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witharsenicsauce · 4 years ago

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Chosen Stories From The War #43: A Secret Place to Pray

The ice on the ground created a blanket of glass that broke and splintered as they stepped over it. Parysatis led the way, sure-footed after years of hiking these treacherous trails. Gur-Rai followed, almost as confident but with the dexterity of a child taking their first steps. He watched the girl in front of him with silent curiosity as she raised her arm and let Tyche land.

“How much hunting do you get done with her?” Gur-Rai finally broke the silence. “Tyche’s a sweet old girl, but it seems like a bow or a rifle would be faster.”

“I catch as much as Aisha can in a day.” Parysatis said without looking back at him. “And that is what got me my seat at the left hand of the Khatun. She saw that I have many skills, not just good aim.”

“What exactly is your job for her?” Gur-Rai’s arms shot out as he slid backward on icy ground, and he barely managed to steady himself.

“I am her eyes across the steppe.” Parysatis said softly. “The Khatun cannot be in all places at once. But with Tyche’s wings, I can see the edges of our kingdom and the crevices under rocks.”

“She’s got good eyes.” Gur-Rai noted.

“As she should. I see through those eyes” Parysatis stopped and turned to him. “We shall start simply. You need to learn how to call your eagle.”

“Can I text instead?” Gur-Rai chuckled at his own joke.

Parysatis did not laugh with him. “Your eagle is not a machine, you can’t just plug a code into it and make it obey. You need to learn to speak to it in ways it understands the way it respects.” She pointed down into the ravine beside them. “Go down there about 200 yards, and face me.”

Gur-Rai silently complied, looking back at Parysatis only once. She was watching him closely, and he saw the purple glow of her eyes in the low morning light. She was beautiful, but in a reserved kind of way. The type of girl to admire from afar, to wonder about briefly, and then to never to see again.

He finally stopped where she told him and turned to face her. She held out her other arm, and he mimicked her with his. From far away, he saw her stroke her eagle’s head softly, and then the glow of her eyes disappeared as she closed them.

Tyche leapt off Parysatis’ arm and came swooping down the ravine, her caw echoing in the high hills only once. Gur-Rai flinched a bit as she came close, but forced his arm to stay steady enough for her to land.

And land she did, digging her claws into his sleeve, and he was happy he’d worn his armor for this. She ruffled her feathers and adjusted herself, and he saw the eagle’s eyes were glowing purple, like Parysatis’ had been.

Gur-Rai blinked, then reached out and gently patted the eagle on the head. “Good girl.” He said softly.

The glow faded from Tyche’s eyes, and he looked back up the hill to where Parysatis stood, her white hair blowing in the brisk wind. She held out her arm and made a noise like the coo of a pigeon and the screech of a fox all at once, and Tyche leapt from Gur-Rai’s arm and soared back up to her mistress.

He lowered his arm slightly, and saw that she had not closed her eyes this time. Tyche’s dark eyes remained so as Parysatis looked out towards where Gur-Rai stood, as though she were waiting for him.

He took a deep breath, thankful his siblings weren’t watching this, and pursed his lips, replicating the coo-screech he heard Parysatis make. For a moment, the eagle did nothing, so he tried again, and again, and again.

Tyche leapt from Parysatis’ arm again, and this time Gur-Rai knew to brace himself. He caught Tyche, letting her stabilize herself in his grasp, and when she finally did, he patted her head.

“There’s a good girl.” He said as he looked back up to Parysatis. She nodded to him slowly, gesturing for him to come back up the hill.

Senuna shifted her weight onto her left foot and crossed her arms, looking up at Drakaina as the Khatun stared into her glass of vodka.

“Have you been pleased with what you see?” Drakaina asked. “My ancestor built this city, and his son, Ögedei Khan, fortified its walls. It has stood against all odds, even those from off-world

Senuna bobbed her head. “It’s impressive what you’ve done here, I’ll admit that.”

That made Drakaina look up, curiosity in her eyes. “Impressive…is that all?”

“I haven’t seen more than the city.” Senuna said. “And you told me you have much more territory than that.”

“The rest of it lies in villages and Elerium mines.” Drakaina added quickly. “They are relatively scattered, due to their natural geographic location.”

“Fair enough.” Senuna still refused to sit, instead shifting back onto her right foot and putting a hand on her hip. “But I assume this means they get your protection, such as it were?”

“Of course.” Drakaina stood up, tipping her glass back and draining the remainder of it. “Until their children can be trained to fight for us, we send our own to protect them. They repay us by sending their warriors when they are grown, who then fight to defend us.”

Senuna bit her lip. “Do those kids get a choice?”

“They all choose to serve us.” Drakaina said curtly. “I give them food, shelter and protection. In return, they give me their sword arms.”

“And I thought I was a shitty boss~” Senuna chuckled.

Drakaina glared at Senuna. “I care for each of my warriors as a mother cares for her children. Do not accuse me of being callous.”

“I’m a mother too…” Senuna hesitated before she uttered the last word. “...Well in any case, far be it from me to tell you how to do your job. But all my soldiers go onto the field having chosen to carry a gun.”

“Is that why you sought help?” Drakaina retorted.

“You called me here, remember?” Senuna giggled. “I sought their help because, the Reapers, Skirmishers, Templars, and us? We have a common goal.”

Drakaina moved back up to where her throne stood, but didn’t lower herself, instead opting to just stand in front of it. “I am not here to debate ideologies with you. The last raid was very successful, but the rewards were minuscule compared to what we require.”

“Okay.” Senuna raised a brow. “And that is what, exactly?”

“There is a small outpost just south of Bürd, where we believe ADVENT is looking to build yet another city center. The people there have set up a small village and are receiving supplies. They are guarded by hybrids in armor.”

“Oh how scary!” Senuna chuckled. “This almost sounds like one of our havens, and ADVENT attacks those all the time. This should be easy.”

“Should be.” Drakaina said. “It never is. I would like to borrow two of your Chosen this time.”

“I knew you’d take a liking to them.” Senuna giggled. “Konnie, again?”

“Her and her brother, the sniper. He can set up with my archers and offer range support.” Drakaina hesitated. “Commander, how much do you know about her?”

“Who? Kon-Mai?” She sighed. “I didn’t have access to her files when I was plugged in, if that’s what you’re asking. ADVENT had me thinking I was still back home, fighting aliens and taking numbers.”

Drakaina sat down and leaned against the armrest of her throne. One of the skulls shifted under the pressure. “I thought you were used to manage all of ADVENT’s network.”

“I was.” Senuna bobbed her head. “But it’s…like a dream. Someone could call a file up from my brain, and in my sleep I could interpret that information as something completely different.”

“So you knew nothing about the Chosen?”

“I didn’t say that.” Senuna stopped, then looked away. “I heard her speak to me a couple times, but I interpreted her voice as something else. Someone else. They were always connected to someone I knew once. Dhar-Mon…well. His voice is pretty distinct. But Konnie, not entirely sure what I saw for her.” Senuna admitted. “The first time I really saw her was when she carried away Mox to one of ADVENT’s torture facilities.”

“So they do still participate in abductions.” Drakaina nodded. “That is valuable information.”

“Have you lost many to that method?” Senuna asked.

“No.” Drakaina picked up her empty glass and held it up, the light refracting through broken crystals. “…Only one.”

“Mai!”

At first, Kon-Mai didn’t even realize someone was calling her, until she heard footsteps directly behind her. She turned, and then slowed her brisk trek, allowing Aisha to catch up to her.

“Mai?” She raised a hairless brow.

“Yes, sorry. It…slipped out.” Aisha bowed. “Kon-Mai. I wanted to check on you; are you doing alright after that lesson?”

“I am fine.” Kon-Mai said curtly, turning away.

“You seemed really distracted after that first demonstration.” Aisha continued.

“Perhaps I was. But it should not concern you.” Kon-Mai scoffed. “I simply need a place to rest. Clear my head.”

“Oh. Why didn’t you say so?” Aisha chuckled. “I know a place actually. Come on.”

Kon-Mai watched Aisha take up a long stride in front of her, leading her westward toward where the sun was setting. She hesitated, but then the woman turned back and waved her to follow. In the low light, the gentle embroidery along her hijab glowed a soft blue.

Kon-Mai followed her silently, the smaller woman keeping up a fast pace that Kon-Mai kept time with easily. Once outside of the city, she looked back once toward the blue glow, and the barren land around it.

“Do you not farm here?” Kon-Mai asked. “The only vegetation I see is the animal feed…”

Aisha shook her head. “As much as I would like to--I much prefer vegetables to meat, if I’m honest with you--it seems edible plants don’t take well to this soil anymore.”

“Anymore?”

“I heard they used to.” Aisha elaborated. “When my parents were fleeing ADVENT they briefly settled down around here, near Khorgo, and there was some arable land there.” She hummed a bit. “Sometimes I think about going back there and seeing if anything is left but…I have my new family here. As much as I want to look back.”

Kon-Mai remained silent, musing on this for a moment. “If you did go back…” She finally said. “What would you hope to find?”

Aisha didn’t answer her, and Kon-Mai abandoned the question when she looked around at the line of trees they suddenly stepped into. Larch trees with thick, needled branches reached out, covering the pale sky in a curtain of green.

“What is this place?”

“I come here to pray.” Aisha said. “The other warriors, they don’t mean to be rude, but they don’t really understand why I still practice. I come here so they won’t hound me for answers when all I want is a spiritual connection.”

“I can appreciate that.” Kon-Mai chuckled. “I often find my brothers in particular like to bother me when I am trying to meditate.”

Aisha chuckled. “I’m curious, your eldest brother seemed like he was at least interested in religion, but what exactly does ADVENT practice?”

“Practice…is a strong word. I suppose the religion of ADVENT centered around the Elders, and thus any customs were woven into their government.”

“But what else?” Aisha kept prying. “What do they teach you about how the universe works? Where do you think people go when they die?”

Kon-Mai thought for a moment, trying to recall old teachings from almost a decade ago. “They never told us.”

“Never told you?”

“No. They never taught us of an afterlife. They only said there was the void, and if we failed them, they would throw us into nonexistence.”

Aisha stopped walking briefly at that, faltering in her steps as she looked up in surprise. “Oh…like Buddhism? Was there rebirth?”

Kon-Mai shook her head. “If there was, it was not attainable for us.”

“So you…would just die?” Aisha blinked. “That’s…terrifying. I’m sorry.”

“The idea of nonexistence never troubled me until I was staring it in the face.” Kon-Mai retorted. “And even then I would have chosen that over what my parents would do to me for failure.”

“And what would they do?” Aisha kept prying.

Kon-Mai’s silence served as an answer, and the two came to a silent stop in a small clearing, where the trees formed a small circle.

Aisha settled down on her knees, facing Southwest, and Kon-Mai settled into her meditation pose beside her. Instead of closing her eyes, though, she watched Aisha instead, observing as she bowed, touching her head to the ground. Something tugged at the strings of her heart as she witnessed it, and soon she too closed her eyes.

They held that silent vigil until the sunlight fully faded, and the dim glow of orange clouds was the only light remaining. Surprisingly, it was Kon-Mai who broke the silence. As she heard Aisha get back to her feet, she asked “How does the Khatun feel about you practicing still?”

“The Khatun doesn’t mind.” Aisha shrugged. “Generally all her warriors are allowed to practice any religion they want. Many adopt Shamanic beliefs because, well, that’s the majority and it’s just easier.”

Kon-Mai followed her demonstration and stood. “And you did not adopt them as well?”

“That’s a long story, but no, I kept my own faith.” Aisha chuckled. “When I first came to Karakorum, I had a really rough time assimilating. It may sound counterintuitive but keeping to the traditions I was raised with helped me during that time.”

“This was after your parents…” Kon-Mai trailed off.

“Yes. I don’t remember the event really well. My clearest memory is after it was all over, and I was on a black horse, and Monkh…” Aisha broke off again, her voice shaking as she said “M-Monkh was carrying me.”

“Monkh?” Kon-Mai asked, suddenly blinking as though something was in her eye. Her temple stung for just a moment, and a shiver went up her back, all in such quick succession she herself hardly noticed it. “Who is Monkh?”

Aisha took a few steps, and then leaned back against one of the trees so she faced Kon-Mai. “She was the Jinong before me.” She said. “I might have mentioned we were close but…it was more than that.”

“More in what way?”

“She was almost grown up when they found me, and I was really young, extremely young. I had such a hard time adjusting to Karakorum, new people and language and food and it was all so overwhelming, I threw fits, I lashed out, and nobody would take me in, not even those who knew me.” She crossed her arms over herself. “Nobody but Monkh.”

“She adopted you?”

“She was more like a big sister than a mom.” Aisha admitted. “But…yes. She took care of me. She encouraged me to keep praying because praying helped calm me. She never forced me to, she wasn’t Muslim herself but…she always said it was important to remember the roots, especially those that gave me nourishment. She arranged for my meals to be caught, she sewed all my clothes and beaded my jewelry with her own two hands, and she taught me riding and archery and sword fighting. Nobody else believed in me. Monkh…Monkh believed in me.”

Kon-Mai swallowed, and realized she was holding back tears. “Her loss must have been very hard.”

Aisha nodded. “I regret so much from my childhood, but I most regret how much I took her for granted. I didn’t realize how precious life was until…” Aisha bit her lip, and when she spoke again, her voice cracked. “I’m sorry.”

Kon-Mai took a step toward the young woman, holding out a hand but hesitating to touch her. “I…I know how it feels to lose someone you loved, without ever being able to tell them goodbye, or how much they meant to you. It is a pain that sent me spiraling, I cannot imagine experiencing it as a child.”

Aisha stepped forward and grasped Kon-Mai’s hand, squeezing it. “Thank you…” Tears were streaming down her face now. “I just wish I could have thanked her.”

“Perhaps you still can.” Kon-Mai said. “If I have earned another chance, perhaps you will too.”

Aisha shook her head. “It’s a silly thing to hope for. And yet, I still do.”

The inside of the mine was not dark, but lit up in a rainbow of soft, glowing light. Dhar-Mon closed his eyes and felt the familiar hum of Elerium crystal radiating off his skin. Like a babe being swaddled, he felt comfort in this early memory.

Then he opened his eyes and composed himself, looking around at the miners around him. Most only payed him a few glances before squaring up their shoulders and returning to their work, running wheelbarrows full of sediment out and in and dumping them onto an assembly line, where more workers, smudged in dirt, sifted through the sediment and broke open geodes to get at the crystals inside.

He approached one of the miners, and they turned and gasped, startling backward and scrambling away, yelling something in Mongolian or…maybe Kazakh? He could not tell. Dhar-Mon only raised his hands in response, trying to demonstrate he was not there to hurt them.

Luckily, one of the others, an old man who looked as though he had seen years in the mine, seemed to understand, and stepped forward. Dhar-Mon slowly lowered his hands, and bowed low to the person who was by all means his elder.

The old man smiled a toothless grin. “Sain uu, khüü mini!” The man chuckled, and upon realizing that Dhar-Mon didn’t understand him, broke into a sympathetic laugh. Dhar-Mon smiled awkwardly, looking around at the other miners that were still watching his hesitantly.

The old man beckoned Dhar-Mon over to the assembly line, where the others continued to sift through the silt and dirt, removing the Elerium from its earthen shell. He watched in curiosity as it was then sent down the line to be washed and sprayed, the dirt splashing over a young woman’s face as she cleaned the glass-like rock.

“This is difficult work.” Dhar-Mon said. “I sincerely hope the Khatun rewards you well.”

The man either didn’t hear him or didn’t understand him as he led Dhar-Mon farther along down the line, where the clean Elerium was taken into mortars and pestles and ground into shining, powdery dust. Each time the pestle struck the glowing rock, sparks would bounce away, and Dhar-Mon would flinch.

The glowing dust, pulsating with irradiated energy, traveled along the conveyor line to the end, where two others began re-mixing it with a soft, white powder, almost resembling dry clay. Their careful hands mixed the sparkling Elerium with this clay, before it was shoved off the table into a vat of liquid that began to boil. Dhar-Mon was at first nervous about this unknown reaction, until he saw the fire burning under the vat.

“They are stabilizing the Elerium. To keep it from degrading.” He rubbed his chin. “Fascinating. It seems to dampen the raw energy available but…” It made sense, if they were using it in things like jewelry, they didn’t really need the Elerium to pack that much of a punch.

The old man patted Dhar-Mon on the arm, chuckling as he returned to his post, leaving Dhar-Mon to either stay or go. The Hieromonk wandered around the vat for a few moments, watching as the water boiled away, leaving a paste of glowing blue rock that settled heavily in the bottom of the cauldron. The mix was not perfect, but he figured it would be further distilled and refined and sure enough, a thin looking lad came over, dragging a wheelbarrow and stopping only to reach in and scoop the rock-paste into the wheelbarrow.

Dhar-Mon raised a brow as he saw that the boy, who looked no older than a teenager, was not wearing cloves around this hot metal. And with that exhausted look in his eyes, that was absolutely asking for trouble. Dhar-Mon reached out, and the boy startled a bit, but looked up at Dhar-Mon almost like he was in a trance. Dhar-Mon did not have to pull hard to get the spade away from him, and he rolled up his sleeves and began doing the boy’s assigned work for him.

“I have many more scars than you.” Dhar-Mon said. “And I would like that to remain the truth.”

He wasn’t sure that the boy understood him, but he did begin tearing up. Once the wheelbarrow was full, Dhar-Mon took hold of it himself and pushed it along, the boy leading him to where it needed to go.

They approached the yawning mouth of the mine, and inside he heard pickaxes ringing against stone, and felt the pulsing radiation from the barely exposed rock. He stopped for a moment, gazing down into the black mouth that continued on seemingly forever…

A scream echoed from down the tunnel, and for a moment all the miners stopped, but when Dhar-Mon dropped the wheelbarrow and began to run toward the noise, the boy stopped him, crying out in Mongolian and shaking his head quickly.

“Someone could be hurt!” Dhar-Mon insisted. “I must help them!”

“No!” Was all the boy said, looking up at him with pleading eyes. “No. No. No.”

Pratal Mox stared out at the sun setting over the icy mountains and yellow grass, where the horses stood and picked out what little bits of vegetation they could pull from the ground, and he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“You aren’t going to be able to sleep until you face this.” His wife said, moving her hand from his shoulder down around his waist.

“I am naively hoping it will not need facing.” He said. “Vox Prima…I mean. Kon-Mai has not shown much interest in her past, and I am hoping we can leave this place before it shows interest in her.”

“Even so. She has a right to know. And you have the power to tell her.” Elena moved to stand beside him. “Look at how much good it’s done Gur-Rai to have old friends and new friends again.”

“Gur-Rai is…” Mox twiddled his thumbs. “He is different. His memories were not completely overwritten by Camazotz, he remembers things the others don’t.”

“And maybe Kon-Mai remembers too.” Elena crossed her arms. “Or at the very least, I think someone in this camp does.”

Mox sighed. “That is what I fear. What if they tell her?”

“Tell her yourself.” She took his hand. “You’ve taken hold of your own fate time and time again, my love.”

“I know, and I’m tired.” Mox sighed. “It is not just my fate anymore. How do I tell Kon-Mai that I was the ferryman who led her to hell?”

Summary: The chapter begins with Gur-Rai and Parysatis going out to open field so Gur-Rai can train to become an eagle hunter. As it’s his first lesson, Parysatis starts him off by just teaching him how to land the eagle on his arm, which he does with some difficulty. Back at Karakorum, Drakaina is meeting with Senuna to talk about the next mission, and Senuna briefly chastises Drakaina on her leadership methods.

After the training, Aisha catches up with Kon-Mai and invites her to a secluded spot, where she likes to pray. She tells Kon-Mai that her devotion stems from her parental figure, Monkh, encouraging her to maintain that which connected her to her happiness. Aisha also clarifies that Monkh was the previous Jinong before her, and that one of her earliest memories is waking up in her arms.

Down in the Elerium mines, Dhar-Mon meets several of the miners, who are all diligently working on mining Elerium to be used recreationally and in warfare. One old man shows Dhar-Mon around, and he sees the process by which Elerium is stabilized. While helping a young boy bring the processed sludge in for refining, Dhar-Mon hears a scream from deeper in the mine.

In Karakorum, Pratal Mox reflects on how much he knows about Kon-Mai’s past. Elena encourages him to tell her, but he hesitates.

(Hello everyone, I know it’s been over a month and I’m so sorry I kept you all waiting. February just completely kicked my ass, starting with my cat passing away and ending with a slew of health problems that have left me pretty much out of commission until now. I’m not 100% better yet, but I am recovering and recovered enough to get this to you. I have NOT given up on the shark babies, and I’m still in this for the long haul!

Thanks to my buddies in the discord for helping me get my motivation!)

#xcom #xcom 2 #xcom au #chosen stories

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5am-the-foxing-hour · 5 years ago

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First Movie Night

Fluffy thought has now been written.

Characters: Deceit, Remus, Roman, Logan, Patton, Virgil, Thomas.

Familial/platonic: DLAMPTR

Warnings: no warnings that i can think of

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Word count:1 349

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General Fanfic Tag list: @ebony-wolf, @nashiraneko, @i-sold-my-soul-to-thefandom, @rabbitsartcorner, @punsterterry, @sleepyssnail, @nightmaresides, @virgilswritings, @ninja-girl2846, @ninjago2020, @starryfirefliesbloggo, @garecc, @sympatheticdeceit, @cookiethedevil, @askthesnake, @all-bridges-will-burn, @tacohippy56900, @little-euro-girl, @aggressiveshipper, @imbasicallyshakespear, @slayerofspiders, @prinssess61, @underthesea73, @suicidalcitrusfruit,

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Deceit was not in a good mood.

He was in Thomas’s living room, standing near the stairs. All the light sides and Thomas staring at him, dressed in onesies.

Patton sat in his cat onesie snuggled up on the couch, with a cup of hot chocolate in his hands. Virgil sat behind him on the back of the couch in a skeleton onesie. Thomas sat in the corner of the couch, dressed in black pyjama pants and a grey sweatshirt. Roman was sprawled on his throne of pillows, bundled in a blanked and dressed in his beast onesie. Logan was sitting on the couch too, someone having actually gotten him to change into his pyjamas, which was a white T-shirt with the NASA logo and a pair of deep blue pants sprinkled with a star pattern.

The sudden attention on him being there was making his skin and scales itch and crawl, his wrist felt like it was burning through the fabric of the glove where Remus was grabbing him, having not let go since he grabbed Deceit and dragged him away from his desk and out of his room.

“Remus.” Deceit hissed giving his hand a thug, but Remus didn’t let go. “Why did you drag me here?”

“It’s movie night, duh!” Remus huffed rolling his eyes.

“If that’s so, then let go of me so I can return to my work.” Deceit huffed with a glare.

“No! you’re joining! for one movie!” Remus argued.

“I am not about to sit around and do-”

“Two movies!”

“Wha- Remus that’s not how it works!”

“Three movies!”

“REMUS! NO! I Am not-”

“FOUR MOVIES!”

“NO!”

“FIVE!”

“REMUS I SWEAR TO-”

“SEVEN!”

The others could do nothing but stare as Remus and Deceit went back and forth in an argument Deceit was quickly losing.

Deceit made several frustrated hisses before he snatched his hand back from Remus.

“IF I WATCH ONE MOVIE WILL YOU GET OFF MY BACK ABOUT THIS?!” Deceit snarled.

“Hm… SURE!” Remus cheered.

“Then fine.”

“Yay! Snakey will watch eight movies with us!”

“Wha- Who said anything about eight!?” Deceit snapped before he huffed in frustration and rubbed the brim of his nose with one hand. “You know what, fine. Fine! Let’s just get this over with for everyone.” Deceit huffed as he stalked over towards the armchair.

“Ah! Snakey! You need to get cosy! Not your fancy wear! And I do love your with less clothes~” Remus said with a grin as he snapped his fingers, the others looked various degrees of panic at whatever they thought Remus would change Deceit’s clothes into. Deceit froze mid stepp, as his normal clothes changed into a black T-shirt with his logo and a pair of grey fuzzy plaid pants and yellow fluffy socks. Hat and gloves were gone, which revealed his wild mess of hair under his hat. The lack of long sleeves and gloves revealed the scatters of scales that was speckled out along his arms, some even reached the back of his hands.

Deceit just looked down at himself before he grumbled and sat down in the armchair with a growl, crossing his arms and glaring at the TV.

Remus was grinning as he moved to snap his hand again.

“KEEP YOUR UNDERWEAR ON IDIOT!” Roman screamed making Remus give away a irked noise before he snapped his fingers, leaving him in nothing but his neon green boxers and a black tank top with a kraken on it.

“ROOOMAN! YOU THREW OFF MY GROOVE!” Remus whined stomping the floor with a pout.

Deceit claimed one bowl of popcorns for himself, before he curled up in the armchair glowering at the TV screen. Roman and Logan were pointing out the stupid or obvious things, while Virgil and Patton kept mostly quiet. Remus piped up now and again there he lied sprawled on the couch, feet on Logan’s lap and his head pushing against Thomas’s thigh, Thomas had tried to get away, but Remus just kept stretching so he gave up and just let the creative side do what he wanted.

It was around the time Thomas put in the third movie that they noticed Deceit had fallen asleep. Curled up in the arm chair around the now empty bowl only holding some unpopped kernels. Thomas couldn’t help the small surprised coo that left him at the sight. Deceit looked way less threatening and evil asleep. Thomas reached out and carded his fingers through the strands of hair.

Deceit made a small noise in the back of his throat before he nuzzled into the hand, tongue poking out from between his lips before returning into his mouth. Thomas starred starry eyed at Deceit’s face. Deceit’s tongue was forked, like that of a snake, and it was adorable.

“Oh Yuck! don’t think those disgusting thoughts about kissing my best friend!” Remus whined from the couch, making Thomas splutter and flush bright red.

“Remus!” Thomas hissed.

“What it’s True! We all know your thoughts Thomas! and they are disgustingly adorable right now, get me to the juicy stuff!”

“Eeew! I don’t want to know those thoughts! even less about Deceit!” Virgil hissed kicking Remus on the shoulder, only making the chaotic creatwin bark out laughing.

“He just looked cute! I don’t lie awake at night thinking about him!” Thomas tried to counter. “How would a relationship with a sides even work?! Only I can see you… can you even leave my apartment?”

“That is a couple questions for another day.” Logan said with a yawn “Once we have all gotten a good night's rest. And we have the energy to partake in some theories and hypotheses so that we can find it out, because I do not know the answer to those questions.”

“Wait… have you tried to appear when I’m not at home?” Thomas asked. The others shared looked before they shook their heads.

“It was easier when you were a child.” Roman piped up. “You didn’t realise I, or well, that was before me and Remus were split up, i think…”

“We were like an imaginary friend to you, but as you grew it got harder until it was almost impossible, it’s so much easier to appear in your home than if your outside.” Remus said, sitting up.

“That… makes sense i guess?” Thomas hummed. only to yelp when a dramatic scene happened in the movie he had started earlier, but completely forgotten about.

They watched some more movies before Thomas noted that all his sides had fallen asleep, Remus had moved so that his feet was now thrown over the back of the couch and his head hanging off the seat, as he snored. Logan had slid to the side and was currently using Remus’s stomach as a pillow. Virgil had slid down the back of the couch and wrapped his arms around Patton, both snuggled up together sleeping soundly. Roman was sprawled on his pillow throne snoring just as loudly as Remus. Deceit was still curled up in the armchair, giving away a hissing snore, his tongue poking out with each exhale, Thomas chuckled when he saw it, it reminded him of Sir Hiss’s snoring from Robin hood.

Thomas got up from the couch and stretched, making some joints pop, before he walked over to the TV turning it off, which cast the living room in the faint light of the mood outside, Thomas gathered the bowls and cups before putting them on the counter next to the sink, and then gathered some blankets and plaids for the sides, throwing it over them before he went to brush his teeth, knowing Logan would get offended if he didn’t. Thomas got back to the living room once he was done, he grabbed a blanket on his own before going upstairs, stopping after a few steps to look down at the sleeping sides. A smile on his lips. Despite his unfamiliarity with Deceit, he hadn’t hated having the snake like side there.

“Good night guys.” Thomas said before he walked upstairs to sleep to the rest of the night.

#Sanders Sides #DLAMPTR #Janus #Sympathetic Deceit #Remus #Roman #Logan #Patton #Virgil #Thomas #text #the fox writes #fluff #movie night

225 notes · View notes

gloomshrike · 3 years ago

Text

Au Ra Aria

Taknark stepped off of the shuttle onto the stone landing, stretching his arms out as he looked down the long queue outside Kugane customs. He sighed, throwing the strap on his duffel over his shoulder and lighting a cigarette as he joined the line. He patted his coat several times, making sure the letter was still safe in the inside pocket.

“Sir, you can’t smoke here.”

Taknark looked over at the hingan attendant, who pointed at the ground while maintaining a stern glare in his direction.

“It’s outside.” Taknark said, as thin puffs of smoke escaped his lungs with the protest.

“It doesn’t matter. There’s no smoking on the landing.” The attendant snapped her fingers.

Taknark shrugged, and flicked the cherry to the ground. He closed his hand around the field-stripped butt and let it roll into his coat sleeve before opening his hand with a flourish to show the attendant it had disappeared. He wiggled his fingers mockingly and gave a dry “Ta-da.” The attendant rolled her eyes and left.

Taknark patted his coat again, and felt the letter safe and secure. He sighed and scratched the back of his neck as he waited in the queue. When he finally got to the booth, he handed his papers over.

“John Johnson?”

Taknark looked through the smudged glass at the inquisitive man in the booth.

“Midlander. On my dad’s side.”

“Right.”

The man stamped Taknark’s papers and passed them back through the slot. He placed them in his coat pocket, and gave it another pat, finding the letter safe and secure. The attendant opened the gate out of the landing, and ‘John Johnson’ passed through with a lazy wave.

Taknark walked out into Kugane and beelined it for a nearby bench. He placed his duffel on the ground, sat down, and looked around, peeling his sharp eyes for any trace of a No Smoking sign. Absent of one, he let the half-smoked cigarette roll back out of his sleeve and set it alight. He patted his coat pocket again for the letter, finding it safe and secure.

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

Taknark walked out of the Kugane night into the bar. The door closed behind him, and the walls cut the noise and bustle of Kogane Dori to nothingness. He glanced through the window to the markets as the people moved silently past. The air inside was still and, for a change, so was Taknark’s mind. The bar was empty save for a few patrons one drink past ‘one more couldn’t hurt’. He made his way to the bar, motioning to the bartender without taking a seat. The bartender walked over, polishing a glass as he went.

“Do you do bottle service?” Taknark asked.

The bartender nodded. “Only sake.”

“How about fish?”

The bartender stopped polishing for just a moment, then resumed. “Sure. Fifth room on the left.”

Taknark nodded, leaving a gil on the counter as he left. He turned down the VIP hall, counting the doors on the left in his head, until the giggling and jovialities behind the paper walls faded by the silent fifth door. He slid it open, and sat on the floor was an old lalafell wearing a hingan robe. On the floor next to him was a conical straw hat and an opened bottle of whiskey, the first quarter of which had already rosied the cheeks of the old-timer. The lalafell looked up, and a surprised expression waxed across his handlebar mustache.

“Taknark!”

Taknark put a finger to his lips in a shushing motion as he slid the door closed behind him. “It’s John, actually. Don’t remember me, Cage?”

Cage hiccuped, pouring a glass of whiskey for Taknark and one more for himself. “Of course. John. How could I not remember? You look just like John.” The old lala couldn’t help but let out a few amused snorts as he slid the drink over.

Taknark took his seat across from Cage and reached into his jacket, producing the letter. He passed it to the old lala, took a sip of the scotch, and winced. “Tastes like Doma’s been free longer than this has aged.”

Cage unfolded the letter, downed the rest of his drink, and shrugged. “Cop salary. What’re ya gonna do.” He looked down at the letter, and in a barely-legible scrawl, read:

I’m all outta fish.

Cage sighed. “Well at least he’s talkin’ to somebody.”

Taknark raised an eyebrow. “He hasn’t been in contact?”

Cage shook his head, and poured another glass. “Nope. The man’s a ghost. Dunno why you came straight here, though. I can think of someone you should’ve asked first.”

Taknark sighed. “Yeah, but I’d rather leave that option for when all the others fail.”

“You and Vyl have a falling out?”

Taknark shook his head. “Not as such. But Vyl’s not the kinda guy you notify when he has something you want.”

Cage let out a chuckle as he took another sip of his drink. “True enough. Look, I don’t have anything concrete, but in your shoes I’d check the Steppe.”

“The Steppe?”

Cage nodded. “He’s half-xaela. Taken as a kid by the empire and trained as a conscript in Othard. He used to talk about getting homesick sometimes.”

“Shit.” Taknark leaned back, resting on his palms. “That’s quite a trip.”

Cage nodded in reply, topping off Taknark’s drink. “One for the road?”

“Might as well. Road just got a lot longer.”

Cage lifted his glass. “To fish.”

Taknark lifted his in turn. “To the long road.”

The glasses clinked and the pair took a drink. Taknark pulled out his cigarette packet, bumping one out and lighting it, letting the smoke wash over the dry taste of cheap whiskey.

“You can’t smoke in here, John.”

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

The next few days passed with an agonizing dawdle. It was an unremarkable week of constant rain over the Ruby Sea, gales of wind over the plains of Othard, and a series of innkeepers unenthused with the soaking wet highlander showing up on their doorstep. By the last night of his trip, Taknark found himself convinced that in addition to hosting his quarry, the Steppe may be the only place left in Doma he was allowed to smoke.

At last, the morning after another fatigued, sleepless night, he found himself in the Azim Steppe. He walked through the bazaar in reunion, doing whatever one could call window shopping along a series of tents and yurts. He asked a few of the locals where to find information, and after some pointing and awkward charades with his Questir hosts, he was finally directed to a covered yurt with two xaela standing watch outside. They stood at least 80 ilms tall, with grim faces, large black horns, and armor adorned in the bones of Steppe tigers they’d likely killed themselves. Taknark scratched the back of his head and approached the yurt, expecting no shortage of difficulty getting in.

To his surprise, the warriors left their spears upright, and each placed a hand on the entrance curtain. “Am I expected?” Taknark asked. The guards answered with only a stare, their grim faces unmoving. Taknark shrugged and entered the tent.

It was dark, with only small sunrays being let through gaps in the tent’s construction. An ornate rug covered the floor, upon which sat an elderly xaela, with wrinkled, green skin and the enamel fading from his black horns. He sat in front of a circular tray with an overturned cup in the middle of it. The tent was hazed over with the smoke from the curved pipe the xaela puffed on, looking up at Taknark.

“Gods be good.” Taknark muttered, producing a cigarette from his coat and lighting it. He took a long drag, and looked down at the elderly man before him. “The trademasters told me this is where to go for information.”

The elder took another puff from his pipe. “Liar.” He said, with the ragged voice one would expect from an aging smoker.

“Excuse me?” Taknark replied, bewildered.

“The trademasters are Qestir. They tell nothing, to anyone. They believe to speak is to lie, and you’ve barged into my tent to testify on their creed’s behalf.” The old man let out a chuckle.

Taknark sighed. “Semantics. I was directed here. Can you help me or not?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.I read a tapestry I cannot change. How could I? How could you? We are but tiny stitchings in that selfsame weave. Help may not be the right word. Are you sure I cannot interest you in semantics?” The old xaela let out another raspy giggle.

“Not today.” Taknark replied, exhaling another cloud of smoke. “I’m looking for someone.”

With a quick motion, the elder snatched up the cup, covered it and shook it, and let a handful of dried bones fall onto the tray.

“Ohhh. A beloved child.” The elder gave a whimsical whistle. “Both Father and Mother for an Au Ra. A true rarity.”

Taknark’s eyes widened. “So you know him?”

The elder sighed. “No, but the bones do. The weave does. Nhaama knows her son.”

Taknark sighed. “You’re not a broker, you’re a fortune teller.”

The elder narrowed his eyes at the bones. “No lies here.”

“No truths, either. Just riddles and magic tricks. I shouldn’t have come here.” Taknark turned to leave the tent.

“You did not choose to come in here. It was the will of Nhaama. Or perhaps, the Will of Karash.”

Taknark stopped and turned around. “You’re a Qerel, aren’t you? Isn’t the Will of Karash a boon of bloodlust for your tribe?”

“Ohohoho, you’re awfully knowledgeable.” The elder remarked with a grin.

“I’m well-traveled.”

The elder picked up the bones and rattled them lazily in the cup as he took another puff from his pipe. “Not exactly. The Chaghan are those who lose themselves to the Will of Karash. They slaughter indiscriminately, and lose themselves to hate.”

Taknark took another drag. “And why would the Will of Karash bring me out here to bicker with you?”

“Heeeeehehehehehe,” the old man wheezed another smoky laugh. “What would drive you to do what you do if not bloodlust and hate?”

“Money.” Taknark answered, dryly.

“Hehehehe, simpler to open a fish stand. You could make money, and find your friend.”

Taknark’s jaw went slightly agape, nearly letting the cigarette tumble to the ground. “So you do know him?”

The elder slammed the cup down on the tray, lifting it up and looking at the bones. “Yanxia, traveler. Back the way you came. Where chains are broken and fisheater’s fly.”

“Could you be a little more specific?” Taknark asked with a sigh.

“Hehehe, no, traveler. I’ve seen nary of the outside of this tent in a decade. I only know what the bones tell me.” The elder giggled again.

Taknark turned and placed a hand on the entrance flap to the tent. “Thanks for the help.” He said, and exited. After he’d gone, one of the Qerel guards put his head into the tent, finding the elder’s head bowed and his hands folded together.

“Is everything alright?”

“I am praying to Nhaama, child.”

“For the ijin?”

“For her. No mother should outlive her child.”

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

Taknark stood on the cliff overlooking the Gensui Chain, in the middle of the cemetery above The Heron’s Way. He smoked a cigarette, and stood over the crumpled butts of a few already smoked. The fading sunset illuminated the slate gravestone.

Khaishan Ittetsu

“Didn’t make it all the way home, I guess.” Taknark remarked, taking a long drag from the cigarette. “They coulda put something on your stone, though. Maybe a fish, or a sword. A swordfish would have worked nicely, now that I think about it.”

Taknark heard the distinct sound of a slider being racked. “Put ‘em up, Taknark.”

The highlander raised his hands slowly, the smoke drifting off of the cigarette burning in his hand. He turned his head to see a small group of men, plainly dressed and brandishing a firearm each. Seven, he thought to himself.

“You’re a hard man to find, Bryrsig.” The voice called out to Taknark from the rear of the group. “How’s Bozja treatin’ you?”

Taknark didn’t move. “Well enough. Better than Othard nowadays.”

The man moved from behind one of his gunmen, training his own pistol on Taknark’s back. Taknark could feel his gaze drilling into him from behind a pair of cheap sunglasses. “You didn’t give my money to the resistance, did you?” He asked, gritting his teeth.

Taknark sighed. “Two rules, Vepar. No people, no bioweapons. You think I wouldn’t find a case of Black Rose at the bottom of a barrel of spice?”

“You take the money, you do the job!” Vepar yelled. “Where is it?!”

“The Rose? Destroyed it, ‘bout as soon as I found it.”

“Great. An arms smuggler with a conscience.”

“What’s a conscience?”

“Shut it!” Vepar gripped his pistol and snarled. “Turn around. If I can’t recoup my losses I’ll take your fucking head instead.”

Taknark did as he was told, turning around with his hands still raised. “Did you kill Khaishan?”

Vepar chuckled, “Nah. That headstone’s news to me too. I fucking wish I did, though. You and that reeking confederate never gave me shit but trouble.” He gestured with his weapon to the surrounding graves. “At least I won’t have to carry you very far.”

Taknark steeled his gaze towards the group of gunmen. “Here’s as good a place as any.” He looked up at his cigarette, nearly extinguished. “One last drag for the road?”

Vepar thumbed the hammer back on his own gun. “Fuck you. Kill him.”

The lead gunman placed his finger on the trigger, and saw the projectile flying at him. He moved his arm up to shield his head, expecting the hidden knife to strike, or a hidden flashbang to detonate at any moment. Time slowed to a crawl as he ducked, and looked up at the flicked cigarette flying overhead, its dim cherry leaving an orange trail against the fading light. He had just enough time to register the sight before the hole was ripped through his chest.

Bang.

The gunmen fell, and Taknark fired two more shots at the leading lackeys.

Bang. Bang.

One fell clutching his chest, and the other fell like a bag of concrete as the bullet passed through his eye. Taknark vaulted over Khaishan’s headstone as the group opened fire. Pieces of slate chipped off, and a bullet came whizzing through the stone, grazing Taknark on the shoulder. He rolled out of cover with his palm on the hammer of his revolver, and fanned it.

Bang. Bang.

Two more shots rang out as two more fell. Vepar and the last henchman fired wildly as Taknark rolled between the graves. He heard the click of the rack sticking to the slide release, and the distinctive shlick of the magazine falling. Taknark rose over the graves, drew a bead, and fired.

Bang.

Between the eyes. The last henchman fell backwards into the dirt as the blood ran down the hill. Taknark moved back from the graves onto the cemetery path, and trained his revolver on Vepar.

“Got time for a couple of questions?” Taknark asked, using his free hand to light another cigarette, keeping his eyes steeled on Vepar.

Vepar chuckled, then laughed loudly, raising his weapon back up towards Taknark. “What is it they used to call you? The Six-Shot Smuggler? Stylish.”

“I haven’t heard that one in a long time. You’ve got a taste for old history, Vepar.”

Vepar grinned. “You’re out, Taknark. I counted ‘em. Any last jokes you wanna make before I vent your fucking skull?”

Taknark took another long drag. “If you didn’t know Khaishan was dead, why risk impersonating him? Why send the letter?”

Vepar shook his head, and placed his finger on the trigger. “What fucking letter.” And squeezed.

Before the trigger moved, Vepar’s hand fell to the ground, still gripping the gun. His jaw dropped and he didn’t have time to make a sound before a katana passed cleanly through his neck. His assailant had his sword sheathed before he’d fallen, and his head rolled off, his face still in stunned silence.

The man stepped forward, resting his sheathed blade over his shoulders. A pale-skinned Au Ra with black horns, brown hair tied in a braid over his shoulder, and piercing blue eyes.

Taknark hummed, and lowered his weapon. “You look sprightly for a dead man.”

Khaishan shrugged. “IVth Legion found out I survived the rebellion. Figured it was easier to die than fight for no money. Again.”

Taknark took a final drag from his cigarette and dropped it on the ground, stamping it. “Well I’ve been chasing you across this continent for no money, and found your headstone instead. I hope you’ve got something really good, otherwise you’re a bigger dick than I ever gave you credit for.”

Their bickering was interrupted by a sound, like a spell failing to cast or the air being let out of a balloon. The pair looked down at Vepar’s corpse, its midlander features blurring as the corpse began to contort. Afterwards, a taller corpse and the distinct head of an au ra lay at the pair's feet.

“Fucking fantasia. I guess Au Ra do stick out nowadays.” Taknark sighed. “I should just avoid horned beings in general.”

Khaishan laughed. “A lot of attitude for someone who just had their life saved.”

“I had it under control.”

Khaishan perked an eyebrow. “How’s that?”

“Do you know why they used to call me the Six-Shot Smuggler?” Taknark asked.

Khaishan tapped his head with his sword sheath. “Sounds self-explanatory.”

“Alliteration.” Taknark replied, releasing the cylinder of his revolver and showing two brass bullets still loaded. “Eight shots. Never carried less.”

“They should call you the Eight-Shot Asshole instead.” Khaishan said with a laugh, turning to leave back down the hill. “I’ve got work, if you’re not too busy playing soldier. Let’s go to Namai before the tigers come to clean up this mess.”

Taknark clicked the cylinder back into place and placed the revolver back into the holster beneath his shoulder. As he moved down the hill, the last light of the day passed behind the cliffs, catching the engraving on Khaishan’s sheath.

Karash

1 note · View note

rocksandrobots · 4 years ago

Text

Of Rocks and Robots Ch. 14 - Bot Fighting

Varian stood outside the convenience store next to the trolley stop, bags in hand. He had run out of minutes on his cell phone and Wasabi had lent him some money to buy a new phone card and a few other items he needed.

Varian gave a frustrated sigh and looked at his watch. The tram was running late and he was getting tired of standing in the heat of the day. But he was even more annoyed that he had to ask to borough money again.

Varian had been in this new world for three weeks now, and while the full scholarship Professor Granville had given him granted most of the necessities he needed, such as student housing, free meals at the school cafeteria, free credit at the college store for school supplies and textbooks, and even a student pass for the city's public transit, it didn't cover extras like his phone bill or anything else he might want to buy.

He had tried to get a part-time job like his friends, but that was proving to be a difficult task. Most of the applications he'd had put in online he wouldn't ever hear back from and the few he'd applied to in person got turned down almost immediately. Usually either citing his age or his student visa as cause for not hiring him.

He was just thinking of some other options to make money when a man dressed in leather and riding on a motorcycle pulled up. The man parked the bike, got up, and taped a piece of paper to the pole of the bus sign.

Curious Varian peered over the man's shoulder to read the flier.

BOT FIGHT TONIGHT

WINNER

$5,000 GRAND PRIZE

Call 'Louie' for details.

"Uh, excuse me, but are you 'Louie?' Varian politely asked.

"Who wants to know?" Was the man's reply.

"Well, umm, what's a bot fight?"

The man looked surprised. "You really don't know?"

Varian shook his head.

The other man narrowed his eyes. "You wouldn't be pulling my leg now would ya?"

Varian shook his head no a second time.

"It's a competition. Competitors pit the robots they've built against each other. First robot down or destroyed loses."

"Can anyone join?"

"So long as you got a ‘bot and some cash you can."

"Cash? You mean like for an entry fee?" Varian grew disappointed. He was sure he could win a competition like that with ease but he didn't have much money left. "How much money do you need?" Varian asked against all hope.

"Depends, how much do ya got?"

Varian dug into his pocket. "Uh… Ten dollars."

"Hmm… well that's a start anyways. Here ya go kid and good luck."

The man gave Varian a small business card with the name of a restaurant, directions, and a phone number.

"It starts at 6 PM, but get there earlier if possible to sign up." And with that the man got back on his bike and drove away.

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

Varian raced back to his lab as soon as the bus let him off. He had called the number on the business card and the woman over the phone told him the rules of the game. Turns out there was a height and weight limit to the robots allowed to enter, so he would only need to build a small automaton to fight with. He could whip one up in a couple of hours, he was sure.

Once he had finished crafting the miniaturized war machine he headed back to the dorms to drop off his purchases and prepare to head out. Wasabi wasn’t there when Varian arrived, otherwise Varian would have invited him along. His friend apparently had a group project that he was working on after school. So Varian simply left him a note telling the other teen where he had gone.

“Hey Ruddgier, sorry to keep you cooped up here all day but I’m afraid they won't allow raccoons at the bot fight.” Varian scratched behind his pet’s ears. “But I did get you a present while I was out.”

Varian pulled out a bag full of apples and Ruddiger practically crawled all over him trying to get at his favorite treat.

“Okay, Okay,” Varian laughed. “You can have some.” He put the bag inside the kennel. He didn’t have the heart to lock the cage’s door though. He hoped the fruit would be enough to keep his pet busy and out of trouble until Wasabi returned that afternoon.

“I gotta go now, so be good, okay, buddy.” Varian ordered, and with that he grabbed his coat and mini automaton and headed out the door.

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

“Guys, we have a problem!” Wasabi burst through the Big Hero Six headquarters waving a note in the air.

“I’ll say, Roddy still hasn’t finished the wiring!” Fred said ruefully, not paying attention to his friend.

“Hey, you can’t rush fine craftsmanship.” Said a large man hanging from the rafters. He was dressed in overalls and had a bushy red beard. In his hands were wires and a soldering iron.

Fred had been insisting that the gang needed a HQ to work out of for months. None of the other members had thought it necessary, but they finally relented when Fred offered to pay for the whole thing using an old abandoned candy factory his family owned and a well respected architect known for building superhero lairs named Roddy. The jury was still out on whether or not this was a good decision but it tended to keep Fred out of trouble so the gang thought it worth it in the end.

“No not that! This!” Wasabi yelled and shoved the note into Fred’s face.

“Dear Wasabi, gone to a bot fight. Would have invited you but you were busy. See you later tonight. Signed Varian.” Fred read.

“Oh no.” Gogo groaned. “He doesn't know ‘bot fights are illegal.”

‘We have to find him,” Hiro said with determination, ”before he gets himself into trouble.”

“Should we suit up?” Honey Lemon asked.

Hiro turned down the idea. “No, we don't wanna start a fight and risk having Varian or others caught in the middle.”

The rest of the gang huddled around him as he strategized a plan. “Now they tend to rotate where the fights are held into order to evade the police so we’re going to need to split up. There’s at least five possible places in Good Luck Alley alone so, Gogo you take the Red Room. Wasabi hit up the Union Sports Bar. Honey Lemon, I need you to check out the Koi; that’s like a spa but it’s got a hidden arena underneath. Fred there’s the usual warehouse on second street and Baymax and I will head to Louie’s. They know me there so it’ll be easier for me to get in.”

“And remember, we’re only going there to get Varian, so find him and then leave. Nothing else.” Gogo admonished looking right at Hiro when she said this.

Hiro looked hurt but he understood where Gogo was coming from. He loved the sport, but it had caused enough trouble in his life and he didn't need any more of that.

“Okay, any more questions? Good. Then we’ll meet back up in front of the Good Luck Arcade and then go from there.” And with that the gang headed out to search for their friend.

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

Hiro peered around the corner of the building and down a short alleyway to see the flashing neon sign advertising the restaurant. A burly man guarded the doorway and was checking individuals over before allowing them in.

“Okay, Baymax,” Hiro said turning back to his faithful companion, “I don't think the bouncer is going to let you in so you wait right here and if I’m not out in an hour call the others, alright?”

“I do not think it is a good idea for you to go in alone, but if you insist I will wait right here.” The robot blinked his coal black eyes and dutifully stood to attention on the sidewalk.

“Don’t worry, they know me here, it’ll be fine. Thanks Baymax.” And with that Hiro walked over towards the guard.

“Ya here to fight or to watch?” Asked the tall man.

“Watch; I wanna get to know the competition.” Hiro lied. This seemed to satisfy the bouncer and after paying the man ten bucks Hiro was allowed entrance.

The restaurant was crowded with spectators and dimly lit. Chairs were sacked and tables were pushed out of the way to make room for the event, with a single spot light hanging down on a short stage at the back. Though Hiro couldn’t see who was competing at the moment due to all the people standing in the way.

“What are you doing here?” came an annoyed voice behind him, and Hiro turned around to see who it was. A tall, lanky woman with an eye patch and hair piled high up on her head in a bun glowered over him.

“Hi Fujita.” Hiro gulped. “Look I’m not here to cause any trouble, I’m just looking for a friend. Have you seen him? He’s about my age, so high, has black hair with a blue streak in it, and he usually wears goggles.”

The woman rolled her eyes as she recognized the description. “You mean the new champ? He’s on stage right now.” She stuck her thumb out and gestured towards the back before walking off to collect bets for the next match.

Hiro thanked her and started to push his way through the crowd. He saw Varian sitting cross legged on the small stage, with a pile of cash next to him and fiddling with a bot. Varian spotted him as soon as he made it to the edge of the platform.

‘Oh, Hiro! Hey!” Varian exclaimed a huge grin splitting his face. “I’m glad you could make it. Look how much money I made!” He gleefully held up a wad of cash. “Now I got a enough money to pay everyone back; for everything, the phone, the clothes, and even that book you bought me. Here.”

Varian handed Hiro the money and Hiro was at a loss for words. His new friend was so earnest, so sincere, and so completely oblivious to the den of debauchery he was currently in. It would have been comical if not for the fact that Hiro knew first hand just how quickly things could go wrong here.

“What!? No! First, that was a present, you don't need to pay me back, and second we need to get out of here, now.” Hiro said firmly.

Varian looked at him with wide eyes. ”But why? I’m winning!” He laughed.

Hiro, made to answer, but was interrupted by Fujita coming up on stage and announcing the next match.

“Now folks, it’s time for the final round!’ She enthusiastically yelled. “Yama versus the new kid, Varian!” The crowd cheered as a large heavy set man dressed in a sweat suit appeared from behind the curtain.

Hiro’s heart skipped a beat as he recognized the mob boss. Things were getting out of hand now; time to call back up. Hiro stepped off to the side and pulled out his phone to text Wasabi when a muscle bound goon stanched it out of his hand.

“Hey! Give it back!” He yelled and jumped up to make a grab for it. But the thug was too tall for the short teen and held the device high above his head.

“No cell phones.” He growled and Hiro slunk back over to the stage.

His despondent mood turned quickly to curiosity though when he saw what Varian was up to.

The time-displaced teen was winding up a crank on the back of his robot. He set the machine down and it began to jerkily walk forward as a creepy music box like melody played.

youtube

Yama stared at the dinky looking bot for a moment before bursting out in raucous laughter. “You gotta be kidding me. You’re going to fight me with a little wind up doll!? Bwahaha. What is this a bot fight or a toy tournament!? Someone get me a real competitor.”

Varian gave the man a smirk. “What’s the matter? A big man like you afraid of a little toy?” He sarcastically taunted and Yama looked like he was about to burst a vein in anger.

“It’s on, you little twerp!” The mob boss roared and Hiro grimaced. This wasn’t going to end well.

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

Baymax stood dutifully on the sidewalk corner. His internal clock ticked down the minutes until the hour was up, when he would then be needed to call upon the others. Hiro still had a good twenty minutes left though and Baymax's hadn't been alerted to any other emergencies.

Just then the robot's auditory sensors picked up the whirring sound of sirens coming closer. Three patrol cars pulled up to the sidewalk in front of the restaurant he was standing next to.

"Oh no." Baymax bemoaned.

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

Hiro was beside himself. On the one hand, Varian was winning. On the other hand, Varian was winning.

Yama was a sore loser who got to the top by stepping on others. If Varian lost the fight he would owe money that he simply didn't have. If he won, then Yama would probably tell his goons to beat them both up and take the money anyway. Either outcome more or less ended with a trip to the emergency room for one of them unless Hiro could get his friend out of there quickly.

That was easier said than done since all eyes were on the young alchemist at the moment, including Hiro's.

Varian's robot was a marvel. Hiro didn't know what the thing was made of but it was near indestructible. It ran on pre-programmed instructions and didn't need the use of a remote unlike the other bots. Therefore it's movements were more clunky but it's blows hit harder. Just chipping away chucks of its opponent with each connecting hit. Moreover, on the rare occasions Yama's bot was able to land in it's own blow, it would only wind up damaging itself in the process while Varian's bot remained unscathed.

Soon enough Yama's robot sputtered and sparked and then shut down and Varian was proclaimed the winner.

"Awe, too bad." The goggle wearing teen gloated while he shoveled money into his pockets. "Maybe you'll win next time, hun?"

Yama just glared at Varian from across the stage and Hiro could sense the mob boss's thugs crowding closer around them. Hiro climbed up on the stage and started to tug at his friend's sleeve.

"Okaay. Time to get going then." He nervously said while his friend still gathered up his things.

“What’s the rush?” Said the minion who had stolen Hiro’s phone earlier. He now stood right behind the two boys blocking their exit.

“Oh no rush, but it’s not like he has anything left to fight with?” Varian snickered, still unaware of the danger they were in.

“Oh don’t I?” Yama replied, cracking his knuckles into a fist and standing to his full height.

Varian visibly shrank at the sight, “Heeey, now, I thought this was just a friendly competition.” He nervously laughed. “No need to get bent out of shape. Am I right, Louie?” Varian turned to the tall goon behind them, looking for backup. None came.

Varian gulped, “Fujita?”. But the tall woman made no move to help either. He looked around wide eyed, desperately hunting for a friendly face.

“Sorry, kid nothing personal,” said ‘Louie’, “but Yama pays the light bill.”

“Oh.” Varian hollowly said as realization finally dawned on him.

Hiro stepped in, “Look, you can keep the money. We just don't want any trouble.”

“Awe, too bad,” Yama threw back Varian’s words, “but, hey maybe next time you’ll know better?” And with that Varian and Hiro braced themselves as the gang started to surround them.

Just when Hiro thought things couldn’t get worse, the cops busted down the door.

“Everyone, hands up! This is a raid!”

#varian #hiro #yama #big hero 6 #bh6 #BH6 the series #tangled #tangled the series #rapunzel's tangled adventure #tts #rta

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spicedrobot · 4 years ago

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cw: ns/fw, frottage, sad stakh always (reposting since tumblr messed up the read more and i can’t fix it somehow??)

The town survives.

Its people are exhausted, homeless, out of work and food, but the rulers play their roles, zealous and sleepless, in the days that follow. There are whispers of miracles (and of things far more sinister)—just how did those who could organize emergency rations and medical aid manage to survive—but Stakh knows the truth.

The truth lies in an ungainly sprawl in his childhood bedroom. Artemy had never been a graceful sleeper, and he still isn’t. His left foot sticks out the bottom of the comforter, his pillow bunched up beneath his head; a line of drool glistens at the side of his mouth.

Being in the Burakh house is like stepping into a memory, the smell of earth and twyre and drying herbs, faded wallpaper and old paintings, the same phonograph that had played those archaic melodies still sitting in the corner of the living room (Gymnopédie No. 1 had always been his favorite). Even grown as Stakh is, the house feels larger than it did as a child, especially at night, when the kids are asleep, no giggling or scurrying feet to breathe life into the place. Still, there’s comfort to it, standing in the familiar bedroom doorway, studying the room, studying Artemy in the diffused moonshine pooling into the room from the single window.

He doesn’t mean to linger, doesn’t mean to watch. The nights Stakh had lain face down on the mattress and drifted in and out of sleep: Artemy’s words above him, his quiet presence even when he didn’t say anything at all. They are important. They are painful. He had tried to forget them, he had tried to forget him.

Only, Stakh is as weak as he’s always been. Anger and bitterness dogging each of his steps, the all encompassing end to justify the means, the blind route forward—how Artemy makes him stumble. How Artemy makes him yearn for a kinder, simpler time, how he makes him believe they could have it, even after everything Stakh has done, discarding sanctity in the name of the greater good.

Is it all in his head? If he had just followed Artemy’s words instead of Dankovsky’s, if he hadn’t let old, aching hurts cloud his judgement…

He stands over Artemy, but he does not say a word. Is it enough to watch him in sleep, relaxed for the first time since he had returned, brow unpinched, face soft. Unaware. It is better like this, everything is fine. He isn’t needed. Artemy had fixed everything.

Only why did Artemy ask him to stay? Why did he want him by his side? He could not have known, he must’ve known. Only distance, only time would sap this poison from Stakh, but his feet are lead, his heart pounding solidly and alive in his chest.

The pain should center him. Something he deserved. Only it makes his vision blood-colored and wild. Escape, escape, the feelings bubbling in his chest, scrabbling to get out—

Something curls around his fingers, interlaces with them. Artemy’s grasp, a large, calloused hand against his own, palm to palm, sleep warm and gentle.

“Stakh,” he murmurs.

His name echoes, pumping through his veins like poison. Only for the first time in his life, he doesn’t want to fight. The hand in his tightens. Slowly, gently, it draws him down. Stakh lets it. What else can he do? Flee? Pretend this isn’t what he wanted for years, maybe the only thing he ever wanted? Acknowledgement? Attention? Love from either Burakh in whatever form he could steal for himself.

Only it doesn’t feel like stealing. Artemy watches him. He’s never been an emotive man at the best of times, but there’s still something in his eye, the same look he had when he held Stakh’s hand and asked him to stay.

Stakh thought there was nothing left for him. Death and distance had made a young man inconsolable.

They lie on their sides face to face. Stakh tries not to breathe. Artemy cups his jaw, each point of contact hot and alive. Stakh leans into it before he can stop himself.

When they kiss, it feels like the first time, so different from the soft, teasing pecks they had given one another as children. Artemy’s stubble catches his cheek, the tongue sliding into his mouth slow, tentative. Stakh answers as best he can, afraid of this still, somehow, that he would wake up, a dying man’s last dream as his eyes glazed beneath the smoke-filled sky and shuttered his final breath.

“Stakh, you alright? Stay with me.”

Artemy kisses him again, and this time, Stakh falls into him. It’s a gentle thing, no rush except for the building ardour, their fingers interlocked, the quiet smack of lips. Stakh grows hard, swiftly, embarrassingly, but Artemy grinds into him, body answering, defenses, hesitation, torn away in an instant. He kisses Artemy hard, and the man groans into his mouth, free hand curling around Stakh’s nape. Artemy tips his head back, neck thick and pretty, and Stakh kisses his way to it, teeth dragging along his pulsepoint. A tightening of the hand at his neck.

“Don’t...don’t leave marks that can’t be...covered.”

Stakh’s fear turns into a laugh against his skin, bites and kisses his collarbone ragged until it looks mottled, claimed, and when he meets Artemy’s eyes his pupils are so dark, face so flushed it steals his breath. It’s not long before Artemy’s wiggled a hand between, draws out their cocks, each making a bitten off sound when they catch against one other without a single thing between them.

They can’t move quickly, else the bed will creak, too much noise in such an old house. Stakh watches him through half-lidded eyes, each gasp, each steppe swear sweet and known, how sweat and the gleam of his eyes reflect in the moonshine. He kisses Artemy deeply when he starts to come, tasting his moans, low and quiet. He can hardly believe he’s allowed to hear them, to get to see Artemy like this, touch him, exist with him. Artemy wraps his hand around Stakh moments after, bringing him off with a few deft strokes as Stakh swears into his collarbone.

They clean each other with a discarded piece of clothing as they catch their breath. A strange, quiet bashfulness lingers as he studies Artemy, heat-sated and exhausted. His face rubbed raw from stubble, his lips kiss swollen. Stakh can’t help but kiss him once more, soft, chaste. Artemy smiles into it, kisses him back for a several heartbeats, leaves a retreating peck at the edge of his lips.

“Sleep here, Stakh.”

Stakh huffs.

“There’s not enough room.”

“If we stay on our sides, we can make it work.”

With some goading and maneuvering, Stakh ends up facing the wall with Artemy’s chest against his back, his arm thrown over Stakh’s middle.

Stakh doesn’t know what he would say if the kids found them like this come morning, but Artemy’s breathing is already slow and even, a warm, constant weight at his back.

He falls asleep listening to it, ebb and flow. One and two. Whole.

#pathologic #lemon #fics #artemy burakh #stakh rubin #dep-yo-tee

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themurphyzone · 4 years ago

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104 Words for 104 Days: Dynasty Part 1: Princess

AN: Takes place in Doof Dynasty time period. Artistic liberties have been taken, and by that I mean a LOT of artistic liberties have been taken. Also, I really wanted to write something with Isabella as the protagonist and this seemed like a good place to do it. Since this turned out much longer than I expected, I decided to just divide it into two parts.

Dynasty Part 2 Coming Soon!

“Sir! Our defenses have been compromised!” General Carl shouted, rushing into the royal palanquin and collapsing into a dead faint in front of Regent Monogram.

Princess Isabella moved her ink pot before Carl’s head could smash into it. Sensing that the calligraphy lesson was over, she carefully put the materials away while Monogram waved a jar of incense in Carl’s face.

“General, don’t faint until you’ve given us the necessary exposition first,” Monogram scolded. “And especially not in front of the Princess.”

Carl nodded weakly. “Of course, sir. My apologies, Princess.”

“Accepted,” Isabella said. “What’s this about our defenses being compromised? Surely Master Perry wouldn’t leave our country unprotected.”

“Princess, are you sure you want to hear about this?” Monogram coughed. “You’re not much more than a ceremonial figurehead until you’re of age. Until then, it’s perfectly acceptable if you want to lavish in luxury and leave the worrying to the professionals.”

Isabella fixed him with an icy glare. “Regent, I respect you and your administrative decisions. But I’ve fought Doofus Khan in a terracotta warrior before and if you’ll pardon my unprincess-like language, kicked his sorry butt back to the steppes of Mongolia. Those commoner boys fought for the Tri-Province Area and me when they were hardly trained, and I intend to do the same.”

“How old is she again?” Carl whispered to Monogram.

“Older than a child but younger than a teenager,” Monogram whispered back. “It’s the bow, I think. Throws everyone off.”

“Your report, General,” Isabella demanded.

Carl stood up and bowed his head. “The commoner boys who saved the Tri-Province Area were building the northern tower of the Great Wall near the Large Bamboo Forest of Largeness when Doofus Khan kidnapped them. Master Perry is currently training at the Loud Waterfall of Loudness, which is notoriously difficult for even the most fleetfooted messengers to access. Doofus Khan left this scroll, most likely to demoralize us before swooping in for his conquest.”

He handed the scroll to Monogram, who unfolded it and grimaced at the ink picture of Doofus Khan sticking his tongue out with a finger above his lip in an obvious mockery of his mustache.

“This means war,” Monogram huffed. “My mustache and beard combo is highly fashionable in this day and age.”

“There’s a message at the bottom,” Isabella said, placing her finger in the blank space to avoid smudging the ink.

Mwahahaha! If you want the boys back (lousy defense system by the way, do you guys really not have a militia?), send Princess Isabella to my Inescapable Fortress of Inescapableness! I wanted to call it the Inescapable Fortress of Doom, but my new scribe is defensive of his names. Just head due north. That’s all the directions I’m giving you. Don’t worry, you can’t miss it. Or do worry, cause I’ll be taking the Tri-Province Area soon enough! Have a bad day!

Wishing you all the misery in the world,

Doofus Khan

“Without Princess Isabella’s undeniable charm, our country will fall to ruin!” Monogram groaned. “We can’t abide by this fiend’s terms!”

“You aren’t stopping me,” Isabella declared. “I’m going to save my friends and the Tri-Province Area!”

“But-“

Isabella held up her hand to silence him. “I appreciate your concern. But I can take care of myself.”

“Very well,” Monogram sighed, the scroll dropping out of his hands with a dull thud.

Carl raised a hand sheepishly. “Sir, I believe I have the solution. Lady Firesong has trained a squad of preteen girls in the art of bodyguarding, self-defense, survival, pottery, gator wrestling, and decorative cupcake making. This would make for an excellent training exercise for the girls. I’ll send her a message after I’m finished fainting for the second time.”

Then he fainted again.

“I still think we’re doomed,” Monogram muttered.

o-o-o-o-o

The training complex wasn’t anything grand, especially compared to what Isabella was used to, but they had enough equipment that would make an entire Roman army jealous. Many silkworm cocoons lined each plant in the garden, and Isabella plucked one off the leaf out of curiosity, slipping it into her flowing sleeves while Monogram’s back was turned. He led them through a lantern-lit path until they reached an ancient portrait, which depicted an elderly woman in a flowing purple robe.

To Isabella’s surprise, the portrait bowed.

“I am Lady Firesong. Welcome, Princess Isabella. I’ve received word that you wish to perform a rescue mission. The girls who volunteered to accompany you are highly skilled in many areas. I hope you’ll find their company adequate,” the elderly woman rasped, then turned and clapped her hands. “Alright, girls! The Firesong anthem for the Princess, just like in rehearsal! One, two, three!”

Five girls in matching orange robes hurried into formation, singing the cutest song Isabella had ever heard in her life.

“-and it’s not too terribly long!” they chorused with a banner of the Tri-Province Area in the background.

Isabella applauded, much to the girls’ delight. Monogram didn’t look too impressed though. “Yes, yes, that was great. Princess, will you be okay?”

“Failure is not an option,” Isabella replied.

“Good,” Major Monogram said, reaching into his robe and pulling out a ribbon-tied scroll. “Deliver this scroll to Doofus Khan, will you? I, uh, have a very important message for him.”

“You can count on me!” Isabella exclaimed, taking the scroll.

Monogram nodded in approval and left, confused at the angry looks that were thrown his way when he still didn’t acknowledge their song.

“Well, it looks like my work here is done!” Lady Firesong exclaimed, settling back into her chair. “I am so glad I can rest here and let children handle matters of national security.”

o-o-o-o-o

Isabella’s clothing was custom-made by a tailor who exclusively served royalty, so creating her own Firesong robe was an entirely new experience for her. If Regent Monogram could see her filling baskets of cocoons, he would be horrified at the manual labor that a princess of her caliber certainly shouldn’t be doing.

But if a princess could operate a terracotta soldier, then she could easily create a robe out of raw silk. Besides, it was a great opportunity for learning about the other girls. She committed Gretchen, Holly, Katie, Ginger, Millie, and Adyson’s names to memory, only mixing them up twice when she was too busy taking the silk threads out of the boiling water.

“-and that’s why Lady Firesong trains us from birth. As a result, none of us really know who our parents are, but the rewards are worth it,” Gretchen explained as Isabella removed the finished robe from the loom. “I’ve always been told I’m more of a second in command type anyway.”

“Are you sure?” Isabella asked, stepping behind a bamboo screen to try on the robe. It was shorter than what she was used to, just barely reaching her knees, but much less restricting than her royal clothes. “I wouldn’t want to take your leader position just because I’m a princess.”

Gretchen smiled. “No, I can give orders, but I lack the charisma of a natural born leader. I should know. I’ve been trying for the Charisma Patch for years.”

“Well, I can always teach you,” Isabella offered. “It takes skill, confidence, and taking advantage of our naturally cute dispositions, but I’m sure you’d be able to learn!”

“Thanks! So, what do you think of the uniform?” Gretchen asked.

Isabella pushed the screen aside, twirling in her Firesong robe. “It may look delicate, but it’s durable,” Isabella said. “Also, I never knew I pulled orange off this well. I’ll have to ask my tailor for more clothing in this shade.”

Gretchen nodded, then poked her head in the doorway. “Katie! Are the accessories ready yet?”

“Right here!” Katie shouted, hurrying into the room and handing an orange sash and hairbow to Isabella.

“These sashes are the most important part of the Firesong uniform,” Gretchen said, pointing to her own sash. Unlike Isabella’s, hers was decorated with several colorful patches. “They’re proof of our accomplishments and fairly useful in a fight. Plus, we pooled our silver pieces for a hairbow. We just thought it’d look good on you.”

“Aw, you girls didn’t have to go that far!” Isabella exclaimed as she put on the sash. She let Ginger tie the hairbow, since the girl seemed enthusiastic about touching her hair.

Now that she couldn’t be recognized as a royal, they were ready for action.

“Storm the base!” Adyson shouted.

“Bring lots and lots of weaponry!” Holly suggested, pounding her fist into her hands.

It seemed they didn’t have much of a head for strategy. But Isabella supposed that was what a leader was for.

“Our main objective is infiltrating Doofus Khan’s fortress and rescuing the boys so they can complete the Great Wall,” Isabella said, and silence fell instantly. “But we need to pack only necessary items because a giant desert lies to the north, and we’ll need to cross it in order to get there. In other words, no more than what a two-humped camel can carry.”

“Katie, fill the water flasks!” Gretchen barked. “Ginger and Adyson, grab the food! Make sure you include lots of ox jerky!”

Adyson groaned. “I really hate ox jerky...”

“It’s a start, but there’s a necessary stop we should take before heading north,” Isabella continued. “Master Perry is currently training at the Loud Waterfall of Loudness, so we’ll need to go there first and get his help. What do you girls think?”

“Let’s go!” Millie exclaimed. The other girls echoed her battle cry.

Ginger held up a lute. “I’m in charge of the travel music!”

The other girls glanced at her.

“What? Travel music and a montage are necessary items too!”

o-o-o-o-o

Ginger’s idea of travel music was playing ‘You Snuck Your Way Right into My Rice Paddy’ over and over again. Sure, everyone liked the song, but after two hundred repeats without taking requests from anyone else?

Not so much.

Everyone was relieved when the roar of the waterfall drowned out her lute. Unfortunately, it drowned out everything else too.

Relying on finger signals and other forms of non-verbal communication, they made their way through the lush undergrowth. Millie and Holly used sharp rocks to mark every tree they passed to make the return journey faster, Katie scouted ahead, and Gretchen and Ginger dragged Adyson between them, who was still recovering from a nasty fall in a ditch.

When they finally arrived at the riverbank, they found Master Perry meditating underneath a pounding waterfall.

“Master Perry! The Tri-Province Area is in trouble again!” Isabella shouted, but couldn’t make herself heard above the waterfall.

Everyone except Adyson added their voices, shouting as loud as they could, but neither the platypus or panda were paying attention.

Isabella silenced them with a wave of her hand. It just wasn’t enough of a hook to nab Master Perry’s full attention. They needed something more.

Isabella inhaled and screeched in the deepest voice she could manage.

“YOUR FORMER STUDENTS ARE IMPRISONED IN DOOFUS KHAN’S FORTRESS!”

Master Perry’s eyes snapped open. He dove into the water, resurfacing with a topknot and traditional warrior’s outfit.

The group went back to the main road so they could talk without screaming over the waterfall. Adyson muttered something about salamanders, her head lolling against Gretchen’s shoulder as her sandals dragged against the leafy soil.

“How did you do that?” Holly demanded, her hair still frizzed from the waterfall.

“I’m excellent at breath control. Plus it’s great for scaring Regent Monogram,” Isabella said. She turned to Master Perry and bowed respectfully. “The Firesong Girls and I wish to accompany you to the fortress. It is my duty as a princess to protect my subjects, and I cannot do that from a palanquin. You’ve trained the boys well back when they rescued me from Doofus Khan’s evil clutches. I will repay the favor.”

Master Perry stared off into space, several vibrations rippling through the air.

“Is that an attack?” Gretchen asked. She pulled off her sash, looping it around her hand and twirling the other end in the air.

“Stand down,” Isabella ordered. “He’s having a flashback. Just wait it out.”

Gretchen reluctantly obeyed.

A few seconds later, the rippling dissipated and Master Perry bowed.

“He’s done, hopefully,” Isabella said. “Phineas mentioned he has a habit of doing this. So, guess we’re heading due north now. Do any of you know where we can rent some camels?”

Master Perry gestured for everyone to follow him.

“Who’s ready for more travel music?” Ginger asked. She tuned her lute, smiling brightly as she strummed a chord.

“NO!” Millie and Holly screamed.

“Hehe, the salamanders are doing opera,” Adyson giggled.

o-o-o-o-o

Turns out Master Perry knew a faster way to transport them to the fortress. One that involved a massive red dragon that resembled the ones at Chinese New Year (but since it’s China, they just call it New Year), but much larger, more metallic, and without relying on people’s feet for an energy source.

“Master Perry! So good to see ya! Finally come out of retirement, I see! ‘Bout time! Never approved of you giving up on saving China after one little incident,” a jovial woman exclaimed. “And you brought an entourage this time! Name’s Glenda, so don’t forget it! What brings you girls to the Dragon Train?”

“We’re going to Doofus Khan’s fortress to rescue our friends. But isn’t this a little advanced for 1542?” Isabella asked, pointing to the giant dragon that Glenda called a ‘train’.

“Yes, yes it is,” Glenda said, her eyes widening. “Did you say Doofus Khan’s fortress, girlie? Don’t you know that place is inescapable? I deliver supplies there myself. Don’t look at me like that, a woman’s gotta make her living somehow.”

“It’s only inescapable because nobody’s ever tried it before. It’ll be completely escapable by the time we’re finished,” Isabella said.

Glenda slapped her knee and laughed. “I like your gumption, girlie! Climb aboard! It’ll take twenty minutes to get there, so just kick back and let the Dragon Train do the work.”

“Twenty minutes? That’s so fast! And I was planning on a day and a half’s hike,” Gretchen said.

“It’s coal-powered,” Glenda shrugged. “Convenient for us, but makes a heck of a mess in the air. Ah, well. Problem for a future century.”

“I’m game!” Adyson shouted, snapping out of her salamander delirium. “Never been on a train before, but who cares? Better than relying on ox jerky!”

“Man, I would’ve packed my mahjong board if I’d known we’d be taking a train,” Holly grumbled.

Isabella turned to the north, signaling Gretchen and Ginger to wave their fans behind her and produce a dramatic wind. “My name is Princess Isabella, and we’re going to defeat you once and for all, Doofus Khan! You won’t pillaging anything by the time we’re through with you!”

#phineas and ferb #isabella garcia shapiro #fireside girls #major monogram #carl karl #fanfiction #104 words for 104 days

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walkerduchess · 5 years ago

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A Game of Hearts - Chapter Twelve: Conceded (The Royal Romance AU)

Pairing: Drake x MC, Liam x Olivia [Liam x MC]

Notes: After struggling with the lack of time and motivation to write, I finally finished this chapter. Not much happens here, but it’s an important point for what’s to come. If you’re still reading this series, I’m sorry it took me so long! Hopefully I’ll be faster with the next chapters.

I do not own these characters, they belong to Pixelberry.

Summary: Elia and Drake are not yet in the same page. Liam is still suffering alone but finds some comfort.

Word Count: 3073

Tagging: (if you want in or out the list just let me know) @confessionsofabrokegirl, @museofbooks, @stopforamoment, @annekebbphotography, @queenodysseia, @drakewalkerisreal, @twinkle-320, @i-bloody-love-drake-walker, @texaskitten30, @princessleac1

Chapter Twelve: Conceded

They spend a very quiet night after finding out that Prince Leonard is actually a traitor. Drake and Jonah pass the rest of it brooding in an almost comically similar way, if it wasn’t so worrisome. Thankfully, no one else got near the cabin again, so the night was peaceful.

The sky remains gray for the entire next day of walking, and it appears to match everyone’s mood. They don’t talk much, ghosts of betrayals and frustrations looming over them all.

Once they’ve set camp again and are ready to go to sleep, though, Drake pulls Elia aside, “I need to talk to you.”

“Yes?” She replies promptly.

Drake glances at the tents in which the kids have just gotten into. “Not here.”

He then catches her by the hand, pulling her farther from their camp, but not far enough so they’d still have a look on the tents. It’s not unpleasant, the way he touches her so naturally all of a sudden, but the princess can’t help to tense a little still. She doesn’t really know why.

“Well?” Elia asks, searching his face.

His look is worried and urgent, yet he hesitates a little before speaking, “I need to go back… to warn Liam.”

“Oh,” she responds. She doesn’t have to ask to know he’s talking about Leo. She understands it, the loyalty Drake has to Liam is crystal clear, although disappointment lingers on her voice and on her face. Does he not understand still?

“Drake, I understand that this is important and Liam needs to know,” she begins, “but what we’re doing here, this mission… it will put an end to all of those problems.” It’s simple, really, in her mind. If there’s no more war, there’s no more enemies and no more ruptures of any kind.

Drake seems to have gotten impatient with her reply, though. “I get what you’re saying, but this,” he gestures at the space around them, “this, Elia, is too dangerous.”

“I know that, it has always been dangerous.”

“No, you don’t know!” Drake’s voice rises, clearly getting more agitated by the second of the conversation.

The princess is left flabbergasted by his sudden sharpness, her jaw dropping considerably.

He tries to collect himself, rubbing his eyes with his hands, but with little success. “Queen Madeline is dangerous, but Leo… Leo knows us, he knows who we are!”

“This doesn’t change anything.” Elia has to make an effort to keep her calm but the annoyance she’s starting to feel is evident in her voice. “We’re taking the long way south, through the woods, not to be seen, just as it was planned.”

“Well, it was not planned by me!” Drake half-shouts.

“So you want to just give up? Turn back and leave it all behind?” Her voice rises too this time, matching his.

“For now.” He answers, matter-of-factly.

“I’m sorry, I’m not going to do that.” Elia mind is made. It has been made ever since she left Cordonia for the first time, with no certainties of returning. She will never give up, not after coming this far.

She can’t tell whether it is her words or the finality in her expression as she spoke them that made Drake finally put his anger out, but she sees the moment something changes in his eyes.

“I’m sure you’re not used to not getting things your way, so I’m just going to let you know - not everything is about you!”

The princess doesn’t miss his condescending tone, but chooses to ignore it for now, “This is not about me, Drake, this is to save everyone!”

“Right, because it’s in the stupid prophecy. Which is about you.”

She looks into his eyes, searching for a little spot of vulnerability amidst the harsh wall he put up again, “you know this is the right thing to do.”

Turns out she finds none.

"Are you really so short sighted that you don't even mind you could be putting people at risk? Children!" He motions with his head towards the camp, where the kids are - supposedly - sleeping.

She can’t tell whether she’s more shocked or angry. “Don’t you dare bring them into this just so you can win this argument,” she warns.

“It’s not me who’s doing that, you already brought them into this, taking them on your mission.” Drake chuckles cynically. "Have you considered that they might have been better off if left alone?"

Her first instincts ignite, itching for her to tell him off, to force him to accept how wrong he is, but something inside of her takes in his words. Can he be right?

"No one's better off if left alone." Her voice is small, like she’s not sure she believes it.

"Well it depends on who's the company," Drake says coldly.

Elia just glares at him. She does not want to keep up with this.

“I’m going to sleep,” she informs, pushing past him towards the tents.

She doesn’t look back, not stopping until she reaches her tent and gets inside. Even when she lies down, with warmth and silence around her, her brain is still screaming. She turns her head to look at Nora, sleeping beside her. Maybe she is putting them in danger. At first she decided to let them join her because she didn’t want to leave the kids alone in the middle of a war. They could get hungry, or hurt, or worse. But is this mission any better? Is she any better?

If she’s honest with herself, it was never only about them. She’s come to truly care for them like they’re her own family, and with them she doesn’t have to be alone. Maybe Drake is right.

Liam takes a deep breath, gazing at the view before him, his city looking… normal. It's been a long time since he's been here in his chambers, at Thorngate castle. He's been practically living in Stormholt now, with all the chaos after Sophie left. He needed a moment to breathe, and home seemed the best place for it.

His world might be upside down, but for the ordinary people, the settlers, life simply goes on. As he reminisces, he twirls the glass he’s holding in his hand, eyeing the amber liquid. He’s certainly never felt so alone.

He should’ve told Drake to stay. That there was no point in looking for Sophie. But maybe part of him wanted him to find her, to bring her back to him. As guilty as it makes him feel, part of him still wants her to be back, even if it’s the opposite of what she wants. As if I’ve ever had a clue on what she wants, he thinks while taking a sip of his drink.

There's a knock on the door and the prince turns around, swallowing the liquor.

“Yes?” He calls out from the balcony.

The door opens slowly, revealing a woman with red hair and a matching elegant, yet functional red dress.

“May I come in?” Liv asks, already stepping in his chambers and closing the door.

Liam chuckles to himself, not even bothering giving her an answer. Lady Olivia always does whatever she pleases most of the time.

She makes her way over to the balcony while Liam reaches for the bottle of liquor and a second cup, pouring some for both of them. He turns around to greet her with a smile and offers her a cup, which she promptly takes.

Liam turns back to his previous position overlooking the city, upholding himself with his forearms on the stone railing.

Liv joins him, coming to stand by his side.

“How are you?” She asks.

The prince can’t hold back a smirk from colouring his face. Here he was, a couple of minutes ago indulging his self-pity over being alone and then Liv comes and just… is Liv. Of course he knows how she’s like with everyone else. He can’t even count how many times he had to step between her and Drake to stop them from coming at each other’s throats. But when it comes to him, she’s always been a friend, though they haven’t been as close as they used to be in these past few years, ever since she left Thorngate to live at her family’s home, Lythikos Castle.

She notices his sly smile and narrows her eyes at him, “what is it?”

“Nothing, I…” he turns to her, widening his grin, “I actually really needed a friend.”

She grants him a cocky smile, though a sincere one. “Then I guess I came in the right time?” she says before taking a generous sip from her cup.

Liam just smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Liv’s expression becomes serious. “What is wrong?”

The prince sighs, leaning his side on the railing. “Everything.” He is usually scared of appearing defeated, to anyone else, but not with Liv.

She, on the other hand, looks the exact opposite of defeated. Her posture is energetic as she speaks, “I know you’re worried about Princess Sapphire. I mean, we all are, but you especially.” She stares at him, making sure he looks at her. “And I understand she is the Promised Princess, but Liam… this kingdom relies on us too, and we can take action--”

He doesn’t let her finish though, "this kingdom is a fucking mess right now, Liv, and you don't know half of it." He doesn’t mean to snap on her, but he is too tired of politics. He quickly regrets it. “Sorry,” he adds, after a couple of seconds.

Still, Liv doesn’t seem hurt, nor mad. Maybe just a little bit displeased, yet not at him. She places a hand on his own, above the railing. "If you need to unburden, Liam, I'm here."

He smiles softly, stepping a little closer and kissing her forehead before dipping his head and resting his own forehead in hers. He lightly shakes his head. He can't tell her. Although the corner of his lips lift up upon imagining the havoc Lady Olivia's rage would instill, if she’d learn what really goes on in Cordonia.

She must have felt it, for she moves to turn her head up, looking at him. “What?” She asks, a small smile in her lips as well.

“Nothing.” It’s just a small lie that Liam doesn’t regret telling. Not if it means Liv won’t have her heart torn apart the way Sophie had. “I’m just glad me and Cordonia have you.”

“You’ll always have me,” she says, placing a hand on his cheek, “and Cordonia too, for that matter.”

They both chuckle, and before he knows what is happening, her lips brushes his. In a moment’s thought, he shifts his face to the side. He can’t help it. Not when Sophie comes to his mind. He is engaged, or… was? She did give him the ring back, but it doesn’t make it any more clear in his head.

"I'm sorry," Liv begins to pull away, "I didn't mean to…"

And then his thoughts run back to Liv.

"What, you've never kissed a girl?"

Liam doesn't reply, but judging by her face, he's definitely blushing.

"Not even Princess Sapphire?" Liv’s eyes are wide, not in an alarmed way, Liam thinks, but rather amused.

“No.” Liam tries to bring all of his confidence, or as much as there is to a fourteen year-old prince, to his voice. “Sophie is too young, anyway.”

The girl chuckles, not buying his indifference even for a moment. “She’s not that young, Liam. And I bet she knows you want to kiss her,” she finishes, throwing the prince a devilish grin before resting her head back in the leafy wall inside the maze, where they’ve been hiding from his governess.

Liam is about to say something but it takes him a while, and he’s probably blushing even harder now, for Liv begins outright laughing.

“I’m messing with you, fool. It’s really not a big deal,” she adds kindly, once she stops laughing.

He enjoys the way Liv is always honest with him, it makes him feel more comfortable talking to her. “So you have… kissed a boy before?”

“Yes,” she begins, “but don’t go thinking I’m going to tell anything about it, now.”

Liam just raises his eyebrows and nods. He suddenly feels different, like he’s… longing, but he’s not sure what for.

Liv stares at him, sympathetically at first, but then she opens her mouth and closes it a couple of times, as if she’s hesitating in what she has to say.

He gives her a questioning look and at last she sighs, closing her eyes and speaking in a tone Liam can tell she’s feigning disinterest. “If you want to know what you’re doing when you do kiss the princess… you can try it first with me.”

Now that’s something he never expected. “What?”

“Come on Liam, I told you it’s not a big deal.”

He clears his throat, not wanting to sound like a complete idiot, before speaking, “that would be nice.”

At first it wasn’t nice. It was weird. But Liv was bossy, and she made sure he tried enough times until he learned how not to make a fool of himself.

Liam is always thinking, always worried. Perhaps he can think about what he needs for one day, instead of think about what everybody else needs. Maybe it doesn’t mean he is a bad leader if he lets someone care about him.

Before he can stop himself, the prince reaches out and holds Liv by her hand, causing her to turn back towards him. He notices her lips opening, ready to say something, however he is faster. Liam takes one long step, placing his other hand on the back of the woman’s head, pulling her in for a kiss.

After a couple of seconds, she returns the kiss and he feels the world around them gradually dissipating, all the troubles and chaos fading away. He knows they’re not gone, but he can go back to being worried tomorrow. He’ll probably feel guilty, but it doesn’t matter now.

When the sun came up, Elia decided it was futile trying to get more sleep. She wakes up from the few hours of sleep she got with a newfound determination, though. She has a mission, and she believes in this mission with her life. No one can change her mind about that.

She doesn’t step out of her tent until she hears everyone is awake, though. It’s stupid, and she reprimands herself for being such a coward, but she doesn’t want to take the risk of finding Drake alone outside.

When she does get out, Drake is already eating breakfast with the kids and gives her a serious look. It’s obvious they still have to talk, but Elia can’t afford to. She’s figured out a way for them to move on and she has still to arrange everything before she lets her own feelings make her change her mind. So, she says nothing and begins frantically taking down their tents and putting everything together, as if it was a normal day and she’s simply preparing for resuming their travel.

Drake approaches her a while later, when she’s almost done and is finishing turning a blanket into an improvised bag, while it being completely full of some more blankets and supplies.

“Hey, we need to talk.” He’s standing behind her, while she’s crouching down and struggling with the recently cut edges of the blanket-bag. His whole demeanor is calm, different from the past evening, but his face scrunches up upon seeing Elia’s handwork. “What are you doing?”

“One second,” Elia speaks without even looking at him.

He waits, and soon the woman stands up, facing him. He has his arms crossed in front of him and one eyebrow raised at her unusual behavior.

The princess is suddenly in a loss of words. She takes a big breath, ready to give the speech she practiced in her head, but it’s all gone from her mind. She just stands there, staring at Drake with an uninvited ache in her chest. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard, she thinks. It was the plan all along, after all.

“Are you unwell?” Drake brings her out of her stupor, concern flashing for an instant across his face.

As if the reminder of Drake’s disdain of her was the motive she needed to shut her feelings down, Elia’s breathing finally even for her to speak, “you were right, Drake.”

“What?” He spurs out, not quite believing what she is saying, all the barriers he put up to prepare for a fight coming down at this unforeseen strike.

Elia’s barriers aren’t so strong either, and she bites her lip before replying, “This is a dangerous mission and I can’t put other lives, beside mine, at risk.” She begins to feel her eyes stinging and does her best for her voice not to falter, “I’ve made a spare bag with blankets and supplies,” she motions at the improvised pack on the ground, “for you and the children to travel back north.”

Drake’s eyes widen before he uncrosses his arms and shakes his head. “No.” He doesn’t sound authoritarian, but rather in denial. “You are not going alone.”

“I’m not going back, Drake,” she states, her gaze decided, even with unshed tears making her eyes glisten. “You go do what you have to do, and I’ll do what I have to do,” she finishes with a sad smile.

Elia can see the conflict through Drake’s eyes. She leans down to catch the new bag and hands it to him. Eventually, he exhales and reaches for it, taking a hold of her whole hand along with it. Drake takes one step forward, just inches separating him from the princess.

It takes Elia by surprise and her breath catches. It looks like Drake wants to say something, but he just stands there, holding her hand in his and staring at her with pain in his eyes. Her eyes seem magnetized by his and she uses the last remaining bit of sound judgement she finds in herself to finally pull away from him a little.

“Thank you,” she almost whispers, “please take care of them.” She speaks and quickly pulls her hand from his, turning and walking away to say goodbye to the children, before having the chance to see a bewildered Drake nodding weakly.

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shipwrexked · 5 years ago

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ACOTAR, ACOMAF, ACOWAR, ACOFAS: LUCIEN

I’ve been re-reading the ACOTAR series by S.J. Maas in preparation for a creative writing course I’m planning to teach this summer and I just need to talk to my mutuals about Lucien.

In ACOTAR Lucien is everything that Feyre fears about the Fae on the surface! However, as the story goes on it’s clear that there’s a bond between Feyre and Lucien. A sense of shared trauma, shared experiences between them. We, as readers, don’t really know exactly what Lucien’s trauma is because S.J. Maas hides it from us in the beginning. What she lets us see is the bitterness, the anger, the sadness, and the grief that these two characters outwardly express in their story. It’s hearing this first story from Feyre’s point of view that lets us “see” Lucien with those traumas. It’s a survivor’s bond that they share. Tamlin and Feyre do not share this bond because Tamlin denies and rewrites everything that has happened to him. Tamlin believes his own lies whereas Lucien and Feyre don’t have the luxury or the delusion to do so. What has happened to them has left them broken, and bleeding from the soul and heart and as Feyre says in ACOTAR frozen in those moments of pain and despair. Just as Feyre was incapable of feeling anything but hatred and fear and loathing for the fae due to this childhood trauma so too is Lucien incapable in the beginning of feeling anything but cold, calculating, manipulation toward humans. He and she are frozen emotionally in that moment when all goodness and hope was shattered before them. They are not living they are existing and it’s Lucien and not Tamlin that wakes her up. It’s Lucien and Feyre walking that dark path together in ACOTAR that brings both of them out of that frozen wasteland, Feyre more so than Lucien, but I believe that’s because Lucien has spent more time in that space than Feyre and so it will take more to bring him out. This survivor’s bond is what Tamlin sees and fears and does not understand between Feyre and Lucien and it is this healing that is happening to his best friend and this woman that he is trying to court that he misinterprets as one of romantic attachment and warns Lucien off from. Tamlin can’t see the truth because Tamlin believes his own lies and he makes the mistake that most people make, he assumes that everyone reacts and thinks and feels the same as he does. Tamlin is the most HUMAN of the High Lords in every way. That is the truest irony of ACOTAR. Lucien and Feyre become friends by the end of ACOTAR but that friendship was forged under duress and so it will take more to solidify the trust between the two of them as we see happen in ACOWAR.

But first let’s talk about ACOMAF. In A Court of Mist and Fury we see both Feyre and Lucen’s characters turned upside down. Feyre has survived Under the Mountain. She has been deemed the savior of Prythian, Feyre Cursebreaker they call her now and she is trying to cope with PTSD in a court that does not acknowledge PTSD. Of course, she’s not the only one and I’ve written a previous post “In defense of Tamlin” where in I discuss the very real effects of PTSD and his character’s adherence to same. Again, Tamlin is the most human of all the fae characters in Prythian and this may be why the fandom has such a hard time accepting his flaws of which he has many. In ACOMAF we see Feyre and Lucien’s friendship suffer and eventually tear. It’s not “broken” per se when Feyre finally makes the decision to leave the Spring Court but there is definitely a tear in the fabric of their friendship. Two survivors who protected each other Under the Mountain but neither of them trusted the other enough to be cohorts to be partners, true partners in friendship. The aftermath of that is played out from Feyre’s perspective in ACOMAF. We see Lucien fail her time and time again. She in turn fails him. Their friendship simply isn’t strong enough yet to have survived and strengthened the treachery and manipulation that was necessary to live under Ammarantha’s rule. Lucien understands this “double speak” as a court emissary. He’s skilled in politics and he’s calculating. He understands what motivates people and to understand that you have to understand their nature. However; Feyre is the ONLY human Lucien has ever encountered and he doesn’t understand Humans, which is telling considering who he calls his best friend. Lucien is not maliciously ignoring Feyre. He’s attempting to help her the only way he knows how and it just happens to be ineffective. Tamlin is too gone, too lost, to his own PTSD to see accurately what is happening in front of him and remember Tamlin believes his own lies which leaves him open to believing Ianthe’s lies. There is a lack of honest communication in the Spring Court hierarchy and this dishonesty leads to it’s downfall in ACOWAR. At one-point Feyre begs Lucien to help her, to get her out of the house, to let her be useful. Lucien is trying and failing to please two masters Tamlin and Feyre. He can’t do it. When he tries he fails her. He KNOWS this! He also knows the Spring Court is his only home. Where will he go if he pushes too hard? What will he do if Tamlin throws him out? Feyre calls it cowardice on his part but an adult knows this is practicality. It’s cold, hard, reality for Lucien and yet he still attempts to push and pull Tamlin into line when and where he can for BOTH his and Feyre’s sakes. Feyre fails Lucien too. She is not blameless in this narrative. Just as Lucien doesn’t understand her and her needs, she doesn’t understand him and his needs. She doesn’t have any experience with friendship. She doesn’t know what that looks like, feels like, sounds like. She fails Lucien every time she cuts him off from explanation. She fails him every time she doesn’t communicate honestly with him. She says it herself “we never speak of her here”. She never opens up to Lucien about her nightmares, about her fears in general or even why she has issues with small spaces and the color red. It all comes back to trust. Lucien doesn’t fully trust Feyre and Feyre doesn’t fully trust anyone. She can’t be a good friend to Lucien because she doesn’t know how and he fails her by trying to walk the line between friendship and politics. Yet there is still hope for this friendship. The scene where Lucien comes upon Feyre in the Illyrian Steppes he is desperate to get her to come back with him. He most probably doesn’t know what role Tamlin played in the death of Rhysand’s mother and sister. He most probably heard the same story Feyre did. Lucien himself says he has believed the worst of them for centuries, so OF COURSE he doesn’t understand why she won’t come back. He doesn’t understand that she is where she wants to be. He is in that moment the truest of friends to her. The most loyal of friend to her and he is proving that by risking his very life to bring her home. He willingly goes into the scariest territory; he willingly risks his life for his friend. At the end of ACOMAF it’s Lucien and not Feyre who is the better friend, the most loyal friend. But beware for Lucien’s character plays another role in this series. He is the cautionary tale of what happens when you allow blind loyalty to hold sway over you. Lucien never outright questions Tamlin, he never really pushes Tamlin to explain himself. He gives Tamlin blind loyalty and obeys the order even though some part of him knows it’s wrong.

In ACOWAR we see more of this dynamic between Feyre and Lucien play out throughout this entire book. I don’t think that’s a mistake or accident on the authors part I feel it’s an important foreshadowing of the future books to come in this world. In ACOWAR the two characters that stand out the MOST for me are Feyre (it’s being told from her perspective most of the time) and Lucien. Every time I re-read this book Lucien’s characters forces his way more and more to the center stage. It’s as if Lucien needs to tell his story, is finally ready to share his pain and agony with the rest of us. Perhaps in future books we’ll begin to see why Feyre and Lucien will always be connected. When ACOWAR opens Feyre is vengeful, and wrathful in the Spring Court. She literally hates everyone in that court except the common folk whom she claims to have no quarrel with the nobles, sycophants, and Ianthe however are all fair game for her wrath. Yes, she spies on Hybern for the Night Court and yes she reports back to Rhysand useful information regarding their forces but it’s not anything they couldn’t have gotten without her. The spying is a smoke screen to detract from the real reason she’s there…to fuck shit up! By now Lucien has begun to gain some understanding of Feyre not as a human but as a Fae. He is the only one in the Spring Court that is on to her. Everyone else is duped by her charade yet Lucien says nothing to his closest friend and confidante Tamlin. Tamlin who he wrecked himself and his friendship with Feyre in the previous books to defend and protect. Tamlin whose friendship has meant more to Lucien than anything in all these long years after Jesminda’s death. Yet for the first time in the telling of this story we see Lucien act counter to his loyalty to Tamlin. You could argue that it’s because he risks never seeing his mate again if he does but this is the wily fox we’re talking about. If he wanted to he would find a way, no I think we see this break from his character because he’s learning what blind loyalty costs. He’s seen the fall out from it, Hybern is coming and that unholy bargain was struck partly due to his own blind loyalty. Lucien is still loyal to Tamlin he’s just learned to temper that loyalty with reason and judgement. He won’t be led not by Tamlin, not by his past, not by his family and not by his own guilt any longer. In ACOWAR we begin to see Lucien’s character evolve and grow. He’s questioning the people around him more. He’s pushing for answers inside himself and he’s using those court connections he’s developed over the years as emissary to find answers. Most telling of all is when we see Lucien come to the realization that everything, he’s believed about the Night Court is a lie. For the first time something that Lucien believed to be an infallible truth is wrong and this begins him on a path of questioning himself. What else has been wrong about? What else did he miss? Mor says it herself in ACOWAR when she tells Feyre “It’s always hardest to find a foe is actually a friend because it causes you to questions yourself more than them”. Mor tells us, tells Feyre, this more than anything else is what Lucien wrestles with. Everything he’s been searching for, everything he thought the Spring Court would be is a lie. The wily fox was out foxed and the court he truly belonged to was the one he came to revile and hate. Now Lucien has to reconcile within himself these two things and in so doing find acceptance within himself. If you’re seeing the parallels between him and Elain going from human to Fae here that’s not an accident either. I believe S.J. purposely puts these markers in ACOWAR to show us just how aligned these two characters are. They are both struggling with who they are now vs who they were. Lucien and Elain are the before and after that Feyre constantly draws comparisons to in ACOMAF, Feyre says her life is “before Under the Mountain” and “after Under the Mountain”. Lucien and Elain are “before the cauldron” and “after the cauldron”.

Now don’t think I’m advocating for a Lucien and Elain ship here I’m simply making observations; I haven’t hoisted a sail for either of the Elain ships in this fandom mostly because I think S.J. is going to blow hole through whatever ship we come up with.

Back to Lucien, Lucien proves himself in ACOWAR time and again. He proves his bravery and his humility when he is willing to admit that he was wrong about the Night Court. He proves his loyalty (not blind this time) to Feyre by pitching in and helping where and when they allow. He proves his willingness to do what is right when he agrees to go to the continent to find Queen Vassa and bring her back for help. Lucien has begun the redemption arc of his character before the end of ACOWAR and we see glimpses of this at the end of the book when he meets up again with Feyre after the battle with Hybern and jokes with her about Queen Vassa. There, there is the bond of friendship, the survivor’s bond between Feyre and Lucien that we glimpse in ACOTAR but now it’s shining just that much brighter and a smidge stronger. We also see him hurting. He’s had to choose between his old life; the Spring Court, and his new life, post Spring Court and when he sees Tamlin the pain and the hurt is there. He doesn’t want to lose his friend. He doesn’t want to see Tamlin hurting or despairing or brought so low. Even now Lucien’s loyalty to Tamlin and his friendship are there. He wants to preserve what he can of the old and the good and bring it forward with him. Tamlin however has his own demons to slay before he can be any kind of friend to anyone.

Let’s move on to ACOFAS shall we. I simply adore Lucien in this novella. I’ll be completely honest and tell you that ACOFAS ruined a lot of characters for me but not Lucien. Lucien makes every attempt to keep the peace talks going between Fae and Human. He hooks up with Vassa and Jurian in an old manor house on what used to be mortal land and they have formed the “Band of Exiles”. We know he visits them often as Feyre tells us in Chapter 7 of ACOFAS. She also tells us that after the battle he comes back to Velaris with a black eye and split lip requesting if there’s somewhere else he can stay so as not to inconvenience them anymore. In ACOFAS Lucien and Elain are in mourning. They are mourning the loss of their previous lives and their previous loves. Even Lucien says he does not want anyone to replace Jesminda in his heart, he again tells Feyre he can’t stand to be near Elain for more than a few minutes at a time. Elain is mourning the loss of her human life and her betrothed Grayson. Mor tells Feyre to stay out of it. To let them “figure it out for themselves”. Mor understands grief she lost her beloved to the Wall and old age after the war. She understands better than Feyre what Elain and Lucien are grappling with and she counsels Feyre to leave it alone. Yet despite his grief and his loss he tries, Lucien tries to be pleasant, he’s learned how to be a true and loyal friend to Feyre. He’s learned how to be a friend period. This was a road that he and Feyre have been following since the very first book and we see in ACOFAS that he’s breaking away from his old way of thinking which was, as Feyre described it in ACOMAF, cold and sad, and calculating, and he’s learning to think in terms of warmth, and loyalty, and honor, and friendship. Of course, we see his delectable sense of humor in the choice of solstice present he gives to Feyre. We also see his kindness and thoughtfulness in the choice of gift he gives to Elain. He could have given her jewelry, or clothes, or any number of expensive, sparkly things but he chooses instead to give her something he’s truly put some thought into.

So what I’m saying is if Tamlin the Tool gets a redemption arc in the future books then Lucien the Fox damn well better get one too with a happy ending because he deserves it!!!!!!!!!!

#sjmaas #lucien vanserra #foxboy #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas

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elareine · 5 years ago

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Don't make me close one more door (DamiDick)

“Investing in health care is not just an investment in the current workforce. It’s also an investment in education and our future.” Richard gestured towards the graph projected onto the screen behind him. “Ladies, gentlemen, and gentlefolks, did you know that providing treatment for worm infections is the single most effective measure we can take to increase the days kids in developing nations spend in schools?”

Inwardly, Damian smiled. In a minute or so, Richard would switch to images of tapeworms. Watching people react to that was a highlight of these evenings.

There had been a bit of an argument, as always, about how close Damian was allowed to stand. In Damian’s opinion, a bodyguard that wasn’t close to enough to shield their charge with their body wasn’t worth a penny. Richard, of course, argued that he needed to be unencumbered and free to move on stage. (And on a walk. And doing his job. And doing his volunteer work. And—every day, all day, really.)

It was a well-worn argument, by now; a habit more than a real fight. Damian stood a few meters away, blending into the curtains of the stage as well as he could. His partner and occasional relief, Colin, was guarding the other way onto the stage. Richard had moaned and whined, but he was wearing the bulletproof vest. Damian had checked.

It was a good comprise, he thought, one that left him free to listen to Richard’s speech with half an ear, noting the rapture on the audience’s face with some amusement.

In the beginning, he had constantly imagined himself in Richard’s place. His rightful place at his father’s side—or so he had thought back then. The heir to a fortune and a heritage that was very different from his mother’s.

These days?

Well. These days, Damian carried some too-sweet cereal bars with him to make sure Richard ate.

“How was that?” Richard asked when they were safe backstage. By now, he knew better than to ask Damian these questions when the younger man was trying to focus on possible threats in their environment, and Damian appreciated his reticence. It didn’t come naturally.

“Good,” Damian answered honestly. “Too wordy when you talked about the financial situation, of course, but you convinced everyone.”

Richard laughed. “Yes, I could see some eyes glazing over. I’ll have to adjust that part of the presentation. But it’s really for a good cause, you know. That’s the most convincing thing.”

“If you say so.” Damian doubted it. Richard was much more of an idealist than he was, but he surely must have noticed that it was his personal magnetism that drew people to—there was a stranger backstage. A big hulking figure, dressed in army cargoes and making their way toward them.

Damian’s eyes narrowed. He knew that walk, had followed that back through half a dozen combat missions. If Jason Todd was here to make trouble—

“Jason!” Richard called out, sounding delighted. He ran past Damian, completely ignoring his bodyguard’s protective stance to fling himself into Todd’s arms.

Todd, to his credit, only looked mildly inconvenienced at those proceedings, returning the hug gingerly. “Hi, Dick. Happened to be in town, thought I’d stop by.”

“Oh, now you do. And you just happened to forget letting us know beforehand, thereby ensuring that Bruce isn’t here to see you?”

“Exactly.”

Richard turned to Damian, gesturing excitedly. “Damian, this is my brother, Jason. He’s a fuckwit who doesn’t call often enough.”

“I can tell,” Todd said drily. “For example, I completely missed that you have a bodyguard now, much less one that’s so… well-trained.”

His eyes on Damian were thoughtful.

“Jason? Do you know Damian?” Richard asked.

Damian couldn’t help but hold his breath. If Todd chose to betray him now…

It wasn’t that he couldn’t fight his way out of the situation. He could. Todd was a formidable fighter, but he would have no reason to go all out on Damian.

But… Richard would be disappointed in him, Damian realized. If he was exposed like that—how would he be able to convince the other man that he had never meant to harm him, had stayed on only because he wished to keep Richard safe?

He could lose Richard, and at that moment, that was the most terrifying possibility of all.

“We worked security together in Afghanistan,” Todd said. It was not a lie. “Maybe he will tell you all about it.”

“I did not realize you are brothers,” Damian replied evenly, trying not to betray his relief.

“Yes, we do not much resemble each other, do we?” Richard asked ruefully. “And of course, Jason is always traveling around the globe these days.”

“If I remember correctly,” Damian dared to point out, “that is a better option than having him deliver a speech.”

It was the kind of ribbing they had shared many times in those darker days, back when they’d been trying to scout a cave system riddled with traps, and Todd reacted accordingly, shooting back: “Oh, look, he’s saying fifteen words in a row. Is that some kind of record?”

“Great, more bickering,” Richard groaned, though Damian could tell he was hiding a smile. “Can we at least get dinner while we insult each other?”

“Sure, as long as you’re not cooking.”

“It was nice, seeing Jason again,” Richard told Damian that evening as they were getting ready for sleep. He was stripping down to his shorts again; at this point, Damian had given up on trying to get him changed into something more suitable in case of an emergency.

He himself was changing into silk pajamas, his service weapon close at hand. Richard knew better than to comment on the knife holster strapped across Damian’s back. Damian seldomly took it off, and certainly not for sleep.

As always, they met in the middle of the bed, Richard crawling into Damian’s arms with a sigh. Early on in their relationship, Damian had realized that his charge craved bodily contact, needed touch like other people water. It had only been rational to offer to provide for that need himself, instead of having Richard go out and potentially endanger himself. That was how the need for a bodyguard had arisen in the first place, after all.

It was deeply unprofessional. Damian wouldn’t have it any other way.

By his side, Richard began to laugh. Damian supposed one could call it a chuckle, though it was more of a giggle, really. Though it wasn’t clear to him what was so funny.

“You put yourself between me and literally every entry-point.” Richard shook his head, still laughing. “You can’t stop doing your job, can you?”

Damian stayed silent. It was more than that. Protecting Richard had become part of his very nature. It wasn’t about preserving the symbol anymore—Richard Grayson, born to the circus life, adoptive son of Bruce Wayne, a shining symbol of change in this city, advocate for healthcare and justice reform—it was about making sure that Richard could laugh like this every day.

“Anyway,” Richard murmured, talkative as always. “I was saying—it was good to see Jason again. I would’ve never known about your past, otherwise.”

They were so close. Damian knew there was no way Richard would miss the change in his breathing. “I am not so mysterious.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Richard mused. “A man in his late twenties, evidently terrifyingly well trained in all fighting styles imaginable, shows up with a resume that’s faked well enough it manages to fool even Bruce for a while. Instead of enacting any dastardly schemes, he’s prevented at least three assassination plots he thinks I don’t know about and cuddles me every night. I’d call that plenty mysterious.”

“I—” Damian felt lost. On the one hand, this was his chance to come clean to Richard, as he should have done months ago. On the other hand… he couldn’t bring himself to lose this; not now that he knew what it meant to him, to have Richard so close, safe in his arms.

There was a warm hand on his cheek, bringing him back into the present. “I’m giving you a blank cheque tonight,” Richard told him. “Tell me everything, and I promise I will not be angry.”

Damian shook his head. “You cannot promise that.”

“Maybe not.” Despite the concession, Richard was beginning to smile. “But I can promise you that I will not push you away, no matter how angry I am. If I am, which is less likely than you think. You’ve done more to earn my trust than… anyone, in a long time.”

“I lied to you.” A lie of omission was a lie, nonetheless. Damian had seen people killed for less.

“You earned it through your actions, not your words. Tell me about yourself, Damian,” Richard whispered, dropping the gentlest of kisses on Damian’s forehead. “Tell me about yourself, and stay.”

It felt like a benediction.

Damian took a deep breath. “I was born in 1990 in the Syrian steppe. No one knew who my father was then…”

#damidick #elareine writes #advent calendar 2019

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kindoron · 4 years ago

Text

A Weed in the Forest

DISCLAIMER: Contains Violence, Rape, and Misgendering

Kindoron was out, riding along with a few of his brothers on scout duty. A boring job, lame, awful, and devoid of any action most of the time. He’d spaced out a little, having his horse lag a bit behind the others so he only had to focus on following them.

This was sparsely forested land unlike the rest of the Steppe. It was summer after all and wouldn’t be long before they moved on. They still had to make sure the land was as safe as possible for the children. Whether it be beast or man to be scared off.

It wasn’t too long before the lead rider held up his hand and brought his horse to a sudden stop. He knew to be silent and had his horse stop as well, slowly moving forward to see what it was. His tribe brother pointed and he could barely make out the colors of their robes. Borlaaq. He sneered evilly at the thought and looked at his brothers, they each had the same evil grin. They weren’t riding horses curiously or had a pack animal. Three of them, one for each. His tail swished eagerly as he tried to assess them for his pick.

They wordlessly charged in unison at the small group. Not yelling nor screaming, they probably didn’t hear until it was too late. The group of girls looked up in surprise as they charged them. Two drew their bows but Kindoron unholstered his axe and swung it easily breaking through the wood. The other suffered the same from his brother. Swinging their horses around and encircling them.

“Well, well, well…” One of his brothers started, “What do we have here?” He stopped as did Kindoron and the other.

“We are of the Borlaaq tribe and we mean no harm. Let us be and we’ll move out of your way.” One who was throwing away the remnants of her bow away.

Kindoron laughed loudly, “Ahh they want to be on their way.” He looks at the other two. “I don’t think they get it.” He licked his lips slowly looking at the one that had no bow. She seemed far more fearful than the others and he really really liked that.

“No they don’t, have you no tribute? No gifts? You should know the Qerel use this for hunting, the Tumet are here around Summer. You want to pass these lands free? That’s cute.” The third sarcastically explains.

“We have business to deal with...it doesn’t involve Tumet or Qerel.” The same girl speaks, holding herself proud. “Just leave us alone.”

The first brother snorted, “I don’t think so. The way I see it, you die or you become our next playthings.” He shrugs and looks at Kindoron and the other, “Am I right, boys?”

They all laugh in unison until it’s cut off, “Then I choose to die.” Kindoron glared hard at the one who spoke up, the one with no bow. Maybe he was wrong, or maybe he’d break her.

“As if you get to choose!” He snarled. Grabbing a coil of rope from the side of the horse, he’d almost gotten down before all three girls bolted in different directions. Laughing, “Time to pick your choice! Don’t get one then I guess you’re not but a lame yol!” He kicks his horse off after the one who spoke, the one with no bow. The others took off after theirs.

It wasn’t long before he caught up, he had a horse after all. He ran past her, causing her to change direction. Following then running past her again, making her change once more before she realized he was toying with her. She kept running though, he caught up with her, grabbing the back of her robe before jumping on top and tackling her.

She probably couldn’t scream after that, having the wind knocked out of her. He was quick to bind her hands and feet together then check her belt and boots for any knives or other weapons. Finding none he thought that a little strange but shrugged it off. She only struggled enough to test the binds.

“Foul bastard! Let me go! We’ve done nothing to deserve this. Nhaama spite you!” She growled.

Throwing her over his shoulder he slapped her rear. “Enough or I’ll gag you too. I couldn’t give a dzo’s shit about any of that.” He went over to his horse who had stopped nearby once it realized it was devoid of any rider. Patting its neck before slinging her over in front of the saddle.

He then tied a noose around her neck and attached it to the saddle. Grabbing her chin to make her look up into his orange fiery eyes, “You want death? I’ll be kind and you can have but it won’t be fast and painless.” He smirks, “You can fall off the horse any time. You’ll hit the ground first so you won’t break your neck. The rope will go slack because I won’t be stopping for you, and you’ll slowly hang yourself as I ride home. Your choice now.”

He mockingly patted her cheek before she spat in his face. Seething as he wiped off her saliva he backhanded her and tightened the noose until she began to choke. Sobbing and her bound hands clawing at the rope, he finally loosened it as she started to turn blue. She fell limp but still conscious just out of fight. Still growling he mounted his horse and trotted back to find his brothers.

They all got their marks, laughing and swapping their story on the ordeal, likely stretching it a little. Finally able to go back to the tribe and make their report and being told to mark their new servants they each went to their yurt.

Kindoron threw her into his home, where she backed away the best she could from him. He grabbed her tail and yanked her back. “What’s wrong? Scared now? Still want death?” He sneered. “I let you have that choice, remember? You didn’t seem that keen on it.”

She huffed a lot, still trying to gain any distance from him. However, she said nothing, just a few tears.

Rolling his eyes, he wanted a reaction he liked when they were angry, scared, upset. Silence and tears did nothing. He pushed her on her back and stepped on her stomach. Using the fire in the center he picked up a hot metal rod.

This made her cower, “What are you doing?!” She gasped.

“You’re in servitude to the Tumet tribe. You need to be marked, can’t have you going around thinking you’re part of the tribe.” He smirked. Then getting a hammer nearby he bent down. “Stay still or I might get something important.” He said pressing the rod into her horn.

The smell of smoldering scales filled the air along with her screams, before he brought the hammer down. Drilling into the horn and out the other side. Once done he removed the rod to inspect the hole. Ignoring the sobbing girl then putting a large metal spike in through the hole. Forcing her head to the side so he could hammer the ends to bend making it near impossible to remove easily. Once done he smirked, grabbing her face.

“There you’re marked. Now everyone knows your place. You’ve no name, Tumets don’t give names to slaves. You are just a slave girl. If you remove that spike in your horn, you die. We’ll know by the hole in your horn. I’m sure it sounds odd but you’ll get used to it.” He explains with indifference.

He takes a knife from his belt and straddles her, removing his foot to sit on her. Then beginning to cut away her clothes which brought about new wails and sobs.

“Cry all you want, it’ll just bring curious eyes. If you want to put on a show I don’t mind.” He snarled. She got quieter but still cried beneath him.

Finally peeling away the top layer of robe he slowly scanned her over. Flat chested but it was fine, he ran a rough thumb over her nipple and watched her writhe in protest. Then starting to peel off the bottom but she squirmed and protested hard.

“Don’t! Please don't! I’ll do whatever you want but just don’t look there!” She looked up with pleading eyes. It didn’t dissuade him at all,

Laughing he ripped away the clothing, “But this is what I—“ he looked down and instead of the slit of a woman he saw a man’s part. Confused, he blinked a few times, thinking maybe he was seeing things, then getting up he saw not only was this ‘girl’ with a cock, but also balls! He stumbled back in shock.

“What...but...you’re...aren’t...what?!” He tried to figure out what was going on. Taking the knife he held it against her neck. “Who and what are you?! Are you not Borlaaq?” He demanded

Sobbing and scooting away, curling into a ball the...boy shook his head. “I am! But I’m not supposed to be! I just wanted to be with my mother and I never got big and built like other men.”

Kindoron was too in shock to do anything about him moving from under his knife. “Borlaaq don’t let men in their tribe...that’s impossible.” He said as if he were telling the boy.

“I know! That’s why I disguised myself as a girl. Acted like one...I know I’m a man.” He spat.

Kindoron felt odd, he’d been attracted and felt...betrayed, teased, lied to. He started getting angry. The man started rattling off his justifications, but it fell on deaf horns. He felt denied his prize that he’d claimed.

Lounging forward and grabbing her throat, putting crushing force on it. “You want to act and be a woman? Then you’re going to serve me like one.” He snarled. Getting a rag he made it into a makeshift gag. Putting it in his mouth and making it cruelty tight. Then flipping him onto his stomach.

It was brutal, even for him. Having to spit for lube and even then it ripped. He kept going until he couldn’t. It was strangely satisfying and when the fact was done. Shoving his unwilling participant who might’ve passed out onto the floor of the yurt. Tying his hands to the main pole of the yurt and warning, “ You move too much and it brings this down on our heads. Then I get up and beat you.” He rolled over to sleep.

When he got up, his victim lay still. Weakly lifting his head to see his captor. Getting up slightly and looking very defeated.

“Good, seems like you get it.” Kindoron untied the binds and then found the cooking gear and food and shoved it at his servant. “Make us breakfast. Now.” He commanded and started getting dressed.

He wordlessly did as much, and then Kindoron left. Fetching some robes, tattered, dull black. Another sign of servitude. He purposely got ones for a girl. Then returning to his yurt and tossing it at the poor boy cooking.

“Your clothes, you still are a woman. You’ll act, like a woman. If anyone asks, you’re a woman. If you at all say you’re a man. I’ll kill you.” He growled. Kindoron was deeply afraid of what judgement his peers might have if they knew he fucked a man. So much so, after breakfast he went to seek out an actual woman.

He’d given the man some tasks but really he didn’t have anything, he’d truly intended to have him as some fun. He still could though, it wasn’t bad at all, in fact almost just as good. The whole day this plagued his thoughts. Only to return to the yurt and see him. He looked just as pretty, just as soft and small. His tail twitched but he shook his head and sat down.

The man moved about, making dinner. Every time he bent over Kindoron found himself looking at his backside. “Come here.” He commanded, which the man did without hesitation. It seemed like he was adopting the role very very quickly.

His features were feminine mostly but there were traces of a man. Before Kindoron knew it, he had pulled the man in his lap. Staring into his face, he felt him shaking in his arms. He had to see.

Kissing him gently on the lips and letting their tongues dance he indeed felt...excited. Just like with a girl, it scared him but...he felt a carnal desire that needed to be filled. This time it was much gentler though still damaging. He even found himself holding onto the man through the night.

It became an odd relationship. He spoke with him like equals only reminding him of his place if he was in a bad mood or he did something to anger him. An abusive one to say the least. To Kindoron it was nothing, someone to talk to, someone to control. He couldn’t possibly love this man, after all, he was a man himself.

Then one day, the man slid his hand to Kindoron’s crotch of his own free will. Kissing him, begging to be taken. It disturbed him, he did though, but because he wanted to. He noticed that slowly he was doing things for his slave. He couldn’t have this, it’d be different if it were a woman but no. His brothers began to prod and joke that he’d be taking her for his mate soon. Something not unheard of or frowned upon...unless they found out she was a man.

He had to be rid of him.

He had finished putting a heavy blanket under his saddle before fetching his servant from the tent and mounting the horse with him. Riding off, telling him and his tribesmen that he’d be going to the Qestir Markets.

Once they had rode half a day away he stopped. Getting off his horse and getting the man down, much to his confusion.

“We’re still a half day away from the markets.” He stated.

“I know. Hold still.” He grabbed a hammer and started tapping away at the spike in his horn. Until it was straight enough to pull out. “There I’m letting you go.” He said simply.

“What?! But...I…” He seemed distressed. “I actually like you! I don’t want to leave.” He exclaimed.

Kindoron shrugged and gave a small grin. “What can I say? So do I. I can’t keep you as a slave any longer which is why I’m letting you go.” He leans on the horse. “You can walk to the markets and I’ll just say I sold you or something.”

The man fretted and looked frantically around, “Kindoron please! I...I think I love you!” He threw himself around the taller Xaela’s waist.

Growling he shoved the man away, “I don’t! I don’t even like you that much. Disgusting, hardly a man. You were just something to pass the time. I’m being kind by not killing you. NOW. GET. AWAY.” He snarled, striking him in the face.

The man stumbled and fell, holding his face and crying. Then slowly got up and with one last longing look began to walk away. “My name is Nekhii!” He shouted, not turning around.

Kindoron snorted, watching him walk. Once he was far enough away he flipped the blanket up and took off the bow and quiver hidden underneath. Nocking an arrow and aiming it at the man’s back, “What an appropriate name, Nekhii.” He said quietly to himself.

#roleplay #ffxiv #ffxiv roleplay #xaela #tumet

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foxyotomelady · 5 years ago

Text

It wasn’t supposed to be, Chapter XI (JuminxOC/Reader)

Author’s notes:

Extremely long chapter :o

Buy Me A Ko-Fi Have a nice reading!

Jumin woke up in pain. Sleeping on the sofa turned out to be not a very good idea, but for several days he had not slept so tight. Holding Riyu in his arms, he could even sleep on the floor. The girl was still sleeping, he stroked her hair gently, not wanting to wake her up. Then, to his disappointment, his phone rang. Jumin reached out to look for it on the little table nearby. Riyu twitched, murmured something, but still did not wake up. Jumin frowned when he saw that was his father calling. He picked up, "Yes?" "Good morning, son. Has Riyu arrived safely at your home? She doesn't answer my calls." "Yes, she is with me. Safe. She probably left the phone in her room again." And now she sleeps peacefully in my arms, far away from you, He wanted to add, but he only said it in his thoughts. "She watched television late at night yesterday and fell asleep in the living room." He couldn't remember the last time he lied to his father. Maybe when he was a child? Or maybe never before?

"Is that why you whisper?" Asked the old man. "Yes, I don't want to wake her up." "I have to admit that I didn't expect you two to like each other so much..." Jumin narrowed his eyes, "Is this isn't what you wanted?" He asked coldly. "Well, I wanted you to get along, yes." "And we get along pretty well." "I understand," His father's voice also sounded harsh. "I would like to talk to you about something." "Now? I'm leaving for work soon." "Do you really think Riyu loathes my touch?" He asked as if he hadn't heard him at all.

Jumin clenched his jaw and took a deep breath through his nose. Of course you disgust her. How can you expect anything different? He thought, but said something else, "This is not the right time for such a conversation." "I was hoping to spend the last evening more intimately with her, but she looked scared as soon as I touched her." Jumin was filled with icy rage, the fingers of his hand clenched into a fist, "I'm not interested in yours... No, as you wish, I'll tell you what I think. You are stupid, father. What did you expect? That a girl so young that might be your daughter, will want any intimacy with you?" His father was silent. Jumin felt that Riyu moved under his arm, he glanced at her - she was awake. "Goodbye, father," He said sharply and hung up. How long did she listen? She was probably not pleased that he kept convincing his father that he is not at all good match for her. She must marry him, she kept saying, she must... "Jumin?" There was a concern in her voice. She reached with one hand to touch his cheek. "You look different..." He grabbed her hand hard, then pined it roughly above her head, not really sure why he did this. But he was... so mad. Riyu was looking at him in shock. "I'll do anything to stop this ridiculous marriage of you and my father, you want it or not. I'll find a way to help you, whatever the problem is, you want it or not. And whatever happens, just remember one thing. You are mine and mine only." It seemed like she was about to say something, her eyes narrowed, but he forcefully closed her lips with a strong kiss. She moaned into his mouths like she was out of her breath, but it didn't stop him - on the contrary, it encourages him even more. She arched her back beneath him, their bodies pressed against each other. Riyu whimpered when he tightened the grab of her hand, now clenching his fingers at her wrist. Their kiss deepened, her free hand was pushing at his chest, but it was so weak push, as if she wasn't sure what she wants - to stop him or not. Then he moved his lips to her neck and sucked at her skin. She moaned in great pleasure. "Ah, Jumin... Wait..." Her hand - the one in his grip - was shaking, and with the other one, she was digging her fingers in the material of his shirt. He pulled up and looked at her face. Her eyes were closed, her breath hot and shaky. And when she finally looked back at him, he saw... a fright in her eyes? Jumin froze, blinked... Did he really looked and behaved so differently than usually? So different that she was scared of him? He didn't want it... He didn't want her to be afraid of him, but .. he was so angry that he couldn't control it. He closed his eyes, tried in vain to calm down. "Jumin? Are you okay?" Riyu asked in a weak voice. He felt even worse. He was so rough with her that she got scared of him, but even so, she was still worried. "I'm sorry..." He whispered and kissed her forehead. "I should get ready for work and leave." He slowly released her from his arms, and when he got up and she sat down still slightly confused, he wrapped her in a blanket. "Won't you have breakfast with me?" She asked. "I don't have an appetite," In his mind's eyes there was a picture of Riyu flinching at the touch of his father and he knew he would not swallow any food.

Riyu ate breakfast alone, only with Elizabeth on her lap - and she shared tasty bites of food with her. She remembered what happened in the early morning. She was worried about the conversation Jumin had with his father. She only heard its parts and ending. Mr. Chairman, however, had to say something that extremely upset Jumin. The way he kissed her, the way he spoke to her... She had never seen him like this before. She had dealt with his anger before - at this unfortunate karaoke party for example - but this time it was something more... It wasn't just anger. She felt as if he wanted to own her. It was a bit scary, but... She bit her lip as a pleasant shiver ran down her body, down between her thighs, which she immediately clenched. She took a breath and buried her face in her hand, embarrassed by what she felt. Also, because of everything that was happening, Riyu felt miserable. She was almost angry that she let these feelings wake up between them - for they would only lead to their suffering. She didn't want and couldn't involve Jumin into all the fuss, her parents and the people they knew were too dangerous - she could only do what they wanted from her. She felt like she was suffocating - she couldn't make Jumin safe and happy at the same time, she had to choose one. And she could only try to repay his kindness with small deeds... That's how she came up with an idea. She searched the kitchen and prepared a boxed breakfast from the products she found. It was nothing special and she was afraid it wouldn't be tasty enough, as Jumin usually ate quite exclusive dishes. She informed Driver Kim that she wanted to go to Jumin's company. She dressed normally as she didn't want to wear any of the dresses that Mr. Chairman had bought her. When she reached the company, she was greeted by surprised Jaehee. "Riyu? What are you doing here?" Riyu raised the box and smiled uncertainly, "Jumin did not eat breakfast at home, so I brought it to him." Jaehee continued to look at her with eyes wide open, then nodded, "I understand. Please, follow me." Before Jaehee let her into Jumin's office, she informed him of her arrival. Then she left them alone. Jumin was no less surprised than Jaehee when Riyu entered. "I brought you breakfast," she explained and picked up the box again. "Breakfast? Riyu, I can order the dish I want, here at the office. Do you want to tell me you went all this way to bring me breakfast?" Riyu made an offended face, "You're welcome?" "I'm sorry..." Jumin rose from behind the desk. "I just..." When Jumin was looking for the right words, Riyu came up to him and handed him the box, "I made it myself, so I'm sorry if you won't like it..." "You made it for me?" Riyu chuckled, "I just said that." "No one has ever done food for me just like that..." She smiled, "And how does it feel?" Jumin looked up at her, "Really nice. I must thank you properly." Jumin put the box on the desk and took a step closer. Riyu felt her heart start beating faster. "You haven't even try it..." She whispered, looking away. "You made it for me, so I will definitely like it." Jumin grabbed her by the waist and pulled her closer, then gently raised her chin with his hand. "Jumin... Can we really do this?" She asked quietly, staring in his steely eyes. "You don't love my father anyway." "Yes, but... What is our relationship?" "Whatever you want it to be." She knew it was all just... wrong. That if they continue this, they will only suffer more. But when Jumin leaned down and their lips met, she couldn't help herself. Their kiss quickly became passionate, Riyu clenched her hands on his chest to somehow deal with the emotions shaking her now. Jumin pressed against her until the back of her legs came into contact with the desk. Then he embraced her and put her on it. "Just remember one thing..." Jumin said in a low voice, right next to her lips. "You're mine." She didn't answer, she just grabbed his tie and pulled him down. This time the kiss almost took her breath, she moaned, and with her free hand leaned on the desk behind her - accidentally pushing some documents on the floor. Jumin's hands fell on her hips, he pulled the bottom of her body to him, and she wrapped her legs around him. Jumin growled, not interrupting their ardent kiss, as she brushed against his crotch. The sweet warmth arose between her thighs again... Suddenly, the office door opened. Riyu managed to only withdraw her head from Jumin’s, but they both remained in an unequivocal position. "Mr. Han, I have some documents to sign-" Jaehee froze as she looked up from the documents and fixed her gaze on them. "O-oh..." Riyu realized she was still holding Jumin by his tie. She quickly loosened her grip and remembered equally quickly that no one but Zen knew about her feelings for Jumin. And certainly, no one, not even Zen, knew what was happening between the two of them. Jumin stepped back from her, composed as always and she slipped off the desk. "Leave the documents here, Assistant Kang," He said, adjusting his cuffs. "I'll deal with it later." Jaehee stared at the floor as she quickly approached the desk and laid the pile of documents on it. "Jaehee, it's not what you think, I..." Riyu wanted to say something that would fix this situation, but there was obviously nothing that could convince Jaehee it was simply a misunderstanding. The short-haired woman left the office in a hurry without looking back and closed the door behind her. Riyu felt that standing there, shocked, she was starting to turn red. Jumin chuckled under his breath. She blinked and looked at him sideways, "This is not funny!" "But you surely look cute when blushing," He said an kissed her, surprisingly gently, at the top of her head. Riyu buried her face in her hands, "God! What does she have to think about me now?" "About us," Jumin corrected her. "But does it really matter?"

A day passed from this awkward event. At that time, V finally decided when the party would take place. They had two weeks to prepare. Riyu took care of sending date information to all the guests she had messaged with so far. She spent the whole morning on this, and when she finished, she logged in the chat room to tell others. [Riyu has entered the chat room] Zen: Riyu! You haven't logged in for a while. Riyu: Well... I didn't get a chance to tell anyone but... Riyu: Mr. Chairman came back for a few days and I had to spend that time with him. Zen: I see... [Jaehee Kang has entered the chat room] Jaehee Kang: Mr. Han didn't tell me his father was back. Jaehee Kang: but now I understand why he was so devastated. Jaehee Kang: At least I think I understand... Zen: Um ;;; Riyu: A-anyways! Riyu: I informed all the guests about when the party takes place. Zen: So it's official! Zen: We're having a party again~!

Zen: Riyu, can I talk to you over the phone for a minute? Riyu: Sure? [Zen has left the chat room] Wondering what this might be about, Riyu waited for Zen to call her. "Yes?" She asked after she picked up. "Riyu... Does Jaehee know something I don't know? I don't want to be nosy... But I'm just freaking out now..." Riyu felt her cheeks getting hotter, "I don't know if you want to hear it, Zen..." "Argh~! When you say that, I'm even more worried." Riyu began to curl a strap of hair around her finger, "Well... Jumin and I... We..." She took a deep breath. "Jaehee caught us in the office while we... Um..." "WHAT? What do you mean she caught us? What were you two doing?! In the freaking office?!" "Zen, calm down!" Her whole face was burning now. "We didn't do... not what you think, okay? We were just... kissing." She mumbled the last word, embarrassed. Zen made a strange sound, "God, you were right, I didn't want to hear it!" "I hope Jaehee... No, I know her. She's not that kind of person who would tell Mr. Chairman about us." Zen was quiet for a moment, "So you are still determined to marry this old guy?" "I have to, Zen. You know why." "I know I won't convince you... But I still think you should tell others. Maybe together we could somehow help you." Riyu shook her head instinctively, "It's too dangerous. I don't want to risk either Jumin's or any of your lives." She did not tell Zen everything, but she had already explained to him that her parents are in contact with very dangerous people and would not hesitate to reach for their services if only she tries to rebel. "Argh~! It's really hard for me - to know all this, to know in what a nasty situation you are and not to be able to help you in any way. You must know that I can barely resist telling others." "I'm sorry, Zen. I'm sorry I burdened you with this knowledge." "No, no, don't apologize. It's good that you told me. You can't be alone with all this."

Jumin was just reviewing the latest reports and signing documents when Jaehee entered his office. "You really should remember to knock, Assistant Kang. Then we would avoid situations like the last one," He said without looking up at her. Jaehee cleared her throat, "Yes, I'm sorry." Fortunately, she could still behave professionally, never once commented on the last situation. "I informed Mr. Chairman about the date of the party." Jumin froze. Now he looked at her, "What?" Jaehee adjusted her glasses, "Mr. Han, before we set the date, you told me that when we did, I should inform your father." In fact, he remembered now. He wanted his father to attend the party if he could manage time for it. It was the first party RFA f organized by a long time, which is why he cared about his presence. At the time, there wasn't all this complicated situation between him and Riyu. "Mr. Han," Jaehee started, "I know I shouldn't interfere, but... You don't want Mr. Chairman to come to the party because of Riyu, am I right?" Jumin frowned. And that was the end of her professionalism, "Yes," He answered shortly. Jaehee looked away, "This... thing between you two... Is this serious, sir?" "Yes." His assistant blinked as if she was extremely surprised. As if she expected a completely different answer. Suddenly Jumin began to worry if Riyu thinking the same way he did. Did he not tell her that their relationship could be anything she wanted? Now he was beginning to understand that he did not want it to be just anything…

#Is it just me or Jaehee always ends up in this kind of situations in my fics?#sorry jaehee #angst #fanfiction #mysme fanfic #mystic mesenger #jumin x oc #jumin han x oc #jaehee kang #jumin x reader #jumin han x reader #jumin #jumin han #zen

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egg-of-mankhad · 5 years ago

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Getting to know the character: Eigengrau Hatasashi

► Name ➔ "I am called Eigengrau of the Mankhad, and I share a name with the Hatasashis...my husbands!” ► Are you single ➔ “Married! With two...very beautiful and very patient and kind men. I really...really really love them.” ► Are you happy ➔ “I am still learning how to be. It’s a, well, it’s a process. I don’t know whether anyone is really truly happy in all honesty. But we all try the same, yes?” ► Are you angry? ➔ “I think I am. But...Bitterness might be a better way to describe it. I do get angry. I do get upset. But...I do not think it is wise to show it sometimes. Sorry uh--next question please?” ► Are your parents still married ➔ “I don’t know. I only grew up with one.”

NINE FACTS ► Birth Place ➔ “I was born on the coast of the Ruby Sea. Just south of the mountains near the Azim Steppe..” ► Hair Color ➔ “It is dark and--somewhat greenish? Kinda like seaweed, I think is a good way to describe it!” ► Eye Color ➔ “Red!” ► Birthday ➔ “15th Sun of the 1st Umbral Moon, I think. Either that or the 14th one? I was told that I was born when the moon was full and...yeah, around there.” (February 14) ► Mood ➔ “I am alive, yes? I feel grateful for that at least.” ► Gender ➔ “I see myself as a man.” ► Summer or winter ➔ “Summer!! The air is warm and beautiful, and the sun is out and shining and everyone is happy and everyone is outside and everyone is having fun and people are talking to each other and the trees are green and the sand is soft and the water is warm and the food is good and I really really really like summer” ► Morning or afternoon ➔ “Mornings are good because mornings are new days and every new day is a second chance--someone once told me that. A good friend did, yes.”

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE ► Are you in love ➔ “Every time I look at them I fall in love again.” ► Do you believe in love at first sight ➔ “I...I can’t trust that sort of thing no. Sometimes sight lies to you, does it not?” ► Who ended your last relationship ➔ “I walked away. He had found another that fitted him more, and it was either stay and become a side fling, or just...move on.” ► Have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔ “I have. I am not proud to have done it, but it is something I had to do. It was...It was the less cruel thing to do.” ► Are you afraid of commitments ➔ “I’m just afraid of ruining things. Though my husbands both continue to stick with me and I with them and I don’t understand it at all. But maybe that’s what love is right?” ► Have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ “I hug them so much, I love them” ► Have you ever had a secret admirer ➔ “I...Maybe? I don’t know” ► Have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ ”Unfortunately, this seems to be a constant thing I do. As much as I try not to I’m just--I’m sorry. It’s just hard. Let’s move on yes?”

SIX CHOICES ► Love or lust ➔ ”Always love. Lust is temporary. It carries you off into space and promises pleasure but nothing, absolutely nothing, makes you feel at home and as warm as love can. Love heals. I like love.” ► Lemonade or iced tea ➔ “I haven’t tried Lemonade yet I don’t think.” ► Cats or Dogs ➔ “I love dogs!!!! Dogs are so cute and friendly and they like to play, I pick dogs!” ► A few best friends or many regular friends ➔ “I think I am fine with just a small group of friends. I don’t think I should try for anything more than that..” ► Wild night out or romantic night in ➔ “Why not both...?” ► Day or night ➔ “I really really love the night.”

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS ► Been caught sneaking out ➔ “Yes. A lot throughout my life, really. As a youth and quite recently too. I’m an, ah, a really really bad boy sometimes.” ► Fallen down/up the stairs ➔ "Embarassingly enough...don’t tell my husbands. Especially not Khal” ► Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ “Like you wouldn’t believe.” ► Wanted to disappear ➔ “I still do some nights.”

FOUR PREFERENCES ► Smile or eyes ➔ “It’s so easy to get lost in both, do I have to choose?.” ► Shorter or Taller ➔ “On one hand, I really like hanging off of the arms of Khal. But on the other hand I really like being an available seat for Saiun to sit upon. Both of these have their benefits yes.” ► Intelligence or Attraction ➔ “I like intelligence. One of my exes really knew a lot of stuff and he taught me a lot of neat things. But I was also really drawn to how pretty he was? And I feel like this is the same case for a lot of people I love too.” ► Hook-up or Relationship ➔ “Relationships. I want to get to know people sometimes beyond just sex. I want to spend time with people. I want to learn about their histories. How they came to be who they are, and how they continue to remain so strong. I am a slut, but that’s not all that I am.”

FAMILY ► Do you and your family get along ➔ “I never had a good relationship with my father. A lot of times he had...he’s let me know how much he wishes I didn’t exist. Sometimes I find myself agreeing with him.” ► Would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔ “I feel like I am luckier than a lot of people to be honest. A lot of people I have known are broken. So broken that they lash out so much and have so much anger and a lot of people get mad at them but...I really really don’t blame them. People’s lives are so hard and sometimes I want to help and fix it but I know now I can’t help everyone. I can’t fix everyone. No matter how much I try.” ► Have you ever ran away from home ➔ “I have run away from home....Over and over again.” ► Have you ever gotten kicked out ➔ “..I don’t want to talk about it.”

FRIENDS ► Do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔ "No, I have gotten jealous but I can never hate people. I can never hate anyone.” ► Do you consider all of your friends good friends ➔ “Maybe one day.” ► Who is your best friend ➔ “K---.....D---....I don’t, really really think I have a best friend yet. How do you know when someone is your best friend?” ► Who knows everything about you ➔ “A really good friend of mine. Does that count as a best friend? His name is Ayanga and I have told him I think the most I’ve told out of everyone I know....Except my ex. My ex knows a lot of things about me.”

tagged by: @miden-rouge

tagging: @yzareenxiv @ala-mhinyan @aveis-the-red @gunnarsvard @talesfromthegameff14 @dunrai-ffxiv @merosmillionmains @meowmonk @gorgagne-viperidae @shadowburgers and anyone else that wants to really

#tag prompt #meme #character memes #ooc #about eigen #a drop in the ocean

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missmarquin · 6 years ago

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Magnetic, Ch. 4

In the future, romantic attraction is literal: each person is fitted with an electromagnetic bracelet which will pull you to your soulmate. It's hard, wondering who's out there for you. It's harder yet, when you have to come to understand yourself first.

CONTENT WARNING: Smut.

Read here on Ao3, where it’s formatted better!

Polarization

‘Polarization density also describes how a material responds to an applied electric field as well as the way the material changes the electric field, and can be used to calculate the forces that result from those interactions.’

….

This wasn’t how this was supposed to go, Otabek thought.

He’d finally made a choice. He’d finally grown a pair and hopped a plane to Moscow last minute. He’d finally tell Yuri that he loved him, and that he was stupid, and that he’d waited too fucking long to do this.

And then you know, he’d sweep him off his feet, finally kiss him and-- Well, Yuri was supposed to respond positively, because that was the dream, right? It wasn’t like you could deny the destiny bracelets, or whatever.

Otabek realized just how stupid he was, the moment that Yuri slapped on his bracelet, feeling the pull that tugged between them. The look of surprise and utter betrayal that flashed across his face.

Currently, Yuri was stomping around the kitchen, muttering angrily under his breath. Setting about a kettle of water for tea. Otabek watched from his seat at the kitchen table, one leg folded across the other, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck nervously.

Yuri bothered, because Otabek was the one that liked tea. Maybe that meant something. That thought wavered the moment Yuri slammed the pot onto the burner, turning to him suddenly.

“You lied,” he hissed. “How could you--” he started, but then paused, closing his eyes and rubbing at them. Then he let out a frustrated grunt.

“Yura--”

“Are you telling me that yours has been active since mine was turned on?”

Otabek swallowed thickly. “I-- uh… yes.” And Yuri just blinked at him, waiting for him to explain further. Otabek sighed. “I wasn’t expecting it,” he said quietly. “So when it did, I just kind of freaked--”

“Is the idea of being with me so terrible?” Yuri suddenly asked. His voice was about as small as Otabek suddenly felt. Couldn’t Yuri see-- didn’t Yuri know--

Well, probably not, Otabek reasoned. Yuri was incredibly bright, but tended to overlook things quite easily. “Yura,” Otabek said, standing up from the chair, going to him. “How could you possibly think that?”

“Well I--” Yuri started, the answer clearly rehearsed, but then he paused. “Wait, what--”

But Otabek was already pressing a hand against his cheek, his fingers tightened and pulling Yuri down to him. Yuri let out a cry of protest, his hands grabbing at Otabek’s arms to try and stop. Yuri might have had him in height, but Otabek was stockier. He pulled Yuri’s face to his, pressing their lips together.

And just as he expected, Yuri pulled away, pushing at him. Otabek refused to let go of his face though, his fingers still cradling his jaw firmly. “Yura,” he said, “It’s okay--”

“This has got to be a fucking joke,” Yuri said. Otabek could see the tears welling up in his eyes and oh no, Yuri was the world’s ugliest cryer, he didn’t want to see-- “I mean you couldn’t possibly-- you’re making fun of--”

“It’s okay,” Otabek interjected. Yuri snapped his mouth shut, his fingers still gripping his shirt tightly. Otabek rubbed his thumb along his jawline gently, trying to reassure him. “Yura, it’s okay,” he repeated.

“But… but Amita,” Yuri whispered, like uttering her name would somehow change things between them. Like her name somehow meant something, in that moment.

“I think that we both know she isn’t you,” Otabek replied.

“What the fuck does that mean? Beka, you were going to marry her.”

“You know better than anyone how my family is,” Otabek said quietly. “You know, Yura, how I didn’t want to leave. And when they arranged our marriage, how I couldn’t say no. And how--”

“Are you implying that you’ve liked me for what-- years?” Yuri shook his head, disbelieving.

Otabek only sighed softly, pulling his hands away from his face. “What was I to do? My parents have done everything for me,” he said sadly.

Yuri was about to say something when the kettle went off, the shrill whistle cutting through the air. Yuri wiggled out from Otabek’s grasp to pull it from the stove. Otabek watched as he poured the water into a cup, then as he placed the kettle down and wiggled around the tea bag. And then Yuri just stood there, staring at the counter, thinking.

Otabek didn’t like it when Yuri thought. Yuri was dangerous, when he thought. “You know, it’s not fucking fair,” Yuri finally said, letting out a bitter laugh. “I’ve loved you since I was like fourteen, but I’ve always thrown it to the side, because I’ve thought that you would never--” He stopped abruptly, his hands gripping the countertop so tightly that his fingertips turned white.

“But now you’re telling me that that wasn’t the case,” he finished with.

“For what it’s worth,” Otabek said, “I didn’t know until I left.” At that, Yuri turned around, giving him this look and Otabek couldn’t hide the wince that crossed his face. “You were a teenager, when I left,” he huffed. “We were teenagers. I was seventeen, and it was weird okay? I didn’t want to put a label on anything, but then I went back home to Almaty and everything just kind of…”

“Kind of what?” Yuri couldn’t hide the snark in his tone.

“It just lost its color. It was like my world was suddenly gray and the only thing that would have fixed it, was if you were there.” Well, that had sounded better in his head, but Otabek was too far into his monologue to stop. “Because I… well, you know. Love you, and all that.” It wasn’t the most articulate love confession, but it was very Otabek at least.

“Oh.” Yuri sounded like the wind had been knocked out of him. That was a good sign. Yuri slipped his fingers into the handle of the mug and brought it to Otabek, before plopping into a chair at the table. Otabek followed suit.

“But Amita…” Yuri started again, before trailing off.

“She knew.” Otabek’s voice was so quiet, that he wasn’t sure that Yuri had even heard him at first. He cleared his throat and then continued with, “I mean, she uh-- I wasn’t able to really hide it from her, I guess. We had an understanding.”

“You faked it pretty fucking well,” Yuri said.

“It wasn’t… fake,” Otabek’s tone was careful. “We loved each other, but we weren’t in love with each other. If that makes sense. I was still trying to sort things out though, so I was just happy that we worked.”

“But then…” Yuri motioned to his bracelet. Otabek twisted it nervously. The tug was softened to a dull hum, probably because they had found each other. “And then hers…”

“She was the one that broke it off.” Yuri knew that, but his face was unreadable. “But not because of the reason you would think.”

“She did it because of how you felt, didn’t she?” Yuri asked quietly.

Otabek thumbed at his mug for a long moment, before taking a sip. “It’s pretty pathetic when your fiancee tells you to go after someone else. Especially when it’s a man.”

“Otabek, I--” But Yuri paused, biting his lip. He looked so young like that. So young and unsure, and like he was about to burst at the seams. “I’m not actually angry at you.”

“I know you aren't’. If anything, I’m angry at myself.” Otabek sighed as he said it. “I shouldn’t have hid this from you.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Yuri agreed, a slight frown tugging at his lips.

“But try to see it from my view.” Yuri looked at him, listening. “I had spent years bottling this shit up, and then yours is activated and-- I mean, suddenly everything I wanted was right there, you know? I had just come to terms with being myself.”

“Yeah, sorry that I fucked that up for you,” Yuri said sarcastically, his eyes narrowing.

“That’s not what I meant--”

“Yeah, yeah, you went and found yourself. And then everything went to hell.”

“Yura, it hasn’t gone to hell--”

“Why are you even here?” Yuri finally asked, crossing his arms over his chest. It was an honest question, his tone carefully calculated.

And Otabek knew that this one answer would be it. His mouth was as dry as the steppes that he’d ridden his motorcycle through. His next words would either make them or break them, and the latter was just not a feasible option.

“Because a life without you, isn’t a life at all,” Otabek said after a long moment of reflection.

Yuri blinked, and then blinked again. And his face turned red, his cheeks splotched and ruddy as his next words sputtered. “Jesus fucking christ Beka, you can’t just say shit like that.”

“What is it that you want me to say?” Otabek asked, trying his best to keep a pleading look off of his face.

“Say it again.” Yuri’s voice was quiet, wavering just slightly, like he was afraid that Otabek would somehow change his mind. That he’d realize that this was a mistake or something, like he was afraid. “Say it again, and say it properly.”

Otabek suddenly realized what exactly it was the Yuri wanted. He wanted reassurance. He wanted Otabek to show him that this wasn’t some joke, that he wasn’t playing him. Otabek pulled himself from the chair and dropped to his knees before Yuri.

“I love you, Yuri,” he said. His hands found Yuri’s knees, squeezing gently, playing with the fabric of his pants. “I’m pretty late to the game, but I’ve always loved you.”

Yuri regarded him for a long moment, and then he said, “Get off the fucking floor, you fool.” Then he stood, holding his hand out and helped Otabek up. Yuri didn’t let go though, holding his hand tightly, rubbing his thumb across the back of Otabek’s hand.

“You know,” he said, “I’ve imagined this scenario a thousand different ways over the years. I never would have thought it’d end with you on your knees for me.”

Otabek could think of other things that he’d rather do while on his knees in front of Yuri, but he forced a crooked smile across his face. Reaching up, he ran his thumb across his cheek, rubbing away the moisture there. Yuri wasn’t crying, but a few tears had slipped free.

“You’ve always responded positively to worship,” Otabek teased.

“Oh? Is that what you were doing? Worshipping me?”

“There are far better ways, I’d rather worship you with, especially if I’m on my knees.” The words slipped from Otabek’s mouth before he could stop them, and Yuri turned bright red, the intent not lost on him.

“You’re an absolute moron.”

“Yes,” Otabek agreed.

“But you’re my moron.”

“Always,” was Otabek’s reply.

“And you’re sure that Amita is okay with this?”

“Amita lives in the United States, married to another man. She has no standing.” Otabek was teasing, of course, but it didn’t stop him from reaching out and brushing some of Yuri’s hair behind his ear. Anything to offer some modicum of comfort, really.

“Let’s go to sleep,” Yuri finally said, stopping Otabek in his tracks. “I’m tired, you’re tired, it’s been a long day. I’m fucking exhausted and this is a lot to take in.”

Otabek dropped his hand sheepishly. Yeah, rest, that was a good idea. There was plenty of time to talk about this. “I’ll take the couch--”

“Absolutely not,” Yuri said. He’d already pulled away and grabbed the mug. He frowned at Otabek, as he poured the tea down the sink. “Bed’s big enough for both of us.”

Otabek swallowed thickly. “Right,” he managed weakly.

“It’ll be like old times.”

Otabake closed his eyes, dragging a hand down his face. “Yura, it’ll be nothing like old times,” he finally said. And he looked back to Yuri, he found the man smirking back at him with amusement. He’d been teasing him!

“Yeah, you’re right. It’ll be like new times,” Yuri said, walking over to Otabek who hummed lightly in response. Yuri grabbed at his hand, yanking him toward the room. He could practically feel the blood roaring in his veins.

But it was a good roar, and it felt like Yuri was leading them to their future.

…

Yuri couldn’t sleep.

This occurrence wasn’t so uncommon, really. A lot of the time he couldn’t sleep-- be it the sore muscles, his aching back, or late-night thoughts of what his life was and could be. But this time, the source of his insomnia was sleeping next to him, snoring gently.

It shouldn’t be awkward. Yuri and Otabek had shared a bed tons of times before. Of course, it’d been a few years, but shit shouldn’t change, right? Except that it had, and Yuri couldn’t stop thinking about it. So, he sat on the edge of the mattress, wringing his fingers slightly.

It was weird, how you could want something and expect to never have it, but the moment that you could, shit get weird. Yuri had waited his entire life, to be able to tell Otabek how he’d felt, and that was good. He was glad.

Now came the added complication of Otabek loving him back.

Which, shouldn’t even be a complication, right?

Yuri jumped slightly when he felt a warm hand press against his shoulder. The mattress sunk under Otabek’s weight as he shifted. “Yura?” he murmured sleepily, pressing his forehead against his shoulder. Still half asleep then, Yuri surmised. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m just thinking.”

“You never think,” Otabek said. He shifted again, moving to swing his legs over the side and sit next to Yuri properly. “You always do. What’s bothering you?”

“I love you,” Yuri answered, and he saw Otabek’s frown in the moonlight that filtered in through the window.

“Yeah, I know,” Otabek replied. His hand swept down Yuri’s shoulder and then arm in a comforting gesture.

“Do you though? I don’t mean in a ‘yeah I’ve kind of liked you for awhile’ way. I mean in a ‘my heart literally stops at the sight of you’ way.” Yuri couldn’t help the way that his voice cracked slightly. “It’s one thing for you to say that you love me too, but is it on the same level?”

“Are you serious?” Otabek breathed. Yuri frowned; Otabek’s tone was caught between amusement and breathlessness. The older man couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled up from his throat and for a moment, Yuri’s heart clenched that same fear from earlier. The fear that this was some massive and utter joke, that Otabek was just stringing him along until he got tired of it, because there was no way that he’d feel the same about him and--

Otabek’s weight shifted again until he was kneeling in front of Yuri. His hands slid up to gently grab his face and Yuri couldn’t help but lean in. He was taller, this position slightly awkward, but--

“How could you possibly think that, Yura?” Otabek asked, his thumb ghosting across Yuri’s cheek lightly. “How could you even entertain that my feelings aren’t the same? For years, you’re all I’ve ever thought about. Fuck, the woman I was going to marry left me because of my feelings for you.”

Yuri swallowed over the lump in his throat. “Beka, I--”

“I realized it too late,” Otabek said, leaning upwards, pulling at Yuri slightly. “But I’m here now, Yura. I’m here now, and I’m not going away. I love you--”

“Would you just kiss me already?” Yuri snapped in a harsh whisper.

Otabek immediately complied, rising up to press their mouths together. This wasn’t like the soft peck earlier in the kitchen, innocent and chaste, the one that Yuri had pulled away from. This was full of longing, Otabek gripping his jawline firmly as his other hand slid around his waist, pulling Yuri closer to the edge of the bed.

Yuri didn’t pull away from him this time. He pulled him closer, like he was trying to lose himself in Otabek. His lips were soft and chapped, but they felt better than anyone else. And he’d kissed a lot of people in his life. Otabek’s hand moved from his jaw to the back of his head, grasping gently as he changed their angle, running his tongue along the seam of Yuri’s mouth.

Yuri gasped, his lips falling open. Otabek licked into him, and Yuri moaned, and it seemed like all of his blood rushed south. He’d dreamed of this, imagined this in so many different scenarios, but the reality was so much better than he could have ever wished. Yuri responded in kind, his hands reaching up for Otabek’s face, caressing the skin there. Then they flitted over his hair, gripping lightly as he kissed back.

Otabek yanked at his hips, pulling him nearly off the edge of the bed to press their hips together and Yuri panicked momentarily because--

Otabek paused, pulling back. “Yura,” he breathed, the moment hanging between them.

Yuri swallowed, wanting to crawl into the bed and die. It was stupid, how hard he was, so quickly. It was hot, too hot, the room was suddenly sweltering and his pants tented and too tight because he didn’t wear proper underwear to bed. Otabek was there, his eyes dropping to his lap and then back up.

“Yura,” he repeated, looking like a starving man in a desert, his eyes half-lidded with lust and--

Jesus fucking christ. Otabek had palmed him through his pants, the thin material in the way, but no enough to make the touch anything but phenomenal. “Is this okay?” Otabek asked, and Yuri practically whined, moving to grip his hand to keep it there.

“Okay?” Yuri snapped. “You’re asking me if this is okay-- you’re such a moron.” He canted his hips upward. “Obviously.” He moved to pull Otabek’s face back up to his, but the other man pulled away, leaning back on his heels.

He a hand down Yuri’s side until it paused at the waistband of his pajama pants, thumbing the fabric there. The other was still cupped around his hardness, not squeezing but there, just holding him. And if Otabek didn’t fucking do something, Yuri was going to literally combust.

“Beka,” he started, but almost immediately lost his words when Otabek gave him a rough squeeze and let go.

“Yura, what do you want?” It was a sincere question. Not one uttered in sultry tone, during the heat of the moment. It was an honest question, with Otabek peering back at him like he was afraid that Yuri would say no. As if.

“Beka, please,” he pleaded, lifting his hips slightly. Otabek hesitated before helping him slip the pants off. The cool air was like a balm on his hardened length, but then he saw the look on Otabek’s face. Like he was drowning in the sight of him, his lips parted slightly as his hands gripped Yuri’s thighs tightly.

“I don’t get on my knees for just anyone,” Otabek said quietly, and Yuri felt his voice hitch and his heart skip a beat. “I would never do this for anyone but you, Yura.”

Yuri practically yelped at the feeling of Otabek licking up his length, before wrapping his hand around the base. His grip seemed unsure, hesitant, as he tried several different applications of pressure. And then it clicked, what Otabek had meant.

Of course he’d never do this to anyone else, he never had. Yuri would be the first and only, and suddenly his heart swelled slightly at the idea. He reached down, wrapping his hand around Otabek’s, as he said, “Like this, Beka.” Not to tight, but firm, showing him how to pull the foreskin down.

Otabek’s head dipped again, and Yuri felt wet heat engulf the tip of his cock. He hissed at the sensation, his other hand slipping down to sink into the soft curls on Otabek’s head. He usually slicked his hair back, but Yuri liked it like this-- wild and unruly, coiling around his forehead.

Otabek’s tongue swirled around his head and Yuri groaned, barely stopping his hips from bucking upwards. The other man hummed, slipping for of his length inside his mouth, sucking gently and--

Fuck, Yuri was already close, he was already so close and it wasn’t fair. He wanted this to last forever, he wanted this to never end. His fingers pulled at Otabek’s hair tightly, as the other man pulled back, only to dip down again, twisting his hand around the base slightly.

Otabek wasn’t even undressed, and Yuri was reduced to a mess next to him. From the heat of his mouth, to the heat of his gaze he just-- And then Otabek looked up at him, his lips stretched around his cock, his eyes half-lidded and pupils blown wide underneath his long eyelashes. Yuri gasped at the sight, at the pull of his hand, at the way his tongue slid along the underside of his length.

Yuri remembered the first blow job he’d ever given, and it wasn’t like this. It had been awkward and terrible, and his experienced partner hadn’t been patient with him. Otabek was different though. Otabek didn’t even seem to be trying, running on instinct. Perhaps this is what made the difference, this overwhelming feeling of love. Yuri bucked his hips slightly, unable to stop and Otabek groaned around him, and it wasn’t fucking fair how good this was.

“Beka,” he hissed. “I’m so close--” he tried to warn, his grip on Otabek’s hair tightening. The other man doubled down on his efforts, sucking harder, pressing faster. Swallowing him as deep as he could without choking before pulling off. He kissed the tip, sliding his hand up and down, before swallowing him again.

Yuri felt the telltale tightening in his gut, and he crashed over the edge almost immediately, his hips jerking slightly towards Otabek. Otabek moaned around him, swallowing without a thought, and Yuri couldn’t think of anything hotter, he decided.

He hissed at the last lick that Otabek gave him, before pulling off, his lips tracing around his lips as he--

“Fuck,” Yuri groaned, falling back to the mattress in a melted heap. He could feel it, spent all the way down to his bones. The bed sagged under Otabek as he climbed back in, leaning against the headboard, and pulling Yuri’s head into his lap.

Yuri shifted from his grasp though, straddling his hips with ease. Otabek’s hands found his hips quickly, squeezing, thumbing the soft skin there. His face so full of love, that Yuri wanted to paint a picture of it forever. Otabek only proved that he could still wreck him; that he could wreck him over and over again.

Yuri’s hand reached up, slipping just under his shirt, ghosting over the hard muscles he found there. “You’re over dressed,” he said, pulling the fabric up. Otabek helped him ease off the shirt.

“You’re still in your shirt,” he countered, but Yuri hushed him. His hand slipped across his skin, his fingers running along his collarbone and across his chest. Over a nipple, teasing it slightly, and Otabek shifted his hips under him, his hands tightening their hold.

Yuri hummed at that, a small smile crossing his features. “Did you ever sleep with Amita?” It was a question with an answer that didn’t really mean anything, but curiosity poked at him.

And judging by the look on Otabek’s face, the other man didn’t like the thought of it, or him asking. “Yura, that’s not--”

“I’m only curious,” Yuri interrupted. “I mean, she’d be fucking stupid to ignore this,” he said, settling his hips closer, slotting them together to where he could feel the hardness underneath him. More impressive than he would have thought, and honestly his mouth watered with want.

“Yes,” Otabek groaned, and Yuri paused. “What I mean-- er-- Amita.” Yuri liked the fact that such a simple movement could render him literally speechless. “It wasn’t like this, though,” Otabek continued with. “I couldn’t be--”

“Damn right,” Yuri said, leaning closer to him, his face only a hair's breadth away. “She wasn’t me, right?”

“Yura,” Otabek sighed, and he closed the small gap between them, kissing him again. One of his hands slid down Otabek’s abs, dragging his nails across the spattering of hair underneath his bellybutton. And then southward, hesitating at the edge of his pants.

Otabek let out a frustrated grunt, and Yuri practically swallowed it, his tongue snaking out across his lips. And then he pulled back, pressing their foreheads together. “Are you okay with this?” he breathed, his hand cupping Otabek’s length through the fabric of his pants.

“Fuck,” Otabek replied.

“Not yet,” Yuri laughed. But Otabek was already lifting his hips, his hands scrambling to pull down his pants before Yuri could protest. And it wasn’t that Yuri didn’t want to, oh he so did. But he wanted to take his time, he wanted to pick Otabek apart and put him back together. And really, they had all the time in the world.

He shifted his hips back slightly, looking down between them, where Otabek stood at attention. Yuri had seen his fair share of dicks, but this one was perfection. Thick and cut, dark like his tanned skin and already weeping at the tip. Otabek took Yuri’s staring as hesitation, already ready to put a halt to this and--

Yuri wrapped his hand around him tightly, using his thumb to spread the slickness that had already gathered there. Otabek threw his head back so fast that he cracked it against the headboard. Yuri paused to look at him, but the other man didn’t seem to even care, his gaze trained on his hand and what it was doing.

Yuri let go for a moment, licking at his hand, before gripping him again. This time the slide of his hand was slicker, easier, and he twisted his palm over the head of Otabek’s cock lightly. The legs under him tensed slightly, and he could hear Otabek’s ragged breathing. Like he was barely holding on.

“Yura, that isn’t-- I’m-- It’s not fair,” he whined, and Yuri smirked.

“It’s not a contest,” he cooed, “There’s no prize for lasting long.” His hand tugged once, twice more, and then the other went to cup his balls. Otabek bucked his hips into his hand, and with one more twist of Yuri’s hand, he jerked slightly, coming all over his fingers.

Yuri couldn’t help but feel smug about that, he supposed, because the entire thing had lasted maybe two minutes. And it didn’t matter, because it was good, it had been so good.

Otabek shifted, pulling Yuri towards him for another kiss, this one sweet and quick. Yuri grabbed at his shirt, wiping at Otabek-- much to his protest-- before settling into his side. Resting his head against his chest, not caring that the both of them sweaty and tired and in need of a shower.

Otabek’s hand found his scalp, pressing against it gently. Yuri hummed lightly, sinking into the feeling of his fingers carding through the silky strands of his hair. This wasn’t new, they’d done this in years past-- but Yuri had never realized just how much he had missed it. Missed this closeness. Craved it.

“I wonder what Grandpa will say,” Yuri muttered, a silly thought.

“Yura, can we not talk about him right now?” Otabek’s chest rumbled with his words, underneath Yuri’s cheek.

“He’d be relieved,” Yuri continued, not caring for the other man’s request. “He always thought you were a good one.” When Otabek didn’t respond, Yuri pulled away slightly, glancing up at him. “It was hard for you, huh? With your parents and everything.”

Otabek’s hand paused in his hair. “You have no idea,” he said quietly. “I was so determined to make them happy.”

“I know they’re devout and all--”

“Yura--”

“But, if God was so against something like this, then why do we exist?” The question tumbled out of his mouth with hushed urgency. “Isn’t he the one who made us for each other?” Yuri wasn’t religious, and Otabek barely was, but tradition was as thick as blood was, where he came from. “I mean, you aren’t planning on just leaving--”

“I already promised you, I’m not going anywhere,” Otabek said, hushing him.

“But you’ll have to go home,” Yuri said, as it suddenly sunk in. Otabek might have shown up on his doorstep, but he wasn’t from there.

“I would think it’s obvious,” Otabek huffed. “My home is wherever you are, Yura.”

It was such a cheesy line, that Yuri couldn’t help but chuckle. “What a fucking sap.”

“Yes, but I’m your sap.” The words mirrored his from earlier, where he proclaimed that he was Yuri’s moron. Which led to the memory of Otabek before him, proclaiming that he’d be the only one he’d ever get on his knees for. Yuri’s legs were still jelly at that particular display.

“You sure know how to make someone happy,” Yuri sighed, content.

“And are you?”

“Obviously.” Otabek let out a breath of relief as Yuri pulled away from him, making an excuse about setting his phone alarm for the morning.

Yuri [2:13AM]: Your advice was fucking prophetic, Katsudon.

Yuri [2:13AM]: Otabek showed up on my doorstep tonight.

Katsudon [2:14AM]: Otabek?

Katsudon [2:14AM]: Wait, why would Otabek…? Katsudon [2:15AM]: WAIT.

Yuri smiled, imagining Yuuri’s face, as he realized exactly what he meant.

Katsudon [2:16AM]: Is this… are you good?

Yuri had been typing a reply, when Otabek muttered something tiredly. “I know it’s about four years to late, but I love you, Yura.”

Yuri’s toes curled at the words.

Yuri [2:18AM]: Yeah, everything is fucking perfect.

#otayuri #Otabek Altin #otabek and yuri #Yuri on ice #yuri on ice fanfiction #yurionice #Yuri Plisetsky #smut

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alun-ura · 6 years ago

Text

Waking up

I’m finally writing shit mMYEH Took me forever to write this because I wasn’t satisfied with how she would feel while telling all this shit but yeh. kINDA LONG

I'll tell you a story about myself. Growing up, my father and I had a very poor relationship. Enough food and clothes, he provided what I needed as long as I never left the tribe. That was the extent of our relationship, he wasn't much of a father figure and I always knew he had something going on, but never figured what caused such grudge, and the rest of the tribe avoided talking about it. It bothered me but not enough to make me question him, that's how I grew up and it felt normal.

One thing I did have though, was a small sketchbook. A gift from one of our elders, even though father never really liked that book I always had it with me, and I filled it with anything new I learned or saw since I couldn't leave the tribe. It was this small leather thing and when you held it, you could feel the little imperfections through the leather, but they were so small you could barely see them. Inside was filled with whatever drawings and notes you would expect of a kid.

Years passed and I was a bored child. Our tribe is one of the few which instead of hunting, mine the ores of the mountains and trade them with the other tribes for food, and it was tedious as it seems, especially for someone who was not allowed to leave, my world was limited to my Iloh and the mountains. I could only imagine how it looked like down the peaks, the Reunion and the other tribes. It wasn't easy, spending all those years living with my father and his temperamental self, which forced me to leave for long hours of the night. It was lonely but peaceful, father probably knew about it but I don't think he thought I had the nerve to flee, so I made it a habit.

It was during one of those nights as I drew a large yol, one of the winged monsters from the tales. It was my first time seeing one, and I could only wonder how it felt like, to fly over the steppes whenever I wanted and to be known as one of the fearful birds. I spent hours dwelling over that until I heard a snap of a twig, it was late hours of the night and no one would expect someone outside a random Iloh, nevertheless there he was.

The source of that sound was a man, a few years older than me and not a familiar face although he had a pleasant smile on his lips. "Alun. Sorry if I scared you." His voice was hoarse but soothing, still, it was weird enough that a stranger knew my name. It wasn't exactly impossible assuming he was from the tribe, but frightening enough when you are daydreaming in late hours. I could only ask who was he and follow his movements as he got closer, he didn't seem to care about my question at first. He answered with a laugh, followed by his name. "Yesun. I'm deeply offended though, I thought I was famous around here." His name did sound familiar, the grandchild of that same elder that gifted my dear book. That wasn't the only reason, he was mainly known as one of the best miners of the tribe. Not that it mattered to me, I wasn't nearly good at it so the tribe decided I should be useful somewhere else. After knowing who he was, I assumed it would be best to ignore him for the night. He went on, talking about how sad it was to spend all my days within the tribe, that it was probably more monotone than me. I couldn't understand if he was patronizing or sympathizing me. And I knew it was too late to brush him off when he sat next to me, mumbling about the mines and whatever he found there, and about the Reunion and how he saw a beautiful lady with feline ears. It was a one-sided conversation, but he knew what lied beyond the peaks and it was enough to make me curious.

He started to follow me every night after that one night, we stayed awake every day, talking about the things he saw or knew about the world, while I tried to keep up drawing anything worthy of note. (Pretty much everything) After a few weeks, I thought it wouldn't be terrible to actually talk to him, as much as I hated to admit it, he made the tribe interesting, days weren't monotonous or tedious anymore. On the third month, Yesun decided to talk about something else, something that happened within the Ura tribe, years ago. About a beautiful, stunning Xaela with long dark-blue hair who was very dear to the tribe, for she had some kind of gift, they didn't know if it was bound by aether or simply luck, but that woman could find really valuable deposits of ore and precious stones. Yesun told me everything he knew about her even though he was also too young to know all of that stuff, most of the tribe cherished her more than her own gift. Until she gave birth to a child, one that was unfortunately drenched in her mother's blood. Because of a difficult birth, the woman died after giving birth to her daughter, and all of the tribe mourned and resented her. Grieving, the father blamed the baby, for she stole a life, so she would never taste it either. He named her after the deep red, like a memento for some kind of crime she never should've been accused of. Of course many didn't agree to it at first, but even our elderly ended up silently agreeing to whatever fate her father decided to bear. I think no one would expect that child was going to grow so similar to that woman but I think there's more to her daughter.

It felt like they were back to that first night, a one-sided conversation while I only listened, I couldn't face him or my book. Hours passed after he finished his tale, not a single word came from my mouth until he sighed and broke that silence. " It's not a pleasant one, but I think there's more to it." He had one stupid grin on his lips, right before ruffling my already messy hair. "That's why I decided to do something. Alun, you don't have to live like this, nor here. There's so much to see, more than our mountains and away from the tribes." Again, I couldn't say a thing. I don't think Yesun knew what I was doing at that time either if I was blocking it or simply thinking about it. Either way, for the first time he stayed the whole night until morning.

The nights after that were the opposite of how it all begun, Yesun waited every night for me to show up but I didn't, not until a few weeks later at least. And that one night would be the last time we would meet like that. Yesun was different, during all that time he saw that bored girl grow all kinds of feelings for the first time, and he felt like he ruined all of it. " I'm sorry. It wasn't my right to t--" I stopped him as soon as I realized that, I told him I always expected a way more gruesome tale, some kind of curse or anything. He sighed, relieved and worried all at the same time, he didn't truly regret telling me, he just couldn't see a better way to tell me why my life was around a cage. "I tried to give you this before, I made it myself so it might help you with cutting free of this place." And he handed me a heavy leather bag, filled with gil, rare ores and food for about a week. And on top of that was a simple but beautiful dagger, light and carved carefully with ore you could only find in the Steppes mountains. I felt everything at that moment, a mix of joy, surprise, and confusion, I knew all too well what to do with that stuff, but it also meant leaving all that I knew, it wasn't comforting but it was the only thing I ever knew, and liking it or not it was home. We both knew we were never going to see each other again after that. He got up, this time showing a soft smile at me. "I told you before, there's more to this. And one day we'll meet again, and you can tell me tales of your own."

That night ended with an awkward goodbye, none of us knew if or when I was leaving, and I still had to get my book before leaving. It was late when I returned to my Iloh, only to find father awake with a grim face. He was outside our tent, in front of a bonfire crackling with the sound of wood and something else burning. I couldn't understand what was happening, and even after a few seconds nothing really made sense, seeing the pages falling one by one. "So that's how you suddenly filled this thing." I froze, tightening the grip around my bag's strap, seeing all of my feelings for the last months take form, what I learned about my mother and the real reason why father was like that, all that conflicted inside me. It was never a choice, it was a manner of escape. "You had no right to know about her. I allowed that midwife to keep Khulan's book, but I never expected her grandchild to seek you. But I'll make sure he regrets ever talking to you." Those were his final words before dropping the book in the fire, all that I knew and found, all that I learned. It was more than enough to ignite something inside me as well, as the book fell, so did the both of us. I can't really recall what happened, I just felt my legs moving while I held Yesun's dagger with both hands, putting weight against that man and stabbing his chest in one go. He never expected me to wield a weapon or to even fight back in the first place so it wasn't hard to get close, a gush of blood dirtied that blade and my hands, it won't get prettier after that. I continued on while tears and blood mixed, I couldn't think straight back then. There wasn't much of a fight for he was already gone around the second stab. I remember my arms only stopped when my muscles went sore from thrusting again and again. That night was the last night the tribe saw me, I packed all I could and left, for that place wasn't home after all.

#ffxiv #writing #story #suPER NERVOUS

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