidal wave. She shuts her eyes tight and pulls, fast. Nivelth Ajuyn looks at the sword, then to Alaq'it, and A'zaela. Nivelth Ajuyn: ... We all wish to end this, don't we? To break this cycle, to destroy these stones? Akhutai Urit watches Alaq'it grab the sword. Akhutai Urit: And so we shall. A'zaela Linh: ...It's the only thing I've thought about for the past month. A'zaela Linh slowly removes the necklace with the auracite from her body. Her entire being burns from the effort - she already has blisters on her chest from even the thought of removing it. Her hands are gloved, but they, too, take damage - she's almost surprised they don't set aflame from Sagittarius' anger. Nivelth Ajuyn watches A'zaela carefully, wishing she had access to her own healing spells for her friend's sake. A'zaela Linh moves away from the stone, from Nivelth. She isn't steady, and she stumbles slightly, grabbing on to Akhutai's arm briefly, then apologizing. Akhutai Urit holds out his arm for A'zaela to grab onto anyway and holds it out to help keep her steady. A'zaela Linh takes it, realizing for the first time that it wasn't Nivelth asking her to put the stone down was what made her do it. It was the image of Alaq'it's hand in hers, and the way she trusted Akhutai enough to grip onto his arm. It was that she trusted Nivelth enough to even place the dangerous stone down in front of her. Alaq'it Moks looks over to Akhutai. She's struggling to lift the sword. Alaq'it Moks: Akhutai... while I would love to strike this down and save something for once, I cannot lift this thing. If I take A'zaela, would you try this? Alaq'it Moks holds the hilt toward him. Nivelth Ajuyn gives a smile to A'zaela, and then looks at Akhutai. Nivelth Ajuyn: Can you do the honors? I doubt this will actually work, but... Akhutai Urit gives a hum of acknowledgement before reaching for the sword with his free hand. And as soon as his left hand closes around the hilt, he feels Belias within the stone seemingly recoil horribly. This causes him to grin despite himself. Akhutai Urit: Their reaction is promising regardless. I will try. Alaq'it Moks moves to take over A'zaela's support and claps him on the back. Alaq'it Moks: You, as they say, got this. A'zaela Linh shifts to hold on to Alaq'it once more, trying her hardest to not burden anyone, but unable to completely commit to that due to the pain she was in. Nivelth Ajuyn has Garuda hold the stone steady, and scoots back so Akhutai Urit can attempt to hack it to bits. Alaq'it Moks lays the strongest healing spell she can confidently manage on A’zaela as Akhutai readies himself. Akhutai Urit steps forward and holds out the blade over the stone, measuring. With a sharp intake of breath, he pulls the blade overhead before swinging it down upon it. The stone shatters into needle-fine shards, and Shemhazai screams. With her final wail, you can hear her speak the name of Ultima - a warning to her lady alone. For a moment, the world is deafened, and then the sound of the darkness all around you rushes back. Alaq'it Moks staggers. A'zaela Linh breathes, long and deep, as the stone shatters. Her skin is yet burned, and her body still tires, but she is free, and she feels that weight lifted from her chest as Shemhazai's hold over her mind dissipates. The scream is familiar, the same one she's heard both times she's let Shemhazai go, but this time... it is a requiem, a blessing. Alaq'it Moks: Ultima... Alaq'it Moks squeezes A'zaela's hand once more, before stepping in front of Akhutai, Scorpio in hand. She holds it up to him. Alaq'it Moks: I asked you to cut something down today, if needed. It will not be me. It will never be me. I will be stronger from here, so please, cut this one. Alaq'it Moks whispers one more prayer to the priest as she sets the stone on the ground where A'zaela's had been. A'zaela Linh whispers Alaq'it's name, too relieved to cry. Akhutai Urit exhales slowly. Akhutai Urit: ...I wonder if the holder of Ultima will give us trouble. Akhutai Urit knows they all know who the holder is but... Akhutai Urit nods at Alaq'it Moks. Akhutai Urit: I know. I made my promise. But I knew. Akhutai Urit again prepares the sword. Again, he swings the blade, face blank of emotion, eyes flickering. The stone oozes, then melts; Cuchulainn gives one last odious laugh before all traces of him are gone. When next you breathe in, the air feels pure and clean in ways you did not know it could before. Alaq'it Moks grabs A'zaela's arm in a manner that is almost giddy; she collects herself and looks toward Nive and Akhutai. She's almost too exhilerated to speak. Akhutai Urit drags the tip of the blade along the ground before picking it up. He looks at Nive. Nivelth Ajuyn stares up at Tai, reaching for the stone in her pocket. And she pauses. Alaq'it Moks: ...Ah. Alaq'it Moks wonders if she has jinxed something. Nivelth Ajuyn she goes to stand, the stone held losely in her left hand, staring at him, before shaking her head. Nivelth Ajuyn: ... I think not. Akhutai Urit: I was afraid of that. Alaq'it Moks moves in front of A'zaela, putting her hands on her hips to face Nive. Or... Nive? Nivelth Ajuyn frowns, and moves to rip off the hat. It flutters to the ground. Nivelth Ajuyn: Annoying thing. Alaq'it Moks picks up the hat. Akhutai Urit tilts his head. Akhutai Urit: Do you think you have power here? Alaq'it Moks: This is hers. She is hers. Alaq'it Moks' voice isn't angry; it's even. She takes a step closer to Nive, holding the hat. A'zaela Linh, moaning and sweating bullets besides, falls to her knees. A'zaela Linh: I'm sorry. A'zaela Linh passes out for the first time since she lost her memory, hitting the ground loudly. Nivelth Ajuyn: Do you think you could step into my domain and challenge me? This is mine, all of it. This death and darkness. Nivelth Ajuyn points at Akhutai Urit. Nivelth Ajuyn: And you fear it. Alaq'it Moks: A'ZAELA! Alaq'it Moks runs back and checks her friend; besides some bruises, A'zaela seems to be stricken by exhaustion, and Alaq'it pats her carefully before turning back to Nive and Akhutai. Nivelth Ajuyn's eyes flicker to A'zaela with something approaching fear in them, for a split second, then her gaze turns back to Akhutai. Akhutai Urit ponders that for a moment. Akhutai Urit: Ah. Yes. I do suppose I fear the dark. Death, not so much. Akhutai Urit's eyes land on A'zaela and he takes a step closer to her and Alaq'it. Akhutai Urit: And even if I still feared death, I would get nowhere if I let it stop me. Who would I protect? How would I live? You're going to need something stronger than fear. Nivelth Ajuyn frowns, her lips pulling down into a snarl that bares slight fang. Nivelth Ajuyn: Such a mortal ideal. Nivelth Ajuyn looks to Alaq'it, to the hat. Nivelth Ajuyn: Everything here is mine. Including this host. Why do you petty creatures persist in living, when there is nothing of value in struggling against the tide! Alaq'it Moks: Nive. Alaq'it Moks lets Akhutai continue to speak to the demon, and calls out to the host, almost cheerfully. Alaq'it Moks: Nive. How many tides have we crested to get this far? Nivelth Ajuyn seems to... stumble, just slightly, at Alaq'it's words. Akhutai Urit: If everything here was yours, we would be dead and I wouldn't be holding the sword that can destroy you. ...Value is what we make of it. Perhaps it is because we are mortal that we can find value in life. Love, friendship, beauty. It is death that makes us appreciate these things because how else could we know how precious life is? Alaq'it Moks is next to Nivelth Ajuyn now. Alaq'it Moks: But truly, we would like to appreciate these things a bit longer in life. We ought to see how much more we can make of all those things, no? Alaq'it Moks says this almost as a conversational aside to Akhutai, while gently putting the hat back on Nive's head. Nivelth Ajuyn's gaze flickers between the two of them, and the sneer lessens somewhat. She's faltering - Zalera is faltering. She shakes her head, some of the light coming back into her eyes, some of the warmth. Her fingers loosen around the stone, and it clatters to the ground, and she buries her face in her hands, shoulders shaking with near-silent sobs. The darkness around them almost swallows them up, but not quite. Nivelth Ajuyn: I’m- I’m sorry, I-I picked up the damn stone and every waking moment has been knowing that you all will die and I’ll be alone again-- Alaq'it Moks: Not today. Because you let him go. Because you were strong. Alaq'it Moks takes Nivelth Ajuyn's arms and makes way for Akhutai and the sword. Nivelth Ajuyn: I'm not- Alaq'it Moks: Do you think none of us here know how hard it is to set a stone down? Alaq'it Moks' tone isn't angry. Akhutai Urit: It is as she says. We will all die. But it certainly is not this day. Besides, the one thing I believe in is rebirth. We can all find each other again, if we so desire it. We won't leave you alone. Akhutai Urit uses the tip of the sword to drag the stone closer and into position. Nivelth Ajuyn swallows thickly, and points at him. Nivelth Ajuyn: I'm holding you to that. I don't know how, but I will. Nivelth Ajuyn kicks the stone towards him, before almost falling into Alaq'it's arms. Akhutai Urit gives a warm smile. Akhutai Urit: Trust me, you aren't the only one. Akhutai Urit swings the sword down on this next stone. Nivelth Ajuyn falls to her knees, crying out in pain as she holds onto her head. The hat is knocked slightly askew, but doesn't come off. Zalera isn't leaving her mind without a fight, and she has to force him out, flinging him with all her metaphysical might into the stone that is just under Akhutai's blade. The stone crumbles into dust. There's a shout of defiance, a wailing sob - and then the world around you feels much brighter, despite the ever-encroaching darkness. Living no longer seems so great a trial. When the stone shatters into fine crystal, something on Nivelth Ajuyn's forehead glimmers faintly, before going dark. Alaq'it Moks looks to Akhutai Urit now. Alaq'it Moks: Unless YOU are hiding any more fights, it is now your turn, yes? You must still destroy your own stone, however. Alaq'it Moks is grinning; she meant the first part as a joke. Akhutai Urit pauses just check over Nivelth Ajuyn, satisfied that she's still with them. Akhutai Urit: And now- Akhutai Urit is immediately cut off. The sword falls from his grasp. While he makes no noise, his eyes show nothing but pain. Alaq'it Moks: ...His... his is Belias, yes? We may... have a problem... Nivelth Ajuyn nods, frowning as well. Nivelth Ajuyn: Tai...? Tai, what's wrong? Alaq'it Moks: Akhutai, do not make me cross-- There is the smell of burning flesh, leather, and cloth coming from Akhutai Urit. Alaq'it Moks pinches her nose. Akhutai Urit manages one word: "Pouch." Alaq'it Moks lunges for the pouch, pulling it off of his belt and casting it down to the floor. Alaq'it Moks: Are you- is that alright? Alaq'it Moks looks at the arm in alarm. Nivelth Ajuyn flicks her fingers and a bit of ice comes to her fingers. Nivelth Ajuyn: Tai- No, we should destroy the stone... Akhutai Urit falls to his knees as soon as the pouch is free of his person, left hand hitting the ground beside him as his left arm hangs rather uselessly. Nivelth Ajuyn rushes for the sword, and starts to lift it up, looking at Alaq'it. Nivelth Ajuyn: H-help me, it's just heavy enough -- Alaq'it Moks rushes to the other side of the sword and uses her foot to kick up the blade, giving them momentum for an upswing. Nivelth Ajuyn helps the blade along, and the two women bring the sword crashing down onto the stone. The sword slices through the leather, and then the stone. Belias gives a roar of agony, of hatred, and then - after a breathless moment in which it seems time has stopped - he is gone. The last of this flock to be sacrificed. Nivelth Ajuyn sags, and lets the sword fall out of her grasp, before falling down onto her rump. Nivelth Ajuyn: ...Did... Did we do it? Alaq'it Moks holds the hilt, looking around to the others. Akhutai Urit hisses as he attempts to move his arm. Akhutai Urit: ...We still have eight to go. But for us, this has been a victory. Now we know how to deal with them. Nivelth Ajuyn nods, rubbing her forehead a little bit. Nivelth Ajuyn: Y-yeah. We do. Words cannot express how relieved I am.

#Phantom Pains RISK #Alaq'it Moks #A'zaela Linh #Nivelth Ajuyn #Akhutai Urit #1. My friends are so fucking talented and if you read nothing else of the Riskbreakers please let it be this.#2. This was easily one of the most meaningful sessions I've ever DMed.

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violetsmoak · 5 years ago

Text

Tabula Rasa [2/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20183281/chapters/47822500

Blanket Disclaimer:

Summary: Tim and Jason have known they are soulmates for years, though neither has said anything about it. Tim thinks Jason doesn’t know, and is just trying to live with it. Jason thinks Tim knows but doesn’t care, which is fine with him, he thinks the soulmate thing is a crock anyway. But one night, a minor mishap forces them to confront the issue head-on, leading to a series of events no one could have predicted.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #bright vivid colours #danger #enemies to lovers #soulmate aversion #soulmark tattoo

First Chapter

Beta Reader: I’ll get back to you on that.

________________________________________________________________

Tim is exhausted.

It’s not the semi-permanent fatigue he’s been living with ever since becoming a vigilante, the ‘constantly tired about something’ background noise of his life. It’s more of an utter doneness with everything.

His head is pulsing like someone took an icepick to his left eye and punched through to his brain stem, and he’s got a bit of fever. Damian’s cat bit him in the early hours of dawn when he stopped by the Cave to drop off some intel. It’s taking his antibiotics longer to kick in than he’d like.

He’s been in meetings since seven this morning discussing the next year’s budget, sitting across the boardroom from the old guard of shareholders and Bruce. Bruce, who’s been attending more of these meetings in the past month with the implied goal of scrutinizing every move Tim makes. He spent hours today grilling Tim on every judgment call, made him argue for every cent of allocated funds and second-guessed projects months in the making.

And then the board members—even those who disliked Bruce—joined in and it was like a fucking ambush.

Tim didn’t even have someone in his corner to give him five minutes of breathing room, and he’s never missed Tam so much as at that moment. But she asked to transfer to a different department not long after the whole faking her father’s death thing. Tim doesn’t want to call her in for matters he should be able to handle himself.

Kon’s canceled their plans to hang out this weekend because he forgot his and Cassie’s anniversary. It was meant to be a videogame and junk food fueled marathon, and Tim had been looking forward to it for two weeks now. It’s the third time this month they’ve had to call rain check.

Though to be fair the last two instances were because I got dragged into something Bat related and time-sensitive.

At this point, all he wants it to get home, eat a whole pizza himself and sleep for at least eight hours. He’s even picking out toppings as he heads for his car in the employee parking lot.

So, of course, that’s when the notification system on his phone chimes. Patched into the GCPD frequencies, he’s informed that Killer Croc is rampaging in the University District.

And at City Hall?

Crash!

And apparently now in the WE Building.

“What the hell?”

The lingering staff members scream and flee to their offices, barricading themselves in as the growling, pebble-skinned thing bursts out of the nearby stairwell.

Okay, that’s not Killer Croc, but it looks a heck of a lot like him. Maybe shorter.

The elevator bell dings, opening on an empty car, drawing the snarling man-shaped beast’s attention. It makes an immediate run for Tim, who backs into the elevator and glances upward; there’s a cage across the ceiling to block access to the ceiling panels, the spaced between the metal lats wide enough to reach his fingers through.

He bends and jumps up, swearing at the bite of metal as he grabs hold of the grille, just as the creature barrels into the elevator. Tim uses the momentum to plow his knee into the creature’s jaw.

Its head snaps backward, blood spraying as it bites down on its tongue, but it doesn’t pass out as Tim had hoped. Right as it’s gearing up to take another run at Tim, there’s thwip! sound and two darts lodge themselves in its throat from somewhere outside.

The croc-person goes rigid and passes out. A moment later, Bruce strolls down the hallway toward him as casually as if he’s heading to dinner. He folds a compact knockout dark gun back into his breast pocket. Luckily for them, all of the doors remain shut tight and there are no windows for the other employees to see any of this.

“What did you hit him with?” Tim wants to know.

“Carfentanil,” Bruce replies, stepping over the unconscious body and reaching for the thumbprint scanner at the bottom of the elevator panel. “Lucius will see to that one.”

He engages the override to skip every floor on the way down to the sub-basement.

“What’s going on?”

“Based on Batgirl’s intel, some idealistic grad student wanting to change the world. She believed the best way to kick-start the proletarian revolution was to mix Waylon Jones’ DNA with a version of Langstrom’s prototype serums, test it out on the homeless and then release them in various locations considered to be bourgeoisie strongholds of Gotham.”

Tim blinks at that. “Eat the rich?”

“Somehow I doubt that’s what Rousseau meant.”

The elevator vibrates as it speeds downward, and Bruce considers Tim out of the corner of his eye. “How long has it been since you slept?”

Twenty-three hours.

“I’m fine, B.”

“You were nodding off during the presentation by Powers Tech.”

“Because Warrick Powers is a pedantic drone that’s rehashing all of the same proposals he made last month. Even you were playing Candy Crush on your phone for half of it.”

Bruce’s expression doesn’t change. “Anyone going out tonight has to be at their best. Killer Croc is a challenge on a good day, but Oracle’s saying there have been a dozen sightings of these hybrids—”

“All the more reason you need me out there,” Tim cuts him off. As the door to the elevator opens, he strides away before Bruce can offer reason he doesn’t want Tim going out tonight. He’s been questioned enough today at work, he refuses to be called out on his night job.

Things go from weird to complicated to unbelievable within hours. As it turns out, Killer Croc is involved…but he’s working with them for once. Red Hood’s voice comes over the comms early on to caution everyone not to go after him unless he makes a move on a civilian.

“Arsenal vouches for him,” he insists, and things are so crazy no one has time to argue with him. Everyone separates into their various zones, though corralling the croc-man-bat hybrids often has them overlapping with one another.

It takes all night.

By the time the last of the test-subjects has been subdued, ready for transport to a treatment facility, dawn is just peeking over the edges of the buildings. Tim’s body aches like one big bruise. He’s got something bigger than a cat bite that needs treatment, and if his head hurt before, now it’s like his brain is bubbling out of his skull.

Everyone has checked in, which is a relief, but everyone sounds like they’ve been put through the wringer. Those that Tim can see look even worse.

Batman is on the ground, conversing with Commissioner Gordon, and from the way he’s standing, it’s clear he’s taken some damage to his ribs. On a rooftop in the distance, Tim can see Robin with his arms crossed, cape in ruins and shoulders hunched inward. He doesn’t have to see the kid’s face to know he’s scowling. Beside him, Red Hood is laughing, helmet missing and body armor ratty and torn. Tim taps his visor to magnify his vision. Hood’s entire left arm-sleeve is gone, along with the gauntlet, and he’s bleeding from a wound above his bicep.

But he doesn’t seem bothered by it. He even reaches out to ruffle Robin’s hair, then easily dodges the knife the kid swipes at him. There’s a flicker of relief that flits through Tim to see him unharmed.

Despite their past, despite the fact Jason avoids him, Tim still tries to stay hopeful about the whole thing. It’s possible things will get better and they can be friends one day, or at least tolerate each other in the way Jason and Damian do. He could handle that.

“Well that was fun,” Steph groans, dropping down beside Tim on his chosen rooftop. “I need to sleep for the next six weeks, though.”

“What are you, a groundhog?” Duke quips, alighting on the other side of him.

“If it gets me out of midterms, hell yes. Just…not the same day over and over thing.”

“I don’t understand,” Cass sighs. “Either of you.”

The usual post-Arkham-level emergency banter starts up, all snarky jokes and witty rejoinders and Tim’s just…not in the mood.

“I’ve got a final sweep to do before turning in,” he mutters. He doesn’t care if anyone hears him as he hops over the edge of the building and grapples away. There’s some chatter and questions in his ear, but he ignores it.

His adrenaline from the night’s activities is dropping, and the exhaustion he was experiencing earlier in the day is hitting him like a Mac truck. He doesn’t even want the pizza anymore, just the sleep.

There’s a dreamlike quality to the way he sways through the air like he’s not actually present in the moment. Perhaps he’ll skip the last leg of patrol too, tonight. And he can write the incident report up tomorrow, and—

Right as he hits the highest arc of his swing, there’s a snap and sudden give to his line.

It should be an automatic thing, hauling out his redundant grapple gun and fixing it to a new anchor point. This is all about timing, a practiced movement all of them trained for before Bruce even let them out of the cave.

And yet.

It’s as if time slows for just a moment.

As if he has all the time in the world to contemplate the intricacies of each separate action, the pull of his muscles and movements of his fingers. Or even the ramifications of simply letting himself fall.

For that one moment, Tim isn’t Red Robin or Tim Drake-Wayne or any number of things he’s supposed to be, he’s just. There. Existing in a void of sound and sensation, adrenaline blocking it all out, weightless and empty.

Floating.

A sudden desperate wish hits him to freeze everything like this, at this high-point forever. To stay forever frozen in the peace of a not-quite-flight.

Gravity pulls at him then, making his stomach flip, and he reaches for the redundant grapple, even as he realizes he’s too slow. The air rushes past him, the ground rises to meet him and he’s still drawing out the line, and it will be too late—

As he’s about to hit to point of no return, something clasps around his arm and yanks. Someone wrenches Tim up and forward, a hand grasping his whole forearm in a vicelike grip and it’s reflex for his fingers to clasp around it. Warmth tingles in his fingers and radiates the entirety of his arm, like laying his hand on his own personal sun. As they swing through the air, Tim’s eyes fall upon the literal lifeline that saved him.

The first thing he sees is a swirl of red and gold, the familiar winding knotwork pattern of his soulmark.

Except it’s not his.

Jason’s left arm and shoulder are bare, the mark blossoming seemingly out of nowhere halfway up his forearm. But Tim recognizes the uneven streak of hastily applied cover-up from wrist to elbow-crease—because it turns out, Jason covers his mark at all times as Bruce does.

The warmth in Tim’s hand and arm grow, stretching tendrils of heat through his body, but it burns the most where he and Jason touch. Steph once described the sensation as a lock and key interlinking, and he finally understands because there is a very physical click inside him, like tumblers slamming into place.

It’s distantly familiar, and he wonders if he might have experienced this before, but couldn’t focus on it due to being bleeding out at the time. The way their marks reach and wind about each other now, Tim doesn’t believe there’s any way for it to be ignored anymore.

His heart flutters at the idea.

Then Jason is swinging them to the nearest rooftop and abruptly lets Tim go, snatching his hand back the instant his boots hit the gravel. Tim stumbles forward, barely stopping himself from tumbling to his knees from the momentum.

He skids around to face Jason, who is already turning away, shielding the mark. When he faces Tim again, the colors recede once more beneath the spray cover-up.

“Geeze, Replacement. You gettin’ enough sleep?” he asks lightly, mouth crooked. “You almost let yourself become pavement art.”

Tim blinks, still a little lost in his head.

“I mean, I’m sure you could have engaged those tacky wings of yours before the worst happened, but cuttin’ it kind of close, don’t ya think?”

Tim’s not really thinking anything. His eyes are on Jason’s arm, where the colors of his mark have already slipped away. Because Jason is putting a very conspicuous space between them. And asking something inane, as if he’s trying to distract him.

Which he shouldn’t be doing.

He saw the mark. He would have felt what Tim felt. It should be a shock, he should be confused or angry or surprised—

Tim freezes in realization.

“You’re not surprised,” he says, the words somehow disconnected from his mouth.

“Surprised about what?”

Tim bristles at Jason’s feigned ignorance now, indignation rekindling some of his spark. “Seriously? You’re just going to—you’re really going to pretend we both didn’t see that? That we both don’t know…?”

“I think that fight rattled you,” Jason says, slow and placating. “How many times did you get hit in the head tonight?”

“You didn’t even flinch!” Tim snaps, taking a step forward. “If you hadn’t known, it would have surprised you! You might have dropped me, or yelled, or…”

Jason is backing away now, not even trying to disguise his intention and Tim darts forward, hand snatching to grab hold of Jason’s wrist. Incredible gold and deep scarlet bands of color creep up his left arm, threading along the capillaries of his skin, connecting the freckles and scars across his bare arm. There’s a corresponding warmth in Tim’s right wrist and arm.

Before either design can fully manifest, though, Jason snatches his hand back and punches Tim in the chest.

“I’m not a fan of handsy guys,” he says, though his joke is lost in the ice of his tone.

Tim barely reacts to the blow, because he’s had worse from Jason, and right now, he’s honestly too furious to register it.

“You knew the whole time, didn’t you?” he accuses.

“Knew what—?”

“Don’t! Don’t lie! You’ve known—you had to have known ever since the day we met, at the Tower!” There is no argument this time, only a head-on gaze. “And you never said anything.”

“Well, it’s not like you did either,” Jason defends, discomfort coloring each word.

And there’s the confirmation; it’s more of a blow to the gut than Jason’s punch. It’s an aching, gnawing hurt, and Tim tries to tamp it down, tries to focus more on the simmering rage that is welling up alongside it.

“Because I didn’t think yours had activated,” he manages to get out. “At the time I didn’t think you were capable of…I thought if I said anything, you’d…you hated me then, and—” Comprehension smacks into him. “That’s why you didn’t bring it up, isn’t it? And then the other night, when I said all that. About soulmates. You knew what I thought about it, and that’s why you didn’t say anything.”

Jason coughs, backing away again. “Okay, glad we cleared that up.”

“If you’d said something—if you’d even acknowledged it, maybe—”

“‘Maybe’ what?” Jason challenges. “We’d magically be on track for a house and picket fence and adopting our own passel of neglected orphans?”

“Wait!”

“Yeah, no, I’m over this—”

“Jason, don’t—” He reaches out once more, hand clamping down on his shoulder and in his madness, he’s forgotten everything he knows about Jason and personal space. It all comes back in a rush when he’s suddenly staring down the barrel of a gun.

“I said I’m done,” Jason growls, and Tim swallows reflexively.

Slowly, carefully, he takes a step back.

Jason doesn’t move right away, simply stares at him, then the gun in his hand, which he lowers after a breath.

The tension doesn’t leave his shoulders though.

“This whole soulmate thing is some bullshit,” Jason snarls at last. “I hope you’ve got another option on the other arm, Drake, because I ain’t it. And I want shit-all to do with you. Follow me, and I’ll shoot you.”

He leaps from the building, and a beat later Tim watches him swing away between the skyscrapers.

It takes a while to remember how to breathe, more because of the crushed glass sensation in his throat than of any fear Jason would have shot him.

The rejection isn’t unexpected.

Honestly, it’s like a door being closed on something he hoped for even when he tried not to. There’s a finality to it that should be cathartic even.

It doesn’t hurt any less.

Well. At least now I know for sure.

Really, it’s a relief. He knew Jason didn’t like him, but he kept fooling himself with hope and occasional daydreams. And now he can’t anymore, and that’s that. It isn’t like losing Robin or no one believing him about Bruce or butting heads with Ra’s; those had workarounds. This, though, soulmates…it’s not something that can be learned or memorized or forced into being.

Time to move on.

Because Tim doesn’t get to be happy.

Body on autopilot, he returns to the Nest and sees to any obvious wounds. He concentrates on careful stitching, and then on meticulously writing up his report on the night’s events. No need to mention his argument with Jason. Tonight’s going to take his strongest sleeping pills and painkiller, he decides, the kind that will keep him from dreaming.

He considers not setting an alarm for the next morning—surely he deserves a day off, doesn’t he? Considering everything that’s happened today?

No. That would make it too easy to dwell on this, to mope. Work will keep him busy.

And he has to stay busy.

He’s meticulous about following his routine for the next few days. Immersing himself in new product designs, revising by-laws, defending more of his decisions from Bruce’s nitpicking, volunteering down at the Neon Knights shelters. He visits the remaining Titans, spends time with old school friends in Gotham and goes through the motions with his family. Outwardly it’s working but it all seems…hollow. It doesn’t sit right. Something is missing and he knows exactly what it is but can’t do anything about it.

With every fake smile and encounter with the paparazzi, always being the reliable one and having to think and plan everything through to the tiniest detail. It’s exhausting as ever.

And by night, he throws himself into every fight that comes his way.

He very deliberately avoids looking for Jason.

And it’s fine.

Really.

But at the oddest moments of the day, either at work or diving into the middle of a brawl, he remembers that crystalline moment, just after his line missed. When he was just…floating.

Tim knows that’s not a good sign, knows that he isn’t in the best headspace right now. He thinks of reaching out to Dick, the way he always does when it gets bad. He wants to tell him everything that’s going on with his day and night work, wants to admit the truth about his soulmate—

Then he remembers Dick is on his honeymoon and he doesn’t want to bother him and Barbara over this. So he heads to the manor because Alfred is always a willing ear and wise counsel. And Bruce might be making his life misery at work, but he can always be counted on to have some cases that could benefit from a second pair of eyes.

Except when he gets there, Damian informs him that Alfred is driving Bruce to some political fundraiser.

“It seems you made a wasted trip, Drake. Perhaps next time call ahead and spare yourself the trouble,” he drawls from his seat at Bruce’s desk where he’s sketching, Titus curled at his feet. The dog lifts his head and wags his tail when he sees Tim, but otherwise doesn’t move. “I’d show you to the door, but that would require me to care.”

“Always a pleasure, demon boy,” Tim sighs and sets off down the hall. He decides to take a nap in his old room; at least here the place isn’t as empty as his apartment. Damian might not be the best company, but he’s another human being within his vicinity.

Sort of.

As it turns out, Cass is still home. He can hear her laughing at something in the family room, followed by Steph’s familiar guffaws. As he passes by, he sees that they’re curled up together on the couch, arguing over the Netflix selection.

Steph catches sight of him and calls out. “Hey! When did you get here, Former Boy Wonder?”

“Uh, ten minutes ago,” he replies, leaning against the doorframe. It hits him immediately that he’s just interrupted a date night, so he doesn’t make a move to enter.

However, Cass’s all-seeing eyes rove over him and she purses her lips.

“Come and sit,” she tells him. “We have Krispy Kreme.”

“And Cass bought ketchup chips at her layover in Montreal.”

Normally the lure of donuts and chips would have him vault across the room and settle on the couch, but tonight the idea of food makes his stomach rebel.

“I might just go get some coffee,” he replies, trying to back away.

“Do that later,” Cass orders. “Stay for a bit.”

“I don’t want to interrupt anything…”

“You’re not interrupting anything,” Steph rolls her eyes. “Except our weekly argument about what we should watch. Besides, we haven’t seen you since the croc-mutants thing.”

“How’s your head?” Tim asks, giving a mental sigh of defeat and shuffling into the room. Steph sustained a pretty bad concussion that day.

“Still having dizzy spells and can’t move too fast,” she replies. “The ushe.”

Tim doesn’t take a seat on the couch, though, instead sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table and dutifully taking a handful of chips. They don’t taste like anything.

Cass is frowning at him. “You okay?”

“Just tired,” Tim says, forcing what he hopes is a comforting smile. It’s not a lie, not really, but he doesn’t intend to tell her exactly what’s making him tired.

Cass accepts it, though she continues to eye him with concern. He does his best to distract her by suggesting a film he knows both of them hate, forcing another round of arguments about viewing choices.

They really don’t seem to mind him being there, and for a little while, everything’s alright. They throw popcorn at each other and complain about Bruce’s uptightness and gossip about their respective villain drama and mock each other for failing at their New Years Resolutions after only three weeks.

Eventually the girls become engrossed in the movie. Of course, it’s one of the token soulmate plotlines that he immediately skips over on the rare nights he has time to watch television. And Tim becomes more and more conscious of how Steph and Cass lean into one another. Cass’s fingers run through Steph’s hair and Steph hides her face in Cass’s neck when a truly cringe-worthy sappy scene comes up.

They look so…content.

Happy.

At peace.

I’m never going to have that, Tim realizes and it’s this that makes his stomach twist, want to throw up and scream and cry.

Because he’s always been alone, but there’s always been that lingering hope that one day he wouldn’t be. That even if it wasn’t a romantic soulmate relationship, he’d still have someone.

Everyone he has loved has left him behind; even the one person in the world who was never supposed to.

“What would you have done?” he finds himself asking, staring at the screen where the male and female lead are mired in their stereotypical big-misunderstanding-fueled fight. They hurl words at each other that they obviously don’t mean but were clearly written to be devastating.

Cass and Steph look up, both somewhat startled by his question.

“What would we have done for what?” Steph wonders.

“If Cass had hated you. Or if Steph had hated you.”

Both their faces go blank. Cass’s mouth turns downward as if she is puzzling out a difficult question, while Steph shudders. “I can’t even imagine it.”

“Me neither,” Cass adds.

Tim hums, having expected that answer even if it doesn’t help him.

“Hey—what are you so worried about?” Steph asks, nudging his shoulder with her foot. “It’s a big world. It’s not your fault or the end of the world that your soulmate died.”

Tim’s hand strays to his wrist. He’s covered it up around anyone in the Family since he woke up and learned that Jason Todd had almost killed him. As far as Steph or anyone in the family is concerned, he no longer has a mark.

“You can still have fulfilling relationships,” Steph goes on. “You know, if you get over your secretive and control-freak ways and your tendency to eat Hawaiian pizza.”

Tim snorts. “Says the girl who would eat waffles every meal of the day.”

“Hey, that’s a valid meal choice—do you realize how many different types of savory waffles are out there?”

“No wonder you’re beginning to spill out of your uniform,” Damian’s voice disdains from the doorway. Titus lopes at the boy’s heels. “You and Cain have been colonizing the couch for three hours now. I intend to play Inquisition without your hovering, so leave.”

“You mean you intend to spend three hours on character creation before getting stuck in the Hinterlands for the next week and finally throwing the controller at the screen in frustration and not touching the game again for another month?” Tim asks.

“If I want your input, Drake, I’ll—” Damian considers. “I’ll never want your input. Now shut up and stay out of it. Brown, I demand you all vacate the room immediately or I will force you to.”

“Rude.”

“Eleven televisions on this floor,” Cass adds. “One in your room, even.”

“This one has the best resolution for gaming. You go to one of the other ones. You’re not doing anything important in here.”

“There’s nothing more important than Netflix and chill with the boo,” Steph replies. She’s playing with her phone and then chuckles, angling it so Cass can see, earning a bright laugh in return.

Damian looks disgusted. “I sincerely hope when I meet my soulmate, I am not so ridiculous about it as you two, or Grayson.”

“We are not ridiculous,” Cass replies. “We are normal.”

There’s immeasurable pleasure in that word; Tim knows it’s not often she gets to use it in relation to herself. Once again he thinks himself a complete tool for being jealous of her and Steph.

“Hopefully I will take after Father,” Damian continues, sitting in the armchair across from them.

“Emotionally stunted and anal-retentive?” Steph suggests, earning snorts of laughter from everyone but the blood scion of Wayne.

“In terms of soulmates,” Damian emphasizes; Tim notices he didn’t bother correcting Steph’s assessment of Bruce. “I will not make a total fool over the person I have been assigned.”

“First of all, soulmates aren’t assigned,” Steph says, “and second, B is totally foolish over Selina. Why else does she never get sent to jail? And what do you call Alfred putting up with his bull after all these years?”

“Tt. Perhaps you have a point.” Damian seems to reconsider, before glancing at Tim with a frown. “I suppose in this, you’ve had some luck, Drake.”

That brings him up short, both the implied compliment and the sentiment behind it. “…How?”

“Your soulmate is dead.”

There’s a beat of stunned silence in the room.

“Damian!” Steph cries, sitting up and dislodging Cass’s fingers to stare at him in horror. “You can’t say stuff like that!”

“Why not? It’s true.”

Now would be the time to correct everyone. Tim doesn’t bother.

“That’s not—I meant you shouldn’t wish your soulmate was dead, especially since you haven’t even met them yet.”

“I hope I never do,” Damian insists. “Look at Drake—his soulmate cannot be exploited as a weakness by some clever criminal. He will never have to lie about his identity if the individual turns out to have questionable morals—consider how long Father was forced to hide his identity from Catwoman. And Drake is now free to pursue or avoid any relationship he wishes, without having to worry it will be interrupted by the untimely arrival of a soulmate.” His expression smooths a little, becoming more thoughtful than petulant. “He is free in a way none of us are.”

Cass tilts her head to one side. “That is oddly…insightful of you.”

“And really kind of depressing,” Steph groans.

“And my cue to leave,” Tim says, standing. He forces an easy tone. “If Damian starts envying me, the Apocalypse must be about to start. I should get an early start to patrol just in case.”

“No, Tim! Stay—see what you did, Damian? Apologize.”

“That’s not happening.”

“It’s fine,” Tim dismisses, already leaving the room. “I’ll see you guys later.”

“Be careful,” Cass cautions, her tone somehow knowing.

Tim flees before she decides to really focus on him, but not before Steph can hurry out after him.

“Hey, ignore what he said,” his ex-girlfriend says, looking both worried and intent at the same time. “He’s never had a soulmate, so he doesn’t understand how serious it is to say something like that.”

“No…it’s actually fine,” Tim assures her.

In fact, far from being insulted by Damian’s words, Tim finds himself latching on to them and the logic they represent. The last thing he wants to be is that cautionary tale, like the kid people pity who shuts down his whole life because their crush didn’t like them back.

“Are you sure?” Steph asks. “Because Cass is right, you don’t look okay tonight.”

“I really am just tired,” he insists once again. “I think I’ll skip patrol tonight. Get some sleep.”

She lets out a relieved puff of breath. “Well, that’s something at least.”

“Enjoy your movie—or your impending war with Damian over rights to the family room. Whatever.”

“Oh, he’s in for it if he tries,” Steph smiles a truly fiendish smile, similar to the one she turns on criminals before she breaks their jaw. “Night, Tim.”

“Night.”

He continues on his way to his room, while Steph turns back to the family room. She pauses though, and says, “I was thinking…if she did? Hate me, I mean?”

Tim turns his head to acknowledge her.

“I’d probably still stick around nearby,” Steph says; she rubs at her shoulder, clearly discomfited by the idea. “Just to make sure she was happy, I guess? It’d give me peace of mind, even if I couldn’t be with her. You know?”

Tim’s carefully maintained façade of functionality wavers a little. His eyes soften a bit and he offers Steph a small smile. “I do. Good thing you’ll never have to worry about that, right?”

“Yeah…”

They exchange bittersweet smiles for a moment. Tim bets she’s remembering the day it became clear she and Tim wouldn’t ever be anything more than friends. Then Steph disappears into the family room.

Tim strolls down the corridor to his quarters, frowning with a new resolve. He doesn’t have it in him to stick around and make sure Jason is alright and happy; he can’t even think about the situation without the growing lump in his throat slicing into him.

So, it’s best to focus on filling his life with other pursuits.

From that point on, he renews his goal to immerse himself in work.

WE by day and Red Robin by night. He loads up case after case, reasoning his way through elaborate mental games with villains and rogues, and sends in work for his correspondence courses at Ivy University.

He exists on coffee and sleeping pills and four hours of sleep a night, but he’s too exhausted to fixate, and that’s the important part.

⁂⁂⁂

Next Chapter

This blog isn’t my primary, so my reblogs don’t show up very well. As such, please reblog the fic, otherwise not a lot of people are going to see it :)

<3 Violet

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actuallykiwi · 5 years ago

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Once a Thief... Chapter 14: The Pursuit

It was a short walk to Riftweald Manor, in fact it was only a few buildings away from the guild entrance. Luckily, the street leading to its back entrance was hidden by the other buildings, so Brynjolf and Cimber could speak quietly as they walked.

“Got a plan for dealing with the brute?” Brynjolf asked. “Yes. I figure instead of killing him, I can persuade him to leave somehow, try to stray away from violence so as not to draw attention.” She explained, and he agreed. “Speaking of killing, I forgot to mention this before, but... You’re free to kill anyone who gets in our way. So if the need arises...” He said grimly. She nodded, and they approached the back gate of the manor.

A large, burly-looking Nord approached them from the other side, looking pissed and poised to kill. “Move along.” Vald growled. “I’m guessing you work for Mercer, right?” She asked. “None of your business. Leave.” He grabbed the hilt of his war axe threateningly. “Easy, big guy. We’re friends of his. He’s been in Markarth for a while on a job but he’s sent word that he needs your help. And I wouldn’t keep him waiting if I were you.” She gave him a worried look.

“What? But... I can’t leave here, I’m supposed to watch his house! What do I do?” He asked worriedly. “Don’t worry, he’s given me and my friend here permission to take your place, but you need to hurry. It sounded urgent.” Cimber prodded. Brynjolf placed a firm hand on Cimber’s shoulder and looked at Vald reassuringly. “Don’t worry, lad. No one will get in or out of here.”

He seemed to stress about it for a moment before sighing and opening the gate. “Fine, here’s the key. Absolutely no one enters that house, ya hear me?” Cimber pocketed the key and flashed him an easy smile as they entered the yard. “Loud and clear.”

As soon as the coast was clear, they both immediately began scouring for a way in. Brynjolf pointed at the balcony above. “Up there. Mercer has a contraption that lets that ramp down, but the only way to activate it is from the balcony.” She followed his gaze and thought for a second. “Maybe I can shoot it down...”. She unsheathed her bow and readied an arrow, taking a deep, slow breath and aiming for a sliver of space between the metal gears. The arrow flew and landed where she had her eyes set. There was a loud metallic clang as the gears were knocked around, and the ramp landed on the upper walkway with a satisfying thud, a little harder than doing it manually.

She smiled triumphantly and Brynjolf complimented her skills as they made their way up to the walkway and the gate by the now-available ramp. Cimber used the key on the gate and hesitated at the manor door. “You ready?” He nodded. “Aye. Let’s find that bastard.”

Certainly feels like he’s never here. It’s like a brand new house in here, Cimber thought as they crept through the foyer toward the main room. She paused when they heard voices. “Once was a woman, fair as an evenin’, in springtime of ol’ Stros M’Kai...” Bandits, she mouthed to Brynjolf, who nodded and quietly readied his sword. She pushed open the door to find one leaning over a rail to a staircase leading down, and could hear one shuffling through the room to their right. She swiftly landed an arrow in the head of the one she could see, and the other charged in when they heard the thud of their comrade’s body. She also downed this bandit. Once they were taken care of, they moved to the room to the right. This room appeared to be his bedroom, barely touched but neatly kept, as if he never slept there. They skimmed through books, chests, drawers, looking for anything to give them a clue to his whereabouts. “Must be further in the house. Let’s keep looking.” He muttered.

They scoured the entire upstairs area before creeping down the stairs into some kind of dining area, where there sat 2 more bandits. Cimber nodded for her partner to be ready before taking the closest one out, his mead bottle shattering against the table. Brynjolf leapt into action as the other bandit charged for the stairs, and quickly drove his sword into his opponent’s gut with a ferocity and rage that Cimber quietly prayed she would never have to see again. “Uh heh, remind me to let you win our spars from now on...” She laughed nervously and Brynjolf chuckled. “Where’s the fun in that?”

They looked through everything on this level as well, finding a basement with stocks of food and drink and a few other trinkets, which they promptly helped themselves to, but found nothing else useful. When they came upon a seemingly empty wardrobe, Brynjolf gave it a knock, and a hollow echo rang out. He gave it a push and it slid sideways, revealing another staircase leading to a lower level. “Well this looks promising.”

Brynjolf took lead this time as they slipped by the false back panel and down to the secret passageway. “This has to lead to something..” Cimber thought aloud as they walked through the open hallways. “Especially since it’s blanketed in traps.” He finished for her as he halted before a room. “Pressure plates. Lots of them. Stick to the wall, lass.” He gestured for her to follow as he pressed himself against the wall and quickly shuffled across it, being careful not to touch the tiles. Cimber followed suit and nimbly worked her way around the edge.

The next hallway had a single trapped pressure plate, which they both avoided and hurried to the next one, which would prove to be more challenging. “Well if this doesn’t prove he’s hiding something, nothing will.” She declared as they looked at what they would have to maneuver through. The walkway stretched straight out before them, but this would not be a simple walk. Axes swung in a timely pattern back-and-forth at neckbreaking, head-slicing speed, and between them, large wooden beams swung down at the same velocity. “Pick your poison: decapitation or crushed skull?” She teased. “Is ‘neither’ an option?” He joked back. “I’ll go on ahead and see if there’s not a lever to turn this off for you-

“Absolutely not! I’m not gonna sit here and watch you get maimed!” She argued. “Well, lass, it’s the only way through, and I’m not letting you through either-” He started to counter, but cried out as Cimber dove into a roll just below the axes, springing back up between them and the wooden beam. An axe barely missed and took an inch off her hair, causing her to flinch slightly. “S-sorry, but we can’t argue all day.” He took a sharp breath as his heart finally slowed a bit, then copied her movement, standing in the same position across from her. They timed the swing of the beam, then dove for the next opening, now next to another set of swinging axes. Cimber took a few breaths before mimicking her move from before, rolling swiftly beneath the blades and landing just past the trap. Brynjolf did too, but a little slower than last time. An axe grazed his left arm as he rolled, forcing a frustrated pained grunt from him. “Brynjolf!” Cimber called out. “I’m fine, it just... grazed me!” He held his arm as he stood, and she ran over to him. She examined the small gash on his arm, crimson beginning to seep through the armor on his sleeve. “It’s not bad, thank the gods.” She removed the belt from her college robes and wrapped it around his arm. “I should get hurt more often if it means you’ll strip for me.” He laughed, and she glared up at him, hiding her own grin. It took her a second to realize just how close they were standing. She was still holding his arm where she tied the knot on the belt, and he was gazing back down at her, seemingly coming to the same realization. The sound of the swinging blades faded, if just for an instant, before her face began to burn and she cleared her throat. “Come on, w-with a trap that complex, we must be close.” She shook her head and marched on, Brynjolf’s still slightly dazed look and smug grin following her.

They trekked down a set of stairs and came upon a door. She was about to push it open before she noticed it was rigged with a trap. “I believe we’ve found what we’re looking for~.” She sang as she knelt down and lockpicked the trap trigger. Once it released with a satisfying click, they strode into the room.

Inside sat a large display case to the right, a cluttered desk in the middle, and to the left was a bookshelf and a small dwarven chest. Brynjolf approached the desk and picked up a drawn-out plan with scribbled notes all over it. “Shor’s beard! He’s going after the Eyes of the Falmer? That was Gallus’s pet project...If he gets his hands on them, you can be certain he’ll be gone for good and set up for life.” He crumpled the edges of the paper in frustration. “Then we have to stop him.” Cimber glanced at the plans with him. “Agreed. He’s taken everything the guild has left, and to go after one of the last greatest heists is just an insult. We need to get back to the guild and form a plan.” Cimber nodded and looked around the room. “Aaaaafter we help ourselves to his goodies.” Brynjolf laughed, “Of course. Whatever you want in here is yours. Without you, we would have never found him out.” She smiled warmly at him and helped herself to Mercer’s gold, jewels, a few of his books and other trinkets. She eyed the large glass sword in the display case. “That’s Chillrend, one of Mercer’s favorite stolen weapons. It would be beautifully ironic if that was the blade he met the end of.” He explained. She thought for a moment before picking the lock and holding the sword out to him. “All the more reason to take it. I’ve got my own blade I’d like to introduce him to...” He took the sword and she showed him the Nightingale Blade. “Even more ironic. Let’s go discuss how to take him down.” He grinned and lead the way into the next passageway.

They walked down another set of stairs and to an old, rotten-smelling door. Brynjolf poked his head through and growled in anger. “Of course he has an underground secret passage to the Vaults. That’s how he’s been stealing from us...” Cimber walked in beside him and gave him a reassuring pat. “There was no way you could’ve known. He was too good at hiding it. But now his time of hiding is over.

His time, in general, is over.”

#Skyrim #writing #fanfiction #love story #thieves guild

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winryofresembool · 6 years ago

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EdWin one-shot: Halloween

Summary: A few scenes showing Rockbell-Elric family’s Halloween celebration

A/N: written for @edweenweek day 7: candy (could be trick or treat as well)! Special thanks to @criis55 for the ideas and the dog’s name! <3 Please enjoy and review! Also, I guess this is an AU in which Halloween exists, but that goes without saying..

Words: 1700+

Genre: family

People stopped on their tracks on the street when they saw the Rockbell-Elric family walking past them. There were two small children in the family, a 3-year-old boy and approximately a year-old girl. They were dressed in a way that made those who knew the family believe their father had picked the costumes. The son was wearing an armor made by his mother, and the daughter was wrapped into ripped sheets like a mummy. Edward himself was sporting a vampire outfit, with a black suit, cape and fake teeth. Winry was dressed as a witch, carrying their smallest in a huge cauldron.

The son, Alan, seemed way too pleased about the fact that he had managed to get half a cauldron (thankfully, a bit smaller one than the one with her sister inside it) of candy by trick or treating. Winry had been a bit reluctant to let him do it in the first place, as he was still so young, and as a daughter of doctors and nearly a doctor herself, she knew the dangers of overeating sweets. Ed (not having all too fond memories of his own childhood Halloweens, but wanting his kids to experience better) had managed to persuade her, however. Alan had beamed of happiness when Ed told him he could dress up and trick or treat.

As Alan’s parents tried to figure out what kind of costumes they should make their children (something both were excited about even though especially Ed didn’t want to admit it), Alan was watching an old picture of his uncle from when he was just a suit of armor. Suddenly he shrieked: “I want the same kind of costume uncle Al had!”

“What costume… oh!” Ed understood when he saw where Alan had gotten his idea from. “Are you… are you sure about that?”

“Yes, dad! I want to look like him!”

Ed couldn’t help but feel upset when he was reminded of the times he rather forgot these days. Alan didn’t know Al’s story yet… and Ed wasn’t looking forward to the day when he would have to explain it to him. He hid the sadness quickly and forced a smile on his face instead: “I think we still have some leftover metal from that armor left! What would you say if your mom made you a similar looking armor?”

“Yay! Mama is the best!”

“I know, kid, she is. But don’t tell her I said that.” Ed told him.

He hadn’t noticed Winry had sneaked behind him and heard everything.

“Edward, we have two kids. You had better think I am the best or we might just as well get a divorce.”

“O-of course you are the best!” he stuttered, expecting a wrench on his head. “H-how could you not be when you have created something alchemy never could, two new lives!”

“Alan, your father is a dork. But maybe that’s why I married him,” Winry smiled at her boys fondly, ruffling Ed’s hair a bit, then scooping the smaller one into her arms. “C’mon, let’s get you measured so I can draw the blueprints for the armor.”

A day later Alan walked around in the living room wearing his armor, beaming of excitement. Ed had to admit his wife had done an amazing job, the armor looked like a miniature copy of Al’s. It even had a little hair tuft in the helmet.

“Look, daddy! I am uncle Al now!”

“You sure are,” Ed said, trying to keep his voice happy even though his throat felt a little bit dry. While Alan was looking beyond thrilled, Ed couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was staring at his worst nightmare in front of him. What if his son had to go through the same he and Al had? No, he stopped himself, he would not allow that. He would always make sure to be present in Alan’s life and make him understand how dangerous alchemy can be. If he ever got interested in that. So far he had seemed to be more into tinkering with his play tools.

“Hey, let’s take a photo of you!” Winry suggested and pulled her granny’s old camera from behind her back. “C’mon, Ed, you should be in the photo too. Please. It’d make me happy!” She tried to coax him, and to her surprise he did what she told him to do.

“Ed! At least try to look a little more excited!” Winry scolded him when he still looked reluctant with Alan on his shoulders.

“OK, say ‘equivalent exchange’ now!”

That and the fact that Alan lifted the visor of his armor and looked at his father right in the eyes, saying “dad doesn’t need an armor because he already has the coolest leg!” lifted his spirits and he gave the camera a genuine, wide smile.

The young parents regretted taking their kids trick or treating about 5 minutes after leaving their house. Emma had been cranky the entire day and seemed to find the tiny armor walking in front of her frightening. She wailed so loudly that Ed and Winry wouldn’t have been surprised if the families who they tried to visit pretended to not be home when they knocked their doors. She didn’t like the wraps around her either, thrashing around in the cauldron so angrily Winry declared she would never have another Elric baby. That made Ed pout and soon Alan was the only one who was still enjoying the trip.

Thankfully, Emma finally fell asleep once Ed took her into his arms, and after that the mood got calmer. The family saw many different kinds of households on their trip. In one place a cranky middle-aged man nearly didn’t give Alan anything because apparently his armor didn’t look ‘real’ enough. That infuriated Ed to no end because in his opinion, no one in Rush Valley could have made it better. He happened to notice the man had an automail arm, and it ‘slipped’ from him that Winry was one of the best known mechanics in the entire town, having a lots of ‘relations’ to other talented people in the industry. The man understood it meant she could make his life miserable. After that he had been busy to give Alan half a kilo of candies and Ed smiled wider than Alan as they left the house.

In another house the family met an old granny who nearly didn’t let Alan and Emma leave the house at all. Apparently she was very lonely and seeing kids coming to her door during Halloween was the highlight of her year. Ed and Winry promised they could visit with the kids more often in the future, seeing they enjoyed her company as well and the kids needed a grandparent just as much she needed them.

Finally, they got to Garfiel’s where also Paninya was spending her evening. Garfiel gave Alan almost more candy than the cranky man with the automail and Paninya seemed to get along with Emma exceptionally well, promising to teach the kids all kinds of mischief once they were a little bit bigger. Ed started yelling at her, revealing his fake teeth, and Paninya noted: “Oh, so you are a vampire? I thought you were only dressed as yourself, just look at that outfit.”

Winry had to drag her family (mostly: Ed) out of there before things escalated any further, but overall the trick or treating trip had been rather successful. Especially for Alan who had gotten enough sweets for an entire year.

Late in the Halloween evening, the Rockbell-Elric family was lighting the candles in the pumpkin lanterns they had carved earlier (Ed had been surprisingly enthusiastic and carved more skulls and dragon heads than Winry could count). Suddenly Winry realized it was weirdly quiet in the room. She had seen Alan about 5 minutes earlier, saying he would take the pumpkin he was carrying (with no candle in it) outside, but she hadn’t seen him since then. Worried that Alan would go too far in the darkness and get lost, she decided to go and look for him. When she opened their front door, she could hear the dog’s howling nearby. She went to check what was wrong and found the poor puppy the family had gotten only a few months earlier from Brigadier General Mustang with a pumpkin in his head. Somehow, he had gotten his head through the hole on the top of the pumpkin. The culprit was hiding in the doghouse, giggling loudly at the silly sight, and Winry dragged him inside, irritated, after removing the pumpkin from the dog’s head.

“No more candies for you! Alan, how do you think Doggo was feeling when you did that?”

“I… I thought he’d like it…”

“Would you like it if someone put a pumpkin on your head?”

“Sure! Pumpkin is delicious!”

‘Oh boy,’ Winry sighed in her mind, ‘why do I even bother? He’s got Elric blood in him’. Then she came up with a plan. “But honey, Doggo doesn’t like pumpkin. He hates it as much as you hate milk. What would you do if I forced you to drink milk?”

“I’d be angry!”

“Right. So do you understand now why you can’t put a pumpkin on his head?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Let’s go find your dad, he’s probably worried already.”

Finally, Ed managed to get Alan and Emma to sleep. He had wished to get some alone time with his wife that night but he was rather exhausted after a long day out with the kids and he knew Winry was tired as well. The couple was cuddling in each other’s arms, about to fall asleep, when suddenly something white started moving in the room. Winry asked, slightly panicked:

“Um, Ed… do you believe in ghosts?”

“No, why the fuck would I… WHAT IS THAT?!” He screamed when he saw the ghost like creature getting closer.

“I don’t know but it’s definitely moving.”

“Could it be Doggo?”

“Doggo is outside, there’s no way that’s him.”

“Alan?”

“No, I know he’s sleeping soundly in his bed.”

“OK, that’s it, I’m putting the light on.”

Ed did that and saw that the ‘ghost’ was a sheet under which was…

“Emma! How… When… Winry look, she’s walking!”

“I didn’t know you already knew how to do that! Aw, sweetie, that is amazing!”

The little Emma just giggled at her parents silly expressions. They hugged her excitedly, both wondering where the girl had gotten that idea from. And how had she gotten out of her bed?

#edwin #edward elric #winry rockbell #edween2018 #fullmetal alchemist #my fics

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readbythestarlight · 6 years ago

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c2e28

“This flask is Taliesin’s new character” shut up Sam don’t mock us

They’re FINALLY going to go check out the Taskers and i swear if Taliesin’s character isn’t with them I’m gonna die

(unless this is all a trick and Taliesin is just hanging out until Molly can reasonably be brought back…)

Caleb stepping in and doing some strategizing both makes me proud and makes me sad because I guarantee he was great at that before Everything happened

Beau and Caleb disagreeing over a spider

“Shady Debaters Debate Team” I would wear that shirt

Nila wants to use her lighting let her fuck people up with her lightning draw people outside for her to fry please

Yes please get yourself some goddamn healing potions

YAAAAS NILA HAS HEALING WORDS

and good berries xD

GUYS I STILL LOVE HER SO MUCH I WOULD STILL DIE FOR HER

The Bone Orchard…ooooooo

Necromancers maybe?

Please go to the Taskers first I feel like Taliesin has to be with them

If people have been torturning Jester I’m gonna cry she’s too sweet for this

Nila’s smell bag is so cute y’all stop teasing her

“You are relying on me, I’m very happy” sHE’S SO PURE

Oh shiiiiit she just saved them from freaky forest ground monsters that’s my girl!

GRAVE SITE I’M TELLING YA ITS NECROMANCERS

Caleb getting tired of the debate and just heading over the gate

Not just carelessly flinging herself after him smh

Spooooooky place I don’t know how I feel about this

YAAAAAAAAS THEY FOUND HIM HOLY SHIT AHHHHHHHHHHHH OF COURSE HE LIVES IN A GODDAMN GRAVEYARD I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN HE IS THE ULTIMATE GOTH

HE’S A FIRBOLG???

“Caduceus Clay” AND HES A CLERIC GOD BLESS Jester will be delighted that she doesn’t have to do all the healing anymore

Caduceus seems delightful I’m delighted I MISSED YOU TALIESIN

fuck i love him already

he’s like the goddamn grave keeper TALIESIN COULD YOU HAVE GONE ANY MORE GOTH

B: “You’re drinking dead-people tea?”

Cad: “Aren’t we all?”

THE. ULTIMATE. GOTH.

…can’t bring Molly back. I’m not surprised at all given that it would be weird to bring his own character back, but still. That’s okay. It’s fine.

He just figured he’d sit there with his tea until someone came to help him leave lol

C: “Welcome to the Mighty Nein”

Cad: “There’s only, uh—“

B: “DON’T overthink it”

Nott shooting Beau to test Cad’s healing xD

FRUMPKIN NO DONT KILL HIM

fuuuuuuuck he dead

they needed him god dammit

HE’S ALIVE

ALIVE BY 1

I can’t decide if this is going to be a disaster, them going after them again right now, or???

LETS NOT SPLIT UP AT ALL EVEN JUST TO KILL TWO GUARDS

Taking off her armor is a horrible idea guys

Guest!Ashley has the cutest face and the purest laugh??? I love her

While we’re on break I’m trying to decide, is it weird that Taliesin chose to play a cleric when they already have a cleric? Part of me is like “what if he did that because he knew they were gonna need the temporary heals and he’s just gonna stick around as Cad until Jester is back and then he’s gonna rez Molly” and part of me is just like bfs girl Molly is gone let him go??

I don’t think I’ll be able to move on from Molly for sure though until the M9 move on from Shady Creek, with Cad tagging along.

Frumpkin the 3-HP spider

Not asking Cad questions nervously is adorable

Beau just sticking her face in the bag for the luck orb xD

Caleb: talks about breaking a guy’s skull

Nila: “excellent”

Poor Taliesin having to figure out a whole new character. He’d barely really figured out Molly yet.

20 for a perception check nice job Keg!

Sumalee accidentally meta gaming is honestly just cute enough that i don’t even care she could metagame all day and i’d be fine with it

HERE THEY GOOOOO

Matt looks so lost xD

FUCK ‘EM UUUUUUP TEAM BEAU/CALEB/NILA

FUCK ‘EM UUUUUUP TEAM KEG/NOTT/CAD

good rolls, good rolls…

YAAAAS GO KEG!

YAAAAAS NILA BASH HIM DO IT GIRL she’s been waiting to kill someone for so long

goddamn they handled that SO WELL LOOK AT THEM IM SO PROUD

“one was just enjoying the wind, and then darkness forever” Matt xD

Goddamn I can’t believe they pulled that off so well. Lorenzo better watch the fuck out.

Are we calling him Clay then because I liked Cad

Frumkpin the flying spider?? Methinks they all forgot Caleb made him a spider

Nila’s so excited to have like 32 gold she’s so cute you guys

Keg get another nat20 for stealth

okay… are they really unnoticed I’m nervous

B: “Look at the—look at the windows, too.”

Cad: “They’re nice.”

I love hiiiiiim

We can’t go get friends tho because they’re not HERE YET

Boy I can’t wait to see this map

Liam missing his rogue days hardcore right now lol

YAAAAS Taliesin with the nat20 deception I was so scared

“I’m gonna have an ulcer after this game” fucking SAME

Ashley and Sam holding hands like SAME god the stress

Also heck yeah we’re uncovering the maaaaap!

Liam is just very thoroughly uncovering the map

fuck don’t squish Frumpkin

“Hey Phil come help me kill this spider!”

Oh thank god good job poofing him out Caleb

I’m serous guys I love Caleb coming up with plans and leading the group in Fjord’s absence I love it

WAIT

YOU CANT SEND NOTT IN BY HERSELF

DONT DO THAT

FUCK

WE CANT AFFORD TO LOSE ANOTHER MEMBER OF THE GANG GUYS

NOT NOTT

Hey Caleb can you teach Nott the door unlocking spell?

Keg: “Nott. Be careful.”

Nott: “…Do you care about me?”

K: “…Yeah.”

N: *happy wiggle*

Fuck I don’t like this they were doing so well but this is going to be a disaster

A NAT1

FUUUUUUUUUCK

KILL THEM

fuck it was going so well god DAMMIT Caleb this was a BAD PLAN

God they’re not even all together I am literally so afraid right now

Yessss hasted Keg

fuckfuckfuck im literally so fucking scared right now

okay good they missed Not

FUCK ‘EM UP NILA

NO SAVE THE TOTEM FOR LORENZO

SAVE IT NILA

SAVE IT

poison spray yesss that sounds nice and 12pts damage good girl

poor Sam has such a hard time with his rogue skills

NOTT STOP RUNNING AHEAD

GOD Y’ALL DID MOLLY TEACH YOU NOTHING

fuck them up Keg

Yessssss kill him Keg my hero

Hasted Keg is the best man 4 attacks? She’s helping make up for a lack of Yasha

Keg getting between Nott and danger is so sweet I’m crying is she trying to make sure Molly does’t happen all over again

I would also die for Keg you guys

Sorry Phil you dead

BITCH HAS YASHA’S SWORD

FUCK HER UP

Wait until you get in the room above the trap door at least Nila

I adore her

PHIL DON’T YOU TOUCH NILA

yesssss he misses

NOTT

DONT FUCKING GO NEAR THE BARBARIAN

“IM THINKING OF REMOVING MY SPINE… CAUSE IT’S ONLY HOLDING ME BACK! :D”

holy shit Nott put her prone I’m crying I’m sorry I doubted you Nott

Fuck up the barbarian Keg yessss

Action surge means what what is that it’s cool

NAT20 YAAAAAS Keg is the BEST you guys

What I’m taking from this is that women name Ashley make the best lady characters and get the job done

why are you spending key points in non-combat when Lorenzo is still out there somewhere

Oh jeez are Cad or Nila close enough to heal Keg if she needs it??

DON’T TAKE AWAY HASTE

fuck

Liam and Matt gonna fight lol

Let Nila beat the door in

MOMMA POWERS ACTIVATE and she beats in the door HELL YEAH

Maybe she should have saved the totem for IN the trap door?

Sumalee is so concerned that she’s gonna make a mistake it’s cute

UH I KNOW IT’S A JOKE BUT YOU CAN TAKE TALIESIN’S NEW CHARACTER FROM MY COLD DEAD HANDS SOMEONE ELSE CAN DIE

Cad coming in with the heals heck yes

“A cleric who likes to heal! It’s amazing” LOL Sam. My thoughts exactly though

This isn’t going terrible but it isn’t going great and I’m worried about what they will have left when it comes time to face Lorenzo

YEAAAAAH HDYWTDT CALEB HECK YES somebody grab Yasha’s sword

also damn Caleb you get vicious with that fire

oh baby

please don’t freak again Molly isn’t here to forehead kiss you out of it

Aw first time he managed not to have issues

Maybe Lorenzo isn’t home… that would be great…

Or he’s downstairs…

Damn, Taliesin, that’s so amazingly morbid and fantastic. Just melting them away into fertilizer.

Nott apologizing for not being able to unlock the door and Caleb reassuring her that it’s not her fault. My heart.

Trapped door.

They are all getting silly xD

Oh god okay here we go

“I like pink better than purple” Liam how dare you

Manacles again ffs Matt

God a whole underground place

“He’s looking for green or blue or goth”

Fuuuuck they gotta get through at least 3 more??

And still no Lorenzo

fuck i don’t like thiiiiiiis

Lorenzo is absolutely in there. If he was upstairs he would have come down.

You’re assuming that there isn’t another way out that they could escape through and flank you

Matt’s like “I just got the downstairs map out guys”

Cad/Clay/Whatever like “let’s just?? ask??”

Oh no

stop him

“fucking Phil, ammiright?”

fuck this son of a bitch up

16 damage fuck him uppppp Nila!

fuck him uuuuup Keg!

fuck him up Clay!

fuck him up Nott!

Clay just… turning him into mulch I’m crying

Damn I’m so impressed they took care of that so well

fuck traps

PLEASE LET NILA’S BABY BE OKAY

Nila being such a mom is my favorite like I’m so here for the peaceful person who has never hurt anyone, but will fuck you UP for touching their loved ones

SOMEONE HEAL ASSAR

IM CRYING

MATT STOP IT

it’s fine I’m only crying a little

“be well. be well my son.”

I’m very much crying

Let her rip it open Matt let her do it

Okay Nila it’s okay let Nott try or Caleb then if Nott can’t

SAM stop with the 1s!!

SHES GOT HER FAMILY BACK AGAIN I CRYYYYYYY

the power of love is stronger than metal bars hell yes

“I love it when it works for the narrative!” lol Matt at his most DM-i-est

FAMILY HUG ITS FINE IM NOT CRYING

oh god I’m gonna miss Nila so much

WE LOVE YOU NILA I HOPE WE SEE YOU AGAIN SOME DAY

FIRBOLG HUG

I’ve cried way too much these past like idk 7 episodes

Nila is forever a member of the M9 y’all save that feather

it’s fine

it’s totally fine

How many members of the M9 are there now

Fjord Jester Caleb Nott Beau Molly Yasha, then Shakaste, Cali, Kiri, Keg, Nila, and now Clay.

God this was such a good episode.

Caduceus is great guys. He’s different enough from Molly not to make me heartsore, and I think he’ll bring a nice new dynamic? I’m not at all disappointed by him (not that I expected to be, I knew Taliesin wouldn’t let us down).

I’m gonna miss Nila so much. Like Marisha said, she was the softness the group needed.

I can’t believe Sumalee has never properly played before! That’s amazing! She was amazing! I hope I can be half that great at my first proper game!

And I’m so excited to see how it goes next week, live from GenCon! Excited to see how this section wraps up. It’s gonna be amazing.

#emi watches critical role #Critical Role #critical role spoilers

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fraxturedskxn-blog · 6 years ago

Note

“bad end”

Send me “bad end” for an alternate, dark/tragic ending to my muse’s story

@hackerxadam

(have an old fic)

Standing on the sidelines. He had been told — asked to do it, and that was where he had done something wrong. He should’ve been out there, fighting, but instead, he listened, and the only one fighting made the biggest decision.

The one battling had gone to his final form of Evolution and was taking on the enemy, head to head. His breathing ragged, and half of his armor gone, shattered into Digital specs. Gone. As Kouichi watched, he saw the enemy take the Warrior’s head in his huge hand, laughing as he did so.

Their enemy had a smirk on his face, clenching the head firmly in his grip, lifting the final force of good into the air, his feet hanging high off the ground. “Little Warrior, how foolish to attack me on your own.” The larger body almost rippled when he laughed yet again, watching as the Human turned Digimon squirmed in his grip.

Gritting his teeth was the hardest thing to do, especially when a giant hand covered his face, about stopping his ability to breathe, and just about sticking his throat. His windpipe was squeezed, though he managed to grind out words faintly. “I will not let you take him back. You are an evil that must perish!”

Watching from afar still, the Warrior of Darkness hid behind a rock pile, as he had been told to do, and asked just before the Warrior had gotten caught. He gripped a piece of the rock in his hand, holding it so hard, it soon turned to dust. Agony flared in his red eyes, and he was helpless, for now. He could do nothing. His pride was making him keep his promise he’d stay put.

The lump of Evil shook again, this time his jaws opened wide, as black spilled forth, turning into orbs of nothingness that circled the captive. They bumped his armor, and body at moments, and the pained screaming rang across the area, making the hand clamp harder, trying to muffle the shrieks. “You Humans are far too brittle, even as Digimon, you are weak.”

Blue eyes burned defiantly, staring through cracks in the fingers as he was bombarded. His teeth struggling to open. “I…will..finish…it.” Ever hopeful he could get out, the Warrior gazed with a glare of triumph. He was the last to stand against it, the shadow over the Digital World, and he’d defeat it, even if it meant risking his life.

Kouichi’s mind felt like breaking. He should be there too, at least with two the one now….he wouldn’t be captured….His knees gave and he fell, eyes wide, as tears broke from his red eyes. Through his experiences with the others, he had gained something he had lost, a heart, and a little soul. Even if only a tiny bit, he had it. And he was cursing it, it was making him feel horrible over the events taking place before his very eyes. It was too much, and he did all he could to hold back his screams and sobs.

Soon, the one held captive felt his energy give, and he reverted back to his Human self, his weak, and ever more helpless body, so fragile. His icy eyes still glared as blood ran down his forehead, and between them. He was pale, and quickly losing the will to stay awake, the crushing grip on his skull becoming too much. With his final moments, he said his final words. “Cherubimon.” He rasped, drawing quick, painful breaths as he laid his struggling and trembling hands on the Digimon’s hand clutching his head. “You will fall….Not to me, it seems, but I know you will…” His last acts of heroism, they were all for something though, or so the dying Warrior thought as he slowly drew breath. He had someone who could combat the evil, that very someone he told to hide.

Cherubimon’s form shook, only once more as his laughter rang out, dull and lifted by the Darkness. “You will fall Warrior, and it seems like he will be powerless.”

Steeling himself, he glared at the beastly enemy, one last time. His eyes said ‘I may die, but he will live. You cannot have him.’ At that moment, the Digimon wrapped his other hand around the body of the almost perished Warrior, and he twisted and pulled.

The sounds drove Kouichi mad and he huddled down, wishing he didn’t have to hear his savior dying. 'Just make it stop!’ He screamed in his head, he wanted quiet. A sickening RIP! was heard, and bones splitting apart. He dared to get up and look, how wrong he was to do so.

The sight made his stomach flip, times over, and he felt like running, but his legs were glued. The boy’s lips parted, echoing an ever soundless scream, one of pain, and deep sadness. His eyes were as wide as they’d go, his whole body trembled.

Cherubimon had tossed it, the body, or rather, parts of the body. Kouichi saw it, and he couldn’t help but finally find his voice. And he screamed. “KOUJI!” The head, upper, and lower halves of the body were splayed out on the ground. Blood seeped into the ground, the lifeless head of the downed Warrior leaning toward the Warrior of Darkness. The boy gazed into the now lifeless blue eyes, they were dull, and half rolled up into the decapitated head. The short hair, much like his own, was ripped, matted with his own blood, it looked so out of place, he had always kept it looking so nice. His bandanna, it was on the ground as well, a short distance away from the head.

He wanted it, his twin’s head scarf. His eyes flickered over to the Digimon, who caught sight of him at last, grinning gleefully. “Kouichi, now you know true pain, and shall fall further into the Darkness. Enjoy your pain, because now you are the only one left.” With the final parting words, Cherubimon knew Kouji was now gone forever, and that Kouichi was in a state of disrepair. His once puppet was broken, and he had no further use for him. Retreating into the black, he laughed, mocking the boy’s pain.

His limbs gave and he fell forward. His collapse on the dirt made one thing clear. He could move, and that meant. The bandanna. Picking himself up, he ran at full speed toward his brother, or what remained. Crashing to his knees, he felt hollow, and forgot — or rather couldn’t breathe, he didn’t have to. His eyes were a stationary pool of nothing, he didn’t feel anymore, his feelings died with Kouji. His hands slid along the ground as if he couldn’t see. He didn’t wish to look upon the mess. Fingers found it, the tattered fabric that belonged to his kin. Grasping it, Kouichi clutched it to his chest and yelled a dark and hate-filled yell. Standing, he wrapped the bloodied mess of fabric around his neck, as a tribute.

What to now? His reason was gone…his ’life’ had been taken. Growing thick with malice, he shifted into Duskmon, stiffly breathing in and out. His weapons made themselves known, and he walked into the trees. Seconds later, screaming could be heard, and if one were to look, they’d find Duskmon, ravaging the land, killing Digimon and destroying everything. Also, one would see, that even as Duskmon, the fabric was tied around his hair, and there it stayed.

#getting mail #tw: character death #tw: death #hackerxadam

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shiggydabs · 6 years ago

Text

Knights of the Eldritch Garden (ShigaDabi Fic)

I switched Day 3 and 4 because I had this one finished already but Day 3 didn’t... and then I forgot to post this yesterday. Whoops.

Word Count: 2428 Verse: Medieval Fantasy Summary: Prince Tomura is kidnapped, and someone needs to rescue him.

You can also read this fic on Ao3.

Chapter 1/5: The King’s Decree

The decree had arrived in-part, briefly, and declared by one of the King’s speakers.

A man dawning a purple robe spoke to a crowd full of curious faces. He stood upon a stage and read off a scroll in a voice that didn’t boom yet held their attention, an accent unlike their own. “On behalf of the Great King I implore the knights of this kingdom, young and old, to partake in a quest unlike any other. In recent passings the King’s son, Tomura Shigaraki, has been kidnapped. The warlock who holds him seek only ransom... but our Great King refuses to bow to the likes of charlatans. He asks of anyone willing to save his son to march against the castle in the North, rescue the prince, and bring him the warlock’s head. Those who succeed will be rewarded greatly and paid handsomely.” There was a murmur, though, of who was likely to survive. “All who are interested in this offer please approach and take a pamphlet.”

Armed men stood at the foot of the stage, both to guard but also to pass out said pamphlets. Dabi looked to Jin and their eyes met in knowing agreement. Dabi pushed his way into the crowd and returned a moment later with a pamphlet.

“This is suicide,” Jin said as he took the sheet and started to read it. The location was vague, the warlock just as vague, and overall the whole thing seemed sketchy. But the reward was hefty, and success guaranteed innumerable fame. Perhaps it was worth a shot.

“Some royal guard if the prince got kidnapped.”

“Some royal pain in the ass if he got himself kidnapped–maybe he would have died if he didn’t go–not that it matters, he’s still worthless.”

“He’s worth a pretty penny at least.” Dabi took the pamphlet and folded it, tucking it into his shirt. Adjusting his belt, he motioned for Jin to follow. The man did, tugging at the hood that hung around his face, moving it mindlessly. “Some old guy in shiny armor will probably go snatch him in a few weeks and that’ll be the end of that.” Neither of them bore a semblance of confidence about the job, neither of them seemed all too interested either. The announcement came and went, passing from their minds. They would find jobs elsewhere, it’s not like their shoddy armor or cheap swords would get them very far anyway.

Then a week passed. And another.

Bodies came through town, the people mourned, buried, and moved on. Yet the bodies kept coming, endlessly. Some buried nothing yet still had something to mourn. Some worried, and the worry whittled away at their hearts. Some only had bits of bones or chewed limbs or broken fragments that they, fruitlessly, identified as one of their own. The kingdom fell into a spell of despair. Dabi and Jin watched it pass them by. Every week the town crier cried – “Prince Tomura is held by a madman! Anyone brave enough to traverse the winter wasteland will be rewarded greatly!” And every week Dabi and Jin passed him by, an idea in the back of their minds that they hardly ever spoke on. Jin had said it himself, it’s suicide.

But the months passed and no one had succeeded.

“We would be rich–!” Jin exclaimed, “–and dead.” Dabi pushed open the tavern doors and the two of them stepped inside, welcomed by a wave of heat, warmth from the fire and discomfort from the room. Everything was grating, tense and hardly at ease. Wary expressions lined every face, dried tears stained cheeks. So many brave souls. So many lost. They sat at the bar counter and ordered a round of drinks. They all needed something. “Or maybe rich and not dead! Or maybe dead and not rich.” Jin frowned, his hood folding fast around his face. “We’ll probably die. But we won’t know unless we try!”

“Wishful thinking,” Dabi muttered. A pamphlet hung above the bartender’s head, the same one that had been handed out months before... he’d tossed that crumpled piece of paper into the fire ages ago. Yet it was still here, still relevant news. The prince was gone. There was talk of another child, another heir, the king seemed to have little choice. No one had rescued his son. It seemed like no one ever would. “At this rate we’ll have better luck with small game.”

“There’s nothing small about our game.”

“Well, smaller game.”

“Is there anything small about a prince?”

“There’s nothing small about a warlock.”

“Maybe he’s a short warlock.”

“A short warlock who’s killed a lot of tall men.”

“That’s quitter talk!”

“Yeah.” Dabi nodded, the rim of his mug against his lips. “Yeah.”

Another month passed, and no progress had been made. The amount of takers had decreased, there were less funerals to be held. Less people dead or lost, no more than usual at least. Brave faces came and went under the torrents of nature, the unpredictability of life, but no one fell to the same hand, save for the executioner’s. Jin and Dabi made their bread and butter elsewhere. One particular day they returned from a hunt, the head of some monstrosity dragging behind them. Jin had attempted to yank a bolt from its skull, every pull only tearing at the skin and fracturing bone, butchering the bolt and their prize all the same. He huffed and tugged but with little progress made.

“Fine, keep it then,” he spat.

“The more you mess with it the more she’s going to complain,” Dabi muttered as he pulled the head along by the hair. Blood trailed behind them, staining the dirt as they walked to the keep. It was a large grand building, the appeal of the entire town, owned by a remarkable woman, the face of nobility. It was guarded constantly by heavily armed men, armored with pikes in hand. No one dared to attack them. They kept the entire keep in-check, watching the servants, the messengers, the guests. Large walls surrounded the estate, a single gate the one way in, save climbing. The wall itself was ornate, draped in gold. Yet it was nothing compared to the keep itself.

Guardsmen stood guard and eyed them, a simple nod as they passed. It would seem they recognized the scars. Dabi walked through the gate, across the greenery and the garden, beyond the fountain, ever trailing blood. Two guards pulled open the grand doors that lead into the keep, metal boots clicking against the tile. Dabi threw the head of the beast onto the floor, drawing the attention of every man in the room. A woman turned and frowned, a look so unaccustomed to an otherwise smiling face. “Lady Himiko, we brought you the head of your beast,” Dabi said with a mock bow.

“And one of my crossbow bolts because the damn thing won’t let go!” Jin made another attempt to pull the bolt free, splattering more blood across the floor.

Dabi walked passed him and his shenanigans and stood before the woman. It only took a glance before a smile returned to her face. “You never disappoint Dabi,” she hummed before she pulled a bag from her belt. Dabi eyed the thin dagger tucked underneath, and knew well enough that it was only one of many.

“Just doing my job.”

Toga opened the bag and pulled out a number of gold coins. She handed him four, little compared to the weight of the bag. “There will be more where that came from with the next bounty. And the next one. And the next.”

“Plenty of monsters to kill.”

“–or to be killed by!” Jin piped up.

“Indeed,” Toga said with a nod. “Although you two never seem to have much trouble. If you’re interested in more of a challenge then you know the king’s declaration...”

“No thanks,” Dabi said with a shake of the head. “We’re not looking to die.”

“You could die any day, Dabi.”

“Maybe. But going after the warlock is suicide.”

“You’ve fought worst monsters and haven’t died yet.”

“Monsters aren’t like people.”

“They’re worse–!” Jin exclaimed, as he yanked his crossbow bolt free. “And better.”

“They’re smart and they’re cruel.” Dabi tucked the gold coins into his pouch. That would be more than enough to get them something pretty. “And even if we wanted to go after some warlock, we don’t have the gear.” Just from the looks of them it was obvious that there wasn’t much of worth to their appearance. Their armor was clearly old and beaten, their weapons were uneven and dulled, and the scars they bore alone showed how much pain they had endured. It was a miracle they hadn’t been slaughtered. There was little to be admirable of, or to be confident in. Dabi was assured (as much as Jin was half the time) that they would go on this quest and die. He wasn’t looking to die yet. He still had things he needed to do, and people he needed to see.

But Toga seemed to hold a different perspective. She smiled and looked them over, a glint in her eye, something churning in her mind. With a wave of the hand she turned away, lacking dissuasion. “Come by later tonight. Wear something comfortable, none of that armor of yours. I want to talk, and treat you to a meal. You two must be starving.” Dabi opened his mouth but Jin responded first–

“We would love to!”

And apparently, they would love to.

“Perfect. See you then!”

Dabi and Jin stepped outside with a look of confusion between them. It wasn’t until the guards had forced them beyond the gates that they finally got a word out about the situation. “Do you think she’s finally considered my hand in marriage?” Jin said, trailing after Dabi. “Himiko is so pretty, so cute! I wonder!”

“Maybe.” Dabi shrugged. Maybe no. Maybe so, who knows. “Let’s go.”

The day passed them by. The sun rose and set. They broke their gold down to coppers and pondered how much would go to the necessities. Prices were ever changing, the seasons ever unpredictable. Food was sparse, even with less mouths to feed. Less hands to work, too. It made everything difficult. They minded the heavy months that neared, the unending threat of a long, white winter. Prices would go up. Food would go down. People would starve, suffer, and die. Then spring would come. Rinse, and repeat. Dabi and Jin minded the consequences. They held their own, and wondered if the keep would hold. Lady Himiko always seemed well-fed, warm, and protected. They wondered if it would last.

Night came. They changed out of their clothes, per request. Their armor racked, their swords sheathed, they wore the nicest thing they owned (which wasn’t very nice at all) and made the walk down to the keep. Guards still lined the outside, ever on patrol. Even during the coldest nights, they stood guard. Ever faithful. Ever loyal. The two neared and the gates immediately fell open, Dabi supposed his stitched skin was hard to miss. They made the same walk across the garden, passed the gentle fountain, before they entered again. The blood had been cleaned, no such sign of the beast or its head. Mounted somewhere or sold, they supposed.

They entered and a servant approached them. “Lady Himiko will see you.” They were lead, minding that they’d only ever seen the front of the keep before, passing by ornaments of gold and silver, bejeweled and glowing. Wealth, they wondered how Toga lived as she did, where this money came from, and where it went. Nobility by virtue, perhaps. They turned a corner and came across a door. The servant held it open, and inside revealed a large dining room. Toga was already seat at one end, a dozen seats between her and the other. Upon seeing them she smiled, and rose from her seat.

“You came!”

“Of course! We would never miss the opportunity to dine with a woman as stunning as yourself, my lady,” Jin said with a bow.

Dabi rolled his eyes. “We were just curious.”

“Take a seat then,” Toga said as she motioned for them to sit. They took the seats closest to her, the room feeling awfully empty. “Food will be out soon. Are you hungry?”

“Starving!” Jin said. Dabi nodded.

“I’m sure, after all the hunting you two do.”

“We try our best to do our service.”

“And a service well done.” The lady sat promptly, and it became apparent that there was something on her mind. “Eat, enjoy yourselves. We have much to discuss.”

It was a simple proposition over dinner. Dabi didn’t take it all too seriously until servants brought out arms and armor. Full suits of mail, padded and all. A sword too, freshly sharpened, of the finest smith and steel. A crossbow as well, sturdy, light enough to not require much strength to reload, stirrup included. Bolts as well, three dozen. It was a hefty load, sets worth more money than they could imagine. Even in their career they couldn’t have afforded armor or weapons as nice as these. There was only one question – “What’s the catch?”

Toga turned to Dabi with a smile.

“As you’ve heard the prince has been kidnapped...”

“I have heard.”

“...and there is quite the hefty reward for his rescue.”

“I’ve heard that, too.”

“Which is why I’m proposing a bit of an... agreement, if you’d like. You take my gear, my supplies, anything that you would deem necessary for such an endeavour. Then, when you succeed, I get some of the reward.”

“You want a cut.”

“Yes.”

Dabi frowned and shook his head. “We already said we won’t do it.”

“It’s suicide!” Jin added.

“You said you wouldn’t do it because people are cruel and you don’t have the equipment to handle them. Well, now you do.” She motioned to the set on display. “All you need is the will, and the motivation. Coin is the motivation. The will is all your own.” There was a smile on her face, a knowing smile. Jin and Dabi looked amongst themselves, uncertainty in their gaze. Their minds were churning, consideration held firmly in their grip. All it took was a single word to change their lives forever. What was there to gain? Fame, fortune, admiration. What was there to lose? Their dignity, their lives. Another faceless body to bury.

Toga stirred her tea. “What say you, Dabi?”

#shigadabiweek #ShigaDabi #Shigaraki Tomura x Dabi #Shigaraki Tomura #Dabi #Jin Bubaigawara #Boku no Hero Academia #My Hero Academia #Red's Writing

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aurorawest · 4 years ago

Note

⭐️Can you please also do a director's commentary for "Foundations" chapter 3? Thank you for your commentary on ch. 2, that was fantastic btw, :D I love that chapter!!

Yes! Thanks for asking! Link to AO3.

I used to write such short chapters, haha. This one is under 2500 words! I talked a bit when I did chapter 2 about why I wrote Foundations. Chapter 3 was actually the first chapter I wrote. It was The Scene (you know, the one you see in your head that’s the whole reason for writing the thing in the first place) for this fic, but when I write, I usually write The Scene first, haha.

Loki shifted in his camp bed, reaching up to pull the orb of light floating next to him closer before he turned the page of his book. Wind rattled the walls of the tent, but the storm outside wasn’t enough to drown out the rising and falling swells of sound from the impromptu feast that had sprung up several tent rows over.

I remember really struggling to get the atmosphere of the setting of this chapter...mainly because I didn’t really care that much, haha. I wanted to write a fraught conversation between Loki and Thor and what to you mean I need to describe where they are? Though I actually think it turned out well in the end.

He paused for a moment, listening, knowing the right thing to do—the expected thing to do—was to be there himself. Eating, drinking, bragging and inflating whatever deeds he’d accomplished in battle that day. And singing, apparently, if the sound he could hear was any indication—and if one was extremely generous with their definition of ‘singing.’

I don’t think I’d come up with my head canon yet that Loki hates to sing at this point.

They were on Alfheim, one of the Nine Realms, which was facing a minor insurrection; nothing that Asgard’s forces couldn’t put down in a week or two.

Sneak peek! Alfheim features prominently in the sequel to The Real Asgardians of the Galaxy.

They’d been there three days and the tide of the war was already turning in their favor. Still, it had been a shock when the Bifrost had brought them there. Years ago, Mother had taken Loki and Thor to visit, and Loki had found the planet breathtaking. Asgard was beautiful, of course, the pinnacle of the Nine Realms, but the lacy architecture of Ljosalfgard and the forests twinkling with lights was captivating. Thor had wanted to capture a unicorn and ride it;

I draw a lot of inspiration from the comics when I write about Alfheim, since we’ve only seen one very brief shot of it in the MCU. Ljosalfgard is the capital (Ljósálfar is Old Norse for Light Elves). Unicorns are native to Alfheim in the comics.

Mother had forbidden it, and added for good measure that if he was gored, he’d have to sit in bed for the duration of the trip and wouldn’t be allowed to have any fun.

The forests were nowhere to be seen now, though. Or the unicorns, for that matter, though during that long ago visit, neither Thor nor Loki had gotten anywhere near one, anyway. The rebel army was moving towards Ljosalfgard, burning everything as it went, and the tall, graceful trees that had fascinated Loki as a child were nothing but smoldering stumps now. Whole towns had been reduced to rubble, with the bodies of those who had been unable to flee lying amid the wreckage.

In the last such ruin they’d passed through, Loki had stopped to stare down into the face of a dead elf. Her legs were pinned under the collapsed wall of a building, crushed beyond repair, but what had killed her was the discharge weapon that had been fired into her stomach. Tarry blood, turning black as it dried, was spread around her. Not a quick death, or a painless one. He’d knelt down and closed her eyes, but he couldn’t do anything about the howl of pain that twisted the rest of her face.

I added this paragraph about the dead elf during editing, feeling that my description of war was too impersonal and sanitized. Since writing this, my body count in my fics has multiplied. Now I kind of look for excuses to describe corpses.

A crack of thunder brought him back to the present with a jolt. He realized he’d been staring at the same sentence on the page, reading it over and over again.

Mood, Loki.

With a yawn, he closed the book and set it aside on the small, ornate table he’d carted to Alfheim from Asgard.

My pocket dimension head canon wasn’t as well developed at this point. I was imagining the table physically being carried. I’ve actually always intended for this table to make an appearance in my fic again, like Loki chucked it in his pocket dimension and sort of forgot about it, but I try to limit the amount of Asgardian stuff he’s got in there for angst value, so I’ve never had it show up again.

The book was a treatise on astral projection, wherein the author theorized that with the proper source of power, the range of the projection could be amplified infinitely.

I still think this is clever, haha. This is a reference to Infinity Stones! Specifically the scene in Avengers where Loki astral projects and talks to the Other. I head canon that Loki really can’t astral project very far (maybe, maybe, a mile or two), but that the Mind Stone allowed him to do so in that scene.

Interesting, but not the lightest reading after a day of battle. He’d brought other books—and been roundly mocked for it

Whether Loki was being mocked or teased is open to interpretation. He can’t see it as anything other than mocking, though.

—but his focus was shot to hel. Whatever he picked up, he’d only end up sitting with it open on his lap while his mind wandered.

At that moment, the tent flap burst open, letting in a spray of wind and rain. “It’s pissing down out there,”

The fact that Loki and Thor both have English accents makes me desperately want to make them speak British English, but I don’t because they don’t in the movies. Sometimes, sometimes, I allow myself to throw something in.

Thor said, apparently to no one in particular, because when his eyes fell on Loki, he added, “Ah. I thought I’d find you hiding here.”

“I’m hardly hiding,” Loki said. “Anyway, I was tired.” He flicked his light orb higher and expanded it with a twist of his hand so that it illuminated more of the space.

This is the first time I wrote about this spell of Loki’s, which I now use alllll the time. It’s one of my go-to spells for him. If you’ve followed me for any length of time you’ve probably seen me talk about this fic I have where Strange goes into Loki’s mind (still unposted)—this spell is actually a major part of one section of that fic.

Thor looked at it, shook his head a little, and switched on the lights on his side of their shared tent. “What?” Loki asked, raising an eyebrow.

Generator? Asgardian tech? Who knows!

Glancing at him, Thor replied, “Tricks.”

Uh oh.

With a slight smile, Loki said, “Correct me if I’m wrong, brother, but one of my tricks prevented an axe from lodging in that thick skull of yours earlier.”

Thor snorted. “Not so tired that your wit’s dulled, I see.”

“Well, no. Never.”

Obviously, I try to capture the characters’ voices when I write, especially their dialogue, but I do it to the point where if there’s a kind of really distinctive delivery of a line, I’ll take that and turn it into almost like, a verbal tic? You know how you’ll catch yourself saying certain things a certain way, little phrases, that sort of thing? This is an intentional echo of Loki’s line in Avengers, where Thor says, “You think yourself above them,” and Loki responds, “Well yes.” I use this one all the time.

Removing the vambraces from his forearms,

The amount of time that I have spent looking up what different pieces of armor are called, UGH. And I never remember. When I edit, I always have to double check. The only one I know for sure now is demi-gaunts because I use it so often, haha. Those are the things Loki wears on his hands in Ragnarok.

Thor chuckled, then said, “You should have joined us. No party is complete without your troublemaking.”

Loki put a hand over his heart, a grin twitching at his mouth. “I’m touched. I had no idea I was so appreciated.”

“That,” Thor said, “and the fact that Fandral couldn’t stop bragging about how many more rebels he slew than the both of us combined. I could’ve used your help knocking him down a peg or two.”

I wanted to show a few things here. One: Loki is used to Thor being dismissive about his magic, and he doesn’t actually dwell on it too much in conversation. Two: Thor’s attitude about Loki’s magic isn’t actually awful. He could certainly be nicer about it and have more respect for something that Loki is really good at it, but this isn’t something that Thor feels really affects their relationship. He’s mildly contemptuous, and he forgets immediately. And three: Thor enjoys Loki’s mischievous side. The two of them still have a decent relationship, though the cracks are showing.

“Mm. Sorry to disappoint you,” Loki said.

Thor snorted. Removing his cape and slinging it over a chair back, he asked, “What are you reading, anyway?”

With a glance at the book, Loki said, “I don’t think it would interest you.”

“I don’t think so either.” Thor smirked at him. “I’m just trying to show some interest in the things my little brother’s interested in.”

Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, Loki said, “Ah, I see. Mockery, then patronization. What a day.”

Thor chuckled and came over to pick up the book. “Astral projection,” he said, then looked at Loki. “You already know how to do this.”

Really trying to hammer (haha, pun intended) home the point that Loki is an extremely unreliable narrator. Thor asks Loki what he’s reading, then shows that he knows what Loki can do. And then:

Loki raised an eyebrow. It was always a surprise when Thor demonstrated that he knew what Loki was capable of.

Yeah but, is it, Loki? Is it?

“You already know how to swing a sword, but you still train.”

“Hm.” Thor put the book down. “Once Father gives me Mjølnir, I won’t have to.”

Still pre-Mjølnir.

Right. Mjølnir. It had been heavily implied, when Father had sent them to quell the uprising on Alfheim, that the reward for success would be Mjølnir. For Thor, of course. For Loki, well, he supposed the reward was the satisfaction of a job well done. Once, when they’d been children, the two of them had snuck down to the weapons vault to see if they could lift the hammer. Thor hadn’t hesitated; he’d strutted up to it and yanked on its handle. It had come off its stone pedestal easily, and Thor had crowed and brandished it while Loki had stood there grinning.

Then, Thor had set it down and said, his face flushed with happiness, “You try it!”

Loki had reached for the handle. But he’d stopped, his arm outstretched, and closed his fingers around nothing but air before withdrawing his hand. What if he couldn’t? What if he wasn’t worthy?

To this day, this bit hurts me. I find it so relatable. If you try, you might fail, so maybe it’s better to not even try? At least you won’t feel like a worthless failure that way. And on a broader character note, this is Loki as a child already feeling that he isn’t living up to expectations.

So he shook his head and had said, “Father will be angry if he finds out we came down here.”

This was a thin excuse to put off learning something about himself that he didn’t want to learn, but even at a young age, Loki had been all-too-cognizant of his own failings. Thor had looked crestfallen, which almost made him feel guilty enough to try lifting Mjølnir, despite his misgivings.

HE’S NOT THOR. This is something that I definitely address in my fic series, this idea that he’s not Thor, so he’ll never be good enough. And yes...it is something that he gets over. He stops worrying about the fact that he can’t lift Mjølnir. He begins to see the value in his way of doing things, and not in a defensive way, but in a way he’s actually proud of. He realizes he doesn’t need to be Thor because he’s Loki.

But this is waaaaaay before that, haha.

Almost.

Rain beat on the tent, which luckily was imbued with enough Asgardian technology to keep all of it outside. Winter on Alfheim, at least in this hemisphere. If the blood didn’t turn the battlefields to mud, the rain would. Loki glanced up, his brow furrowed, as thunder rumbled and a gust of wind made the canvas billow like a sail. “The weather could be better.”

“If it doesn’t stop, it will just make the battle more glorious,” Thor said.

Smirking, Loki said, “I think I find dry clothing more glorious than battle.”

Thor shook his head at Loki, looking like someone had just told a wonderful joke, but only he was in on it. “You enjoy it, admit it. You can pretend you’re above it all you like, but I see it in your eyes.” He paused, clearly wanting his punchline, or thesis, or whatever this was, to really land. “That’s the rage of battle, brother.”

This was the first bit of dialogue I thought of for this fic. I remember it coming to me while I was sitting in bed one night.

Loki somehow hadn’t expected that. Taken aback and hoping it wasn’t showing, he said, “You’re mistaken.”

[...] Thor chuckled and laid down, his hands laced under his head, but Loki remained sitting, staring at the opposite wall of the tent and fidgeting with his hands. The rage of battle. Ridiculous. If there was one thing that Loki was good at, it was not letting his emotions get away from him.

OOF. If you thought to yourself while reading this, That doesn’t sound like the Loki I know, then you are correct! Frigga has that line in TDW where she says, “So perceptive about everyone but yourself,” and that line is one of my guiding stars for writing Loki. He’s very, very good at reading other people...but terrible at knowing his own mind. And then his read of what other people think of him gets filtered through his skewed perception of himself.

Anyway, I very much believe that Loki is horrible about keeping his emotions in check. He absolutely, when agitated, thinks entirely with his heart and not at all with his head. Here’s the thing...

He was as collected in battle as he was any other time.

He wants to be a Good Asgardian. So in his mind, it’s controlling your emotions in battle that’s important. Other times? Not so much. As long as he does it in battle, nothing else matters. And Loki is very good about keeping his head in battle. He’s an amazing warrior, just as good as any other Asgardian.

To lose your head was to invite costly mistakes. Absently, he ran his thumbnail over his other fingernails. He feared losing himself, anyway. Sometimes he thought it would be all too easy, when he wasn’t always sure who he was to begin with.

This is one of the core elements of Loki’s character to me. He doesn’t know who he is. He fears a loss of control. I absolutely keep these things in my head at all times when writing him. These things affect everything in his life and hold him back from things he wants. Love? That’s a loss of control.

“You’re quiet, brother,” Thor said.

Loki glanced over at him. “Just thinking.”

“You think too much.”

“Possibly.”

Another intentional movie dialogue echo. “Are you mad?” “Possibly.”

Propping himself up on his elbow and facing Loki, Thor said, “This is war, Loki. You get up, you slay the enemy, you drink, you feast, and then you go to bed so you can do it all over again the next day. There’s nothing to think about.”

Life was definitely simpler for Thor back in the day.

With a slight smile and a mirthless exhalation of laughter, Loki said, “I’m not like you, Thor.”

“Really? That’s so shocking, whatever could you be talking about?”

Loki gave his brother a sidelong look. Once in a while, Thor displayed a snideness that came directly from Mother. While Loki was truly their mother’s son, some of it was bound to rub off on Thor, too.

I’ve never liked the idea that Thor is stupid, and I do like those moments where he’s sarcastic and clever. “I thought you liked tricks,” from TDW comes to mind, and obviously a lot in Ragnarok. Loki has a tendency to think in binaries. Father=Thor, Mother=Loki (in the sense that they take after their parents, not like, Loki is maternal). He has trouble seeing that Thor also takes after their mother...and he has even more trouble seeing how much like Odin he himself is.

“I don’t mind battle,” he said. “I’m perfectly happy fighting to protect Asgard and the Nine Realms.

It’s really important to me to show that Loki isn’t squeamish about killing people, but also that he sees it as a duty.

But you know I’d rather be sitting by the water, reading a book.”

“The water” is what I’ve come to call the body of water that surrounds Asgard’s land mass. It’s not an ocean, it’s not a lake. Here, I’m literally just saying ‘sitting by the water’ the way you’d say that if you were like, sitting on a dock or on the beach or whatever, but since then it’s become my official name for it. I like the idea that Asgardians really do see themselves as superior, and this body of water sitting around their planet is The Water, like there’s no other water.

“Or causing mischief,” Thor said without missing a beat, which made Loki shrug in acknowledgment of this point. Thor stared at Loki for a minute, and then he said, “Perhaps you should…” But then he trailed off and shook his head. “Never mind.”

“Perhaps I should what?” Loki asked, a sharp edge to his tone that he knew would put Thor on the defensive.

A flicker of irritation crossed Thor’s face. “Perhaps you should take greater pains to be more like a warrior. We’re Asgardians, Loki. We don’t hide in bushes and cast spells. We face the enemy head on.”

Aaaand there it is. Thor definitely feels this way, but he’s also more of a dick than he has to be, because Loki purposefully needled him—and Thor’s quickness to anger is one of his flaws.

Loki’s eyes narrowed. “A dead rebel is a dead rebel. It doesn’t matter if I stood in front of him and ran him through with a sword or if I distracted him with an illusion while I threw a dagger through his windpipe.” Tilting his chin up, he said, “And I hardly ‘hide in the bushes.’ Don’t be insulting.”

“The men talk,” Thor said, still sounding prickly.

Loki is the one we think of as being the one who feels like he doesn’t fit in and as though he has to maintain an image of someone he isn’t...but I’m really partial to the idea that Thor feels the exact same way. The two of them have actually had this in common their entire lives, but they never talk about it or see this basic fact about each other. They’re both trying to live up to something, and it isn’t who either of them are.

Ah. So that was the issue. There Thor had been, just trying to get drunk with the Warriors Three and the Lady Sif while they compared body counts, and it had been interrupted by the troops questioning Loki’s prowess on the battlefield. Or perhaps even his commitment to the battle itself. What an inconvenience. How embarrassing. “Do they,” Loki said, his tone flat. “And do you defend me, brother? Or do you let them talk?”

Thor rolled his eyes. “Don’t start this.”

Does Thor not really answer the question because obviously he defends Loki, or because he doesn’t, and it embarrasses him? I left this purposefully ambiguous here. Loki certainly knows what he thinks.

Loki held up his hands, his eyes widening a little in an expression of sarcastic innocence. “I thought you started it. Didn’t you just tell me to stop hiding in the bushes?”

With a frustrated sigh, Thor said, “You take everything the wrong way.”

“Perhaps you should choose your words more carefully,” Loki shot back.

Their whole relationship, summed up in two lines.

For a long moment, Thor glared. Loki tried to return it with a look of cool haughtiness. Finally, Thor said, “Of course I defend you. But when even Hogun and Sif—”

At this, Loki’s mask dropped, he knew it did, and he knew that for a split second, the hurt showed on his face. Thor’s glare slipped as well and guilt flashed across his features.

They’re so good at hurting each other. It’s exactly what they’re trying to do, and then they instantly regret it. But it doesn’t stop them from doing it again.

Well, Loki had just told him to choose his words more carefully. It would do his brother good to listen. Otherwise you ended up saying things that other people didn’t need to hear.

Loki snorted derisively, a hard twist of a smile on his face. “I see.” The fact that Sif was bad-mouthing him stung more than he cared to admit. His feelings towards her toed the line between platonic and something more on and off for years, though he knew he’d never stand a chance with her.

Loki definitely had a thing for Sif for a long time. He’s being wishy-washy here.

Thor was her type. Blond, muscle-y, typical Asgardian male.

Loki’s type, when it comes to men, certainly involves muscles, just not the like, bulging bodybuilder muscles.

Which made her just like everyone else. Loki held out his hand and snapped his fingers shut, and the orb of light hovering over him snuffed out.

“Loki—”

“Good-night, Thor,” he said, his voice tight. Anger and resentment coiled in the pit of his stomach like a viper, slithering up his spine to the base of his skull so that it sat there, an intrusive otherness scratching at his mind.

Some purposeful snake imagery; and the use of ‘viper,’ which has connotations of treachery, was also deliberate.

As he laid down, he knew it would keep him awake, and that Thor probably wouldn’t be fooled by his stillness. He could cast an illusion, so that it looked like he was sleeping, and then leave his slumbering form here and roam the dark encampment, if he wanted to.

But he didn’t want to. He wanted to not feel like an outsider amongst his family and friends. He wanted ‘Asgardian’ to encompass his particular gifts too.

Loki is definitely arrogant about his abilities, which is an interesting thing to balance, since he’s also so deeply insecure. A lot of his bitterness comes from the fact that he knows he’s good at things, but they aren’t the right things. And even when they are the right things—like being great in battle—he doesn’t do it the ‘right’ way.

“Loki,” Thor said again.

He ignored his brother and closed his eyes. Tomorrow, Thor would have forgotten about this. Thor never had any trouble forgetting the things he said and did that wounded Loki.

This is true. Thor thinks before he speaks, but he also puts more stock in actions than words. Loki is the opposite.

That was a gift, he supposed, his face twisting in the dark. A very particular gift to be able to let go of words that hurt, one which he both hated and longed to have. Of course, Thor didn’t need to remember hurtful words, because the only person who ever flung any of them at him were Loki himself, and very little that Loki said was worth remembering in the eyes of his family and friends.

This is not true. Loki is being an unreliable narrator.

Fine. Thor would forget. Loki would try to, as well.

Thank you so much for asking!! 😄

Fanfic Writers: Director’s Cut

#loki #thor #brodinsons #Anonymous

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brownstonearmy · 4 years ago

Text

2021-03-06: Court Ordered Appearances, Pt. 1

Tuesday August 25 (morning, foggy)

On a foggy Tuesday morning, Disco and Spleenifer wake up in beds that are not their own. The pair appear to be in some sort of barracks; it's a bit nicer than military barracks, but not as opulent as Yula's guest quarters. A robed person enters the room and introduces himself as a court official. The two of them have been summoned to Swanmark to give expert testimony in a high-profile case. The other members of their adventuring party are supposedly en route to the location, but there were some logistical and jurisdictional hurdles that had to be overcome first. Spleenifer makes a remark about going to sleep resulting in free vacations to Swanmark.

A silver dragon is accused of murder for eating the reality-star celebrity adventurer, Anaxilas. Murder trials happen on a speedy timeline in Swanmark, and since Anaxilas hasn't been seen for a few days, things aren't looking too good for the dragon. There's only a short window of time before an automatic execution is scheduled, and there's not enough time for evidence to pass through draconic bowels in the conventional way.

However, the dragon has given her consent to have a party of investigators be miniaturized and search her insides for evidence. Such logic irritates Disco, who states "You don't have qualms about consent for putting someone to death, but you draw the line at putting someone up a dragon's butt!" Except the party isn't going through the metaphorical back door; they're going in through the toothy end.

Since there are no holding cells made to house a dragon, the accused is laying in the town square. Ropes are tethering her to the ground, and she appears to be heavily sedated. The court official gives Disco and Spleenifer a few potions to shrink them down to the proper size and bids them good luck.

As the two tread along the surface of the tongue, their steps trigger the dragon's swallowing reflex. Spleenifer and Disco tumble through a rough passageway whose walls are lined with spikes pointing the same direction, presumably to keep food from escaping. Disco manages to not get stuck, but Spleenifer gets caught between a few of the spikes. As she struggles to free herself, the court official yells that he forgot to give them something.

Falling through the passageway is an Adventure Gem containing the last known image of Anaxilas alive. It collides with Spleenifer, who catches it before it can get lost inside the dragon. The picture on the gem depicts the hero inside a silver dragon's mouth, wielding a sword and shield (and of course the belt that lets people see what he's up to).

Sounds of flapping and dragging reverberate from farther down the dragon's gullet. In the dim light let into the gullet through the dragon's mouth, Disco spots an undead hand clutching a sword that looks a lot like Anaxilas's sword. The hand is also wearing a metal ring with an emerald set in it. And since the party got shrunk down, that undead hand is the same size as each of the party members.

But it's a hand with no mouth (and it doesn't seem immediately hostile), so Disco tries to communicate with it via sign language. And it goes well!

"Not supposed to give up sword," the hand signs back. A soundless conversation ensues, and Disco learns that the sword is indeed Anaxilas's sword. The hand signs that it is Anaxilas and that there are no other body parts to recover from Anaxilas's corpse. It then signs for the duo to follow it, which Spleenifer and Disco do.

The hand drags its sword toward a passageway with lots of moving air. It stops in the middle of a chamber that appears to be a faintly glowing pouch of some kind. Disco's face begins to feel a little tingly. The hand signs that everything is fine from the middle of the chamber. But when the tingling turns to numbness, Disco reconsiders the logic behind listening to an undead hand.

With sudden fury at being questioned, the hand attacks. Spleenifer smites the hand with her quarterstaff, while Disco heats the metal of the sword to keep the hand from using it. Some of the fingers get ripped from the hand, but it still has its thumb and middle finger, which it uses to voice its discontent at the situation. The remains of the hand leave the sword and skitter to the corner to cower until the party goes away.

And the party does leave, though not without taking some of the spoils for their trouble. The two hold their breath and dash in to snag the finger holding the ring and the sword. Once the sword (also the size of our miniature party members) is picked up by someone, the voice of Anaxilas rings out from the blade:

"If you are hearing this, I am dead." There's a whole long speech that follows, something about truth and justice, and allowing time to grieve, and a request to tell Norbert that he was loved. It takes several moments of sword dragging before the dictated obituary concludes. Disco pries the ring off the finger and wears it as an armband, while Spleenifer uses the unadorned finger as a chunky walking staff.

As the duo leave the sac containing the dragon's paralytic breath weapon, Spleenifer spots the remains of another humanoid; this one appears to have been dead for some time, though their armor still seems to be pristine. The corpse has no use for armor at this time, so clearly they won't mind if Spleenifer relieves them of it. Although it does not provide the same level of protection as her normal chainmail, this armor seems to have resisted corrosion from the hazards of being inside a dragon's guts.

The pair trek back from whence they came before being tricked by the hand, and follow a different passage that leads to a smelly, acid-filled cavern that appears to be the dragon's stomach. An undead skull wreathed in green flame is tethered to the wall of the stomach by a thick chain. It cackles as the adventurers approach.

"Tell me a joke!" it demands. "I'm bored!"

Disco regales the skull with a zinger about Arthur Itus, which sounds like arthritis and is thus an acceptable joke to tell a flaming skull. The skull wants help getting free from the chain, but after what happened with trusting the hand, a little more skepticism is warranted. Negotiations happen, and the skull tells of the guy who tethered him to the chain. It's been a while since the skull came down the dragon hatch, so it doesn't remember names and just calls most of the creatures living in the dragon "Guy." Guy comes down every so often to drag food out of the stomach after the dragon eats and cooks it on the skull's flame.

And speaking of food, the skull reported that a few sheep got eaten recently. This isn't particularly noteworthy, except that one of the sheep had a shield, a sword, and a belt tied to it. Guy shows up like usual, takes the sheep and the goodies, and leaves. This is a strange development, and the party considers releasing the skull on the condition that they can be certain the skull will not harm them (even indirectly). So the party asks the skull how to get Guy to come over to hear his side of the story.

That part is straightforward: the skull screams that food has arrived, and a small shadowy figure emerges at the far end of the stomach. The figure seems to be of Drow descent, except he's the same height as the rest of the party: approximately 6 inches tall. That's Guy.

Guy's been living on a tiny raft in the dragon's bladder for about 200 years to avoid being tortured and enslaved by his sister for the unfortunate crime of being born a male. And also the crime of refusing to worship Lolth, the evil Spider Queen. So he got himself eaten by a dragon to escape an unfortunate and short life of misery. He's probably got about another 200 years left before he dies of old age, so things are looking pretty good.

Plus, it turns out that dragon urine has lots of residual magic in it, which enhances spell effects. He's got a rope trick that leads to permanent little pocket dimension. Well, it's permanent as long as the rope stays wet, if you know what I mean.

Spleenifer and Disco attempt to ascertain where the rest of Anaxilas's equipment is, as well as additional information about the sheep. And with good bread being in short supply in the dragon's stomach, Guy is willing to trade several of his possessions (including the Anaxilas/sheep stuff) for all the party's food. The deal is finalized, and the party comes away with what they've been looking for. All that's left is to find a way out of the dragon's cloaca, but that's where things get difficult.

There are potentially two major pathways to the cloaca, but Guy has no desire to leave the dragon and he's never gone all the way outside. Swimming through the bladder is one way, if you can hold your breath long enough. The other way is through the colon, though you would have to stimulate the walls of the bowels to trigger a release. And to top it off, there's a partially decomposed demilich named Monsignor Grylls who lurks somewhere near the cloaca.

Disco and Spleenifer opt for traversing the colon as the safest option, provided they don't light any fires in the area. Unfortunately, the sphincter is blocked by a sizable nugget of rock-hard poop. Nugget is probably not the most appropriate word for something that is (relatively) the size of a small apartment, but whatever. As Spleenifer collects a tithe and chisels a way through the blockage, a bejeweled skull unlatches its jaw from where it was clinging like a colon polyp.

It's Monsignor Grylls, and he is an even worse than the first skull. He unleashes a horrible wail that brings the party to its knees and stirs up a poopy dust-storm in the colon. Disco and Spleenifer avoid the blinding dust for the most part, and Spleenifer wields the giant finger like a quarterstaff (yeah, we didn't forget she still had it) and jams it into Grylls' nose cavity.

Disco casts Cloud of Daggers, trapping Monsignor in the whirling mass of blades. Monsignor starts up another dust cloud as Spleenifer readies her Wait Watcher and chucks the small stone into Monsignor's cackling mouth before it expands, dealing 2d8 bludgeoning damage. Although Monsignor is taking a beating, he's not out of the fight yet, and sucks a small bit of soul from both Disco and Spleenifer, healing himself in the process.

Before things can get worse, Spleenifer remember's Guy's advice about stimulating the colon for release. So she unleashes a powerful smite against the fleshy walls and the floor starts to rumble. Spells are flying, but Monsignor is too far away to reach Disco and Spleenifer as the sphincter opens up and sends them tumbling to freedom with evidence in hand.

Stay tuned next time for more!

#dragon #Dungeons and Dragons #shits and giggles #adventure log #bowel #demilich #skull #murder #undead #drow

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