#no your honor i will NOT let my fable ships go

[rainykthebroken]

As promised, an actual response to this amazing comic and the great letter underneath it!

First, for the comic:

I love it! I adore how you interpreted “Sectonia” and especially her eyes. It just radiates with something that goes far beyond mere hatred or anguish. Black abyss except for small dots that pierce through your mortal flesh. It has such an otherworldly vibe that fits that surreal moment nature so perfectly. Also, the way “Taranza” (or the representation of his self-loathing and depression) seems to hatch from the wasp queen like if it was a chrysalid, body all inky and black- *chef kiss*

It captures perfectly in images how it was Taranza's own insecurities and self imposed misery that clouded his vision!

And the way you drew Taranza! I recognize a bit of @nokk0‘s lovely interpretation of his outfit in this comic, and you made our favorite spider so expressive (especially with his upper eyes). He goes from anger to sadness to numbness… and finally joy when he finds Magolor again (I like how Magolor’s calls slowly reach him after the whole experience to snap him out, and how Taranza never lets go of his top hat). Seeing Taranza’s memories of his friends was a special treat.

Impossible to point out a favorite panel, they’re all perfect, but I have a particular fondness for the one where Taranza looks at his reflection. It is exactly what I was trying to describe in the story: he looks at himself, all tired, a bit melancholic and worn out from what happened… but now, it’s really him that looks back: him, and his flaws, and his qualities. Taranza is whole again.

The whole comic was perfect, and I’m honored that my story inspired you to take time and draw all of this. It means a lot to me.

Secondly, for the letter at the end:

Again, I’m genuinely honored that you liked A Wonderful Attraction, and my other Kirby stories. I wanted to say that it is good that you took some creative liberties! That is what I (personally) love the most! Seeing people having their own interpretations of the scenes and the outfits!

Each panel of your comic filled me with such happiness and giddiness! I love your style and the emotions you managed to paint on these little characters’ faces.

It feels also good to see that I apparently succeeded in making secondary characters interesting. I always tried to develop Susie, Marx and Lor because while the ship is the focus, it would fill hollow if they were mere wallpaper on the narrative background. Reading that my fanfic have your favourite characterizations of them gave me a serotonin boost. 

It’s a bit hard to write since English isn’t my native language, so it’s double the work. I write the paragraphs in french, and then I have to brainstorm to find metaphors or specific words that will fit the english language. I always was afraid that it was showing too much in my work.

As for what will happen after A Wonderful Attraction: I will try to write for other fandoms (Metroid, Bug Fables perhaps?) for a bit. I feel like publishing another Magoranza fanfic only weeks after the ending of this one would be a bit too much. I want the finale to sting a little, give weight to the fact that it is the last page of this story… or at least, it will be for a while. I have small ideas for new fanfics taking place with the gay wizards (however they’ll be far much smaller).

Finally, I wanted to say it again: 

THANK YOU!

You, not only by your wonderful art piece and your kind words, really give me strength. I will never be able to thank all of these incredible artists that draw my fanfic enough, nor the ones who comment on it.

Thank you all for making this adventure, which started a year ago now, even more enjoyable!

"LIVE"

A short comic based on "A Wonderful Attraction' by @rainykthebroken

i hope you enjoyed it!!! it gets a little rough around the edges towards the end-- but i hope that can be forgiven LOL. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE read the original fanfic by the wonderful Rainyk (@rainykthebroken)!!! it's a fantastic work that i couldn't hope to capture with this little comic of mine :) to rainyk: i hope this comic was able to instill in you even a fraction of the joy that i got reading not just AWA, but your other Kirby works as well!! im sorry if i couldn't fully capture it as you envisioned, drawing is hard and i had to take a few creative liberties for a comic (>n< '') !! i wanted to put this short footnote for you because as someone who is not just an artist but a writer, i find that written works are often gone less noticed / less praised, and i wanted to make sure to share mine with you!! while reading AWA, i was deeply captured by your extremely beautiful and descriptive writing style- i could almost picture the scenes you were painting down to details, and your use of metaphors throughout the story had me genuinely close to tears a couple of times LOL. your characterizations of the entire kirby cast show such a deep understanding of the characters, especially within the main 4 (+lor...) that genuinely helped shape how i view them myself. they are by and large my favourite characterizations of them period-- theyre filled with such nuance and interesting development, and most importantly you gave time for all of them to develop with the other characters, instead of just focusing on the ship!! when i first read that your native language wasn't english, i was so shocked!! you honestly could have fooled me LOL. your writing showed such a deep understanding of the language art i found myself mulling over some of my favorite lines for way too long (><''). to end this long note off, i just wanted to say that since AWA is coming to an end- for my own selfish purposes, i honestly hope you'll continue with more Kirby works, or more works in this 'timeline' even, since i fell in love with these characters so deeply i'm almost broken to have to let them go -- BWAHAH. but i also believe you have a great talent that i know you can take very far from reading what i have- so i will be excited for whatever it is you decide to write next, even if that isn't kirby!! ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ i hope that you enjoyed my little work in tribute of yours!! (and that it isn't too incomprehensible because it got super scribbly LMFAO.)

[fablexdreams]

Don't mind me, I'm just over here thinking about Spreaver and Ben Finn/Hero of Brightwall a totally normal amount.

(They have not left my brain since 2008 and 2010 respectively, and no matter how hard I try, I simply can not let their ships go.)

[rphelperblog]

Witcher Quote Rp Meme Part one

"I'll carry on killing monsters in the ruins of this world until some monster kills me."

"I run into dilemmas all the time... This is not one of them. You disgust me. And deserve to die."

"Whatever You Lack In Talent, You Make Up For In Confidence."

"If I Have To Choose Between One Evil And Another, Then I Prefer Not To Choose At All."

"You Can’t Outrun Destiny Just Because You’re Terrified Of It."

"In The Face Of The Inevitable, Good Leaders Should Always Choose Mercy."

"Chaos Is The Same As It’s Always Been. Humans Just Adapted Better."

"Evil Is Evil...Lesser, Greater, Milling. It's All The Same."

"Respect Doesn't Make History."

"There Is Not A Person Alive Who Does Not Look In The Mirror And See Some Deformity...Except Or Us."

"I Love The Way You Just Sit In A Corner And Brood."

"I Bow To No Law Made By Men Who Never Bore A Child."

"But A Promise Made Must Be Honored. As True For A Commoner As It Is For A Queen."

"I Hate To Break It To You, But That Ship Has Sailed, Wrecked, And Sunk To The Bottom Of The Ocean."

States rise and fall like tides

“They took my choice. I want it back.”

"We Have To Cling To Something. If We Don't, The World Descends Into Chaos."

“i kill monsters.”

“If I’m to choose between one evil and another, then I prefer not to choose at all.”

“There is no destiny… It does not exist. The only thing that everyone is destined for is death.

“Mistakes… are also important to me. I don’t cross them out of my life, or memory. And I never blame others for them.”

“I manage because I have to. Because I’ve no other way out. Because I’ve overcome the vanity and pride of being different. I’ve understood that they are a pitiful defense against being different.”

“It is easy to kill with a bow, girl. How easy it is to release the bowstring and think, it is not I, it is the arrow. The blood of that boy is not on my hands. The arrow killed him, not I. But the arrow does not dream anything in the night.”

“A story is a largely false account, of largely trivial events, fed to us by historians who are largely idiots.”

“Only in fables survives what cannot survive in nature. Only myths and fables do not know the limits of possibility.”

“People… like to invent monsters and monstrosities. Then they seem less monstrous themselves.”

I'm not your friend.

Oh, really? Oh, you usually just let strangers rub chamomile onto your lovely bottom?

It's hard to regret something you didn't choose.

Forbidden magic is one of the ghost stories taught to use here. There is no such thing as dark or light magic. Nothing in this world is as simple as that.

People linked by destiny will always find each other.

Nobody smart plays fair.

"Sometimes the best thing a flower can do for us is die."

"First soldier you see'll kill you . . . Boots. He'll kill you for your boots."

“Mistakes are also important to me. I don’t cross them out of my life, or memory. And I never blame others for them.”

"You don't need mutations to strip men of their humanity. I've seen plenty of examples."

“Beware of old men who are in a profession where young men died.”

Well, we’re afeared. And what of it? Do we sit down and weep and tremble? Life must go on. And what will be, will be. What is destined can’t be avoided, in any case.”

“Destiny is the embodiment of a heart that wishes to grow.”

"Nonsense...And what's more, it doesn't rhyme. All decent predictions rhyme."

"As in life, it is impossible always to be fully prepared for battle. Keep your sword close and keep moving."

“The sword of destiny has two edges. You are one of them.”

“Evil is evil. Lesser, greater, middling… Makes no difference. The degree is arbitrary. The definition’s blurred. If I’m to choose between one evil and another… I’d rather not choose at all.”

“Two people bound by destiny will always find their way to one another.”

[fuchsiagrasshopper]

Tall Tale

Author’s Note: I’ve been reading for this fandom for a long time, but was never inspired to write for it until @blah-blah-fuckit-shit and I talked about our frustrations with the direction of the show. This is just me moving forward with an idea, and I might continue to write one-shots should inspiration strike. Enjoy!

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Word Count: 4555

Warnings: Some NSFW content, language

Ivar sat alone, away from the crowd on the dock as the twin ships coasted into Kattegat. In the absence of his father, the town had thrived as a hub for trade, and merchants from all across the seas were arriving for a chance to show their wares. Today was an Earl from Denmark, visiting with his family to discuss trade agreements with his mother.

Steps sounded behind him, and he felt a large hand come ruffle through his hair. Ubbe gave a laugh as Ivar shot him a petulant look.

"Come to catch a glimpse of her, have you?" He asked, leaning up against the pier with his arms crossed.

Ivar frowned while he patted his hair back into place. He pretended the juvenile gesture was something he'd outgrown, but admitting only to himself he knew he liked the brotherly affection between them.

"Who are you talking about?"

"Earl Alfarr's daughter," said Ubbe. "You must have heard the stories. They say he has a daughter of terrible beauty, who can enchant any man and give him the power to lord over all the lands he could ever want."

Ivar let out a scoff of indignation. "No woman is that beautiful unless she is Freyja, reborn a mortal. These stories are getting more ridiculous."

"Perhaps," Ubbe agreed. "But I wouldn't want to pass up the chance regardless of some baseless tales. If she's pretty, that is enough."

Ivar had seen some of the women his brother had bedded, and pretty didn't always seem to be in the criteria. He let out a breathy laugh for his thoughts, and returned his focus on to the family emerging from their ship.

Earl Alfarr was the first to set foot on the dock, a large man with a flat nose and iron grey hair. He held his hand out to his wife, assisting her down the plank. She was a slight creature, all sharp features, and flaxen hair held together in braids with leather cord. The Earl wrapped her up under his protective arm, and it was clear to see his wife was no shield maiden. 

The fabled daughter was last to follow, and when Ivar spotted you for the first time, his heart raced with exhilaration. None but the Gods could say who the most beautiful woman was to walk the land, but you certainly were striking. It was in your hesitant smile. Your eyes spoke adventure,  but not without the self awareness to be cautious. You laughed at something your father said, and Ivar longed to be close enough to hear what it sounded like.

"Well, what do you think? Is this a woman who can enchant Kings and Earls from their lands?" Ubbe asked him, his eyes gazing at the same sight. 

Ivar forgot this moment wasn't private, and whatever fantasies his mind had been about to conjure had ceased. "She is fair," He reasoned.

Whatever feelings he'd been attempting to hide had not gone unnoticed by Ubbe. He looked down at him with a knowing grin. "I'm glad you approve."

"Approve of what?" Hvitserk asked, coming up behind them while crunching loudly on an apple. Sigurd was with him.

"Earl Alfarr has arrived with his family," said Ubbe. "We were just discussing his daughter."

"The temptress?" Hvitserk spat out his mouthful of apple and leapt up next to Ivar, jostling the dock with his weight.

"Ivar said she's fair," Ubbe said, clapping his hand on Ivar's shoulder.

Ivar knew his eldest brother was attempting to be helpful in including him, but when the conversation swayed towards women, he'd rather be left out.

Hvitserk let out a snort. "I wouldn't get any ideas brother. She'd be too much woman for you."

"What do you mean by that?" He snapped, shaking Ubbe's hand off.

"You've never even been with a woman," Sigurd piped up. "You wouldn't know what to do with her."

"Yeah, best leave her to one of us. A woman like that knows what she wants." Hvitserk rubbed his hand over his mouth looking hungry for something other than food.

The bickering started between them, a fight over who this woman would choose when they hadn't even met you yet. Ivar began to crawl away, none but Ubbe taking notice of his departure. When disagreements like this began, he was always ignored because they didn't consider him a threat. Sometimes it was sparring, but recently the affections of women had been added to the docket. As far as Ivar was aware, they had all been having a taste of the blonde thrall from the hall, but Earl Alfarr's daughter was a free woman, and you wouldn't be passed around like a plate of salted pork.

He dragged through the market on his way back home. Many of the stalls were empty, and most of the people had congregated to the wharf. It made his journey short, and he pulled himself up the steps of the Great Hall in search of his mother.

She always had a smile for him, and it put his mind at ease. A part of him knew his mother's love for him was misplaced since her failed marriage to his father, but it was the only sentiment he was allotted, and he took what he could get with the greediness of a dragon. 

"Mother," he greeted as he hoisted himself over to the large fire burning in the pit.

"Ivar, you are back early my love." She glided her way over to him in delicate steps. The light of the fire made her hair look like it was spun from gold, and rose petals. 

"Your guests have arrived, the Danes. The Earl is fat, and his wife looks like a bird."

"And what of his children? Earl Alfarr has many daughters," said Aslaug. "One is said to be a treacherous beauty."

Ivar shrugged as he threw pebbles into the fire. "It's just a story."

"Stories are what keep us alive after we've gone to Valhalla. Even fables have a stretch of truth in them, like dreams and visions."

Ivar sighed. He'd heard this all before from Floki. Despite always wanting to know more about his fate, he avoided going to the seer. There was always a whisper in the back of his mind, afraid to know that a useless cripple was all he'd ever be.

"Do you think I will marry one day?" He asked his mother.

The spontaneous question seemed to catch her off guard, but she switched to a smile that wasn't so genuine. "Of course, any woman would be lucky to have you as a husband. But why such talk of this now? You are still young, and I would prefer if it was Ubbe or Hvitserk coming to me with such news."

Ragnar had not been much older than him when he first married Lagertha, but Ivar didn't dare say as such to his mother. As much as he coveted for her attention, she in turn clung to him. It was difficult to imagine her taking to another woman in his life. He felt trapped, like a carriage sinking in the mud, doomed to be the forgotten son of Ragnar with no family or titles to his name. 

"Well," His mother said, breaking the silence. "We should have the feast prepared for our guests. They will have rooms prepared here with us. No more talk of wives or dreams today my son."

She leant down and placed a kiss on his temple before leaving to gather the thralls. The hustle to set the hall began all around him, but Ivar remained in place, staring into the fire as if it held the answers to his future.

When his brothers returned, Ivar had already claimed his seat at the table beside his mother. The rambunctious chatter of his siblings settled as they assumed their own spots at the table. Ubbe leaned over to get his attention.

"You left before getting a chance to speak to the Earl and his family."

"They're staying with us, I'm sure I'll get my time," Ivar murmed into his horn of mead.

His eldest brother was quick to realize he was being brushed off, and he righted his position in his chair just as the doors to the hall opened. Earl Alfarr was with his family, being led by a thrall who presented them to the Queen.

"You are a gracious host, Queen Aslaug, and a personal greeting by your sons was most appreciated," Alfarr boomed, his voice deep like a war drum.

"I am honored you've traveled this far to treat with me. We have prepared rooms for you and your family. I hope they will be to your liking, as I know Kattegat is far colder than your home," Aslaug spoke as she sipped on her ale. She beckoned her thralls forward, and they prepared seats for the Earl's family. "Please join me and my sons for your first meal."

Ivar kept his eyes down on his plate, picking at the food with little appetite. The warmth of the mead going down his throat was the only comfort that could satiate him. He snuck glances when he could at you as you spoke amicably with his brothers. Your mother would lean over every so often and would whisper something in your ear that had you smiling. It got Ivar curious as to what was being said, but more than that, he wondered what it would feel like to press his mouth near the crook of your neck and whisper words to turn you red.

The calming presence your family brought settled over the rest of the hall, and it was one of the first meals that didn't end with the brothers shouting. Aslaug invited you and your mother to weave with her in the morning, and Alfarr requested Ubbe to accompany him through the market to educate him on trade in Kattegat.

As the thralls began to clear the table of empty plates and food scraps, you stood from your chair. "Thank you Queen Aslaug for the food and shelter, but the journey was long, and I am exhausted."

"Of course," Aslaug said as she signaled for Margrethe. "Please take (Y/N) to the room we have prepared for her."

"No (Y/N), don't go so soon," Hvitserk begged, reaching for your hand.

"I have a song prepared for you," Sigurd added.

You smiled while pulling your hand out of Hvitserk's grasp. "Tomorrow, there will be time for you to entertain me, but for now I need rest."

Before you left the table, Ivar raised his head to catch one last look at your face. You were staring back, a coquettish grin turning your mouth upwards. A wave of heat washed over him, and he flicked his eyes away. His gut clenched, leaving him unsettled and curious. What did you want from him?

ooOOoo 

Ivar was one of the last to turn in for the night. After the meal he had wandered down to Floki's, unaware he had done so until he had arrived at the boat builder's home. He'd been in search of another voice to help him unravel his thoughts about the future, and who better than the staunch believer of the Gods?

With Floki, sometimes his cryptic responses and blithe giggle left more questions than answers, and Ivar went away frustrated. In his heart he felt he was destined for greatness, but he didn't know how it would all come about. He hated the uncertainty of the unknown. If the Gods had already decided his fate, why couldn't he know now?

He made his way through the hall, the fire now low, and with just a handful of thralls cleaning away the remains of the feast. Sometimes an eye would float his way, but they paid him little mind. Ivar often retired later than his brothers, the pain in his legs keeping him awake at odd hours. Tonight it had been his racing thoughts. 

When Ivar came to his room, he thought he had entered another's chambers by mistake. There was a lump occupying the center of the pallet of furs, and as he dragged himself around the corner, it was your head poking out among the covers.

He wasn't sure if you had been feigning sleep, but your eyes shot opened the moment he came near. A coyness fell over you, and the furs fell to your waist as you sat up.

"Hello handsome," You greeted. Your hair was now loose and wild, a far cry from the tight braids it had been in at the feast.

"Woman, did you get lost along the way to your room?" Either that or Margrethe had done this on purpose, but he doubted a thrall could be so bold.

"So you can speak," You said, throwing the furs off as you slid to the edge of the bed. You were dressed in a pale blue gown, with white rabbit fur trim on the sleeves and collar. Apparently you had gone to your room at a time to change, and had made your way back down the hall with his family's rooms. "You hardly said a word during the feast. I was beginning to think your tongue didn't work."

Ivat scowled for what you said. "Just because I choose to use my words more carefully than my brothers. I don't babble about like an idiot."

"No, I didn't think so."

"What are you doing here?" His eyes narrowed, wanting to come across as intimidating even though he was distracted by the light tapping of your bare feet on the floor while you dangled on the side of his bed. "Did you happen to mistake my room for one of my brothers?"

"I'm exactly where I want to be," You said with your sweet smile. "And I did not want one of your brothers to come to my room, especially the one with the funny looking hair."

Sigurd. Ivar couldn't stave off the grin at your assessment of him. "What do you want then?"

"I'll confess I did not come to Kattegat with my family for an interest in the trade of goods." You came up from the bed, only to kneel down before him on the ground. Ivar swallowed thickly as you brought a hand to his face. "I am the youngest of six daughters, and all of my sisters are married. There are few men of worth or importance left back home that aren't already married. I'm looking for a husband."

"Ubbe is the oldest," Ivar hurried to say as his heart raced. "You should be with him."

"Ubbe is kind, but he is not ready for a wife if he is still playing under the skirts of thralls," You said as your fingers danced their way up into his hair. "And neither of your other brothers are fit to be leaders, not like you, Ivar."

"Stop," he said, grabbing your hands in his to stop your tantalizing teases. "You don't know anything about me. Just because you're beautiful you think you can charm any man, but I won't be a part of your game. Go find another Ragnarsson to use your spell on."

All the confidence went out of you like the passing of a storm, and you slid your hands from his grasp. "That ridiculous rumor again, and here I thought the sons of Ragnar would be above all of that."

Without a word you gathered your skirts, and headed for the door with your eyes downcast. Ivar's face twisted into confusion, and he held up a hand, as if reaching for you. "Wait, what do you mean?"

"I'm sure you're well aware of the story of Earl Alfarr's daughter, a woman so beautiful that she can have any man and his lands. The woman in that story is not me, it's my eldest sister, Saldís. It was just a tale, spread by my father and her husband to gain clout amongst the other Earls." You crossed your arms while looking guarded. "That stupid lie has followed me everywhere I go."

His first assumption about the rumor being false had been correct. Ivar flushed like a fool. You had come to his room, seeking him out because it was what you wanted. The only threat to him not winning the favor of a beautiful woman was himself.

"Don't leave yet," He mumbled, hating the taste of failure. "I'm sorry...alright."

"Maybe I overstepped as well," You replied as you pulled away from the door, striding back to the furs where you took a seat. "Fortune favors the bold, or so I've been told, but you probably didn't want a strange girl intruding on your room."

You were the first woman to come to his chambers willingly. Not a thrall, and not his mother. Ivat felt a sudden shyness, which he tried to overcome by climbing onto the bed beside you. 

"You called me handsome."

Your head spun to face him, and you let out a laugh for his jest. "Yes, and you called me beautiful. There's a boldness in you as well."

"Is that why you think I'd make for a good leader, and husband," He prodded, longing to hear more of your compliments. 

"Maybe, and I'm sure there's more about you waiting to be uncovered," You said, your eyes searching his face. "I didn't mean to come across as desperate with the whole husband business. It's just...all of my sisters are married, and it's lonely for me. It's horrible being alone."

Your words were his. He had thought them a thousand times, wondering if the Gods had made him to be the loneliest mortal on midgard. Now he was sure you were fated to meet.

"Stay with me tonight," He spoke the words fast, afraid he'd hold them in otherwise. 

You made a sound of delight, and your soft hand fell over his. "Yes, but only if you promise to come back to Denmark with me when I leave. I want to show you my home."

Ivar had never left Kattegat, but a yearning for adventure was what he had been seeking. This was the Gods way of guiding him to his future. 

"I've always wanted to see new places," He said, his fingers intertwining with yours. "I will go with you."

You lit up with surprise. "I'm happy to hear you say that. I didn't think you would accept."

"Never offer anything you aren't willing to lose," Ivar advised as his hands started to trace up your arms.

You pulled away, and for a moment he was afraid he had become too forward, but you did not go far. You stood before him, your knees touching his and trapping him on the bed. Ivar felt like twitching. He did not want you to feel his frail legs.

"I feel like the victor, so please allow me to be bold once more and offer something else."

You paused, as if toying with an idea in your mind. Abandoning reserve, you reached for the large collar of your gown and slid it down your shoulders. The heavy fabric dropped down your body with haste, and pooled at your ankles.

Ivar had seen women naked before, but always by mistake. Usually it was catching the thralls with his brothers, moments that were not meant for him. Standing before him bare in the night, with nothing but the flicker of the low fire light dancing across your skin, you were there to be admired by his eyes only. He leaned forward, lips parting. One of his brothers would have said something arousing, but all of his quick wit left him as he drank in the sight of you.

You took a step, raising your leg free from your dress, and bracing it up on the furs beside him. Ivar didn't know what to do with his hands as you lowered yourself onto his lap, so he fisted the soft material between his fingers. He wanted to touch you, but everything he had seen in those stolen glances at Margrethe with his brothers was forgotten. It was you on top of him, the warmth you gave off reminding him of that.

"I've never shown myself to a man before," You whispered, pressing your forehead against his. "Touch me, Ivar."

You were a free woman, and daughter of an Earl, choosing to come to his bed. In his mind, he had made peace with the idea that any woman who would come to him would be a thrall. But you, a woman of high standing, was draped over him and begging to be touched. When your hands laced together at the back of his neck, he reached for your breasts, and gave them a soft squeeze. 

You shuttered and gasped, causing Ivar to let go. "No, don't stop. I've just never had a man's hands on my body like that, and yours are rough and strong."

Feeling more reassured, he brought his hands back to your chest. Your nipples cut to points under his palms, and the soft flesh was pliable beneath his fingers. His cock grew half hard at your moans, and you brought your lips down on his. His hands were trapped up against you as you pressed tight to him, and he struggled to keep his mouth closed until you bit his lip. Your tongue plunged into his mouth, and Ivar finally gave way to his first groan. 

When you pulled back, Ivar tried to follow with his mouth, but you pressed a finger to his lips. "I want to feel your flesh on mine."

Your hands pulled at the hem of his tunic, and he helped you slip him free from the garment. Just as soon as the night air touched his skin, you had pressed your front up against his chest. Your breasts squeezed together, forming a thin cleavage between them that he wanted to press his face into. When your hands started for his hips, it was like being thrown into the frozen fjord, and the spell broke.

He latched his hands firmly on your wrists, halting you. "Don't," He said, breathless and angry.

"I'm sorry," You said, and there was no animosity in your words. "We can stop for now. I just want to stay beside you."

His cock was starting to go limp as his heart slowed and the disappointment began to ascend. The feeling was not unfamiliar. He had never pulled on himself like most men would do when unable to find female company. Whenever his cock had stirred to life, he would wait until it receded. Having you perched on his lap, a wet and sticky spot forming on his crotch from your rutting, he felt ashamed. 

"I won't know how to please you," He confessed, his voice small.

"Yes, you will," You retorted. You reached down between your thighs, gathering your slick on two of your fingers before bringing them up to his lips. As you smeared your love on his lips, Ivar opened his mouth for a taste, and sighed with contentment. "We will do everything together. There is time for us, and I don't want it to be a quick and meaningless hump."

"It won't be," Ivar said, his eyes locking onto yours. You let out a yelp as he suddenly pulled you down on the bed with him, your body still held firm against his. "You will stay?"

You had already started to drape a large fur over the both of you before settling with your face pressed into the hollow of his throat. Your tongue was hot as you traced it through the divot. "That is my promise. I won't go until you tell me to."

Now that Ivar had you, it seemed unreasonable to conceive the idea of ever letting you go. He had you, and you would always be his. While you fell unconscious beside him, his fingers traced up and down the skin of your back, only coming to still once he joined you in sleep.

ooOOoo 

"Where could she have gone so early?"

Ivar awoke to voice just outside his door, a cascade of quarreling that he recognized as his brothers. They had managed to wake you with their ruckus, as you stretched and shifted with a groan. You smiled down at Ivar, remaining above him as you were when he had taken you to bed.

"They are like a gaggle of geese. Are they always like this?"

"They never stop."

You were about to say more, when Hvitserk's shouting broke through the air.

"Ivar!"

He came in through the door without so much as a knock, stopping short as he spotted your naked back. Ivar pressed his fingers deeper into your flesh, possessing you.

"Umm...what?" He stared at the both of you, his brows high on his forehead and his mouth opened. "I found her, Sigurd."

"No, don't call him--" Ivar started, but it was too late.

Sigurd came in with Ubbe following, and they appeared just as astonished at the sight of you. 

You didn't seem to mind the attention, rather you played into their surprise by caressing your hand against Ivar's face.

"I suppose I'll have to join with our mothers soon. They are looking forward to weaving," You said aloud to no brother in particular. 

Sigurd was the first to react, letting out a huff while blowing passed Ubbe to the door.

Hvitserk's face broke out into a grin, and he let out a barking laugh. "Well played, little brother. I hope she earns you many lands."

"I will," You said, turning to Ivar as your breath tickled his skin, and your words rattled his heart.

When it was just Ubbe who remained, he kept a respectable distance by the door. The look on his face was one of contentment. "Tell me Ivar, do you still think she is fair?"

Ivar felt the heat rise to his face, and it was difficult not to seem bashful as you watched him with curiosity. "Go away," He grumbled, throwing his head back and closing his eyes.

Ubbe chuckled. "That's what he said to me when he first saw you on the docks. You are fair (Y/N), and I hope you keep each other happy."

He shot out of the room after, but not before Ivar lobbed a mug of stale mead at him as a parting gift. His reaction had you laughing, and you sat up with the furs falling down to your hip.

"Perhaps I cast a spell on you after all," You teased.

Ivar's eyes shot open, and you let out a shriek as he pulled you back down beside him. "And how are you planning on winning me these lands? You aren't the woman in the story, remember?"

"I know that, but your brothers don't. Why not have a little fun first?" You said as you ran your hand over his arm that held you.

There was something devious in your smile that Ivar loved to see. He kissed you again, slow and patient in his victory. His future might have remained clouded, but the Gods had fated him to you, and that was enough to give him the courage to face the unknown.

[snowbellewells]

CSSNS20: “A Cottage by the Sea” ~ the Epilogue

** A grateful Thank You to @searchingwardrobes once more for this gorgeous cover art!!

** Thank you as well to the @cssns20 event and those who have stuck with this story despite my halting and glacially slow posting schedule. You’ve reached the happily ever after at last! :)

Summary: Princess Emma has always been drawn to the shores of Misthaven, where the sea meets the shore near her parents’ castle. When an unknown boy washes up on the sand, with eyes as fathomless and blue as the waters that brought him to her, he soon becomes Emma’s best friend, her partner in crime, and her other half.  But the tides give and the tides take away, and as her blue-eyed boy sails in her father’s navy and risks all in defense of those who made him family, unexpected danger and challenge will try to tear them apart, and might well show him just where he came from that day he first appeared to her from the sea…”

From the beginning here on Tumblr  or on AO3 ~Epilogue ~

When they could finally bear to part from each other (some hours later, if Emma was honest, a blush flooding into her cheeks upon reflection) they made their way toward her parents’ castle. With Killian’s navigational knowledge and natural instincts, not to mention Emma’s lifelong penchant for wandering the beaches and hilly paths around her kingdom whenever she could do so, it wasn’t long before they could see the familiar spires and turrets rising into the sky in the distance ahead of them.

Despite putting themselves back together as presentably as possible, little could be done for the soaked and rather bedraggled state of their clothes, not that Emma could bring herself to mind very much. They had hardly stopped holding hands since Killian had emerged from the sea and come back to her once more, and returning hand-in-hand was the least of their worries at appearing before the throne.  Raising her fingers entwined with his up to his lips, Killian pressed sweet kisses to her knuckles, looking away from the imposing sight of the castle before them to hold Emma’s gaze intensely with each step they took. “Your parents will be overjoyed to see you return unharmed, Love,” he murmured, humored affection lighting his eyes along with the words. “You must have sent them out of their minds with worry, setting off alone on a fool’s errand the way you did.”

Shaking her head with an indignant huff, Emma managed to break away from his incendiary stare to defend herself. “I don’t see why they should expect anything else! Either of them would have done the same if the other were missing. Are they not the fabled True Loves who claim they will always find each other?” She tossed her disheveled mane of curls saucily when he had the nerve to snicker at her pique. Narrowing her green eyes at him. Emma went in for the kill. “Thank that’s funny, do you? Well, I suppose you’re going to tell me you would simply sit in safety and comfort doing nothing if our roles were reversed and I had gone missing?”

That did stop the humored teasing in his manner. There was no way he could ever lie to her, and they both knew he would do anything, cross any distance or boundary to come to her aid if she needed him, so he really had no denial to offer. 

“That’s what I thought,” Emma concluded with a smart little bob of her chin. And then, shaking the fraught moment off - she had too much to be overjoyed for at present - she leaned into his side to whisper against his still half-bared warm chest, “And that’s exactly as it should be.”

Killian merely hummed noncommittally low in his throat. He was not about to admit for a moment that he was flattered and touched that Emma had come seeking him against all odds. He was - infinitely so - but he would never consider his own life or limb worth his princess putting herself at risk. It had been a revelation to see her once more when her trusty little skiff had appeared on the horizon, but if she had not made it to Calypso’s island… if she had been lost…

Rather than answering her directly, he offered a gentle smile which stirred something delicate and warm in her stomach despite the interlude in the surf they had already shared. Shaking her head, Emma eyed him with knowing fondness before she reminding him sincerely, “They love you too, you know that, right? You are the one they will be overjoyed to see alive and well.”

His head dipped into a quick, dismissive little nod, while a finger went almost unconsciously to scratch behind his ear. Clearly, her sailor was no more willing to believe his place within the royal family than he had ever been. “Aye, as you say,” he agreed lightly, but he didn’t elaborate and she didn’t push.

Instead, Emma let their joined hands swing easily between them as they moved toward the castle with renewed purpose and waited for him to speak when he was ready. She was biding her time as patiently as she could. Killian would soon see at any rate - as soon as they stood before her parents.

After that, with the castle in view, they kept traveling steadily, and it did not take long at all for them to enter her parents’ throne room; her mother cried out with joy and rushed forward to embrace them both, her tears of relief wetting her daughter’s hair before she turned to clasp her adopted son to her breast. Emma tried to shoot him a look of pleased satisfaction, ‘See? What did I tell you?’ clearly conveyed, but she couldn’t catch his eye over her mother’s enthusiastic fussing and fluttering, nor could she get a word in edgewise to badger him.

Then her father reached them as well. He hadn’t run, giving his wife her reunion moment, he had kept a more sedate pace, but his immense solace at their arrival was felt as he engulfed Emma in his strong arms, one large hand cradling the back of her head, and for a moment squeezing tightly enough to seem he might never let go. “Thank Heavens you made it home, Sweetheart,” he breathed softly against the hair at her temple. Quickly, he stepped aside just enough to reach Killian too, clasping his upper arm firmly. “Thank goodness the both of you have returned.”

Snow nodded fervently, wiping more tears from her cheeks even as they continued to fall from her twinkling eyes. She was beaming in spite of her emotion, adding, “You were right, Baby.” A knowing look and press of the hand for her daughter had Emma simply returning the gesture with quiet grace; the frustration she had felt when she set out forgotten now in the happy reunion with Killian at her side. “And praise be that you were! What a blessing to have you here with us again, Killian.”

The older monarch’s green eyes still sparkled a verdant hue as lovely and captivating as her daughter’s, her raven hair only barely beginning to be streaked with a sophisticated grey. Still, Queen Snow White had all the enthusiasm and energy of a much younger woman as she turned to her husband. “Charming! We should celebrate! Don’t you think?”

The king’s full lips had tilted upwards in mirth, knowing his wife and her love of royal events all too well after so many years together. She was still clutching his hand, but didn’t even give him a chance to answer aloud before turning back to Killian and Emma enthusiastically.

“What do you think?” she pressed, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. “A homecoming ball, in honor of your safe return?”

Emma found she expected the flush that suffused her sailor’s skin at the suggestion, stealing up his neck, over his cheeks and even to the very tips of his adorably elfin ears, as he ducked his head at the Queen’s lavish plan. It would seem she was beginning to know her love’s quirks nearly as well as her father knew her mother’s - True Loves and all. “There’s no need for all of that fuss over me, your Majesty,” Killian answered hastily. In fact, he gulped and quickly raised his face to stare directly into Snow’s gaze intently. “Actually, I mean no offense, but I would prefer to simply return to my duties without fanfare. It hardly seems right to have such a celebration when all the others on the ship - good men, all of them - were lost.”

Snow’s expression sobered quickly, her compassion immediately making her feel for Killian’s loss of friends and compatriots, and for those sailors’ families. Obviously, she and Charming had seen to notifying those households and making sure any widows and orphans left behind by the lost sailors were cared for, but she could see that Killian held some sort of responsibility on his shoulders that was not ready to be recognized for making his way home when others could not. “Of course,” she stated firmly, “You’re right.” Her smile was more tempered, but still hopeful and encouraging; reminding the rest of them in the room just why her kingdom followed her absolutely, why her people loved her, and how she could inspire others to carry on whatever the odds. “Perhaps a memorial service for those who were lost would be more in order.”

“As you say, your Highness,” Killian agreed simply, bowing his head in deference to her decision. 

“Good man,” the King added heartily, the words low and restrained, but no less meant. Reaching out , he clasped forearms with Killian, who returned the gesture, though soon he had been pulled into a less dignified fatherly embrace, bone-crushing and back-slapping strength giving away King David’s happiness equal to his more effusive wife’s at seeing their honorary son home again.

~~***~~

Meanwhile, back out to sea, well beneath the surface off Misthaven’s shores, startling changes were afoot. From the very deepest bowels of Davy Jones’ dungeons and caves, the aftershocks and reverberations of his defeat were still being felt, radiating out in ripples as the darkest shadowed corners of his domain were slowly brought to light.

With their nefarious master so undeniably vanquished, the unfortunate souls pressed into Davy’s service by death at sea were released at last - a boon unlooked for - too much for many of them to have even hoped to receive after so long. Gradually, their souls felts the weight of their imprisonment lighten, the metaphorical chains binding them in darkness and the deep releasing their hold.

And one such soul, captured not so much by misfortune or chance than by demented grand design, could feel those shackles fall away more profoundly than most. Liam Jones broke the surface not far from the beautiful if deserted shores of Ogygia. Not sure where exactly he was, the elder Jones sibling bobbed in the shallows, taking in his surroundings curiously and thrilling to the feel of the sun on his skin. Wherever he was, he could remain until he found out; he could stay forever, if he chose. Or he could build a vessel and sail elsewhere. Either way, he would no longer be summoned back to his prison at another’s beck and call.

Still marveling at the return of long departed human sensations returning throughout his body, Liam struck out with a strong, determined stroke, swimming for shore. Ater so long trapped below, it seemed strange needing air to breathe, feeling the human pinch in his muscles at the exertion, the chill of such cold water enveloping his skin. And yet, pleasant or not, each bit of stimuli made his breath catch and his heart pound; it meant he was alive, unbelievable as it might seem. 

Though he could have managed the distance in seconds with the powers tied to his father that he had possessed, it still took Liam little time to reach the sandy ground stretched out where the water washed up and over it in a continually receiving and returning caress. He had always been a strong swimmer, with the sea in his veins. “Her little guppy” he distantly remembered his mother saying, in one of the few hazy visions of her his memory had retained; her voice gently teasing, dark eyes crackling with good humor and pride. Strange that he would think of her now, after so many years…

Reaching land, Liam staggered out of the surf, chest heaving, eyes scanning the area, already taking note and attempting to discern where he might be. He would have bet he had been banished to the very edge of the known world for his shift in loyalty, if his father still held any power. However, the blast that had rocked him and made him lose all sense of time and place, even consciousness for some moments, and which had made Emma vanish from his hold, had seemingly destroyed and ruined Davy himself. It had also almost certainly nullified any punishment the old monster would have tried to throw at him. He must be somewhere in the known world; and yet, it resembled nowhere he had ever traveled himself, now anywhere he had charted or mapped, before.

He was half-sitting, half-leaning against a large branch stretched across the sand, the trunk of some tree felled from a small stand of them nearby making a decent resting place to catch his breath, when he sensed he was not alone. Keen senses from a life of hard work and striving to protect a younger sibling thrust into the harsh world much too soon, were returning to him more and more with each moment that passed. Where nothing had been able to truly hurt him as one of Davy’s souls in the deep, his senses now all but blared in self-preservation to be on the alert.

Turning sharply to look back toward the surf he had only just emerged from, he saw a lovely female form standing on the edge of the sand, watching him, unmoving as the waves washed up over his feet and back out to sea again. Though she made no move, nor did she speak, the space between them seemed almost to vibrate with tension - as if she wanted to run to him, to speak, even though he couldn’t say that he knew her, not for sure. Still, the sense of unseen danger, the need to watch his back was gone. Liam forced himself to release a taut breath and lower his shoulders… then slowly took a step forward.

The graceful, dark haired lady before him did the same, took two quick steps nearer in fact, as if she could hold herself in check no longer. It was as he squinted, moving forward again and trying to see more clearly against the bright light of the sun glancing off the water as it began to lower to the evening horizon, that who she must be - impossible as it was - became suddenly clear. A stronger breeze kicked up, sending the gauzy, draped, light robe she wore whipping against her calves and making her hair fly wildly across her face, her elegant hand reaching up to catch the riotous, nearly black curls and hold them back, even as a joyous, enchanting laugh escaped her throat and rang merrily in the space still between them.

And then he knew. That laugh came echoing back to him from long-treasured, nearly forgotten memories of a little house on a hill looking out over deep blue waters. Of a dark-headed woman standing on the slope waiting hopefully for the ship she expected to come in, those same wild tresses - curly as his and as dark as Killian’s - floating around her in the breeze. That same laugh had tickled his childish ears, always pleasing him when he was the one to call it forth, and the voice that accompanied the laughter, so warm and mellifluous, had sung him to sleep when he missed his papa, and soothed his young heart when he was hurt or afraid. His mouth opened, wanting to greet her though no sound came out, no words escaping. ‘Mother,’  his soul cried. 

She reached him at that moment. Her cool palms framing his face gently as she seemed to drink in his features like a woman long denied. “Liam… my dear, precious son,” she crooned softly, as if she could feel how overcome he was.

His mother’s touch, her sweet voice in his ears once more, brought tears to his eyes for the first time in what felt like ages. She opened her arms, swaying slightly as his shoulders shook, and she simply held him as she had so long ago. “I’m here, Darling. You’ve had to be so strong. I’m here now,” she soothed. “Just let it go.”

~~***~~

When the storm of his emotions had calmed, Liam learned from Calypso all that had truly taken place when they were children - who she was, where she had been and why, just as Killian had on this very island as well. It seemed so fantastical: their mother, a sea nymph, the sea nymph of myth and legend, making he and Killian half supernatural beings as well, even before his disastrous stint as one of his father’s minions. And yet, it made a strange sort of sense to him as well, as the pieces shifted and settled within his mind. He had been older when they were left with only their father, remembered more… and it had never seemed quite right that their mother would simply vanish. His father’s abrupt, “She left us, went back to her own,” had never rung true. He might have been a mere eight-year-old, but he saw enough, understood enough, to know that it had been Mama who kept them fed and clothed with what little Papa provided. Mama who snuggled with them when storms raged and kept them warm when cold winds whistled through the cracks in the walls. It was Papa who was seldom home, who seemed likelier to take off one day and never return. Whereas he had believed Mama, had known she meant it with every fiber of her being when she’d sworn to him that she would stay with them as long as she could. He had missed her terribly when he woke one morning, so early it was still dark, to Papa shaking him, urging him to hurry - they were off on an adventure. The ache had faded over time; he had thrown himself into seeing to Killian, making sure his little brother knew the songs she had sung, the stories she had told, and that he did not lose that last little germ of sweetness - despite what their lives had then become - that sweetness which reminded Liam of the mother they had both lost.

To see her before him now, hardly able to stop brushing her fingers through his curls or squeezing his hand with both of hers, eased something deep inside that had still been gaping wide and empty though the pain had dulled. They had been taken from her. She had been seeking them, wishing for them back, all along.

Finally he managed to clear his throat, blink out of the awed daze he’d been in, and asked anxiously, “And you’ve seen Killian? And his princess?  They - they’re safe?”

Her loving smile, so fond and proud, warmed Liam’s heart in a way that was wonderfully healing. “More than that, they are home… together… and ecstatically happy.”

“Good,” he nodded, genuinely relieved, even if he felt sadness welling too, knowing Killian was where he belonged, but not sure he would ever see his little brother again. He wasn’t even sure why he hadn’t passed on to the afterlife, or just where he was, what he was, or what was next.

“You always were so noble,” his mother commented, shaking her head as she studied him calmly. “So thoughtful. I can see you’re wondering what’s next. The truth is, that choice is yours, Liam. You deserve that much, after so much time was taken from you, against your will.”

Blinking, Liam simply stared back at his mother, trying to grasp that the next step was fully his to make at last. He was no longer bound to another’s whims and designs, no longer pulled by strings that made him feel little more than a puppet torn by what he desired and what he was ordered to do. 

Calypso beside him offered a sadly hollow smile, taking her eldest’s hand with a gentle squeeze, and whether because of her supernatural nature, or simply because she was his mother, he could see that she understood. “You may move on at last, to the peace and rest that you have earned and to which you should have been welcomed long ago. Or, seeing as how Davy never fully let nature and time take their courses, and you are not completely dead, nor fully alive, you might also remain here with me on this island and in these waters surrounding it - a guide and caretaker of the sea, which you are already well adapted to with your part-nymph heritage.”

She paused there, resting a hand on the side of his face, her thumb lightly stroked his cheek, before she drew a deep breath and continued. “I won’t try to pretend I wouldn’t love for that to be your choice. I would like nothing more. However, I imagine you will choose the third option. You may return to mortal life with your brother and those who have become his family. Your natural life - and its fleeting span with all the mortal frailties - will be restored for you to live out as you would have done had your father not disrupted Fate’s course.”

Liam’s heart began to pound with excitement at her words, though he would have been happy simply to be free of the troubling limbo which had trapped him for so long, to feel the sun on his skin and the wind on his face as he sailed the waves once more, rather than merely looking up from his prison beneath them. He would not have thought returning to stand at his brother’s side - restored to life - could be an option.

Nodding kindly, even as she brushed away a single tear, Calypso sighed. “I thought as much,” she confirmed. “You took such good care of Killian. He looks up to you and still misses you so. It would have been quite a surprise had you chosen any other way.”

“I am sorry, Mother,” Liam began, floundering for a way to explain that he loved her too, but the pull back to the life which had been stolen was just too strong.

“No, my son,” she interrupted, stilling him with a light hand to his chest, “don’t apologize. This is as it should be.”

And so it was, that as the sun rose the next morning, spread across the sky in vibrant hues over Misthaven’s shores, a magnificent tall ship - proud, strong, and gleaming new - sailed into the royal port, one stunningly familiar form at the wheel, straining to see the dark-haired lieutenant who waited on the docks with the royals, waving to him frantically in welcome. The brothers Jones were reunited at last.

~~***~~

Four years (and nine months) later…

Once again, as was often the case on hazy summer evenings, the gathering twilight shadows and purpled hues of the darkening sky found two solitary figures strolling arm-in-arm along the sand on the shores of Ogygia. If one were to draw nearer still, they would see the dark head of tousled, windswept hair bend down to the glowing golden waves of the shorter figure, as Misthaven’s prince consort whispered in the ear of his princess wife, a secret for only the two of them which made her throw her head back in carefree laughter before she stood on tiptoe, clinging shamelessly to his arms for balance to kiss him him thoroughly and soundly.

Tired from sun and wind and salt water, dazed and deliriously happy as they were, both recognized it was a perfect day drawing to a close around them; one of the sort which were growing increasingly numbered as May dwindled toward June, and the two months  allotted them each year to steal for their own, away from royal duty, on the island belonging to his sea goddess mother came to an end once more.

They had married in the fall, not at all long after their return and the defeat of Davy Jones. It had seemed impossible and ridiculous to wait in drawn out courtship to be joined as man and wife; there would never be another for Killian but Emma, nor for Emma but him. Both had nearly given their lives to be sure they had a future together, and neither wished to wait for that hard won future to begin.

Of course, only a couple of weeks into married life, they had found out just how lucky it was they had not delayed. Emma was expecting their first child. Exactly nine months to the day from their first joining in the sand and surf of her kingdom’s shore, where they had first made love surrounded by the very ocean which always brought them back together, their twins were born. The palace officially announced the two baby boys as being early; common for twins and easily presented as fact, but princess and lieutenant-turned-prince knew the truth, and two living reminders of a moment they would never wish to forget were an unexpected blessing. Little David Liam Jones and Henry Leopold Jones had been their love and joy personified in living form before their eyes each day since then. Their sons, identical in looks, energy, enthusiasm and daring loved the water every bit as much as their parents, and had taken to the annual summer escape with only their parents and uncle to see their other grandma each May with dauntless excitement. What four-year-olds wouldn’t want to run wild as young colts all day in sun and surf until exhaustion felled them, only to rise again and do the same the following morn?

Emma, for her part, wanted Killian to be able to visit his mother; did not ever wish to see her taken from him again. Yet she also, much as she loved her people, her kingdom, and her parents, and though she accepted the rule she would one day take upon her own shoulders, found this summer retreat a paradise she would never wish to trade. Though Killian’s patriotism, loyalty to the crown, and place by her side as support and advisor was an immense comfort, Emma could not deny how freeing it was to be far from crowds of admirers, petticoats, policies, protocols, and packed agendas for a time. Only her husband, her babies, and sandy beach and windswept waves as far as the eye could see…

That evening, as they finished a supper of fish Killian had managed to catch for them despite the rather dubious help two exuberant four-year-olds proved to be, simple bread, and mangoes from further inland, both Henry and David had fallen over in weary contentment with full bellies and tired, sunkissed limbs. Chuckling together, Emma had cleared a path and opened doors in their small cottage as Killian carried each to their beds, tucking them in without causing either boy to wake.

For themselves, Emma and Killian left the cleanup for the next day and tiptoed quietly to their own bedroom for a moment alone, together in the whispers of moonlight that crept in through the open window with a gentle breeze.

Letting her fingers lazily twine with his as she led him forward easily, Emma found her breath stolen as Killian stopped near the foot of their bed, tugging her insistently back against his solid form. His arms came up to wrap around her in warm security, and she melted at her husband’s touch. His unshaven cheek prickled her skin when he kissed along her collarbone and up her neck, making her shiver despite the heat.

He had divested her of the light shift she wore almost before she realized it was gone, and his hands were questing boldly over her bared skin, causing a low, throaty moan to escape her lips, only barely managing to keep it soft enough not to wake their children from slumber. It took embarrassingly little time for him to have her thrumming with desire in every nerve ending, particularly with her hormones as wildly raging as they were.

As if he could read her thoughts’ direction, Killian paused his seductive teasing for his hands to rest protectively over her slightly rounded stomach, searching her gaze earnestly before murmuring, “Are you certain this is alright for the little one, Love?”

Emma met his eyes with exasperation; his worry sweet, but oft-repeated by this point. The last month when she had carried their twins had been miserable, and their delivery had been long, difficult, and turned more than a bit traumatic before it was through. Her recovery had been slow and painful, and they had seriously considered whether they wished to try for any more children. But Emma had found that she could not rid her mind of the image of her husband with a tiny baby girl cradled in his arms. Her heart had urged her to try once more, and now she hoped and prayed that a daughter might be safely on her way.

Nodding in answer to Killian’s question, she tried to pull him to her once more, and to smooth the worried creases from his brow.

“But,” he pulled back again, “are we positive? I never want to hurt you, or - “

Shaking her head, Emma could see that stronger measures were needed. Gripping the front of the loose linen shirt he wore barely buttoned, she pulled hard and threw her weight toward the bed, sending them both toppling onto the mattress with a gentle bounce. She rolled quickly to trap him with her body, and leaned in close to assure him, “You won’t hurt me, Killian. I know that as surely as I know anything.”

His whole face lit up with relief and love at her words, warming with one of the most stunning smiles she had ever seen. Satisfied that he was put at ease once more, she turned his face to her own with a finger at his chin and quirked her eyebrow in mischief as she teased, “Well, you won’t hurt me unless you leave me with this ache you’ve started…”

Rolling them once again in the tangled sheets to catch her between his arms as he hovered over her, diving down to steal her breath once more, he rasped, “Well then, Darling, if you insist.”

As the moon shone down on the island’s gleaming waters, they spoke without words, one in body and soul, perfectly happy in their cottage by the sea.

Tagging: @cssns @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes​ @jennjenn615​  @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @therooksshiningknight @spartanguard @optomisticgirl @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @thisonesatellite @shireness-says @stahlop @xsajx @lfh1226-linda @drowned-dreamer @thislassishooked @kday426 @ultraluckycatnd @tornadoamy @xhookswenchx @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @wefoundloveunderthelight @darkcolinodonorgasm @teamhook​ @revanmeetra87​ @scientificapricot​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @vvbooklady1256​

[strigital]

Do tell about Nim, I couldn’t find much info about her through your blog and I am dying to know more about this werewolf lady

well grab a pint and sit yo booty down, cause our bard of the evening tonight is Nim and she's drunk as all hell and ready to weave some outrageous stories!! 🍻

in all seriousness, thank you for asking! 😭💗 she came about back in ye oldie days of hype over the 11th of november 2011, and since then refuses to give up the title of my fav oc!!

now, a Paarthurnax would say: lets-a go!

a quick recap of the events in Skyrim:

Naali Saryn was born sometime in 4E 130 on mainland Morrowind as a result of a quick fling between an unknown Dunmer girl and Lucien Lachance and Kassandra Saryn's (The Hero of Kvatch's) son.

Sometime in that year, the baby was found aboard a ship bound for Raven Rock and when no one came forth to claim her a couple of elderly and childless ash yam farmers decided to take her in until her family was found.

The family, of course, was never found, and so they raised her as their own for the next sixteen years. They called the girl Nim - short, sweet, meaningless, and easy to shout out into the fields where the little brat is out adventuring when the house chores are yet to be done.

Nim grew up alongside her best friend Teldryn (don't believe his tales about his past, there's a reason why he wears a helmet in his hometown). For years the kids dreamt of leaving Raven Rock behind and making it big in the big city. And idea which really annoyed Nim's ol' Nana, who believed that everything needed for a simple happy life was right here on Solstheim.

After one particularly nasty fight with Nana about the ordeal, Nim gathered a bag of things and slipped out in the dead of night to catch an early morning ship with Teldryn.

They stuck together for a while then went on their separate merry ways. He - to Blacklight, she - to Leyawiin. Once in the wild, Nim had to quickly figure out her place in the pecking order. The romantic life of crime seemed to be the most attractive for her, but getting on top could never be easy. Especially for a young, inexperienced, and naive girlie. So she ended up running with the wrong kind of crew. Ended up in some truly dark places. Barely got out alive. Learned from her mistakes. Wore the scars of abuse like armor and made sure that since that day no one in this world or any other would play her for a fool, use her or put a finger on her without her permission.

By the time she turned fifty, Nim was well known amongst certain circles as the kind of scoundrel, thief, bard, and wench one should not trifle with. But her luck had to eventually run out, and so it did on the night of the fabled Umbacano Mansion heist, which failed so badly Nim had to either leave Cyrodiil or end up in a Thalmor owned torture chamber.

Skyrim seemed like a perfect place. After all, in a kingdom torn apart by the civil war, no one would even notice yet another greyskin refugee, right? Well, the Thalmor did. And so she ended up on a cart bound for Helgen to have a date with an executioner. But then Alduin showed up to crash the party before he himself got rudely interrupted by another dragon, who swooped in to save the Last Dragonborn.

After the narrow escape, Nim concluded her duty to warn Balgruuf of the dragon threat and went on to start a new career as a merc with the Companions. She and Aela became fast friends and when the prospect of joining the Circle came up she gladly accepted a sip of her new sister's blood. To never again be helpless and weak? To rip apart any fool who'd take her for just another elf wench who can't put up a fight? Well of course it was worth giving up the ability to sleep and having to get used to all smells suddenly becoming ten times worse!

After that Mirmulnir showed up and ended up as another ornament above the throne in the Dragonsreach. And Nim got stuck with a title which she would wear with great discontent for years to come.

Eventually, she ceased trying to run away and hide from her destiny, accepted her role as the Last Dragonborn, and begrudgingly began her quest to save the world. On her journey, she met and became tight friends with Yollokmir and Alasil who taught her how to speak, fight and fly like a dragon. With their help she inherited Konahrik's legacy: his mask embued with his soul, his citadel far up in the mountains - the NebenLok Zeikangaar - and the right to revive and lead the order of dragon riders sworn to defeat Alduin - DovahDein.

As she gained power and the word of her great many deeds spread across Skyrim, she managed to get quite the following of fellow men, mer, and Dov, willing to follow her into Sovngarde and beat the hell out of Alduin. Alas, she failed. Twice.

At that point, Alasil informed her of a special someone who might be of help in their quest against Alduin and who might prove difficult to convince to join her cause. That was the first time in fifty years that Nim got to visit her home. Unfortunately, Solstheim had changed. And upon arrival, she learned that her Pa passed onto the realm of Azura soon after her departure, and her Nana... well, she wasn't young anymore and suffered greatly due to all the ash ruining her lungs... and when the islanders got called to the All-Maker stones night after night by a mysterious spell, she just worked herself to death. That was the only thing Nim wouldn't forgive Miraak for, not until he swallowed his pride and sincerely apologized for being responsible for his potential mother-in-law's death.

And with Miraak's help, they finally sent Alduin back to his Maker, enjoyed a few peaceful years until High King Ulfric became a bit drunk on his power and needed a good ass whooping as well. Then Miraak suddenly found himself as the new king and Nim... she just did her own thing. As always. The end?

Oh and all the while running about, gathering forces, growing her Dragonborn powers, hunting Dragon Priests and Alduin's henchmen, she also meddled with the Thieves Guild, put Karliah in charge and became her right hand, managed to become an advisor on all things dragon at the Mage's College, ended up teaching lute and songwriting at the Bard's College (she's taking a break since Viarmo can't seem to handle her teaching tactics), earned the title of Thane in every hold and became a good friend to the Dawnguard fellas (Isran is more than happy to teach her kids the ropes of monster hunting) after kicking Harkon's ass into Oblivion. In what little free time she has Nim also manages the Lakeview Manor and leases the ash yam farm back in Raven Rock for some extra cash. All in all, a busy woman!

and some tidbits about the dovahmom:

Although Nim is perfectly aware of her real name, she chooses to use the one given to her by Nana. Both as a sign of respect and because, frankly, she dislikes both the Sarynes and the Lachances, who are, in her humble opinion, just a bunch of pricks. Somehow, the ghost of her murdered grandad finds this opinion of hers kinda funny.

Her friends sometimes describe her as "cyrodiilic brandy in a cup of tea": she's this small elf girl with pretty blue eyes and a smile on her face and you think that she'll be very pleasant and cute and shy and then... then you realize she drinks like a sailor, swears like one too, can beat anyone into the dirt (thanks, Hircine) and doesn't take shit from nobody. She openly speaks her mind and doesn't give a shit about what someone might think of her. She does what she considers the right thing to do, never plays nice with those she dislikes, never pretends to be someone she isn't. She's feisty, sassy, brassy, and, quite honestly, just doesn't give a fuck.

Nim is in almost complete control over her inner beast, partly thanks to her draconic blood, partly - to the ring she got when she and Sinding had that little party on a moonlit night in that grotto. She only loses control over herself when both moons are full and thusly will travel deep into the wilds a few days before the magical night. This way the only people that might get hurt are bandits, necromancers, hags, and the like. She and Aela also managed to get a small werewolf pack going, named the Whitemane Pack after the old man himself and dedicated to those who wish to take control over their inner beast, hunt with honor, and cause the Silver Hand as much grief as possible.

Nim is raising Blaise and Sofie as her own since they both were just wee lil' war orphans (the babes are in their teens now). She never quite really knew why... Nim was never a wifey nor a baby momma kind of woman. In fact, she can't even have children in the first place and, honestly, always thought of this as a blessing - never having to worry about contraception like all those other girls and just having fun without a care in the world! Her friends sometimes joke around, saying that she might've finally "ripened" for the motherhood, but she doesn't care. She loves Blaise, Sofie, and Sissel (thanks, Miraak, you're so good at kidnapping children!) and is content with being their famous Dragonborn mom. Post-Alduin Miraak, however, is secretly annoyed for not being able to get her pregnant. Oh well, the man can dream...

Oh yeah! Nim plays the lute and sings too! It's a skill she picked up across taverns all over the continent when she realized that bards get free drinks and a bed, as well as ample opportunity to sniff out and seduce prey. And even though her days of hunting for good-looking rich fools are long behind her, she still performs in inns and taverns across Skyrim. Firstly, it brings in a fair amount of money, and secondly, it's good for her Voice! And also just plain and simple fun.

Also, people get terribly surprised when she, a Dunmer, doesn't act like one at all! Nim might've grown up in Raven Rock, a Dunmer settlement, but she spent the rest of her life traveling the continent and then living in Skyrim. She's more Nord-ish than some Nords! And the Nords actually really love it! It's so so easy to just get plastered with the homegirl, punch some faces and pass out on a heap of hay behind the inn, just happy to be alive on this fine snowy day. The only truly Dunmer thing about her is the occasional "n'wah!" which escapes her potty mouth. I mean, she doesn't even like sujamma all that much and would rather have a pint of mead! Whatever Ancestors she has must be spinning in their graves fast enough to generate electricity.

uuuhhh I think that's all the important stuff? i might've forgotten, in which case, I'll add it later... meanwhile, have some more Nim content:

^^^ the fanfic is slow, but it's moving... at a snail's pace. my advice: don't expect updates, so that when they do come, you'll be pleasantly surprised!

[100hearteyes]

First chapter of a fic I will likely never continue. Canon divergent. Unedited and riddled with typos. ~5k words.

Lexa straightens her posture as her horse halts just after the forest and at the first sign of civilization ahead. It huffs and hits the soil with one of its hoofs, expressing its disquiet. She shares the sentiment; Skaikru are very much an odd and unpredictable body in the grand scheme of things still.

The Sky clan had been at war with Trikru for over a decade since falling to earth, seeing as they had occupied Lexa's people's land,whrnh the Ice Nation offered them an alliance. Trikru yielded, aware that fighting both clans at once would be foolish. At the time, the Commander was from the Blue Cliff clan and no more than a religious figure, indifferent to the quells between clans. Lexa has changed that over the past few years — and is intent on continuing to do so.

"Heda." She turns her head only slightly to her right, just enough to be able to look at Gustus from the corner of her eye. "I do not have a good feeling about this."

"We both know that if it were up to you I would be locked up in the tower and never come out." She softens, regards her bodyguard fully. "You worry too much, Gustus. The Sky People will be a valuable asset for the Coalition."

"They think themselves superior just because they have guns and tech," he counters with distrust. "They are dishonourable in combat and gloat about it."

"The Coalition needs them," Lexa snaps, and that is the end of it. "And, hopefully, they need the Coalition, too."

Arkadia, capital of the Sky clan, is by all means an impressive sight, very different to anything Lexa has ever seen. Everything is metal and a heavy grey; from the wall protecting it to the pair of guard lookout towers, to the massive gates with the 'Arkadia' lettering on top. From her elevated position, Lexa can see a main building that rises slightly above the wall and takes up about a quarter of the whole area, and other smaller buildings sprinkled about the space left vacant by it. It is evident that while the Arkadians had no say on the positioning of the main building, they planned the city around it, since everything else is so geometrically placed, including the grey dirt roads that trace an intricate cobweb that winds through the empty spaces and gives the city an air of concrete orderliness. However, everything pales in comparison to the giant wheel propped just to the side of the main building, presumably what was once meant to surround the ship that Sky People lived in up in space before they fell to earth. It is clearly one of the few things that have resisted the decades unadulterated, even if it has been repurposed, as Lexa assumes from the sillhouettes of people climbing up and down its inner arms. It is a formidable sight, even for those more averse to the marvels of the world that Skaikru left back in space and have ever since tried to recreate on Earth. Nonetheless, Arkadia as a whole is an obtrusive presence in the midst of the greenery and unwavering power of nature. It makes Lexa almost squirm on her saddle, uncomfortable with such a demonstration of stubborn inadaptation — no village, town, or city should be so violently at odds with its surroundings.

They approach the city slowly and with only half the warriors she brought along, so as to indicate that they mean no harm — and make sure no one will frame it otherwise. Lexa's retinue is mostly made up of warriors, amongst them her personal guards, but she was also careful to include two of her most trusted diplomats; people who will negotiate in her stead when need be and will work to make sure that those on her side remain there. They are people who work the complicated web of politics and favor better even than her.

As they come closer to Arkadia, its inhabitants crowd close to the walls, looking at Lexa and her crew as though they are wild, fascinating animals. Such is the consequence of isolation. Lexa watches as a small group gathers just outside the walls and recognises Marcus Kane, chancellor of the Sky People, at the head of the greeting party.

Finally her group come to a stop just a few feet from the Arkadians and Markus of the Sky People steps up to greet Lexa with a genuine, welcoming smile. "Commander," he says in greeting and extends his hand. "It's such a great honor to have your visit."

She nods and grips his forearm. Marcus of the Sky People is a pleasant man, both in appearance and personality. His luscious hair and thick beard frame kind eyes and a jovial smile that make him extremely likable. Soft-spoken and invested in every conversation he takes part in regardless of its actual importance, Marcus of the Sky People is a dependable fatherly figure. He is also fierce and wise, however, and Lexa likes him even more for that.

"Chancellor Marcus Kane," she greets back, careful to use his full name, as Sky People do. "Thank you for receiving us on such short notice."

She lets go of his arm and lets her hand rest on the pommel of her sword. "We're just lucky you're here at all," he replies honestly, then turns to the rest of his group. "Please give your warmest welcome to the Commander, Lexa kom Trikru." She appreciates the effort to use her mother tongue — details like that can make the difference between a successful deal and a failed one, for it builds bridges where there are none. Marcus is a proficient builder of diplomatic bridges.

The first person to step forward is a woman in her forties like Marcus, though the lines of her face are more tired and severe. She looks like a woman who looks death in the face every day and when she extends her calloused hand for a greeting, Lexa realises that is exactly the case. "I'm Abby Griffin." Lexa clasps Abby's forearm and she spies a special brand of kindness in brown eyes that tells her that this woman is not only a caretaker, but also a mother. "I'm a council member and Chief Doctor of Arkadia and Skaikru in general."

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Lexa says as Abby takes a step back and a new member of the greeting party comes forward. "Raven, I assume," Lexa nods, clued in by the girl's oil-splattered cheek. "Your fame precedes you, tech master."

The girl beams, dark eyes shining brightly, and salutes. Her ponytail swings with the movement. "At your service, Commander. I hope your visit proves fruitful."

"That makes two of us, Raven of the Sky People."

"I'm Bellamy Blake." Lexa turns to the man that has stepped forward and clasps his outstretched hand instead of his forearm. She can tell that this is a man who likes things done his way; insecure enough to need to underline his status. "I'm in charge of all things military and security."

"A general, then," Lexa recognises. "Are you Octavia Blake's fabled brother?" She is careful to use her Sky People surname and not her Trikru suffix lest he become even less friendly.

His nose crinkles and his freckles dance angrily beneath dark eyes and unruly, short curls of hair. "Haven't seen her in almost a year since she got it in her head that she wants to be a barbarian."

Lexa lets the comment slide. "She is a fine warrior. My people are very lucky to have her."

He grunts and gives way to the next council member, a middle-aged woman with a gentle smile but a fear of the unknown in the way she clasps Lexa's forearm. "Hannah Green. Farming, hunting, and other resources," the woman greets. "Council member, too."

Lexa nods her acknowledgement and watches as Hannah kom Skaikru steps backward. Her replacements are two tall, robust men, their dark skin, eyes, and mannerisms nearly identical, though the younger one is more genuine while the older one has an air of arrogance about him.

"I'm Wells Jaha and this is my father, Thelonious," the young man says pleasantly, and Lexa likes him right away. She clasps Wells's forearm, then Thelonious's, and even their grips are different. How can two men look so alike and yet behave so differently?

Just from the introductions, Lexa is slightly worried. Bellamy, Abby, Hannah, and Thelonious will vote against entering the Coalition; a number that exceeds that of Marcus, Raven, and Wells. The chancellor has the deciding vote, but it will be for naught if the numbers do not even out.

The final person steps forward at last. A girl around Lexa's age, with blonde hair and determined blue eyes. "My name is Clarke," the girl greets, her voice husky and only moderately welcoming. Lexa studies the girl, looks for twitches and tells, but cannot read her at all. It is worrying; the last thing she needs at this point is a wildcard. She can tell, however, that her own first impression is lacking. "I'm in charge of urban and regional planning, and foreign affairs." Lexa extends her arm for greeting, but Clarke leaves her hanging. A golden, sceptical eyebrow is quirked and Clarke's eyes are narrowed, and it is all Lexa can do not to growl at such insolence. "Let me decide first if you're worth shaking hands with."

Lexa takes a deep breath and tells herself that punishing Clarke kom Skaikru's impertinence is not worth wasting the chance to draw the Sky People into her Coalition. So she purses her lips and clasps her hands behind her back, letting her posture straighten and her chin rise with defiant authority. Her eyes burn into Clarke's. "Very well." She turns to Marcus, who seems to have blanched considerably. "Please lead me to my quarters, Marcus of the Sky People. The day has been long and we have much to discuss tomorrow. I would like to rest."

~~~~

Arkadia isn't home. But it also is, because she has never known another place. Nevertheless, she has never felt at home inside its dull grays, angry lights, and obstinate refusal to fully mesh with its surroundings.

Clarke isn't one to fantasise about what could be; she locks her dreams inside drawings of another life and lives what is instead. There is no space, no time to wonder on the ground.

Still she can't help musing about a world where she would be able to travel between clans freely and adopt another as her own. She can't help musing about a world where they wouldn't have to fend off attacks from the other clans, even if the Ice Nation has helped them through the more difficult times. That is exactly why she finds the idea of a coalition so appealing — it's eating away at her, however, to entertain the idea of it being led by a tyrant like Commander Lexa.

She's heard all the stories and she knows which ones are true. She knows of the Commander's thirst for glory and power. She knows of her ruthlessness and disregard for human life. She knows of the Commander's penchant for spilling blood and autocratic style. She knows and she saw it all in the Commander's conceited bearing, in the cold press of full lips, in the raised chin of a despot; she saw it in the way the Commander's eyes flashed with anger, the only display of emotion during an otherwise frigid interaction.

Yet the cry for change reverberates through the halls of Arkadia, which thrums with the need to be more. And Clarke... Clarke wants the best for her people. Always. So if she deems joining the Coalition the right step to take, she will vote for it no matter how tough a pillow it will be to swallow.

Another tough pill to swallow? Kane's reproach for the way she talked to the Commander.

"It was unacceptable, Clarke. You embarrassed the Commander and risked being beheaded on the spot." It means something when Zen Kane gives you such a talking-to. "You shamed us all."

"Stop right there, Marcus." Oh, yes. Your mother defending you does make the situation a hundred times better. It's not at all ignored for being biased. "I think you're being unfair. Yes, Clarke should've minced her words, but she didn't same us."

Kane's eye roll is exactly the reaction Clarke's expected. "Look, Abby. I know you're her mother—"

Abby's affronted look is even more predictable. "This has nothing to do with—"

"Enough!" Kane and Abby as well as the rest of the council look at her. Clarke looks at each of the six other faces sitting around the semicircle-shaped table and then at Kane, who stands alone at the straight side of it. She sighs. "I made a mistake. I put us in a difficult position. I'm sorry."

Kane nods his approval. The small, dark room lends him a more solemn, even poetic appearance, and the way he cups his bearded chin while he thinks makes him look like a philosopher. "Thank you for acknowledging your mistake, Clarke," he says kindly as he lays a companionable hand on her shoulder. "There will have to be consequences, however."

She expected nothing less. Despite the little show she put on before the Commander, Clarke knows her place. "I understand, Chancellor," she nods, and feels more insecure the moment his fatherly hand leaves her shoulder. Her dad died years ago and no one will ever replace him, but the way Kane behaves towards her reminds her a little bit of what it was like to have a father. She's grateful for it; she misses the comfort of her dad's hugs and the pride in his smile.

The moments before he finally doles out her punishment remind her why she doesn't like this room — it's cold and dark and has an ominous feeling to it that makes her feel trapped. Like everything discussed in her is always too serious. It often is. She much prefers the strategy meeting room with its rectangular, waist-high table that causes them to stay standing and its glass-like boards with maps and notes written into them with colorful pens. It's also larger — so much larger. It's better illuminated, too.

Finally Kane stops thinking and meets her eyes. "You will be the Commander's shadow. An ambassador. You will show Arkadia and whatever else necessary to her and you will be her guide around here. You will make sure she has everything she needs and you will handle everything relating to her presence here."

Clarke can't help but scoff. "You mean I'll be her damn babysitter," she challenges.

"Yes," Kane acquiesces, not giving in an inch. "That's exactly what you will be."

"You can't be serious," she presses, because this is too heavy a punishment for her offence.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, then scratches at the side of his beard. "Look at it this way: you will be able to get to know her and her culture better and it might help shape your vote. I know you're the only one of us who hasn't made up her mind yet," he notes with a meaningful look. And yes, he's right. Actually, her vote is pretty damn important because with the way things are it will decide the Sky People's fate altogether. "It might help you decide that being a part of the Coalition is nothing but trouble for us, or it might actually change your mind and show you that the Commander's intentions are not so bad after all. Whatever the outcome, it will have been a good experience."

Clarke knows he's right, but she can't imagine spending two weeks with the Commander and not confirming that she is indeed a bloodthirsty savage. Alas, she owes it to her people to at least try.

"Fine."

~~~~

Lexa is not unused to the bustle of early morning, the sounds of the city rousing to life outside, the doors that open and close and the voices that speak in hushed tones so as not to wake those sleeping. They often wake her anyway. What she is unused to are the boots that clank on metal, that fans that whir along the halls, and the flickering, buzzing light provided not by candles but by a hollow opening in the ceiling.

She left Anya outside of Arkadia to set up camp with the rest of her retinue. Gustus came with her, along with a handful of warriors and diplomats. Despite reason, she does not think they will be at risk inside the walls of the ally of their enemy. Besides, having Gustus by her side — or in this case, in the next room — is like having an army of twenty. Lexa trusts him with her life and that of those she loves most. There was only one time when she trusted him and he could not keep someone she loved safe. It wasn't his fault, despite the tears of guilt and regret that ran down his face when he came back, battered and bloody and without Lexa's lover. It took weeks for his wounds to heal enough for him to leave his bed. Months later, he would finally admit that it had not been ten warriors he had had to fight off, but thirty. Lexa never blamed him, never even imagined blaming him for what happened. There are only two people she has ever blamed for it — one of them is herself.

Lexa gets ready for the day in motions automated by the years. She resents Skaikru for not having proper bathtubs; she doesn't dare touch what the server girl from last night called a shower, so she foregoes washing altogether. There is a river nearby she can bathe in anyway. Once her pauldron is resting on her shoulder, its weight and looping red sash a permanent reminder of her station, Lexa leaves her bedroom, only to register with disapproval that the Sky Council did not assign anyone to guard her door. Instead she finds Gustus waiting for her, no doubt already having sent whoever he assigned to her door away. "Heda," he greets with a bow. "How was your night?"

"As would be expected," she replies, keeping her face neutral as she notices Marcus's approach. He sends her a warm smile.

"Commander." They clasp forearms with comfortable formality. "I hope you had a good night's sleep."

"The mattress was stiff. But I have spent much worse nights in foreign clans." It is both criticism and a compliment, and she knows it leaves Marcus slightly disconcerted albeit resolute to make sure her next night is better. It keeps him on his toes without outright insulting his hospitality.

"We'll look into the matter." A pause, then another smile. "In the meantime, I'm sure you would like to eat, Commander?" He waits for Lexa to nod before leading her and Gustus through numerous halls, walking by doors left and right. Lexa peers curiously as they pass by a by room lined with tables and people eating. "That's the mess hall, where almost everyone eats, but I'm sure you'd like to have a more... discreet meal, if you will. I've arranged for breakfast in my office."

"I wouldn't mind eating with your people, Marcus," she says truly as they come to a stop at a door, two staircases later. He fishes a key from his pocket and inserts it in the hole.

"Of course, Commander. But just for today, for your very first meal here, I thought you would appreciate something not as overwhelming."

"I do," she nods.

He opens the door for her and she stops into a room with a wooden desk and a mismatched chair next to the far wall. A battered couch sits against one of the walls to one side and on the other are several maps and eerily realistic paintings nailed to it. A lamp hanging from the ceiling provides light to the entire office and an open door near the couch leads them to a more open, free space. Marcus motions for Lexa to enter it and she is pleased to find a small, semicircular room with large, tall windows on the round wall that oversee Arkadia from two stories above. There is a round table in the middle with three chairs around it and several dishes waiting for Lexa's hungry stomach. Looking out the windows again, she wonders if this is a room they had up in space before the Sky People fell to the ground and if they could see the stars and the Earth from there.

"Did you live there? In space?"

Kane is now standing next to her and looking out the windows with his arms being his back, a pose that very much mirrors her own. It takes him almost a minute to reply; when he does, it is not without a sigh she cannot decipher. It sounds like nostalgia laced with relief.

"The Ark fell down about thirty years ago. I was just a kid then, twenty years old and sure that I would become someone important one day. Which I did," he acquiesces with a rueful smile, "but not for the reasons I wanted it then. The ground shaped me. I've spent more years on the ground than I did in space already. I have... changed a lot since then. I was eager, too ambitious, and too overzealous in following the rules. The ground taught me that rules need to be interpreted. I'm still eager," he chuckles, and Lexa almost lets a small smile escape her lips, "but what drives me now is love for my people. I want what's best for them, not for myself. And that," he turns his torso to her with a raised eyebrow and a kind smile, "is why I want the Sky clan to be a part of the Coalition."

"What do I have to do to make sure our common goal is achieved?" Lexa asks with caution as he turns back to the windows. She needs to tread carefully.

"Convince Clarke," Marcus says easily. It is as she thought. "Everyone else has their mind set. I have the deciding vote, but right now we are at a disadvantage. We need her yes to tie with the no's and activate the deciding quality of my vote. Otherwise, it's just a vote. Anyway." He turns to her again and extends an arm towards the table. "Shall we eat? Food's getting cold."

Lexa eats mostly in silence while Marcus tells her stories of the Ark, the stars, and their planet seen from space. She keeps her expression neutral, but is secretly fascinated and hangs on to his every word. She barely notices when she has finished eating and Marcus leads her out of the room. She is shocked out of her awe when he opens the door to his office to reveal none other than Clarke kom Skaikru.

"Commander, I'm sure you remember Clarke Griffin," Marcus says pleasantly. Lexa's eyes do not leave their new company's.

"Yes, our first meeting was... quite memorable."

Clarke has the decency to lower her gaze to the floor in a clear sign of shame. When her eyes return to Lexa's, she sees honesty in them.

"I wanted to apologize for that, Commander. I was unnecessarily rude," Clarke admits, and Lexa has to fight off a triumphant smirk. Instead, she dips her head in wordless assent. An uncomfortable silence spans for several long seconds, before Marcus clears his throat.

"So. Clarke will be your guide here, Commander. She will be at your disposal for anything you need and will help you acclimate to Arkadia. I genuinely hope that all your future interactions will be better than the first." He finishes with a warning glare at Clarke, who once again ducks her head in embarrassment. His attention shifts back to Lexa. "Commander," he nods. She nods back wordlessly and then he's off to somewhere else, leaving her alone with Clarke.

Lexa is not a fan of employing clichés, but the silence is deafening. Neither she nor Clarke know what to say or do now that Marcus is not there to act as a buffer. Eventually, Clarke clears her throat, thus ending their torture.

"I hope you enjoy your stay in Arkadia, Commander. Today, I would like to show you what each sector does around here."

~~~~

First, Clarke takes her to see the farms. Lexa is impressed with the technology they employ, some of it simple enough that the other clans can replicate. They lack the knowledge earned through years of experience, however, and Lexa can visualize how the other clans can help the Sky People complement their scientific expertise with conventional wisdom. The same would be true for hunting if her people were keen on using fire guns. Instead, it is a foregone conclusion that the Sky People have much to learn before they can hunt in an effective way that will truly allow them to live fairly comfortably through the harsher seasons.

During the day, Lexa realises that Clarke is bright and ingenious, though judgemental and opinionated. Lexa can see that the Sky Council member is making an effort, however, so she does not make her job too hard. Clarke talks her through her clan's decision-making process, some general laws and traditions, the way religion evolved on the Ark, and how the ground contributed to diminish the gap between classes.

"We all need to work to survive," Clarke explains. "Some people will always be lazy, some will work more than others, but opportunities are never amiss. If you work hard enough, life will be merciful. Or as merciful as it can be on the ground," she adds as an afterthought. Lexa takes the chance to point out that life can be easier for the Sky People if they ally with her. Clarke counters with a smirking 'maybe' and moves on.

Lexa feels a quiet sense of wonder, muted also byba slight prickle of fear and discomfort, when she first enters the medical aisle. Everything is white and pristine, and there are machines as big as Lexa that both sit the patients down in comfortable seats and lloom over them with big, mechanical arms. There are beds everywhere, an organised chaos of machines, healers, and patients. Lexa feels miserably out of place, but she can't help but marvel at how advanced the Sky People seem to be in terms of medicine. This her people can learn from.

"Raven has managed to build more equipment and make our medical aisle as effective as it can be." Clarke's husky voice provides pleasant commentary on all the technological wonders around them. "A lot of the doctors are still in training, but soon we'll have a hospital ready to answer everyone's needs."

Lexa turns to Clarke, dips her chin in a slight nod. "Our methods are more traditional. We answer many needs, but often find ourselves lacking the means to further our expertise. Our healers could learn a lot from yours," she says. Clarke turns to her with a pensive crease between her eyebrows. "And maybe they could teach your healers how to draw from nature to cure many ailments."

"That's... not such a bad idea," Clarke concedes, and a smile ghosts over pink lips, making the beauty mark above them tip upwards. "But we would have to think things through very thoroughly. That is, if we joined the Coalition."

"Of course."

Their day draws to an end when the sun has already hidden behind the walls of Arkadia and the sky is the same purple that colours its flags. Clarke explains to her that each of their cities is represented by a colour and together they form a rainbow. "I may have had a hand in that," Clarke confides, although the meaning of her sly smirk is lost on Lexa.

Clarke takes her to the door of her quarters and it is not until Lexa is about to nod her goodbye that the Sky leader clears her throat and extends her arm. Lexa's eyes take in the proffered arm, then find Clarke's gaze with a raised eyebrow. Clarke purses her lips and takes a deep breath.

"Look, I am— genuinely sorry for... for what happened yesterday. My behaviour was unacceptable."

Lexa is tempted to punish Clarke a bit further, but decides to offer an olive branch instead. She clasps Clarke's forearm and feels soft fingers wrap around her own. "You are unwaveringly protective of your people, Clarke. I can appreciate that."

Clarke's small, grateful smile is worth the concession.

~~~~

The next morning, Lexa leaves her quarters to find Marcus and Clarke waiting for her. Once all pleasantries are exchanged, the Chancellor invites her, with an eager tilt to his voice, to have the first meal in the mess hall.

Lexa accepts the invitation with polite words and Marcus takes the front of their little group of four, Gustus included. Lexa and Clarke walk side by side just a few steps behind.

"I hope you are liking your stay here, Commander," Clarke says after several seconds of silence.

Lexa gathers her thoughts before she answers carefully: "It is in many ways an experience unlike what I am used to. The sounds are different, the clothes too. There is no shortage of metal."

Clarke hums in agreement. "Technology has its pros and cons. Against it is the fact that you find yourself turning your back on your surroundings." Lexa's eyes must hold a question in them, for Clarke answers it immediately: "When everything you need is inside a wall, you end up exploring the world outside less and less."

"Maybe I can help your people find their balance."

Clarke shrugs noncommittally, but Lexa spies indecision in her eyes. It is not until some seconds later that Clarke decides to voice her thoughts.

"The problem with alliances is that they only last for so long. Eventually one clan's needs trumps the alliance's and everyone falls back into their old, warring ways."

Lexa understands Clarke's doubt; it has plagued her sleepless one too many nights. However, it is not just a matter of conviction. Lexa knows that if she manages to find a balance between codependency and independency, she can keep the Coalition alive for many ages. She wants her legacy to be enjoyed by many commanders after her.

"Clarke, I am trying to build something that will last for many generations. An alliance that will stand the test of time, a brand of peace that will outlive all of us," she says, unable to keep a thread of passion from her voice. "Something much stronger than the Pauna's fist and far greater than a hero's glory. War breeds legends, peace feeds civilisations."

Clarke's smile is teasing, but Lexa recognises it for the deflection that it is. "Nice speech, Commander."

She shrugs and lets her eyes glint with mirth. "I am not above making rousing speeches to sway your vote, Clarke."

~~~~

(there was more but it was incomplete so I figured this would be the best place to cut)

[fathersappointed]

The World has fallen for it!

I guess I’ll just step right into it!

They never saw the mighty Empire built destroyed long before they showed up. The decimated remains emerging from the Ashes. All they saw was the Devil’s spawn Savages that never evolved and never would.

This information was recorded, but they destroyed all records of it when they wiped out the Mayan Olmec and Aztec people. It was their museum of the past South America they build upon what was left. They spoke now in a different tongue. They were told of God’s and God’s to come. That was the reason for the mop-up operation to wipe out all recorded literature of the event. Those that were sent were extremely dedicated in faith and they used diligent thoroughness and religious dedication they thought though they were doing it for a totally different reason. It was reported as a mighty ball of Fire as a great flood. The World was told it was for a different reason truth with a wink.

The World was told it was because they were sinners a bad mutation they were called Atlanteans. They were the true possessors of your fabled Atlantis! Atlantis was their CERN.

When I came the first time, they rejected me (a chance maybe). Everything you’ve ever been taught about Christ is a lie. A Group of cold-blooded intent that’s who you’re on your knees praying to. Do you still think they can be reasoned with?

Understand they believe they’ve corrected last times miscalculations?

How long would it take long enough for Europeans to figure out how to build ships. And now you have a history, but you know none of this. The knowledge of this great past lost unknown to them. That they were worshipping their Destroyer as we are worshiping our Destroyer as divine love. This is our time now down the road we will be deceitful stories myths and legends. Our cities wiped out nothing left of the ruins. What we will witness history will tell a different story. Want will they believe (what have they been taught) when they read our story? This is old school for them we’ve been here before. Wiping out lives means nothing to them. One at a time 10 billion of them. Whatever it takes to accomplish the objective. As they figure it doesn’t matter how they treat you they’re going to wipe you out of existence anyway.

Understand a thing about this they work in reality. I’ll use the earthquake scenario to try and explain there’s a lot of talk about earthquakes. A lot of scientific work, they understand the science of faults line they know their effect when they move. So any earthquake, that happens they’ll say it’s a natural cause. Meanwhile, spokesmen for God will be saying he’s the cause. You’ll see one reality unfolding explained in the guise of another, and both will be wrong you see how they work deception, misdirection the rule.

You want the truth? You can’t handle the truth!

You worship a God of love that’s taught you to hate! You hate me for sin, you say you attack sin, but it’s me you attack! Telling me, you’ll roast marshmallows with God while I burn. And you don’t even know what it means. But there is an out all I have to do is drop to my knees begging forgiveness. Professing my unworthiness and say I will obey with unquestionable absolute obedience.

Can you see the trap it’s diabolically cunning? The world has fallen for it!

Maybe not I get a lot of hate talking about this group of cold-blooded intent.

I’ll tell you another truth you’ve got a group whoring everything in your head. Your thoughts are their, thoughts your words are their words.

Have you figured it out do, you know what I’m about? You’ll know it is inevitable. This is their catalyst, In a speak, but they really are not too concerned with what I say they know I’ll say it. They play it any way they want. It would go down one way or another. They don’t have total control they do but not in the way they want it. They control your mind to a degree. But they don’t have (and you don’t have) a total technological lock-in. This is their Achilles heel this is where they must be stopped.

Understand a horrible truth we might not succeed if, so humanity is lost for all eternity. And a mentally sick, morally empty group, will Control humanity forever, never again having to pretend to love. You cannot see my words, just like you can’t see the destruction in the solar system for what it is.

We cannot fail! That’s the bait that brings me in. And gives them a concrete storyline. And that’s the bait that exposes them to failure. And that’s why I won’t have to tell you that there here.

Time is ticking scummy tick, tick tick! Maybe they found a way to cut corners? Tick, tick tick!

And what do I have to fight with you wonder? I have a pathetic government. So you see what I must somehow overcome a losing hand in a crooked game. Wish me luck! If I have any say and I will the worthless ones will be replaced. If there’s time? Time is an option I believe fate has not allotted us much of. And time is wasting away why you idiots debate which God has a better-looking enemy. I need Stretch and General Patton, and History’s Greatest leader, not the garbage that I see! This is serious, and I need the real thing! I want to point out this is this isn’t a defenseless family that you can just drop a bomb on. (Which is about all you good for) Those egotistical losers can’t handle the truth that’s who’s got your back. What do you think of my odds improved? These are things that are beyond their essence it’s not, their fault but I don’t have time for niceties to make an important point. Understand a horrible truth? You were put in Power by these Creeps and the World needs better than you. As for me, I already told you I’m a chess piece that doesn’t feel well guarded.

I could make a Comment about your criticism but you’d still be an empty man. I fear idiots will be the demise of me. I’ve walked a road no man has walked I don’t speak with frivolousness. We are in a lot of trouble. You want to keep sucking up the garbage that they are pumping into your contained limited life. While the other guys sucking in, the garbage they’re pumping them there ain’t a lot I can say to you.

Let me ask you if you were planning to wipe out a country and you had the ability to put any persons in positions of power importance in that country’s government. Who would you pick? But let’s make it the world? Yep, you got it, they’re idiots and that’s what we’ve got to defend the planet with. You’re being play, for an idiot or maybe a useful one.

You see the thick of it no secrets here. One of my games is to teach. somebody has to equip those who will stand with the tools to defend themselves. They’re not here we got, to go get them. I could go on but there’s not much space and it’s hard to articulate a coherence of understanding in this maze. I understand your hostility, anger, and hate but you have to rise above it. It’s a horrible truth people are going to have to somehow overcome this painful reality.

They have dummy people down so much they can’t see what’s unfolding right in front of their face.

They’ve brought you down to the point where you are a disgusting group of ignorant and thoughtless self-important, selfish, unconcerned lazy, uncaring people, shallow superficial justifying your patheticness as a reason to hate lashing out when you think you can victimize with impunity. You are short on honor.

This is designed to take us down.

I keep an action figure of Archer on my desk. To remind me, you’re just mutants.

Seeing how I can’t use my preferred speech, you can run away and go back to shoving your head in the sand now.

So there you have it, class dismissed.

Pleased to meet you, hope you guessed my name, mm yeah. But what’s puzzling you is the nature of my game?

Woo, woo Oh yeah, get on down Oh yeah Aah yeah Tell me, baby, what’s my name? Tell me, honey, can ya guess my name? Tell me, baby, what’s my name? I tell you one time, you’re to blame.

So if you meet me, Have some courtesy

Have some sympathy and some taste.

Use all your well-learned politeness

Or I’ll lay your soul to waste, mm yeah

[norhimorovine]

Storytime: The Spring of the Divine Sisters

It was the last leg of their journey to Kugane. And Norhi had been telling every story she could think of. One in her dreams each night, and one more during the day. Thankfully, she wasn't low on stories just yet. If the crew found it odd that she would sit and tell a story to the ship, they never showed it. Not a blinked eye or a cocked head. If anything, Norhi suspected no few of them would sit just out of her line of sight, and eavesdrop. She didn't mind.

Norhi settled in the safe spot in the hold, that'd she'd taken to using for story time. It was a spot where some of the cargo was securely lashed in place, with bags stowed between. She now had a sort of ritual she went through for all this. She had found a sea-worthy lantern that no one minded her borrowing for an hour. She'd light it with her magic, set it on the floor, and then pull out some little object from her bag. Some personal key to the story. Today, it was a jar of sand.

Norhi set the sand by the lantern and then relaxed back against the bags, gently patting the floor beneath her. "Now... Today I'm going to tell you a story that comes from somewhere very different than where I grew up. I've already told you that I was adopted. But I supposed I haven't told you much about my adopted parents. You see, Papa is from the desert, a Seeker of the Sun, where I'm a Keeper of the Moon. The land he hails from is called the Sagolii Desert. It's a very large, arid land. Water is scarce. I imagine that must seem horrifying to you. But to the tribes of the Sun, it's life as usual. Because of this though, many of their fables feature water as an important piece of imagery. The value it brings is intrinsic. And so it's always valuable in their stories. So, this is how my favorite one goes."

She sat  up then and folded her hands in her lap, taking her story-teller's posture. "Deep in the farthest reaches of the Sagolii, only accessible to the reckless, the suicidal, or the gods-blessed, there is a cave. And inside this cave is a spring, an oasis if you will. The water from this spring is a symbol of holy compromise between the divine sisters, Azeyma and Menphina.

"For you see, it is Azeyma, that the sand tribes revere the most. But it is Menphina who spurs love to grow in our hearts and souls. Azeyma guides the steps of her devotees in nearly every part of their lives. But in love, she is not so sure footed.

"So, seeing that her people pined for love, Azeyma finally looked to her sister. It had been agreed long ago, that water had little place in the desert, just as fire has little place in the forest. And Menphina is the guardian over the forest tribes. But they gathered in this cave and made a promise. A little water to bring love to Azeyma's children, for a little fire to light the paths of Menphina's children. With the promise struck, Menphina created the spring in that very cave. And Azeyma lit a clay lantern to be taken back to the forest.

"Now, this would be a fine place for such a story to end. But in the desert, hunger and thirst drive passions. A young huntress, a woman of great ambitions, and little sense, desired the heart of one of her tribe's nunh. But she knew she'd never win his when her sisters were so much more lovely and so much stronger than she. It was in this despair, that rumor reached her, through some odd, suspicious trader, of the spring. Stories had warped over the long centuries, and now it was believed that the waters commanded the birth of true love.

"Several more bottles of wine, and the young huntress had a map. She gathered her gear and told her mother she would be gone on a deep desert hunt and that she would return with a rare kind of sundrake, only found in the deepest parts of the desert. She told her mother that she and her sisters could use the scales to strengthen their armor and honor their nunh. And so her mother gave her blessing and the young huntress left.

"The huntress did indeed find such a sundrake. She did indeed kill it, harvest its meat, scales, bones, and every useful part, binding them up safely for the trip home. But then she continued on her journey. It was more perilous than the trader had told her. Too often she came close to running out of arrows, or being another monster's dinner. She began to travel at night, for the day became more intense than even her desert bred heart could bear.

"But after a sennight's journey, she found the cave. She was baffled to hear weeping, coming from deep inside. But before she could find the source of the sound, a priestess of Azeyma stepped into her path. 'Welcome, traveler. Sit and rest in the shade of our dwelling.'

"The huntress sat as she was bade and accepted the cactuar juice that was handed to her, drinking the cup dry in mere moments. The priestess smiled and sat with her. 'You come searching for the Spring of the Sisters?'

"The huntress nodded. 'I do. I wish greatly for my nunh to love me. Please, tell me you can help me. What must I do?'

"The priestess smiled sadly then. 'I can help you. But you are not ready for your task to be honored yet.'

"The huntress wilted and then begged, 'Please, I'll do anything!'

"The priestess sighed and then nodded. 'This... is what I can do. I will give you a flagon of the spring's water. Before you return home, you must go and harvest one Menphina Lily and one Azeyma Rose. Only one of each. Dry them during the day, while you rest. When you reach your home, take the dried petal and mix them into the tea your tribe serves your nunh. Brew that tea with the waters from the flagon. When he has drunk of the tea, drink the dregs for yourself. Within a sennight, he will take you as one of his. You will bear him a child. And when that child is weaned, you must return here to complete the task that is required of you. Do you understand?'

"The huntress nodded quickly. 'I do! Only one lily and one rose, dried and brewed in the tea. Come back after our child is weaned.'

"The priestess smiled sadly once more and then stood. 'Very well. Come, sleep for the remainder of the day. Come nightfall, we will feed you, give you the waters, and let you be on your way.'

"The huntress smiled with delight and followed the priestess. It was only when she was settled in an empty room with a sleeping mat, that she began to wonder why the woman was so sad. And still yet, the cave was filled with the echoes of crying. The huntress shook her head and turned to her side to sleep. She would not worry for the plight of others. She had to return home safely to her tribe.

"Night fell and the priestess woke the huntress. She was fed with fruit and juice, before being handed a tightly sealed flagon, that was as cold as the sands were hot. She bowed to the priestess and left the cave. At the next oasis she found a Menphina Lily and an Azeyma Rose. She worried for a moment, afraid that she'd mess up the drying if she only took one. But the priestess had been specific. So, she only took one. It would not do to take a flower that could power another's love, she supposed.

"So, during the day, she dried the petals, and at night she traveled. They were ready for tea by the time she returned home. Having been gone for little more than a moon, her tribe rejoiced to see her home. She showed them dried meat she'd hunted, the scales and bones she'd brought. And the tribe rejoiced at the small windfall, brought at their skilled sister's hands.

"That night, as they feasted, the huntress brewed the tea with the dried petals and the spring's water, just as she'd been instruced. She took the tea and offered it to her nunh. He smiled warmly at her and drank the tea, before giving the cup back. When he no longer watched, she quickly swallowed the dregs and returned to her mother.

"The very next night, the nunh called her to his tent. And by morning, she was the happiest woman in the tribe. Within a moon she saw the signs of child and her family rejoiced. The nunh doted on her, gifting her with furs and supplies, to keep her healthy and safe while she bore his child. And soon, the child was born. Another healthy daughter to hunt for the tribe. The nunh smiled and thanked her. And then that night, took one of the others to his tent.

"The young huntress was surprised at first, but wrote it off. He had a duty to father the tribe. Of course he wouldn't only keep to her. Also, she was still healing from the birth. It was only logical. So, she doted on her child and began her life as a mother, watching for the time she'd have to return. Three sennights pass and he doesn't call for her. Three more and still no call. Two more of her tribe-sisters become pregnant. And the tribe rejoices for them. It seemed the nunh no longer had eyes for her.

"Finally, when the child became weaned, the huntress left the babe with one of her sisters. She gathered her belongings and took to the desert once more. Why didn't he love her? She kept wondering and kept fretting, the whole way back to the cave.

"When she got their, the priestess was waiting for her at the entrance. The woman had that sad smile again. She held out her arms to the young huntress and said, 'Menphina teaches us how to grow love in our hearts. And Azeyma guides us in how to live between those moments. That we seek to influence them with magic is a lesson harshly learned. The waters are meant for compromise. Did he know what he drank?'

"The huntress realized then that she had not told the nunh of her heart, or of her journey. She collapsed into the priestess's arms and sobbed. 'No. I did not tell him anything!'

"The priestess nodded. She then led the huntress back into the cave, following the sounds of sobbing. 'Then your task will to be one of our acolytes. If your nunh loved you before the waters, he will come for you. But if not, then your tears must supply the spring's life.'

"The huntress then saw for herself, the spring in the back room of the cave, surrounded by others who had made the same mistake as she. And so, she knelt at their side and began to cry, letting her tears fall into the waters.

"Now, it's said that there's two endings to this story. One in which the nunh came for her, declared that he'd loved her always, and had been letting her have her child's youngest years, before taking more from her. In the other, he never comes, but the child does, many years later, choosing to cry by her mother's side, for the lost years they could have had together."

[ohmightydevviepuu]

happy birthday!

for my twin separated by a time-slip, my very favorite sexy librarian @shireness-says

please enjoy this lieutenant duckling-flavored persuasion drabble as a sign of my affection.   i hope your day is full of friends and wine and macaroni and cheese as you embark on the next quarter-century!

(also the amazing @profdanglaisstuff chiming in with emma’s side of the story)

no two hearts AO3

Coming here was a mistake.

Killian Jones--Captain Killian Jones--knew it the moment he found himself staring into an extraordinary world anchored only by the green emeralds that were her eyes. His breathing hitched; his posture faltered. He forgot everything: Where he was, who he was.

When he was.

He had never believed in destiny until that moment, the moment when Killian Jones--Cadet Killian Jones--stumbled upon her.

Or, perhaps, the moment she stumbled upon him. It had been much the same, the desire to run his fingers through his hair, wondering if he had somehow hit his head. Her eyes widened and he had forgotten everything until she’d just as quickly looked away, her lips parted slightly--

Her hand was on his arm; she jerked it away as soon as she realised, giving him a small shove as she did so. And yet something inside of him prevented him from stepping back, from moving as she so clearly wanted him to; as if he had waited his entire life for exactly this.

“Your hand is cut,” he’d said. “Let me help you.”

And, without waiting for an answer, he’d lifted her hand in his, pulling his handkerchief from his uniform pocket.

“It’s fine,” she’d said, but he was already wrapping the cloth around her palm, memorising the feel of her skin and the lines that marked her hand. “There’s no need for you to--”

“I am a gentleman,” he’d said, but he’d stepped toward her as he said it and her eyes responded to whatever she saw in his face. “A gentleman would never leave a lady in distress.”

“Who says that I’m a lady?”

He still held her hand in his, could still feel the warmth of it and the quickness of her breathing.

“So who are you, then?”

And she’d smiled; a smile that felt brighter than the sun. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He’d bowed, brushing his lips just against her knuckles. “Perhaps I would.”

And she’d curtsied as she’d said, “Emma. Emma Swan.”

In the intervening eight years--when he had allowed himself to think of her--he saw her as the girl he had known. In his mind, only his life had carried forward since the day he’d left, broken pieces of his heart in his hands as he carried them off to sea. He couldn’t allow himself to imagine the life she might be living--without him--when she’d taken the ring he’d offered her and then changed her mind.

He hadn’t known her at all; that was now obvious.

Mistake, mistake, mistake.

Unfortunately, a captain of the Royal Navy was not in a position to say no to royalty when summoned. He owed his career to their grace and good fortune--and, though it pained him to admit it, to her.

If he had stayed--no matter.

Killian Jones, Captain, had no choice but to obey the commands of the king and queen he served; to accept the honor of this audience with them, and with their daughter, the crown princess. King David and Queen Snow, the sovereign rulers of the corner of Misthaven referred to by its residents as the “Enchanted Forest”.

(“My grandmother used to say there’s always a bit of magic in these parts,” she had said, and though Killian had spent the better part of the last decade denying it, he still remembered the amusement in her tone and the sparkle in her eyes as she had said it.)

The trumpets faded; Killian could only remark to himself how drastically they understated the importance of the evening.

He hadn’t known she would be here.

How could he?

He hadn’t known that Emma Swan was Princess Emma, not until this moment, standing upright from his formal bow and recovering from the world he saw in her eyes. The small wedding she’d claimed to have wanted. Perhaps, someday, children. He had never known he wanted those things before her, and he had spent eight years and a half convincing himself he had never wanted them at all; it was a world of regrets and might-have-beens and a career that never would have happened if he had stayed.

Killian had not been born in this realm, but had found himself left shipboard--at a very young age under circumstances best left forgotten--in Misthaven. And the Enchanted Forest spilled out into largest port not controlled by the maritime kingdoms. Better, the laws of indenture were less severe in this portion of Misthaven than in some of the neighbouring realms, and he had been granted the opportunity to better himself by means of a naval position.

(That had been her reason, her plea to him. “This is your best chance,” she had whispered through her tears. “Let me give you your best chance to live the life you deserve, that you’ve fought for. Go to the sea, Killian, and maybe someday--” She hadn’t finished. She hadn’t needed to. He knew her, knew her in all the ways that mattered. “Come back to me,” she wanted to say, but he wouldn’t let her, couldn’t let her.)

Killian had once believed that in all of the realms, there were no two hearts so open as theirs; no feelings so much alike. He had been lost until he met her, and he had never seen a woman since whom he thought her equal.

A bow, a curtsy passed--he heard her voice.

“Captain Jones,” she said.

“Your Highness,” he said.

Now they were strangers; worse than strangers, and they could never become acquainted. Emma Swan had deserted and disappointed him, and Killian Jones had not forgiven her; Princess Emma could never lower herself to consort with a mere naval captain, no matter the secrets of their personal history, the tears on her side and the anger on his. He was nothing more than an inferior officer.

Somewhat belatedly, Killian realized that the King was speaking to him. Words, words, words; words that he had fought and sweat and bled for, in service to king and queen and realm against the Dark One, and now he was to be rewarded with their favour. When Killian and Emma met, he had nothing, but was confident he would soon be rich. Fortune had already favoured Killian Jones and he meant to make something of himself; he was full of life and energy and he knew that he would have a ship.

All of his expectations--all of his confidence--proved justified, and The Jewel of the Realm was now returned to port, and he to her.

“Come back to me,” she had very nearly said, and now he had. He searched her countenance for a hint of recognition and saw nothing but the barest flash of relief, well-hidden in the depths of her irises; Killian did not know how he knew, but she had been, somehow, expecting him--waiting for him, and for this moment. Her hand went absent-mindedly to her neck and Killian felt his fingers twitch as he remembered the feel of the skin there, following the movement of her hand with his eyes.

A necklace.

Queen Snow stepped forward, a gentle smile on her face. Slight lines at her eyes and mouth suggested it was a habitual expression for her, and she looked kindly between Killian and her daughter.

Killian did not hear a single word that she said.

It was a necklace, and it should not have drawn his attention; it had nothing to do with him, for he had left her with only memories. The piece was small and unassuming, and nothing like the quality of jewels worn by Queen Snow, for it bore the patina of constant use.

“Captain Jones?” The princess’ voice was cool and polished, polite and full of ceremonious grace as she held her arm out to him.

He bowed again as he slipped his hand under hers, grateful for the gloves they both wore, and for the second time that night, he faltered.

The figure she wore on a chain around her neck was a swan.

---

Being here was a mistake.

She should have found some excuse to give her parents—illness, cramps, maybe thrown herself down the stairs, anything to get out of this, to postpone this awful moment she knew was coming. What she’d always known was coming. It was too late now, though, far too late for escape and… oh, gods she’d forgotten how blue his eyes were. Or no, not forgotten, just that her memories could never be more than a pale reflection of the reality of him.

She’d been raised on tales of true love, but even as the fabled child born of it had never quite believed the tales were real. Until that long-ago day, that young cadet, the gentle touch of his hands on hers and the warmth in his gorgeous eyes as he’d tied his handkerchief around her hand. Warmth for her, for Emma, not for the royal princess, heir to the throne of her kingdom. The shortness in her breath and the pounding of her heart as she’d exchanged with him those fateful words.

“So who are you, then?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Perhaps I would.”

She’d thought of him since, oh yes, every day of eight interminable years. Every storm that rolled in from the sea was agony to her, her greatest fear that he would be lost in the waves and that she might never know… for who would report the death of a simple naval captain to the Princess of Misthaven?

And now that he was here, whole and safe and in her throne room, she realised that her greatest fear was for him to look at her as he was doing, with cold indifference in those blue eyes that had once shone bright with love. Until the day she broke her promise, returned his ring to him and sent him on his way.

They should never have met, this she knew, and she almost wished they never had. Perhaps then she could have been content with the weedy princes and dukes her parents tried to foist on her—but once a woman has known the touch of Killian Jones, she doesn’t go back.

He’d never said this to her, she thought, though it was something he would say, with a smirk and a raised eyebrow to make her laugh. No one had ever made her laugh as he did, teasing the lighthearted girl out of the over-serious princess, by simple virtue of not knowing that she was the princess.

Well, now he knew. And though his face was blank, his posture straight as was befitting his rank and station, Emma fancied she could see the betrayal she knew he must be feeling in those eyes.

It wasn’t because of who you are, or who I am, she wanted to cry, wanted to take his hand in hers and beg him to understand. It was for you. To give you your best chance at success. What would you have been if you had stayed with me? What could you have been, if I denied you your destiny?

She’d allowed herself the indulgence of fantasy, of the simple life they had built together in their minds. The intimate wedding, the cottage by the sea. The children, she thought with a piercing ache; the little blue-eyed girl that she could see so clearly in her mind. She’d allowed herself to think that maybe, maybe such happiness might be possible for her.

She’d been foolish, and she’d paid a bitter price.

And now, watching him bow formally to her parents and then to her, she felt the pain of that price as sharp as it had ever been. Once she had believed that in all the realms there were no two hearts so open as theirs; no feelings so much alike. She’d been so lonely until she met him, the lonely princess adored by all but loved by none.

He bowed to her, and her voice was breathy as she acknowledged it.

“Captain Jones,” she said.

His was gruff, and deeper than she remembered. “Your Highness.”

Now they were as good as strangers except far worse. Emma knew that she had wronged him and he had not forgiven her. Strangers could become friends but the chance of that for them had long since passed. Princess Emma could not have friends of his station, and Emma Swan he now knew to be a lie.

Her father began to speak and Emma sighed in relief as Killian’s eyes moved to rest respectfully upon his King. Hers were free now to feast on him, to enumerate and catalogue each change the years had wrought upon the boy she once knew. He was no taller but he stood straighter and with his shoulders squared; the proud stance of a man accustomed to command. His jaw looked sharp, the beard upon it thicker, and his hair was short and tidy in the military fashion; Emma’s fingers itched to muss it up as she had so freely done before.

Come back to me, she’d nearly said, that awful day when she had sent him away, away from her but to the life he deserved, the fortune and riches that Blue’s prophecy foretold would come to him. Come back to me… and now he had.

Her fingers were restless, unconsciously they reached up to caress her one memento of him, that foolish indulgence she’d not been able to resist. They toyed with it where it hung around her neck then froze when she realised he had seen them.

Her mother drew his attention away again and Emma fought to calm her racing breaths. Her necklace was small and unassuming, easily lost among the finely wrought metals and glittering stones of the royal jewellery. Surely there was no way it would catch his notice.

Queen Snow nodded at her and Emma, with her mask now firmly back in place, stepped forward to perform her royal duties.

“Captain Jones,” she said again, pleased that her voice this time was cool and polished, with all the polite and ceremonious grace the occasion required of her. He bowed again and then his hand slipped under hers, setting her heart racing and making her for once grateful for the stiflingly hot gloves that were an indispensable part of Misthaven’s formal attire.

They had barely moved a step when she felt him falter, heard his sharply indrawn breath, and realised far too late that in her earlier confusion she had not tucked the pendant on her necklace into the bodice of her dress, as was her custom, but left it out for all to see.

For him to see—the only other soul alive who would understand precisely what it meant.

[leverageclips]

librarians for the ask thingy?? x

oh god I haven’t watched the librarians in so long,,, 

1. Favorite episode and why

And the Point of Salvation is an angst fest and what am I but an angst lover. And the Christmas Thief is also so fucking good but that might be because of the strong Leverage vibes.

2. Funniest/crackiest/it’s-terrible-but-I-still-love-it episode/scene

That one scene in the end of And the Rise of Chaos where they defeat an ancient Egyptian god but harmonizing like the madmen they are. It’s the silliest that show has ever been and I laugh every time.

3. It’s-terrible-and-I-hate it episode/scene

The end of And the Curse of Cindy is infuriating to me, everything in the execution up to the end was great until Ezekiel revealed he had a crush on Cindy. Your honor, they had no chemistry, not a single drop of feeling, it's just bad really. I prefer to believe that Ezekiel was immune to the curse because he was just that narcissistic.

4. Best episode/scene for my favorite character

My favorite characters are Ezekiel and Stone because I’m first and foremost a Leverage stan and I highly empathize with Stone. My favorite ep for each is  And the Point of Salvation for Ezekiel because character development is my favorite song and for Stone is And the Reunion of Evil because seeing him silently panicking in a bar of frost giants is entertainment in its finest form.

5. Best episode/scene for my favorite ship

I don’t really have a favorite ship but the last episode is very sweet to Eve and Flynn so its ok for me

6. Best episode/scene for a particular supporting character

I love Jenkins and And And Some Dude Named Jeff finally let him have normal friends.

7. Best episode/scene for a character I don’t usually like

Normally I don’t like the tough sexy woman characters but every time Lamia appeared on-screen I was vibing, you go girl, go kill those protagonists.

8. Most visually beautiful or interesting episode/scene

And the Trial of the Triangle has some very unusual visuals for the show.

9. Most emotionally affecting episode/scene

And the Point of Salvation had me in tears.

10. Most powerful use of music in an episode/scene

Again, the last time I watched the show was in 2018, no particular moment stuck with me so I’m just gonna say that the group harmonizing a chaos god away was really good.

11. Episode/scene that changed my perspective on the show

I mean the show was always what I expected, a fun adventure with the occasional angst but And the Fables of Doom really showed me that this is going to be SILLY and FUN and kinda deep about certain characters sometimes and that I'm gotta LOVE IT.

12. Episode/scene where the acting stands out

Again, And the Point of Salvation is really fucking good.

13. Overall best-written episode

And the Point of Salvation is REALLY FUCKING GOOD.

[ryder-s-block]

Jaig Eyes (Ch 49)

Jaig Eyes (49/?)

Summary:

Kida, a former slave who now thrives as a bounty hunter, finds herself sucked into the war she advised Jango Fett against. Now that she’s involved, she has to finally mourn the loss of Jango, seeing his face in the clones that man the GAR. What happens when she allows herself to get attached to one, not for his resemblance to her former mentor, but for his heart?

————————-

Chapter Forty-Nine: Beskar

“Kida!” I heard one of my regulars cry from his table. “Welcome back! I haven’t seen you in months!”

I cast him a smile as I walked by dressed in my club outfit--black tight pants and a sparkling off-the-shoulder shirt that flowed down my arms to cover my slave brand. My face felt weird covered in makeup, but my friend, Rouva--who most people called ‘Madame’-- insisted that she be in charge of my look. 

Apparently my return to my Corsucanti club, Fury, was a big deal. It was true, I hadn’t been there in months. And when I had, it was always discreet since I was under the impression there was a bounty on my head.

“Nice to see you,” I greeted nicely, motioning for Merl to get them a round of jokes, much to their glee. They broke out in cheers as Merl brought some ale over to them for free. 

“I like the hair,” Rouva mentioned as she sauntered towards me, catching glances from all sides. She was a Twi’lek, much like some of the girls I employed, with pale violet skin that practically sparked in the lights of my club. Despite being older, she was still lithe and beautiful. Her long fingers playfully bounced my hair that she had curled nicely. “It looks good on you.”

I gave her a smile as she walked away, heading to the back to prepare the next performance the girls would put on. I moved to the bar, leaning against the polished surface and accepting the drink Merl slid to me. Spiced rum. My favorite. I took a long drink, hearing the music shift as some of the girls took the stage for the next set. My club’s patrons applauded as they took the stage, dancing in perfect synchronization. They didn’t practice every day for nothing.

And then my senses rippled, drawing my attention to the door. I wasn’t the only one, since there was quite a ruckus.

“Sir,” I heard one of my security guards yelling from the door. “I don’t care what business you’re on, we don’t allow weapons in here!”

I glanced over, seeing a familiar face I wasn’t necessarily hoping to see again for some time. I watched as Windu reluctantly gave over his lightsaber, drawing more eyes. There were a couple off-duty clones, all who fidgeted uncomfortably in their corner at the jedi’s arrival.

Windu didn’t seem bothered by the attention, slowly entering the club and glancing around. I stayed in my place, leaning against the bar, as his dark gaze finally found me. He approached, immediately earning a hard hand on his shoulder.

“Now what’s all this then?” a Rodian patron said, stepping between myself and Windu. “What’s a jedi doing in here? Causing trouble with our girl?”

Windu’s face crinkled in distaste, brushing off the Rodian’s hand. I rolled my eyes where I leaned on the bar. “It’s alright,” I said loud enough for them to hear me. “I’m sure he’s not here to cause trouble.” My loyal guests backed up, but watched closely as Windu approached me. “Care for a drink?”

He seemed to hesitate for a moment before nodding slightly. I was surprised at that, but gestured for Merl to pass a drink down the bar, which he did reluctantly. My friend knew my issues with the jedi and didn’t much care for him.

“Pretty bold of you to come here,” I commented, taking another casual sip of my drink. “There’s a lot of underworld in my club, most of which know your name.” He knew I was referring to his slaying of Jango, making him glance away and take a drink. “I assume your visit isn’t to enjoy my club.”

“No.”

He said nothing else as he stared into his drink, making my brow arch. “So…” I prodded, tilting my head at him. 

“There’s been an incident,” he started hesitantly, keeping his voice low to keep it between us. “Is there a more private place we could talk?”

I hummed, glancing over him. “Forgive me for not trusting you, but I feel more comfortable out here where my friends are.”

Windu frowned at me, but leaned against the bar in resignation. “You still hate me for what I did to Jango,” he surmised.

“Hate you? No,” I sighed. “I’ve decided to let that go. But I also know that you disarmed him before killing him. And I know that isn’t really the jedi way.”

He was quiet for a moment, staring into his drink. “Maybe it wasn’t.” I was surprised at him admitting it, making me gawk at him. “But that’s in the past. Now, I’ve been sent here to request your help.”

“My help?” I frowned, crossing my arms. “I already turned down Obi-wan’s invitation to rejoin the Republic armies.”

“I’m aware. But this is a special circumstance.” He hesitated to continue, making me sigh. I pushed off from the bar, grabbing my drink and heading to the back of my club where my private lift lay hidden. 

“Come on, Master Jedi,” I called over my shoulder. “We can speak in my office.” Eyes followed us as we exited the main floor, Rouva hustling to get another number going to try and distract the crowd. 

“So this is where you conduct your business,” Windu commented as we entered my study, the one way windows looking out over the club floor. He looked over my patrons and workers. “Do they know?”

“Some of them,” I shrugged, glancing over the beskar armor on display in the corner. “But I prefer to keep my work lives separate. Though,” I commented, giving the man a look. “Jedi constantly clogging up my doorway certainly isn’t helping with the discretion.”

Windu hummed, but jumped right to it. “Do you know the name Even Piell?” I shook my head. “He’s a talented Jedi Master. He was sent on a mission some time ago to the Outer Rim in search of information about the Nexus Route.”

“The Nexus Route?” I repeated in shock, leaning against my desk. “I thought that was a myth.” I knew what he was talking about. It was a fabled route that provided a covert route between Separatist and Republic homeworlds. It was constantly sought after by smugglers and bounty hunters alike, but I’d never seen it used, nonetheless heard of anyone actually knowing it.

“I assure you, it’s not a myth. He has the information.”

“But?”

“He and his men were captured by the Separatists.”

I frowned, taking another drink of spiced rum. “Jedi get captured all the time,” I shrugged. “Why is this any different? Send someone after him and get him back.”

“This time is different. Early on in the war, the Federation took control of the planet Lola Soyu.” I’d seen the planet on maps. It was in the Outer Rim. “This planet held something that was built over 500 years ago--a prison meant to hold Jedi.”

I quirked a brow. “A prison for Jedi? So even the Republic doesn’t trust you.”

“It was built by Jedi,” he clarified with a scowl. “For the unthinkable problem of a jedi turning against the Republic.”

“Didn’t Dooku defect? Why wasn’t he locked up?”

“He left the Order,” Windu sighed, steering the conversation back on track. “This fortress, called the Citadel, is supposed to be inescapable and impregnable.” 

I crossed my arms. “So what is it that you want me to do? Smuggle you in?”

He mimicked my stance, finally looking straight at me. “If you have any ideas, we’re open to hearing them.”

“So this is a consultation deal?”

“I thought that is all we would need, but Kenobi and Skywalker requested your assistance in the execution of the plan as well.”

I frowned. “Is it insurance that I don’t screw you over on purpose?”

“Is that something we need to be worried about?”

“Of course not,” I shook my head. “Besides, I’ve been looking for another job. Will this one pay?”

Windu sighed, looking tired. “Handsomely.”

“An impenetrable fortress that even the Jedi can’t get into without tempting fate?” I spoke aloud, smirking. “I always enjoy a challenge. When do we leave?”

“Immediately.”

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

My fingers slid gently over the ingot of beskar I’d kept stashed in my ship for years. It was one of the few Jango gave me before helping me forge my armor. 

“Beskar in the hands of a Mandalorian, adi’ka,” he would explain while working the hot furnace. “Is art.”

He’d left me the last piece to create my helmet, when the time came. He said the helmet was an honor, and a burden. That it was something I would one day forge on my own, should I decide to follow that path.

“What is it you need forged?” the blacksmith before me asked. She was a Mandalorian, as all beskar forgers should be, clad in her helmet.

“First,” I said softly, despite being alone in her shop. “I need to discuss discretion.” Her helmet tilted, but she offered her first, in which I placed a significant number of unmarked credits.

“What is it you need forged?” she asked again, her silence now bought and paid for. I placed the ingot down before presenting the plans I had drafted up. She examined them for a moment before looking at me again. “I will not create this.”

“I already bought your services, Armorer,” I said sternly, putting on my tough expression I used while bounty hunting. “And your discretion.”

“It is bad enough you wear our armor,” she retorted from her seat. “But I will not taint Mandalorian steel by forging a lightsaber.”

“It’s just the sleeve,” I argued. “And it’s been done before.”

“That blade was forged by Tarre Vizsla. A Mandalorian. And then the Jedi betrayed us.”

I drew my pistol, aiming it at her, but she didn’t move. “I am not a Jedi,” I growled. “And you will forge the steel my father gave me.”

She glanced over my armor, taking in the red design and kyr’bes on the shoulder pauldron. “Your father,” she mused. “You honor him with your armor. Did he forge it for you?”

“Yes.”

“And this, was this meant to be your helmet?”

I sighed, putting my pistol away again. “Yes.” I knew it was a bit of a betrayal. The beskar meant to complete my armor would be used to forge a weapon used by Force-Wielders...something Mandalorians hated.

“What would your father think of your choice to use it like this?”

I breathed slowly. What would he think? I couldn’t ask him… “He would trust me,” I said finally. “And he would trust the honor of a fellow Mandalorian to care for the one he called daughter.”

She was quiet for a moment, flipping the beskar ingot in her hands. “And do you have the rest of this weapon?” I hesitated, but produced the lightsaber hilt. The kyber crystal, however, was on my ship. I didn’t want her igniting the blade to find it red.  She turned it in her hands, along with the beskar. “What is wrong with this as it is?”

“It’s not my creation. It must be my own. Must...reflect me. Like my armor.”

A hum hissed through her helmet’s modulator. “And what will you wield this weapon for?”

I thought over that. What would I use it for? Peace certainly wouldn’t be an answer she’d like. “To fight for what I believe in. For my family. For myself.”

“You are not a Mandalorian,” she allowed. “But you were certainly raised by one. Swear to wield this weapon with the honor of a Mandalorian, and I will grant your wish.”

“I swear.”

She stood, leaving me to watch as she worked, melting down the ingot and creating a mold for the hilt I designed. It was a basic design that fit my hand nicely, but nothing too fancy. I figured I might add some color to match my armor at some point, if I ever got to wield it comfortably.

But still, as time dragged on, I began to wonder what the Armorer could possibly be doing. The design was pretty simple, so why was she adding an extra plate near the emitter that folded around it? Realistically, I liked the look a lot, so I said nothing.

After some time of working closely over the finished hilt, she turned and presented the sleeve to me. I took it, not at all expecting what I got. She had etched into the hilt, creating beautiful patterns. There were two creatures swirling on the metal--one that looked like a dragon, the other a bird.

“A mythosaur and a Jai’galaar,” she explained, seeing my questioning look. “I’ve heard stories of you, young daughter of Fett. I know of the marks he bestowed upon you.” The Jai’galaar. The Shriek-Hawk--a terrible creature of Mandalore. And where the Jaig eyes symbol stemmed from.

“And what does this say?” I asked, glancing over the writing I recognized, but couldn’t read. It was in Mando’a, but also using the old Mandalorian alphabet--something I never learned.

“Aliit ori’shya tal’din,” she translated for me, returning to her seat. Family is more than blood. I stood slowly, a lump of emotion forming in my throat.

“Thank you, Armorer,” I said sincerely. “This is a great honor.”

She tilted her helmet at me. “Beskar, in the hands of a Mandalorian, is art.” Her words stunned me for only a moment before she rose, cueing my time to leave. “Use this weapon wisely, young Fett. And it did not come from me.”

“Of course,” I bowed my head, stashing away the beskar sleeve and my ancestor’s lightsaber. I turned, knowing that so long as I kept her involvement in the creation of the sleeve a secret, she would return the favor.

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

“Fett,” I heard, drawing my from my thoughts as the shuttle landed. I turned to see Windu stepping off the ship. “Let’s go.”

I followed, stopping short when I realized what landing pad we were on. “The Jedi Temple?” I questioned, looking up at the towering structure. “I thought you didn’t allow outsiders in here.”

“We do. On restricted access.”

I hummed, rolling my eyes before following him inside. It was just as beautiful inside as it was outside, if not more. The whole temple was filled with gorgeous windows, courtyards, and pillars. It was like a palace.

We walked through, catching a few glances when the roaming younglings saw my beskar armor that I’d donned before leaving my club. We entered that looked eerily familiar. It was the place I’d seen in my vision all that time ago, when they were debating my future.

“Go ahead,” Windu said at the door, letting me walk in alone. The door closed behind him as I took in the room. Kenobi and Skywalker were both there, along with Cody, Fives, Echo, and Plo Koon. Rex’s stature shimmered as a hologram from wherever he was. Likely at a command center or aboard their ship.

“Welcome, Kida,” Obi-wan greeted with a small smile, his fingers tapping his chin. “You’re right on time.” I nodded to those present, receiving them in return, before standing beside Skywalker.

Plo Koon brought up an image of what I assumed was the citadel, the tower turning where it was projected on the holotable. “As you are aware, the Citadel is their most isolated and impenetrable detention facility,” he explained to the room. “No one has ever escaped.” Well...I did have a way of getting myself into impossible situations, didn’t I?

“There’s a first time for everything,” Anakin shrugged beside me.

Obi-wan agreed. “Indeed there is.”

“Their security has prevented our probes from retaining recent reconnaissance,” Plo Koon interjected. “So we’ve been forced to construct a crude map based upon data from the archives.”

“And since the data is extremely old, the map will be difficult to rely on,” Obi-wan expressed.

“500 years is a bit more than extremely old,” I muttered, crossing my arms. “We’re practically going in blind.”

“Beg your pardon, General,” Rex finally spoke, but avoided my gaze from behind his helmet. “But how do we know Master Piell is still alive?”

Kenobi smirked. “The Separatists won’t dare kill Master Piell until they have what they need.”

I jumped in casually. “He supposedly has the coordinates for the Nexus Route; a hyperspace lane that connects both Republic and Separatist homeworlds.”

The room seemed shocked at my knowledge, but Kenobi continued anyways. “They could provide vital for moving our forces deep into remote Separatist sectors.”

“Or,” Anakin countered. “The enemy could use them to slip through our defenses and attack Coruscant.”

“These hyperspace lanes are of immense interest to both our sides and could tip the scale of the war to whomever is in possession of them.” Plo Koon glanced around at us before ending the briefing. “That is all.”

The clones departed immediately, Rex’s connection cutting out. I wasn’t sure who to follow until Skywalker bumped my shoulder. “Come on, bounty hunter,” he teased, leading me after the other Jedi.

“Based on the archive schematics,” Plo Koon explained to us. “We’ve narrowed it down to three possible locations they could be holding him at.”

“My greatest concern is infiltrating their outer security,” Kenobi countered. “The life-form scanners will not be easy to fool.”

I let out a small chuckle, making them look at me. “Sorry,” I apologized. “I just had a really crazy idea but…”

“Please, let us hear it,” Kenobi grinned.

I cleared my throat. “Have you considered carbon freezing?” They all paused, looking at me with shock. I shrugged at them. “Hey, do you know how hard it is to bring in a bounty when you have more than one target? My brig is only so big.”

Anakin hummed. “It would hide us from the life-form scanners.”

“It could kill us,” Kenobi countered.

But I only chuckled, waving my hand. “I mean, it isn’t pleasant but none of my bounties have died yet. And they’ve been carbon frozen way longer than we would have to be.”

“Master!” We all turned at Ahsoka’s voice, watching her race to catch up with us. “I’m sorry I’m late.” She gave me a nod in greeting before continuing. “I just heard about the briefing. We’re going to rescue Master Piell, right?”

Koon and Kenobi exchanged awkward glances. “You two have much to discuss,” the former said, leading Obi-wan and I away from them.

“What was that about?” I asked when we were far enough away. 

“Ahsoka isn’t coming on this mission,” Obi-wan explained.

That was a surprise. “And why not? The more help we have, the better, right?”

“Anakin isn’t comfortable bringing his padawan along,” he tried to reason as he led our way to the hangar. “It’s terribly dangerous.”

“Well it’s good to know you don’t mind me coming,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. “But then again, Ahsoka seems perfectly capable. And isn’t she old enough to decide when something is too dangerous for her?”

“As her master and teacher, it is Anakin’s decision, whether or not anyone else agrees,” he dismissed before gesturing for me to enter the hangar. I obliged, leaving him to wait for Anakin. 

“And you said you wouldn’t be coming back,” Fives teased as I approached the two ARC troopers.

I shrugged, easily donning a smile. “An impossible mission that’s probably going to get us all killed was just too enticing to pass up. I’m glad I’ll have you guys to watch my back.”

“Same here, kid,” Echo chuckled at me.

We all turned as we heard C-3PO griping after R2, who was leading three battle droids painted in 501st blue. “Don’t you go thumbing your gears at me just because you have a bunch of dim-witted droids following you about. Oh! Really,” the translator turned away to shuffle from the hangar, obviously annoyed by R2 having his own little assault group.

“We’re trusting those droids to get us into the Citadel?” Fives asked in a hushed tone, glancing at Cody.

“It’s the only way,” the commander stated. “We’re flying right into the heart of Separatist territory. Droids won’t be detected.”

“And how won’t we be detected?” Echo asked.

I cringed slightly, remembering my suggestion. “It won’t be very fun, but we won’t die,” I tried to reason, earning looks from the clones around me. 

“What did you do?” Fives sighed.

“I made a suggestion. A good suggestion, by the way.”

“Which is?” Cody asked, glancing at me.

“Carbon freezing.” I was met with groans and worried glances, making me chew my lip in an attempt not to laugh at them.

“R2,” Anakin called as he entered the hangar with Obi-wan. I suppose his talk with Ahsoka had concluded. I doubted the padawan took it well. “Make sure they don’t stray from the flight plan.”

“It’s all under control, sir,” one of the reprogrammed battle droids responded over R2’s beeping.

“I was talking to R2,” Anakin scowled before walking past them.

I stayed where I was as everyone prepared to leave. It’s not like I had anything to do. I was in my gear and fully armed. So instead, I watched them, eyeing Ahsoka as she left Plo Koon’s side to join me.

“If it makes you feel any better,” I greeted as she approached with a contemplative look. “They apparently don’t value me enough to want to keep me from danger.”

“Or they value you enough to know you can handle yourself,” she responded grumpily, leaning against the speeder I stood beside.

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Why doesn’t he want you to come?”

“He thinks it’s too dangerous. But shouldn’t it be my choice when and how I put myself in danger?”

She certainly had a point. I sighed. “One would think so.”

“So you agree with me that I should be on this mission?”

I looked into her big cerulean eyes. “I’d love for you to come on this mission. I think we need all the help that we can get. And I think your master is being a bit over protective.”

“That’s what I said!” she claimed, exasperated. 

“Wait,” I cut her off, giving her a look. “But I also don’t think he’s going to budge on this subject.” She scowled, but quieted as Obi-wan walked by, flanked by the rest of the crew going on the mission.

“Are you ready?”

I nodded at him, stepping away from Ahsoka as everyone else made their way to the carbon freezer. “So you’re saying I should stay here?” the padawan called after me.

“I said he wouldn’t change his mind,” I said over my shoulder with a smirk. “I never said you should stay, though.” I gave a meaningful glance to the carbon freezer, earning a slow smile from her as she understood.

Did I want her getting in trouble? Of course not. But if having her along meant we were less likely to die? Hell, I’d take the punishment for her.

I followed the others up onto the mechanism, finding my own circle to stand on after telling the clones to remove their helmets. The last thing they wanted to do was suffocate under those things if anything went wrong. 

“Nice to have you along,” Rex said quietly as he moved past me, casting me a small smile. Still, he seemed apprehensive in the Force. Like he knew how dangerous this was and didn’t want me getting hurt. Or him getting distracted.

“Are, uh, we sure this thing is safe?” Fives asked as he examined the machine. “I don’t want to end up a wall decoration.” I chuckled darkly, knowing that he didn’t get the full extent of his joke. I’d seen that happen before. Jabba found it hilarious.

“Try to relax,” Obi-wan assured from the platform next to mine. “We’ll be unfrozen as soon as we arrive.” 

I did my best to do as he said, despite my own apprehensions. I knew it wouldn’t kill me, but the people I threw in a carbon freezer never seemed to enjoy it, either. I folded my hands, closing my eyes as the alarms began to blare, the machine whirring. The platform beneath me descended, lowering me into the tube.

I took a deep breath, knowing what was coming, trying to balance myself. I would be falling asleep in the temple, only to wake up in a war zone. I let myself be assured by my own abilities, my armor, my companions, and the beskar hilted saber I had stashed in my belt pouch. And then the jets engaged, filling the tube with impossibly cold air. It was like being thrown into an icy river...and then falling asleep.

I wondered briefly if this is what death felt like before losing consciousness.

[heartschoicegames]

Heart’s Choice Author Interview: RoAnna Sylver, “Dawnfall”

Find true love and family with a pirate crew at the ends of the universe, where aliens, ghosts, and portals open the space between worlds...and your heart. You are a Navigator, one who creates and guards portals from one dimension to another, wary of the liminal sea between them.

Your universe is made of two worlds: one contains the magic-infused world of Zephyria, and the other, the dystopian space station Eclipse. The worlds are balanced, until one day, an explosive disaster, a deadly energy storm, and an infamous pirate—the Ghost Queen—upend your life and plunge you into a race to save both worlds.

Dawnfall is a 232,000 word interactive romance novel by RoAnna Sylver,  one of the first set of games releasing with the launch of Heart’s Choice. I sat down with the author, RoAnna Sylver, to talk about writing interactive romance. Heart’s Choice games release December 2nd.

Dawnfall has frankly an insanely wonderful setting for a romance game. Tell me about the aliens, the pirates, the ghosts, and the alien-pirate-ghosts.

Hi there! I’m so glad you think this sounds fun! Yeah, Dawnfall is weird as heck, and that’s one of the things I love about this story. It’s weird in a way I don’t think we’ve seen much of before. I really just tried to put in everything I find fun or interesting, and that I’ve always wanted to write. Dawnfall started out as a total brain-candy project, and runs on pure Rule of Cool. Pirates? Yes. Magic? Yes. A slice of cyberpunk? Hell yes. Eerie ghosts and faerie-tale influences and memory-sharing potions? Giant bird people? The power of rock n’roll? Yes, yes, yes.

And also everybody’s dateable, and in a couple cases, dating each other. We weave a tangled web, but I think it’s a pretty badass and spectacular web.

You seem to really neatly straddle the genre fence here with a romance and sci-fi/fantasy. What was challenging about cramming all of that into one game?

Thank you so much for saying that. I’ve always adored SFF, and there’s so much in this genre-collection, so many extremes and concepts and contrasting colors, that I couldn’t limit myself to picking just one to play with. This weird game-book is kind of a love letter to fantasy and science fiction and haunted house stories and cyberpunk adventures—I thought a lot about the Disney movie Treasure Planet for its genre-blending beauty, and the Bioware game Mass Effect for its array of fascinating, multidimensional alien cuties to interact with and date… and then turned it up to eleven.

I guess you’d expect the challenge to be in making it all fit together/be “believable,” but I kind of threw that out the window. I don’t expect anyone to find it ‘realistic’ (setting-wise anyway; I tried to make every character ring true of course), and I don’t really care if someone thinks it’s silly, or doesn’t take it seriously. It is silly in a lot of ways. DAWNFALL is a giant ridiculous queer space magic pirate adventure, and the only goal is fun. If you have fun, I’ve done my job, and there should be something fun in here for everyone.

Did you have a favorite NPC you enjoyed writing most?

Honestly I love them all so much in different ways, and I know them so well by now it’s really second nature. Their voices come so easily and they’re all so much fun. The Queen’s swagger is awesome though, and her mental voice/mannerisms probably come through especially clearly. I love Zenith’s vulnerable moments when xie lets xir guard down and lets go of the need to entertain or please. I love Averis’s journey and growth from cute wibbly nerd to a confident swashbuckler (who is also still a cute wibbly nerd). I love how deeply Oz feels, how strongly he loves and remembers and honors memory, and how unafraid he is to show softness and warmth. And I love a certain spoilery ghost-babe and how they’re so full of joy at the beauty of life.

I do want to give special mention to Aeon, though. This is a story about connection, and I wanted to show that sibling bonds are every bit as important and strong as romantic or any other. I also wanted to show a complex, multidimensional antagonist figure who holds heartbreaking secrets along with authority, and is genuinely trying to do what she thinks is the best thing, and wants what’s best for you, the PC, even if you might not always agree. Her balance between being so emotionally guarded and determined and unyielding, while hopefully being extremely easy to read and tell what she wants and fears and loves—spoiler: you; she loves you!—was a challenge I hope I pull off.

…Also I enjoy any time Vyranix gets his pompous feathered ass handed to him. I think we all know a Vyranix, or at least of one, and it’s always fun to take them down, even in fantasy.

Who would you be romancing as a player?

I’m gonna say “everyone,” and here it won’t actually be cheating, because you can romance everyone! At once! In varying degrees/relationship dynamics and attractions. You don’t see a lot of polyamory-friendly games or books or anything really, and this is an incredibly important thing for me. The second I got the idea for Dawnfall I knew it had to let players romance anyone they wanted and show polyamory in a realistic, healthy light. I’m also a-spec (asexual and aromantic), and having not just good representation but being actively included and welcomed and celebrated in fiction is so huge too.

Dawnfall is a romance of course, being part of Heart’s Choice, but one of the single most vital elements for me is making it inclusive for aromantic and asexual players and player-characters. Essentially, I wanted to write a romance that didn’t penalize players for not experiencing the attractions the way we’re otherwise expected or required—and I’m so grateful that my amazing editors and community not only accepted but supported everything I was trying to do here. (It’s so refreshing not to have to fight for inclusion and freedom. It shouldn’t be, but it is.)

And that’s where the concept of “Heart-Stars” and “Same-Feathers” came from. I’ve never seen anything honor queerplatonic relationships like I’m trying to do here, and I want everyone, of every sexuality and attraction, to feel like they have a place here and can experience this adventure without limits. And I wanted to show that it’s a very normal thing, hence this being the same for the human characters as well as alien. (One of the nonbinary characters being human is also no mistake. I love me some wild alien genders, but there are tons of awesome nonbinary humans too!)

…That being said, I think I gave Averis most of my anxiety-issues, and would really just like to curl up with Oz and watch The Great British Bake-Off. That sounds like a perfect night in my books.

What were some of the things you found surprising about the game-writing process?

Coding was definitely the biggest learning curve. I’d never coded anything before in my life, and it’s such a new skillset to learn, entirely different from any kind of writing I’ve ever done. Sometimes it felt rewriting my brain, which did not at all do this intuitively—and also sometimes like I bit off much more than I could chew (first game ever being not only a huge piece of interactive fiction, but a polyamorous romance with aro and ace possibilities, and so many more variables than expected!), but it’s been worth it. Entirely. If my writing makes anyone feel seen and accepted and invited to have fun as they are, it’s worth every bit of struggle.

Also, oddly, interactive fiction is in some ways easier for me than writing a plain old book! Probably because I love AUs so much, and every choice in a game is like writing a tiny AU of the story, so I get to do the same scenes several different ways. My ADHD-brain finds something about this extremely satisfying, most likely because it somehow feels more like multitasking! Several stories in one, and if I like two ideas, I don’t have to pick just one to write!

Honestly though, I think the most surprising part is just being done, and…that I could do this at all. It was so huge, and took so long, and I learned so much, and every day I’m just kind of going “who the hell am I?” about doing all of this. I’m proud of it. I did a cool thing. And trying to get better at saying that.

And, what are you working on now?

I always have about 8 active projects going at once (which shouldn’t come as a surprise after last question!), but my next interactive fiction game is with Tales/Fable Labs! It’s shaping up to be a Dawnfall-sized project, but a little faster-moving and action-y.

It’s called Every Beat Belongs To You, and it’s a romantic thriller that feels like Twin Peaks meets Mr. Robot, with a smattering of Repo: The Genetic Opera. A creepy Pacific Northwest town with a secret (and a rash of ritualized murders), a super-slick medical research company whose flagship product is a 100% perfect synthetic heart, a mysterious new-age group, and a sister who went missing just before discovering how it’s all connected. Also five simultaneously-dateable (including ace and aro ships!) cuties of varying genders! Who will you trust with your heart?

I’m very excited about Everybeat, which should be just as queer, polyam, exciting, and weird as all my stuff! Aside from that, I’m working on Stake Sauce Book 2, its companion f/f vampire series Death Masquerade, and Chameleon Moon Book 3. I’m not always working…sometimes there are videogames, and sleep. But I really hope to have a lot more fun things to share soon!

Oh, and depending on how this weird, fun thing goes, I do have some ideas for prequel Dawnfall stories; maybe games, maybe books, but the ideas are there. The world—worlds, really—is so huge, and I’m not done playing in it yet! I also have some character art drawn, and I want to do a lot more of them. It’s another way to show love.

So thank you so much! I really hope Dawnfall is as fun to everyone to read/play as it was for me to write. I can’t wait to share it with you!

[xxdearlybeloved]

The Earl’s Treasure

Ragnar x Reader

Summary: A lot can happen in a year

A/N: There is smut in here but if you’re reading it for that you’ll be disappointed. Also character death and cheating. This is probably terrible so I may delete it but it has been nagging me for months so here ya go. It’s also twice as long as my usual fics so i tried to split it up so you could find your place if you had to come back.

Spring

You focused on the brightest star as the waves gently rocked you, your head tilted back to try and catch as much fresh air as you could. The stale scent rose faintly from the men to your nose and you closed your eyes. With the gentle rocking, the slapping waves, you tried to let your mind carry you back to the sunny fields of your home.  

You imagined the sun, warm on your face. The wind singing softly through your hair, the air untainted by the stench of unbathed warriors. A soft smile played at your lips as the waves carried you into your dream, into your life only a few years before. The sudden snore of the earl interrupted your trance as his arm pulled you closer, reminding you that all the dreams in the world did nothing to help your current reality.  

Opening your eyes again, you found your star, blurry from the tears that threatened to escape your eyes. You should be grateful, you reminded yourself. You were free now, the mistress of an earl. Beauty and grace had saved you from a life of servitude. But were you truly free if this was not where you wanted to be?  

You looked at the pale face of the earl, traced the scars with your eyes as his strong arms held you. You did not love him, but he was kind. More than kind - he had saved you. You owed him your life, and for that you would follow him anywhere, so you let him carry you across the sea to another land unknown.  

The cold awakened you, the numbness almost painful as you realized you were alone. The men were all eating and you watched them, too cold to move as the damp seemed to seep into your bones. They went about their work, rowing as you huddled in the corner, staring out over the landscape as you took in the snow filled mountains. Soon, you could make out buildings dotting the lands and your heart began to hammer in your chest. You were almost there.  

“Kattegat,” you whispered, lost to the song of the waves. The land of their ruler, a legend you had grown to fear. The farmer who became king, the wise and fearless Ragnar. The earl wanted to join him on his next raid, to be a part of the legend himself. As you looked over the modest buildings, the giants going about their day, the images of the men who raided your lands began to haunt you. Now you would meet their king.

As the boat docked, the men were clearly excited, practically leaping to the docks to find the comfort of food and women they had been deprived of the past few days. Slowly, you rose, trying not to stumble as your legs were unsteady. You wrapped the fur more tightly around you, following your earl and his men.

You thought you had grown used to the stares, but these men held no shame, openly taking you in as they stopped in their tracks, watching the newcomers visiting their home. But when their eyes fell on you, your nerves were electric. Few had seen people of your complexion, fewer still so far north. You kept your eyes straight ahead, your head high as you entered the doors, the raucous laughter and excitement growing silent as you stepped through the threshold.  

Determined to not show fear, you did not take in the surroundings. You looked forward, focusing on nothing as you followed the men through the room.  In your periphery, you saw the thrones, and you followed the party before them. You knelt with the earl and his men, eyes focused on the ground as you waited for the king to greet you.  

You were still not fluent in their language, but you heard the king welcome the men to Kattegat. Your earl pledged his loyalty and dedication to the king, promising to serve him as he requested the honor to join the next raid.  

“You flatter me,” you heard the king say, and the men in the room laughed. “Please, join us for dinner. I have not announced our summer raids, but you are welcome in Kattegat for now.” You felt the men rise, so you did as well with eyes still trained to the ground.  

“And who is this?” You heard the king ask. Alarmed, you looked to the earl, then to the king. Your breath caught as your eyes connected. He seemed to stare straight into your soul. You could not tear your eyes away, but you felt the earl’s hand on your waist as he introduced you as his lover.  

“I see,” Ragnar said, not breaking eye contact with you. Were you actually lightheaded or just imagining it? “And what is your name?” You didn’t know if it was fear or excitement, the strange place and the attention rendered you not only speechless, but unable to think. You could not remember your name or how to introduce yourself in their language.  

Once again, the earl saved you.  

After offering his table again, you all sat and began to eat, all of you starving from the journey. You had grown used to sneaking food away as the men fought over what was at the table, sitting quietly as you took in the room and the people. Some were still openly staring as they talked with each other, a few gazes made your appetite wane. You set the food down, closing your eyes as you tried to breathe and control your nerves.

“How is the food?” the voice was unmistakable, but you turned to find the king sitting next to you, a small smile on his face. You nodded silently, all your breathing wasted as you felt exposed by his gaze.

“Where are you from?” Ragnar asked you, speaking slowly for your benefit. His eyes traveled to your hair and your mouth before coming back to your eyes.

“South, very far.” Although not fluent, you spoke firmly, the richness of your voice made the words sound like music.  

“Tell me about it,” Ragnar said, placing an elbow on the table as he focused his full attention on you. You felt your nerves electrify once more, but his gaze pulled you in. As the conversation continued, your disjointed answers turned to monologues, his silence encouraging as he seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say. Your eyes lit up as you talked about your homeland. He leaned in as your voice became quieter describing how you were captured and ended up where you were.  

His hand came to touch your cheek, the roughness causing a spark through your entire body. “My people like treasure,” he said, his stare making you wonder if he meant you. Your eyes traced his lips, wondering if they felt as soft as they looked. You saw them turn up in a smile, and you were grateful he could not see you blush as your thoughts must have been plain on your face.  

You looked around to see the hall mostly empty, the earl watching you and Ragnar, his expression unreadable. You turned back to Ragnar, his hand having moved to your hair. “I must go” you said, and you watched as he shifted his gaze to the earl. He looked back at you, a playful expression in his eyes before he rose without saying a word.

Summer

You spent the next few months with the men at the camp, waiting for Ragnar to announce the summer raids. They passed quickly as there was plenty of work to do to prepare and the people were grateful for your help when you offered. You only occasionally saw Ragnar, but he frequently visited your dreams.

As you stood on the docks, the excitement in the air as the brave men and women prepared to return to England. The Earl held you face in his hands, kissing your lips before he went down to his boat. You held your cheek as you watched them sail away, listening to the cries of the vikings around you. So many warriors, you thought as you scanned the boats, still working to understand their strange culture. You still feared them, but you were beginning to understand them. They were slowly becoming more human, as you watched families wave goodbye to their loved ones who they may never see again.  

You were grateful that Aslaug decided to keep you with her, watching after the children with some of the other women as they anxiously awaited for the boats to return. It was still difficult to find your place, as you did not fully belong with them or the servants. The underlying guilt you had for your desire of the king was lifted when you learned of Aslaug’s exploits with the strange visitor, accepting that the Viking culture was different. After the near loss of life of two of the princes, and the death of an old Earl’s wife, Aslaug relied on you more.  

As the months passed you grew to love the children. They helped you learn the language and taught you more about the strange Viking culture. Some nights, you would have nightmares about the things they believed. You would hear the screams of the people being sacrificed, remembering your own people who were killed when they fought for their lives. You would lay awake in a cold sweat as you thought about how your story would end and how long you would be safe.  

The summer ended and excitement filled the air, almost palpable as you left the Great Hall. After a few steps, you could piece together from the broken conversations that after much anticipation, the ships were finally returning. In the months since you arrived in Kattegat, you would look out to the horizon, imagining the fanfare when the fabled warriors would appear over the water. Through the crowds, you could now make out the silhouettes, and you ran back to tell Aslaug before returning on your errand of gathering more water to bathe the children.  

You gathered the water, approaching the crowds once more as the first boat reached the dock. The joy was contagious and you smiled, walking distractedly towards the pomp and circumstance. As your eyes scanned the crowd, they froze as they connected with the icy blues of Ragnar walking towards you. His stare, though a sea of people separated you, held you fast where you stood. The bucket of water you were holding fell from your grasp, sending a sudden cold around your feet and legs. The pull of his stare overwhelmed the shock of the water splashing you, still unable to break his gaze.  

The crowd begins to part as he makes his way towards you, your heart hammering in your chest as he grew steadily nearer. You took in his form striding towards you, the muted power and confidence apparent as his eyes still locked with yours. The icy blue sent a chill in your chest that made it harder still for you to breathe. He was before you now, his eyes regretfully breaking away to slowly trace your body, pausing at the bucket by your feet you had still been too distracted to pick up. He handed it to you, but you could tell by his eyes he had something to say.  

“He’s dead.” The words echoed in your head before they found meaning, Ragnar stepping forward to hold on to you before you fell to the ground. He couldn’t be gone. Then, you realized, you were alone. Ragnar guided you away to a house, pulling you through the doors before setting you on the bed. Alone, the word repeated in your head as you tried to figure what this meant for you. You were laying on your side as Ragnar knelt before you, his thumb wiping the tears from your eyes.  

“I will take care of you,” he said simply. You believed him.  

Fall

The next day, you rose early to get the children. You had barely slept after Ragnar left, the pain in your chest making it hard to breathe. You didn’t know what else to do, but you found comfort in hoping that their presence in your life wouldn't change. You didn’t know what else would change now that everyone was back.

After breakfast, you took your usual walk with them, surprised by all of the people who were also up and about. You felt the stares but focused on the children, hoping no one would bother you when they realized who you were with.  

As you returned to the Great Hall, you found it empty apart from Ragnar on the steps leading up to the throne eating breakfast. You were unsure how to react. You may have shared a moment, but he was still the King. And you were still not sure of your place in his kingdom.

The kids all ran to their father as you walked past him to the kids’ room. You went to set Ivar down, tucking in his legs tightly the way you were shown. Feeling small arms wrap around you, you turned to find Ubbe, and you saw Ragnar holding Hvitserk with Sigurd staring in the doorway. Ubbe ran back to his dad and you smiled watching this man play with his children. Their love for each other was clear.  

Deciding not to interrupt the quality time, you stood and went back to the hall. It was still empty as most were probably still spending time with their families, but a complete mess from the celebration that occurred the night before.  

You began mindlessly tidying up, not sure what to do with yourself while Ragnar was with the kids. He said he would take care of you, but what would that mean? Would you be a servant of the house left to take care of the children? As you grabbed another bowl, you turned, catching Ragnar in the shadows watching you. Neither of you said anything as you took in each other. You had so many things you wanted to ask him, but you didn’t know where to begin.

“The kids?” you asked awkwardly, feeling exposed under his gaze. He approached you, his eyes never leaving yours as he closed the distance. You still held the dishes in your hands, uncertain of what he wanted. He looked at your lips before gently running his hand on your cheek. You felt the tension in your jaw relax. Ragnar’s eyes found yours again, and like a trance, you felt yourself being pulled towards him before he swiftly connected his lips with yours.  

Just as you had spent your nights at sea dreaming of home, Ragnar had dreamt of you. Your beauty had haunted him since you knelt before him and he was intrigued. He loved listening to you talk, watching the way your lips formed the words of his language. He understood why the earl had been taken with you. Seeing you surrounded by his kids made him feel less insane in his pull towards you.  

Ragnar slowly pushed you against the wall, his hands on your face holding you tightly to him. Your fingers hurt from clinging to the bowls you were holding, as if they could anchor you to reality. Frustrated, Ragnar pushed the bowls from your hands, crashing them to the floor before his hands came back to your face.  

Your now free hands were determined, wrapping around Ragnar's neck as you moaned into his kiss, the intoxicating warmth of his body overwhelming your senses. His hands roamed to your ass as his teeth gently pulled at your lip. You wanted him closer as you wrapped your leg around him, his hands supporting your ass as he lifted the other leg and pushed you into the wall. You felt him growing between you and you were weak at the thought of being with him.  

“Ragnar!” a shrill voice broke your trance, bringing you back to reality as you took in what you were doing and with who. As you realized who owned the voice, your heart sank.  

You desperately tried to untangle yourself as you read the annoyance in Ragnar’s face, his eyes closed as he slowly turned around. You still tried to adjust yourself as you heard something crash beside you. Aslaug was throwing dishes at you both in rage and Ragnar went to stop her, holding her arms next to her body as she screamed at him.  

You discretely went to the boys’ room, easing their nerves as they listened to their parents fight by trying to distract them. After awhile, it grew silent. As you debated whether to make your escape while you watched the boys play fight, Aslaug came into the room and you froze, not sure if she was going to kill or banish you – whether you should admit guilt or plead innocence.

She looked at you without saying anything. Her gaze was unreadable, but it was determinedly not friendly and your heart broke as you realized you betrayed her. She had been nothing but kind to you, and you had just been caught with her husband. Your king. Before you could begin to apologize, she moved past you, picking up Ivar and leaving the room.  

For the next few weeks, you kept your distance from Ragnar and you felt as if he was doing the same. Your eyes would still connect, sending shivers down your spine before you looked away and put as much distance between you as you could. But you would still think about him. How soft and firm his lips were. How strong his arms felt against you, supporting you. You wanted him, but it felt wrong.

Winter

As the winter came, you found the extreme cold once again unbearable, and Aslaug seemed to punish you by sending you out in it constantly. Fetching nearly frozen water, going to pick up things she didn’t need. It seemed as if all the fires in the world could not warm you as you returned. And just as you began to have feelings in your limbs again, she would send you back out.

If you could feel your face you would cry. Though you were in physical pain from the wind blowing the misty air around you, your emotions were also all over the place. Ragnar said he would take care of you. You missed your home, you even missed the comfort you had felt with the earl. How much longer would it go on like this? What could you hope for?  

Thinking became impossible over the sound of your teeth chattering. Your head was pounding, your whole body numb, so you willed your legs to take you to your bed with the other servants so you could lay down. Sleep washed over you like a wave of darkness and you woke up disoriented, food next to your bed. There was no way to tell how much time had passed, but you were too exhausted to even consider the food. You were covered in sweat but felt cold in your bones. Pulling the blankets to cover you, you drifted back to sleep.  

Your sore throat turned into an incessant cough, the exhaustion paired with an inability to sleep made you delirious. You couldn’t breathe, and you wondered if you would die in this strange land, alone. The other servants took pity on you and wiped cold water over your overheated body.  

Dreams and reality overlapped and you thought you were floating before you realized you were being lifted. You opened your eyes to Ragnar looking down at you, the sun shining behind his head making him look like an angel. Or a god.  

“She will not sleep in my bed” Aslaug’s voice threaded into your dreams.  

“It is too cold where she sleeps, she is not getting better.”

“How dare you insult me like this. I am your wife. I am the mother of your children”

“So is Lagertha” You could hear the smile in his voice, just as you could the silence after he spoke. He might as well have slapped her.  

The change was good for you and your body finally began to recover, no longer fighting so hard against the cold. Soon, the coughing bouts became further and further apart, letting your body get even more needed rest.  

After a deep, uninterrupted sleep, you finally woke up, sane and lucid but starving. You slowly opened your eyes, taking in the unfamiliar room and began to remember where you were. Slowly, you sat up, too weak to do much more. You spotted the water next to the bed and you reached for it, arms shaking as you tried to lift the pitcher and pour, but it fell from your hands. The sounds brought Ragnar, along with one of the servants, to the room.  

His smile was blinding. “You’re really awake” You tried to smile back as you collapsed against your pillow. “Are you hungry?” You nodded. “Fetch some bread” He said to the servant before picking up the pitcher of water. He poured what was left of it into the cup, before sitting facing you on the bed. “Open” he said, and you did. He poured the water into your mouth and you drank, gratefully. He set the cup down before swiping his thumb over your lips, instantly sending you back to that moment in the great hall.  

The girl returned with bread and cheese, which Ragnar slowly fed to you. It was mostly in silence, and you could feel your strength coming back. You took in the enormity of the situation. Here you were, being fed by a King as you lay in his bed. You couldn’t help but smile at the idea. The children came to interrupt, happy to see you awake. They jumped on the bed with you before their father told them to leave, taking them back to their room to play. When he returned, you were asleep.

By the next day, you felt like you were back to yourself. The only thing you desperately needed was a bath. After spending the entire day in and out of sleep, you still had not seen Ragnar. You had no idea where he was or how long you were to stay in his room. You hesitantly asked one of the servants and they prepared one for you next to the fire. Your legs were weak as you slid them out of the bed and the girl led you to the tub. You tested the water, the warmth enticing as you stripped as quickly as you could and eased into the bath. You relaxed, tilting your head back as the water washed over you.  

Ragnar took you in, the candlelight against your wet skin made you seem as if you were glowing. He imagined how soft you would feel in his hands as he slowly approached you, admiring the look of contentment on your face.  It wasn’t until he was in reaching distance that you realized you were not alone. Startled, you opened your eyes and moved to cover yourself before turning to see who was there. His look was hungry as he approached you. Fear gripped your heart as the way he moved in the shadows reminded you he was a warrior still.  

He saw the fear reflected in your eyes and he paused, his lips moving up in a meaningless smile as he knelt down next to your tub, the desire still clear in his eyes. His calloused hand reached out to touch your cheek, a single finger tracing your features, sending shivers down your spine. He traced the path from your eye to your nose before gently tracing your lips. Your heart racing, you slowly opened your mouth. His eyes focused back on yours as he slid his finger inside. You closed your mouth around it, your eyes locked on his as you sucked on it softly before placing a kiss on its tip.  

Ragnar’s eyes burned into yours as he gripped your face tightly in one hand before pressing his lips to yours. Your mouth parted as you deepened the kiss, inviting him in. Your tongues danced as the tempo of your breathing increased, the taste of him intoxicating. Sharp pain shot through your lip as he sank his teeth in. You gasped, bringing your hand to your mouth as you regained some of your senses. The gentleness from before was gone. When you looked back up at Ragnar, his eyes a storm of lust and desire, you dropped your hand as he moved closer to you. His lips moved to yours again, but your sharp inhale made Ragnar pull away slightly. He whispered against your lips, “don’t be afraid” before he kissed you again, easing your mouth back open so you could resume your dance, a little slower than before.  

Ragnar pulled away and you opened your eyes, watching him as he reached for the soap. Slowly, he began washing your body, gently rubbing one limb at a time. When his hands reached between your thighs, the intensity in his eyes burning into yours, you spread your legs, barely able to breathe with anticipation. He brought his lips to yours again, slowly teasing you and you lost yourself against his hand. He slowly stopped, pulling away despite your protests before getting something to wrap you in. He carried you back to the bed, and you watched him strip and get into the tub after you. The rhythmic sounds of the water and the soft glow of the candlelight guided you to sleep.  

You felt his hand run up your body as he pulled you from your sleep. He gently kissed your shoulder, before he slid his hand under your cover and lightly pinched your breast. He teased as he moved his lips to yours, kissing you, your breathing turning into moans as you ached for him. He pulled back to smile at you. “Are you upset with me?” You shook your head, moving to recapture his lips with yours. He pulled back, biting his lip before whispering, “Turn around.”  

Confused, you waited for further clarification as Ragnar released you. When it was obvious he wanted you to follow his instructions you did, turning to face away from him. You felt him move closer, pressing into your back as he wrapped a hand around your stomach, pulling you closer. He began kissing your neck, sliding his hand down your thigh before pulling it towards your chest. He slid a finger slowly over your slit before easing it in, your hand grabbing onto the furs next to you. He slid his finger in a few more times and you moved your body against it, whining when he pulled out. Then you felt his tip push against your entrance and you braced, feeling how much larger it was than his finger.  

You felt his breath hot on your ear as he told you to relax. Slowly, he pushed in, stretching your walls as you told yourself with every exhale to breathe. Your eyes were shut tight, but you heard Ragnar’s moans as he filled you, and you tried to open your leg a little wider. You felt a tear fall from your eye and you hoped he didn’t notice but he did, turning your head to face him. He silently asked if you were okay and you nodded, moving to kiss him. He slowly moved his hips, sliding in and out of you, the pain turning to pleasure. Overwhelming pleasure that had you breaking the kiss and you gripped on the furs, his hips finding a rhythm that had you biting your lips to hold back the moans. Ragnar moved a hand to start teasing your bundle of nerves and you lost it, the waves of pleasure coursing through you as you clenched around him.  

The sight and feel of you falling apart in his hands tapped into his conquering nature. He flipping you onto your back your legs on either side of his hips as he drove into you, this new angle sending him even deeper inside you. The gentle Viking was gone as he fucked you, the sound of his hips slapping against yours rang in your ears as you clutched his back, covered in sweat. With long, hard thrusts he came inside you. The sensation sending you over the edge again as you shook underneath him, clinging him to you as he collapsed against you. His head rested on your chest as you caught your breath. As your breathing returned to normal, you traced the patterns on his head. Your body felt spent but your mind was bliss.  

You made love again that night and countless times in the months after. You knew you would never be queen, but you didn’t want that. You wanted Ragnar. He didn’t tell you that you helped fill a hole for him left by Aethestan just as Aslaug never confessed to you that she has accepted the love between them was gone. His appetite for you seemed insatiable and you felt connected in a way you hadn’t felt since you were taken from your home. You listened to his dreams of Paris and were unsurprised when he told you that was where he would be sailing next. You listened, but again you couldn’t help but wonder what this meant for you. Who would you be while he was away? Who would he be when he returned? Tears slid from your eyes as you watched him sail away, praying to the gods that this wasn’t the end.

[swtorpadawan]

Left Behind

11 ATC Apalis Coast Alderaan

 Kira Carsen glared daggers at the smug Alderaanian noble. Jharkus Thul, the so-called ‘Wolf Baron’, (What a dumb nickname!) had just laid out his ‘proposal’ to Kira, her partner, Jedi Knight Corellan Halcyon, and to Duke Charles Organa. The two Jedi and the leader of House Organa were standing in a Thul field base – really a converted barn – just a few kilometers south of Castle Organa, having fought off an ambush by House Thul moments earlier at what was supposed to be a peaceful negotiation.

Small chance of that. Kira thought. House Thul is aligned with the Sith Empire. No way they can be trusted to bargain in good faith.    

Thul had decided that Corellan was effectively the lynchpin in Organa’s defenses at the moment. (He was probably right about that.) The Baron had therefore demanded that the Jedi Knight, who – with Kira’s help – had already fought off two attacks against Organa’s forces and had liberated the fabled ‘Spears of Organa’ besides, surrender himself in return for the release of three hundred forty-eight of Organa’s citizens who had been taken hostage by House Thul. He’d promised that he would not harm the Jedi Knight; that he would simply ransom Corellan back to the Republic after the Baron finished crushing House Organa. Likewise, he’d promised that he’d execute all the prisoners if Corellan refused the offer.

Now Kira watched as Corellan regarded the Baron with his cool, thousand-meter stare, his pale blue-grey eyes scrutinizing their foe unflinchingly.

You could cut through the tension in this room with a lightsaber. Kira thought. Any second now, she was certain, Corellan would give Kira the signal and they would attack. They’d dispatch the last of Thul’s flunkies, then they’d take the Baron prisoner and figure out a way to save the hostages. Maybe they’d barter the Baron back in return, or maybe they’d have to go charging in to wherever Thul was holding the hostages. Whatever it took. That was their motto. And Kira knew she would stand by Corellan’s side no matter what.

Any second now…

Instead, Corellan slowly unclipped both his lightsabers from his belt, then turned and handed them both to Kira. The Padawan blinked up at her master in confusion.

“Kira. Take these and head back to the ship. Contact the council so they know what’s happened, and then await further instructions.”

Kira’s confusion turned to sheer disbelief. “What?”

Corellan turned back to the Baron, still holding his weapons out to Kira. “I accept your terms, Baron Thul. Release the hostages.”

Duke Organa turned to the Jedi Knight with a grateful expression. “You will not be forgotten, Master Jedi. I swear it.”

“Corellan, no!” Kira cried out in alarm. “We can still beat him.”

Corellan turned back to his Padawan, his eyes softening. “Yes, we could, Kira. But we wouldn’t be able to save the hostages in time. The price is far too high.”  

“They’ll kill you.”

Corellan shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so. And even if he might, it’s a chance I’ll have to take. But the council needs to know the status of the mission so they can make contingency plans. That has to be the priority.”

“I can’t just leave you behind!” Kira exclaimed. The Jedi padawan fought down a surge of panic she felt in her heart. This was Corellan. This was the toughest hero she’d ever met, and the best lightsaber duelist among his generation of Jedi. They’d already saved four entire planets together – including the untold billions of people on Coruscant. With Darth Angral still on the run, the whole galaxy needed him right now.

Kira needed him right now.

He promised he’d protect me from the Sith. She thought bitterly. He’s my…. He’s Corellan.

Corellan’s pale blue eyes met Kira’s own deep blues squarely. His gaze was gentle but firm. Just like he was.

“You have to. Please, Kira.” Corellan pleaded softly.

So many things left unspoken in those five words. So many emotions that neither of them had dared to acknowledge. It was almost overwhelming.

Kira swallowed. Reluctantly, she finally reached out and accepted his twin lightsabers. She turned back towards the Wolf Baron, glaring at him again.

“I’m holding you responsible for what happens to him.” Every word was pointed like a threat.

The Baron, heedless of the danger he was in, merely scoffed dismissively. “I am a man of my word, girl.”  

Kira’s eyes narrowed, but she realized it was pointless to push any further with Thul. She turned back to Corellan, not trusting herself to speak again. The two Jedi exchanged one final, fleeting look, then Kira forced herself to turn away.

She walked out of the building and back in the direction of the spaceport, feeling her heart break with every step.  

  Two hours later, Kira was still pacing around the ship anxiously. She’d sent a quickly composed report to the Council about what had happened. Maybe they were sitting around the table in their chambers, debating their next course of action. Maybe they were all meditating on the dilemma, seeking guidance through the Force.

Maybe they should all get off their collective butts and do something.    

Kira let out a slow exhale, closing her eyes and pressing her hands together, and using one of the exercises she’d learned from the Jedi to restore some semblance of calm. She knew she shouldn’t be so hard on the Council. After all, they’d let her stay with Corellan on his mission even after her past as a Sith was revealed. She wondered if Master Kiwiiks was even back on Tython yet. She’d been so weakened by her experience on Tatooine… Kira worried about her old Master.

And now she was worried even more about her new one.

Teeseven had tried to get her to meditate, but she couldn’t focus. Corellan… he meant too much to her.  

She was about to mutter ‘kriff it’ and to run back out there by herself when her holo-communicator chimed.

Pressing the receive button, Kira felt an immense sense of relief when she saw a projection of Corellan smiling up at her. His robes looked a bit worse for wear –he had clearly been fighting – but he looked otherwise unhurt.

“Where have you been?” Kira blurted out before he could speak. Her cheeks reddened a bit at her own reaction.    

Corellan raised an eyebrow in bemusement but didn’t press. “Sorry, Kira. I couldn’t get to a transmitter until now.”

“What happened?” she asked.

“The Organa prisoners. When they heard I had turned myself in for them, they attacked the Thul troops and released me. Then we flanked Thul’s invasion force from behind. I managed well enough with a vibroblade until I could down a Sith carrying a lightsaber. I started using that.” He paused. “The battle’s over. Organa troops captured the Wolf Baron, his Sith support is gone and his remaining Thul soldiers are either being rounded up or they’re fleeing on foot into the wilderness.”

“House Organa is safe.”    

Kira bit her lip, happy that he was alright but also disappointed that she had missed the excitement, and that she hadn’t been at his side in the fight. It stung deeper than she thought it could.

“Oh.” She said finally.

“Duke Organa has invited all three of us – you, me and Tee-seven – to a ball at the castle tonight.” He smiled. “We’re the guests of honor. I don’t think Master Orgus would begrudge us a few hours of relaxation before we go find him.”

Kira’s eyebrows rose. The most infuriatingly driven man she had ever met had just asked her to a dance.

“I don’t have anything to wear.” She blurted out awkwardly.

Corellan waved his hand. “The Duke is taking care of all that. He’s having his royal tailors make a suit for me… and a gown for you.”

Kira felt her cheeks redden again. “A gown, huh?” she swallowed.

He nodded. “You and Teeseven should meet me at the Palace, alright? You and I need to get fitted, and we can get Tee cleaned up as well.”

“Right. We’re on our way.” She nodded, her confidence reemerging. “I’m not gonna miss a party.”

“Great. And Kira?”

“Mmm?”

Remember my lightsabers.”

Kira smirked at that. “Sure thing, tough guy.”

16 ATC Darth Marr’s flagship Wild Space

 “We’re free and clear… but it’s not looking good out here!” Kira shouted as the Defender disembarked from the Imperial destroyer.

All around them, the allied task force was being pulverized by the massive enemy fleet. Neither the Republic nor Sith warships seemed able to mount an effective response. As they had with Marr’s Terminus, these mysterious wild spacers were pounding through their shields, then launching boarding pods with battle droids were wrecking destruction on the ships’ internal systems.

It was a losing fight for the allies. Made even worse by the fact that with the airlock to Marr’s ship crushed, they’d been forced to leave Jedi Master Corellan Halcyon, the Hero of Tython and the Battlemaster of the Jedi Order, alone aboard the destroyer.

He was also Kira’s fiancée, but she didn’t think telling their attackers that would help anyone.  

“If you see an opening to escape, take it.” Corellan’s level voice came through their communicator. “Someone has to make it back to the Republic.”

A surge of panic rose in Kira’s heart. Years of experience and training had left her far more grounded and disciplined than she’d been as a Padawan. But the thought of leaving Corellan behind in the middle of all this still was as overwhelming to her now as it had been years prior.  

“I – WE can’t just leave you behind!” she exclaimed, catching herself. Kira could feel Doc and Teeseven looking at her for direction on the bridge of their Defender, but that wasn’t something she cared about right now.

Corellan’s voice was gentle but firm, just like he was.

“You have to. Please, Kira.”

The words were a plea. Kira knew that. And she could feel the meaning behind them through their Force bond; all the many emotions that there was no time to give a voice to.

Kira’s eyes pressed closed for a moment. It was almost overwhelming.

“All right… but you’d better be right behind us. May the Force be with you, Master.”

Kira quickly plotted a course away from the battle, then hit the emergency jumper. The stars outside the ship streaked as they entered hyperspace.

She sat back and exhaled slowly, finding no peace in it. Somewhere, Corellan was fighting a battle, and Kira wasn’t by his side.

He’s the Hero of Tython. Kira tried to tell herself. He’s the Battlemaster of the Jedi Order. The conqueror of the Sith Emperor. The champion of the Galactic Republic. The greatest warrior this galaxy has to offer. He’ll find a way back to us. Back to me.

“Come back to me, tough guy.” She whispered.

Then why did every light year of distance they put between themselves and the battle feel like her heart was breaking over and over again….

[blackrose-ffxiv]

Fair Trade and Leverage 11/19

"What we have to discuss is not necessarily suitable for uninvolved parties," Leon Robinaux leads the way, finding a spot upon the balcony where they cannot easily be heard, but which does not make it look as if they're trying to hide. "Now then," He says in a slightly lower voice, "we have some business to settle between us, do we not? I have discussed your claims and proposal to the boss, and he is… skeptical. Intrigued, but skeptical. He wonders just how much power you truly hold over Vidal. He believes that a demonstration is in order, and I agree."

Lebeaux Desrosiers rolled his shoulders and walked along with Leon casually towards the railing of the platform. He turned to lean casually against it, holding onto the rail. Just to be entirely sure that he wouldn’t be easily tossed over should the other decide he didn’t care for his replies. “I never agreed to hand him over to you or coerce him into working for you.” He pointed out calmly. “I offered to keep him out of your way. Which I have done.”

Leon snorts softly, as if Lebeaux has just told a little joke. "And how does that benefit us, ultimately? The only reason he still lives right now is because I allowed him that chance. And do you know why I did that? Because the boss still believes Vidal can be useful. So, do you understand now? If he never works for us, there's no reason to let him live. The best means of keeping him out of our way is to eliminate him. I want to trust you, of course. He's the one I don't trust, and I doubt you should, either."

Lebeaux tilted his head slightly as he smiled at Leon. “If you want him to benefit you, you should be off cutting deals with him rather than me.” He noted. “Oh, right. You stabbed him. You’re likely the last person he would be willing to work with.” His chin lifted slightly so he could smirk down his nose to Leon. “Let’s say I were to indulge you and agree to at least listen to your demands. What would your boss want by way of a demonstration."

"Michaux made it clear he had no intention of working with me when he stole from me with just surprising audacity," Leon says, waving off this suggestion. "If I were to dangle Solenne's fate before him… But no. I imagine that would only work once. Then I would either be forced to repay him, and thus lose my last tenuous hold on all three of them, or I would have to break our agreement, which will certainly dissuade him from working for me again. It would be better if I could keep him on a leash in some other way." He smiles when Lebeaux asks about the demonstration. "Ah, yes. One of those pirates from the Ruby Sea was recently captured for questioning on.. a certain matter, but she is proving extremely difficult to interrogate. Dismembering her to get the information I need would be inconvenient, but Michaux could obtain it easily."

The Ishgardian slowly tilted his head in the other direction, smiling all the while as he considered that. “There would be conditions. I wouldn’t agree to bringing him to you and your boss, seeing as there’s no guarantee that you wouldn’t harm him. Arrangements could be made to do the questioning at another location of my choosing. Bring your own subject.” He suggested cheerfully despite the subject matter. “But.” He held up a finger. “One little problem.” He pointed out. “You and your boss have still done nothing for me. I’ve no incentive to help either of you.”

"We thought you might stipulate something of the kind. I would accompany the prisoner myself, of course, and several  guards to keep her in line. The guards can keep their distance, however. I would agree to do it in a location of your choice." He huffs and smiles faintly. "Yes, of course. Money will be yours, and limited access to our spy network. Possibly access even to our assassins, if you prove valuable enough. But you want something more than that, don't you? Tell me, how much do you know about Solenne's activities while she was in Hingashi?"

Lebeaux allowed his gaze to drift away from the Duskwight, as though he was losing interest in the conversation. Pale eyes moving over the skyline and the ships in the harbor before they drifted back over towards the bathhouse. “I haven’t bothered to look into them.” It didn’t matter to him if she burned this place to the ground with her shady dealings. His grudge was far older than that. “I doubt that knowledge will be more satisfying than knowing she was gone for good and would never be able to interfere again.”

Leon's smile widens. "Why, I am surprised at you, Lebeaux. I've heard you were quite a shrewd man." He reaches up to brush a few strands of hair from his eyes. "You don't consider knowledge that could bring about her execution satisfying? The prospect of holding such information over her head - and Idristan's - doesn't interest you at all? Well, if that is the case, perhaps we should go our separate ways."

Lebeaux allowed his gaze to continue to roam until it circled back to Leon, settling it briefly on the other’s smile. “I’ve had my hands full in other matters. The pair of burnt-out heretics aren’t going anywhere anytime soon.” He noted calmly, lifting his hands from the railing to cross his arms over his chest. “Is that what you’re offering in exchange for my cooperation in coercing Michaux to aid you. Damning information and evidence against Solenne.”

"Burnt out heretics," Leon repeats, looking even more amused. "I have recently been given to understand that they intend to go wherever they wish, and do whatever they wish, even if it's likely to bring about a direct confrontation with me. Do you think you're immune? Ah, perhaps you do, using their friend as a shield. An excellent tactic, by the way. Too bad I might have to remove him from your grasp." He taps his chin, looking thoughtful. "Yes, I do have permission now to offer you such evidence against Solenne."

The medic toyed lightly with the edge of his sleeve before he smoothed it out again, keeping his arms folded over his chest. “I suspect I’m immune until they find a method of dealing with you.” He noted. “Considering my truce with Idristan, I am the lesser target for the time being.” Honestly he was just waiting for one to take the other out, either way. “And should you talk like that, it’s truly not very conducive to convincing me to bring Michaux around you. Why would I share my toys when you’ve threatened to take them away or break them.” He teased with a smirk. “Unless. Unless you give me a down payment on your end of the bargain. A taste to ensure what you’re offering is worth my time and not common knowledge.”

"Of course I would not remove him if you prove to have enough control over him to make him useful," Leon points out. "Isn't that part of what we're bargaining for? Let's see though. A little taste. Hmm… I wonder if you have heard the fuss about the recent assassination of a noble in Bukyo? Perhaps not, if you've had your hands full. It's quite a scandal. It was a foreign woman who received special permission to pass beyond the gates of Kugane because she was another noble's concubine. You must have heard this part, though. You have met that noble yourself." He tilts his head to one side. "How it has horrified the nation. A foreign woman - an Elezen - assassinating one of our elite. It is thought that she is dead, but should she ever be found alive, I can readily imagine what would become of her."

Lebeaux listened with a calculated air of disinterest. As though such things were below him. But after the tale was told he uncrossed his arms from his chest and pushed lightly away from the railing. “Very well. I’ll have to do a bit of looking around to check the veracity of the fable you’ve fed me. But should things seem to add up I shall be in touch to arrange that rendezvous between Michaux and your honored guest.” He offered. “Lovely as this all has been, I shall resume my plans to have a bath. Spending too long around you makes me desire one all the more.” He offered cheerfully. “Good day, Leon.”

Leon eyes Lebeaux calmly, his smile faded. But not because he is disappointed. No, despite his air of indifference, Lebeaux does seem interested in this small taste of Solenne's sordid Hingan visit. Instead of hemming or hawing further, he seems interested in this bait. Perfect. "Very well. Thank you for giving me a few minutes of your time, Lebeaux. I look forward to hearing from you quite soon." He seems poised to leave, but then he pauses. "Give Michaux my regards next time you see him." And with that, he walks away.

@secrets-and-aetherlight