#their little dagger bob i can die in peace

[bloodyarn]

Ladies and gentleman, child

dogyarn for the kid meme :)))))))))

IF THEY HAD A KID. // @bloodyarn

send me a pair name and I’ll tell you what I think it would be like if they had a child.

Name: Dagger ❝ Bob ❞ Darlington

Species: ❝ Wood Half-Elf ❞

Class: Bard

Gender: Court Jester ; pronouns are randomly drawn from a top hat every time they are referred to

General Appearance: Surprise ！It's blonde. I think all of their kids should be blonde & preppy because it is very funny for multiple reasons. 1) They have names like Dagger, 2) I know they are all falling into the dumb blonde trope, 3) Imagine going over to your blonde twink friend's house & his dad looks like buff Gerard Way. Really awesome. 

Ignore that he has Puck's face. I just really wanted her to have her dad's nose. Also her hair does the same thing as his where it swoops up like doggy ears because I said so. Other than that, I think Dagger is small & a bit squishy. :~) Also perpetually looks like she is about to throw up.  And gorgeous ！

Personality: Much to his mother's absolute horror & dismay, Dagger aspires to be a circus clown. If that wasn't clear already from its . . .  everything. They're bubbly, playful, & excitable. They wear their heart on their sleeve. Also a little bit of a crybaby & a total scaredy-cat to the point of being a bit cowardly in the face of danger. He did not get Puck's self-sacrificial hero genes at all. In fact, she is running away very quickly. This is a damsel in distress.     

Additionally, Dagger is absolutely an awkward, nervous mess like his parents. Often gets in trouble for speaking before thinking but very, very sweet & kind overall. Her ultimate goal in life is just to make people laugh. :o)

Special Talents: You ever see a guy juggle knives before ？ Dagger takes his name as a prophecy of sorts. He is also very funny, both intentionally & completely obliviously. Their comedic timing is excellent, and they have never failed to deliver a flawless punchline even when they're not doing it on purpose.  

Who they like better: Puck. He supports their clown dreams. They still love Babette though, of course.  

Who they take after more: I think it's Babette, which is quite funny. Imagine being afraid of clowns, looking in a mirror & your reflection is a fucking clown. 

Personal Headcanon(s): Though it is the oldest child, Dagger is often mistaken for the youngest. He's smaller than the rest of his siblings & is most certainly spoiled to the point of having Youngest Child Syndrome. Always gets away with not having to do any chores somehow.  

[lailyn]

Until The World Falls Away (G, pre-slash)

Summary: Mobius is showing Loki the ropes

Written for Lokius Bingo: 'I Understand It Now!'

"That was an absolute disaster of a mission."

"You think so? I thought it went smoothly. Noone died who wasn't supposed to die, noone lived who wasn't supposed to live," Mobius said. He held out his hand expectantly. "Your daggers, please."

"You still don't trust me."

"Stop taking things personally, Loki. Rules are rules, you know that."

Loki rolled his eyes and handed over his weapons, watching with despondent eyes as Mobius secured them in his locker.

"If the TVA needed to capture the boy's parents, why didn't you take him too?"

Mobius looked at him oddly. "The boy wasn't a Variant, his parents were."

"So we just leave him alone to fend for himself?"

"Why the sudden compassion for mortals? You were okay with letting Pompeii burn with everyone in it."

“It’s natural to think that I'm heartless, yes. But it's not natural when it's you. You're the good guys," Loki said dubiously. "Right?"

"Good and bad, it's just a matter of perspective," Mobius said. “When you’re born in a burning house, you think the whole world’s on fire. It’s not.”

“That would be true, had I been born in a house.”

“Fine, a Palace.”

“I’m not too sure about that either," Loki winced. “Anyone who could tell me where I came from is dead.”

"That's settled then," Mobius said cheerily. 

Upon realising his words may have been too harsh, he gave Loki's back an apologetic pat. "You have to make peace with your job, Loki."

"My job," Loki said flatly. "What have I been reduced to?"

It may be rhetorical, but Mobius chose to  answer the question nonetheless. 

" 'Upgraded' is the more politically correct term. Had you been pruned instead, we would have missed out on some great adventures." 

"Pruned," Loki noted with a curious sense of longing. "Now that is a state of existence I have yet to experience."

"I wouldn't recommend it. Noone has ever come back."

"I've always been drawn to the road less traveled by."

"Don't you go getting any ideas, Loki." Mobius' warning was gentle.

"I understand it now!" Loki exclaimed.

"What do you understand?" Mobius asked with the forbearance of a saint. There was that gleam in Loki's eyes he had come to associate with something unexpected. 

"You told me to make peace with my job." 

Mobius nodded. "I did."

"But there's the twist. There is no peace to be found. Not here, not in life, and certainly not in death."

"That's good. That's really good, Loki," Mobius said encouragingly.

Perplexed, Loki could only stare at the Analyst.

"How is any of that good?" he asked, irritation imbued in every word. "Were you dropped on the head as a child or something?"

"I don't know. I don't remember," Mobius said. "Like you, I don't remember my parents. Biological parents, I mean."

Mobius did not look particularly worried nor disturbed by the gap in his earliest memories, an oddity in someone so meticulous and inquisitive.

"You don't?" Loki probed, keeping his own curiosity guarded, lest Mobius thought he was interested. 

Mobius gave a little shrug. "Nope. I feel like there is a big space in my head that feels empty, but kinda crowded at the same time? I don't know, maybe it's just stress."

"Or maybe it's a tumour," Loki said darkly, but there was a hint of glee in his eyes. 

"Maybe. It could definitely be that too," Mobius agreed readily. "Do you know a lot of people walk around not knowing they've got all kinds of growths and vascular anomalies in their brain that could kill them at any time?"

"Lucky buggers," Loki sighed. 

Mobius blinked a few times. "Why do you think so?" 

"At least they have something to blame for their idiosyncracies, unlike the rest of us."

"How do you know you don't have one?"

"I'm not ill, Mobius," Loki said indignantly. "I am just...faulty."

"Yeah, but did you ever use magic and look inside yourself? Like, can your magic do that?"

"Healing magic is boring," Loki muttered. 

"Bad memories are tumours you need to excise," Mobius said gently. "And unlike an actual growth, they are ones that you have to work at removing yourself."

"What if they're irremovable?" Loki wondered aloud.

"Have you tried?" 

Loki opened his mouth to scoff, but Mobius pressed harder, "Have you actually really tried?"

"I've knocked my head against the wall a few hundred times," Loki deadpanned. 

Then Mobius did something that completely took Loki by surprise; he circled an arm around Loki's shoulders and pressed a chaste kiss on Loki's temple. 

"What was that?" Loki asked, dismayed at the way his voice trembled.

"Making peace."

Loki's heart began to pound. "With what?" 

With whom? 

"You were right. There is no peace to be found...unless we make it." Mobius smiled. "TIL."

"TIL?"

"Today I learned," Mobius explained. "Thank you, Loki." 

"You're very strange, Agent Mobius."

"Pot, meet kettle. Kettle, meet pot'."

With the heel of his hand, Loki hit the side of his head a few times. "My Allspeak must be broken. Nothing you just said made any sense."

"Hey. Stop." Mobius grabbed Loki's wrist. He felt pleased to discover that his fingers fit perfectly around it, as bony as it was. "No hitting yourself anymore."

Loki's pulse fluttered under his thumb like a bird trapped in a cage.

"You are not broken and you are not faulty."

"Then what am I?" Loki whispered.

You're my son, the tumour said.

"You're my friend," Mobius said. 

"Until?" Loki queried. 

Mobius frowned.

"There's always a catch," Loki heard himself say. 

"Until the day the world ends, I suppose," Mobius pledged. 

Loki's throat bobbed. "I suppose I should promise the same thing."

"I don't mind." Mobius smiled. "I don't mind that at all."

[justthehiddleswrites]

Forever Hold Your Peace | Tom Hiddleston x Cumberbatch!Reader  | Chapter 3 | The Bachelor Party

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Cumberbatch!Reader

Summary:  Tom Hiddleston dated Benedict's little sister (reader) back at Cambridge, after a bad breakup Tom and Benedict are now friends. The reader is now engaged to an American who Benedict does not trust. Ben turns to his good friend Tom to help break up the wedding and win back the girl he never truly got over.

This Chapter:  Tom keeps running into you as wedding preparations kick into high gear. An incident at the bachelor party resolves Tom to join Benedict of this plan of wedding ruin.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, slapping, cursing.

-

The wedding preparations moved fast over the next two weeks. You had time no to stay mad at Ben. You needed the help.

“Why isn’t what’s his face here to pick out a cake?” Ben grumbled as he took a bite of white cake.

“He needed to take care of some things at work, but he is meeting me at the florist at 3 to pick out the flowers.”

“How convenient.”

“I thought you would be nice.” you snapped as crumbs fell from your mouth.

“This is me being nice. Pardon me for thinking the groom should take part in the details of his own wedding.” Ben rolled his eyes.

You pushed away from the table. “This visa thing has stressed him out. And I would expect my family to be supportive!” You stormed off to get some fresh air. As you pushed the door open, you ran into the gentleman entering the shop.

“So sorry.” you muttered.

“My apologies.”

“Tom?” you asked as you spied familiar blue eyes staring at you.

“It’s nice to see you. You look fantastic.“ He pulled you into a hug. You held him just a second too long.

“You too. Why are you… My brother called you, didn’t he?”

Tom laughed. “He asked me to meet him here to go out for a drink. But it looks like I am a bit early.”

“Nonsense. We were wrapping up.” You fidgeted with your hair, flustered.

You opened the door and the two of you stepped back in. Ben’s face lit up when he noticed Tom walking with you. Now there was a brother-in-law he could live with.

Tom hugged Benedict. “Dirty pool at giving me the wrong time, mate.” Tom whispered.

Ben smiled wide. “Just reminding her of the options.”

“I’m not an option.“ Tom turned to you. “Where is your fiancé? I was hoping to meet him before the bachelor party this weekend.”

You swallowed. “You’re going to that?!”

“At your brother’s request. Now where is the man who swept the most beautiful girl I ever dated off her feet?” Tom winked at Ben. You didn’t notice because you were too busy hiding your embarrassment.

“He had work stuff. Something to do with his visa.” You made excuses. “He’s stressed what with the wedding and all.”

Tom gave a soft smile and kissed your temple. “Of course. I can only imagine. Well, let me take your brother off your hands and let you get back to planning the big day.” Tom saw the worry on your face. “I would suggest a simple vanilla cake, if it were me.”

You nodded and gave both of them quick hugs, but your eyes filled with sadness as they left you alone in the bakery.

Once Tom and Ben walked out of sight, Tom punched Benedict hard in the shoulder. “Next time give me a little warning.”

“And where would be the fun in that?” Ben laughed. “It is so rare I catch you off guard. And if it must come at my sister’s expense…”

Tom scowled. “Speaking of your sister, where is the infamous Billy Bob?”

Ben groaned. “Working, but I have my suspicions he is othwersie occupied.”

Tom furrowed his brow. “Why?”

“He is never around. All the big events of this wedding he has missed. No one works that much. Not even you.”

Tom frowned. “Have you talked to her about it?”

“She doesn’t take me seriously. I’m just the annoying big brother. Now if you…” Ben looked at Tom with hopeful eyes.

“Oh no,” Tom backed away as they reached the pub. “Absolutely not. I will not ruin your sister’s wedding based on your paranoid suspicions.”

“I thought we were friends.”

“We are but I am not willing to die for that friendship. And your sister would kill me.”

“Coward.” They sat down in a booth.

“To want to continue living. Yes I am a coward.”

Tom’s look said to drop the subject, which Benedict obliged and they enjoyed the rest of the meal. They parted making plans to meet for the dreaded bachelor party that weekend.

“Please don’t leave alone during this horrid affair.” Ben pleaded.

“I promise I would come didn’t I?

“True but…”

“Then I will come.” Tom assured him. “And I will get to meet the infamous Billy Bob.”

“Indeed. And you will then understand why this wedding must never happen.” Tom raised an eyebrow and Ben held his hands up. “Apologies.”

“Goodbye Benedict. Good luck on your hairbrained scheme. Try not to make your sister cry.”

“That’s your job, Tom.”

Tom laughed it off as they parted, but Ben’s words stung his heart. He hoped to never make you cry ever again.

-

You answered the door of your brother’s home to find Tom standing in jeans and t-shirt. His blond hair tousled in curls.

“We have to stop meeting like this.” He winked at you.

You bit your lip. “We do. Although…” you glanced over your shoulder. “… I suspect my brother may have something to do with that.”

Tom laughed. “I suspect you’re right.” He shuffled his feet out of nerves. “Listen… I know it’s been years but I’m sorry.”

Your shoulders slumped. “It’s fine. I’m over it.” You stepped outside to leave. Tom grabbed your hand.

“No, it’s not fine. I behaved like a right bastard and no one deserves to be treated less than.”

Tears pricked at your eyes. “Thank you, Tom.”

“And look at you now, successful and getting married in two days to the man of your dreams! I wish I could be there to see it.”

You nodded as his words hit your heart. Was William the man of your dreams or just the man you said yes to? You pushed the troubling thought aside.

“I’m sure Ben will share pictures.” You wanted to get out of there. Away from Tom’s charm. You stepped down the stairs.

Tom gave a killer smile to hide his heartache. “I won’t keep you any longer. You must have lots to do.”

You nodded. “It was good to see you, Tom.” You lied.

“You too.” He kissed your cheek. “Good luck tomorrow.”

You hustled away before you cried in front of him. Ben came to the door just as you disappeared from view.

“Still hitting it off with the ladies, I see.” Benedict teased.

“Weren’t you the one who forbade me to date a member of your family?” He raised an eyebrow as they got into the car.

“A position I am reconsidering. Thank you for accompanying me to this thing.”

“Why did you invite me, anyway?”

“You mean I can’t enjoy the company of one of my best friends for an evening?”

“No.”

“You’re right. I need a second opinion on William. And a second pair of eyes—”

“— to spy—”

“—to observe.” Benedict shot daggers at Tom.

“Another word for spying.”

“Are you going to help?”

“I intend on enjoying myself tonight.”

“Then we agree.”

“Not at all.”

This continued until they pulled up to the club. It was the sort of place Tom and Benedict would never frequent of their own accord. Too trendy, too loud, too bright.

It’s the “classic bachelor party” William explained to Benedict who later relayed that to Tom.

“In other words, too much booze and too much boobs.” Tom commented.

“It’s that rather crass. On second thought, that’s probably what he thought.” Benedict quipped. They grabbed drinks at the bar. “Oh shit, here he comes.”

Benedict hooked his chin towards a sweaty and smiling man.

“Holy fuck! It’s Loki!” William screamed over the loud club music.

Tom nearly spit out his drink. He hated him already. “In the flesh.” he choked out as William took his hand into his meaty paw and shook it hard, squeezing.

William punched Ben in the shoulder. “Bro, you never told me you knew Loki!”

Tom giggled behind William’s back at Ben’s discomfort. “You never asked.” Ben scoffed.

William spun to speak to Tom and Benedict pulled faces behind, mouthing “wanker” at Tom.

“Dude, do you know Arnold Schwarzenegger? He is my favorite.”

Benedict rolled his eyes.

“I’m afraid not, William.” Tom gave a tight smile. “But Ben you were at that BAFTA event last week…”

That was all it took to send William talking a mile a minute. Tom smiled at Benedict as he walked away to leave Benedict to fend for himself for a bit.

“Serves him right.” Tom muttered to himself as he went off to find a dark corner.

Ben didn’t resurface until 30 minutes later.

“You’ll pay for that.” Benedict cursed as he sidled up Tom at the bar.

“Fair is fair.” Tom smiled. “How is Billy Bob?”

“On his third cocktail and even more insufferable than usual with his mates by his side.” Benedict’s voice dripped with disdain.

“Shame. Here’s to getting out of here unaccosted.” Tom raised his glass.

A heavy hand hit Benedict’s shoulder.

“Onto our second stop for the night.”

Tom and Benedict furrowed their brows.

“I beg your pardon?” Benedict questioned.

“This was just the appetizer, bro. Onto the entrée. Zander will give you the address.” He walked away but not before shooting his fingers at the two men.

A tall thin man with slicked down black hair, who was Zander, gave them the address to a private residence. Benedict called the car.

“Do you have any idea where we are going?” Tom asked.

“I wasn’t consulted on the party plans. It’s probably a stripper popping out of a cake, judging by this crowd.”

Tom buried his head in his hand. “God, I hope not.”

The private residence was the rental for the groomsman. Everyone else headed to the parlor while Tom and Benedict wandered to the kitchen to see if there was anything edible in this house. They found only beer in the fridge.

“William! We are going to grab some food and be right back.” Tom yelled.

“Whatever, dude.” William yelled, his voice coming from the crowd of his friends.

Curious, they took a step into the parlor. The men hooted and hollered as rock music played from an unseen sound system.

“I’m afraid you were right.” Tom pointed towards the center of the room. All he saw was a buxom woman wearing little more than a thong and pasties.

Both of them moved out of the room after getting an eyeful of flesh. They sighed as they stepped out into the cool London air.

“That was awkward.” Tom commented.

The two laughed at the absurdity of their situation as they walked towards the nearest store.

-

They returned thirty minutes later to a very different scene. The rock music still blasted throughout the house. However, most of the guys were passed out on the furniture or playing video games.

“Where’s William?” Benedict asked a guy name Ashton.

The blond guy just shrugged his shoulders.

“What do you think?” Tom questioned. “Do you want to take the food home?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Tom handed the bags to Benedict. “I am going to the loo first.” He turned to Ashton. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Upstairs, second door on the left.”

“Thanks.”

Tom shuffled off.

“I mean right!” Ashton yelled after Tom.

Tom headed upstairs and opened the second door on the left, which led to a bedroom. A bedroom occupied by the stripper and one gentleman from the party, in a state of undress.

“Terribly sorry to interrupt,” Tom apologized. “I was looking for the restroom?”

“Second door on the right, dude.” a familiar voice answered.

“William?” Tom squinted at the man whose neck was being sucked on by a nearly naked woman.

“Loki?”

Tom’s vision flashed white as his hand balled into a fist and it connected with William’s face.

“The name’s Thomas, Billy Bob.” Tom shook his hand out as William laid sprawled unconscious on the bed. He pointed at the stripper.

“He said he was one of the groomsman!” she screamed.

“Your name?”

“Diamond.”

“Diamond.” Tom resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Party’s over. Get dressed and get out.”

She nodded, too scared to ask questions.

Tom stomped down the stairs and found Ben leaning against a wall.

“I’m in.” Tom grabbed his arm. “I’ll explain in the car. Just tell me when this wedding is.”

Benedict couldn’t help but smile.

[capricornus-rex]

Someone Left to Save (11)

Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by Anon

Summary: The Mantis crew arrives to the capital of Ulfin, in the planet of Pevera, under siege. They meet the local rebel cell spearheaded by the former Republic admiral, Jax Beneb, who seeks to destroy the Empire’s occupation that was aggressively imposed upon while exploiting the planet of its natural resources. A plan is devised to destroy the Imperial’s main base of operations—as well as their influence—in the planet; however, it was a do-or-die mission that you and Cal had gotten yourselves caught in.

A/N: @glxy-otter​ Well, here’s a chapter where they meet but... I don’t think it’s not the way you expected it to be ;;;A;;;

Tags: Force-Sensitive! Reader, Inquisitor! Reader, Jedi! Reader, Fake Death, Jedi turned Inquisitor, Seduction to the Dark Side, Turn to the Dark Side, The Dark Side of the Force, Aftermath of Torture, Torture, Psychological Torture, Redemption Arc! Reader, Possible Redemption, Premonitions

Also in AO3

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 – 9 | Previous: Part 10 | Next: Part 12 | Masterlist

11 of ?

The TIE Fighter sits on the western ridge.

The transmitter is set to its maximum range of reception, in case you pick up something interesting; at the edge of the ridge, the lone city intrigued you a lot and you have the strongest feeling that Cal may or may not have been there a time or two.

Putting your new helmet to the test, your fingers search for a particular button. When you found it, the visor’s scanners zoomed in and a reticle bounces back and forth within the narrow frame, leaving a piece of information whether in writing or in images before ricocheting to the next corner.

So far, you’ve seen most of what you saw in your vision—the barren wasteland, the lone city. However, the statues you saw were nowhere in sight… yet. You hummed while reviewing the data flashed on the surface of your visor. To the ordinary eye, it may be just another stretch of mountains, but you heeded to your feelings. Your eagle eye caught something else.

“Hell-o,” you cooed in a curious, singsong tone. One press of the button and the jittery reticle visits your visor again. “What do we have here?”

At the end of the mountain range, a pair of boulders peek out of the rim, though these particular boulders seem to be a little too symmetrical and clearly round for it to be any ordinary rocks. Squinting your eyes, you had a feeling something was up, and decided to explore it.

Not even the Inquisitorius killed off your curiosity.

“Okay, let’s tick statues off the checklist,” you mused to yourself.

Your eyes wandered, searching for an optimum landing spot. When you pictured that one exact spot in front of the statues--or their feet at least—you took five paces back to give yourself momentum. One big breath to calm down the nerves in your shivering legs, you clench your fists hard until the skin over your knuckles have turned white. The balls of your feet propelled you, kicking up the dust as you bolted through, and just at the very split second—when your toes barely sat on the edge of the cliff—you sprang away from the rock and plummeted down.

The two hundred feet felt only like two the moment you landed. Light as a feather, the sand wafted just at the height of your ankles. You erected from your crouched position and faced the entrance—nothing much than a portal of darkness that leads to who-knows-what. The mouth of the cave was seething with so much of the Force that it’s overwhelming, not just for you, but perhaps for any Force-sensitive.

“It’s a temple…” you gasped.

You held your head high up to take a good long look of the statues, the unmoving and unwavering guards, perhaps a millennia old.

Taking the first steps into this grand structure, a wave of calm washed over you—it didn’t give you peace though, it only made you feel more suspicious and a bit spooked about this place. Little did you know that it was the Light Side if this temple—long dormant and untouched until you came along—and the Dark Side in your clashing against one another. You begin to explore the temple; finding yourself in what ought to be a lobby or foyer of sorts, you stopped in your tracks at the very center of it and attempt to concentrate.

You feel like you’re not alone in here…

Because Cal is in here too.

—

“Bee…?”

“I don’t know, BD, it’s a strange feeling—familiar but eerie,” Cal thought aloud. Surveying the high ceilings of the temple, adorned with a strip of ancient runes much like most Jedi temples. “I don’t think we’re alone here.”

“Triiiil!”

Cal chuckled, “Haha! No, not ghosts, little guy. Another person, maybe, or an animal. But not ghosts, they don’t exist.”

The boy’s smile melted, his anxiety and uneasiness returned. The farther he goes in, the more he uncovers. Limestone parapets meld together with the stone of the caves—it reminded him of the inner chambers of the Zeffo tomb—and the rustic chimes of all shapes and sizes dangle at the slightest draft.

“Sure is spooky in here, though,”

BD-1 cooed a soft, almost-quiet chirp in agreement, folding his legs in as he hides behind Cal’s shoulder. Not even his own flashlight could torch the way ahead. The boy and the boy have comes to what ought to be an open antechamber, the features reminded Cal of the gardens in the temple in Coruscant—except this one is smaller, possibly twice the size of the entrance at the Vault in Bogano.

The extravagance astonished the boy, BD-1 showed the same sentiments in the way he knows best—hop down from Cal’s shoulder, scamper left and right, forward and back to scan every imaginable thing present in the room.

“Don’t wander too far, BD!” called the young Jedi.

Cal follows BD’s general direction, all while gawking at the design of this hollow, ancient chamber. Despite his great fascination at the beauty of the ruins, the looming uneasiness that he’s been feeling all day finally took hold of him.

And it took form in the shape of you.

At the insidious roar of a saber’s ignition, a bloody red glow illuminated the shadows and highlighted your silhouette. The shadowy sight frightened the poor, tiny droid, leading him to skitter back to Cal for safety. You step into the light, out into the antechamber, holding your saber low—the tip hovering beside your ankle—a menacing stride carried you forward to your now-enemy.

“Figured I’d find you here,”

The distortion in your voice, thanks to the helmet, made for an excellent guise. The storm inside Cal’s heart aroused you. You smiled beneath the mask, satisfied. It’s hard to deny that you truly missed him, but seeing his face reminded you of the things that your brother and sisters fed you—lies born from poisonous clairvoyance, until those said lies became the truth in your mind, and it is what you have accepted as reality.

The faint, fluttering feeling that used to exist in your stomach—all from missing him so—was replaced with an aching rage in your heart; because in your eyes, all you could see of him is the corrupted truth. Your grip around your saber tightened so hard that the metal sleeve was almost crumpled.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,”

You chuckled sinisterly, though amused, it seems that his roguishness didn’t die off from his depression of grieving for you.

“Oh?” you bobbed your head. “Then why don’t you get to know me?”

You brandished your saber horizontally, at the press of a well-hidden button, the half of the halo became a whole and along with it a second blade emitting out of the other end. Cal ignited his own, his own response to taking on the challenge. You softly chuckled and made the first move—lunging towards him like a dart, saber over your head. Landing on his block felt off and different—it was sloppy, loose, and less lively. You sensed the weakness of his body reflecting on the strength of his deflect.

At this point, you’re still quite generous. You voluntarily pulled away to let him reset his stance—also for you to quickly scrutinize his disposition. Your eyes examined his entire person: flimsy grip, poor footwork, and a weak core. You squint with suspicion.

Hmm, something’s up with him.

Cal remains at the mercy of the new Inquisitor: as lethal as a dagger, fast as lightning, and quick-witted. Her speed was almost impossible to keep up with.

He blocks and deflects your every strike, but barely affords a moment to counterattack. For every landed block, you felt how feeble his handling was, almost as if he’s crippled in the arm. You exploited that weakness and sent out a hail of slashes in his way, when Cal finally manages to lunge forward, you denied him an opportunity—darting to the far side of the space and attacking him from behind, similar to what you did to the Inquisitors weeks ago in your initiation duel.

The boy blocks it in the last minutes and then dodge-rolls to the side. He tries to stiffen himself up, but you sense that this is a façade he’s trying so hard to maintain. You can practically see right through his bluff.

“Seems like you’ve lost your touch, Jedi,”

“That’s perceptive of you,”

“Thank you,” you squeaked. “I get that a lot!”

Again, you thrusted yourself towards the boy. He’s slowly catching on in terms of strength. Looks like his focus has gotten back to him. After an intense exchange of blades, you flipped away from the clash and literally swept him off his feet with a single kick. His body met the floor, but quickly scrambled back on his feet; making him feel like he had no chance of the upper hand infuriated him, and this reflected in the way he moves with the saber. His technique was easily countered with a dash of elusive acrobatics mixed in with your own fighting style. You can sense the growing anger and the hate in him, though it’s no surprise that he’d succumb to it.

“You mistake your rage with sadness!” you snarled and then continued. “That anger, hate, and suffering. You don’t use them at all. Pity.” You scoffed as your blades are locked together.

A kick to the abdomen staggered him away from you, another brief moment to recompose himself. You spun your saber, the swordpoint facing Cal a few inches away.

“You know, you were never really good in hiding your feelings.”

And at the moment, Cal’s heart skipped a beat. Surely, this was a taunt most Inquisitors do to Jedi to catch them off guard, right? But no, there’s something else lingering in that Inquisitor’s words. Cal could barely breathe when he was beginning to become familiar with his opponent’s voice and the answer was whispering itself in his ears—though he refused. He tightened his grip around the sleeve.

The uncertainty from the boy reached you, another emotion to exploit within your grasp. It was almost a guilty pleasure taunting him; the climax being his melting point. You decided to while away the time bantering instead of fighting, which proved to be more entertaining—at least, for you.

“Don’t talk like you know me!”

“Oh, I’d bet my entire fleet for that,” you sniggered.

“Who are you, really?”

There was a pause. You tilted your head pensively.

“Oh, they call me the Twelfth Sister, but…” with a push of a button on your helmet, the front plate that masks your face retracts into its frame. You greet him with a malicious grin. “I guess you can call me [Y/N].”

Cal felt his strength ebbing, whatever life essence residing in his body has now departed, the saber fell from his hand—the clattering filled the entire antechamber until the only noise filling the place was his rapid, shallow breathing. He could feel his heart about to fail and he’ll just drop dead.

“No…!” he gasped.

You were ironically thankful to see the look on his face with your own eyes, without the visor. O, that multi-million credit expression was simply divine! So divine, in fact, that your grin stretched wider than an Acklay’s jaws.

“No, no…” he panted, until the whining evolved into a bellow. “NO, NO!!! It can’t be true! You’re not real! I’m just in a-a-a… dream! Or a trance! Or something!”

You scoffed, “Is it so hard to believe, Cal?”

“It can’t be… [Y/N]…”

“You abandoned me, Cal, and in turn, they found me. Made me stronger… much stronger. Enough to make you atone!”

“But I didn’t abandon you! I was about to come and get you!”

“LIAR! Because if you were, you would’ve taken me out of the rubble soon.”

“But I looked for you… I looked everywhere for you. I even waited when they were telling me to leave.”

You shake your head solemnly, “That’s not the way I see it.”

“Who told you all these things?”

“Does it matter?!” you raise your voice and readied your sword arm. “I’m going to make you pay anyway!”

Your frenzy overwhelmed Cal, indeed, but he was able to regain his bearings in the split second you darted through the wind in his direction. Another exchange of blades, only this time, oozing with a wildness borne of rage and hate—regardless if the root was corrupted and false. It is what the Grand Inquisitor would have designed in the first place. It’s what he would’ve wanted.

“[Y/N]…!” Cal pleaded in the middle of attacking. “[Y/N], please, listen to me!”

“I’m done listening to anyone!! All I could ever hear are lies!”

Cal made a quick scan of the area and spotted two balconies connected by a bridge overhead. He withdrew from the fight, hopped from one parapet to another until his feet were planted on the limestone. Of course, you didn’t want to be outclassed by the Jedi—you practically wall-ran until you’re at the highest of highs, propelled yourself off your feet, somersaulting in the air and landed in a graceful cat-like crouch.

“[Y/N], look, I don’t want to hurt you!”

“Sweet of you, honey, but you’re gonna have to come with me!”

It has become a battle of balance, dexterity, and strength. The bridge was just as wide as the walkway of a Star Destroyer’s hyperdrive pillar. The flurry of saber attacks remained frenzied and intense, the red gleam of your saber highlighted Cal’s freckled yet sullen face as you bore your weight down on his blocking, shining over the gloss of his teeth, and mingling with his jade irises encircled by dark rings. Ignorant of the imperfections brought upon by grief, you looked past them and still see the Cal you clearly remember in your memories.

“Oh, how I missed that handsome face,” you cooed.

That took him off guard, but only for a short while, he pressed him in closer to you which gave him enough momentum to pull away and take you by surprise—pushing you to the farther end of the bridge with the Force, causing you to stumble and land on your back and into this smaller chamber.

“I said, I don’t want to hurt you!”

When he saw that you were inside the smaller chamber on the other end, he focused the Force on the middle of the bridge—practically breaking off a large piece of the walkway like some crumb of bread—and sent it flying to the open archway of the chamber! That wasn’t enough though, he looked for every conceivable object within his reach to block your way, though he knew that you can easily break through it, doing so would buy him enough time to escape.

The next thing he used to block of the archway was the spherical chandelier, large enough to fortify the chunk of the bridge he initially put there. He could feel the resistance from the other side, you were doing the same thing he’s doing except to push your way out; but he persisted and focused harder on the blockage. Finally, that large “crumb” of the bridge was lodged harder into the archway, locking it in place before the chandelier.

Cal felt sure that he’s closed you in, but he’s perfectly aware that you won’t stay there for long.

“Come on, BD!”

“Woooo!!”

He ran, although in no particular direction, he simply ran away.

Air filled his lungs for every step he took. He just couldn’t believe what he had just witnessed.

He’ll have a difficult time accepting this new reality. As a matter of fact, he will never accept this reality.

[cronquette]

:four: 

Disclaimers:

-Dedicated to Julia

-I do not own any of the Naruto franchise, I’m just making my SasuSaku dreams come to life.

-More personal notes will be situated at the end of the chapter

Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Some beautiful paths can't be discovered without getting lost.”

― Erol Ozan

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The dewy grass left trails of freshness that wafted towards her nose, for it was sunrise when she had approached the village. It was massive, buildings wrung with wood and stoned grounds, stalls brimmed with fresh, rosy apples or exotic, blooming flowers flung themselves at her every second, catching her cocooned curiosity quickly. Her dress was modestly masked with a cloak, in case the spring cold would make itself known once more, and torment her small being with its ever freezing bite.

Her footfalls scraped slowly as she wandered through the streets, not paying heed to much of the crowds or clamour for she wanted to check her surroundings at the very least; it was not as if she had anything physically to hide. Her most prominent feature that would glimmer daintily in the sunlight, her glowing pink tresses, were now concealed from prying eyes. And her jewel, the captivating viridescent rhinestone, was tucked away safely in her skirt pocket, where her hand had been tucked in, lightly grasping it for fear that it would suddenly disappear. The only thing that would hold people’s gaze would be her foaming green irises, but she had held her head away in her hood that it would be impossible to observe such globes with practically no sunlight to hover over them. They practically glimmered under the sun’s speculation.

Her strides were slow, and her chest heaved slowly. She took in her sights, savouring her surroundings as she walked further, and further, through the roads. Marketing was certainly a thing she’d caught on straight away, for there were a myriad of sellers, creating clamour for people to take a peep at the things they held in possession. Many were farmers, she took a guess, as they had all sorts of crops and vegetables, fruits and whatnots sitting in their respective baskets, just anxiously waiting to be eaten. Others seemed to have sewn fine clothing, or smooth, meticulously crafted pottery, lathered in clean coats of polish to finish them nicely and make them look quite presentable.

The domesticality was all new to her, a culture she wasn’t very familiar with. Living in a coven all her life, food supplies either discreetly and swiftly delivered or fetched as soon as possible. Residing secretly was something she was used to, the exception of the ritual she had just experienced, along with attending all the others. She wasn’t suited for such open marketing, which proved her uselessness currently all the more when she realised there was not one silver coin in her pocket. Even packed with all her clothes, food to suffice for just a few days, and scrolls to help her study, she wasn’t able to purchase one single thing. It was fruitless to whine and beg, she wouldn't succumb to such vulgarity. Her mentor taught her that, and even so, there was no way she would lower her position as a witch before those humans. 

Even so, she couldn’t help but smile. Ino would enjoy this, she knew. The outdoors was just so suited for an out-going, confident girl such as the said blonde, and it was unfortunate she wouldn’t be accompanying the pinkette. The sun would be much entertained playing with golden locks, and accentuating such crystal eyes.

A new start was certainly refreshing, and she had a tingling feeling that it would be quite soon that she would be reaching new horizons and milestones

::

Wherever Sasuke traversed, a cold, sinister aura always accompanied him, But his firmness wasn’t able to intimidate everyone, so to say. There were, however, many who greatly feared him and the power he held. Those were mostly outside the palace walls, though. Within the elegant patterned pillars and marbled flooring, there was nothing short of being annoyed by the Uchiha. His servants, the dainty things they were, served him rightfully, not complaining unless amongst the company of themselves, and he paid no heed otherwise.

Hearsay was something not really familiar within the castle walls.

However, in the court, it was more than likely to be the everyday news.

Sasuke took his place at the old oak table, sitting comfortably at the head, his eyes steely piercing through the silence of the room. To his right, sat stiffly none other than Hyuuga Hiashi, in all his glory, arms crossed low around the biceps, his mouth achieving such a downturn it surfaced a memory of his own father doing such imposed actions. It made his brows knit deeper, before cooly turning to face frontwards.

“I take it you’re all well,” his words meant nothing; it was just procedure to stall a little before heading to the main topic, he had to remind himself. He’d seen many of his ancestors do so before him, and he wanted nothing more than to place his feet in their steps. A cold stand of wind shook the omnipresent tension this room always carried when such meetings took place.

Silent nods prodded him to continue, and so the raven folded his hands, leaning his elbows pointed on the table as his palms stood in front of him. He sharply inhaled: this conference would last an hour (as always), and so bringing different subjects to light at the right time was always something laying dormant at the back of his mind. He decided to start with the one that probed the nightmares that shook the living daylights out of him.

“Witches. And Warlocks. Those creatures still hang free,” He licked his lips in such a tantalisingly slow way it made one gulp.

“Why?”

His Adam's apple bobbed as the last word came out. His voice was a dagger, slicing the peace of the government before him in one single blow.

“Pardon me, your majesty,”

It was one of the further participants at the table who spoke, nevertheless, his voice wrung firmly, and his eyes, though pale like milk, shone with tenacity that they were quite nice to be held in.

“Those creatures may be vulgar, but they hold some sort of intelligence, sire. They’re hard to catch, and they certainly do not want to be found. I suspect they dwell in an abandoned part of Konoha’s vast forests, but it would be a matter of searches to see. Alas, you and I both know these follow ups have been taken before, and everytime, the result has always been futile.”

“Do you suggest that we abandon our searches entirely, Neji?” he gritted out with venom spitting from his teeth.

“I do not suggest as such, my Lord. However, there is only so much you can do; you’re not yet King of this land, you are Crowned Prince. The level of your status has merely succeeded upwards. There are still elders who have more power over you,” he fussed haughty, for his own clan leader was one of the few. The temptation to stomp over to his chair and rip his throat with the Uchiha’s bare hands was so enticing, but he had self control. He knew it was not the time to play like animals.

But Neji was truly a jackass.

“Hyuuga,” the domineering, stygian orbed male nodded to Hiashi, receiving his stern attention. The silence between them spoke louder than anything, for the elder knew exactly what the prince desired. And although it was something that was made to sleep for the moment, everyone in that room wanted nothing more than those chakra-wielding things to die. A common trait shared by all the civilians and warriors. Those of flesh and bone.

“You ask me to send out troops to find passages to where they lay, Sasuke,” he bit out gruffly. He cleared his throat, almost as if to show he had still a sort of superiority towards him.

“I can do so, but the most I can send is two troops of twenty. It’s a fleeting risk, however, all the more scarce that they will have to split halves in order to scatter north, south, east and west,” he answered. Sasuke refused to release the relieving breath he was holding, and instead flared his nose, as if to contemplate the proposition. It wasn’t much: ten of their men each searching thousands of acres, How long it would take to know of their return infuriated him beyond measure, but then again, less members meant more freedom.

They could move better in less numbers, so that was something that he could hold himself onto. Apparently, it was enough to convince him.

“I’ll take that chance,” his voice was hoarse from not trying to rush his words, an attempt to not sound desperate, for even in a room full of eyes his pride was bound to be torn like a ravaging pack of lions.

A small nod from the Hyuuga was all that he needed to know. Another search was going to be sent.

“Is that all you want to discuss with us, my Lord?” the aforementioned narrowed his eyes at the man who spoke. The lackadaisical, smart annoyance had his arms crossed behind his head, leaning comfortably on the back of his chair as if he had a care in the world. It wouldn’t surprise him if he didn’t. The audacity of the Nara didn’t disturb the Uchiha as much as before, so it only gave him so much as a twitch to his left eye.

“No, but most of the topics I am to discuss aren’t as much of importance. Feel free to sleep through the rest of this conference,” he spoke the last sentence sarcastically.

“May I but in before I snore then, your Highness?” he sighed.

The dark haired male shrugged, as if to say do as you wish.

“Some girl entered the village today,” he chided, “strange gal. Doesn’t look like she’s from here. We ought to keep an eye on her.” he proceeded to yawn, and leant back further, he looked as if to fall off his chair.

“Her appearance, Nara?” the young Hyuuga male inquired.

From his observation, she wasn’t very memorable, having been concealed through a cloak. The only thing that caught his eye was her eyes: the bright, emerald orbs they were.

Interesting.

::

It didn’t take long for Sakura to tire herself out through gallivanting aimlessly, padding her way through stones and pebbles on the ground, the sky’s heat accentuating through every hour, and the board weighted pack on her shoulders smally growing heavier by the minute. She wiped the swelling beads of perspiration that scurried down her forehead with the back of her hand, and released a breath of exasperation.

This village was immense in land expanse, and she hadn’t even gotten through to the heart of it, the place that made her mind twist with fascination-- the palace itself. In all its splendour, the building stood proudly in the heat, almost glimmering with pride: she could see it. But it seemed today was not one of which she could journey so far. She’d seen carriages steadily rocking bye, the horses trotting with such elegance she was entranced so much she stopped just to see them going by.

Oh, what a place this was.

She’d brought with her many of the scrolls containing the recounts of some of her predecessors’ experience, those--of course-- who’d made it out alive, and she pondered whether her experience would be deemed just as exhilarating. Or, gruesome enough to know she’d be burnt alive at the stake. She really didn’t know.

She then had encountered a bakery, blooming with warmth and delicious treats stacked at the window sill, enticing all who laid eyes on them. The pinkette frowned in despair as she knew she would not be able to purchase such a delicacy. Her stomach even whined at how imbecilic she was for not even bringing any coins to spare.

As she was about to move along, a voice caught her attention.

“Excuse me Miss, I can’t help but see how you’re looking at the pastries in our shop. Would you like to buy something?”

Unlike the Haruno, this girl wasn’t wearing a dimple, and so her chestnut locks gleamed hazelnut-like as she made her way towards her. Said strands were neatly folded round the top of her head to create two buns, only a ragged fringe framing her face. She dressed simply, with very few (maybe two) rosy petticoats that rivaled Sakura’s own hair. Not that it mattered-- it wasn’t as if she could see it anyway. She wore a slightly darker shade for her bodice, the tone drifting to a crimson, and her flat stomacher was an off-white, almost cream colour. She was a civilian, no doubt, but she seemed more dressed up than what would be necessary.

“Your shop?”

“Ah, it does seem like I’m not best suited for the occasion in this,” she picked up the thick skirts as a way of gesturing to her outfit, “however my family does own the bakery. You’re not from here, are you? I’m Tenten, a pleasure to meet you!”

Her beam was so bright and fulfilling it made the rosette pop a grin as well, taking her hand and shaking it firmly.

“Sakura, nice to meet you too,” she smiled softly.

“And I would love to buy something from your shop, it’s just that I don’t have any money on me right now. I’m very gratified at the offer, though.”

The brunette shook her head with a laugh, before grabbing the Haruno’s wrist and practically dragging her into the store. They were instantly met with the cozy smell of bread and sweet aromas, and the warmth of ovens burning with fervour.

“Oh, har har! Since you’re new around here, I’ll let you have a pastry for free! Your choice: pick one and it’s on the house,” she gestured to the room. The room was tantalisingly dizzying her with spells of temptation, and this girl was a civilian!

The pinkette smiled weakly and bit out a childish, nervous giggle. Not eating for a while seemed to take a toll on her. 

“I couldn’t. Really, Tenten, I appreciate the offer, but I must get going-”

“But you’re new, Sakura! I bet you don’t even have a place to stay.” she wagged an accusatory finger at the aforementioned. The latter grew pale at the revelation, trying to scatter ideas through her head and pick out the most logical option. However, there was none. It really was inevitable. She didn’t know what to do or say, but opening and closing her mouth frantically in an attempt to let out words was an amusing sight to display.

“Aha!” The brunette smirked. She then proceeded to run behind a counter, and with a flimsy towel, she meticulously pulled out a small, hand-sized meat pie, with slow strings of steam wafting upwards. She pushed her hands towards the Haruno’s petite frame, and instantly caught a whiff. She swallowed, before acquiescing.

The inside of her mouth burst with flavour as she took a bite. Her tongue tingled as she chewed pensively, still captured in the eyes of a certain baker’s daughter.

“I-It’s good,” she commented.

She ended up eating another one after.

::

Shikamaru was always observant, his skills made prominent for the Uchiha’s gain, and although it was a trapping situation, he didn’t mind. His life always bore him no matter what he did, the most he spent doing was making out the shapes of clouds in his spare time. That, and help soothe the load of paperwork that had been flung on his shoulders.

As of this moment, the conference had come to a close, and he was free to roam as much as he desired. 

Instead, he sat at a small bar stall, a metal mug of beer filled to the brim with golden alcoholic liquid, topped off with frothy substances bursting atop. One pint of the drink, and above all, his tobacco pipe puffed with intoxicating reels of smoke, making the man beside him choke in disgust.

“God, Shikamaru, do you have to smoke that crap?! It stinks!”

He would have scoffed at the said Uzumaki, who vexibly stalked him to this den after claiming that he needed some sort of relief off of all his errands as ‘Teme’s Right-Hand man’, and wanted some company. He still had no clue how the blonde was able to get away with that filthy nickname. But it wasn’t his place to judge their relationship, as the topic itself was something so obscure it confused even the two men in the involved party. And the Nara really didn’t appreciate getting himself into puzzling situations that twisted his brain unless he was forced to, or it was a pastime he participated in.

“If you don’t like it, you can leave, Naruto.” he sighed, as he took a swig at the beer in front of him, gasping as the bitter drink swelled down his throat. It was a bitter-sweet feeling, but he was used to it. It burned, but he relished in the pain.

“No way! I’m staying, ‘ttebayo. Oi, bartender! I’d like a pint sized mug of whiskey if you will!” she exclaimed, slamming his fisted hand on the sticky countertop. No one made enough effort to properly clean the wooden table, but no one complained.

Shikamaru shook his head, punching the blonde’s bicep rather harshly:

“I’m not taking care of a drunk you.”

He swatted his hand in the air as if dismissing him lightly, his nose wrinkling in laughter. As his drink was carefully handed to him, he recklessly bumped it towards the beer on the counter, slightly tipping the liquids together in an attempt to make some sort of toast.

“I’ll be careful, promise.”

The Nara was tempted to mutter something along the lines of ‘tis what you said last time’, but he held his tongue and instead sucked in yet another breath of tobacco, his mind slightly clouding in a sort of dizzy utopia. He heard a breathy exhale from his left before a slightly slurred sentence arrived, leaving his brows furrowed in calculation.

“Hey, heard from Sasuke that there’s a new girl in town. Do you know where she is, now?”

“What, are you willing to scare yet another one of the female species that resides in Konoha?”

The Uzumaki sputtered, leaving a smirk to cross the brunet’s features.

“Go to hell, Shikamaru!”

“And no, I just wanna meet her.” he lipped, pouting like a child. He was obviously highly offended, and that added to the other man’s pride.

In the end the two downed their drinks forcefully, not wasting one drop and yet attempting hard to sustain themselves from succumbing to the drunkenness. However their walking patterns seemed quite unsturdy and Naruto was easily daydreaming, so it wasn’t a good sign. In the end, they tossed their cash to the bartender carelessly, and stumbled around the village in search of a certain lady.

::

They found her, and quite simply too. The Nara remembered she was last seen, and where he found her, at the bakery he most frequented, since their baked goods were better than the others, it was a good travelling pace of exercise, and it was conjoined with a neighbouring weaponry store next door which they also owned. So, easily, they found her, although that was just going to be a place of questioning her whereabouts.

The bell chimed as the wooden door opened.

“Tenten,” Shikamaru respectfully regarded, a clumsy Naruto staggering behind. The shop was warm and cozy, and instantly scents of sweet and savoury adorned his senses.

“Tenten! Nice to see ya, we were wondering if you’ve got any information about where the new girl is-”

The brunet stopped in confusion at the sudden halt of breath from the Uzumaki. Something that he didn’t do often. Something in his opinion that he should do often. But that wasn’t the point.

He found the blonde gaping ahead of him, all sense of inebriation perished as his eyes glistened with a look of familiarity at whatever was behind him. Instantly, he turned around.

A small girl sat at the furthest table, shoulders squared and eyes wide with the same look of intensity as the male beside him. Her mouth hung lowly, as she was blinking frantically, as if they were an illusion she was trying to escape from. Her rosy brows knitted as she tried to find the words to say, but the whole room rushed cold as the two apparently came to the same sort of conclusion of words.

“Sakura-chan?!”

“Naruto?!”

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

Hi! Merry Christmas, or whatever you celebrate around this time. Can you believe it? 2020 is finally over, my God. My friends and I are deciding to go on a zoom call and play rick astley’s never gonna give you up as the end credits of this year. Seriously, it all goes downhill from here fnhdbkjdf. One of my friends is already stomping on 2021, don’t get me started lol.

I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Please comment/review, as I really like to know that people still read my story, especially on ffnet and ao3. To those who have done so before, thank you so much! Every comment/review makes my entire day.

since my beta reader had something come up, until you read this, Julia! XD

Yours truly,

-Avis

[missingartist]

The Witcher’s Mate- Part 8

Three men gazed down apprehensively at the Witcher, who in turn stared unblinkingly up at the men. Out of the village, Tolstoi, Bradger and Miska had been nominated to plead with the Witcher. Tolstoi was the oldest, at plump age of 55, he still owned all his teeth and only owned a few white strands of hair. A blacksmith by trade, born with a hammer in his hand and will properly die with one in his hand. In spite of his age, his body still heads the thick muscles of his youth, maintained by hard, honest work.  The second was Bradger, the town miller, the second eldest at the age of 51, he had come from the next village, when he married the town clerk’s daughter, Bethany. Despite being four years younger than Tolstoi, his hair was complete grey and receding rapidly at the temples, his frame over-ripened with the freshly baked cake and bread he prepared. Finally, there was Miska, the town treasurer, the youngest and the smartest. Thick wavy locks of gold-framed his face, golden skin finished off with deep green eyes. The robes he wore where immaculate, well made for a man of his position. The University of Oxenfurt educated, that was till the war and like so many idealistic men had gone off to fight, and somehow he had survived and ended up running out the last of his days in a small backwater town.

Miska cast his eye toward the glowering man. Even seated, he almost fell at there shoulder, the armour was reinforced, and old and two large swords lay to his left, fingers tentative stroking. His companions were interesting. A young man, looking no more then 20 sat scribbling of a wad of parchment, the youthful feature makes him an appealing sprite, dressing in a cavalier fashion, flamboyant and attractive. The women, on the other hand, was intriguing. Fresh-faced and innocent. Shapely brown eyebrow frame deep blue eyes, soft pink lips parted in a pleasing smile. Her clothes were shabby, dirty from the travel she no doubt had to endure. The clothes seller, Olso,  had said she was the Witcher’s wife, a much-loved wife for if anything was taken from the Witcher buying her a king’s ransom in clothing.

In honestly, she wasn’t what he expected, he expected a heavy breasted whore, with the dress so tight she burst through it. Instead, he was met by a curly-haired beauty. Young and innocent-looking, with deep bags under her eyes.

Miska's eyes narrowed as they came back to focus on Geralt of Riva. ‘100 silver pieces, is that enough?’

‘Depend on what the problem is.’

‘Drowners’

‘How many?’

‘I could lie, tell you a lesser number…but 50 if not more.’

‘Hmmm, I admire your honesty, a characteristic seldom held by treasurers. I tend to find those who control money untrustworthy…200.’

‘120’

‘150’

‘…deal’ Geralt thrust a gloved hand out and one by one, each man shook his hand. ‘Take me to the pit. I need to see what I am up against.’

Miska nodded frantically, a soft hum vibrating up from his throat, and she thought. ‘Acceptable…Acceptable. I will have Tom set up accommodation for your…friend and Wife. He only has one good room but…’

The youthful man cut him off, looking up from his writing. ‘I won't need a place to stay, a… generous citizen has already offered me the use of her bed. So beauty is her soul that even stars are jealous.’ Jaskier gushed.

‘…right..Well, I will have Tom make up the room for you and your wife….I’ll have a hot bath prepared for her…’

‘Actually…’ Adva cut in.

‘My wife will be going straight to bed; she is exhausted after her travels.’ Geralt cut over. Standing. ‘I will meet you by my horse, and you can show me this infestation and don’t touch Roach.’

Miska nodded slowly look at the frowning women but obediently left the couple to their argument.

‘I am not your wife.’ Adva hissed.

‘It would be best if they thought we were. I don’t think that you want another incident. I’d hate to have to start gutting men.’ Geralt rumbled lowly as he stopped to her level.

The woman’s eyes darted to the main room of the tavern, seen through the archway of the snug. Barbaric, snarling men pushed and roared at each other while, beer and ale being sloshed around the sodden floor as young barmaid dodge past groping hand a shiver of disgust run down her spine. Adva’s eyes snapped back to the swirling ginger orbs in front of her, his brows were downturned in concern, and lips get in a firm line. As much as she wanted to slap his controlling face, the logical side could see the reasoning behind it. She had seen the very worst things that a man could do, most of the women turned to the whoring lifestyle because they had no male protection and either way they would be subjected to the savage nature of man, at least at the brothel they would get paid for it.

Adva nodded slightly, watched as the mirth re-joined his features and the dimple in his cheeks flashed a toothy grin. Geralt stood to his full height, towering over every man than with a good foot to spare. Adva had to look away to stop herself from ogling the way his leathers tighten around his body as she moved and the way he though the saddlebags of his shoulder without so much as a strained groan.

‘Stay vigilant. I will be back soon. There is a dagger in the bag.’

‘Don’t worry Geralt Ill look after her.’ Jaskier smiled glancing up at the white-haired man.

‘I was talking to Adva’

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Water cascaded over pale flesh as Adva pour another jug of steaming water over herself as she massaged the hair oil into her tangled hair. Once she was satisfied, she dunked her head under fully before resting herself against the warm brass of the tub. Jaskier had abandoned her for freckle ginger woman with the kind smile and come to bed eyes, leaving her to crawl into a warm bed. The bed was the softest Adva had ever slept in. A large double bed with feather pillows and thick down blankets, within a minute she had fallen asleep, much to the amazement when she awoke the next morning, she had thought she would be up worrying about the Witcher’s return. When she awoke the sun held itself high in the sky, most of the town had probably been up for hours, but Adva was determined not to feel guilty as she lounged in the warmth of the water.

Geralt has still not returned as a surge of fear bubbled inside her, but it meant she could indulge longer in the soothing silkiness of the water without interruption. It gave her a few moments of peace to mull over the raging thoughts in her head. Part of her was beginning to understand, Tradi had always been a horrible, abusive man but she had never thought him capable of such a malicious act. Then again she never thought Veronica would sell her and to a Witcher, who despite buying her like a common whore on the streets had been caring a diligent in his care, catching and roasting her rabbits to eat on the road and buying her more clothes that she had owned in her entire life.

The feeling that surged within her collided with such ferocity it made her dizzy it forced her to sink into the depths of it till the only part of her body visible was the surface of her face. She could just leave, Geralt wasn’t holding her prisoner, but if she did leave he could find her, no matter how well she tried to hide her track, he could sniff out the faintest of traces. If what he had said about Tradi was right, she would be a danger to everyone around her. Tradi has always been after power, but the length he went for her book was unthinkable. The book was the last thread of who she was, the elegant handwriting in an unknown language that only she could decipher. It wasn’t even as if she or that book where that important, just nonsense scribbles  Lord Brightwater hadn’t sent her off to be a mage and Cersi was perfectly happy just to let her hang around, learning from like a child on his mother skirt. Her little bit of magic was nothing compare people like Cersi. An ominous fear ran through her, what if Geralt had taken her with him to one day run his sword through her.

Adva’s eyes snapped open as the bathtub began to vibrate across the floor, spheres of shimmering water began to swirl above her. Outside the perfect mid-day sky darken, the wind picked up and bellowed against the wall. The dying flames fought viciously with unknown sources of force as it ricocheted across the room. A shrill gasp escaped her mouth. The orbs of water came crashing down with an almighty splash.

Wiping the water out of her eyes, Adva looked around, the room was completely normal, apart from a few puddles of water, the only evidence of what had just happened. Leaning back against the tub, a deep dread overcome her, what was happening to her?

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Adva wallowed in the water till all warmth had disappeared and she forced herself to leave the safety of the water and wrapping her body in a fluffy towel sitting down at the makeshift table as the door quietly knocked and Jaskier’s companion for the night, the auburn-haired beauty popped her head around the door.

‘Oh, my lady Rivia your up.’ The girl bobbed lightly in a makeshift bow as she fully entered the room.

The brunette smiled lightly as she looked at the girl. ‘It Adva, I’m no lady…and you don’t have to bob to me; I’m not some noble.’

The girl hesitated in the doorway as she observed her with curiosity; both women looked at each other for several long moments before Adva cut the awkward silence.

‘Can I help you with something?’

‘Jaskier sent me up to see if you were alright… he thought you might be homesick or struggling to dress. He is such a caring person with a beautiful soul.’ The women gushed as she attractive flush caressed her cheeks as she swept into the room fully, obviously high on whatever budded between her and the bard last night.

Griselda keen eyes searched the women in front of her; the women looked much better than the night before. Pale skin freshly scrubbed, revealing a healthy glow and soft ringlet had begun to form. Her figure was now revealed from underneath the frumpy clothing she had arrived in, she was short and curvy, broad hips and small waist. The bust was full but pert. It was clear to see why the Witcher would marry her; she was stunning, otherworldly the way her skin glowed. The women seemed sweet, kind but shy, not a type that a man like a Witcher would normally go for.

‘Right let's get you ready…your husband has been mooching around since the earlier hours of the morning’ Griselda cooed picking up the brush as beginning to comb through Adva’s mane.

‘Geralt’s back? Why didn’t he come to bed?’ Adva frowned as the woman began to play with her hair.

‘He mumbled about not wanting to wake you up. That so romantic. My departed husband Merriweather wasn’t so gallant, day after our wedding he went hunting, came back clashing around in the wee small hours of the morning three days later, threw up and passed out snoring on the bed. Such a pig of a man, god rested his soul. I was lucky married off at 16 was too soon. I got left with a little house and my hymen broken in, left me to ponder the pleasure of the flesh.’ Griselda whispered the last part with a wink, running her hand over her shaking the freshly brushed locks in soft curls.

‘Speaking of the pleasure of the flesh…what is it like to bed a Witcher? I have heard they go through mutations…does it affect their cock? Like is it longer or thicker? ’

‘I…I…wouldn't know.’ Adva spluttered, her face glowed a bright red.                

‘You’re his wife! Are you tell me you married the man without trying the goods? You have to try them after..?’ Griselda gasped in shock.

‘Ehh.. well… we only just got married, and Geralt is a romantic… he wanted to wait till we were in a comfortable place…till it was right.’

‘Ohhhh you poor thing… this is your honeymoon and Miska and the other idiots spoilt it by offering him a contract.’ Griselda pushed out her bottom lip as she rested her hand on her shoulder in comfort. ‘But don’t worry me and the other women have our ways…we will have you in that wedded bed before you know it’ Griselda winked a mischievous green eye at her. ‘Till then though we will have to use your feminine asset till sending him int a frenzied heat, he doesn’t look like the kind of man who likes to be teased.’

Adva could barely comprehend the slip of a woman who looked barely older than 19 suddenly became this wanton advisor as she picked through the brother Geralt brought her and through the various garment at her.

The person in front of her in the mirror wasn’t one that Adva recognised. Griselda had dressed her in a deep red blouse and rich brown trousers that cling to her every curve from her plump thick thighs to toned calves. The carved leather under corset gripped her waist empathising her figure in the most alluring way all finished off with leather boots with a small hill giver her figure a bit of lift.

‘When I first saw you I thought you were pushing above your weight will a hunk like that but now I see it the other way around. Honey, you are going to drive him mad.’ Griselda purred with a devilishly smile.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was safe to say Adva had never felt uncomfortable in her life, and she descended the stair and headed towards the snug. Geralt was a hard man not to miss; he sat in the same place as last night, his hair pulled back tightly and look slightly dishevelled, as he growled at the te man from last night.

‘…your lucky the drowner only gashed him…keep your men out of my way and let me do the job you paid for.’ Geralt growled, slamming his drink onto the table, sloshing the amber contents onto the wooden table.

‘Sir… I think that it is best we do this methodically. Slow and steady, take them out one by one. If we don’t….’ Miska's voice trailed off as he noticed the two women appear behind the Witcher.

Geralt could smell Adva before he could see her. The smell of her lingered in the snig of the tavern even with her tuck safely upstairs asleep. As soon as she opened the door, the Witcher’s senses were over some with her scent, it intoxicated him with its heady fragrances. Geralt kept his eyes on the man in front of him in annoyance, only glancing up when he heard her stand next to the table. Glancing up her had to do a double-take. Freshly bathed, she glowed, literally glowed, bright blue eyes sparkled as she stared down at him, her plump bottom lip caught between her teeth as he looked innocently down at him. Golden eyes wandered down her body as he took her in, a thick, shapely body greet him wrapped tightly in a burgundy blouse the crosshatched under corset laced tightly around her waist highlight her shape and giving the breasts an indecent outline as the blouse wast pulled tight against them. Geralt's eyes ogled her legs as skin-tight trousers covered them, giving him a perfect view of her body.

Miska scrapping the legs of the chair on the stone floor pulled Geralt from his appreciations as the treasurer pulled out a chair for her with roaming eyes. Geralt stared darkly at the man as he curled a muscular arm around her pulled her down to the bench beside him, glaring at the man.

‘Adva! If beauty be in the stars, you shall outshine all of the heavens’ Jaskier sung as he sat perched at the end of the table with his quill.

‘Is he drunk?’ Adva asked, concerned.

‘No, just an idiot.’ Geralt rumbled lowly, cause the woman in his arms to giggle loadly.

‘Adva perhaps you can talk some sense into your stubborn husband. He wants to march sword in hand into the den of the drowners,  sword in hand without any backup…’

‘I told you already; your men are a liability. They don’t know their arse from their elbow.’ Geralt growled.

‘There are too many of them. They cant be poisoned or attacked; they heal right up.’

‘That is why my silver sword is the best options. I can set fire spells that the beasts are vulnerable to…all I need is for you to keep your men the fuck away from me. They showed their competence yesterday.’

Adva became all two are of the tension in the room between the two men, feeling the way Geralt arms tensed around her waist. Griselda moved round the stand next to Jaskier filling his cup, who in returned kissed her hand sweetly.

‘It is out of the question. If you die in this foolhardy attempt, we will be stuck with these creatures.’ Miska calmly stated, straightening out his robes.

‘Your concern is endearing, but I am a Witcher. I know how to kill drowners. You want me to kill off two or free a day, that would take months, all the while they grow in numbers as they drag more and more people to their graves.’

‘Miska, you are a treasurer, not a witcher let him do what he does. He’s impatient to get his honeymoon started. He was kind enough to cut into his nuptial celebrations to help us. Let him do what he does best.’ Griselda pleaded.

‘Honeymoon?’ Miska frowned looking at the couple.

‘Yes, they have just got married. Leave them alone.’

‘I am sorry…’ A million thoughts passed through his head as he pondered upon this new information. ‘Maybe it would be best for you to do it you way. Good day then.’ Miska stood, kissing Adva on the hand as he left without another word.

Geralt’s chest vibrated against her side as he watched the man's form disappear.

‘Ahhh jealous love. I’ll leave you three alone; I need to help in the kitchen….I’ll see you later’ Griselda purred, kissing Jaskier chastely on the lips.

‘Newlyweds?’ Geralt smirked as Adva pulled away from his grip.

‘I panicked. She started to question me about…the thing?’ a deep blush filled her cheeks.

Geralt’s arms burned with needed to pull her back to him but instead shifted closer to Jaskier to look at her fully. Her scent was so pure now it was obscene, that alone caused him to strain against his breeches.

‘Questions? What questions?’ Geralt teased, with a devilish smirk.

‘Just questions…. Can we drop it please, I'm traumatised enough.’

A few moments of silence passed between them, the only sound Jaskiers quill scratching on the paper could be heard above the low rumbles of the tavern. Geralt eager eyes taking in every each of his fake new wifes, her heavy breathes causing her breast to strain against the material hypnotising him.

‘Why don’t we set a silver charge in the cave, it would kill most of them and then you could finish the rest off.’ A small voice cut through the silence

The witchers eyes travelled up to rest on her face, ‘the silver fumes would weaken them, and the fire would kill most of them. It means you would have to take them all on at once.’

‘Hmmm, interesting…and how would we make them? Have you made them before.’

‘Well I don’t but on principle…with your help… we could….’ Adva voice died in her throat as she cast her eyes down.

A sturdy finger lifted her chin, forcing her to look into the bronzed face of the Witcher.

‘It is a good idea. We will make the charges tonight. I will then place them in the caves. While you and Jaskier stay in the tavern, understand?

Adva nodded happily and took up a swig of her drink, beaming at the two men for the first time since Brightwater. Geralt removed his hands and look above her head to the treasurer lurking across the tavern eyes trained on the couple.

Let me know what you think?

[onemilliongoldstars]

a crown seldom enjoyed - chapter 28

To maintain the fragile peace between north and south, Clarke of House Tyrell is sent to live in Winterfell as an act of faith between the two kingdoms. There, she is put under the protection of the first queen in the north, Queen Lexa of House Stark, Daughter of Wolves. A woman draped in steel and silver, wolves at her heels and rumoured to be a manifestation of the fury of the old gods; Clarke refuses to be awed be her quiet violence and cold smile. Instead of fostering unity, the meeting of the wolf and the rose lights a spark that spreads through the rest of Westeros, threatening to burn it to the ground.

28/33

clexa game of thrones au

read on ao3

Book Three: Chapter 7

Lord Pike luxuriates in his captivity. In the black cells far below the Red Keep, Lord Pike sits back against the damp, dirty wall to which he is chained, his legs outstretched, and looks up through the darkness at Lexa with cold, calculated derision in the singular light of her torch. He had put up little fight after his guards had been carefully slaughtered or paid off, and she and Anya had whisked him away to the black cells. His smug expression had not faltered and he had not spoken a word since being chained by his wrists in the dark, small cell. Despite the heat of summer which is slowly creeping upon the city, the cells this far below the earth are bitterly cold, and Lexa knows that the lord must be fighting to hold back his shivers, dressed as he is in only his night shirt. The stench of faeces and piss are strong from the straw that covers the floor, and it had taken Lexa some time before she had become used to the smell. Lord Pike catches her eye, and when his smile only widens, his eyes glinting, she turns her back on him and pulls the wooden door to the cell shut, leaving him in utter darkness.

Further down the corridor Anya waits, her hand resting upon the hilt of her sword. From the darkness, Honour, Patience and Valour appear to walk closely by her legs, their teeth bared and their fur bristling.

“This place stinks of death.” Anya informs her, voice low, and Lexa has to agree. The smell lingers in the stale air, on the damp walls and in the cracks in the stone. The one flickering torch sends strange shadows leering through the darkness. “I wish you would let me kill him.” Anya’s hands twitch over her sword. “We could make it seem like an accident.”

Lexa offers her a dry smile, but shakes her head. “Clarke needs him alive for now.”

Anya grimaces, but nods. “A shame,” Is all she says.

As if summoned, footsteps come from down the corridor, along with the pinprick of light of a torch, and as they come closer, Lexa sees Clarke’s light hair and Octavia’s familiar face at her side. She is less surprised than she should be to see Faith’s stark white figure pacing beside her, a ghoul in the darkness. The sight of Clarke causes her breath to catch in her throat and she hopes that Anya can’t tell. She is still wearing the dress that she was crowned in, black silk and gold embroidery, and her crown still sits upon her head, golden and sparkling. Lexa knows it must be giving her a headache by now, but Clarke does not flinch. Watching the Septon place the crown upon her head earlier that day had sent a thrill down Lexa’s spine that she cannot seem to forget.

“Lexa,” She says, as she approaches, and there is a note of something deep and severe to her voice, something that was not there the day before. Still, she is painfully sincere when she says. “Thank you, both of you.”

“Of course,” Lexa casts her eyes upwards, “Are the celebrations over?”

“I fear they will not be over until sun rise,” Clarke gives a small smile, “But I will no longer be missed.” Her gaze flickers down the corridor. “Has he spoken?”

Lexa’s lips turn down with displeasure. “Not yet.”

“Hm,” Clarke runs a hand down the skirt of her gown, “Perhaps I can change that.” She holds out her hand and Lexa easily gives over the key to the cell. Her delicate fingers look strange curling around the dirty metal, but Lexa has long since learnt that Clarke is more than she appears. Clarke approaches the door and swings it open to gaze down at the small man chained to the wall.

Pike’s smile only widens at the sight of her, arching an interested eyebrow.

“Lady Clarke, the woman who would not die.” They are the first words he has spoken since Lexa and Anya dragged him away in the dark of the previous night, and his voice scratches. “And wearing a phony crown. What a sight to behold.”

“Lord Pike,” She looks down at him, distaste in her features, but her voice is cold and hard, no hint of emotion in it. “You are charged with the murder of Lord Jacob of House Tyrell. You are charged with high treason by murder of your king Thelonious Baratheon. You are charged with high treason by murder of your king Finn Swann. How do you plead?”

Pike grins up at her and shakes his head. “There is no blood on my hands,” He promises, darkly, and Clarke nods, as if this was what she expected.

“Then here you shall stay.”

Pike laughs at that, the noise strange and disconcerting in the dark cell. “Here I shall stay? Oh little girl, you have no idea the game you are playing, the people who will want your head now.”

“Until we meet again, Lord Pike.” Is all Clarke says, and steps away, pulling the door shut and leaving him in darkness once again. She takes the key and locks the door with a resounding clunk of heavy metal falling into place, then slides the key on a long, thin chain and fastens it around her neck, so that it nestles in the curve of her breasts, hidden beneath her dress.

---

Monty fiddles nervously with the fraying sleeve of his jacket, playing with the poorly dyed cloth as he shifts from foot to foot in front of the tall doors to the council chambers. He has never been in a castle before, much less at the specific request of a queen, and he would turn and run if not for the strong, reassuring presence at his side. Captain Miller catches his gaze and offers him a small, certain smile, reaching out to touch gently at his anxiously picking fingers. He looks as handsome as always, smart and strong in his golden uniform.

“It’ll be alright,” He urges, quietly, and Monty obediently pulls his fingers away, balling them into tight fists as he nods.

It is still utterly bizarre to him that the strange girl who had asked so much of them is now their queen. In retrospect though, he thinks bitterly, he should have known she was nobility. The price of their protection never was cheap, or so he had learnt. The doors swing open and a kindly looking lord steps out to usher them inside.

“The queen will see you now.”

Captain Miller nods and falls into step with the ease of a soldier used to following orders, and Monty follows stiffly behind, hurrying to keep pace. They are led into a room which Monty considers large, but he is sure is not in a castle of this size. At its centre sits a long wooden table at which lords and ladies are sat, watching them. At its head, Queen Clarke Tyrell bestows them with a smile that seems to come from far away. The lord leads them to the table, and Monty stops abruptly, almost running into Captain Miller. The lord circles the table and takes up a seat immediately at the queen’s right hand. There is a gleaming pin in his surcoat, a hand holding a dagger.

“Welcome.” Queen Clarke says, and Monty hurries to follow Captain Miller’s lead when he bows lowly. The queen seems taller than she has before, perhaps because of the crown sitting atop her head, or the way her shoulders push back and hold her high and stately.

“May I introduce my new small council,” Queen Clarke says when they rise, “Lord Marcus Arryn, my hand of the queen; Lady Arianna Martell, my master of ships; Lord Arthur Tyrell, my master of coin, and Lord Robert Mertyn, my master of laws.” The lords and lady around the table nod in greeting and when Clarke gestures behind her Monty startles at the sight of Octavia in fine, gleaming armour and a long white cloak. “Of course you know Octavia Snow, the Commander of my Queensguard.”

Octavia offers him a small smile, and some of the knot in Monty’s chest loosens. It is good to see another commoner around this table.

“I have called you here to thank you,” Clarke informs them succinctly. “For the role you have played in my reign so far. I have asked much of you, I know, more than I should have done perhaps, and you have shown exceptional loyalty.” It takes Monty a moment to realise that Clarke is talking to him, her eyes are fixed to him and not Captain Miller, and he stares, his mouth agape. “And now you have brought Captain Miller to me, for which I must thank you.”

Her attention shifts, and Miller stands straighter, his hands going behind his back. “Captain Miller, I have been informed that you are one of the few refuges of true loyalty and honour in the City Watch, is that true?” Queen Clarke asks, succinctly, and Monty watches Miller’s throat bob as he swallows, but when he responds it is without a shake in his voice.

“I would hope so, your majesty.”

“Monty informs me that you are to be trusted, and I trust his judgement.” Clarke tells him, firmly. “So I would like to offer you something Captain Miller. Tell me all that you know of the corruption in our City Watch, help me weed it out and find good, loyal men to replace them, and in return I will make you Commander of the City Watch.”

Captain Miller stares at her, his eyes wide with surprise, and only just manages to keep his composure enough to answer. “Of course, your majesty, it would be my honour.”

“One more thing,” Clarke is watching him with tight, calculating eyes. “I will need you to give evidence of the corruption at a trial for me. Make sure you know all of the devious, despicable tricks that Lord Pike of House Lannister used to turn so many men in his favour.”

Captain Miller gasps, softly, and he gathers his courage to answer. “Your majesty, I cannot say for sure that Lord Pike-”

“You can,” Clarke interrupts him, abruptly. “And you will, Captain Miller. Do we have an understanding?”

Captain Miller stares at her for a moment, and Monty watches with baited breath, until the Captain nods sharply. “Yes, your majesty.”

“Thank you,” Clarke smiles again and it is almost eerie how much her face changes. Her attention shifts back to Monty. “I would like to reward your loyalty too, Monty. You have an uncanny ability to be places you should not, and listen without people knowing you are there. You would make an excellent Master of Whispers. You would have a lordship and all the money you desire.”

Monty’s eyes widen at her words, his head spinning. He can barely imagine himself at this table, reporting people’s secrets to the Rose Queen, as she is already being dubbed, and he finds himself shaking his head before he realises what he is doing.

“I’m sorry,” He rushes to say, “I don’t… I wouldn’t feel comfortable telling people’s secrets your majesty, even for the good of the realm.”

For a moment, he fears that Clarke will be angry, but the queen only smiles a little sadly. “That is what would make you excellent for this role, Monty, but I accept your refusal. I would still like to reward your loyalty, though,” She spreads her hands out wide, “Ask for anything you wish, and I shall do my best to provide it.”

Despite himself, Monty’s gaze flickers up to Captain Miller, and from the corner of his eye he sees Clarke’s gaze soften with pity and sympathy.

Her voice drops, becoming a little quieter after a moment of silence. “I fear I cannot give you what you most desire. I will see that you are comfortable, Monty, and please know that you have a welcome place here if ever you should choose.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” Monty manages to give her a slight smile.

---

“You suit these rooms.” Clarke looks up from where she is sat at the table, dipping a quill in her pot of ink, to see Lexa smiling down at her from her place beside the wide, open windows. The sun is high in the sky, which is a lovely, periwinkle blue, and from her place at the windows Clarke knows Lexa can see the red tiled roofs of Kings Landing stretching away on one side, and the Blackwater bay reaching out on the other. On a warm day like this, Clarke could almost forget the histories that the royal suites hold. A glance behind her at the curtains separating the bed chamber from the solar, however, are all that she needs to remember.

A shiver runs through her and she lists her shoulders in a half shrug. “I do not like them.”

“They are your rooms now,” Lexa reminds her, gently. “You may change them however you wish.”

Clarke nods, setting the quill down as she thinks. “I struggle to sleep,” She admits, as Lexa crosses the room to come closer to her. “I even had the bed replaced with my old one, but it didn’t help. I can still smell the blood.”

Lexa settles into the chair at her side and places a hand tenderly over hers, eyes flickering up to check her face for any sign of discomfort. Clarke only smiles. They are still getting used to these casual, easy intimacies. “I wish there was something I could do.”

Clarke turns her hand beneath Lexa’s and intertwines their fingers. “Being here with me is more than enough.”

A slight blush dusts over Lexa’s cheeks, something Clarke still delights in seeing, and her smile widens when Lexa squeezes their fingers together and releases her grip. “We should write this letter.”

“All business,” Clarke teases, ever so lightly, but picks her quill back up again, running a finger over the feathered end ever so lightly as she considers what to write. “They must think that it comes in friendship, it is only be catching them unawares that we will be able to make ourselves heard.”

“Suggest that the castle coppers are running dry,” Lexa suggests, looking down at the parchment and in her distraction, Clarke is able to admire the smooth cut of her jaw and the delicate touch of dark, long eyelashes against her cheek. She is caught staring when Lexa looks up again, but does not drop her gaze, and Lexa’s cheeks heat a little again, a small, private smile caught at the corners of her lips. “The Iron Bank have always been eager to find new business.”

“I met one of their representatives once, he was a rather charming man.” Clarke admits, reluctantly. “But sharp and intelligent, and always gave the impression that he knew more than he ought.”

“They have their ways.” Lexa takes a slow, considering sip of her wine, her eyes creased with thought. “It would be best to speak as closely to the truth as you are able,” She decides, “A deceit is less noticeable if it treads the line of honesty.”

Something flickers in Clarke’s stomach, and she diverts her haze down to the parchment, wondering whether Lexa too is thinking of her deceit. “I will ask them to come to renegotiate the terms of the crown’s debts.” Her quill scratches against the parchment as she writes, her writing slanted and curling, and once she has finished Lexa is on hand with the blue candle that has been burning beside them for some time, dripping it onto the folded parchment to seal it. She stamps it with her rose sigil ring and then places it to one side.

“The pieces are falling into place,” Lexa observes, after Clarke has called for a runner to take her message and asked for a light lunch to be brought to her chambers.

“Everything still feels as if it’s made of moving parts,” She confesses, sighing softly. She stands and walks to the window where Lexa had earlier stood sentinel, leaning against the ledge and cradling her goblet of cold, watered down wine between her hands. “And I cannot keep track of where they are.”

“You are doing well,” Lexa insists, joining her. “Do not doubt yourself now Clarke.”

“Before I was married,” Clarke begins, looking out across the sprawling city which she now calls her own. “I looked out over this city and I thought that I hated it.” Lexa’s brows raise, surprised, and Clarke continues, her voice shaking just slightly. “Truly, I did. The thought of being trapped here forever as somebody’s wife made me feel as if the very walls had grown feet and were marching towards me.” She runs her fingers over the warm stone. “If it weren’t for Highgarden and my family I think I would have run right then.”

“You would not have.” Lexa answers her softly, and at Clarke’s curious look she embellishes. “You are not someone to run away, Clarke. Your sense of duty, your honour, it’s one of the things that makes me feel as if-” She hesitates, stutters over her words and Clarke can’t help but lay a gentle hand on her arm, drawing Lexa’s eyes to hers.

“Go on.”

“It is as if you truly see me,” Lexa murmurs, her green eyes swimming like pools in a summer glen. “In a way that no one else has. We understand each other, I think.”

“Do you mean,” Clarke’s voice hitches, “Do you forgive me… could you ever forgive me, for everything I’ve done?”

Lexa’s fingers fold around Clarke’s where they rest on her arm, holding her hands closely so that she can look into her eyes. “There is nothing to forgive. I of all people understand the chains of duty and responsibility. It’s why I lo- It’s what make you you.”

Clarke draws in a sharp breath, staring up at Lexa through the sunlight. There is something terribly vulnerable about the northern queen’s gaze, an openness to her expression which is almost terrifying because Clarke is sure that she should not be given the heart of such a precious thing. Still, her fingers tighten around Lexa’s and her soul jumps, elation spreading through her like warm summer sunlight. She draws Lexa a little closer, pulling her by their joined hands, when a knock to the door sends them springing apart. Lexa paces away across the balcony, as if she cannot stand to keep still, and Clarke grabs for her wine goblet, clutching it to stop herself reaching for Lexa again as she calls for the servers to enter.

It is not the kitchen girls that she expected, however, instead between Octavia and Anya stands a page boy who bows so lowly to the two queens that his nose almost touches the floor.

“What is it?” Clarke steps forwards, her dress brushing against her legs with a rustle of fabric.

“There is someone for you in the courtyard, your majesty.” He holds out something in his hands, “He said to give you this.”

Fingers shaking, Clarke takes the familiar signet ring from his waiting hands, and looks back at Lexa, her eyes wide.

“Wells.”

---

Wells is waiting in the courtyard for her, as she had expected, flanked by Ser Roan and the girl Fox. They both seem a little worse for wear, with dirty clothes and bruises, but Roan sees the crown upon her head and bows, a sardonic smile on his lips. He nudges Fox and the girl sinks into a clumsy curtsey. Wells does not bow, but Clarke is sure she wouldn’t be able to stand it if he did. He looks so changed that it is jarring to meet his gaze, his hair now tied at the bale of his neck and a thick, dark beard growing over his chin, where before it had always been clean shaven. He is draped in grubby Measter’s robes, which drown him in fabric, but when she finally meets his gaze his warm brown eyes are the same. 

She cannot stop herself from crossing the space between them with quick, unladylike steps. “Wells.” Her fingers twitch to reach out and touch him, but with so many eyes watching them, whispering, she doesn’t let herself. She clasps her fingers together in front of her body and hopes he can feel the sincerity in her voice when she says. “I am so glad to see you again, and safe.”

“And I you,” His smile is smaller than it used to be, but there just the same and she feels her heart clench. “My companions were instrumental in helping me escape.” He nods towards Fox and Roan and Clarke gives them both a smile.

“I am glad to see you all back safely, thank you for your efforts. Please, come in and rest, you must be exhausted.”

“A little, your majesty.” Ser Roan gives another slightly sarcastic bow of his head and all but pushes Fox ahead of him into the castle. 

It feels strange to lead Wells into his own home and direct servants who have known him from birth to fetch him a bath and a room. He goes without complaint and she is left to wait in her solar, pacing before the fire and picking up waiting correspondence only to stare at the words unseeing as she waits. After so long worrying for Wells, thinking of him and sometimes cursing him, it is so strange to see him now in the flesh. Her thoughts linger on Ivy and Benam and she feels a wave of fresh grief run over her.

A knock comes to her door and she hurries to her feet, calling for entry. Wells appears in the doorway, looking cleaner than he had and dressed in clothes more suited for a prince of the realm. Clarke stands, though she isn’t sure why, and watches as he steps into the solar. His eyes flicker around the room, and she feels a flush of sorrow when his eyes crease. These rooms were always his father’s and she feels like an intruder all of a sudden. He settles into one of the seats by the fire and she takes it upon herself to pour him a goblet of wine, watching from beneath her lashes as he sips shallowly. He was never one for wine or mead, but now he seems almost repulsed by the taste, and she wonders how else he has changed. 

“Please, eat something,” She says at last, gesturing to the selection of breads and cheeses, cured meats and fruits she has had brought in for him.

He gives her a slight smile and obliges, picking up a piece of crumbling white goat’s cheese to chew as she watches.

When she speaks again her voice is trembling with emotion. “I have missed you- so much.”

His warm, familiar eyes meet hers, and he swallows slowly. “I missed you too,” He says at last, and when he reaches out, she takes his hand gladly, their fingers intertwining.

“There were times I thought- feared-” She can barely bring herself to say the words.

Wells’ grip on her tightens minutely. “I’m not,” He says, firmly, “I’m here, I’m fine.” She meets his gaze again and finally nods, and he continues, seriously. “Clarke, is it safe for me to be here?”

“It is,” Her voice is slightly stronger again when she speaks. “Pike is in the dungeons and Benam-”

“Benam?” Wells’ eyes are wide and he leans forward in his seat a little. “Is that- is he-”

“Your son,” She confirms, and watches as a myriad of emotions cross his face, joy and fear and heartache.

“My son,” He echoes, quietly. “And Ivy? Are they both safe?”

Clarke pulls in a pained breath, her eyes flickering shut for a moment, and steels herself to answer him. “Benam is safe and hidden. Ivy… Pike’s men killed her when they were escaping.” Horrified grief rushes across Wells’s face and she feels tears building up in the back of her throat. She squeezes her friend’s hand even tighter. “I’m so sorry, Wells, truly. I only met her once, but she seemed wonderful.”

“She was,” His voice breaks, and they sit in silence for a moment as he gathers himself. “Too good for me,” He lets out a small, hard laugh that is anything but pleasant, and Clarke’s eyes follow the angry, sorrowful lines on his face. “Too good to die for me.”

Clarke runs her thumb softly over his knuckles, thinking on her words for a moment. “She died for Benam, Wells. She would have done anything for him.”

“You’re sure he’s safe?” Wells’s eyes are wet when he looks back at her again.

“Completely.” She assures him, “I’ll have him sent for immediately.”

“No, no don’t,” Wells shakes his head fervently. “Not until we are sure it’s safe, if anything happened to him I-”

“Alright,” Clarke squeezes his hand again, reassuringly. The fire crackles in the grate, a softly reassuring sound and she watches as Wells gathers himself. “Pike is being held in the dungeons, though it isn’t common knowledge yet.” She explains, “Soon it will come out, but I hope that by then I will have enough of a case against him.”

“And for that you need me,” Wells guesses, and she nods. 

“I do,” she steadies herself. “Will you tell me what happened?”

His eyes settle on her and there is something dark and haunted to them that she has never seen in him before. He looks infinitely older, nothing like the youthful, idealistic boy she had known, and as he recalls his story, that boy falls away before her eyes, crumbling into ash.

The story is fragmented and stilted, at least at first. Wells thinks that he was drugged, something in his food he can only guess, though he remembers no strange flavour. He had suspected Pike, been wary of him, but not enough to have a taster, and so when the Lannister’s soldiers had snuck in during the night and dragged him from his bed, he had barely been able to resist them. Stumbling, they had pulled him through the eerily quiet castle and into the dungeons, to the black cells where there was no other soul but Ivy, and the guards holding firm to her struggling, visibly pregnant body. After so long trying to protect her and their baby, Wells had known the moment he saw her that the battle was lost. Drugged and terrified of the knives held to Ivy’s throat and stomach, Wells had signed away his kingship with a trembling hand and allowed Pike’s men to whisk him away to Oldtown. In the Citadel, where the masters of the realm are trained, Wells says he arrived with little fanfare, under the cover of darkness, and was swept away to a novice’s cell, a bare, ugly room with only a cot and a desk, and a small window through which he could see the blue sky. “The Maesters were suspicious,” He says now, his eyes fixed to the fire, “But none were brave enough to challenge Pike when he told them I needed time to meditate on my decision.

“Without Fox I would still be there,” He shakes his head. “She was the only person I saw, and I knew for the right price she would find you for me.”

“Thank the Seven she did,” Clarke lets out a soft breath.

“Thank you for getting Benam out,” Wells touches softly at the back of her hand again. “I couldn’t put him in danger, not for anything. Not even for the realm.”

The words send a flicker of something running through her and she shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “Now you are back,” She meets his gaze and tries to show how sincere she is, though her heart trembles. “You’re the rightful heir, Wells, and when you testify against Pike everyone will know that you didn’t give up your claim willingly. The throne is yours, your majesty.”

Wells looks at her for a moment that seems to stretch on forever, with dark eyes that seem to see straight through her ruse, and then says. “I have no desire for the throne, Clarke, I never really did. You have shown that you can protect this land, you’re stronger than I am, and more ruthless, you always have been.” She tries to interrupt, but he will not let her. “Truly, I have been thinking on it and this is not a rash decision. I do not want to be king Clarke, and I would not dare to overthrow a queen as powerful as you.”

---

Anya cannot deny that she is on edge. Walking through the dark, crowded streets of the city is bad enough, but doing so without her faithful longsword strapped to her side feels as if she has lost an arm. Her fingers twitch to reach for the family heirloom, but there is nothing to find but the daggers strapped at the back of her belt and hidden in her high boots. At her side, one of her companions shoots her an aggravated glance, her brows creasing together. 

“Stop it,” Raven hisses as they walk, “You look guilty.”

Anya wants to snap back, but bites her tongue over her words. Infuriatingly, she knows that Raven is right and that she has to follow her lead in these streets, but it doesn’t stop her from scowling down at the blacksmith. A little ahead of them, the boy Monty turns to give them an anxious glance, but doesn’t dare to comment on their bickering. When Lexa had suggested that she would accompany Raven on this fool’s errand, Anya had almost taken her head from her shoulders with one fell swipe of her sword. Instead, she had refused steadfastly to let her cousin go and eventually agreed to take her place to ensure Raven’s safety. The thought almost makes her snort aloud- as if Raven is in any need of protecting. If there is one thing she’s learnt about the girl in their short acquaintance, it’s that Raven is fearless and completely capable of protecting herself. Perhaps, she admits silently, that is why Raven need protecting- because otherwise she would plummet headfirst into danger without a second’s thought. 

They turn a corner onto the Street of Silk, where brothels of varying expense spill patrons out onto the streets. From the windows and doors of those less expensive venues, Anya can hear the unmistakable shouts and cries of fornification, and she wrinkles her nose. People don’t spare them a second glance here, where everyone from the high nobles to the most common peasant is able to purchase a touch of some sort or another. Ahead of them, The Red Door stands tall, its white stone exterior shining and two burly guards standing before its rust coloured entrance. The guards glare at them as they approach, their hands going to rest on their swords, and Anya shoulders her way past Raven and Monty to face them. 

“Let us through,” She demands, her voice low, and the guard’s eyes travel down her well made clothes with the expert eye of people used to seeing nobles in disguise. She meets their gazes confidently when they look at her, and eventually they nod, pushing the door open for them. 

They are almost through when one of the guards grabs at Monty’s arm, pulling him to a stop. The boy flinches, ripping his arm from their touch, and Anya’s fingers twitch for her dagger again as she turns. 

“Well well,” The first guard lets out a nasty, gnarled laugh. “If it isn’t Monty. Couldn’t get enough, huh?”

Anya is startled to see the boy tremble all over, like a leaf shivering in a breeze. A pale pallor washes over his face, and he looks distinctly ill even as he scowls at them both. “Don’t touch me Tristan.”

“You never used to be so choosy.” Tristan leers down at him. “You know that when the master sees you here he’ll want to know where his property has been.”

“I am no property.” Monty spits, and Raven puts a hand on his shoulder, fixing the two with a glower.

“No one should be property.” Anya says from his other side. “Slavery is illegal.”

“In name perhaps.” The guard shrugs, and Monty shakes his head, furiously.

“I’m not his anymore,” He tells them, a growl to his voice, but the guard only laughs again.

“Aye, not since that gold cloak bought you,” His sneering gaze passes up and down Monty, “I bet you’re still sucking his cock in thanks.”

Raven pulls Monty behind her, stepping forward to get into the guard’s face. Her hand appears at his crotch, holding a dagger that Anya didn’t know she had, and she bites, darkly. “If you don’t leave him alone you won’t have a cock to suck any more, understand?” 

The guard only laughs, and Anya puts her hands on both of their shoulders, guiding them away from the conflict before the guards can throw them into the street. 

“You almost had us thrown out,” She scolds Raven, But the blacksmith isn’t listening, her eyes trained on Monty. 

“You alright Monty? Are you sure you’re okay being here?”

Monty’s face is white, his eyes a little glassy, but he nods his head fiercely. “I’m fine,” Then a little more quietly he adds, “I am nobody’s property, not any more.”

Anya looks at him again, in the dim light of the brothel, and sees behind the young, delicate featured boy she had first encountered, to the shadows lurking in his eyes and at the crease where his lips turn downwards.

Monty’s gaze flickers to her and Anya darts her eyes away, sure that Monty will not like to see the sympathy in her expression. 

“Axel is usually at the dice tables,” Monty says finally, ”This way.”

They follow him diligently through the crowded rooms. The air is hot and filled with the smell of heady incense, sweat, and other things Anya isn’t inclined to name. Lithe women and men, young and beautiful, lounge about the place, tending to customers or enticing new ones, all in various stages of undress, draped in bright,m thin silks and whispers of lace. They try to catch the eyes of their little party as they push through the people, and Anya’s cheeks heat despite herself when one dark haired beauty catches her eye and twists to reveal a heavy breast. 

“There,” Monty pauses at an archway, keeping to the shadows, and they follow his gaze into a great room with a long dice table at its centre. Men are crowded around it, cheering and yelling, but the room seems to gravitate around the man stood at the head of the table. 

Axel is not what Anya had expected him to be. By all accounts, he is a short man, with a dark beard and shock of hair, trimmed neatly and clean. What he lacks in height he makes up for in the girth of is shoulders and muscular arms, and he has an open, friendly face, with light eyes that draw the people around him into conversation. 

“We won’t get close,” Monty shakes his head, disappointed, “He’s surrounded by his men, we’d never get him alone.”

“Maybe we wouldn’t,” Raven muses quietly, thoughtful, “But surely we can offer him something he would want, something to tempt him.”

“Like what?” Anya peers down at her through the darkness. 

“A whore,” Raven says matter of factly, and Anya sees Monty swallow heavily and feels her anger spike. 

“Reyes, you can’t seriously be suggesting-” Her gaze flickers to Monty, and Raven rolls her eyes. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” She puts a hand on Monty’s arm. “I don’t think you’d be his type anyway Monty.”

“Then what are you suggesting?” Anya can feel a trickle of apprehension in her stomach even as she asks, and Raven can’t quite meet her eyes with she answers. 

“We’ll offer him me.”

No matter how much she protests, Anya cannot dissuade Raven once she is set to her path. She threatens and persuades and rages, but either way she ends up hiding in the small, stinking privy closet, watching through the smallest crack in the door as Raven, draped in the silks and laces lent to her by one of Monty’s old friends, places herself a little awkwardly onto the chaise. Every bone in her body is demanding that she put a stop to this before it can begin. Raven is so utterly vulnerable, with nothing to defend herself but her bare hands, and even she has only daggers should things get ugly. 

The door swings open, and Anya sees Raven jolt just slightly, a beguiling smile passing across her face which just about disguises her nerves, as Axel is shown into the room. He hesitates in the centre of the room, looking down at Raven, and Anya’s teeth grit when she sees his eyes rove over her. 

“They said the most beautiful girl in the place was waiting for me.” His voice is low and gravelly, “They weren’t wrong.”

Anya lets out a soft breath and watches as Raven rises, as gracefully as she is able, and beckons him closer. 

“I’m glad you think so,” Her voice is like warm honey, sticky and sweet. 

Axel’s hands wrap around her waist, his palms settling on her barely covered ass, and Raven’s fingers dance across his jaw and neck with a whisper soft touch. He claims her lips with his, none too gently, and Anya feels tension run through her. Though she knows that he is not hurting Raven, she can barely stand to watch his hands all over her. Clenching her hands into fists, she forces herself to stay still. 

“Go to the bed,” He orders, between kisses, and Raven finally peels herself away, turning to make her way to the bed. Anya flinches as she catches her bad foot against the corner of the rug, stumbling and crying out when the motion wrenches at her bad leg. Her hands fly to the door of the privy, ready to burst out and help her, when Axel appears at her side, supporting her and helping her to the chaise. 

“I- I’m sorry,” Raven stutters, a humiliated flush covering her cheeks. “I don’t know what-”

“Hush,” He tells her firmly, settling onto the chaise at her side. “May I?” Though he asks, he doesn’t wait for her answer to lift her leg into his lap and examine it more closely. “Does it pain you?”

“Some,” Raven answers eventually, her voice low, and Axel only nods.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” He instructs, his eyes finding hers again. “My son had a similar condition, he was strong until the end.” 

“He did?” Raven’s eyes widen, and she hesitates, her fingers brushing against her twisted knee. “He was born with it?”

“Aye.”

“And did he-” She hesitates, swallowing. “Did it kill him?”

His eyes soften. “No, don’t worry yourself. He was killed by some beggar for the coins in his purse,” Axel looks at her leg with a critical eye, perhaps to disguise the grief in his expression. “He went to the smith on Seel Street, the man made him a brace that helped a lot. I’ll get one for you, the smith owes me a few favours.”

“Thank you,” Raven sounds almost breathless, and her eyes flickering over to the door of the privy is the only warning that Anya gets before she slides her legs from his lap and stands slowly. “I have to tell you something.”

The man’s eyes narrow, and Anya is suddenly aware that his axe is leaning against the chaise, and he has daggers strapped to his belt and arms, while Raven is utterly unable to defend herself. She pushes on the door of the privy and this time it swings outwards, freeing her from the darkness and the stench and into the dimly lit room. 

“What-” Axel moves for his weapon, and Raven turns on her, glaring. 

“What did you do that for?”

“You’re in danger,” Anya snaps, grabbing her by the arm to shove behind her as she pulls out one of her daggers. Axel is glowering at them both, his shirt hanging open and his axe in his hands.

“I am not,” Raven shoves her so hard to one side that Anya stumbles, almost losing her grip on her daggers. “Axel, please listen to me.”

“Traitorous whore- what is this?” Axel’s voice rises with his agitation, and Anya barely contains herself from throwing her dagger at him at his words. 

“I didn’t want to trick you,” Raven holds her hands out, as if she is pacifying a spooked mare. “We don’t want to hurt you, we just want to ask you a few questions and this was the only way we could get close to you!”

“What questions?” Axel still holds his axe high, and Anya knows that one bloody blow could kill either one of them where they stand, cracking through their skulls like firewood. 

“Questions from the queen of the south,” Raven steps forwards, clearly with little regard for the danger she’s in, and Anya worries the hilt of her dagger will snap from the strength of her grip. “Here, a letter with her seal.” Raven looks back at her expectantly, and without taking her eyes off the man, Anya fishes out the queen’s letter and hands it over. 

Axel eyes the outstretched parchment, but does not reach to take it. “Words are like wind,” He spits, “Even if they are written on paper.”

“We can pay you for your help,” Raven promises, and Anya shifts to show the pouch of gold tied to her belt. “Please Axel, you seem like a good man at heart.”

He stares at her, his brows creasing. “What do you know of my heart?”

“I know that you would sit a whore down and tell her kind words,” Raven counters, and Axel bristles at her words, a flush working its way up his cheek. 

His eyes dart to Anya, and he admits, after a moment of pause. “I’m not heartless.”

“We only need an answer to one question,” Raven promises, and takes another hesitant step closer, breaching the gap between them. “I promise, and then you’ll have your money and you can be on your way.”

“One question?” Axel asks, sharply, and Anya can see his arms weakening a little, giving way beneath the weight of his weapon. “Ask it then, whore.”

Anya bristles again, but Raven barely seems to hear the word, jutting her chin out and asking bravely. “Who paid you to start the riots that killed the king?”

“What?” Axel’s eyes widen in genuine surprise and he looks down at her, his mouth open. “How did you-”

“Your new queen knows more than many would think.” Anya intones, darkly, and Axel’s eyes narrow when they dart to her. 

“She just wants to keep the city safe, Axel, surely you can understand that? She wants to help people like your son.” Raven entreats him, gently.

Axel swallows heavily, and he lowers his axe just slightly. “How do I know this won’t come back to me?”

“Because if you give me the name I think you will, I know you will be safe.” Raven assures, “And if you don’t, that name will not leave this room, you have my word.”

“The word of a lying whore.” He bites back, and she half shrugs.

“Who in this city isn’t a liar, and a whore, when they have to be?”

The words pluck something close to a smile from him, and finally he nods. “I was paid by a boy by the name of Glenn, on behalf of Lord Pike and Cage Wallace.”

---

[lizablee]

Choices (Linked Universe) pt 4 - END

Characters derived from the Linked Universe AU by @jojo56830​ (@linkeduniverse)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

It was cold. Link felt like he was floating, weightless. The darkness around him was so complete that he wondered if he’d gone blind. He called out, but his voice made no sound in the void. 

There was a sound, though - a small noise, like a hum. The sound grew louder, filling the air. Link felt his skin prickle. The air was vibrating, the sound growing so loud that it overwhelmed even the darkness. Link tried to cover his ears, but his arms were pinned down. The noise tightened, soaring in pitch to a high chime. 

A pinprick of pink light appeared in the distance. It floated loosely through the darkness. Link tried to move towards it, but his legs wouldn’t move. He looked down to see what was holding him back, but he couldn’t see himself. He stared at the light, willing it to come closer. It bobbed in the darkness, leaving a trail of sparks. A fairy.

Memory hit him like a blow to the gut.

“I messed up, didn’t I.” he said softly. The fairy pulsed in reply. He sighed, closing his eyes. The fairy glowed brightly, shining through his eyelids, turning the world red.

Suddenly he could feel everything. Pain radiated through him, a dull ache that gave shape to every wound at once. His eyes shot open as he sucked in a breath. There were faces all around him. The air tasted like metal. The chiming in his ears stopped abruptly, giving way to half a dozen voices talking over each other. He groaned and scrubbed at his eyes. “I’m OK.” he murmured. He started to sit up, but a heavy hand fell on his chest, keeping him pinned down.

“Relax, champion. The fight’s over.” The voice was calm, steady. Link nodded. Exhaustion came over him in waves. He let himself relax.

This time, the darkness felt warm.

---

Wild woke up slowly. He shifted, getting his bearings. He was in the cave. 

He turned his face to the cave mouth. The storm had cleared, and the moon was out, shining too brightly. The world was exposed in cool light, wet grass shimmering, the black ocean winking silver. Firelight moved over the still forms of his fellow heroes.

He knew it wasn’t rational, but he wanted to run away, to see the churned-up earth from the battle and the bones of his enemies. He wanted to look down into the ocean where he fell, touch the tree that had saved Wind’s life, judge how far his paraglider could have taken him if he hadn’t been so exhausted. He could have done things differently. He wondered how the other Link would have done things. He pushed himself to sit upright, biting back the pain.

Time placed a firm hand on his shoulder. Wild started. The old man crouched beside him, looking at him, but Wild couldn’t bear to meet his eye.

“You should go back to sleep.” Time’s voice was low. Wild swallowed. His throat felt raw. 

“I can’t. Not yet.”

For a long moment, Time was silent. He stood, casting his eye around the room at the heroes. Some were sprawled out, exhausted and snoring. The others were clearly feigning sleep, alert even as they were prone. Legend wasn’t even bothering to pretend, meeting his gaze defiantly.

“If that is so, then we have a chance to talk. We can go outside if you wish.” His tone was firm, deliberate. Wild knew this was not a request. Time helped him to his feet, taking on his weight.

“Is that a good idea?” Warrior’s voice was almost inaudible. Time gave him a hard look. The hero’s eyes snapped shut, and he faked a snore. Legend kicked at his bedroll.

The pair didn’t walk far from the cave, moving slowly as they were. Time helped Wild to sit on the damp log of a fallen tree. He pulled a bottle from tunic, glowing with the light of an indigo flame. Time emptied the bottle onto an abandoned campfire. Wild watched the blue flame take to the wood as though it was dry. It was beautiful, and the brightness seemed to drown out the tormenting moonlight. He shivered, and was considering shuffling closer to the fire when Time placed a heavy cloak over his back. The fur tickled at the scars on his neck. It smelled like wet dog, but it was warm and dry inside. He pulled it closer around his body.

Time sat beside the fire. He looked oddly vulnerable with his back to the moon, armour discarded inside the cave. Wild tilted his head. There was something about his face that didn’t look right. Is he afraid?

No way.

Time swallowed. He looked into Wild’s eyes. Wild suddenly felt a little dizzy.

“What happened in the cave?” Time started slowly. Wild went cold. He felt pins and needles run through his skin.

The look on Wild’s face was everything Time needed to know. He drew Legend’s dagger slowly, placing it on the ground between them. The blue firelight flickered over the blade, turning the dried blood black.

“Wait,” Wild said suddenly, his eyes pleading. “I know how this looks, but I can explain.” 

Time looked at him evenly, giving the hero a small nod. Wild sighed, wringing his hands.

“It’s just, I was – I knew I was dying. I could feel it. I’ve felt it before. In battle.” He explained, tripping over his words. Time frowned.

“You wanted to speed it up? Were you in that much pain?” He said softly. Wild shook his head vigorously.

“No. I mean yes. But not in the way you think. I wanted to die so Mipha could revive me.” He said quickly. Time raised an eyebrow. Wild sighed.

“I’ve fallen in battle before. Sometimes, when I’m close to death, I can hear Mipha’s voice. Her spirit heals my wounds, and she vanishes for a while. It’s instant, and powerful.” It felt like he was talking over himself. “I tried to tell the others. I didn’t want them to get - you have to understand, I can’t-”

“Stop, Link. Breathe.” Wild started at his name. Time’s eye was wide, but his voice was gentle and even. Wild focused on his breathing, listening to the wind and the crackling of the fire, feeling his heartbeat slow. He face burned. Had he been yelling?

Time was like a statue by the fire. He didn’t look vulnerable any more. He looked like something steady, something permanent. Wild had a feeling that he would be comfortable sitting there as long as it took to get him to talk. He wondered if he had the strength to run, wondered if Time would follow. Probably not, and probably so. He swallowed.

“I didn’t do it to die. I did it to heal. I tried to explain.” He said helplessly.

Time nodded. “I understand.” Wild looked at the fire, thoughts drifting. The pair were quiet for a while. The sound of cicadas mingled with the distant roar of the sea. The flames burnt spots into Wild’s vision. He blinked, shaking his head. The spots danced like shapes moving in the darkness. When Wild glanced back to Time, he saw him polishing the dagger. All evidence of what he had done had vanished.

Time inspected the dagger. Blue light shimmered across the blade. “I believe you when you say that you’ve been protected. I know powerful spirits endure after death, especially those with unfinished business. I know you had friends before… the calamity.” The look he shot Wild was hard enough to wind him.

“Were you certain Mipha would heal you tonight?” 

Wild looked away. “I took a risk.”

Time’s face darkened. He lifted the dagger. “Had you used this only minutes earlier than you did, no number of fairies could have brought you back. You made a reckless decision. You make a lot of those. I want a real answer from you. If your reckless strategy had succeeded, but Mipha’s power had failed, what then?” Time punctuated his words by stabbing the dagger into the earth. It was almost childish.

Wild swallowed. The moon stared down at him accusingly. He thought hard about his words.

“I would have died. And everything would have gone on just fine without me.” His hand floated to his stomach. “You’re all so strong. I’ve seen you do amazing things. What if someone had been hurt trying to save me? What if someone had died?” 

“I know I’m reckless sometimes.” Wild met Time’s intensity with his own. “But I’ll never hesitate to put myself on the line if there’s a chance I can save someone. Do you get it?”

“You would rather invite death than endanger others.” Time concluded. Wild nodded. Time sighed.

“Something we all seem to have in common is our tendency to see our lives as sets of objectives. The great lie that we tell ourselves is that achieving these goals will set the world right. We fight for our world, we defeat the enemy, and live out our days in peace.” Time looked at Wild sadly. “It doesn’t work like that, not in the real world. You need to find your own peace. You, in particular.” Wild looked away, frowning.

“I understand your actions tonight, although I don’t agree with them - and nor do any of the others. You are never to take this form of action again.” Time said sternly. Wild bowed his head in silent acquiescence.

“Also.” Time got to his feet. “I’m going to task you with a new objective.” The hero took Wild by the shoulders. Wild looked up at him, a spark of determination lighting in his eyes. 

“Your goal is to survive. You must preserve your life - you must fight for your life - as if you were fighting for one of ours. You can save people and save yourself. Do this for us.”

“I will,” Wild nodded vigorously. Time grinned, squeezing his shoulders.

“Think about that next time you decide to use your head as a shield.”

Wild laughed sheepishly, then yawned. “My first act of survival will be going back to sleep.” he announced. Time helped him to his feet.

He had hoped to talk more - to do more. He was worried about the young hero. He hoped he had said enough. I’ll leave the rest to the others for now. I have a feeling someone else wants to talk.

---

Wild didn’t remember falling asleep, but he woke up with his face buried in warm fur. He reached out and stroked the wolf lazily. “Good boy,” he murmured. The wolf snuffled at the indignity and stood up, ‘accidentally’ slobbering on Wild’s face. The young hero exclaimed in disgust, pushing the wolf away. It bounded out of the cave mouth. Wild sat up and squinted into the bright sunlight. It looked like the others had given him some space to rest. He could hear their voices outside. 

Wind burst into the cave, looking frantic. “Wild! Are you OK? I didn’t get to talk to you last night, I was out cold when you got back and then Time took me to get some fairies and then you were bleeding like crazy. There was blood. EVERYWHERE. Hyrule brought in a bunch of sand this morning to clean it up but Four said it might get in the wound and Warrior made everyone get out so we wouldn’t wake you up. Legend said you went outside last night! You should have woken me up! I’ve been waiting until you got up to go to the beach, I know you’re hurt but saltwater is great for wounds, even if it stings a bit. OW!”

Warrior clapped the back of Wind’s head. “If you stop for a minute he might be able to get a word in.”

“At least we know he’s awake now,” Legend smirked at Wild. “Glad you’re not dead.” Wild grinned back.

He had a moment to brace himself before Sky and Hyrule tackled him, talking over each other in an effort to ensure he was feeling healthy and well rested, and insisting that he eat some of the breakfast they’d prepared, which was definitely not dubious in any way.

“I made a Hearty Lizard omelette, it’ll heal you right up!” Hyrule said proudly. Wild cringed.

“Sounds great, but I’m not feeling up to lizards just yet. I could go for a baked apple though,” he said hopefully. It was hard to mess up a baked apple. Hyrule rushed to oblige.

Sky came to the rescue with an armful of potions. “I hope your stomach is together enough to take these now,” he said lightly. Wild’s smile faltered.

“I was difficult last night, wasn’t I.” he murmured, pausing to down a red potion. He felt warmth spread through his body, the pain melting away. Sky sat beside him.

“It’s alright,” he said evenly. “But next time I’m not taking no for an answer.” 

Four sighed. “We were really worried about you.” Steel entered his tone. “I can’t BELIEVE you went into battle with a broken weapon AGAIN.”

“Yeah, cause that’s the worst mistake you made last night,” Legend grumbled. Warrior punched him in the kidney, sending him sprawling to the ground.

“I don’t get it,” Wind complained. Warrior ruffled his hair.

“I’ll show you where the kidney is later.”

Time and Twilight entered the cave together. Wild felt claustrophobic under their gaze. Something in Twilight’s look made him freeze up as he stalked over.

“You’re getting better at the intimidation thing,” Wild joked weakly. Twilight knelt in front of his protégé.

“I’m going to hug you now.” He said seriously. He grabbed Wild in a firm embrace.

“Ok,” Wild said, surprised. “Not what I was expecting.”

“And I’m going to kill you later.” He muttered. Wild smiled softly.

“I’m sorry for scaring you.” He said quietly.

“I’ll make you pay.” Twilight promised. Wild laughed. Pain shot through his core, and he cringed back, hissing. Twilight gave him a gentle push. “Stay down and heal up. Don’t let the kid drag you to the beach just yet.”

“I’ll give you until this afternoon,” Wind said stubbornly.

Wild relaxed, enjoying the sounds of the heroes laughing and bickering. He felt himself starting to drift off.

The sound had died down when he came to. It looked like the mid afternoon. Legend was sitting by his side, reading an ancient looking scroll. Wild squinted to see the text, but it wasn’t written in his Hylian.

“Hey, you. You’re finally awake.” Legend said quietly. 

“Hey,” Wild replied. Legend rolled up the page and put it aside. He cleared his throat, inspecting some of his rings. The pause was just getting long enough to feel awkward when he spoke.

“So that wolf was hanging around outside last night for a while. Thought you should know.” 

Wild nodded. “Thank you.” 

Legend met his eyes. “You and the old man had a lot to talk about, hey.” 

Wild smiled wryly. “I think I was out of my mind. The memory is a bit of a mess.” He hesitated.

“How many of the others were listening in?”

“Just Warrior and me. Maybe Four. I didn’t see him, but I get the sense that he knows what’s going on. The others were exhausted.” Legend took off a ring and polished it on his tunic.

“Just so you know. Some of us have been where you are.” He held the ring out in the light, turning it to inspect every shining angle. “I know doing crazy stuff is kind of your thing. Just… being with these idiots has made me think that accepting help might not be the worst idea.”

Legend went quiet, pulling off another ring to polish. Wild closed his eyes.

“I think being alone for too long makes people go crazy.”

“I think having friends makes people crazy.” Legend retorted. “Being alone is one thing. Having someone to care about, and losing them… that’s when things get weird. Makes you wonder if it was worth it in the first place.”

Wild looked carefully at Legend’s face. There was something about his eyes that made him feel a little sad. He sat up. “Can you grab me a red potion?” Legend rolled his eyes. He reached into his bag and pulled out a pair. 

“Here you are, princess. Drink up.”

Wild took a bottle and raised it. “To surviving.” Legend broke into laughter.

“Don’t make a habit of this,” he joked, clinking the extra bottle. “Take this one too, you look like crap.” 

Wild grinned as he downed the potion. In a quick movement, he hopped to his feet.

“Take it easy,” Legend laughed, alarmed.

“I’m going to the beach,” Wild announced. “And you’re coming!”

“Hold on,” Legend protested. He was dragged to his feet, staggering after Wild. “I was reading that!”

“I’m going to show you how to fish with bombs!”

“I’m going to sic the ranch hand on you.”

“Changed my mind, see you later!”

“Too late now, you’re doomed.” Legend grinned.

Wild grabbed a shield. “Can’t kill me if you can’t catch me.” he smirked.

Legend paused, raising his eyebrows. Wild froze, looked down at the shield and laughed sheepishly.

“Actually, maybe I’ll walk today.” He put the shield back carefully. Legend applauded.

“There’s the survival instinct the old man’s looking for!” Wild stuck out his tongue. Legend clapped him on the back. “Come on, let’s go make the kid’s day.”

---

According to Wild, the following beach day was ‘worth falling off a cliff’.

---

End notes:

Thanks for sticking with me! This has been my first fanfiction. It started off as something very different and has evolved. There was a lot more I wanted to get into around Wild’s character, but it was getting pretty heavy-handed. I like reading slice-of-life fics as well as angsty stuff, and I hopped between genres as I was writing. I hope you got a kick out of it. I love this AU, I think there’s a lot of room for wholesomeness in there. Most of all, I love that it gives all the Links voices. When I think of BOTW Link now, I feel pretty sad for him. He’s very alone. It’s nice to imagine him interacting with friends who really understand him.

Let me know your thoughts in the comments. Thanks again for reading!

- Diecasual

[the-house-of-the-nine]

In Mind of Misery: Manipulation, Part 12

[ And so the journey begins.  Three Separate stories to tell here all happening Simultaneously.  Attacking from three fronts, is this the beginning of the end for The Nine?  Please Like, Share, and Follow us!   We are hoping to get new people coming our way, and could use the love! Thank you everyone!!!!! ]

Cast:

[ L.K ] -  Lazarius Kashebahl, Marseille, Raelyndia Duskhollow

[ P.K ] - Kretus Dark

[ V.D ] - Verzatea Duskflame, Pame Myl’Brin

[ J ] - Jursol, Jimba, Mawa

[ T ] - Talisin aka The Boy

[ R ] - Raven

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

[ L. K ]   Once the door was demolished and sent flying out into the other part of the crypt they would notice something very interesting indeed; the blood was gone.  The previous room that was where the massive head had been was empty and all that remained was a simple stone room with a stairway up.

The group had no time for delay, they had to move quickly, and since the stairs were no longer a sliding board the would have no problem getting out.  Once they reached the top the would notice that the sky was black and the massive tentacle worms were flying across the sky.

Take to the trees.  The group raced away from the crypt in an attempt to put some distance between them and the horrible place.  But once they were finally safely away from their hell on earth; the reality sunk in.  What would they do now.

“We need a place to stay, somewhere we can repair and heal.  Raven needs energy, and Marseille needs some serious medical attention.  And it’s about time that boy got a proper meal.  We can’t return to Quelthalas, if we do it will spell disaster.  We all look like convicts.  And we need to make contact with survivors....Siida...”.  

Lazarius eyes narrowed as he clenched them tightly.  Losing both sisters.  He was certainly a mess.

[ R ]   The redheaded woman was unresponsive in Lazarius’ hold. Her slender form wrapped in cloth that left only hear bare feet and shoulders with bra straps exposed, leaving much to the imagination.

At first, if through the panic and chaos any took notice, one might note beneath the mess of black blood all over her, her skin was darkened and the veins that could be seen were blackened. Her skin had split in some areas, evident by the blotches of black soaked through various points of the cloth.

Was she breathing?

It looked as if Laz returned with a dead body. Not a peep came from her as he clutched and ran holding her. Her thick red hair covering up half-elven ears.

By the time they reached the outside world and were breaking through the tree-line to cover, all of those signs of void corruption had faded from her body and any void she was emitting was dormant.

[ P . K ]   Here he had been. Minding his own business. Cozied up in his small hut within the depths of the Ghostlands. He liked it here. It was oddly peaceful despite the badies within the woods. His favorite tavern was here, too and it made easy trek into the city if he needed supplies. He’d been in this small hut for… too long.

Anytime he began to think about how long his mood soured and he fell into a depression. But not today. He had hunted a lynx that morning, skinned it bare to sell its pelt, then gutted it, readying it for his dinner. Just as he was about to pour himself a steaming bowl of lynx and veggie stew, the rumbling started.

The red head was immediately on edge, tensing, a sense of gloom and doom overwhelming him a moment as memories began flooding back. No, this wasn’t happening. This place of his, this sanctuary he built, it was peaceful here. Then he heard voices over his crackling flame coming from the direction of the crypts.

The few people who would venture that area were usually experiences archaeologists and explorers. And so, his dinner interrupted, the man grabbed his daggers and headed toward that direction. A few minutes later… The red-haired male would easily be seen along the tree line, not hiding himself at all.

He never felt the need to in this area, finding most things barely able to call themselves threats. But what he saw, the mangled group, left him confused.

“What in the bloody. . . is this? Are… are you all o---“

He stopped dead, blinking once, twice,

“Teacup?”

He said quietly, realizing the blonde… was the spirited elf he’d met many months ago. The tall, lanky, tattoo-covered, red-headed elf gaped at the group, seemingly in shock.

[ V . D ]   The fresh air had certainly done wonders to alleviate the tension for both kaldorei and sindorei, Pame shaking from exhaustion with all the consistent excitement... Verzatea was shaking as well, although her shaking more so had to do with the wave of tears rolling down her cheeks as she endured Lazarius's recant of their situation.

Things were looking terribly bleak for them in this moment, and all she could think about was the horrors those in the Bastille must have endured. If it were anything like what their small and disheveled group experienced in the tombs she could only pity those who remained alive. If any did.

But first and foremost the issue of a safe space was a prominent concern before all else. Without a place to rest they could all die here and now in these woods. They were vulnerable bring exhausted, the wounded wouldn't survive long in this chill either... But the stench of ichor and rotting flesh and other unidentifiable offense odors was replaced with a peculiar smell.

Something that tickled an old memory in the far back of her mind... It was then that she'd lift her eyes to inspect the woods, her breath hitching in her throat before Verzatea mentions, her voice a ghost of a whisper as she tried to remember,

"This place... It's familar-- Like walking through a memory."

Only then did the appearance of Kretus stir the two elven women from their state of dismay. Pame stiffened and bore her fangs in a threatening snarl, her grip on Mars tightening-- until Verzatea audibly.gasps in astonishment!

"Kretus!"

She breathes out, relief swelling in her chest to see such a familiar and friendly face,

"By the Shadows, what are you doing this far out?"

Her lip quivers as she stumbles closer, her normally straight blonde hair frazzled and tousled about wildly with blood matting some tresses together. Too her dress skirts were soaked around the bottom of in a similar blood-- fel, everyone was soaked likely.. Resembling the devils rejects no doubt.

[ P . K ]   Kretus immediately moves forward upon her stumble, attempting to sling both arms under hers and tugging her to his chest in order to keep her from falling. Gods, they all looked a hot mess.

“I... live... out here,”

He replies absently to her inquiry as his golden eyes moved to each individual in her party of misfits.

“You all look as if N’zoth himself beat you up and dragged you through a pool of blood.”

[ L. K ]   Lazarius would have probably just burst into attack mode on this stranger; had he not had his hands full with the blanketed Raven.  She was curled up in his arms and he was unable to really do much, but all things considered he would have not given this man a second look if he was free.

"Verzatea, might we focus please. . . I am assuming you know this fire haired country boy. . . introductions can wait."  

He huffed, making sure Raven was secure and calling over to the man.

"While I am all for sentimental reunions; you have hit the nail on the head my friend. . . Oddly square on the head. . . that is exactly what just happened. . . in every sense of the word."

Lazarius would take several steps closer, past Marseille and Pame, around Jursol and her raptors and beside Verza and the boy she carried.  He would look the man square in the eye with those ancient blackened pools.

"We need a place to lay low, recover and take inventory on what exactly we are doing. . ."

He peered toward Verza.

"Familiar how, if you know someone who has a large enough facility for us to find refuge we need it.  We're losing valuable time."

[ J ]   Once outside she took to the trees to move, her raptors remained low but were cunning little fucks. They would easily avoid detection. Following the others in silence as they made their way to their destination. While she did not know where they were going, she fully trusted them.

She had at some point spaces out follows them, before hearing a strange elf yelling. There were no words yet from her as she watched and listened to the other talking. Her eyes glanced at Mars as she moved to help Pame with him.

“He be needin help now.”

Her words were few but she knew Pame understood. Jursol was ready to lend a hand with his wounds, and with a nasty tasting concoction that would help.

[ P . K ]   The red head scowled, mouthing the words, fire haired country boy with a bemused look on his face. As the male came closer, he squinted a moment, locking gazes. Why does he look familiar?

Kretus didn’t have time to ponder nor did he seem startled at Lazarius’ blunt reply of how right he had been on his observation. His Adam’s apple merely bobbed as he swallowed hard, and then he cleared his throat.

“I have a hut nearby with medical supplies, food, blankets, so on and so forth. I just did a supply run to the city two days hence. Come. It’s just a few minutes from here near the river edge....”

[ L. K ]   "I have a man with a missing arm, and teeth marks in his chest cavity. . .have you ever seen a twelve foot tall human head with a centipede body? He was devoured by it. . ."

Lazarius snapped, giving the man a stern look from his blood covered face.

"A comatose boy who has been out cold for several hours and is probably going to need a complete frontal lobe lobotomy. . .and this specimen I have quite literally plucked from an alternate reality who is going to die lest she feed on the raw dark energy of the cosmos. . . .and you've got a 'hut' was it?"

Lazarius peered down at Verza with another glance.

"Don't you have family somewhere around here? You were off for nearly two months visiting them. . . I thought you said the Duskflame Estate was somewhere on the border of the Ghostlands and Eversong. . ."

[ P . K ]   Kretus just stared at the man, hardly phased by the implied insult to his... hut.

“I mean that’s fine. Be on your way then if you have some where better to be. But something tells me my hut with things you will need for a journey is better than what you just described.”

[ V . D ]   Verzatea's shoulders tensed with the haughty and stressed tones, her hands clutching onto the familiar figure of Kretus. She would have pressed her forehead against the gentlemans torso when he first pulled her forth,  but rather than linger in this moment - no matter how she wanted to given it was the safest she'd felt since the tomb - she recalled the severity of the situation. Her eyes glance around then, hissing out:

"Mind your tempers,"

She sighs through her nose, standing up right now and releasing Kretus after a grateful smile was sent his way,

"It id very good to see you again my friend... And once more I must ask your aid-- While your home would be an appreciated opportunity to rest..,"

Tea glances back to offer the group an apologetic stare,

"We cannot linger... Its no guarantee we're out of the woods just yet. Theres another place, one much safer than the middle of the woods-- I just..,"

She glances around, the familiar forest and its natural scents riling those old memories once more... Childhood memories, even, but not enough to navigate the woods blindly,

"I dont know how to get there from here."

Turning to the group Tea remarks hesitantly,

"If we can make it to the North-Eastern most tip between the Ghostlands and Eversong Woods we can gather safely at my childhood home..,"

Glancing over her shoulder she'd peer up toward Kretus to explain,

"You aren't safe in these woods anymore, after having contact with us. Come with us? Lead us, even, since you know these woods well?"

Pame grunts as the weight of Marseille begins to dawn on her tired muscles, huffing out in aggravation,

"Choose quickly."

@siidaraykashebahl

@pyravari-kashebahl

@frompage112

@thebladeitself

@whatadarkbitch

@zandalaridruidofgonk

@miss-irascible

To be continued in “In Mind of Misery, Manipulation, Part 13″

[hotcaramelmachiatto]

Sanji x Reader

Imagine: Sanji has been earning for something, but he can't seem to figure out what. Until you walk into the kitchen.

Pairing: Sanji x Fem! Reader

Warning: SINFULLLLLL! NSFW!! Oral (female receiving. Cum kink??? If you look super close?? Its a dirty birdy.

It was rather late at night, the soft rocking of the Thousand Sunny lulling everyone else to a peaceful sleep- well aside from Usopp who was squirming around and mumbling something about wanting more food- but Sanji stood in the kitchen hunched over.

He stared intensely at the ingredients on the kitchen counter with a gaze that would make one wonder how they weren’t minced from the daggers he shot at them. For days, now, he has been craving something. For what, he couldn’t quite place his finger on it.

Something sweet, something thick, something to quench his thirst and full hiim up like no other. Something never ending. Something. Something. Something-

“Sanji?” Your voice pulled him out of his trance. You were standing there in a pair of f/c shorts and a matching tank top. No bra.

“Y/n-swan? What are you doing up?” He stood up straight and reached into his pocket in search of a cigarette, fully prepared to break his rule of no smoking in the kitchen if it meant you didn’t get to see him so rattled, but unfortunately for him, he had none left. You rubbed your e/c eyes and shrugged.

“I got thirsty and I wanted something to drink. What about you? You look a little shaken up. Did you have a nightmare?” Your voice was like honeyed nectar. You were just being your kind, sweet self, no hidden motives, no lustful hints, just your sweet self. But the joke would be on him if he thought for even a moment that he didn’t want you.

You smelled so good, even from the distance you had between yourselves. If you were being as honest as him, he looked absolutely ravenous. There was a droplet of sweat on his temple, sliding down his pale skin, his eyes were darkened with a lust you’ve never seen before.

A beast.

That’s almost what he looked like. All from a simple question.

“No, Y/n-swan. I’m fine,” he gave her a small smile before walking to the fridge. “Would you like anything in particular? I could make you a smoothie or something, if you like, Y/n-swan.”

The way your name rolled of his tongue almost had you begging.

Begging?

For what, exactly?

“Some milk will be fine, thank you, Sanji.” You leaned against the counter, knowing he only stuck his face in the fridge for you so he could focus on something other than you. It was no use. You were tempting him. You had to be.

The way your h/l locks looked so perfect all matted up from your pillow, how your hips swayed when you walked, the way your breasts were just demanding for his eyes to stay completely locked on them. Of course, he was way too much of a gentleman to stare, except he couldn’t help but look out of the corner of his eye.

You were too delicious. He knew you were watching him too, the way he moved around the kitchen with practiced hands. He was tempting you as well. A part of him, the part that was clinging to the last thread of sanity keeping him from pouncing on her, hoped that she took her glass of milk and vacated the room before that shred of sanity and reason slipped from his grasp.

He handed you the glass of milk, your fingers brushing over each other so softly but there was so much electricity in just that simple little bit of contact. Said simple little bit of contact was more satisfying than anything Sanji had experienced in a while. He knew you felt it as well when you let out a small gasp and bit your plump lip. Suddenly, all he wanted was a taste.

Your lips looked so smooth and pink and warm and- God there were so many adjectives he could use but none of them satisfied him.

He watched you intently, unable to even hide his gaze, as you brought that glass to your lips and sucked down the liquid. Even though you were drinking something now, your throat was almost dry and you could feel his gaze on you as you drank.

‘How can drinking a glass of milk look so sexy?’

Sanji stepped closer. It was maddening, this thirst, this hunger, this lust for something to satiate him. It drove every bit of reason out of his body. He needed you. You needed him, he could see it.

The way your eyes traveled over him, and not just in this moment; when he pranced around the kitchen, when he and the green Morimo argued, when he shamelessly flirted with you, when he brought you little treats during the day, your eyes always followed after him whether you knew it or not.

One thing you did know, however, was that you needed him. Now.

Sanji wasted no time pulling you to his chest and pressing your lips to him.

Lord, even the softest of silks couldn’t compare to the velvet that was your lips. You were sweet, almost sickeningly so, and your mouth was cold from the milk despite your heated skin. His tongue sweeped against your lower lip and you complied, looping your arms around his neck. He lifted you off the floor and distributed you on the kitchen counter, his soft tongue mingling with yours. He tasted like cigarettes and sweets. It was intoxicating.

A deep, animalistic groan left his throat as his hands wandered over the thin fabric of your tank top, afraid to go much further than this without verbal consent.

You let out a desperate moan and pulled him in closer, looping your arms around his neck. He groaned while his hands slipped under your shirt to slide across your smooth skin before pulling away softly.

“Tell me you want this, Y/n-swan. My sweet, I know you want this but I need to hear you say it.” He pleaded like a starved man pleading for food, desperate, hungry, frantic. Your breaths mingled in the centimeters of space between your plush lips and his slightly chapped ones. The look in his eyes held so much intensity you couldn’t look away even if someone walked in on you two now. His hands were gripping you as if you would disappear on him if he let go.

“Yes, Sanji, please.” You hardly got those words out before he was on you again, kissing, nipping, sucking on your lips like they were a fine delicacy. He groaned and pressed you closer for dear life.

Closer. Closer. Closer. More.

He pulled your tank top off with a great urgency, unable to hold himself back. He wanted to unwrap you like a present just for him and devour you like the beast he had inside. It was almost too much for him to handle.

You smell, your moans, your touch it was driving him wild. He brought your nipple into his mouth, earning a sweet moan from your mouth. He could only imagine how it would feel to be inside that hot, wet cavern of yours but today wasn’t about that. It was about satisfying both of you, your desire and his hunger.

He sucked on your nipple while one hand toyed with your other breast, rolling the nipple around with his fingers. You squeaked and ran your fingers through his silky blonde hair. You arched your body into his touch, your movements almost matching how starved Sanji’s were.

Gentle touches of an unexplored area became more frantic movements with practiced hands. Sanji trailed his mouth down, leaving heated open mouthed kisses in his wake, to your belly button and down even further. He looked up at your flushed face once again to ask permission. As heated and frenzied as he was, he wasn’t going to do anything without your allowing him to do so.

You nodded, bringing your hands to your face to hide your embarrassment.

“Beautiful.” He breathed out before slipping your shorts off in one fluid motion. Your smell was so sickeningly sweet he was almost drunk off it.

He licked a long, soft strip from your slit all the way to that small bundle of nerves at the top. He attacked your button relentlessly and groaned. He could drown now in your sweet slick and die a happy man, indulging in this sweet nectarous treat.

This is what he needed.

This could satisfy him for hours, just as he planned to satisfy you for hours.

You were to devilishyly sweet and the obscene noises your core and mouth were making only tempted him further to create more noises from you. Sanji smoothly dipped in and out of your slit, shoveling more juices into his mouth like he had never tasted anything so delicious.

“God, I could eat you up in one bite.” He purred before sucking on that candied button, making you arch your trembling body into him further.

His mouth and hands, stroking your thighs, holding your hips down at the angle he wanted them, had you absolutely writhing beneath his hold, trembling as his vice grip kept you still. The coil in your stomach tightened and loosened with every teasing flick of his tongue. From your position you could see his head bob with the ravenous movements of his hot muscle working you closer and closer.

Sanji’s hands dragged you ever closer to him, his tongue working in and out of your luscious velvet folds while his nose was at the perfect spot to give stimulations to your clit, but it wasn’t enough. He needed more. You were like a bowl of honey and sugar and milk and he needed this sugar high. He needed to ravage you like a wild beast eating meat for the first time in years. He was getting drunk off your taste and smell alone and your voice only egged him on.

Your loud moans and pleading wails turned to soft whimpers and squeaks when you brought your hand to your mouth. That ruthless tongue of his flicked over your trapped clit, your toes curling at the throbbing pulsating ache in the pit of your stomach. You were so so close. You gripped his hair in desperation, trying your damnedest to grind against him for more but he held you down, the slow torture giving him his favorite reaction out of you.

“Sanji~” You voice was a few octaves higher and your face was contorted in pleasure, your frame shaking and your expression utterly wrecked. The way his name rolled off your tongue was like angels singing in his ears.

You were so close. You needed it. More. Please. Give it. Take. Please. More. Closer.

He was addicted.

The sweet sugary scent, the savoury thickness of your rich slick had him in a haze. He slurped you up like a fine cuisine. You tasted so damn sweet, so warm, so scrumtuous, so fucking good.

“Please, Sanji, please, so close, closer, more, Sanji- I-I’m gonna, need it, so close- Sanji, please, please!” You were pleading for mercy and God had you not had enough? It was such torture. But such a sweet torture.

Sanji heard you loud and clear. He buried his tongue as deep as he could while this thumb painted swirls in your button, making you squirm and shake and convulse around him in the midst of an absolutely explosive orgasm.

Sanji worked you through it, his tongue tightly clenched in the vice grip of your sweet, soft walls while his thumb worked out down softly. You were nothing but a panting puddle of sweet honeyed milk Sanji was quickly cleaning up for you.

As your mind started to return you could finally see what Sanji was reduced to himself. He had your juices dripping from his chin, on his cheeks, clinging to hair hair, and dripping off his nose. He licked you up carefully, knowing how sensitive your bud was after such an intense climax. He licked his sinful lips with an even more sinful tongue. You now knew from experience.

“You’re delicious, Y/n. I could have you for every meal of the day.” He purred softly and licked his thumb.

“I can bet you taste just as good.” You countered, an evil smirk playing its way onto your lips. Sanji stopped and gasped when you stroked him with the palm of your hand. You weren’t the only one completely affected by this session of yours. “Its my turn to taste you.”

[anathemafiction]

Three Sunrises

Commission made by the wonderfully supportive @dizzy-tx.

The Pitch: Clumsy blushy MC+ blushy awkward Hadrian combo. Featuring Aura, the perky sweetheart with a fondness for animals, and Hadrian.

Fluff so sweet it will rot your teeth.

2.8k words

Hadrian was sure he would die any moment now. 

It had seemed like such a good idea at first. They had three days before the ship was to leave arbor. Three days in this remote outpost, with barely enough size to be called a village, in a tiny island right in the middle of the Mediterranean sea. 

Three full days Hadrian would get to spend with you. And even if just walking through the peaceful Greek gardens alongside you, or sit by a rock near the cliffs, in quiet company. Even if all you both did was listen for the twentieth time to that old bent woman go on a maddened rant about pigeons, and Hadrian would be blessed to hear your snorting laughter once again and witness your reddening cheeks, and...

Even if doing any of these again was enough to bring a nervous flutter to his chest, and a hopeful pressure on his stomach, and slip his lips wide in the kind of smile Alessa always deemed foolish, he had gone and suggested you two sparred in the mornings. 

And now here you stand, long wavy blond hair tied high in your head, exposing the fair, elegant lines of your throat. Wearing a sleeveless shirt much too thin for his sanity, and light leggings and small feet bare. Looking up at him with bright green eyes and a grin on your red, full lips, and Hadrian just now realizes his mistake. 

Much too late. 

Oh Lord thou in Heaven.

"I'm sorry, I'm late, I had to brush Billy's mane. It was full of twigs and leaves. I have no idea where he ran off to, but well..." you sigh lightly, your grin morphing to a tender smile like it always does whenever you mention your horse. It's something Hadrian is fond about you. 

Your devotion to that stubborn animal. "Well, you know how he is," you laugh and walk closer. His own green eyes, deeper than yours, darker, are instantly drawn to your neck. A few golden locks had come apart from the leather tie and clang to your skin. 

Gold in the morning sun. Radiant. He ignored the tingle in his fingers that long to tuck them into place. 

Oh, this has been a very, very bad idea. 

"But here I am, ready for anything you deem to-" your feet get tangled in one another, and next thing Hadrian knows, he's diving forth to catch your smaller body within the safety of his arms. Your head hits his chest, nose clashing in what can only be painfully against his collarbone, and his hands grab hold of your upper arms to steady your wavering legs. 

"Aura!" he calls, staring worriedly down at you. Your forehead is red, and you're blinking away the instant tears that have risen to your eyes. You bring a hand to your nose, and his brow lowers. 

You are amazing with your daggers. Fast and precise. Deadly when needed be. But somehow, you managed to simultaneously be the most clumsy person he has ever met. Hadrian has watched you trip, stumble, stagger and clash far too many times to count. 

It made his heart leap every time. It kept him up at night. He knows all it takes is one wrong move, one wrong turn. And you could be taken away from him, just like so many others. 

It made him never want to leave your side. 

"I- thank you," you say, your eyes suddenly too big, and Hadrian's hands fly away from your touch when he spots a red hue tinging your cheekbones. By God, but are you beautiful.

He swallows. "Of course," he says, bobbing his head up and down, feeling like the biggest fool in the world. What is he supposed to do with his hands? Hadrian clutches his cross, its holy shape grounding. Good Lord, he could feel his ears warming. 

You were staring down at your feet, lightly biting your lower lip. His eyes can't help but trace the movement. He gulps, and suddenly, the air is much too warm. 

A silence falls between you. Something that seems to be happening with more and more frequency. These charged silences, stretching and long. Awkward and clumsy and inexperienced. And so terribly exciting. 

At last, Hadrian coughs, and your eyes fly up, back to his own. He flushes harder but strengths his resolve. "Well, uh. Let's start, maybe?" he asks you, unsheathing his sword, pushing all stray thoughts away. 

They would seize this three days to hopefully work on improving your balance. And he would focus on what mattered: Increasing your odds of survival. 

You nod back, face settling into a hard line. Focused. Hadrian did [not] think of how adorable it made you look. You spin your daggers between clever fingers and bounce on your toes. "I'm ready," you say, and leap towards him, and this time, your step stays true. 

Chest heaving, brow drenched in sweat, and shirt clinging uncomfortably to his back. His arms are tired from holding his greatsword, but a wide smile brightens his face. Hadrian lifts a hand when the sun is almost at its peak and straightens up. "I think that's enough for today," he says, and laughs from deep in his belly when you deflate so suddenly, you almost fall to the ground. 

"Oh, good," you say, breathing erratically, skin red from exercise, but your smile is as wide as his. "Any minute now, and I would have fainted. And then you, Hadrian, would have to be forced to call for help and I'd thus soiled the good Company's name in this tiny, little island."

He laughs again, eyes crinkling at the corners, as the both of you begin to walk side by side towards the old lodge you're staying in. Eager for a bath. "Oh no, I'd tell them you collapsed protecting the coast from scary pirates," he teases back and takes delight in how your eyes shine at him. "They'd be forced to treat you as a hero instead."

You smile, shaking your head, and his heart leaps at the sigh. Hadrian loves your smile. He wishes he could always make you smile. "That would just inflate my remarkably overblown ego."

Your feet pause by the stairs that lead to your room, slim hand on top of the balustrade. Hadrian turns serious. "Aura, you were great today," he says in a low tone, pride blooming in his chest. "Same time tomorrow?"

Your green eyes freeze on his face for a moment, but before Hadrian can question it, you're breaking eye contact and staring down at your feet instead. That same pretty red on your lovely cheeks. His neck heats. You bite your lip, Hadrian's knees falter. 

"I-" you hesitate and then peak up at him from beneath your lashes, and he's honestly surprised his heart doesn't just tear open a hole in his chest with how fast it's beating. "I would like that, Hadrian," you say in a low voice, tone shy. 

He will never tire to hear his name on your lips. "Right," he nods. Scratches the back of his neck. You smile at him, tentatively, and he takes one stumbling step back. "Right. Tomorrow, then. I, uh. Goodbye."

And then, he's turning away. Walking as fast as he can, cursing his dumb, foolish tongue and his awkwardness and thinking only of your shy, gentle smile. 

Oh Lord. But I will not survive this.

(...)

Here is morning one! Two more to go 👀 The full commission is available on Ko-fi for one-time supporters (this includes those who have requested a commission or donated!) or monthly subscribers!

The Commission

This one was honestly a blast to write. My pen was just flying over the paper. I hope you like it, Dizzy! 🖤

Do you want to request a commission yourself? Or are just feeling generous? Here is the link to the Ko-fi (◠‿◠✿)

[aalinastarkova]

Odazai mini fic 20 (if youll do two 17 as well! Please)

Requested from the Mini fic list! 20- things you said that i wasn’t supposed to hear 17- things you said that i wish you hadn’tI’ve incorporated both into the following fic, the first one is a little bit of a stretch but, it’s fine, right? anyways-three years later i bring you: {TRUTH.}or read on AO3

nine.

Two gunshots.

His eyes shoot open, stare into the darkness of his room. The air is silent and the sheet over his open window rustles as he pushes the blanket off his body. Getting up, the boy walks to the doorway, stands there, little hands clasped around the doorframe. He listens. It’s quiet. There’s no more loud noises. He walks, his little feet barefoot on the wood. “Hello?” he says, entering the other room. It’s dark, he steps in something wet and he looks down. “Mom?”

Her hair is like spilled coffee across the ground and surrounding her head is something else, a widening puddle of water. He stares. “Dad?”

He’s slumped. Head askew. He doesn’t answer.

He turns on the light and stares at the red, stares at the holes in their heads. His hands start shaking, his knees knock together. He drops, shakes his mother’s shoulders. She won’t get up, she won’t look at him, only past him with glassy brown eyes. He’s crying, he doesn’t know when he started, but they sprinkle down his cheeks like crystals. He’s shouting, he doesn’t know when he started, but the words burn at his throat and he doesn’t know what he’s saying.

The floor creaks and the boy’s head jerks over. The door flaps against the frame. He shouts: “No! Take me too! Kill me too!”

The police find him curled, his clothes blooded and his hands in his mother’s shirt.

eighteen.

The smoke singes Dazai’s nostrils when he arrives, his hands curled into fists beneath his sleeves. For once he’s glad they’re too long, no one, not even Odasaku, can see how tightly he’s clenching his muscles. He stares at the burst of fire red hair and the black smoke curling towards the clouds fat with tears. There’s a lump somewhere at the back of his throat, but he swallows it. He hasn’t cried in years.

When the minutes creep, they’re terrible and every syllable that drops from Odasaku’s mouth tightens the pit of panic in Dazai’s gut. Please, he thinks. Please don’t go, Odasaku. But nothing he says is the right thing, the wiring glitching somewhere between the sentiment in his head and the words that leave his tongue. But he knows he’s not lying, he wouldn’t lie to this man before him. Or rather the broken shell of his best friend.

Thunder ripples. Lightning flashes. He reaches out, he grabs a fistful of Odasaku’s jacket and for a terrible second he things Oda will slip right out of it. “Odasaku,” he gasps, the panic dripping, overflowing, “don’t go.” A thousand words make circles in his battered brain. There’s only one thing for me now, Oda had said and Dazai is terribly aware that they’ve switched places. That Dazai is the one begging his friend to realize that there is more to this world, that something will change! That Oda has to be alive to face that next sunrise!

Oda pushes his hand off and Dazai flinches back, curls into himself. The spot where Oda touched him burns, and he stares at it for a moment before looking back up to Oda, visible eye wide. His lip trembles and he’s grateful that it’s started to rain because if he cries it will mask his tears. “Odasaku-” he trembles.

Oda speaks and his voice rumbles from his chest like the thunder. It’s a rough timbre, filled with emotion and yet so terribly void of anything but remorse and hurt. “When I was an assassin there were these two people. A man and a woman. They didn’t fight, they didn’t even know I was after them. I didn’t remember a lot about them. I actually forgot about their kid until now.”

Dazai starts, “What does that matter no-”

Oda keeps going, “He shouted after me too.” Oda’s eyes are dark, he’s looking right at Dazai and Dazai feels his throat tighten. He wants to lunge forward, to shove his hand over Oda’s mouth and beg him to stop, to not say another word. He doesn’t. His hands clench.

Oda says, “He told me to kill him too. They were your parents weren’t they, Dazai? The man and woman? That was your parents.”

Dazai is the one to look away, to shake his head, to bite back a lie building on his tongue. His hands are shaking, his stomach is in knots as a hundred repressed emotions spread through his body. They shiver down his spine, curl his toes in his shoes and his nails bite into his palms. No, he wants to say. No, they were someone else’s parents. He knows Oda would see right through his lie, so he swallows, breathes. “Yeah. But-” he hurries forward, breath tearing from him like a terrified jackrabbit, “But that was years ago! It doesn’t matter!” His fingers itch forward, begging him to grab onto Oda and not let go.

“Stop,” trembles Oda, shaking his head. His eyes are wide, there’s a breakdown on his lips and the quiver of his voice. “Just stop, Dazai. It does matter, dammit!” It’s the second time Oda’s raised his voice at Dazai. “I killed your parents. I killed your parents without even thinking.”

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. He remembers the blood under his nails, the smell of gunpowder and his parents’ fleeting lives hanging in the air. He remembers a man leading him away, he remembers watching the house disappear. He remembers the funeral and he remembers a thousand people all saying, “what do we do with him?” He remembers he remembers he remembers a million fucking things he tried to keep caged.

He wants Oda to stop talking.

“You were hired weren’t you? They had to have done something wrong. Something to deserve it!”

Yes, that’s it. Oda wouldn’t kill them without reason. Dazai’s parents are the enemy.

Oda grabs him. Shakes him. Once. Hard.

Dazai’s head bobs and he hugs his arms, staring up at his friend as the redhead retreats. “Odasaku,” he cries, “please, don’t go.”

Oda goes and Dazai fractures a little more. He screams, grits his teeth and runs to Mori because the child in his brain tells him Mori will have an answer. Mori will let him get together men to rescue Oda. Mori, for all his faults, wouldn’t let someone like Oda die.

(He knows Mori’s not innocent. Not in this. Yet, he goes. And the seconds tick.)

ten’i muhou.

Two gunshots. Blood and gunsmoke hovers in the air. Oda breathes it in like it’s curry spice, sighs it out like it’s cigarette smoke. There’s a thousand etches of taken lives on his ribcage, he takes the second between them to count it all over it again. Gide breathes his name like it’s a prayer, trembles then collapses backwards. The hole in his heart leaks life down his breast and his gun clatters away like the last broken beats of his twisted metal heart.

The door crashes, Oda pivots and his gun arm comes up. Standing in the door with a gasp hitching on his face, is Dazai. The redhead pauses, stares. “Oh,” he sighs, “Dazai. It’s you.” His fingers loosen. Good. He won’t have to kill anyone else. He doesn’t know when he let go of the gun, but he hears it skitter away from him like a frightened mouse. His knees go weak and he lets go, expects the floor to crash up against his back like a pool of frigid water.

Arms catch him, cradle him. Hands press to his chest, his breath catches. He stares upwards into a single amber eye and he breathes slowly. Dazai. His lips move and the words crash into him like bullets.

“Odasaku, you’re an idiot! Why did you come here!”

Oda knows they both know why. He doesn’t say. He mumbles, “It doesn’t matter now.” It feels harsh and the dagger tip of his own callous words twists in his gut. Of course it matters. The explosion plays through his memory. He closes his eyes. Opens them, stares past Dazai’s head to the sunlight catching on the large chandeliers.

He looks back to Dazai. “There’s something I want to tell you,” he says. “You have to listen.” His hand moves on its own, slides up to cup Dazai’s cheek and his friend leans into the touch with a closed eye. He bows forward and Oda watches words struggle on his lips.

“What is it?” whispers Dazai, opening his eye and placing his own hand atop Oda’s. Dazai’s hand is warm. Oda sees the blood on his fingertips.

“You told me you were searching for a reason to live, but you won’t find it in the mafia. You won’t find it in a world of blood and suffering, you know that too. Nothing beyond what you would expect will occur if you keep on that path.” The words come from the patch of selfishness steadily growing and overtaking him like a disease. He knows what he is. He knows he’s not a good man, he knows he’s taken countless lives including the lives of Dazai’s parents. God, he thinks, has finally punished him for that crime. He took a child’s parents from him, and so God sent a devil to take away Oda’s own children.

He powers on as sleep tugs at him and Dazai’s lip quivers above him. “Do something for me. Be on the side that saves people, if good and bad don’t mean anything, at least do something good… protect the orphans, save the weak… become a good man. that would make you even more beautiful.“

Dazai’s closer than before, he’s curled almost completely over Oda. Their noses nearly brush. He asks, “How do you know, Odasaku?”

“Of course I know. I’ve always known,” Oda murmurs back. “Because I am your friend.” His eyes close and the darkness pulls him under, a single breath sliding free from his lips. Finally, he thinks, I will find peace.

reason living.

Oda opens his eyes, the sunlight is amber and Dazai’s voice meets his ears first. The brunette’s hand tangles with his and Oda glances to him, takes in the scruffy quality to his hair and the bags hovering beneath his eyes. Oda’s alive and the hurt of it lingers in his chest, a dull ache spreading from the stitches.

Dazai hugs him and it’s warm and safe and despite everything, Dazai is still his comfort and his rock. Safety.

The hours blur. Oda comes in and out of sleep, his body demanding he treat it with respect. Dazai is always there when he wakes, and they trade sleepy words. A nurse brings Oda food and he eats it slowly. It’s not curry and it’s not good, but he eats it because Dazai insists and when he’s managed to eat some, he insists that Dazai finish it. Once they’ve both eaten, they sit like ghosts and then Dazai turns to Oda with the sun in his eyes.

“Come save people with me, Odasaku.” His smile is wide, his eye is wide and he looks like a child.

Oda frowns. “Do you really think I deserve that?”

Dazai’s smile is knowing and careful. He leans forward, pats Oda’s cheek. “I know you do.”

“How?” He leans forward too, lets Dazai’s knuckles brush against his cheekbone. His eyes implore, search and Dazai bumps their noses together.

“Because, Odasaku,” he smiles, “I am your friend.”

after.

Oda finds peace in the little things. In the sigh of relief Dazai gives him when they trade his black jacket for one at the back of Oda’s closet. They burn the black coat in an alley and Dazai skips all the way back to Oda’s apartment, where Oda sits him down and peels the bandages away from his eye. Dazai holds his breath and when it’s off and Oda tucks Dazai’s hair behind his ear and smiles some fragile broken thing.

Dazai asks: “How do I look?”

Beautiful, Oda thinks. He doesn’t say that, he kisses Dazai’s forehead and gets up.

They bury the kids by the sea and they let the salty air ruffle their hair. On the way back, Oda’s hand finds Dazai and neither says a word about it the entire way back. When night falls, they meet Taneda at his usual haunt and Dazai smiles wide and asks where they can do work that saves people. They leave with a two year sentence to the underground, but Oda doesn’t mind. He takes the news with stride and Dazai’s fingers curl around his own.

“At least,” says the brunette, “I’ll have Odasaku!”

Oda finds healing in the small things. In the way Dazai’s nose feels as it brushes against Oda’s skin when they sleep curled together. He finds it in the laughter Dazai gives him on rare nights when they drink cheap rum from plastic cups and the sunlight catching on those beautiful amber eyes. He finds it a year later in the ocean spray and the kids’ graves. He asks that they rest in peace and cries silent tears for the lives he lost that day.

Then, he finds his reason to live in the setting sunlight and Dazai’s smile and the way their lips fit together when Oda surges forward without thought to kiss him. He finds peace in the way Dazai gasps into his mouth before his arms slide around his waist and Oda’s hands find their way into Dazai’s hair.

He finds safety in leaning his head into Dazai’s hair and murmuring: “I love you, Dazai Osamu,” for all the times he thought it and never said it.

“I love you too, Odasaku.”

[sable-longclaw-blog]

Day One.

[[ Medium-ish NSFW: Language and Argus violence! War! This is the Eighth Part to the series of stories revolving around Mace and Sable that we’ve been writing together! Parts 1-7 are listed below! Its long af, btw. These events took place -yesterday-.]]

Part 1 :: Part 2 :: Part 3 :: Part 4 :: Part 5 :: Part 6 :: Part 7 

Landing upon Argus had been something of tumultuous magnitude, watching that other ship crash, the one that everyone was gasping about, needing them to win this war. Various units of every military on Azeroth were being deployed this way and that. Agent Seven had all his unit, including Sable, posed as some special ops team. Of course, in reality that wasn’t far from the truth, and thanks to the badges they had received from their dreadlocked leader, they were sent on through and placed at Krokul Hovel.

Fel cracked and sparked through nearly every part of the atmosphere. Sentinax ships were already being taken down and war was waged as the very first boots settled upon the corrupted ground below them. Mace had been upon her mind heavily the whole way to Argus, though his image was replaced rapidly by what was going on before her eyes. She had no idea what the people they were talking to were called, those that looked like Draenei, but weren’t, legion forces trying to push their way into the hovel while peace and understanding between old allies were trying to be made.

What seemed like hours passed had only been moments. Strict orders were passed in discreet whispers among the Uncrowned Agents of the unit, slowly fading into and away from the crowd. They weren’t here for politics. They weren’t here to watch old enemies become allies. They were here to do what they could to take out as many Legion strongholds on the planet that they could. They didn’t need the rest of it. And, they were sure they would not be missed.

They found themselves deep within Krokuun, moving northward towards what they would later learn to be the Annilhilan Pits. They were all deeply shrouded with shadow magic and tech alike, mostly unable to be seen or detected save for by one another. They had hoped they would be able to feel out the area and gain as much intelligence as possible before a strike would take place, starting here and moving out through the wasteland planet. They didn’t know how short lived that notion and hope would be. Not until....

CRACK!

Fel fire burst right before them, sending the first two agents taking the head flying back as nothing but singed corpses. “Move, move, move!” shouted Agent Seven desperately, waving his hands. “Take cova!” he commanded as all eyes went to the sky then. Sentinax ships were dropping what appeared to be -bombs- down on the land below. All around them they could hear those explosions, and the distant cries of men and women as they were hit, either injured or killed. It was at that moment, they knew they would have to take every precaution necessary in order to complete their missions and go the fuck home.

One after another, those sick green balls of fire slammed to the cracked ground below. Agent Seven was now at the head of the group, peering around a large spire, trying to formulate a way into the place before them. “Mn.. Seems they do not call this the Annilhilan Pits for not’ing, aye?” he huffed out looking down at his map for but a moment. A map he stole, mind you. He soon found his goggle covered eyes peering into that of Sable’s, or known to him as Agent Twelve. Some look of knowing passed between them before both sets of eyes turned ahead again, those behind them anxiously awaiting orders.

“You ain’t fuckin’ kiddin’...” Sable responded in a near murmur, carefully peering before her in hopes of looking for a path out of here. Before she was thrown into this unit, she was mostly use to working on her own. This team effort was still something she was getting use to, but thankfully to Agent Seven’s patience and kindness, she was learning in leaps and bounds. Golden orbs narrowed behind the dark tinted frames of her goggles. “Look right there. Fuckin’ path cut out through a small valley just a bit more to the left.” She then boldly tugged Agent Seven’s armor upon his shoulder, pulling him towards her. “Can’t see it from where you were sittin’.. But can ya now? S’got ample cover from those shit shootin’ ships.”

Dreadlocks were bobbed this way and that as the other agent gave a few rapid nods of his head, “Yes.. yes. I see it.” He then looked upwards, frowning beneath his mask, truly wondering what the fuck they were sent here for in the first place. He knew his unit was rumored as the Suicide Brigade, but these people took it a little too seriously. “I am unsure if we can all make it, but we must try if we wish to see what we need to. Everyone, to the shadows. We move -now-.” he ordered then, taking the first steps out of their current cover, fading into the environment to the naked eye. 

All of them followed suit, Sable close behind their leader. They weaved and bobbed their way through flashes of fel-fire and loud explosions at every side of them. Foot falls moved swiftly, though still barely evaded the hell that rained down on them, cover barely found beneath the over hanging rock above their heads amidst the valley they had found. “Fuck...” Sable murmured softly, keeping to her shadows, eyes wondering about quickly and watchfully. She nearly bumped right into her leader as he came to a dead stop. Chuckling... the asshole was chuckling. Dark brows beneath the goggles furrowed heavily as she looked first to him and then ahead of them. That is when she saw hordes of demons ahead of them, mostly Doomguards. The ground began quaking then at that moment, nearly shaking them off their footing. A large Fel-reaver stepped OVER the valley as if it were nothing but a small crack in the earth.

Agent Seven continued to chuckle. “Welcome to Argus, friends.” he sighed then, preparing to move them forwards and through. “Keep in mind.. this is only day one.” he finished with another light laugh, trying to keep spirits up and alive. It was only then that Sable took a brief moment to look upwards from where they stood, staring at Azeroth now hanging above them. In the face of what appeared to be certain death ahead of them, only one person and name entered her mind. Mace....

Headlong into the crowd of demons they ran, not giving her much time to dwell on the love she left behind. Every move she made and every sweep of her daggers, though, would be made for him. Every dirty trick she pulled to lay waste to these fel-eating sons of bitches would be a mark towards her way back home, and that is what she had to keep in her mind. 

Closer and closer, they were encroaching upon the demons, their footsteps silent as the grave. Suddenly they all heard, “NOW!” whispered out through their ear pieces, all at different points of interest within the first wave of demons they were to encounter. Neither had to look at the other to know where they were, each of them with at least two demons to every agent. This is what they have trained for... they were finally in the thick of it and now was time to prove themselves.

Shadows swirled from about Sable’s person, the rune upon her hand glowing brightly beneath the leather that covered her palm. It appeared as a thick smoke emitting from all sides of her, especially from her hands and beneath the hood that covered her head, leaving only the foreboding shine of her goggles beneath it. She appeared before the Doomguard before he could react, one dagger entering right beneath his chin and upwards into his skull, the other into his chest. She gave a twist of both, a swift kick to the demon’s abdomen, pulling her daggers free and leaving it to die upon the ground. To die for good, for every demon that fell upon Argus was forever gone, and had no chance of coming back. Quickly, in a flurry of smoke she was gone from sight again, though not before being spotted by a red-skinned Eredar summoner. A bolt of fel was thrown the agent’s way, striking her on the side of her arm, and knocking her concentration off track.

Revealed once again, Sable looked into the terrifying, burning eyes of the darkly clad woman ahead of her. Those horns, the red skin, and the look of demise in her gaze was almost enough for the dark-skinned assassin to lose her wits. In all her training, she was not prepared to face this foe, none ever being caught so they could simulate it. She found her composure and the shock value of the being was soon lost on her. Teeth grit together behind her cloth mask, her cloak billowing behind her in the winds of the atmosphere, she couldn’t pay attention to the battle that was being fought around her, though it was waged loudly and those bombs were still being dropped all around.

Quite softly, a grin formed upon her plush tiers behind their cover, her hand suddenly going up and then down. A large burst of smoke formed all around her, though that thing began casting another ill-willed spell. Sable moved through the veil of thick smoke, her goggles allowing her to see the heat signature of the being through it all. She ignored the burning and bleeding of her arm, ignoring the fact it could probably smell her location - if that were a thing they could do. Her efforts proved true, weaving and dodging through figures that did their best to unintentionally get in her way, those of the war of her unit around her. Just as the spell was nearly complete, the Eredar’s demonic tongue spewing from her lips, a leg raised from the smoke as did a body.

Sable held her daggers pointed outwards, her hands held close to her body as she went upwards and delivered a hard round-house kick to the crimson caster’s face, sending her stumbling back with black and fel tainted blood spat from her mouth. The Eredar was enraged, sending a shrieking squaw through the air! “Bitch...” the agent muttered beneath her breath, grinning madly now. It was in that instant that she was no longer Sable, but that dark thing that rested within her now, allowing the shadows that Agent Twelve had vested within her speak to her, she being the vessel of their unbridled will. She was a killer, a cold blooded murderer. She had never shown mercy to any other race on Azeroth she was sent after, and no mercy would be shown for these creatures that threatened her future, and the lives of those she loved.

Smoke began to clear about them and each could see the other, hooves making for Sable at a dead run, staff raise to strike. The Uncrowned agent stood her ground, not moving until absolutely necessary, sweeping to the side and vanishing in a flood of shadows only to appear behind the vicious being she faced. Two quick stabs were delivered to the Eredar, directly into her kidney. She was sent screaming again, whipping around with her staff.. such Sable had not been expecting.

THWACK! The woman was struck right in the side of her face with its blunt end, causing her to fall back upon the ground. “GODDAMMIT!” she shouted out in frustration, holding her face and feeling blood start to pour out of her mouth from the wound caused inside of it, as well as down her face from the gash caused to her cheek. She barely heard Agent Seven calling out to her, ears ringing from the blow. Albeit a bit dazed, she was able to enable another smoke bomb to flood around her, such being her only option at the moment. The timing could not be better as the Eredar made her way to stand over top of Sable, peering down at her with a menacing grin. “You cannot stop zeh Legion.” she purred out down to her target, breathing heavily and limping slightly from her wounds. It was obvious, though, that she wasn’t going to die easily. Sable just huffed, the smoke starting to flood the area.

Before the assassin was completely out of view of her assailant, she looked into her eyes once more time, smirking. “Toodaloo, mother fucker.” she laughed out before vanishing all together once more, those voided shadows mingling with smoke again. Once more, she was nearing to strike the thing, the rest of the demons down and all agents circling this foul creature, all covered in their shadows. 

BOOM!

A blast of fire shot straight towards the Eredar, leaving NOTHING of her behind. Most of them were thrown back from the blast, but the few that were still upon two feet just sort of stared and looked among one another. “Fuck’s sake!” Sable blurted out in a pained cry as the rest of them began to regain themselves and came to stand together. She was closest to the creature, and the blast wave had hit her the hardest. Luckily, she was still far enough away that she only took minimal damage, and mostly from being slammed against the rock behind her. Blurry eyed she looked in the direction the rest of them were, noting familiar purple and white tabards though the debris of smoke and crumbling rock. The Kirin Tor Offensive, it was.

She felt her arm grabbed then and she was quickly pulled to her feet despite the pain she felt through her body. She knew the battle wasn’t over, and she had to recover quickly. A vial of healing elixir was pulled to her lips, Agent Seven dragging her away from the scene. “Get that in you, Agent Twelve, quickly now!” he ordered as she drank the horrid tasting liquid back, cringing as she immediately felt it starting to work on her. They did not speak to the mages that had saved them. They didn’t even thank them. More carnage and possible death awaited them ahead and they had work to do, and they didn’t have time to explain who they were or form allegiances, even in these dire times. Into the shadows they went once more, combing through demons. By the time they made their way to the first stronghold they were to take out, they suffered three casualties.

And this ... was just day one.

( @macelongclaw )

[umberleedevoted]

#14 The Drowning

The pair walked into the oppressively dripping cavern side by side. Only accompanied by darkness and a small oil lantern.  One figure thin and graceful, the other slender but still strong. Their forms covered by thick,simple, hooded canvas robes. Water dripped from the roof of the cavern- the only noise to cut the silence.

“I don't see why we need to wear these heavy-” The hand of the still silent figure landed a harsh open handed slap across the young blue skinned girl’s face- silencing her instantly. Her face contorted to that of shock, then anger than acceptance. With a single finger, her assailing companion motoned for silence by pressing that same finger to his pursed lips, and starring forward with his calm but stern expression.

The pair continued to walk the winding and curving natural corridors of the deep and seemingly endless cave. The young ladies face still felt warm where her companion had struck her. There was no mistake that this place was to treated with reverence. As they approached the opening to a chamber, seeing the opening foreyes of the wonder within; She thought back to her guides words at the mouth of the cave. “You’re going to drown. Today, in this cave,You will die.” 

The opening of the chamber was reminiscent of stepping out of a dark inn. Both figures shielded their eyes momentarily from the glare and sparkle that met them. An immense cavern, lit naturally with sparkelling walls of roughly worked abalone shell and crystals embedded directly into the rock. The cave itself was 60 feet across in any direction, with a lip around the edge of the cave. Just wide enough to walk around. The middle is where the glow faded. A dark pool of water lay at the bottom of a 20 foot drop. No movement, except for the occasional ripple current. Not seeming to possess a bottom. In the middle of this room, a place of beauty, lay the most frightening thing that the fearless watersoul had ever seen. There was no explanation as to why THIS pool of water was so evoking of primal, visceral fear. She felt like a bilge rat being trapped in the hull of a ship as it sinks. Lela was no novice to simming, diving, or any of the like. She had dived deep before. She had fought, and bled, and even almost died, all underwater; but this peaceful pool of black mirrored water- it made this hardened sailor feel like a mewling little girl.

“You’re going to drown. Today, in this cave,You will die.” 

Her companion’s deep voice rang in her head as she stand transfixed by the mirrored surface. 

“You’re going to drown. Today, in this cave, You will die.” 

It was then that Lela realized this voice was no longer in her head. She  turned from the pool to face her guide and felt a deceptively gentle two hands, push against her shoulders as she tripped backwards from the ledge and plummeted downward, breaking the seemingly malevolent surface of the pool.

The disorientation only lasted moments. Being a genasi who frequented the sea, Lela could navigate water and right herself quickly. She made a point to never open her eyes underwater. No concious reason drove her to do so, but her primal instinct of survival told her not surface. 

“What are you doing!?” She waded quickly to the wall, looking for a hand hold to climb out. The walls were smooth. 

“You’re going to drown. Today, in this cave, You will die.” He droned on again. 

“I can breathe the water you dolt! I’m a watersoul? What is the point? You wouldn’t let me ask questions!

“You’re going to drown. Today, in this cave, You will die.” 

“Help me out!” Her hand scrapped at the walls in a moment of genuine panic,  fruitless.

These unclimbable walls were not in fact perfectly smooth. As Lela got closer, she could see that there were grooves. shallow, impressions in the stone, about 4 feet above the water line, about a human finger width apart. 

Lela’s stomach dropped as she felt movement brush her ankle. 

“You whoreson!

The almost reverent repetition of his credo “You’re going to drown. Today, in this cave, You will die.” stopped and reverberated off the walls.

“Did you think it would be easy!?” The power to protect yourself! TO strike fear into whoresons and admirals! 

Lela bobbed silently, a lump growing in her throat as she felt the unnaturally cold water. As what she could now identify as soft kelp and seaweed swayed around her legs  with a slight current.

“Look at the walls Salt”

“1 in 10. 1 in 10 wave speakers survive this ritual. It’s not a jaunty swim, or your morning “floats.”! And if water breathing was all you needed, than 9 intiaties a cycle wouldn't die in a pool of bone & blood!”

“What's in here with me old man!”

“There's a current.”

“There's movement. I didn't prepare for a battle. “

Her neck tensed 

“Battle comes anyway, Salt!” he let out a soft chuckle “ honestly, i don't know what- if anything is in there with you. It opens to the deepest depths, it’s always different; the only thing the creatures of Umberlee know is that this is a feeding ground. Where they can gorge on the blood and meat of those who aren't strong enough to serve their mistress.”

Anger was rising in Lela. It replaced her fear. But the reprieve was short lived. She prepared what could have only been assumed to a scathing and witty response as she yelped, waved her arms reflexively, and disappeared under the water.

All she could do is scream. The seaweed had snaked its way around Lela’s form so completely that when it closed like a constrictor snake,she was completely trapped from the waist down. It pulled down with such force that her mouth and lungs filled with water. Luckily Lela’s planetouched heritage meant her only obstacle was the struggle, and not the encroaching lack of breathable oxygen. The seaweed pulled her deeper into the blackness. Not a detail was visible as she slapped in vain at her legs, praying for a solution.

Her only solution was to collect herself. She steeled her mind. The seaweed was only retrieving her, not causing and pain. Lela got the idea that this living plant could squeeze the life from her if it willed it so. She had been pulled so far; 1 minutes. 2 minutes. Most humanoids that couldn't breathe the water would have perished by now, if not by bursting lung than by sheer panic. She was so flustered and frightened that she couldn't remember a single prayer or spell to cast. Her only course of action was to  wait for the big reveal, and pray the seaweed would release enough for her to retrieve the diving dagger from her boot. 

What she glimpsed next through her squinting eyes made her pray for escape. The bottom of the chasm- all seaweed. Thick, waving, animated sheets of dark matter. Seaweed. The light was low, but this kelp forest had wide leaves. They bent towards her expectantly, and danced like the thousands heads of a mythical hydra. She feigned death, and went limp, hoping to  lure the creature into  false sense of security. What kind of hellish landscape was this dark, black kelp forest.

The seaweed slowed it’s pull on Lela as her limp body approached the sea floor. It cradled her like she was a newborn babe, gently swaddled in a plant or creature that could easily crush her like a robin’s egg.

Her eyes, tightly shut peaked open. She was on her back looking at the distant surface, what glimmer of light was receptacle was intermittently blocked by the silhouettes of waving foliage.

Movement. She could feel it circling her. Like a shark preparing to strike against an injured seal.Imperceivable while keeping up her possum routine; but instinctually, she knew it was there. 

Lela’s  heart raced when her unseen tracking of the creature lost track of the movement. She tried not to panic, and chanced opening her eyes.

That may have been a mistake…

Before her. Immediately before her. Only a kiss away- were two bright yellow humanoid eyes.The irises were burnt yellow, and Lela could no longer pretend to be unaware; but neither did she tense. She remained relaxed in the seaweed’s grasp, afraid any sudden movement would immediately send the creature into an attack. The form of a humanoid simply looked at her.-not at, but through. The inescapable detail: two, glowing orbs. There was an unmistakable intelligence behind these scrutinizing but soft eyes. Lela could only see the eyes, and wanted to study the entire creature. She felt herself relaxing and understood that the creature’s gaze was physically relaxing her. She fought against the reaction, recounting stories of sirens and mermaids and kelpies that would lure sailors to there- “Kelpies!” she kicked herself silently. 

Kelpies were beasts comprised of plants, seaweed, kelp, and the like. They would take the forms of steeds or attractive maidens, whatever the sailors wished to ride the most; and pull them into the silent depths. 

She internally pondered “I wonder if shes ever eaten a genasi before...” but immediately realized she had no idea what the kelpies did with their victims. She only knew that they were pulled under, and assumed they all drowned or were constricted until their struggling ceased to  matter. Humans and halflings couldn't breathe under water; not without considerable magical influence. She fought the calming effect of the creatures eyes. She fought the sound of the waves. She fought the cool water on her skin. 

While never breaking the gaze, she took her restrained hand and did her best to mime the gentle pantern of the waves, bringing it closer to her breast pocket. 

In one lightning fast motion she retrieved the dead glowfly from her material pouch and soundlessly whispered “lissht” to the waves. The ring on her hand illuminated with light like a torch. While a simple spell, the oppressive blanket of darkness was cut like a curtain.

There was the maiden. A woman of seaweed, drifting in the current. Lela only had the chance to study the figure for a second before the creature’s hypnotic eyes slammed shut and the beast retreated, long strands of seaweed trailing behind her. 

Lela was genuinely surprised. She expected that the sudden spell would surprise the beast, but not to retreat. She expected it to strike her, rending flesh, and polluting the water with her own blood, and by doing so, give her the opportunity to escape. 

But it retreated. Lela  bobbed there, in silence, not dismissing her light spell for fear it would summon the creature back.- but her prevailing expression was that of confusion. 

Lela was a swimmer and knew how to exhale to help herself from floating, afterall, she had no need for air. Like a flotation bladder she could fill her lungs with water to stay submerged- so she did. She floated just above the floor of kelp, afraid to make contact. She looked hard, but everything outside of her light was imperceptible: only silhouettes and ghosts of a wet and waving forest.

Heartbeats of long painful inaction. “I should retreat” was her initial thought, but she quickly dismissed it. “I refuse to lose”. Then, two glowing orbs appeared from around the kelp. Not a shapely humanoid form. But that of a long snout and powerful shoulders. A horse- at least the top half was. The bottom was trailing strands of kelp. It peaked at her and Lela remained still. It shook its head in what could only be considered and underwater whinny.

Its head came forward from 5 or more feet away:slowly. Those impossible eyes studied her. Lela’s hand had not left the hilt of her diving knife- tucked so neatly in her belt. If this creature moved too fast, or reeled back for an attack, than she would have no choice but to attack, but no attack came. 

Like a curious animal, it approached slowly, smelling the Genasi. First her face, then lingering on her amulet om umberlee, finishing with her belt packs.

Instinct took over. 

Her free hand slowly extended to the creature's snout. The  beast reflexively recoiled, but quickly met the touch of this invader’s blue hand. 

“I scared you.” 

Immeasurable time. Lela floated their, hand on snout.

“You thought I was food...” 

The beast stopped it’s investigation and withdrew to a few feet, cocking its head.

“Not food”. 

Not words, but the sentiment- projected into her mind. This thought was not Lela’s own- and she understood.

“Nest Fashile” she said. The rough primordial translation for “not food”. 

The excited kelpie whinnied and pushed it’s head into Lelas hand. She absently pet the monstrous beast’s snout as it reacted like a favored cat or young child. 

Lela’s mind was reeling. 

“This grotto is massive, and you act so young. You can’t be this big bad test…”

 and with that thought came the young Kelpies retreat.

The young creatures retreat was not so much as Lela’s labored communication, but at the small meaty tentacles that were invading the cavern from a small opening behind both Lela’s back….

[sidrisa-blog]

Power and Magic

Read it here on AO3

Pairings: Loki x Reader and the lightest Sif X Thor

Chapter: 20/104 Power and Magic pt 2

Warnings: the usual: sex, death, and violence with light smatterings of misogynoir

Summary: The princes come with their exalted Father arriving amidst a hail of pomp and pageantry all parties would rather forgo. This is war, where men die, their blood purchasing land and peace until it's time for more men and more blood. But your mother adheres to the old rules of hearth and hospitality. The Lords of Asgard must be given their due despite the grim business precipitating their arrival. It is too bad they don't deserve it. There is nothing to recommend him, Loki, Prince of Asgard. He is rude and cold and childish. You try to find some merit in him. You find none. Exactly none. But maybe, after trial and tribulation,

You will.

You fold up onto your elbows. A quick glance outside informs you that the snow still falls and Cephalus is turned discreetly away, dozing on forelegs.

Smart horse. You named him well.

You reach for Loki and pull him down with you back onto his cloak.

“More,” you demand as you kiss him, hard, bold tongue pressing against his, imperious.

Your Prince laughs, flattered by your arrogance. No matter. He already has plans to humble you.

“Then undress me Princess. And hurry.”

You have no idea how you’re supposed to do that with his fingers still roaming, distracting you. And when he’s dressed in intricate armor with more straps and ties and belts than actual armor. Lust dulls your dexterity, you fumble with the knots and he makes no attempt to help you, amused by your frustration.

“Where I come from, armor is armor. Two pieces, sewn together. Not all this nonsense.” You grumble fumbling with a knot.

He lifts your head, brings his lips to yours. “Hurry. Up.” He purrs, making sure your frustration with him doubles. Bastard.

But you spy his downfall, attached to his belt..

Your father’s dagger.

You unsheath the blade and slice open one side of strings that hold his leather tunic closed.

“You dare!” He shouts, voice caught between ‘How dare you!’ and ‘How dare you stop!’

Outraged and powerfully aroused, he abandons his pretense of teasing you with the task of undressing him and does it himself.

Every swathe of skin he reveals, you sample. First his chest, and you, quick study as you are, take one of his rosy budded nipples between your teeth. When he hisses you release him, stammering apologies that he dismisses with a shake of his head.

“Do not stop.”

Pride and power mix in your heated blood, a dangerous cocktail that intoxicates. Your head swims in the sighs you make him make with your mouth and teeth on his flesh.

You learn fast the best ways to make him sigh. He favors his earlobes bitten, his neck, his chest. You pepper him with teeth marks until he is well seasoned across his body in round red little welts.

Your hands perform the same work, nails scratching down the length of his back and over his still clothed thighs. You hook your thigh over his hips and squeeze, bringing the two of you nigh flush. Loki’s groan thunders in both your chests, and he pushes his hips forward to match your movements. You clash but you don't meet, unable to fully join for the breeches he's still wearing, but you can feel him, his hard length bumping against your inner thigh as you slowly rock against him.

“I want you.” You tell him, gasping. He's put a thigh between yours, set you grinding against him, reaching for the deeper buried pleasure to bring to the surface of your skin.

He pretends not to hear, pretends to be lost in the crook of your neck, smothered by the sweet softness of your hair and skin. He keeps moving that thigh, one hand ironbound on your hip guiding you slowly back and forth, preparing you for what's to come next.

“Loki! Please!” you shudder, close again to bliss and that's all he wanted, just another strangled cry of his name to satisfy his vanity.

“Well when you ask so sweetly.” He pushes gently on your shoulders.

“Lay.”

From your back you observe his fingers unbutton and untie his breeches. His hands hook into his waistband and pushes down over slim hips and sinewy thighs until they come free.

You stare, your familiarity with male anatomy is mostly confined to biology and horses. You know what to expect and though virginal you were never prudish, you enjoyed hearing the tales of your soldiers’ conquests off the battlefield. But it's hard to reconcile that all of him, all the magic of him, from sharp cut of his cheekbones, to the flat expanse of muscled chest, to the icy smile that feels warm when you kiss it--is for you.

“Impressed?” he croons.

He's seen your eyes rake over him, had they nails he'd be torn to ribbons. And of course he's noticed your eyes linger in his southerly regions and the bob of your throat as you swallow an awed sigh. He preens, if ever his former lovers had a complaint of him, it was never about quantity.

“Am I supposed to be?” Your question was honest having no real basis for comparison but his pride shrivels anyway.

“You will be.” He growls. “That I promise.”

He rests atop you, propped on elbows, the two of you content for the moment just like this. Your arms are strong wrapped around him, that no one’s held you like this before. You do come from a country of fools.

“Princess.”

But this cold and filthy cave is not where you were meant to be. You should be in his chambers, in his bed, his arms

His.

He lowers himself and you open for him, arms and heart.

“I won't hurt you.”

Its instinctive to reassure. He's never forced a lover and he never will, but rumor and his reputation for broken hearts obscure fact, painting a gruesome picture he'd rather leave ignored. Addressed only when some nervous lover winds up in his bed looking for a taste of the darker prince.

But you say. ‘I know,’ as he descends. ‘I know.’

He never had to disprove to you he wasn't a monster. You knew.

He slides against you, coating himself in your slick. Your nails sink into his shoulders, you tense, ready for this, for him, anticipating the bite of pain that you expect when he fits inside.

“Ready?”

You cant speak, only nod.

You feel him, you feel him push, you feel yourself part and stretch, you wait for the pain as he moves, filling you.

It never comes. You feel an odd stuffed sensation, but no pain. His hips meet yours, seated fully, deeply too you note, but there's no pain or discomfort.

Just magic.

“Good girl. Sweet girl.”

You fit him beautifully. Your face, so wonderfully expressive, tells him everything, conveys every spark of pleasure that shoots through you. He remains still, waiting, it's you who moves. Who lifts her hips and pushes him deeper, it's you who gasps and groans.

It's you who goes too fast with the snap and roll of your hips. He grinds a curse between his teeth, centers your hips in his hands to control the pace. If you do that again…

You do, and he can't catch the moan that tears from him.

“Steady Princess.”

But you don't want steady. You feel amazing and you chase that feeling down the length of his cock, slamming into him again.

Loki curses, frissons of lust coursing the length of his body, making him twitch inside of you. He's not cold but you tease gooseflesh out of him with the way you move.

He means to be gentle, gentle is the only way he'll last with you fluttering and squeezing him like you are. But the sound of his name screamed and sighed will likely finish him long before the sharp snap of your hips will.

“Princess.” He chokes on your name. And you answer him with his.

Your eyes are somewhere in the stars, bursts of light blooming across your vision at the end of every thrust. Your heart jumps and stutters, it knocks free of your ribs, flies out and away. Pressure builds and breaks, builds and breaks again, you come for him every time your bodies touch. Little foreshocks that herald a looming earthquake.

Your pleasure wraps tight around him like ropes of silk. He loses his battle with gentleness and rhythm, thrusting hard enough to rattle his teeth and knock loose sense from his brain.

“Yes, Loki yes!”

You are powerful under him. He is magic atop you. You both crest and crash together, mixing to make something new and greater than the sum of its parts.

Binding silk pulls impossibly tight before loosening taking all of him with it, making him gloriously blind and deaf but certainly not dumb. You make him come, your name an unintelligible shout of ecstasy on his lips.

You shudder underneath him, a low wail sounding your shattering. Your entire body curls into a perfect arch wringing the very last drops of pleasure from you. Together you fall back into sense. Your back touches the real world first and it feels like a woolen cloak on rocky ground, in chilly cave, sheltered from the snow outside.

To him, the real world just feels like you.

I am susceptible to sudden fits of sappy romance and for this I MAKE NO APOLOGY WHAT SO EVER

[ruwithmeguys]

A little One-Shot

Ok... I hate hiatus's but they’re also perfect for inspiring and fic writing.

Now this is just an indulgent piece of fluff I had too much fun writing but, alas, I only wrote it in 20 mins (I was inspired) because I don’t have a lot of time to spare so if it feels crude or just plain wrong, then I do apologise.

This is for @callistawolf who wanted some new pieces and I thought I’d get the ball rolling, for @hopedreamlovepray who made me fall in love with one-shots and a thank you to @n4r4nch4 who literally cheers me on, even when I feel like I’m undeserving.

I love this fandom!

So I don’t think this will happen in the show but... (If you guys like it, I’ll put it on AO3 later)

.....

Happy.

It’s what she’d hoped for him, them. Eventually. But in all honesty; she’d had trouble believing it could happen... till a couple of weeks ago that is.

Now they were here, on Lian Yu.

Everything that shouldn’t have happened, happened, and everything they didn’t expect to did as well: the good and the bad.

Black Siren was gone. She truly was the exact opposite of the Laurel they’d known. She’d disappeared, injured as she was, during Oliver’s fight with Slade and none of them had the heart – nor the energy – to search for her.

But they would.

Later.

Adrian was gone. Dead... but Oliver hadn’t killed him. Thankfully he’d walked an unexpected path.

Oliver. Eyes closing, listening to the sound of the waves at her feet, Felicity remembered...

“Come on Oliver; it’s simple. Look.” Hand fisted in Felicity’s hair, he yanked backwards until her throat was exposed - her body pressed to his front - and held one of his daggers beneath her throat. “I’ll make it easy for you.” His eyes unblinkingly on Oliver’s, Adrian stressed each and every word. “If you don’t kill me - if you don’t shoot an Arrow into my neck - I will kill the woman you’ve been pretending not to love.”

It took an age for a response to come.

Without a weapon, he’d stood there – Oliver – as he’d entered the clearing, the place Adrian had hunted Felicity to until she couldn’t keep running anymore, and hadn’t said a word.

He’d just looked at her, seeing her determination, her exhaustion. Her fear.

Her love.

Her resolve. “Don’t.” She forced through her clenched teeth. “Not for me.”

Not anymore.

He couldn’t now. Not after everything. Not even for her.

And he knew that, she could see it. This couldn’t be like the Count. This wouldn’t be him instinctively obeying the mindset of the man who’d used killing as a defence mechanism for survival - a mechanism to protect - for over five years.

This... what had to happen, would be the turning point of his life.

And she was fine with that. “It’s ok.” She whispered; her voice scratchy from lack of water as she watched him watch her. “I’ll be fine.”

“No.” Adrian promised - a smile in his voice - the knife pressing into her neck. “She won’t.”

He was right. He’d kill her. Just to spite Oliver. If Oliver refused to kill him, Adrian would kill her as punishment. And the Oliver Queen she’d started to see again for the first time in 14 months, the Oliver Queen she’d made love to on his birthday - a present full of sex had been due for a while and was, let’s face it, part and parcel for the course between them - where he’d shown her in an explicit and detailed physical exploration with his hands - oh those fingers, she’d missed those fingers - his mouth - the perfect mix of firm and supple softness: pillow mountains - his tongue - this isn’t helping - and his words-

His words.

I’m so sorry I destroyed us.

You made me happy. I haven’t felt that since I took it away.

I didn’t know how to accept that I was worth being loved, that I could be loved by... by you. By Felicity Smoak.

I love you. I never stopped. It never went away, never altered...

I missed you.

Oh, I love it when you do that.

You feel good. Familiar. Yet... different too.

But... still good? (she’d had to ask, to be sure that still wanted her like she wanted him)

No. (And he’d smiled - of course he had - his nose brushing down hers, his fingers trailing warmth and desire over the uncovered skin of her cheeks, her throat, her shoulders and further down...) Better.

Thank you for my birthday...

That Oliver Queen who’d shone through so brightly, he’d disappear. For good this time. Dig wouldn’t be able to pull him out of it; there would be no one to show him his light.

Then he’d kill Adrian.

And after, he’d kill himself. Next to her. Just to be sure she’d be the first thing he’d see when he opened his eyes once more.

If she died here.

Yet still... it was the right choice to make. A choice where there wasn’t really a choice to make.

Oliver knew it, his eyes told her they did, the soft stance of his body told her they did...

Oliver.

If it had to end, if this was how it was supposed to go; she didn’t regret a thing. She’d loved... and had been loved in a way a lot of people can only imagine. She’d found herself inside him, her everything, her forever and her always...

So she smiled at him; it a was watery thing but large enough to see, to show the sheer happiness he’d brought to her, the love she’d felt grow somehow deeper in the two days since they’d slept together. It told him everything he needed to hear without saying anything at all.

And everything that he was, reflected all of that back at her.

How eyes could be so bright and expressive, she didn’t know but his always could and right now they were etching his name into her soul, just like he was taking hers into his own.

“Alright.” He muttered and he didn’t stop looking at her. “Kill her.”

She felt Adrian jolt behind her but didn’t stop looking at her guy, didn’t stop smiling at him. God, I love you. “What?”

“Kill her.” Oliver softly repeated.

“And you’ll just live with that? I don’t think so Oliver.”

“I know you don’t.” Oliver’s hand shifted, a knife of his own sliding into his fingers from his sleeve. “It doesn’t matter because the moment you do, the moment you kill her... I’ll kill myself.” He let out a sigh, his smile falling but his expression was still deeply serene. Like he was seeing in her everything he wanted and was so content with the reality of it, that he wouldn’t be sorry if it ended here either. “And it’ll all be over.”

Still smiling, a tear rolled down her cheek and Oliver watched it fall like he wanted to halt its progress with a finger.

It wasn’t like they wanted to die. There was so much they both wanted from each other, with each other – things they’d spoken of in the quiet after she’d brought him home to rest inside her. But if it had to end here, if it had to be this way... then let it be like this.

Together.

After all, they always been really.

“That... that’s not how this works.”

And like she’d prayed for, Felicity heard the struggle in Adrian’s voice, the need to understand something his brain was incapable of processing.

For the first time Oliver looked away from her to him. “That’s the way it is. “And there was this light in his eyes that made something in her sing as he lifted the blade up to his own throat, preparing to draw a line across it. “I won’t kill you. You don’t deserve for me to kill you. And I don’t need to.”

THIS was Oliver Queen. This was the good she saw, had been seeing since Felicity Smoak? Hi, I’m Oliver Queen.

“You don’t think it’s sick, Adrian? That you need me like this?” Throughout it all, Oliver kept his voice low and steady. “You need me so badly that you want me to kill you? I’m so important to you...”

His dagger cut into her skin. “Shut up!”

“Why?” Oliver stared at him. “Does it hurt?”

“You don’t- you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Is it the truth?” Oliver whispered. “Confess. You can’t live without me and you can’t kill without me here.” He raised a hand to the world about them in general. “But I won’t kill you. So,” Oliver looked back to her, love and hope an Arrow in his gaze, “what happens next after I’m gone? What will you do?”

Genius.

Before anyone could have done anything though, Rene - having followed Oliver but had been unable to keep up with his sprint - had shot Adrian point blank from the side. He’d died in seconds.

“I made him a promise.” Was all he’d said.

After a moment’s silence, Oliver had moved prompting her to do the same, to obey the need inside her. It just so happened his was the same need as hers.

They’d collided in the middle, his arms tight around her lifting her high off the ground, hoarse words breathed into her skin - I’m here baby - she’d wrapped herself around him, holding him close, breathing him in too and promising to never ever let go.

Spiritually speaking.

Because then they had to deal with the fallout. With Slade, who had a personal grudge against the two of them, the day just wouldn’t end, with Black Siren who’d fled the scene, Boomerang who’d been a giant pain in everyone’s ass... and Evelyn who’d then been killed in action.

A. Very. Long. Day.

She released a breath, letting the wind make a mess of her hair and rustle the trees –the lapping of the oceans waves – lull her very tired body into a peaceful state of rest.

The she felt him behind her...

“I can feel you there,” she murmured, “I couldn’t before.” And she chose – I don’t care if I’m naive – to believe it was because of their connection and not their five year war instilling a new awareness inside her that made this so.

“I didn’t want to disturb you.”

She smiled, and if her voice was throaty - a purr really - well that was his fault. “Oliver, any disturbance by you is a welcome one.”

“Really.”

Not a question.

“Yep.”

“I don’t think the others would appreciate my idea of a disturbance with you.”

Her smile couldn’t get any wider.

His sex voice. Seriously, every time after sex... this voice. How do I live with myself, I just don’t know.

Turning to face him, she chirped. “Hi.”

“Hey.” He moved closer so that the sea was to his left and the jungle, his right. “You ok?”

She really was. He’d helped her there, earlier.

Probably looking profoundly love struck and foolish, she bobbed her head at him; wordless at the way the sun hit his face and lit up his hair. He really is blonde. “You?”

“It’s strange but... I think I am.” It came out in one long exhale. “For the first time in a really long time I don’t feel so... weighed down.”

Thank you God. “That’s a good thing Oliver.”

“It is.” And it was a thing with him, how his eyes on her own - like they could live forever staring into each other’s eyes and it still wouldn’t be enough for him - always left her without the air to make a sound. “You helped me get here.”

Uh, no.  She shook her head. “Oliver, I-”

“You did. I don’t how you do it,” he shook his head; still gazing at her, “but you do it anyway. I thought I wasn’t strong enough and you proved me wrong. I thought I didn’t deserve...” and he paused because whatever he was feeling looked overwhelming and he needed the moment to centre himself. “I thought I didn’t deserve you, that I could never earn you. So I stopped trying. Stopped trying to not be that person who would never be enough all those months ago, before Rene and Rory and Dinah joined the team.” He smiled and she felt it everywhere. “You gave me hope. You got me to believe,” he took a step closer and like a teenager her heart literally skipped a beat, “in my humanity again. I can never thank you for it.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” she really didn’t want that, didn’t want him feeling like he owed her that, “you never do. What you did here, what you’ve been trying to do for months... it’s proof of who you are. A good person; the best person I know.” My person.

But the look on his face – the smile in his voice – made her pause.

“I don’t want to thank you.” He whispered, making her blink, whiplash. “I want to spend the rest of my life showing you that you were right.”

Oh wow... “The rest of your life, huh?” And if her voice wobbled with restrained joy, if hers glittered just a tad, she really didn’t care.

He took a pause that felt like years before saying, “Can we start again?”

Er... “What?”

“I want to start over with you. From start to finish. I’m yours. Always have been.” Everything in her was turning into goo. “I want to marry you Felicity. I want to make a baby with you.”

He meant that. She could see it, the promise.

A baby...

A little over a year ago, she’d been too scared to consider the possibility. Though it made her happy, the idea of having Oliver’s child, it had also terrified her. Being in a chair hadn’t been the problem; it was the prospect of failing at being a good mother to any child they had that was.

But now?

How do you contain endless joy in a moment on a beach somewhere in the North China seas?

You don’t.

“I want to live with you.” He continued, watching the changes in her expression with awe and happiness and growing passion. “To fight monsters in the dark with you. The way it should have been. As my partner.”

He was right: the months between then and now, the distance, the chill between them... nothing had felt right, as if something had been perpetually off balance with the world.

But they’d needed it to get here. Sometimes, in order to rise you have to fall first.

Her smile - broken - revealed teeth, her hair stuck to her neck, her eyes described in detail what her lips couldn’t but could only whisper, “No more ‘should haves’.”

No more maybes.

His quiet laugh was choked. “No more.” Like he wanted to touch her, he took another half a step closer (if he moved in further he’d be practically on top of her and she didn’t mind one bit) “A new beginning... with you.”

“That sounds,” she took a breath because this, this was the moment; where forever starts and wouldn’t really end, “perfect.”

Their perfect. Dark times were inevitable, trials... but happiness was due too.

The boyish grin – the laugh still present on his lips – made her want to kiss him. And she would. Soon. But he had something else to say, she could tell.

And she was right. “Felicity Smoak.” He announced, in that soft, deeply masculine way of his that shot straight to her centre, married life is going to be awesome. “Hi.” She frowned when he lifted a hand, barely any room between them for him to do more than let it grace her stomach. “I’m Oliver Queen.”

She stared up at him... then pressed her lips together in understanding, feeling so much the rightness of what he was saying.

Lifting her hand to slide into his waiting fingers, her other tucked her hair behind her ears and affected nerves, shyness. “I know who you are.” Or at least tried to, but the deeper tone that left her was anything but and she knew he felt it in his bones when he licked his lips, when his abdomen jerked against her hand. “You’re Mr Queen.”

His hand tugged her closer, so that her chest touched his. “Mr Queen was my father. And I don’t think,” how his voice could lower any further she wasn’t sure, but it could and it did and ooh... “you’d look at him the way you’re looking at me.”

Oh boy. “How am I looking at you?”

“Like you love me.” Leaning in, the depth in his eyes had her falling into his hold. “Like you want me. Like you’re mine.” He quieted, his eyes looking at her mouth. “Like I’m yours.”

“That’s quite the description.” Accurate too. “So what’s your policy on kissing a stranger you just met on an island no one knows exists?” She teased.

“Oh, it’s my first policy.” Was his shameless, super fast response and a bark of laughter shot out of her, making her eyes close. “But only with you.”

How could she not kiss him with the utter love and feeling he gave her with every word he spoke?

“Come here.” Still laughing, her free hand slid up his throat, to the back of his neck to pull him close-

But he was already right there, smiling against her lips.

(And people, this is where I be cheesy and play ‘I need my girl’ by the Nationals because the song was made for Olicity – please listen to it here)

The feel of his scruff against her skin still made her tingle - she still felt the warmth of him down her sides, her stomach muscles contracting at the sure way his mouth opened hers - and still made her shiver in delight as her smile became a physical expression of everything she felt for him. Seeking, pressing, pushing, chasing his mouth with her own - re-leaning how he tastes, letting her tongue entwine with his - her hands were around his neck in seconds, cradling his head with them just the way he liked. Like she needed him closer and she was letting him know. The way his hands slid over her spine to press her as close – and as tight to him – as humanly possible. And when his fingers slipped into her locks to cup her head as he angled his own and- oh... I’ve missed this.

The kind of kiss that made her forget the world existed.

Her hands moved to drag across his scalp, one of them shifting down under his shirt and pressing into the musculature there, feeling every movement he made and the sound that left him wasn’t a groan or a growl. It was a sigh, one that came from deep in his chest...

She nipped as his upper lip, looking into his hooded eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you.” A firm kiss was followed by another. “I love you Felicity.”

She smiled again, her nose brushing over his, their breaths mingling-

“Oh my God, you weren’t kidding.”

It was also the kind of kiss to make her completely forget they had an audience. Her eyes didn’t open and she figured his didn’t either but she felt Oliver’s lips press together as he exhaled through his nose.

“I warned you.” John. He sounded unbelievably satisfied with himself. “But nope, you wanted to see for yourself. And here it is. The ugly truth.”

She felt Oliver’s chest vibrate and his lips twitch against hers. “He’s just like Tommy.” He muttered, too quietly to be heard by the others.

René just couldn’t accept it. “They’re like... romance novel bad.”

“I think its right.” She heard Dinah say, and she was officially Felicity’s new favourite person. “They should have done this months ago.”

“They should have had sex months ago.” René corrected and she felt the muscles in Oliver’s arm jump. “That amount of chemistry in the Foundry wasn’t healthy.”

She couldn’t help the bubble of laughter that sprang free from her, her head arching back as Oliver held her aloft. Okay, they’re all my favourites.

Oliver’s puff of air made her look back to him. “The children are being unruly.”

“Say what?”

Rene.

“Children?”

Dinah.

“...I’m oddly good with this.”

Rory.

“Are you two beautiful idiots done for the moment?” And Diggle once more; still sounding utterly superior. She’d let him have it. “It’s just, there’s a boat with our name on it, a wife the two of you are reminding me painfully of and a kid I really want to eat shakes with.”

Oliver’s eyes were so content...

She arched a brow. “Done?”

He shook his head. “We’re just getting started.”

...

Here’s to the rebirth of Olicity (and the horrid 4 week count down)