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yunamedkostobot · 3 months ago

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Jacegan Week 2024: Day 2, Canon

drabble, 1.4k words

King Jace, AU, minor jacela(political marriage), mentioned jofhaera and Addam/Rhaena

The sun sets over King's Landing as Cregan stands near the Princevault — so this building with the slate roof and high carved doors is called now, with prince Daeron Targaryen, formerly the Daring, kept here.

It was the surprise when not so long after the war ended, King Jacaerys Targaryen, former Velaryon, declared that his uncle, who barely survived the battle of Tumbleton, would not be executed, but instead held in lifelong captivity.

« I understand your concerns, my lords». — he said to the Small Council. — «But my uncle is not dangerous now. His dragon is dead. He lost his left arm and half of his foot in the last battle, he has numerous burns… He will not be able to fight for the throne. Nobody will follow the king who is crippled to such an extent. And he is still my uncle, and I don’t want to spill the blood of my relatives.»

«Why won’t you send him to the Nightwatch, your Highness?» asked Corlys Velaryon, Master over the Ships then and Cregan, who stood by here with Hand’s brooch on his doublet, was more than agree with him.

If there hadn’t been a Bitterbridge massacre, Cregan could have even felt pity towards the fallen prince. But not after him demanding to kill all of his inhabitants even after the true killers of prince Maelor were executed. No, he does not understand why Jacaerys spared him.

« He may be kidnapped by remaining Green supporters during the trip. Here, he would be under supervision. His niece may still visit him, though.» — Here he chuckled.

The only niece the imprisoned prince had was princess Jaehaera, who just goes out from the Princevault, in her blue dress, with her hands hold by both King Jacaerys and Queen Baela. The girl looks not really happy, but content — a wildly different from the tear-eyed, trembling girl Jace described here to him they found when the capital was captured.

At first, when they didn’t know what to do with her. She was the daughter of the fallen king, of the man, who usurped his mother and abandoned his wife when she lost her son and went mad. But she was still a young, eternally frightened girl too. The better choice was to marry her to someone loyal to the king, who will not rebel to get a crown and has the possessions of his own. There were four men who may possibly wed her - king’s brothers Joffrey and Aegon, or his bastard brothers Alyn and Addam. Some people expected young Aegon to wed Jaehaera, but the King stopped those talks and decided to marry the girl to the middle brother, and also to marry lady Rhaena to Addam, who became the heir to Driftmark.

«I do not think that Joffrey will be against his bride visiting her uncle when they visit the Red Keep. I am not gonna wed them now cause it’s gonna be nothing, but a farce in this case. I’ll wait until the princess turns at least thirteen and their wedding will happen here.»

«And your brother?»

«Will get a Dornish mark. It’s a hardly controlled region and we need strongholds both against Dorn and usurper’s sympathizers in the Reach.»

Here, the king doesn’t tell all the truths. Jacaerys never told about it to the Small Council, but said once to him that the reason his uncles usurped his mother may lay in the fact they would not get anything except reduced to mere toadies if she will get a throne. His uncle and stepfather was a son of the king, but didn’t get anything except a place in the Small council and nothing to give his children except the dragon eggs. Cregan thinks there is nothing to pity the usurpers for, but he more than agrees that Jace’s brothers deserve to get their own lands. Granted, prince Joffrey has Dragonstone now, but when Queen Baela will give birth to the son, it will come to him. So, there are the Dornish mark for Joffrey, Cape Kraken for Aegon and Rain House, whose Lord’s family lost it due to its association with usurper, for young Viserys. And two of them will get new keeps for their families, when the said keeps will be built.

Cregan sighs as the King gets down on one knee, hugs his niece and then rises and kisses his cousin and wife, who looks gorgeous in her red dress despite being heavily pregnant, on her forehead. He is not of those who can think a lot about his past, but he hardly can believe that only two years have passed since the green dragon and his rider landed nearby Winterfell. Once they hunted together, played snowballs in secret,watched the night sky and shared kisses in its darkness. Once merely a young grandlord and prince with a young dragon — now Hand and his King, who is gonna be father soon.

But are they the same persons who have fallen for each other during the visit to the North?

Once they reunited after Jacaerys’s coronation and his mother’s funeral, he voiced his concerns about it. Jacaerys, who there did his best to make Cregan call him «Jace» again, didn’t smiled in vain attempt to make the situation look easier, but lowered his gaze and genuinely said that he didn't know this. He was thrown out of balance by the betrayal of the dragonseeds he recruited, his brother's death and his mother being killed by one of Larys Strong’s spies. Than, they couldn’t find the words to sooth each other and barely sat alone in the cabinet, pressing their foreheads against each other, and somehow, this was enough.

And so they decided — no matter what, to be here and watch for each other.

The princess and the Queen leave King Jacaerys, as he goes to him. In the sky, the dragon’s cry is heard, and Cregan wonders, what sea monster is brought to keep by Moondancer now. Last time, Queen Baela’s dragon dragged the whole shark to the Red Keep.

«We need to discuss some things privately.» says Jace, when he comes to him and Cregan nods.

Since the war, huge numbers of armies of North, Riverlands and Vale and Blacks supporters from other Kingdoms have occupied the Westlands, Stormlands, Kingslands and Reach — as the lands whose lords betrayed their true queen. In retaliation, they will be put under direct control of the king’s through loyal people for a temporary time. Kermit Tully got the Westlands, Lord Rovan got the Reach, Corlys Velaryon got the Stormlands, and Jeyne Arryn’s heir Joffrey Arryn got Kingslands. And Cregan thinks that the reason Jace called him to his rooms is somehow connected to this.

They reach the king’s cabinet in a minute and the guards salute to them. They enter it a second after and Jace closes the door.

Cregan can see the said cabinet. Poets and bards often talk about how wonderful the Red Keep looks like, and sometimes Cregan is ready to agree with them. There is the broken model of old Valyria made by Jace’s maternal grandfather, king Viserys, a huge table, a chair nearby and a fire burning in the fireplace. There are a bunch of letters on the table and a ream of sheets next to them.

Then, Jace shows him a bunch of letters. Cregan reads them patiently. These letters come from different cities - or better to say, from unions the prominent ones of these cities, like merchants or most skilled craftsmen. The number of cities are impressive: Weeping town, Vinetown, Pebbletown, Hull, King’s Landing itself, Duskendale, Lannisport, Tumbletown, Bitterbridge… The prominent ones of these cities are afraid - it’s visible in the tone of their letters. The war left them with no protection from the marching armies of lords, especially the traitor lords and so they are asking the king for protection. They will pay money directly to his representatives, will form city militias or empower the existing ones and put the directly to the king’s service if he’ll support them in their initiative.

And there Cregan understands. Now, there are Tully, Stark and Arryn armies keeping the order in former rebel territories, but it ain’t gonna last forever. Sooner or later, but they need to leave home… And then…

« Are you going to use city councils against the former rebel lords?»

And the smirk blossoms on Jace’s lips.

«Exactly».

#house of the dragon #hotd #jacegan week 2024 #jace x cregan #jacaerys velaryon #jacegan #cregan stark #au #day 2 #jaehaera targaryen #baela targaryen #fire and blood

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linksthoughtbrambles · 2 years ago

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Linktober 2022 Day 2: Bones ~~ A Link to the Past ~~ ZeldaGoesToo!AU ~~ 2100 words

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“Here,” Link said.

The Moon Pearl gleamed opalescent, tinged with the color of soft, red earth, smooth and shining against Link’s battered hand, cracked with cold, calloused with labor. Zelda stared, wondering as always how its sheen drew dark at its edges regardless of how one held it, of the tilt of one’s head—always the side away from sight, not a shadow, the surface itself an impossible concession to that which ought go unseen.

It remained unchanged, always—even in the Dark World—as would its keeper. Zelda eyed the great boulder they both knew to be a lie. A gateway lay within, lay beneath, and they’d cross through it soon, out of the northern forest and into its harrowed reflection. Link had heard its humming first—Zelda felt it soon after; they’d become so sensitive to it.

“Zelda?” Link asked, reaching up to brush her shoulder with gentle fingertips. She couldn’t feel them—her cold-weather wear would not allow it—but the soft sound of their passage against leather attuned her eyes to his, the concern in them curving her mouth, raising her cheeks, crinkling the corners of her eyes.

“I held it last in that place,” she reminded him.

“I know,” he said. “I’d… still rather you keep it.”

“You’ve been going too long without it,” she said.

“What makes you say that?”

He didn’t know.

She’d rather thought not.

She aimed to keep her smile, but words, she thought, might wipe it from her countenance. She raised a hand halfway to his face. At his gaze flickering between that hand and her eyes, she retracted it just a fraction—but he neither retreated nor protested, so she completed its path, the pad of her index finger light on the bridge of his nose, her middle finger resting beside it.

“Do you know what happens—just here—when you’re angry, Link?”

He blinked. She found it easy to keep her smile, as she’d hoped.

“This part of you wrinkles—like this.” She drew her nose up toward her eyebrows as though presented with some unpleasant stench. He laughed, his soft voice in his throat and his teeth framed in his lips pulling a grin from her, too. She swept her fingertips from his nose to his cheek with lightening pressure, finally parting from him with a twinge just left of her breastbone. She watched his mouth close into toothless smile.

“It wrinkles far more when you go without the pearl,” she said.

His smile started to leave him, as she thought it would. “Do you mean I get angrier?”

“No.” Link had never been angry with her—not once. His anger had always been turned on others’ wickedness. On Agahnim.

But in the dark, he’d turned those wrinkles toward her anyway. “When you go long without the pearl in the dark… they… frequent your face. They become other things.”

His face flinched inward on itself. His brows remained down, furrowed, as the rest retracted. “Have I frightened you?”

“Frightened me? You? No. Never.”

A held breath left Link, shrinking his chest, releasing some of the pressure between his eyebrows. Zelda registered its flutter in the air—couldn’t resist breathing it in: an inexplicable compulsion. She expelled it in reluctant speech. “It is simply not how you are in this world. It isn’t you. I’ve no wish to see you… usurped by the magics of that place.”

A swallow bobbed his voicebox. “It really is okay. I’m in control.” He huffed a half-laugh with a smile touching one corner of his mouth. “I thought the fur would be the larger issue.”

A quiet giggle heaved her belly. “That has occurred only twice.”

“Kind of why I was confused. I didn’t really have a choice the first time-”

“And the second time, being by choice, proved extraordinarily useful.” She felt her own eyes sparkle at him, one corner of her mouth wavering, her humor half-tamped in recognition of the nigh-on-hell-maw at her side. “I do believe if we’d waited much longer, you’d have become a wolf.”

His blue eyes flashed, then, fixed on hers.

Perhaps he knew. Perhaps he felt, in his depths, what he would become were he to forsake himself to the relentless darkness in Ganon’s realm.

She had been unable to fathom the form which would be her endpoint, except in its hardness—when she’d become almost crystalline, faceted at her surface, when they first ventured in, ignorant of the Moon Pearl. Perhaps she would be as the maidens—no more than a gem to be carried in a pocket, no more than thoughts reflected within.

Link’s eyes still held hers.

She passed between them in her vision. It would be so easy to lose herself to time here in their brightness.

The way your eyes pierce my surface, she nearly said, I believe they would crack the skin of my reflection.

She ran her thumbs over the nicks, cracks, and callouses on her own hands, the insides of her right hand’s fingers thick and rough from drawing her heavy bowstring, her left palm and span running atop her thumb and index finger dulled, toughened from the grip. These were the signs of strength upon her.

No one ought breach them.

She mustn’t be made vulnerable—not even by Link.

She shook her head, eyes falling to Link’s age-worn boots.

“Please take the pearl,” Link whispered.

“Link- Link, I-“

“Please. There’s… a reason.”

“Of course there’s-“

“I mean, I’m not- just- being kind.”

Her head raised of its own volition to see his arm outstretched, a small canvas bag in the grip of his fist. “The bones,” she breathed.

He nodded. “I… guess you saw me gather them.”

She’d tried not to watch as he had—sliver by sliver, the whole skeleton of their breakfast five days past. “I did.”

He shrugged, the bag lurching toward the hidden portal as though tugged. “I thought we should find out-“

“What happens if we bring them in with us. Yes. Yes, of course. I… Link, I can hold the remains. You may keep the pearl.”

His squinting eyes spoke far more than his lips.

He still wanted her to take it.

She couldn’t allow him to lose himself in that pit of confusion and despair.

“I shall take the remains, Link. You keep the pearl.”

He gazed at her hard for a long moment, those shining blue eyes roaming every line in her face. Searching for a way past her surface. But with four long breaths, he acquiesced, handing her the canvas, its drawstring pulled and tied tight, a light weight in her hand—it had been such a small bird.

Link returned the pearl to his pouch.

Zelda held her hand outstretched to him. He took it.

She took a step toward the illusory rock. He followed. Each of her steps triggered his, and within ten they met the boulder’s surface, the hum of its repulsion shuddering its way through their flesh, their feet, shins, and knees first as they entered its wide base.

Entering the Dark World had never become easy. No ordinary person could do this.

Their legs dug deep, invisible trenches through the sages’ seal’s raw energy. Zelda’d clamped her eyes shut, gritting her teeth against its physical insistence, the swelling dissonance against her ears as the rock’s surface enveloped her hips. A familiar fear gripped her as her very blood fell into one resonance and then another, always at odds with other vibrations, its unpredictable cacophony an earthquake in her form.

Three more strides brought the resistant illusion to Zelda’s clavicle.

Her heart hardened.

She no longer knew whether the seal, her own determination, or the darkness on the other side rendered her heart stone in the crossing. She couldn’t remember what she’d first believed or why. Certain shards of her past resisted her thoughts’ pressure even more strongly than this barrier clawed against their passage.

She heard Link grunt as he forced his neck to phase through a jagged edge of un-rock. The pang which would have sympathized with him resonated instead—crystalline. Reflective. Her strongest self would emerge on the other side of this threshold and resist all of it—the darkness, the despair, and the things which lay half-dormant in the darkest reaches of Link’s gaze, things which had no name, things she wanted unaccountably and irrationally—and unlike the failed lock she had just immersed herself in entirely, she would succeed.

She entered cacophony itself with her next stride.

Vibrations ricocheted through her form at the threshold of the Dark World—its sharp undulations, a thousand remnants of lightning strikes buzzing ozone in her nostrils in impossibly rapid succession, overlapping in tight disharmony.

Then it stopped.

Link’s fingers had rendered hers nearly numb. He eased off just as she did—she’d been no gentler. The experience demanded the surety of force. As his fingertips brushed hers, a tingling flew across her skin from those points of contact, reaching even the most distant parts of her body. It somehow seemed of greater magnitude than the seal’s relentless emanations.

Link’s soft gasp snapped Zelda’s eyes open.

They stood in a field of something like grass surrounded by something like trees, lit, as all things were in this world, by the unending twilight sun north of Death Mountain’s reflection, filtered to a sheen of diffuse rust through blackened leaves. The field bore signs of abandoned lives, as many places did. Fenceposts… no rails, no pickets. Everything peeling. Everything off-color. The tattered remains of what may have been a palette-bed cast against something which may once have been a crude spade.

For an instant, a tree with a face far past the field drew her gaze, but something above it, looming, seemed incongruous against the roiling clouds, heavy with noxious vapors and gleaming red with their edges twilit: one object still against all that churning. She knew at once why Link had gasped.

Bones.

Bones the height of Hyrule castle.

Higher, perhaps.

A spinal column.

Perhaps the ends of a few ribs visible in the distance.

What creatures laid these bones to rest would shatter the earth with a step.

Would these spring to life? Would they be like the un-living crows and cuccos vying for scraps of nothingness in dusty soil? Would it rise, alighting hollowed eye sockets on her and on Link, and follow whatever greed-fed instinct led the skeletal birds to dive toward them, intent on stripping skin from their faces and forearms?

Zelda’s grip-hand tightened reflexively-

And the bag.

She’d forgotten.

She still held it tightly.

Her stare drew Link’s.

And they watched.

And watched.

Zelda’s eyes burned with the air’s acrid vapor.

Time in this place had little meeting, but one booted step, then another, crunched dry straws beneath them. Link entered her line of vision.

“It’s not moving.”

“Indeed not,” she whispered.

She thought deception on the part of a deceased crow unlikely, but held the bag at a cautious distance from her face while tugging its mouth wide.

Nothing.

Link reached out. He cupped the bottom, then closed his hand, his features pinching. “Zelda, would you mind turning it out into my hands?”

She upended it slowly, expecting a tangled mess of bones to fall into his hands at once, rather like a bird’s nest. Instead, a pitifully small stream of dust met Link’s palm.

He pinched some between his fingers and held it to his nose.

“What does it smell of?” she asked quietly.

“Burning,” he whispered. “Just like everything else.”

A murder of skeletal crows chose that moment to rise from the anti-forest’s canopy, nearly-silent but for the passage of their wingbones against the shriveled leaves of their home. Zelda followed their impossible flight northwest and out of sight.

“What are they?” she whispered.

Link said nothing aloud, but his entire stance spoke of thoughts. Before she could ask, he’d already taken the bag from her, dumped the remainder of the dust inside, and walked toward the spade. He gripped its aged handle—metal—and dug a small hole. He placed the crow’s remains inside with surprising reverence.

“I’d wondered,” Link whispered. “It didn’t seem right for this place… to give life.”

Zelda swallowed. Grains of sand.

“Perhaps it denies death,” she said.

The spine in the distance creaked, settling and swaying in the wind, groaning its song of monstrosity into the ground at their feet—discordant—one more foul instrument performing Ganon’s masterwork with no key, no fundamental frequency, no congruent overtones: a symphony of warring sound. Zelda’s skin thrilled to its tune, a sound like the tinkling of crystal in her ears as a distant call meant for her alone. She knew she shouldn’t answer it.

She could resist.

She was no instrument.

And Link was no fool.

He rose, his eyes and ears fixed on her, the sounds of his hand shuffling against his pouch’s opening announcing his intention clearly. A moment later, his palm held the Moon Pearl against hers, his fingers entwined with hers.

“You need it,” he whispered. “I don’t hear it the way you do.”

“You hear other things,” she said.

His hand tightened on hers a fraction—a reassuring pulse. “Which way… did it want you to go?”

She eyed the northwest, toward the murder of stalcrows.

“…Okay. Not that way, then.”

“No,” she agreed. “Not that way.”

They eyed the spine as one.

The maidens and their Dark World forms of pure crystal—so beautiful—unique and powerfully magical—the creatures fought over them, their remains eventually in the possession of some dominant horror, curling itself around the faceted surfaces (and remains they were, for even cut stones, attractive and sparkling, meant an end to all motion).

The groaning, creaking spine in the distance seemed a likely place to find a hulking evil, hoarding its coveted treasures in a forest of wooden faces and fleshless animals. Perhaps, they’d find a gem full of reflected thoughts jammed between two massive vertebrae.

Link and Zelda walked hand-in-hand, each pressed to the Moon Pearl, toward the spine’s deep bellows.

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A huge thank-you to @bellecream - this would not exist in this form without you!

[I hope to do more Linktober prompts - this is a busy time of year].

[Banner font is 'The Wild Breath of Zelda' by Chequered Ink].

Follow this link for my fic masterlist.

#Linktober #Linktober 2022 #alttp #loz alttp #loz #a link to the past #link to the past #zelink #dark fantasy #fantasy horror #not violent #zeldagoestoo!au #Linktober Day 2 #Day 2 #Bones #Dark World

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linked-heroes · 3 years ago

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Yandere Chain and the New Goddess of Courage

So a week or two ago, I got hit with sudden motivation and inspiration (thanks to posts by the awesome blogs of @luimagines, @yandere-linked-universe, and several ppl who sent things to them!) with a scene from one of my several yandere au ideas! So here is the first part of it! Ofc the wonderful Nordictwin helped me with this. She’s my partner in crime ❤️

Featuring my Oc Navya. (Note that this is a different au from the Usurper Queen piece that @nordictwin wrote for me)

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Navya feels herself settle, any doubts washing away at that moment. Sometimes you need moments like this to help accept and come to terms with things.

She is sick, no, she is furious of this little child and her mortal descendants harming, taking, and claiming what was hers.

Mine mine mine

How dare they take what's hers!

Navya breathes in deeply, and then lets it all out. She lets the small little ball of power and energy that has been dormant in her grow and spread out through her being. With slow confident steps, she prowls toward the mortal Hylia.

Kill her, spill her blood

End her reign before it can begin

With a sharp smirk, she speaks.

“Little goddess, do you know my name?”

The spoiled, defiant goddess opens her mouth, but Navya gives her no chance to respond.

“It’s Navya, in honor of the goddess of wisdom, Nayru. Funny, isn’t wisdom supposed to be yours? Yet you seem to lack it entirely.” Navya stops in front of Zelda, Sun, Hylia herself, for a moment before slowly circling her.

It would be so easy, a flick of the wrist and she could end Hylia here and now

Hylia makes a noise of offense “Now see here-!”

Navya continues as if the other woman hadn’t spoken.

“They say I was chosen by all three of the goddesses, and I was. I was named in honor of one goddess, who claimed me as hers. But do you know who it was who actually blessed me? Who, claimed me and in her blessing, declared me her successor? Bestowed upon me her power to inherit and take her place?”

Here Navya stops behind Hylia and turns to face her, to face the group of heroes in front of her, now behind Hylia.

She can see them all, ready to jump in and start fighting if they need to. They keep their eyes mostly on her, but don’t neglect to watch their surroundings for enemies (it breaks her heart to see them all so broken and battle ready, they shouldn’t have to be so watchful. They shouldn’t have to suffer as they have).

How dare they make her heroes suffer.

Navya slowly lets her power build, letting it slowly be felt by others. She can feel it seep into the air, and can feel the changes the magic is doing to her.

She can see the moment that Hylia senses her power, realizes what it is and what it means. The woman’s eyes bulge and she gapes at Navya. Her skin pales drastically before her face turns red and the defiant rage flares back into her.

That’s right child goddess, feel fear

Bow down to your betters

Navya doesn’t fight the cold smirk that slides onto her face.

She leans in and says:

“It was Farore”.

She can see her men, her partners, her heroes, (heroes just like her) all startle and focus all of their attention back to her.

Hylia, as typical of her, throws a fit. “No! You can’t, you have no right to them! They’re mine, I love them!”

Navya glares at the woman who was nothing more than a child.

“I am the heir of Farore, I am the Goddess of Courage. They are my heroes. You have no claim to what is mine little mortal goddess. They are blessed with courage, my courage, and you cannot have them.” She declares, power leaking into her voice and words. “You say you love them, yet all they have had is suffering and loss because of you. They have gained nothing from your so-called love.”

You hurt them!

I will make you suffer!

“They are my heroes! I chose them, I blessed them!” Hylia shrieks, her own power starting to leak out.

They were never yours!

“You condemned and cursed them is what you’ve done! Starting with First! You say you loved him, but he never loved you! You cursed him and part of his soul as he was dying! It brought him back as a deity against his will! And then when he tried to fight it, fight you, you cursed and exiled him into the mask!” Navya snarls, her rage building.

How dare you!

You took him from me!

“You can’t take them from me, You’ve already stolen Sky! And you have no right!” Hylia is shaking in her own anger, her power building and Navya senses it flowing into her hands, and immediately, she knows what Hylia was planning to do.

“They are mine Hylia, and I am theirs.” Navya smirks coldly at the young goddess in front of her and whispers, “and they will always choose me.”

The look of petulant fury bubbling under the surface is unbecoming on an otherwise pretty face. Poor girl, whoever she was before Hylia went and took over, Navya thinks. Sky has spoken of her compassion and sweet nature, but there is nothing of that now.

Instead Navya sees through Farore’s eyes the same brat she dealt with aeons before, acting the exact same way.

Of course it culminates as it always does.

The child lashes out when she can’t have her way, and the slap stings - no, it burns, the little shit had infused it with holy magic - as Hylia’s hand makes contact with her cheek.

Navya’s head snaps to the side and she can feel her skin blistering and bubbling and - fuck it hurts- she doesn’t doubt that there’s a handprint burned into her skin.

Navya sees Hylia raise her hand again, prepared to lash out even more (such a child) when she can’t think of anything else to do. What the goddess doesn’t realize is that Navya let her get the first slap in. Hylia has never been good at seeing the underneath, seeing how to use situations to her advantage. Hylia did exactly what Navya expected and wanted her to do.

So when her holy infused hand flies through the air to strike her again, it’s stopped.

Everything stills, as if time itself has frozen.

It is quiet.

Hylia stares at her, wide-eyed and pale, and by the Ancients, Navya can’t stop the smug, vindictive feeling that bubbles up in her chest when she slowly turns her head up and up and up.

Time smiles down at her, her wrist held in a vice grip that gets tighter… and tighter… and tighter.

Until she’s struggling, crying out in pain and discomfort, trying to reach Time’s hand and make him let go. Until that thin little wrist bends unnaturally, until it cracks like a dry twig and finally breaks and falls over, limp and useless.

Only then does he let go, still smiling, the perfect example of polite professionality.

That is, until he opens the other eye and the expression shifts to something a touch more deadly.

“Raise your hand against her again and it won’t just be your wrist that breaks, milady”.

The silence is deafening, and Navya… oh, Navya knows.

The paradigm - the world as they all know it - is shifting right in front of her, and it is glorious.

(Bells ring from somewhere unseen. A new era is dawning, with someone else in charge).

(She can’t wait to watch it unfold).

#yandere goddess au #yandere linked universe #yandere au #yandere #star writes #oc: navya

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peridots-pixiwolf · 3 years ago

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Back at it again at [comparing my favorite video games]

Hollow Knight and Dishonored spoilers below the cut:

Dh1 Corvo and Ghost:

-Silent protagonists who gain void-related powers to help them progress. Only the first power is actually required to beat the game, though the others make it much easier.

-Magical abilities are gifted at least partially by a black-eyed god

-Have close relations to a ruler who died after trying to save their kingdom from a pandemic. The sickness is not well understood, even after extensive research, and was brought by a usurper who was jealous/envious of the ruler's power. All attempts at containing the sickness failed, but it's (implied to be) cured in some endings

-The kingdom they leave for a while after the pandemic begins, re-enter, and then traverse is not doing so well, and the vast majority of its inhabitants try to kill them. Many of said inhabitants have lost their minds from the aforementioned disease

-Can kill the usurper late in the game

-Can kill rich people

-Most of their allies die. Can kill allies themselves

-Friends with a kind old dude serving as their main method of long-distance transportation (kind old dude does luckily not die)

-Despite being almost perpetually in contact with it, never actually get the sickness. Their biology (possibly-genetically-immune-serkonan, hollow void being) likely prevents it

-Worlds probably take place in the same time period (according to fans anyway; most human AUs I've seen of HK are at least somewhat inspired by victorian england)

-The name of one popular ship in each of their fandoms involve weapons?? One person in the ship is red, associated with the person who brought the disease, and can be killed by the protagonist (though in HK's case, both members apply to these criteria)

-Their empires/kingdoms call themselves the only ones when there clearly are more civilizations out there

Dh2 Emily and Hornet

-Protagonists of sequel games, major characters in the first games and close relatives of the first game's protagonists

-Daughters of royalty and trained to fight (likely from a young age)

-Heirs to the throne of the first game’s kingdom/empire but can’t actually become queens/empresses because Sequel Game Plot gets in the way

-Technically they can die in one of the first game’s endings but no one regards it as canon

-I haven’t actually played Silksong (duh) or Dishonored 2 yet though so this list may get much longer

#dedicated to the person yesterday who reblogged the hornet post saying a dh/hk crossover would be cool #and also to the person yesterday who reblogged the actual dh/hk crossover post i made (that does in fact exist already) and said it was cool #hollow knight #dishonored #i now know ten non-me people who post both hk and dh and all of them are awesome but i might be biased a little #and also like i've been saying that a hk human au is literally just dishonored #...does this count as nonsense? i guess -reblogs and -art don't count better #peridots-nonsense

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moderndaybard · 5 years ago

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2020 Weekly Ficlet 5/52(? We’ll see?)

“Always Meant to Be” (Critical Role C2 AU)

No one was surprised the baby was a tiefling—Honestly, Kashaw and Zahra would’ve been more surprised if their son hadn’t been—but the lavender skin was unexpected, as were the handful of eye-shaped red spots on the infant’s neck, shoulder, hand, etc. Still, he was here, he was healthy and alive (no small miracle, given how close all three had come to dying in the battle against Vecna)—he was perfect.

Lucien (“just a placeholder name,” Zahra had insisted; “he’ll choose his own once he has a better sense of himself.”) was a happy baby, if not an easy one. Even early on he liked people, and didn’t fuss about which of them or their friends was holding him, but the instant he could crawl about on his own, it took near-constant vigilance on the part of both of his parents to ensure that Lucien’s seemingly endless curiosity didn’t drive him into dangerous situations, places, and ‘good gods, Lucien don’t put that in your mouth!’

Still, as Kashaw watched his son explore and learn so quickly, or play with Zahra as she sang and joked in rapid infernal, or when he held him close against his chest the few times Lucien was content to remain so still, holding him as he drifted to sleep, utterly content and so innocently trusting, Kash was struck again and again by the realization that this very joy he’d long considered out of his reach was somehow a reality.

Gods help the fool who tried to take it away from him.

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

(Actually, they didn’t.)

Kashaw and the then two-year-old Lucien were in the Vesper Timberland not far from Vasselheim’s walls gathering a few components needed for Zahra’ next commissioned creation. (Dangerous place for a toddler? Maybe, but preferable to leaving him home alone with Zahra being called out last-minute on a hunt for the Slayer’s Take. No matter: Luci knew to stay close when Kash used his ‘serious voice.)

Then came the blast of necrotic energy from the shadows at the edge of the clearing that caught Kash of guard and sent him crashing to the ground for a moment, and six dark-robed and hooded figures stepped into the open, five of them immediately moving to surround the temporarily-stunned human, the apparent leader snatching up the frightened tiefling toddler.

“DADDY!!”

His son’s terrified shriek ringing in his ears, Kashaw surged to his feet, spear in one hand, the other crackling with unholy holy energy as a rage he hadn’t felt since Vecna loomed filled him. He surged forward, pushing past and carving through the fools trying to stand in his way, never tearing his eyes from the man who still held Lucien, the stranger backpedaling and calling to his unfortunate fellows: “Death to the traitor; the Heir must be taken back to the Order!”

Those were the last words heard or spoken by the would-be attackers and their ringleader, as they had vastly underestimated both what Kashaw was capable of and willing to do under the circumstances. Scooping the now-sobbing but thankfully unharmed child into his arms, Kash let himself sink to his knees, clinging to his son as it washed over him all at once just how close he’d come to losing him.

Two tiny hands clung to his shirt and a little tail wrapped tightly around his arm as Lucien trembled in his grasp, but Kash’s blood ran cold as he glanced at one of the fallen attackers and saw a familiar symbol around his neck—

—the same one he carried. Her symbol.

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

They’d spoken of an ‘Order’: the assumption had to be made that this—this cult of Vesh’s had other groups, other members who’d try to attack them again.

No.

No, neither Kash nor Zahra were about to sit back and simply wait for followers of a dark goddess to try to kill them and abduct their son—and their friends weren’t about to let them take on this fight alone.

They chose to relocate to Whitestone at Vex’s insistence until the danger had passed (it was the safest place both to use as a base of operations and to leave Lucien with the de Rolo children under Vex and Trinket’s watchful eyes when the ‘hunting party’ left to chase down one clump of enemies or another), and had the full arsenal of Vox Machina, plus the unexpected but welcome assistance of an apparently now adventure-ready Cassandra, to call upon in their hunt—even Taryon and his crew, when a fragment of Her cult was found (and subsequently annihilated) in Wildemount.

But at last, after a long year of rumor-chasing and fighting cultists, the last member of the last holdout was dead, and Kash still had 3 of his 5 ‘Speak with Dead’ questions left, and plenty of time on Pike’s ‘Zone of truth.’ Why not tie up a few lingering loose ends?

“What was your interest in my son, Lucien?”

The dead man’s expression didn’t—couldn’t—change. “At first, we thought that child was the Heir that She had whispered of. We came to realize that he is nothing more than the usurping spawn of the woman who took Her place with you—and sought to kill you all.”

Was it possible to kill a dead man again? Kash was tempted to see—so was Zahra, if the lashing tail was any indication—but there was still something important here. “What heir did ‘She’ speak of?”

“A child born of Her spirit and your mortal blood, who we were to find and raise and teach and train until the day when She could use their blood and nature to come fully into the world.” If a corpse could emote, the broken, breathy voice would’ve been saturated by a sickening devotion. “That was our highest purpose—and the Heir’s.”

“And where is this Heir?” It was a long shot—if the cult had located this child (his child? He was still having trouble thinking clearly about that), then surely they would’ve taken them by now.

The corpse tensed, visibly fighting against the compulsion to speak—and to speak the truth—but divine (and ‘divine’) magics had already conquered its will.

“There were whispers—rumors—we were to investigate…a single life where there once was none, in the wastes where once She first displayed her power…”

Then the lifeless body fell limp once more, as all eyes turned to Kashaw as the cleric began to process what they’d just heard.

“Well, fuck.”

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

The others had offered to come along on this final, unexpected leg of the hunt for Vesh’s cult, but Kash and Zahra had adamantly refused: this, this part was deeply personal.

They rested only a single night before traveling to the wasteland that’d once been Kash’s home so long ago, and little was said between them either that night, or through the next day’s wearying trek and search under grey, cloud-cloaked skies.

It was a barren, inhospitable place, now—not hard to believe it was cursed by an evil goddess of death—with no sign of shelter or permanent dwelling: hard to believe that anyone, much less some kind of ‘child’ was surviving there.

The thought had only just crossed Zahra’s mind when a flicker of movement caught the corner of her eye: something small and quick darting behind a nearby boulder. With a seemingly casual flick of her tail, the warlock alerted her lover before drifting slowly in the general direction of the large rock.

From behind it, there was the sound of hasty scrambling backwards, then what sounded like gravel and a small body falling a brief distance, followed by a muffled, barely-audible whimper of pain and fear. A child’s pain and fear, the mother knew, and whatever plans and assumptions she’d come there with, when she circled the boulder and saw the hidden drop-off perilously close behind it, a curled and pitiful, dirt-covered figure trembling at the bottom of the five-foot ledge, maternal concern over-wrote them all.

Carefully easing herself down the drop, Zahra knelt beside the child—the girl, she could see, now—murmuring the most soothing tune she could think of (it was a lullaby…in Infernal…) as she reached out to the rail-thin, dark-haired figure. The girl couldn’t be any older than seven, staring up at the tiefling woman with terrified, mis-matched eyes of teal and purple beginning to well with tears as she pressed back into the rock wall, cradling the arm that had to have been broken.

“It’s alright, little one,” Zahra whispered, switching to Common as she reached out again, palm up. “We can help you. He can heal you, and we can bring you somewhere safe, and warm and comfortable.”

Kash had joined them, and her words seemed to snap him out of staring at the girl and into motion to help. The girl eyed him warily as he knelt in front of her, glancing at Zahra before finally letting him touch her injured arm. The trifling’s nod and gentle smile (and the cleric’s spell which re-knit the cones and soothed the pain away) seemed to break through the child’s walls, and as she let fall the tears she’d been fighting back the whole time, Zahra scooped the girl’s too-small form into her arms, muttering a stream of ‘it’s alright’s’ and ‘you’re going to be okay’s’ in Common and Infernal.

Still cradling the child, Zahra met Kash’s troubled expression with a determined one. “No mother worthy of the title would ever leave a child alone in a pace like this. She’s ours now.” Then, gently stroking the head of dark hair now buried in her shoulder, she asked, “Do you have a name, little one?”

“Yasha,” a tiny, tear-choked voice replied.

Zahra kissed the top of the girl’s head, silently thanking her patron that they’d found Yasha before the cult had—this girl was so desperate for someone, she’d have been so easily misled, manipulated. “Well, Yasha Hydris, are you ready to come home?”

(Continue reading on AO3)

#my post #critical role #cr fic #critical role au #Vox Machina #mighty nein #kashaw vesh #zahra hydris #mollymauk tealeaf #yasha nydoorin #writing challenge

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timelordthirteen · 5 years ago

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In All Things 3/?

Mr. Gold/BelleFrench, Explicit (eventually)

Summary: A Rumbelle arranged marriage AU.

Chapter Summary: Immediately after the wedding, Gold and Belle depart and spend a slightly awkward carriage ride together.

Notes: This got so damn long. Oops. Have some idiots trying to figure out how to person around each other.

[AO3]

Previous: [1] [2]

As soon as Lord Gold announced their departure, Avonlea became a flurry of activity.

Astrid fretted about everything. She flitted between chests and dressers in Belle’s chambers, directing two other maids until as many of Belle’s dresses, underclothes, and shoes were packed as possible. The steward, Edmund, was in a tizzy as his usual authority was usurped by the presence of Gold. A fine carriage pulled by four horses waited at the front steps of the manor, with a small wagon behind it for the bulk of Belle’s belongings.

“Do you want me to pack the red dress?” Astrid asked, holding up the garment in question with the bulky skirt draped over her arm.

Belle made a face at the garish dress with its layers of frills and ribbons, and shook her head. “Heaven’s no!”

Astrid giggled lightly at her own joke as Belle rolled her eyes, and pulled another out of the large armoire. “How about the green?”

Belle tilted her head as she studied the dress. Like the red gown, she’d only worn it once, but that wasn’t because she disliked it. It was a different style from her usual outfits, more slim and sleek, clinging gently to her curves in a way she wasn’t accustomed to. It was a lush velvet lined with silk, and the gold thread embroidery at the neck and cuffs gave it a simple but rich look.

Finally, she sighed. “Yes, fine, I’ll bring it as well.”

Her head wasn’t in the right place to be picky about her outfits. She turned to open the trunk at the foot of her bed and pulled out a worn leather satchel. Just as she was slipping her book inside, pausing to check that Gold’s letter was still tucked inside, she turned back to Astrid.

“Oh, and the new blue one!”

Astrid stopped and looked at her wide eyed. “You’re sure?”

Belle gave her a small smile and nodded firmly. “Yes. I’m not going to let one bad incident with Sir Gaston ruin a perfectly lovely dress I had made special.”

Astrid’s mouth curve as she dipped in a quick curtsy. “Of course, my Lady.”

After a few more minutes of commotion in her rooms, Belle hurried off to the library, and tried to calm her nerves by focusing on the selection of books that would get her through the first weeks in her new home. She tucked each one into her leather satchel, laying them flat on the bottom, one on top of the other, seven high, and then an eighth along the side. The flap of the bag strained as she folded it over and latched the buckle.

“You could bring them all, you know.”

Belle startled and nearly dropped the bag on her foot as her head snapped up. Gold was standing in the door of the library with a bemused smile, and she felt her face flush.

“Oh, Lord Gold -” She stopped and chided herself silently. “Cameron. I was just -”

“I mean it,” he said, pushing off the door frame and ambling slowly towards her. His cane thumped softly against the wood floor, and her hands tightened around the strap of the bag.

“You can bring them all,” he repeated, casting his eyes around the room. “My library has plenty of space.”

“Oh, I really couldn’t.” She gave him a sheepish shrug, secretly pleased that he seemed to have a large library as well. “They’re not all mine.”

Gold let out a soft chuckle and looked down at her bag. “We could send for the ones that are later, if you like.”

She nodded and relaxed. “Thank you.”

“It’s no matter,” he said quietly. “I assume you like to read then?”

Her eyes drifted to the shelf as she spoke. “Yes, I - I do. Very much.”

“Good,” Gold muttered. “That’s...good.”

Belle wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but the fact that he was so willing to allow her space in his library and to pay for all her books to be moved was enough for now. Gaston abhorred not only reading anything that wasn't a battle plan, he also seemed to have a distaste for well-read women. Gold was, at the very least, not in that category.

“Your, um, maid -” he started to say.

“Astrid,” she supplied.

“Astrid,” he said, his eyebrows lifting, “is a bit...anxious.”

Belle bit her lip, smiling. “Yes, she’s - she’s a dear friend, but excitable at the best of times.”

“Indeed.” His fingers flexed around the hand of his cane, a motion she’d noticed while they were in her father’s office, and later in the garden. “Did you, um, want her to come with you?”

Belle’s eyes brightened. “You don’t mind?”

He made a face, the corner of his mouth curving. “Of course not. I have plenty of staff available to you, but if you like, we can send for her and your books as soon as we’re home and settled.”

Home.

She swallowed. This was home, her father’s manor, and the lands owned by her mother’s family. Right now she couldn’t imagine calling anywhere else her home, but that would be changing all too soon. At least having Astrid and her books would help her feel more at ease.

“Thank you,” she managed, and Gold gave a short nod before he turned and left.

The carriage rocked as they cross over a rough patch of road, rutted by rain and the heavy war wagons that passed by a few days ago. Belle pitched forward with a squeal as the wheels bounced, catching herself on the handle of the door. Gold reached for her, taking her by the arm and guiding her until she was seated next to him, her back to the driver and horses.

“There,” he said, once she was stable. “Better?”

She nodded and pressed a hand to her belly, feeling the laces of the corset under her gloved hand. Her left leg was pressed solidly against Gold’s and he was still holding her hand in his. She glanced up at his face, catching a hint of concern in his eyes. Facing the opposite way made the ride much more stable, if a bit bumpier, but instead of it nearly throwing her to the floor when the carriage lurched, it tipped her backwards, against the seat cushion.

‘Yes,” she managed, a bit breathless. “Much better.”

She looked out the window, catching a fading glimpse of Avonlea as they started down the hill to the main road. Her lips trembled and she pressed her lips together as the front gate and the large trees to either side disappeared from view, dipping down behind the tall grasses swaying gently in the wind. As they came around the bend at the bottom of the slope, the golden glow of the late afternoon sun warmed her face and dried her unshed tears, making the corners of her eyes feel tight. She turned her face away from Gold and rubbed at them, swallowing against the lump in her throat.

Gold was still holding her hand, a fact which she only noticed as he gave it a gentle squeeze. “Are you all right?”

She exhaled slowly and nodded. “Yes, yes I’m fine.”

He leaned forward a bit, dipping his head to try to catch a look at her face, and she finally turned to meet his eyes. “I’m fine,” she repeated, more to herself than to him.

His lips curved slightly and he sat back, seemingly satisfied for now, though he did not let go of her hand. She wondered at the small contact between them now that he had shifted further to the other side of the seat and leaned his elbow on the edge of the window. His hand was warm and loose around hers, as if to allow her to pull away at any time, but she found it oddly comforting, even from a man she barely knew.

There was an implicit trust bestowed by his letter, and strengthened by his request that she stand by his son at the appropriate time. It was as if he was making a deal with her and not her father, that the repayment of her family’s debts was more a means to secure this favor rather than a wife. It made her curious and nervous at the same time. She wanted to know the full story of how he had come to need to make such a request and understand his need, but a caution stirred low in her belly that the answer might not be pleasing to hear.

“How far is it to - your estate?” she asked finally.

Gold glanced at her and then fixed his eyes out the window once more, rubbing a finger over his lips before he spoke as if he had to calculate the distance in his mind. “I’d say thirty miles.”

Her eyes widened at that. By carriage that would take several hours, meaning they would arrive very late and long after dark.

“Don’t worry,” he continued, as if sensing her concern. “It’s good road and we’ll make better time than you might think.”

She sighed a little. “It will still be quite late by the time we get there.”

“Yes,” he conceded, giving her hand one last squeeze before he pulled it away and settled it in his lap. “But there will be time to see Thornhill in all its glory in the morning.”

“Thornhill?”

Gold nodded and flashed her a small smile. “The name of the estate.” She let out a small ‘oh,’ and he let out a short, soft laugh. “I kept the name when I purchased it.”

Belle frowned. Most of the nobility named their manors and estates to something associated with the family, but then again most had built them from nothing, not purchased them like a common house.

“Why?” She heard herself ask the question, and immediately clamped her mouth shut, pressing her fingers to her lips as Gold gave her a curious, sideways look. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry.”

He shifted in his seat until he was tucked in the corner, facing her, and she noted once again how much smaller he was compared to Gaston and the other men who had been possible suitors.

“You’re not prying,” he said. “It will be your home, and you have every right to know its history.” She smiled at that and he continued. “I kept it because it seemed fitting. The land around it aren’t very suitable for farming, though they do well enough to support the estate and the people. I didn’t understand at first why anyone would name their home something that seemed so...negative, but the gardens, well, they’ll explain it soon enough.”

Belle’s head tilted. “Gardens?”

He hummed in affirmation. “They are...extensive.” Her eyes went wide, and his face cracked into a wide grin. “Am I going to be regularly sending out a search party when you get lost in the hedge maze?”

She startled and gasped, and he laughed. It was a warm, pleasant sound, and she let her head drop, snickering softly to herself as well. “I’ll just take some bread with me and drop crumbs as I go so I can find my way back.”

“The birds will love you for it,” he said, still smiling.

She bit her lip, cheeks flushing with mild embarrassment. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

The lines by his eyes crinkled, and in the faint light from the setting sun the flecks of gold become more prominent. Her mind flashed to what they might look like in the firelight if they sat together some winter evening, and the thought was so sudden and strange, that her grin immediately faded and she shifted in her seat.

“I was teasing, by the way,” Gold said after a long moment.

She looked at him sideways, her eyebrows lifted. “There’s no hedge maze?”

“No, there is. But it’s not very large and I have every confidence you’d be able to find your way without issue. Bae loves playing in it, and I’m sure he’d be glad to have another party to lead through it.”

She sat back and breathed out, her nerves returning at the mention of Gold’s son. She wasn’t sure about being a step-mother, but then she also wasn’t sure that Gold intended her to be one at all.

“I suppose I’ll have to wait until morning to meet him.”

Gold sighed. “Yes, unfortunately. Perhaps we should have stayed in Avonlea for the night?”

She shook her head, unsure if she would have preferred delaying the inevitable or not. “No, it’s - it’s best we got moving, I think.”

“We can visit anytime you like, Belle,” he offered, fingers stretching out to brush her hand where it rested on the seat. "I'm not stealing you away from your father to lock you in a tower."

Her gaze darted to the side, watching as his index finger traced the bump of her knuckle, and barely suppressed a shiver.

“I know,” she managed, letting her eyes trailing up to meet Gold’s. "And thank you - Cameron."

He gave her another of his crooked half smiles, and they both settled into a comfortable silence.

The sun had fully set less than an hour later. All that could be seen through the windows of the carriage were spotty, distant flickers of light from the cottages and farms that dotted the landscape between Avonlea and Thornhill. A larger glow could be seen in the next valley, and Gold looked over, ready to comment on their passing of Longbourn, the village nearest to Avonlea and the farthest North edge of Lord Maurice's lands.

He smiled and sighed as he saw Belle's sweet face, deep asleep. Reaching down, he pulled a wool blanket out of the bin under the seat and laid it over her. She let out a soft sigh, and he swallowed, looking away as the carriage began to climb the slope of the next hill.

He hadn’t expected Lady Belle to be so beautiful or kind, or for her personality to be so appealing. His hope had been to find her well read, trustworthy, and tolerable enough to suit his plans, but the moment he laid eyes on her, he began to hate himself. She could have any man she wanted, and here he was taking advantage of her family’s financial situation, using it to trap her into a marriage that she clearly didn’t want.

The carriage went around a bend and the wheels caught in the ruts, rocking the entire thing side to side. Gold brace against the door and looked over at Belle just in time to see her tip to the side and come to rest against his shoulder. She sniffed in her sleep and made a small, quiet noise. He held his breath until she settled, and then exhaled slowly. Instinct made him want to put his arm around her and help her lay more comfortably, but propriety held him back. A promise had been made, in writing. Nothing more than she was willing to give, even if she was unaware and blissfully asleep on a bumpy road.

His fingers curled against his leg, fisting over his trousers as he inhaled her scent. The perfume she was wearing reminded him of the gardens in the peak of summer, when the warm breeze carried a hint of rose and wisteria. He wondered about the circumstances of her broken engagement to Sir Gaston. While no one could blame any woman for not wanting to marry such an overbearing lummox, the entire thing had seemed to be tinged with some unknown scandal. He assumed it to be entirely on Sir Gaston’s side, given the man’s known propensity for drink and women, but the way Maurice had spoken of it hinted at more.

Another rough patch of road left Gold groaning and rubbing at his leg as a sharp pain pulsed through the muscles from foot to thigh. He shifted and stretched it out as best he could, careful not to jostle Belle too much. Her hand came up and curled around his arm, and he couldn’t help but smile even through the agony in his ankle as he rotated it one way and the other until the cramping ceased. His hand came up and covered hers, feeling the smooth warm skin beneath his palm, even against his better judgement and the nagging voice in the back of his mind that told him to keep a safe distance. His future held nothing but sorrow, save for his son, and the last thing he wanted was for Belle to be hurt by association.

Everything he was doing was for Baeden, but he did hope the boy liked Belle, at least as much as Gold feared he himself would.

Belle awoke in the carriage with a start, and heard the telltale sound of the wheels rolling over stones instead of dirt.

She sat up and looked around, confused momentarily until she realized she’d been leaning on Gold’s shoulder as she slept. “Sorry,” she mumbled, flushing red with embarrassment.

He gave her a strange look and shrugged. “It’s no matter.”

“We’ve arrived,” she said, leaning forward to look out of the window of the carriage.

He inclined his head. “We have indeed.”

He pushed open the door on his side and came around to hers, offering her a hand as she stepped down. She looked up with wide eyes at the large structure, so much higher and wider than Avonlea.

“It’s...”

“Much prettier in the daylight,” he finished for her, with a flat look that gave away his sarcastic intent.

Belle let out a soft laugh, and then Gold gave orders to the valet and two servants who had come out to greet them.

“All of the trunks in the wagon go to Lady Belle’s rooms in the south wing.”

The men nodded and began unloading, as meanwhile Belle stared up at Thornhill with apprehension. It was so much bigger than she’d imagined, more like the king’s palace than an estate home, and she marveled at how Gold had come to acquire it. Had it been available so cheaply, or was his wealth even more than she’d first understood.

A touch at her arm shook her from her contemplation and she turned to see Gold watching her.

“Shall we?” he asked, offering her his arm.

She could do no more than nod, and took his arm, letting him lead her through the front archway into a wide courtyard. There were sculpted shrubs and potted plants lining the way as they walked through it to what she presumed was the front door. Inside, a wide staircase lead up to the second floor, wide enough for three people to walk side by side. There wasn’t time to look around the rest of the foyer, or any of the other rooms before they headed upstairs.

“This is the way to the family bedrooms,” he said as he lead her down a hallway that ran from the front of the house to the back. She gave him a sideways look as they came to an end, and he added, “They have the best view of the gardens.”

Belle smiled at that, and let him guide her around the corner to the left. The corridor was shorter than she expected, and lined with three doors on either side. She began to wonder how long it would take her to decipher the labyrinth of halls and rooms and stairs that made up Thornhill. A month? A year? Perhaps young Bae would be as delighted to show her around the house as he would be the hedge maze.

“This hall is yours,” Gold declared. “There’s two sitting rooms, here and here, a bathing room, small library...”

She gasped in surprise and delight, and then covered her mouth with her hand. Giving her a bemused smile, he continued on. “A dressing room there, and this...” He stopped and slipped his arm from hers to open a set of double doors at the very end of the corridor. “This is your room.”

Belle stepped inside, her lips pressed together as she took it all in. It was more rooms than she’d ever occupied at Avonlea and she wasn’t sure she’d ever find enough things or purposes to fill them all. The bedroom was wide but not too large that the single fireplace, which itself was sizable, couldn’t warm the space. At one end was a canopied bed with curtains tied back on either side. There was only a small chest of drawers and a vanity, she presumed because an entire room was devoted to storing her clothing, a fact that still had part of her mind spinning. A curved chaise and two chairs made a small sitting area near the fireplace, and along the back wall was a set of four large windows, two of which opened onto a terrace.

“Consider these a blank canvas. You can change anything that isn’t to your liking,” Gold added from the doorway. “I fear I’ve left them rather plain and awaiting the right touch.”

She barely heard him as she moved forward, running her hand over the edges of the furniture. She approached the window nearest the bed and lifted back the curtain to peer into the darkness. A few torches lit the patio below, but she couldn’t see much more than a few feet of grass and more potted plants set along the edge of the stone pavers.

“It looks rather nice in the sunlight,” he said, standing just behind her.

Her lips twitched and she glanced up at him over her shoulder. “And if I don’t like the view?”

Gold’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “Then I’m sure we can find another room with another view that you will like better.”

She shook her head. “I’m sure this one will be lovely.”

“Well,” he said, smoothing his hands down the front of his coat. It was lightly creased from so long in the carriage, but she thought he still looked quite nice. “It’s late and -”

“Where is your room?” she asked abruptly. She didn’t know where the thought had come from, but once it was there she couldn’t help but let it out.

“The other end,” he said simply. “Of the hall.”

She blinked, surprised that he’d be so close by. Sir Gaston had promised her space in an entire wing of his estate, enough to keep her far away from his rooms and whatever went on there. Her own parents were separated by the entire width of Avonlea manor. Gold was so near that she could poke her head out of her bedroom door and see his at the opposite end.

Gold’s hand twisted against the hand of his cane. “Is that - a problem?”

“No!” She paused and swallowed. “No, it’s - it’s fine. I was just - curious is all. I’m sorry.”

“It’s no matter.” He said before he took a step back and bowed at the waist. “I will bid you goodnight, at and let you get settled before bed.”

“Goodnight,” she replied. “Cameron.”

A small smile crinkled his eyes again, and he bowed a second time. Goodnight, Belle.”

A long slow breath left her after the door close and she dropped down on the mattress, closing her eyes for a moment.

Thornhill.

Her new home. With her new husband just at the end of the hall.

Opening her eyes, she looked around the room again and starting to smile. Her hands roamed over the fabric, testing with gentle pushes. The mattress and pillows were plush and soft, perhaps the most decadent she’d ever touched, and she’d stayed several nights at the King’s summer palace with Ariel. Her hand traced the faint pattern stitched into the creamy white duvet, the delicate blue thread tucking the fabric to make fluffy hills and narrow valleys.

She smiled and bit her lip. Lord Gold - Cameron - she corrected herself, again, had told her that her rooms were a blank canvas, awaiting her touch, her preferences. Yet as she looked around the already well appointed room, with its soft colors and wide balcony overlooking the ample gardens, she wasn’t sure if there was anything she would change.

In fact, she was considering that perhaps there was nothing she would change about the situation at all, her marriage included.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #my rumbelle fic #belle x mr. gold #arranged marriage au #in all things #fic

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rustic-space-fiddle · 6 years ago

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A History of the Ava Paige and the Immuni (Pt. 1)

||This is my Pirate AU. It’s a bit short, this chapter, but I’ll probably update it by the end of the day. I’m trying to include all of the Glader Pack, but my brain is sketchy af, so I might have mixed up some things. Hope you like!

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A long time ago, in the age of wooden ships and public hangings, a ship scoured the seas, captained by the infamous Ava Paige.

She has risen out of nothing, working as a kitchen slave upon the Purely Wicked. One day, out of nowhere, the captain went missing, and in the panic, Ava usurped the helm. She provided them orders, with a sort of steely gentleness that reminded them of their mothers. The reason for their sudden obedience to this lowly woman was a mystery to even themselves, but obey they did.

Within a matter of months, the Purely Wicked was again riding the crests of the Atlantic, and Ava continued to mass attacks upon various villages and seaside towns. The reasoning behind this was unclear; she never gave a direct order to pillage or plunder, she merely pointed and they did what they knew best. They had no idea what she wanted, or if they were accomplishing it. She never told them so or otherwise. There was only one thing she did say, but she said it before every attack, twice for good measure and with an calm, cold emphasis that told them they would suffer if they did not heed her.

“Do not harm the children.”

And heed her they did.

* * *

Albert was the eldest brother of three children: himself, Jefferson, and Harriet. He looked after them as well as any older brother would, and the three of them loved their parents as much as any three children could.

But of course, life has its trials, and theirs began one warm Sunday afternoon in April.

A ship, adorned with a bright red flag with a black “W” scrawled across it, arrived in harbor. The townspeople thought nothing of it; ships came and went all the time. However, even if they had thought something of it, it wouldn’t have changed what happened.

By two o’clock, the town was nothing but a burning husk. The ship was gone, and the harbor was empty. The only thing that was left standing straight was the church steeple, the small wooden cross on top gazing down upon the suffering below it.

Albert had defended his family valiantly, but his father had been cut down while he pulled the shotgun off the mantle, and his mother had been struck twice with the butt of a rifle. For some reason, the three children sitting at the kitchen table had been left unharmed, and had stared in horror as their parents were slaughtered and the drawers emptied of their silver.

The sound of waves and gulls was drowned out by the crying of children. They emerged from their burning houses like rabbits being smoked out of hiding, screaming for help and wandering helplessly in circles.

Albert kept his head, leading Jefferson and Harriet away from the fires. He told them to sit and wait, and that he would be back as quick as could, then waded into the rubble to help the others. He found thirty-four children, siblings huddling together; only children standing alone in the middle of the dusty street. Many didn’t even have shoes. He heard a baby screaming — the Layton’s baby girl, no doubt — but before he could find her, her cries ceased. He tried not imagine what had happened to her, and returned to the others.

He tried to calm them, but they acted as if he wasn’t there. Finally, a boy stood up and wiped his face angrily. Minho, the fisherman’s boy.

“Lemme help,” he grumbled.

Albert accepted his help gratefully.

After a while, the children calmed down enough to sit quietly, and Minho found barrel of soda crackers. Around the barrel went, till every child was nibbling away at a cracker.

“We’ve got to do something,” Albert said. “We’ve got no one now. It’s just us.”

“We’ve got to leave, is what,” a girl said. Anne.

“We can’t just up and leave,” a boy returned. Mozart. ”Where would we go?”

“Away,” a brown-haired girl agreed. Charlotte. “Albert is right. We’re all alone.”

“I don’t know if you understand this,” another girl piped up. Ellie. “-but if we left, we would still be alone.”

“At least we wouldn’t be on fire,” a tall, broad-shouldered boy interjected. Galileo. “And we wouldn’t be surrounded by broken houses and the corpses of our families.”

A little girl burst into tears.

“Galileo, please shut up,” Albert ordered.

“Yes, you’re making Rachel cry,” a blue eyed girl added. Alice.

“Just stating the obvious,” Galileo mumbled, crossing his arms.

“He’s right,” Minho butt in. “As unpleasant, as it is, the moron is right.”

“Hey—!”

“We have no choice. We’ve gotta get out of here.”

“How?” Albert asked. “As much as I agree, we wouldn’t make it very far on foot. The nearest town is twenty miles away.”

Minho rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He looked around, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun. As his gaze fell upon the docks, his eyes lit up. There, all alone, was a single ship. For some reason, the pirates had ignored it completely. Minho turned back to the group of dirty children.

“We’re sailing out of here.”

* * *

Suffice to say, the initial reaction to this plan was… dubious. Galileo almost kicked Minho in the shin, and at least more children started sobbing all over again. But, Minho was a smooth son of a gun, and before long, he had them convinced. He could steer them free for now, he insisted. The fisherman’s son could sail until everyone else learned. They could gather what supplies remained in the town and sail along the coast until they reached the next port. There, they could get help.

“Besides,” he added, his eyes gleaming with mischief above their tired, dark circles. “It’ll be fun.”

“You’re an idiot,” Alice said.

To be continued...

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Tagging the peeps: @c-taylor-wanna-be-a-glader @newtieparker @castielcaswatson @esthercantdraw (is that everyone???? fRICK ITS BEEN SO LONG)

#the maze runner #glader pack #pirate au #tmr au #tmr alby #tmr gally #tmr minho #tmr ava paige #tmr fanfiction #oof #oof oof

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iamonlydancing · 6 years ago

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@kiseopingu replied to your post: I’ve got the day off and absolutely nothing to do,...

Oh gosh I have no real idea but I’d love to read some Sterek fluff from you??? Maybe a modern!AU of any kind? Duuuh I have no idea but it’s been so long since I’ve read any Sterek from you so whatever prompts others send in I’ll be glad to read through tbh!!!

So, I skimmed through my ficspiration tag, and came up with this list, and somehow it became a The Office Sterek au with office rivalry, misunderstandings, and fluff. Enjoy!

“Due to an administrative error, the entire San Francisco branch has been merged with the Beacon Hills branch,” Lydia says distastefully, reading off a fax straight from corporate. Crumpling up the sheet, she tosses it in the bin.

“What exactly does that mean?” Kira asks nervously. Stiles looks around at the three extra people in their already cramped office. All of them are pretty scary looking, but the man whose stick-on hello my name is tag reads ‘Hale’ has a glare to rival no other, and Stiles has known Lydia since they were in the sandbox.

“It means that until corporate finds a new office space in San Francisco, which considering the demand and cost of real estate in the city, will be nigh on impossible, they are stuck here with us,” Lydia says, glaring at the newcomers.

“Hey, we’re not to blame,” the woman says, her name-tag reads Erica with a heart over the i. “That’s on our manager.” She smirks. “It’s not our fault he didn’t renew the lease.”

“That’s not my responsibility, Erica,” Hale says, arms crossed over his admittedly significant chest. “That was corporate’s job.”

“Actually,” newcomer numero three, Boyd, says, “That’s acquisition’s job.”

“Acquisitions?” Hale asks, frowning deeply, “Who handles that?”

“Damien, I think,” Erica says. “But he moved to Costa Rica.”

“Didn’t we hire someone to replace him?”

“Our human resources guy was supposed to, but he left to, and I quote, enact revenge upon his dick of a father,” Erica says.

“Huh,” Hale says, eyebrows scrunched so tightly together they look like one long unibrow of death and destruction, and apparently bad managerial skills. Yikes. Lydia’s going to whip him right into shape.

Stiles chuckles, and leans back in his chair. Hale sends him a look that could freeze the balls off any other man, but Stiles casually fixes his polka dot tie in a show of dominance. Hale blinks, and his eyes drop to Stiles’ throat. Ah ha, victory.

As Lydia’s right hand man, and the second in the office, Stiles was worried that a former manager could easily usurp his position. Now he’s not so sure Hale has the skills or the cojones to do it. The San Francisco branch was last place in sales, and Beacon Hills in first. Stiles has received achievement award after achievement award from corporate. They’ve even invited him to L.A. to give a speech about how he’s the best damn salesman in the company.

He eats men like Hale for breakfast. Ain’t no city slicker going to come into his office and steal the title he earned from years of slaving away and schmoozing. Stiles winks at Hale, and the man turns red right from head to toe. Oh yes, Stiles has already won. Consider the dick measuring contest a success.

Lydia splits them up, Erica joins the accountants, Boyd goes over to product oversight. Hale would join sales, except there are no empty desks left. Stiles sits in his uncomfortable wheely chair, and pretends like it’s the iron throne, smirking up at a lost looking Hale in triumph.

Stiles is more smug that a prize winning pumpkin farmer at the county fair, that is, until Lydia saunters on over and declares that he has to share his desk with Hale.

“But, but,” Stiles sputters, as Lydia pushes aside his collection of photos, until they’re all piled in one corner, and Stiles can only see one, which kinda defeats the purpose of keeping photos on one’s desk. The photo of him as a kid with his parents is still visible, but he can’t see the one of him and Scott trick-or-treating as kids. Nor the one where Kira, Scott and him went hang gliding. Or the one of him in his first car, his baby blue Jeep. All of his twelve photos, but one, have been relegated unimportant. All because of Hale.

“Hey,” Hale says, “I’m Derek.” He holds out his hand.

“Hi Derek,” Stiles says sharply, “I’m busy.”

“Oh,” Derek says, sitting in the chair Lydia pushed over to him. It’s one of the newer ones. Figures he gets the nice ergonomic chair while Stiles gets stuck with the shitty one.

Stiles picks up the phone, but he doesn’t actually have to call anyone. It’s just, if he has to talk to Hale for any longer he might just throw a stapler at his perfect face. He calls Kira instead.

“Kira,” Stiles says when she picks up, “How many reams of paper have you sold today?”

“Uh,” she says through the line, her voice echoing in the office and through the receiver. She hangs up the phone, and looks at him from across their joined desks, saying, “Twenty.”

“And it’s only nine o’clock.” Stiles claps. “Amazing!” He turns to Derek with a snarl. “How much paper have you sold today?”

Derek looks at him in confusion. “None?”

Stiles guffaws. “None!?”

“Our accounts haven’t been set up yet—”

He leans right into Derek’s space, and he goes cross-eyed trying to look at him. “Listen here, bucko, I’m the best salesman in this company. To even consider beating my record, you’re going to have to try much, much harder than that.”

“Um,” Derek says, blinking rapidly. His face is turning red again, and he smells very nice, which is besides the point. But Stiles has got him backed right into a corner. In a few weeks—hopefully not months—Derek is going to be outta here, and Stiles will get his desk, and peace of mind back.

The next morning, he walks into the office to find Derek at his desk. His back is to Stiles, so he can’t see exactly what he’s doing, but Stiles knows he’s up to no good, for sure. Stiles slams the office door shut, and Derek jumps a foot in the air, turning around guiltily. When he sees Stiles, he relaxes minutely.

“What the hell are you up to?” Stiles demands, marching forward.

“Listen, I think we got off on the wrong foot yesterday—”

“I asked you a question…” Stiles trails off when he sees his picture frames organized on a three tier desk organizer. It’s a simple metal design with no back, so he can still see and speak with Kira if he wanted to. Just, now more space on his desk. His photos are tilted so Stiles can see them perfectly, whether he’s on the phone, or working on his computer.

“I picked it up yesterday,” Derek says, scratching the back of his head, “I felt bad about coming into your space, and taking it over.” He reaches over and adjusts a frame, the one of him and Scott at Halloween, where Stiles is dressed as Spiderman. “You were a really cute kid.” He smiles sheepishly.

Stiles opens and shuts his mouth a few times, at a loss for words.

“Oh, I also got you this chair cushion.” Derek picks up one of those massaging cushions with roller balls that heat up in winter and cool down in summer. “I noticed your chair was losing some stuffing, and figured you’d need it.”

Stiles takes the offered cushion, and hugs it to his chest. He swallows. He’s been looking for one for ages, but he couldn’t afford to buy one with his own money, and there was no room for it in the office budget.

Stiles licks his lips. “This doesn’t mean I like you,” he says.

Derek smiles, “No, course not.” He walks up to Stiles and holds his hand out in offering.

Suspiciously, Stiles shakes his hand, but there’s no static shock like he was rubbing his socked feet against the carpet, no chewing gum on his palm, no nothing. Just a nice, friendly handshake with a guy who smells really, really good. (Still besides the point.)

“Hi, I’m Derek, and we’re going to be sharing a desk for the next few days, weeks, or months, it’s nice to know you.”

#sterek #my fics #kiseopingu #stiles stilinski #derek hale

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khr-guilded-cage · 19 days ago

Note

You're really mean to Tsuna. Your 2 OCS are child soldiers who seem to have at least one decent parent. Tsuna, on the other hand: is considered useless at everything. He's not good when it comes to athletics. He's terrible at school, and he has no friends and tons of bullies. He doesn't even have any trustworthy or reliable adults, considering his mother, who practically raised him on her own with only monetary support from Iemitsu, considers him useless as well. You may think he should do differently, and you may say you would do differently, but considering he has everything going against him and his situation has been going on for probably 10 years- why wouldn't it be easier to just go along with what others desire in order to avoid pain, having his opinion being ignored more, and being penalized for having free will? He may have dying will flames, but he doesn't have much of a will of his own.

Yeah, I was mean a little mean in that fic

I was upset at him at time

But also, Yuka's family would be in danger because of him and his lack of action, it normal to her to start blaming him

Tsuna...I get he don't have support, but after the Seal Broken and all the clear manipulation? He didn’t even...suspected? Got angry? At Timoteo and Iemitsu? Didn't stand up agaisnt them when someone he calls family is threatened?

He is literally in the BEST POSITION to fight Nono (Only Heir, Future Head) and Iemitsu

Xanxus is trapped and beaten under his puppet authority

Iemitsu and Nono still hurting peoples lives (his people lives) and Tsuna didn't even....do anything?

#katekyo hitman reborn #khr #red eyed usurper au

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authorellenmint · 7 years ago

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Isabela, the duelist

Another article about Julie d'Aubigny, the famous French duelist and opera singer with no fucks to give, was making the rounds and it got me thinking what if that was Isabela.

So, here’s an AU of Isabela in late 17th century France.

In the bustling theaters and bordellos of Paris, ruled a fist far finer than usual. While francs often tumbled free, it was just as likely to deliver a fatal blow as a waft of delicate perfume. For the moment, it was locked around the shapely hip of one of the dancers, a woman named Giselle. Sadly, Giselle bore a suitor of her own -- whether she wished for his attentions or no.

Claude Renoir was not so easily shaken from his prize.

"Do not bother," his friends cajoled, complaining as he ventured from the smoking room, glasses of brandy barely disturbed and abandoned upon the table. "Come back to watch the show. From our seats you can look straight up their skirts."

He would not listen. No, Claude assumed he was in the right -- as he often does in whatever matter the young man thinks was his divine right. At the tender age of twenty-three, with a rich father and a business to whet his beak upon once he exits university, he was nearly right. Men of his cloth were offered the whole world upon a satin pillow.

Such a shame he chose to butt up against the one sword to slice his future to ribbons.

Rounding up the stairs, Claude spotted Giselle laughing, her pert form reclining upon a fine divan. Her delicate fingers splayed out against a stranger's chest, her perfect face dipping under the stranger's wide-brimmed hat to press a whisper in an ear. Another woman sat astride this usurper, dressed in even less than his dear Giselle.

How dare he! To take not one but two women for himself? It was unheard of!

"Sir!" Claude stomped his foot on the rug before this lecher. Both of the girls looked up into his scarlet face, his anger and passion transforming into purpose. "I say, you have no right to abscond with my Giselle!"

"Your Giselle?" a voice rolled from under the bent hat, its brim obscuring a face. But the sound was odd, far more tenor than he would have expected within this house of debauchery. "I see no ring, no brand to her succulent rump," a hand slid off Giselle's shoulder to slap into her buttocks.

Claude roared at the slight while Giselle, dear Giselle giggled. "You dare!"

"I dare do what I wish, Sir...whatever you call yourself. No point in telling me, it will slip from my ear before you go."

The anger turned to rage, Claude's eyes glaring death upon this usurper. Still, the man wouldn't move, refused to take his hands off what was rightfully Claude's. So be it! Claude reached forward, about to grab his beloved Giselle off of this stranger's lap, when fingers latched onto his arm.

Brown as the peasants that burned in the fields, they dug in tight and refused to let go. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," the man laughed, his voice raising into an alto.

"Do you have any idea who I am?!" Claude howled.

A glint of a smile appeared below the shadows of the hat, "You speak as if I should care."

"I am the eldest son to Monsieur Renoir, heir to the..."

That brown hand released him in order to wave through the air, cutting off his credentials. "That's who your father is. Who are you, boy?"

Boy? This puerile farmer trucked in from the provinces dared to call him such! "You have greatly offended me, Sir. I demand satisfaction!"

The two women astride the stranger gasped, Giselle covering her mouth in shock. Good. May the man quiver, fall to his knees in subjugation begging to be forgiven, and let Claude have what he deserved. He was about to reach out for his love, when Giselle turned to the hat and cried.

"Please, he's a foolish child. You shouldn't..."

A child? Oh Giselle! How her cruel thoughts wounded him straight through the heart.

"You are aware that duels are illegal in Paris," the man said.

"Are you afraid? Are you a coward? Do you have not the balls to face me?"

The smile lengthened and the stranger rose from the divan. "There is nothing a pup like you can do to scare me, and..." a hand yanked off the hat to reveal long black hair cascading down HER back. She was a woman?! Cocking a hip to the side, her brown face smiled, "I don't need a pair of danglers to face you."

Dressed in little more than what the whores working through the theater wore, she paraded about in all white. There was no dress to cover her shame, only a corset with a sash of purest blue tied around her waist. Boots rose to her thighs as if she'd walked the streets dusk to dawn.

"What are you?!" Claude cried, skittering back a step as he feared the woman to be a hag dragged in by the sea. While her features were fine enough in the low light, the sea hags could shift them to torment men by dawn.

The woman turned to Giselle, circled a hand around her peaches and cream jawline, then sampled a long, slow kiss from those pink lips. Claude hung in shock. He hadn't even had a chance to hold her hand yet and this woman, this degenerate, was kissing her in public!

"I am Isabela, feared pirate of the Caribbean, master duelist in all of France, ransacker of beds, lover of such fine art," her hand scooped along Giselle's décolletage, showing no care for decorum. Golden snake eyes snapped up at him, "And you, young pup, are the next man to dance upon the end of my blade." In full view of the patrons, she unsheathed a sword kept at her hip. The candlelight danced up and down the rapier's edge, Claude transfixed by the glow.

"Or," she paused, "do you relent and allow me to continue with my business as I see fit?"

He was no duelist. His father owned a sword but if he found out Claude was scuffling, was breaking the law, he'd go spare. Perhaps even threaten to disown him. Fighting her would be foolish. If he won, he'd have beaten a girl, which afforded him little honor. And if he lost...no, he wouldn't lose.

"Oh," this Isabela paused in staring longingly at Giselle, "and you have to leave her alone. Forever."

Claude saw red, his hand rising up to strike her in the face, "We shall meet outside the theater."

The woman didn't blanch, she didn't turn and run. No, the idiot smiled wide, took his hand and gave it a powerful shake. "This shall be fun."

His friends agreed to back him up, two of them braying about Claude managing to work himself into such a predicament. Fighting against one woman for another, it was a waste of his time and skin. He didn't care about Giselle. Forget the whore. No, this was all about putting that...cretin in her place. Proving to her that she belonged under a man's thumb, not philandering about in theaters with other women.

"Perhaps she won't even show," his close friend said, the drunkard laugh shattering the night, when the swish of a cloak overpowered the inebriations.

Claude's blood boiled, his hand locking around the grip of his foil. This woman had returned her hat, complete with a long crimson feather in the brim, upon her head. It was tipped back, allowing her to gaze at her challenger, as well as his seconds. Where was hers? Did she come alone?

A cloak as black as night circled her body, Isabela casting it off of her shoulder with a flip of her arm. "Forgive me, I had to...enjoy a rather long goodbye. Giselle is quite skilled in such matters."

"Draw your weapon!" Claude cried, quickly unsheathing his rapier. The hilt was a silver steel, twisted like a brambled mulberry bush. He'd never fought a man to death with it, nor a woman for that matter. But the anger in his stomach boiled, assuring Claude that he could cut pieces off of her blackened hide and feel no remorse for it.

"Such a hurry," she shook her head, then plucked her hat off. With a throw, she flung it to one of his friends, who caught it in surprise. "Hold that for me, darling," she winked at him, and the bastard blushed. "Yes yes, as you were saying," she gripped onto the hilt of her sword and unsheathed it into the waning gas lamplight of evening Paris.

Claude snickered while eyeing up her pathetic blade. The edge was thin as a blade of grass, but it was the grip that had him laughing. "You don't have a hilt upon that thing. There's nothing to shield your hand from my blows."

"Arrogant little shit, aren't you?" she laughed, swiping thrice through the air. "Funny thing is, " Isabela raised her arm up, the elbow cocked as the edge of the blade cut through the air right beside her eye, "so am I."

Screaming, Claude ran at the woman. He didn't need a countdown, only for her blood to litter the cobbles. With everything inside of him, he swung for her hand. Disarm her, make her fall to her knees and weep. Sweep Giselle off her whore feet and into his bed to be used once and discarded. It was a brilliant plan.

His blade's tip cut through the air, about to flay the brown skin from her hand, when suddenly his sword was thrown back. Another swing bounced into his blade, skittering it even further into the night as the woman danced forward on the balls of her feet. Through the rush of his blood he heard his friends shouting for him, cheering him on, but Claude was too slow to retrieve his skittered blade.

Two twin cuts sliced against his cheeks, stinging deeper than any shaving mishap ever would. Gasping, Claude fell back, touching his enflamed flesh to find sticky blood swiped over his fingers. "How dare you?!" he screamed, his eyes widening in shock.

"Well, the trick is to be good. Which is probably why you're having trouble. Oh, you don't mean how can I but how may I." Another swipe of the blade swung from the darkness, striking faster than lightning. He barely had a chance to block it, this one aiming for his wrist. Claude bounced one away, but a second thrust cut into his waistcoat. The chain thudded to the ground, Isabela whacking him away until she could pick it up for herself. She eyed the thing by the moonlight as if it were a prize, before pocketing it on her barely-there clothing.

"See, young pup," her attacks were unending, backing him into corners, then chasing him away. All Claude could do was keep her from killing him. Still, cuts were appearing all over his body. Slashes to his arms, his legs, the back of his knees. His friends fell silent, watching in terror as Claude was led about on an invisible lead.

"If you had a lick of sense in your brain, you'd know me as Isabela, Queen of the Siren's Call."

"Sweet mother Mary!" one of his friends shouted before crossing himself.

"Ah, a fan of my work," Isabela winked and nodded at him. "Shame your friends didn't warn you about me. I've fought in at least fifteen different duels since weighing anchor upon your shores. Always with stuff shirt pricks who think they own whatever they can take. And you know what happens to those men?"

"What?" Claude snarled. She was bobbing but slowing, circling around his back. If he swung fast he might be able to knock into her smart mouth with the pommel of his sword. Isabela darted close to his shoulder, which was when Claude struck.

Swinging behind, he expected for his fist to come in contact with her face, but suddenly there was naught but air where she'd been. Something hard bashed into the back of his bleeding legs, sending Claude crumbling to the street. Filthy muck splashed up from his hands splattering into fetid water and piss. He gasped, trying to spit the muck out, when a sharp blade drew against his throat.

"They always lose," she smiled wider at him, about to plunge the blade deep and finish him off.

"You!" another woman's voice roared through the night.

"Oh, for the love of..." Isabela stepped back, her blade fleeing away from Claude's neck. She sheathed it while turning to whoever was shouting at her. It wasn't yet another jealous husband but a woman built like an ox. Hair redder than the seine by sunset, an unsophisticated stomp to her manly gait, this woman approached Isabela and grabbed onto her collar.

"You know duels are illegal here! We've warned you once before."

"Yes, Aveline. I heard you the first time, I simply didn't care," Isabela whimpered as this muscular woman began to bind her hands behind her back. "You should know, he challenged me."

"Right, anyone in Paris is stupid enough to challenge you to a duel," the redhead chuckled mirthlessly, clearly finding his humiliation hilarious.

"I was doing you a favor by cleaning up this trash. I dare say I deserve a medal..." Isabela sighed.

Struggling to rise, Claude shook away the spots in his vision to watch the subject of his ire being clapped in irons as befitted her. "Yes, arrest her. Take her away!"

"What do you think I'm doing?" this Aveline rolled her eyes at him,

"Told you," Isabela whistled, rocking back and forth on her toes even as the iron cuffs clanked on. "Total prat."

Sneering, Claude stomped closer to the woman unable to fight back. His nose flared as he declared, "You're an abomination. Creatures like you should be stoned before the church steps. It isn't natural for a woman to abandon the home's hearth, dress like a man and fight. You're no better than a feral dog."

"Damn it," the redhead groaned, her head tipping back to the stars. Claude turned to her in confusion, worrying he'd have to be the one to take Isabel in as a feminine vapor overtook her, when a massive fist burst into his jaw. He collapsed to the street, his head bouncing against the cobbles as he stared up at the bruised knuckles of the redhead still hanging in the air.

The redhead turned around to Isabela and snarled, "Get out of here." Then she bent over to haul Claude up from his dizzying state. He could barely see after that punch. "Disorderly, and drunk in public. Gonna have a long stay in the Bastille for that, prat."

The iron cuffs clanged to the ground without the redhead having to assist. Isabela dashed to pick up her hat from his friend's useless fingers. Once it was on her head, she gave a jolly wave to the men and walked right back into the theater. Claude groaned, his head throbbing from every hit to his body as those cuffs were now strapped to him.

"Don't you know anything? Never interrupt her when she's watching a show. You idiots," the woman hauled him up and tossed him over her gargantuan shoulder, "you never learn."

#isabela #aveline vallen #french duel #dueling #historical au #dragon age #my writing #short story #fanfic

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it-was-so-human · 7 years ago

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Everything I feel returns to you somehow

There are many reasons the Silent Sisters unsettle him. But above all else, it is because they remind him of his own sins. AU.

Contains brief reference to sexual assault.

They entered Winterfell in a single file line. Silently as their name would ordain. Shrouded in cloaks and cowls of gray.

And an air of unease.

Come to attend to the dead, care for the injured.

The North might adhere to the Old gods, but many who came to fight the Great War would find solace from the New.

As the New Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North (titles given by his Queen Aunt’s royal decree and shaky lineage claims) he should not be disdainful of any help.

But the Silent Sisters had always made him uncomfortable, their appearance was unsettling.

As a former brother of the night’s watch, it wasn’t the idea of an order, or a vow, or celibacy that unnerved him.

Maybe because he was raised under the Old gods, the traditions of the Seven would always seem odd. But the Sisters seemed so… sorrowful.

Or maybe it was because they felt like death. Wrapped and veiled in the sensation of it.

(He had returned from death, and even he couldn’t shake the dread they invoked.)

He sees one Sister break rank, and move towards the castle walls.

A pale hand reached out to stroke the wall, almost reverently grazing over the stones that made Winterfell.

As if she feels his eyes on him, she turns toward him and he is taken aback for a moment.

Her eyes so blue, a beautiful familiar blue.

He tries to get closer, but she is already gone. Disappeared among the others.

He shakes his head.

There are many reasons the Sisters unsettled him.

But above all else, it was because they reminded him of his own sins.

- - -

He was told Sansa was forced to join the Silent Sisters after Petyr Baelish and the Vale’s failed attempt at retaking Winterfell.

A way to prevent anyone else who would use her to get Winterfell. Like a Brother of the Night’s Watch she was stripped of her Stark name and any claim. Not killing her was a courtesy to keep Northern resentment contained.

But he thought his sister was safe, safe enough, for who would harm a wife of the Stranger?

He told himself that his discomfort around the Sisters were unfounded; it was a peaceful order albeit one demanding a solitary existence. They did good works and were cared for by the Faith.

(And no sane man would hurt a sister.)

Sansa was raised under the Faith, maybe she found solace and comfort in being a sister. After all women did often volunteer.

(But Sansa had no choice, she had been forced.)

((Punished again for the deeds of the men around her.))

He was so sure he would have found her again if he survived the war. So sure.

Would bring her home himself if that was what she wanted.

But he forgot that war was never truly contained just to the battlefield.

He already had an army by then. Already retook Winterfell. Was working on mining dragonglass and preparing for the invasion from beyond the wall.

Didn’t send anyone to retrieve her, didn’t use his great armies to bring her home.

He was focused on the great threat.

Did not need his soldiers frightened of some unnamed curse of the Stranger for stealing one of his pledged brides. Not as they walked into the coming storm.

But he is ashamed when he asks himself that if it was Arya who was tucked away in a Sept, would he have acted quicker?

(There’s a dark part of him that whispers, perhaps he didn’t save her because deep down he worried Sansa would be able to usurp his feeble claim to the North. But no, no that wasn’t it. That wasn’t it at all.)

((He would tear his Lord’s cloak to shreds, place the North at her feet if it could bring her back.))

- - -

He’s thinking more of Sansa now than he has in ages, perhaps more than he ever has.

(And that’s probably why she is dead.)

He has thought endlessly about his brothers. He saw Bran disappear as the three-eyed-raven, was fighting by Arya’s side when she died.

He did not give much thought to Sansa. He just couldn’t.

But now he imagines what it was like for her, joining the order.

His radiant little sister, stripped of the beautiful dresses she loved and the ballads she joyed in singing.

(Did they truly cut out her tongue?)

Living a life never allowed to speak, never making eye contact with another. People avoiding her like she was death itself.

A perfect lady, even when her hair was in two plaits, made to scrub bodies and boil flesh from bones.

As children they had teased her mercilessly for her fanciful and overly obedient ways. But he could only remember the way her face would brighten over tiny little pretty things or how she would give him delicate advice on courtly ways.

Then he heard the news of what had happened.

Sisters raped and murdered or carried away by plague. All the septs burned to the ground,

It has been years now. But he rubs an ache in his chest as he remembers that she was probably in pain and alone when she died.

Had she heard he reclaimed the North? Did she know her brother would not come for her?

(Was she angry? Saddened? Or worse, was she not surprised?)

- - -

He feels a need to visit his family. His fath—uncle, his cousins.

(There was nothing of Sansa in the crypt, no bones of hers to put to rest. Yet another transgression added to his long list.)

He sees a Sister kneeling by the tomb of his family and his frustration rises. He does not want one of them to be here.

As if his anger radiated, she seems to feel it and quickly scrambles to stand up.

And he is ashamed. He does not want to intimidate a helpless woman. That is not his intention.

It is not her fault of what (of who) she reminds him.

She was probably entrusted to give some blessings.

“No, it’s fine. You can stay.“

Her head is cast down, and she lightly shakes it “no” before scurrying away.

- - -

And the next time he looks for calm he finds that Sister again.

Sitting by the Weirwood tree.

As if immune to the snow and cold around her.

Why is this one haunting him?

He can’t see her face save her eyes, which were closed. But she seemed so peaceful. He couldn’t disturb her.

He could have sworn she was smiling underneath her veil.

Even Sisters get time for contemplation and rest.

(Brothers of the Night’s Watch or Sisters of the Faith. They were just people underneath their vows and cloaks.)

He walks away.

But what was she doing there. Why would someone of the Faith come a godswood?

He looks back and sees her eyes following him.

Those hauntingly familiar blue eyes again.

- - -

When he does his rounds surveying the injured, he sees her again.

He knows it’s the same Sister despite their uniformed unchanging attire.

She was significantly taller than the other and lithe, with strangely elegant dignity while helping her patient.

The charge she is tending groans in pain, and reaches for her, pulling her cowl down.

Jon can hear his own heart hammering when he sees a flash of red hair slipping out before the Sister quickly pulls it back.

It can’t be. It can’t be her.

(He just wishes it were so.)

- - -

He is obsessing over a Sister of the Faith, and it is crass and unnatural.

He finds that one again (the blue-eyed red-haired one). She is scrubbing clean strips of bandages.

And he leaves a lemon cake in front of her.

An offering. (But perhaps also a prayer, a small spark of hope, he could not admit even to himself.)

She looks taken aback, her blue blue eyes widened with panic but only for a moment.

She goes back to her work.

When he returns later, she is gone and the little cake is still there

But he notes a small corner piece was missing.

- - -

He is injured while practicing in the training yard.

Embarrassing in a way that he survived war and the Night King, only to be concussed by a child of twelve.

The Maester is gone to winter town. And so it is his Sister who is sent to help him.

And after she is done attending to his cuts and bruises and he is made comfortable on his bed, she makes to leave.

He is behaving shamelessly.

But he grabs for her. At first she seems fearful, but eases when she realizes his intention.

So he holds her hand. It is warm, her fingers long and elegant, slightly calloused and coarse but beautiful.

And she grips his hand back just as tightly.

She is not his sister. He knows this.

But perhaps she knew of her. Had heard of a young Lady from the North, a former Lannister bride, and niece of the Vale?

The blood of Winterfell?

Did you know a Sansa Stark? Did you see her? Do you know what happened to her?

(Do you think she would forgive me?)

But instead he fights sleep that creeps from the herbs and comfortable silence.

His knuckles are turning white, but he does not let go.

It feels too good.

- - -

At night he hears a knock on his door.

He opens it to see his Sister again.

She is probably there to check in on him.

But he’s not thinking.

In his haze, he sees Sansa. Pretty lady-like gentle Sansa.

He wraps his arms around her, and feels her go slack against him.

She is shaking and he feels silent sobs.

He feels it, suddenly knows it.

Sansa.

Is she scared of him? He holds her closer, trying to convey to that she is safe.

"Oh my girl, my sweet girl,” he whispers to her.

Oh gods, she is shaking but she buries her head against his chest.

And he hears it.

A voice, so quiet and hoarse and unpracticed.

“Jon.”

Also on AO3.

(Gah, I realize this seemed like a far better idea for story when I couldn’t sleep last night at 3am.)

#jonsa #jonsa fanfiction #actually jonsa #I am so upset with myself for writing this #it just wouldn't leave me alone #sometimes you have to write bad ideas out of your system okay?#game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #please send help #fanfic #I'll edit you later

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linksthoughtbrambles · 2 years ago

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WIP Wednesday - "Bones" prompt sneak peek

It's been tough to get much out lately, so here's a little Linktober sneak peek. It's in the Link to the Past ZeldaGoesToo!AU.

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

“Here,” Link said.

“I held it last in that place,” she reminded him.

“I know,” he said. “I’d… still rather you keep it.”

“You’ve been going too long without it,” she said.

“What makes you say that?”

He didn’t know.

She’d rather thought not.

“Do you know what happens—just here—when you’re angry, Link?”

He blinked. She found it easy to keep her smile, as she’d hoped.

“It wrinkles far more when you go without the pearl,” she said.

His smile started to leave him, as she thought it would. “Do you mean I get angrier?”

“No.” Link had never been angry with her—not once. His anger had always been turned on others’ wickedness. On Agahnim.

But in the dark, he’d turned those wrinkles toward her anyway. “When you go long without the pearl in the dark… they… frequent your face. They become other things.”

His face flinched inward on itself. His brows remained down, furrowed, as the rest retracted. “Have I frightened you?”

“Frightened me? You? No. Never.”

A swallow bobbed his voicebox. “It really is okay. I’m in control.” He huffed a half-laugh with a smile touching one corner of his mouth. “I thought the fur would be the larger issue.”

A quiet giggle heaved her belly. “That has occurred only twice.”

“Kind of why I was confused. I didn’t really have a choice the first time-”

-------

[Sorry, pink bunny. Move over for ALTTP Wolf Link. He’s way cooler.]

[I am weak for SS Link's nose wrinkles. Demise should've known he was in trouble when he saw those.]

#wip wednesday #linktober sneak peek #bones prompt #though it's not obvious why from the snippet #alttp #lttp #loz alttp #zeldagoestoo!au #zelda #zelink #loz #legend of zelda

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itbeajen · 7 years ago

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Omorfos Kosmo | HQ!! x Reader | Game!AU

Chapter 8.5 - Arc 1 - Invidia

Set Before the Transition

"Oh? They..." you paused in excitement as your eyes scanned over the computer screen, "They added a story line!"

You were basically squealing in excitement, and your hands reach for your phone, immediately dialing up Kei. You hear the line go dead and you sigh, before excitedly leaving him a voice mail telling him about the new update and how excited you were. It was hard seeing him in person when he was so far away in a different school. But despite it all, this game was your connection to all your old and new friends.

You quickly logged on, the familiar background music flooding your room as you typed in your details. Your small avatar appears on the screen once you're in and you begin to read the first quest, that's part of a series of quests, for the game's personal story line and you immediately immersed.

Hello Wanderer [L/N], Your sudden appearance in our realm has caught us all by surprise, but your arrival was foretold many years ago. It has been passed down through legend that the arrival of you, the Wanderers, will be the era in which we will finally bring back the light to our kingdom. I understand this letter to be sudden, and for it to be lacking in details, but if you would like more information, we are cordially extending our hand in invitation to the Royal Palace of Invidia. Note: If you accept this letter's invitation you will instantly be moved to the Audience Room of the Royal Palace of Invidia. Do you accept?

Your eyes sparkled with excitement as you eagerly clicked the accept button. No hesitation was necessary as soon as you finished the letter and you watched your computer screen turn black as your character is warped to the new map.

The audience room was grand, and magnificently decorated with many pillars and tapestries and banners that all proudly and boldly stated their state and nation. Your character appears at the entrance of the audience room, center of the red carpet that lead down the entrance up til the stage where there sat several thrones and various other seats for various other court members.

On both sides of the red carpet, one stood what you read to be the royal guards, and on the other side, the advisers. They were filed orderly, perhaps in the order of their rank, and you awkwardly stood at the entrance of the audience room. Your mouse clicks various times on the screen, but your character is unable to move, and after waiting a little bit longer, a knight, one dressed in different armor compared to the rest, appears beside you. He bows to your character and a dialog box appears.

Julius: Welcome to the Audience Room of Invidia, Wanderer [L/N]. It is our honor to see that you have arrived here safely. My name is Julius, please allow me to be your guide and escort for your time here.

You stared at the only two options, which were basically a yes, and be treated like royalty, or no and probably left to fend for yourself. You clicked the former and watched as Julius' character design lit into a bright smile as the lavender haired male tilted his head slightly to the left as his character bowed to yours again before taking your character's hand in his to escort you forward.

You go through the formalities as he introduces you to both the Royal Guards and the Royal Council. However, the council seems to detest the player and the guards are more than interested in how well you will do when it comes to battle.

Julius guides your character through the palace as he's essentially a tour guide and trying to help you become more comfortable. He expresses his interests to see if you are worthy. Worthy for what, you're not quite sure, but it's there. You frown at your computer screen, but shrug as you continue playing. You watch as several days, in game, pass by as your character continues to go through various errands. Most of which were errands involving the Prince of Invidia, Hyun. A small white-haired and red eyed child that was curious about the Wanderer's existence and how they had came to be.

The options for the answers were lacking in content, not quite enough diversity in how you would have wanted to respond, but you had gone along with it as you would normally. But the interactions with the Prince were probably the best ones as he was the only one who didn't seem to care for your formalities.

It gave you a bit more freedom as you chose answers that were somewhat ridiculous but yet, at the same time, quite amusing.

It wasn't until a week, in game, had passed when the situation began to slowly change. Your character had stopped training the select few Royal Guards that were assigned to you, and the Prince was no longer allowed to freely visit you and talk to you as before. You stared at the screen in pure confusion as there was no ease into the transition, it was just all so sudden as the NPCs you had befriended had slowly began to shy away from your character again. You muttered a soft, "What in the world," to yourself as you continued going through the 'rounds' on your character. It wasn't until you find Julius and Hyun talking to each other about your character when you interrupt their conversation.

Julius: Lady [L/N]! Forgive us for speaking of you when you were not in our presence... but it appears as though an ominous wind is spreading among the courts. It would be best if you remained within the palace so as to not raise suspicion and- Hyun: That's not fair to Lady [L/N]! She's already worked so hard to gain our trust. Wouldn't it be easier if we just assimilate her into the Royal Guards so we can assure them that she's on our side?

You watch with mild amusement as the two banter of the idea. It was honestly a full grown man, or perhaps someone that was in his mid-20s at least (you couldn't tell, all 2D boys look too young), versus a young child, perhaps around the age of 7 or so. But when the small prince turned to your character, his character design smiled brightly at you through the screen.

Hyun: How about we give the option to Lady [L/N]? Would you like to join the Royal Guards? By joining, we can protect you from any situation that may arise that could possibly be life threatening to you.

Once again you were offered only two options and you frowned at your computer screen.

Hmm, if I click yes, I'd be a part of the Royal Guards... but wouldn't that mean my freedom would be restricted? I mean the title is great and all but... Mm.. it probably makes more sense to say yes, story wise, too.

You leaned back in your chair and stretched. A yawn escapes your lips as you finally leave your room to get some water and maybe some snacks so you can resume gaming. You check your phone and you almost want to laugh at the text messages from Kei that were mostly him sending you exasperated emojis and how he's hoping you didn't sit in front of the computer for the past several hours.

You swipe a quick, "Sorry Kei!" as you continue down the stairs towards the dorm kitchen to grab some snacks and water.

"Oh! [L/N], you playing Kosmo again?" a dorm mate called out to you. You glance up from your phone and nodded and they laughed, "Girl, add me!"

"Mm, if you can find me sure! I'm still trying to decide which character to main."

"What you deciding between?" the dorm mate asked as they handed you another water bottle, placing it in your cup. You laugh and thank them and answered, "A crowd-control mage or a bard."

"What class for a bard? Archer?"

"Yeah, probs." You duck your head into the cabinet before finding the bag that's labeled with your name and taking the whole thing. You toss your phone in your pocket and you turned to them, "Good luck on the new content."

"Is it hard?"

"Nah, it's just annoyingly long. But the Chief Knight of the Royal Guards' character design is pretty cute," you answered before trudging back upstairs. You hear laughter and a bye from your dorm mate as you awkwardly opened the room to your single. You glanced at your screen, the yes or no options still blinking at you.

I guess I'll just click yes.

You rolled your shoulders a bit to stretch them, but you had misclicked and saw the disappointment on both Julius' and Hyun's face as your character had chosen no.

Oh... whoops.

Hyun: Ah... is that so...

You watch as the silvery strands of hair fall over his face and his eyes grow downcasted. He doesn't quite look at you through the computer screen anymore and Julius interrupts, as though trying to soothe both his and the prince's disappointment.

Julius: We did give Lady [L/N] a choice. If she had chosen to join, perhaps she may have been unhappy with the strict routines of our Royal Guards. Indeed, she is a Wanderer. She can only truly be free and happy to do as she pleases at her own pace. Isn't that right, Lady [L/N]?

You quickly click yes again, and the prince seems to have his mood slightly lifted at that. Everything appears to go back to normal, but you begin to notice that certain NPCs on both the council and the royal guards were beginning to act suspicious. You tail after them, and as though this was the correct move you trigger a cutscene between certain guards and the advisers, only to find that they were planning to usurp the throne through means of assassination and a fake will. Your character escapes, but not without being caught by the faux guards that were on duty.

You go through a mission that requires you to defeat half of them, and by that time, the true royal guards appear and they had immediately misjudged you to be the culprit, a betrayal, they had cried out. You rolled your eyes as you dodged them. If this was your mage, you could have just teleported away easily. But no, you just had to be on your bowman. You frowned as you noticed the only two viable escape routes were either in front of you through the hall way, or through the window. A sigh escapes your lips and you immediately begin button mashing to change the direction of where you were heading and promptly jumped out of the window.

A cutscene appears as your character is seen trying to convince Julius about what you had heard, but the knight is torn between believing you and acting as a captain and capturing you. Instead he decides to give you the benefit of the doubt, and allowing you to escape, but without further evidence. He would do nothing to help you or aid you. But he will attempt to look into it on his own. You wanted to scream at your computer at the stupid plot, but you decided not to, instead following through the storyline as your character spent several days finding evidence.

It wasn't until the day of the assassination in game, and in real life it was already nearing dinner time, when your character bursts in during a meeting regarding what they were to do about your character. You promptly stop the knights from drawing their swords as you lull them into sleep and chat bubbles appear above the King's head, but it mostly contained just question marks and exclamation points as he was confused to what just occurs.

A faux adviser cries that you truly were a brute and that you were after the heads of Royalty. You notice the chaos as many of them tried to fight you, or each other, or just remained frozen and still. Julius' character is seen staring at yours as automated chat bubbles appear above your character as you attempt to explain what you know. The King is distraught and confused, he did not know much about you save for the words his son had spared to tell him. And Hyun was in shock at your actions. He had known about your thoughts regarding a possible usurping and had heard about it by pure chance when he had eavesdropped and yours and Julius' conversation.

The small prince attempts to approach his father to explain, but at that moment, one of the fake advisers dash forward, sword hidden in sleeve as he rushes towards the prince. You notice in a panic that there is no cutscene, and you immediately key in the necessary buttons to switch from your instrument to your bow and you immediately snipe down the advisor, although you had only mortally wounded him. He stumbles forward, the short sword in his sleeve immediately being thrown into the open, clinking and clanking as it flew across the marbled floor.

The King's eyes are burning with fury at this point and you watch as a cutscene plays out. The King doesn't trust either the guards or the advisers anymore and upon hearing that the fake ones had Pandora's Brand on the back of their hand, he immediately pulls forth each one as he has Julius inspect them. Your character is seen guarding the King and his prince, Hyun's hand clenched tightly to your robe. Your character holds an attack ready pose.

From behind the computer screen you sigh as you watch your friend chat explode when the Swans and Seijou members log on.

ID: Guess

Did you finish the story line?

ID: [L/N]

Uhm, I think I'm almost done.

ID: Guess

Yeah, once you join the royal guards you're supposed to receive another quest line in which you help the purple haired knight find the faux knights and advisers.

ID: Guess

Ya know, I'm surprised you didn't finish yet.

ID: [L/N]

Ahaha, I took a break to grab some lunch. I skipped dinner though. OTL

ID: Guess

Hey hey, but at least you get free food from your dorm right?

ID: [L/N]

Ah, yeah.

ID: Guess

Seriously [L/N], are you older than me or what? What dorm feeds you free food?

You rolled your eyes, and muttered, "Shiratorizawa does, but I wouldn't need to tell you that do I, Tendou-senpai?"

A small smile is on your lips as you type, "A dorm that's better than yours clearly."

ID: Guess

Hmph, whatever. Have fun on the content. Tell me when you're done. I'mma go play my other charas and do the content on there too.

ID: [L/N]

Just main your assassin gdi.

ID: Guess

Bye cutie!

ID: [L/N]

Ew. b a i

You see the chat room close and your eyes flicker back to the cutscene that has finally ended and there's more dialog. Most of it being the king thanking you and apologizing for his actions. Your character, having already chosen the option of not being on the royal guard, refuse any monetary gains to which you found a bit dumb. You had accepted his apology and Julius' as well, but your character basically went through all that effort for nothing.

You stop nibbling your lips and you pout, "That was it?"

You see the Content page with Arc 1 marked as Complete, but upon scrolling all the way down, you notice an epilogue and click on that. You were surprised to see a letter from the young prince.

Hello Lady [L/N], I wanted to personally thank you, but you had been swamped by other people and I had assumed it was not the right time to speak to you until now. If you can spare a few minutes, I would like to gift to you a title, one that will not tie you down to the laws and duties of this country, but one that will forever mark your place in this world. A title that would forever remember your heroic and selfless actions to us. If you accept, you will instantly be transported back to the Royal Palace. I hope to see you soon. Sincerely, Hyun

As if I have to consider that.

"Hmm, so you're saying you got a different title than everyone else?" Tsukishima asked as you laid on his bed as he turned to finally give you your full attention. It was one of the few rare weekends you were back home and you nodded and you said, "I didn't say anything about it on the forums though... apparently saying yes or no at the royal guard selection part doesn't matter as you'll be forced to join." Tsukishima sighed, "And?" "Hey, I'm just telling you cause I'm confused." "Does the title give any good bonuses?" "Uhm, I want to say no, but everything's just question marks." Tsukishima deadpans at you and he places his laptop in front of you as he joins you to sit beside the bed. You sit up and both of you lean against his wall as you begin to log in. You gently pushed Tsukishima's cheek so his head wasn't facing the screen and you explained, "Password privacy!" "Whatever [L/N]." You log in and you shoved the laptop at his face, "See look! No info!" "Protector of Invidia, huh. How fancy." The sarcasm dripping from his tone was more than obvious and you roll your eyes. And he smirks, "Probably cause you're a beta tester." "But so are you and you didn't get this." "Tch," Tsukishima clicked his tongue and shook his head and you laughed, "Well, it was worth a shot." "I bet. Anyways, log off, I wanna play." "Rude!" you laughed as you logged off, handing the laptop over. But Tsukishima shuts his laptop off and he turns to you, "Come on, I need to walk you home before it's too late." "Eh, I don't wanna go back already." Tsukishima ruffles your hair and he sighs, "No choice, you're the one who decided to go so far." You frown and open your mouth to retort, but when you see the peaceful expression on the blonde's face you hold back. Instead turning to face away as you let him rest his hand on your head. Protector of Invidia, huh... you thought as you let him lead you back to the bus station. How fancy.

#jenbean writes #omorfos kosmo #haikyuu game au #tsukishima kei #reader insert #tendou satori #more plot revealed #fun times #hqlit #haikyuu fanfiction #hq fanfiction #game au #haikyuu!!

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