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beautifulterriblequeen · 4 years ago

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B2:S - Chapter 3

Much of this series will be about the differences and additions in the novel version, and how they contribute to my understanding of story canon. But there will be character appreciation, the odd theory and headcanon, and suchlike as well.

Here be Lujanne, Callum, Rayla, Ezran, Bait, and Soren goodness!

Spoilers for Book Two: Sky below.

Lujanne having excellent fitness for all her walking around the Moon Nexus, and she's so energetic that Callum has trouble keeping up with her! She seems like those active grandmas who almost never stop moving, who have a lifelong supply of endless stamina. It makes me wonder if Lujanne will need that level of fitness for some upcoming conflict.

Callum feeling really hungry over not eating grubs and then still deciding he'd rather be hungry. It makes me wonder all over again how Lujanne got to the point where she eats grubs, considering that other Moonshadow elves we know of back in the Silvergrove don't. I still love my hc that the giant leech ate all of Lujanne's moonberry bushes and she's taking her revenge. Whatever's going on there, Callum is definitely not at that point yet.

When Lujanne asks Callum how he knows she's real, he thinks to himself that he'd put up with just about anything from someone who was going to teach him magic. That's a great parallel and foreshadowing for Viren's student/master relationship with Aaravos! And it's telling that neither student gets exactly what they hoped to get. Lujanne doesn't actively teach Callum any spells, because she believes he can't learn Moon magic at all. Aaravos does offer Viren power, but it takes him to some very dark places - literally and figuratively - and the cost is terribly high.

Callum sees a moon shape among the ruins, and Lujanne explains that the Moonhenge layout is an intricate rune that uses the structures themselves as part of its symbols and power. That's apparently a thing even with ordinary Moonshadow villages like Hollow Wood in the east, which is the coolest idea I've seen in a while: city planning as magic runes!

Yes, that's the same shape as the pendants Ethari made for himself and Runaan. Protection? Home? Feelsiness? A sense of safety and belongnig for all cycles and seasons?

Wonder what this Moonhenge rune stands for, then, and how much of this landscape is included in that rune. I bet it's more than we think!

But it makes sense now, how toppling the stone pillars would disable the spell the druids would cast to connect with the Moon Nexus lake. Breaking the infrastructure of the Moonhenge breaks the rune.

There's a physical sensation involved with the visuals that Historia Viventem brings up! When that one ghostly druid walked through Callum, he felt icy cold. Like in ghost stories. I really wonder about what exactly Historia Viventem is doing when it activates. It shows truth, "what really happened here?", so it must have some kind of time-related element, maybe tied to how the moon always repeats the same cycles or something. But it also seems to draw on the spirits of any living people involved in the flashback, because Callum could physically feel that wispy shape passing through him. So very interesting!

Orrr... is that all wrong, and there's something else at work with this spell than time? Maybe the world beyond life and death can act as an imprint of the things that have happened in the living world, and the spell that Lujanne (and later Callum) casts taps into that place, with perfect recall. I'm looking really hard at the sentence that says "dozens of translucent elf ghosts" and "phantom Moonhenge" and "lost in their own world" here.

Lujanne says more here than in the show about the world beyond life and death, being her mysterious Moonshadow-mage self. She says that "beyond" and "between" might both apply to where this other plane of existence is, and she doesn't much care which. With all the relativity swirling around this place, and not much in the way of empiricism, it's sounding like perhaps multiple conflicting ideas might actually coexist in such a place, allowing more ideas to fit there than we might normally believe is possible. Which is a fascinating bit of worldbuilding. Basically, every headcanon anyone has ever had about the Moon Nexus could all be true at the same time, for all we know.

Oh oh oh, Callum coming in soft with a secret wish! He takes one look at the Moonhenge and immediately thinks of finding a way to see his mom again! Poor boy, my heart! I'd say that could be another interesting parallel with Viren, but then, who wouldn't hold that sentiment?

Oh my, is this another breath of life into Ye Olde Ley Lines headcanon? Lujanne mentioning the Nexuses again, so soon after talking about the runic design of the entire Moonhenge, makes me wonder if the six nexuses are in fact giant runes. On Earth, the places where ley lines cross are called nexuses, and there are those who believe those points got marked with ancient structures, like Stonehenge and many many others. If Xadia were crossed with magical lines which naturally formed nexus points where they met, and if powerful magical runes were built across those entire areas, well. That would be cool beans, fams. Can I smack a map of Xadia and release a spell like Luz Noceda does? Because ngl that is my first instinct here.

Lujanne has got to be missing some grandkids to spoil, right? The way she's always whipping out cake and ice cream for Callum, and she's so grandma-ish about it. Headcanon about her being Runaan's mom aside, she is canonically lonely and she's very sweet to Allen and Ellis and I think she's missing whatever family she once had in the past. She may never get to have that family back, so she's finding a new one among the humans who live nearby, and I think that's sweet. Found family isn't just for the young.

But Ellis is straight up gonna be her fave, I bet, because she didn't turn up her nose at Lujanne's illusion food!

Ezran and Bait have a lot more to their relationship than was visible in the show, and I'm so excited by it! Ez can tell by looking at Bait's colors that he's not truly jealous of Zym, even if he's really grumpy about the dragonling taking up his favorite human's time.

And Ez thinking a lot about his dad and the things he's taught him. They're soft leadership material, and I love that so much! "Pick your battles" and the importance of encouragement. Ahh, my heart. Ezran, you're going to be such a good king.

But wait a second: both times that Bait gets extra grumpy in Zym's first training session, Ezran has just mentioned something about flying. Guys, I think Bait wishes he could fly, really badly. And that's his biggest problem with Zym, and with Ezran teaching Zym to fly, instead of Bait who doesn't have wings so. Bait is so old that his secrets have secrets, and I'm really curious how flying fits into them now!

Rayla, Dramatic Assassin: "I need to patrol for dark forces." That's what Lujanne called the source of the purple wisps that found them. I wonder if that's an official term all Moonshadows know, or if Rayla is just taking her cue from a veteran Moon mage. And I wonder how far Rayla is falling into the apparent pattern of "one mage, one assassin", since she does spend a lot of her time patrolling without being asked.

When Callum tells Lujanne that he was bad at prince stuff, and she asks if he didn't give up and got good at those things anyway, it's an opportunity for Callum to embrace subverting his parents' expectations in favor of seeking his own path, which is a primary theme of the show. But Lujanne is a couple generations older than Callum, at the very least, and I have to wonder what her upbringing was like. Is her version of success the one she took? Was she bad at magic once too, but she persisted? She is very soft and doesn't want to kill anyone.

Maybe Lujanne had dreams of doing something else with her life, but she felt she had to pursue the destiny that others handed to her, so she studied magic as hard as she could, and she did get good at it, but using it to defend Xadia from humans is not what she wanted to do with her life. Whether there's a parallel between her and Ethari on that point, there's one between Callum and Ethari, I think. How much of your life are you willing to let others direct for you?

LISTEN I WAS DYING AT THE EAR BREAD SCENE OKAY

This is my new favorite Soren and Claudia moment ever. Soren loves him his bread, okay. Even as earplugs for Claudia's sleep ocarina tune. The fact that it's "super effective" makes me think of a Pokemon defense. The fact that he learned it at camp, where he also learned about Moonshadow Madness, is hilarious. Later on, Corvus doesn't know Soren by name, but I still love the idea of Corvus being a kind of Strider-esque camp instructor, filling the ears of his young charges with all kinds of useful tactics like ear bread for magic spell songs (which actually seemed to work as intended), and warnings about the enemy elves' blood-themed tactics (which may or may not come back around in BH)

I thought they were gonna go in a kind of deep direction when Soren still wanted his ear bread back, but then he just. Eats them. Just noms them. I love this kid. Give Soren all the bread!

#book two: sky spoilers #book two: sky #b2:s #tdp spoilers #ToX spoilers #gloaming glade spoilers #lujanne #callum #rayla #ezran #tdp zym #soren #tdp claudia #tdp bait

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dottiechan · 4 years ago

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Tempest (Pt. 4)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Read on AO3

Pairing: Ava Du Mortain x f!Detective

Wordcount: 2177

Warnings: mentions of death, smoking

Summary: Ava’s handler has information that will turn her lengthy mission upside down - along with her heart.

Lady Ashbury’s parlour, London, 1898

“You’re ridiculously torpid this afternoon, Ava.”

The hostess’ words ring clear in her ear and she almost flinches - not like the others can hear them. Nate has taken it upon himself to entertain Lady Ashbury’s guests when Ava turned even more sullen and laconic than she usually would in a setting such as this. Afternoon tea wasn’t exactly her scene after all. Nor was being parted from the private detective in such a hurried, unplanned manner as the invitation that simply could not be refused was thrust upon her this morning by a note from Lady Ashbury. Letters such as that hold no importance to her at all normally. She doesn’t socialise. She doesn’t attend parties, or put on a show for the sake of being thought of as ‘pleasant,’ whatever that is supposed to mean these days.

But it would have been impossible to ignore her handler’s request.

“You said it was urgent, Lady Ashbury.” Ava folds her arms almost petulantly as she gazes out the window, refusing to look at the older vampire clad in a divine tea gown of showy green silk and soft cotton frills.

“Had I known this lengthy assignment would make you so surly, I would have invited you to my gatherings more often.” The sentence passes from the socialite’s parted red lips, and the corners of her mouth twitch upward in a way Ava can’t help but feel secretly mocked. “Oh, don’t frown like that! Or else we will all die of your ennui. I have great news, great news indeed! But I see no reason why we shouldn’t have an equally pleasant afternoon to ourselves before we talk business.”

“Half of your guests are not even of the Agency,” murmurs Ava, her disapproving glance sweeping over the almost gaudily overdecorated room. Eventually, her eyes settle on Nate serving tea cakes to some of the ladies, all refined charm and long fingers and even longer smiles, and a pang of guilt runs through her when she realises that her old friend is actually enjoying himself, thriving and basking in the plenitude of attention he is showered with. She’s been so absorbed in her love for the detective that she nearly haven’t had enough time for him as of late.

“All previously settled engagements, of course. I’m sure you understand how rude it would have been of me to entreat them not to come,” Ashbury lies fluidly, yet her brown eyes glint with a mocking light that betrays her immediately and on purpose. She delights in the tensing of the muscles in Ava’s jaw.

“Of course.”

“Now don’t be so uncouth, or else I will be the talk of every party and club for the coming weeks about the questionable company I keep,” Catherine Ashbury shakes her head stubbornly, dark locks bouncing defiantly as she links their arms and tugs Ava away from the window. They walk down the long parlour slowly, close enough to the guests that they feel like they’re part of the occasion, and yet far away for their conversation to remain private.

“You’re already the talk of London, Lady Ashbury,” Ava retaliates, almost suavely wrapping her jest in a cloak of concern. “Thirty years you have been here, and thirty years you haven’t aged a day.”

“Some of us are just lucky in that regard, aren’t we?” the hostess grins at Ava. “Unlike these poor ladies here... Or even your private detective. They’re young now, but they’ll whither away soon like roses in the winter. Such a waste. Just like this whole operation has been, if you pardon my frankness. I understand her protection was part of the deal the Agency made with the Police Commissioner, but such a waste of resources this endeavour has been! Our top agents, wasted on the protection of one human. I’ve always appreciated your practical thinking, so I know you must feel the same way as I do. And to be stuck in it for two whole years...! Well, I’m sure you will be relieved to learn the rumours I’ve been hearing lately.”

Ava awakens from her listless silence when Catherine Ashbury ceases to prate about the question of mortality and baits her into enquiring more about the mysterious little sentence she dropped at the end of her speech. She schools her features into an emotionless mask even as her heart begins to fill with uncertainty and fear, painfully aware of Ashbury’s almost predatory gaze fixed on her at all times. “Do they have to do anything with our mission?”

“Would you be intrigued if I said yes?” Catherine asks, red lips curving into a satisfied smile when she notices her quickening pulse. “Alright then. Mind you, these are only rumours, and you didn’t hear them from me... But it is said that the Agency wants to form permanent working units - much like your partnership with Nathaniel, only in teams of four and with greater autonomy than what is usually granted to field agents. I hear the top squad has already been assembled - and utilised. Here, in London. Isn’t it wonderful?”

“What could possibly be their objective here?” Ava frowns as they walk slowly, Ashbury leading the way to the small balcony facing a lush park of green fenced in by equally posh buildings as the one they’re in right now. “I haven’t been alerted of any major supernatural activity here, save for the rouge dark elf, of course.”

“Ah, there you go, spoiling the surprise,” Catherine sighs, finally giving up her maddening secrecy as she takes a deep breath, the crisp air chilling her lungs in the most effervescent way. Or is it the anticipation radiating off of her agent in waves as great as ocean tides? It is an exhilarating game, reading others, playing with words and watching the body betray the mind as it answers all questions so truthfully. She is only the temporary handler of the two agents, and has been that for two years straight now, but a sudden recognition manifests in her heart - as difficult and disagreeable and perfectly unpleasant Ava can be sometimes (the very opposite of her companion) she will miss her. She thinks her a remarkable entity, a true novelty among the cheap copies upon copies of women who thoughtlessly sacrifice their truest parts on the altar of hypocrisy and vanity, until no vestige remains of their original self. To know Ava is to face a lot of uncomfortable but all the more truthful feelings - one can decide to despise Ava for it, but the wise learn to look within.

Though Lady Ashbury may not look it, she is old. Older than Ava, and certainly older than youthful, handsome Nathaniel. And she feels old too, the debauchery of her long centuries and the dishonest little games that made up her life ageing her soul prematurely. But when Ava speaks...! When Ava speaks, her throat becomes the well, and her words truth, and she shames mankind in the most delicious way. Like that splendid painting by Jean-Léon Gérôme, La Vérité sortant du puits armée de son martinet pour châtier l’humanité. Truth Coming Out of Her Well to Shame Mankind. A painting she wishes she could procure for herself.

And Ava. A woman Catherine wishes she met when she was still herself.

But it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. The demise of the rogue dark elf is only part of the rumours circulating in the Agency about Ava’s involvement during her latest assignment. Or about Ava herself, and her career, for that matter.

“Speak plainly, Catherine,” Ava almost pleads, her diplomatic facade slipping up to reveal a shade of fear in the green of her eyes. Ashbury wishes nothing but to descend upon Ava’s connection to the private detective like a vulture until she realises the rumours have more truth to them than even those who maliciously spread it could imagine. She hasn’t a shred of doubt about Du Mortain’s feelings for the human woman now, her initial doubt obliterated by every sign in Ava’s body language as they stand so close to each other on the small balcony overlooking the beautiful Cornwall Gardens. Ava is a clever woman, capable on jobs, willing to take on risks no one else would dare. And more importantly, she is aware of her strengths too - and thus her self-aware nature marks her as superior to all the other humble little agents. She must know what Catherine is about to tell her - with the task forces forming, and the first such group striking in a place none other than London, she must know that it is only a matter of time before the rogue is dealt with. Before she’d be given an assignment and a position befitting someone of her talents.

And here she stands, this brilliant woman in all her glory, terrified of a promotion that would have put a smile on her stern face two years ago.

“As I said, you didn’t hear this from me,” Lady Ashbury resigns, a little sullen at being robbed of her smug pleasure all of a sudden. “But I know for a fact that your current assignment is drawing to a swift conclusion as we speak. And rumour has it, you are destined for greater things once it is over.”

“Greater things,” Ava echoes, her whole being feeling hollow. Around the detective, she forgot about the world, to be honest. And it seems like she is about to pay the price for her two years of blissful ignorance. She always knew the mission would end, and yet in a strange way she didn’t really believe it. It’s like how people know they are mortal, and yet feel so much entitlement to life that when death comes for them, they have the audacity to appear shocked.

Ava has no illusions. This is a goodbye, not an opportunity. Nate may think that bringing in the private detective is a reasonable step, but Ava will do everything in her power to prevent her from learning who she is, what they are, what the last two years have been about. They were never right for each other. She was never right. And if she leaves now, maybe she can draw that conclusion too.

“My dear, everything you’ve done up to this point is in the past now. And it is best to leave a dead thing in the ground.” Catherine’s plummy honeyed words have an admonitory yet sad edge to them. It is a warning about the detective, and what clinging to her could mean to her career, with an undertone of genuine empathy uncharacteristic to Lady Ashbury. She inspects the woman to her right, a dark speck against the grey sky, and feels honest to god sympathy - and emotion she hasn’t felt in decades. Maybe it is good she will no longer be her handler, Ashbury thinks as she lights a cigarette. She felt too many real things ever since Ava came into her perfectly splendid and dull life, tearing apart the walls of hedonism and debauchery she’s built around herself. But that is a goodbye that can wait.

“Congratulations, Commanding Agent Du Mortain.”

Catherine watches Ava from the balcony still as she purposefully cuts across the Cornwall Gardens, stomping the prized lawn of the old Mr Thomas Broadwood Junior in the process as that sweet Nathaniel treads on her heels ever so loyally. They must be headed for Cromwell Road which will no doubt have available hansoms for them to hail. Not that they need them, but if they are going to Whitechapel, which she is certain of, they need to travel the old fashioned way for appearance’s sake.

The tea gown is too flimsy for her to stay outside for much longer, so she heads inside, cheer and conversation and the wonderfully lukewarm sensation that only pointless small talk can elicit wrapping her in a blanket of comfort instantly. And Lady Ashbury is finally home.

On the other side of London, a woman is losing the only home she’s ever had in centuries. How many lives can she save if she goes along with the Agency’s plans for her? Surely the detective isn’t worth all that. (She is. Her rationale may deny it, but she knows she is worth all that and more to her. And she ignores it anyway.)

Ava will go on loving her in every following decade, in every language she knows, with every breath she takes. She marries duty, and allows death to make a martyr of her lover left behind. Turn her into her very own memento mori.

And in the end, the agent isn’t completely mistaken - something will indeed claim the private detective’s very soul. But it will not be as serene as eternal sleep, as Ava keeps believing. No, it is not death that claims the detective after all.

Even though sometimes even she wishes it were that simple. That peaceful. That freeing.

But there is no rest for the wicked.

#dottiechan writes #ava du mortain x detective #a du mortain x detective #the wayhaven chronicles #twc #twc detective #ava du mortain #a du mortain #I finally finished reading Dracula by Bram Stoker and the same day I was like #y'know what I'll finish this chapter as well #also in case you're wondering #yes #Lady Ashbury is a vampire #and I blatantly stole her last name from Vampyr

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justletmeplayminecraft · 4 years ago

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the three stages of impulse making friends

set in the magic misfits au collated by @haworthiaace! the origin story of how team zt adds the ‘i’. tango has a curse, zed is an elf, and impulse is a demon. could i make it anymore obvious? (yes. absolutely.)

featuring: the least conventional way to make friends, selling your soul is not a decision to take lightly, friends who will Literally die for each other, tango is ferocious when it comes to protecting zed, there’s a fair amount of work to get to a happy conclusion, but the three of ‘em manage it, impulse deserves the world, so does zed, tango... he’s on thin ice.

warnings: life or death situations, using your own blood in rituals, so kinda self harm?, conflict between characters, tango threatens impulse, they resolve things, but here’s certainly some angst before they all become friends, also it’s implied impulse didn’t have the best time as a demon, he has a breakdown, he’s soft ok, they’re making the best out of a terrible situation..

also posted on ao3, link in the replies

1. When Zedaph summons him

Zedaph steps back from the summoning circle, the charcoal staining his hand black as he puts it down. He checks every symbol twice against his book. The required items are around the edge, candles lit with his face pinched in focus. A glance down the hall confirms that Tango's bedroom door is still shut tight. There shouldn't be any interruptions. A good job too, because Zedaph's not looking forward to explaining this one.

He picks up his knife, taking a steadying breath. Zed's never really been one for blood. If it were anyone else, he wouldn't be doing this. But it's Tango. Zedaph can't lose him, no matter the cost. He presses the blade across his palm, slicing just enough for blood to bubble to the surface. He holds his hand out, droplets falling onto the intricate circles.

The symbols he spent so long drawing illuminate in a bright glow, activating like redstone. He gasps as the magic in the room whips his hair. Something tears into existence in the centre. Zedaph takes a step back from the pure magical essence.

The demon springs up in front of him. Bright yellow eyes meet his purple, and Zedaph takes in the demon they belong to. He's surprised, actually. He expected something more demonic. Not that the demon isn't demonic, of course. He has big black horns that Zed could probably spike himself on and a tail that's flicking behind him as he examines Zed. But his face is human, with pale skin and a curious expression. Zedaph thinks his dark hair might even be fluffy. And a t-shirt and jeans? Well, he's hovering sightly too, but-

"You summoned me?" The demon's voice is... Nice, actually. It's friendly, like melted chocolate. Sharp teeth show as he speaks. Zedaph nods, fiddling with his sleeves.

"I did." He tries to keep some confidence in his voice. "I want to make a deal." The demon nods, crossing his arms and sitting back slightly. It's strange seeing someone float in midair like that.

"That's what most people do. You get what your heart desires, I get your soul." Zedaph nods, dropping his eyes down to the floor. He hypes himself up, needing the confidence to commit to this. For Tango. For his best friend.

"My friend's cursed," Zedaph explains. "I want you to save him. In exchange for my soul." The demon tilts his head.

"A curse?" He sounds curious.

"We- we were messing around and upset a witch and-"

"A witch?" Zedaph tucks his arms against his chest. He nods. "I- I can't undo a witch's curse." Zedaph's heart stops.

"No!" He looks up at the demon, stepping close to the barrier circle. "You have to help him, I can't lose him. You don't understand." The demon has opened up in surprise, holding his hands out. He stares at Zed with an open mouth, yellow eyes unmoving.

"Um-" the demon glances away, "I might be able to halt the curse?" Zed jumps onto his tiptoes. "I can't remove it completely but I can lessen its effects and prevent it from spreading. Would that be sufficient for a deal?"

"He won’t get worse?" Zedaph checks.

"He won't get worse." The demon nods. Zedaph returns the gesture, determination returning.

"Then I'll do it. You can have my soul in exchange for that." The demon leans forward, holding out his hand.

"It's a deal, then." Zedaph nods. He steps carefully over the protective ring, clapping his hand into the demon's.

"It's a deal." Zed's grip on the demon's hand tightens, a choked noise escaping him as his chest erupts in pain. The demon pulls him close, his other hand resting on Zedaph's chest.

"Sorry about this part." Something is tearing, ripping at his skin. Zedaph would scream but he can't draw enough air into his lungs. For a second, everything falls away. When he opens his eyes again, he's on the cold floor. The demon has a hand on his shoulder, his other hand holding up something swirling, glowing a radiant purple. Zed can't take his eyes off it. "Are you okay?"

Zedaph nods, "Is it done? Will Tango be alright?"

"Yeah. The deal's done." Zedaph jumps up, leaping onto the demon and wrapping his arms around him tight. The demon falls back slightly, one hand wrapping around Zedaph's back with robotic movements.

"Thank you," Zedaph mumbles, "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you so much, thank you."

"Uh." The demon sounds genuinely confused. "You're welcome?" Zedaph climbs down, realising this is supposed to be a business transaction. He steps back over the circles.

"Sorry I just- you don't know how much this means for me." The demon shrugs. He claps his hands together and that ball of glowing light vanishes.

"It's part of the deal." The demon shrugs. It's like he's trying to come off cool and collected, but he still seems twitchy, a bit nervous. "Will that be all?"

"That'll be all." Zedaph makes sure to keep his next words powerful and concise. "You may go back to your dimension." The demon nods. He bows slightly.

"Pleasure doing business with you." With that, the air twists once more, and the demon vanishes. Zedaph breathes out, placing a hand on his chest. It doesn't hurt anymore. He doesn't feel any different. He was willing to sacrifice far worse for Tango's safety. This is... He feels like he's gotten off quite lightly.

Well, except Tango's wrath. He's just about cleaned up the room when he hears a door slam open.

"What did you do?" Tango demands, storming up to Zedaph. He grabs Zed's shoulders and holds him in place in front of him. Zedaph shrinks down.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean-"

"Cut the bull, Zed!" Tango glares at him. Zedaph looks into his eyes, the solid redstone. It twinkles when the light catches it, like little stars. "You did something, because I can see again, and that didn't happen on its own."

"You can see again?" Zedaph asks, quiet. He squeaks when Tango pulls him closer.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing!"

"Zedaph!" Zedaph curls away at the anger in Tango's voice, even if it's born from worry. Tango's grip holds him in place.

"I may have summoned a demon," Zedaph mumbles it, hoping Tango won't hear.

"You summoned a demon?" Tango exclaims, echoing off the walls. Zedaph takes a breath, his expression shifting as he glares at him. Tango lets go, stepping backwards with surprise.

"It's the only thing I could think of that would be more powerful than a witch's curse!" Zedaph cries, his voice high. "And it was, it worked! He stopped it!" Zedaph holds his hands out to Tango, before waving them down his body, "And I'm fine! No different! I don't think anything's changed."

"Zedaph-" Tango takes a further step back, dragging his hands down his face, "-Please tell me you didn't sell your soul." Zedaph doesn't answer. Tango groans, frustrated. "You need to undo this, you can't just-"

"I'm not going to sit here and do nothing whilst you fade away! Not when I can stop it!" He places his hands over his heart. "And I feel fine, so clearly my soul isn't that important. So just drop it, and things can go back to normal."

"This isn't-"

"I'm not changing my mind." Zedaph pokes his finger into Tango's chest. "I refuse to watch you die, Tango!" They both stare at each other, Zed focused intensely, shoulders rising and falling with his heavy breaths.

"And you don't feel anything?" Tango asks. His voice has turned softer. Zed doesn't fight when Tango rests his hand against Zed's freckled cheek. In fact, he leans into it, all of his fight draining in an instant. "You don't feel worse? No pain?" Zed shakes his head.

"I feel fine," he confirms, squeezing the hand on his cheek with his own. "I promise you. It- it hurt when he took it, but I'm okay now. I don't feel it." Tango sighs.

"Zed, you're an idiot." Zedaph laughs. He pulls Tango's hand down, squeezing it between both of his.

"So are you," Zed replies. "It's a good job we've got each other, huh?"

Tango shakes his head, "I wouldn't want it any other way."

2. When Tango summons him

Tango doesn't know how it took so long for him to realise. It's basic common sense: you can't just sell your soul without consequences. Maybe he was a bit caught up in being able to see again and not having to prepare for his impending demise that he didn't fully consider it. Zed seemed fine. He was fine. For a little while, at least.

It happened slowly. It was first in how Zed spoke. Where his hands would usually wave around in a language of their own, he was still. He stopped coming up with ideas. He yawned, slept straight through afternoons. Then his skin became paler. His ears began to droop. He wouldn't get out of bed until Tango encouraged him. Now, Tango's barely able to get him to eat. He sighs, rubbing his fingers through blond locks. Zed managed some mushroom stew before dozing off, curled up as if he's freezing despite the blankets piled on him. His skin is cold against Tango's hand.

Tango stands, leaving the room without a sound. He's had a lot of time to plan this, with Zed asleep so much. He enters the side room, the summoning circle already set up. It's been a few nights researching, making sure everything's correct. The knife handle is cool as he twirls it in his hand. Hopefully, his cursed soul is still enough to cast this.

He makes a cut across his thumb, letting blood drip down onto the circles. It lights up, the air swirling around the room as Tango stands resolute. Despite all his preparation, he's still a bit surprised it's worked. He doesn't move an inch as the demon appears in front of him. Bright yellow eyes stare into his, black horns like a crown over his head. Tango skips over the surprisingly human features. The pale skin, the fluffy hair.

"You made a deal with my friend," Tango speaks first, crossing his arms over his chest. "Blond elf, purple eyes. Pointy ears." The demon's eyes widen.

"Oh," he says. His voice is smooth and- not very demonic. Tango steels himself. "You're his cursed friend."

"Yeah," Tango replies. "You need to undo that deal." The demon tilts his head.

"Undo it?" He questions. "You realise your curse would continue, right?"

"I'm aware." Tango stares straight into his eyes. The demon shuffles a little. "You need to undo it."

"Okay but you're missing one detail," the demon tells him, mirroring Tango's crossed arms. His tail flicks behind him.

"And what's that?" Tango asks.

"You didn't make the deal." The demon shrugs, his hand up. "Only the person who made the deal can void it. And it feels like he doesn't want to." The demon looks smug, like he's caught Tango out. Tango didn't do all of this research for nothing.

"How about this," Tango starts, reaching for the spellbook he stole from Zed. "I use a binding spell," he continues, holding it up, taking care with the worn pages. If demons could feel fear, maybe it would be there in the way his eyes widen and his tail stills. "And I bind you into my service until Zed agrees to undo the deal."

"That's... A little unreasonable." The demon sounds nervous. Tango grins.

"More unreasonable than the fact my best friend is currently so tired he can barely move?" He demands, stepping forward but careful not to go over the outer circle.

"Hey." The demon holds his hands up. "He sold his soul to me willingly. He knew the consequences."

Tango scoffs, "No he didn't! He had no idea what would happen. You took advantage of him." Tango pokes his finger against the barrier. "So I'm going to take advantage of you right back." The demon shrinks away.

"Okay, okay." He slowly lowers his hands as if Tango will calm down because a demon tells him to. "How about, instead, I give you a month to get your friend to void the deal. I will stay here, no binding spell required. If he doesn't change his mind after that, I'm free to go."

"And if you leave before the month is up, I get to summon you back, bind you to me, and leave you in a salt circle to rot." Tango smirks when the demon flinches. "Sounds like a deal to me."

"Um, uh-" The demon shifts their weight around, not quite making eye contact.

"Or, I go back to my first plan." Tango draws the word out as he flicks through the book. The demon huffs.

"Fine," he declares. "I accept your terms. If I leave before the month is up you can summon me back and bind me into your service." Tango snaps the book shut.

"Then the deal is made." He can feel a ripple of magic at the statement. Nothing strong, Tango's not particularly magically inclined. Hell, it's probably the demon's own magic working against him. But it's enough to make this work. To give Zed a chance to undo this mistake. Tango steps forward, breaking the outer protective circle with his toe. "Well?" Tango holds his hand out, "Are you coming?" The demon steps forward, hesitantly leaving the circles.

"Um," the demon glances back at the smudged charcoal. "I'm not sure how this works."

Tango shrugs, "I'm not happy about it, but I guess you're living here." The demon is looking at the floor, following Tango with light steps.

"Okay." Those yellow eyes glance down a corridor. "Um, yeah. Alright." Tango sighs, looking at the awkward being. Aren't demons supposed to be scary? Or is this one trying to lower Tango's guard?

"Name's Tango," he offers, in an attempt at a truce.

"You're just going to give me it?" The demon sounds concerned.

"I'm not giving it to you," Tango replies, refusing to expand further. "What's yours?"

"Oh." The demon's tail flicks at him. "Impulse. My name's Impulse." Tango nods. He pauses at the door to Zed's room, resting a hand on the wood.

"His name's Zedaph," Tango tells him. "He's... Probably not going to be happy that I've done this behind his back. But he's- don't expect much from him. He's already so bad." Tango can't help how heavy his voice grows as he continues, the weight piling on his shoulders. Impulse nods. If Tango didn't know better, he'd say he looks guilty.

He pushes the door open. Zedaph is still buried in a blanket pile. Tango can just see a hint of pale, freckled skin, peeking out from under messy hair. He hasn't moved an inch. Impulse stills in the doorway, staring at him. Tango turns, giving him a dead look.

"What, you feel guilty now?" Impulse focuses back into his folded arms. His tail wraps around him like a pathetic shield.

"I don't- I don't like this part. I don't usually see it."

"Well-" Tango holds his hand out, mock-bowing. "-Enjoy what you've caused." He sits on the bed beside Zedaph, scratching under his chin. Impulse inches forward. "Hey, Zed, buddy." Zedaph mumbles, rolling into Tango's touch. "Come on. Can you open your eyes for me? Sit up a bit?" Zedaph whines, but he shuffles around. Then, with a bit of effort, he pushes himself up, falling against Tango's side. It's more than he's managed for days.

Zedaph opens his eyes, sees Impulse and squeaks, "Tango?"

"He's fine." Tango gestures Impulse closer. The demon still hovers apart from them, trying to tuck into the corner of the room. "He's here because you need to undo your deal." Zed's eyes narrow, the purple glinting in the light.

"I'm not doing that," Zedaph says, with no room for movement. Tango refuses to listen.

"I don't think you realise how much it's hurting me seeing you fade away like this." Tango tries not to raise his voice. "I don't want to see you suffer."

"So you want me to do the same thing?" Zedaph asks, sitting away from Tango. "You- you want me to watch this curse claim you? And do nothing?"

"It's my curse. You shouldn't get to make this choice for me."

"And it's my fault you got it!" Zedaph's voice has raised, fingers bunching up in the blankets.

"You've got so much more life in front of you-"

"And I've already lived so much of it-"

"You're being selfish, Zedaph." Zed flinches back.

"Fine then. I'm being selfish. What are you going to do about it?" Tango halts at that, not sure what to respond. He wasn't- he wasn't expecting Zedaph to do that.

"Uh-" Both heads turn as Impulse speaks. He curls into himself. "Should I leave? Go to another room or something?" He's pressed himself against one of the walls.

"Go back to your dimension," Zedaph orders. "I'm not changing my mind." Impulse sinks downwards.

"I- uh. I'm here for a month. That's what we agreed on." Zedaph spins back to Tango with fury in his eyes. Tango answers before he gets the chance to talk.

"We made a deal. One I came out on top of. He's not going anywhere." Zedaph presses his hands into his cheeks before waving them outwards.

"You can't just keep him prisoner here!" Tango scoffs. If only Zed knew about the alternative. Maybe it would've angered him enough to void this whole thing. He might have lost his friend, but Zedaph would be able to keep on living.

"He's basically our roommate for a month." Zedaph groans. He holds his hands by his head, mouth opening and closing before he manages to find words.

"I don't even know what a demon eats!" He cries. Tango squawks.

"That's what you're worried about?" Zed crosses his arms, swinging his legs out of bed. He takes a few steps towards Impulse, turning his chin up as he pouts. Tango blinks, something in his head finally clicking.

"Yes, because I'm going to be a good housemate unlike-" Tango holds his hands up.

"Wait, wait, wait, Zed." Zedaph pauses mid-rant, face shifting to confusion. It's mimicked on Impulse. "You're out of bed. Willingly." Zedaph looks down at himself, running his fingers through his hair.

"I- I am," he murmurs, like acknowledging it will break this illusion. "I'm- I don't feel tired. I-" Zedaph looks at Impulse, his eyes widening as he takes a stumbled step back. Impulse holds his hands up, shaking his head quickly.

"I haven't done anything!"

"Then- but you're the only thing that's changed." Impulse squints, clearly thinking before he gasps.

"I still have your soul," he whispers.

"You just carry that around?" Tango asks. He can't force himself to sound angry. He keeps looking at Zed like a miracle has happened.

"I hadn't turned it in yet," Impulse explains, looking like he's solving a puzzle in his head. "Being close to it must mean that it's connecting to you again. Like you still have it." Zedaph bites at his lip, fiddling with the end of his sleeves. Tango really needs to get him into some new clothes. And in the shower.

"And you're only here for a month?" Zed asks. Impulse nods. Tango wishes he could follow the conflict that crosses Zed's face. Understand how he's feeling. Whatever the result is, he stands taller, grinning. "That's a month more than I had before." Trust Zedaph and his overly optimistic attitude. "Right, out of my room. I want to change."

"You're sure that won't-"

"If I'm not out in like an hour come and check on me." Zedaph jumps on the spot, leaping to his drawers. "I've got so much I need to do!" Impulse looks at Tango. He nods.

They leave Zedaph to pick out clothes, even if Tango has to watch him for just a moment first to convince himself this is real. He closes the door after him. Impulse is waiting on the other side. He's... Small. But his face is determined.

"This doesn't change the terms of our deal," he tells Tango. "One month, then I'm free to go." Tango sighs. After all that prep too. He should've just bound the damn demon. At least then he would've got something cool out of this. But-

"Of course," he agrees. Twisting to see Zedaph's door, he shrugs. "Worst case, at least I get to spend another month with my best friend." Impulse's expression is much tighter when Tango turns back. "I'll show you around. You can use the guest room."

"Thank you." Impulse keeps a step between them as he follows Tango. "I'm sorry about this."

"I'd say it's not your fault, but-" Tango's not exactly feeling sympathy here.

"I didn't ask to be born a demon." It's the closest thing Tango's heard to anger from him so far. "We have a quota to fill, and I don't want to fail it again. This is already going to-" He waves his hands. "Sorry, you don't need to hear about all that. Give me the tour." Tango nods, continuing to lead him through the base.

If he's honest, he's not too sure what his plan is anymore.

3. When Impulse decided to stay

Demons don't hang around humans. Especially not ones they've taken souls from. It's one of the first rules, for goodness sake. Don't get attached. You have to think business first, don't start considering the consequences. Mortals are insignificant in the grand scheme of things. There's so many of them, a few souls don't change anything. They're all pretty much the same, greedy lot anyway.

It turns out, Impulse is struggling with all of that.

He's never spent time around mortals before. When the elf, Zedaph, he now knows, first summoned him, he fulfilled the deal, pushed down his guilt, and continued with his life. Then the cursed human summoned him, threatened him with one of his worst fears, and somehow negotiated it into the current situation. Living with them for a month.

He's so out of his depth.

Zedaph seems to gravitate around him naturally. Impulse is pretty sure it's because he has his soul. He's still trying to get used to the feeling being around Zedaph gives him. Warmth, like he's stood out in the sun (a feeling he can properly experience now), mixed with a singing joy. Zedaph's soul is beautiful. It might even make up for Impulse losing a month of work if he handed it in. The downside is it's so beautiful because of the person it belongs to.

Zedaph is funny. He's creative and never seems to stand still. There's a calendar on the wall with the month marked out, filled with all the things he wants to achieve. The elf is facing his impending death and he's going there grinning. Even worse, Impulse is beginning to enjoy being dragged around by the blond. He likes hearing what strange idea he's come up with, helping him build a farm or plot a prank. If it were any other situation, Impulse would like to be friends with him. But friends don't take each other's souls.

Tango, the cursed human who has an aura of Impulse's magic, is understandably standoffish. Impulse would say he feels the same, but if he's honest, he finds the human scary. First impressions count and Tango is willing to do anything for Zedaph. Even if that means imprisoning Impulse like he's some kind of object. Impulse is all too aware of it. They have a begrudging truce between them.

So Impulse tries not to let it sting when he sees how much Tango cares for Zedaph. Those quiet moments between the two of them, Tango brushing Zedaph's hair back whilst the elf sleeps, cooking each other's favourite meals, how he'll watch Zedaph when he isn't paying attention with a sad look in his eyes. Impulse wants somebody to care for him that way. Even worse, he's going to be the reason they're torn apart.

"Impulse!" Zedaph calls through the house, interrupting Impulse's thoughts. He doesn't move, curled up half-asleep on the sofa. Rushed footsteps come to a halt with a scrape. "Oh. He's asleep."

"Still surprises me that demons can." Tango's tone is drier. Impulse wills himself to stay still. Zedaph huffs, a sound he's becoming all too familiar with. The two seem to argue a lot at the moment. It doesn't appear to affect their friendship, but Impulse can feel the strain the situation is putting on them.

"Can you stop treating him like he's some kind of object already?" Zedaph sounds frustrated. Tango sighs.

"Zed, he's a demon. They're not good creatures." A quick thud.

"He's called Impulse, and I think you're being biased." The footsteps come closer. Impulse nearly jumps when a hand rubs through his hair. He reminds himself to breathe. "He's done nothing against us. I was the one who summoned him for the deal. Begged him, even. I don't know what happened between the two of you, but I think you need to reconsider your attitude." The drawn-out silence from Tango is telling.

"Fine," he finally answers. "But don't expect me to be happy about it."

Zedaph answers without pause, "I'm not." The hand brushes against his horn before withdrawing. "Did you see him when we went out to the park? It was like he'd never seen the sun before. And the ideas he comes up with. You'd love them if you ever bothered to listen." Zedaph sighs, moving away. "If things were different, I'd like to think we'd be friends."

"Yeah," Tango's voice is flat. "Unfortunately, they're not."

They aren't. But Impulse can't deny things change after that. He's sat at the table, sketching out plans for a redstone farm he'd never get to make with a book on it open beside him. Tango sits in the chair next to him. He asks what he's working on. Impulse answers. From this emerges a day-long project that they both work on, until they have a working farm and Zedaph is hugging both of them and proclaiming how cool it is.

Impulse doesn't think it's the 'if things were different' they were expecting, but it does the job.

They're two weeks in and Tango asks, "So how does your human form even work, then?" Impulse is reading a cookbook, but he places it on his chest. Zed has poked his head up from his sketches too.

"My disguise?" Impulse asks, waving his hand as he draws on it. The two have seen him use it a few times now. They seem to insist on dragging Impulse with them everywhere. Even if it's the shops.

"Yeah, like, where do your horns and tail even go, dude?" Tango points up at the now absent horns. "Are they still there? Could we bump them or?"

"It's kinda a mixture of magic," Impulse explains. "My eyes and teeth are just simple illusion magic. The horns and tail are a bit more complicated. They're still there, but not in this plane of existence. So like, just shuffled into a different one so most people can't see or touch them." Zedaph nods.

"I've heard about that," he says, turning to Tango as he explains. "It was used as a form of banishment within magical communities. They'd force you into a different plane, so you're still there but you can't interact with anything, and nobody can see you." Zedaph shakes his head at the thought, raising his shoulders in defence. "I'm glad people realise how cruel that is now."

"It's what a lot of demons use when asked to make things disappear," Impulse tells them. "The shift between planes is like second nature for us."

"So you could see things on different planes of existence?" Tango asks.

"If I wanted," Impulse answers honestly. There's no reason not to. "I don't often, though. A lot of things are hiding in those. They don't like being found."

Tango laughs, "How ominous."

"And pretty cool," Zedaph adds. It's the first time someone's called Impulse's powers 'cool'. He's surprised by the warmth it gives him.

They reach the third week. Impulse would've never said it before, but time feels like it's moving too fast. He doesn't want this month to end. He doesn't want to go back to being pushed around by other demons, spending all his time working to avoid punishment. How is he supposed to go back to taking souls knowing these are the people he could be taking them from?

The hushed conversation he caught between Tango and Zedaph keeps replaying in his mind.

"I don't want to lose you."

"I don't want to lose you either. But one of us is going to die. Even getting another month with you- that's enough for me."

At the start of the fourth week, Impulse has a complete breakdown. He shuts himself in the guest bedroom, sitting against the corner and cries like he hasn't since he was a newly born. He's not made for these kinds of moral decisions. He's been dragged into this and now it's all his fault. He's going to be the reason that the light fades from Zedaph until he's an empty shell. Why a friendship so strong is shattered. Why they both talk in gentle comforts at night as they face the inevitable.

His tears soak into the blanket beneath him, staining it black. The crying doesn't help. It doesn't solve anything. But if he has to stay in this situation without doing something he'd explode. Maybe this is his explosion. A fizzle into the night.

"Impy?" He bolts upright at Zedaph's voice, accompanied with a quiet knock.

"Yeah?" His voice cracks. He's pathetic. Clothing scrapes against the wood.

"Can I come in?" Impulse swallows, fists bunching up soft fabric. He releases one to wipe his eyes.

"Yeah- yeah, okay." The door opens, revealing the elf behind it. His ears droop as he sees Impulse and he's by his bed before the door manages to shut behind him.

"Oh, Impulse." Zedaph wraps his arms around him, pulling Impulse against his shoulder. Impulse has enough thought to vanish his horns, too afraid of scraping Zedaph by accident. "What's wrong? Please talk to me." Impulse shakes his head. Zedaph sighs, cradling him close. Impulse embraces the feeling of warm arms around him, how Zedaph's soul sings at their proximity. Zedaph simply holds him as Impulse cries, and that's all Impulse needs. And it's that realisation that has him speaking in an unsteady voice.

"I don't want to go back." Zedaph shuffles Impulse away to see his face, using his own sleeve to rub Impulse's damp cheeks.

"Go back to what, Imp?" Impulse looks into those bright purple eyes, filled with concern.

"What I was before." Being alone, he doesn't say. "I don't want to keep taking people's souls. I'm so tired of feeling like I won't be enough. I like this. I like it here." Zedaph tilts his head, one of his hands sliding down Impulse's arm.

"Do you have to go back?" Zedaph asks. Impulse pauses at the thought.

"I- I don't really know. I don't know what might happen if I don't go back." He really doesn't. Would the other demons even notice? Would they come after him? He has no idea. He's never heard of a demon... Leaving, before.

"Well, why don't you just stay here?" Zedaph asks. Impulse sits back, his brows drawing together in confusion.

"Stay here? But-"

"No buts!" Zedaph interrupts. "It's nice having you around and it's not like anybody else uses this room. What was the wording of your deal?"

"I stay here for a month for Tango to convince you to void the deal. If you don't change your mind by the end of the month, I'm free to go. If I leave before the month is up, Tango can summon me back and bind me into his service." He recites the deal automatically, eyes closing as he does. Every deal he's made is slotted away in his head somewhere, though this one is certainly closer to the front. When he opens his eyes again, he can see a hint of anger on Zedaph's face.

"I'm talking to him about that last bit," Zedaph mutters, before the anger leaves as quickly as it came. "But, it's right there in the deal. You're free to leave, not that you have to. You can stay if you wanted." Zedaph holds his hand up, moving it as he speaks. "And I'm not just saying that because you have my soul. I've made peace with my fate. I'm saying it because I've grown to think of you as a friend, and I like to see my friends happy."

"You've known me for three weeks."

"I've made friends in less time than that." Actually, Impulse doesn't doubt it. "You still have a week to go. Think about it, okay?" Impulse nods, relishing the smile that brings to Zedaph's face. "Good. Now c'mere." Zedaph pulls Impulse back into his arms. Impulse laughs, closing his eyes.

He certainly hears when Zedaph talks to Tango about it. He goes to bed early, meditating until he can't hear them anymore. They must make up after because they're fine the next time he sees them. Even if Tango shows more than a hint of guilt when he looks Impulse's way.

It takes another day until Tango brings it up. The two of them are sat at the same table they bonded over redstone.

"I'm sorry." Impulse looks up from his book, frowning.

"What?"

"I'm sorry, Impulse. For threatening you and blackmailing you into this. It was wrong of me and you're a really cool dude. You didn't deserve that treatment."

"Thank you?" Impulse rests a finger on his page. "Did Zedaph put you up to this?" Tango sighs, sinking onto his palm.

"He strongly suggested I should, but no. I'm doing this because I was an ass, and I'm not going to ignore that anymore." Impulse smiles slightly.

"Just a bit," he replies. Tango seems surprised, and Impulse realises he's not really been playful with them before. Then Tango breaks into a grin.

"You know, I was going to say I wouldn't mind you sticking around. I take it all back now." Then, as if detecting Impulse's worry, he quickly adds, "That's a joke, by the way. I'd love it if you stuck around. Just like I know Zed would, because he hasn't shut up about it these past few days."

"He hasn't?" Impulse asks.

"Nope. He's super excited at the idea of a new roomie. We don't mind what you choose either way. I know I've treated you pretty badly. But, yeah. We'd both be happy if you stayed." Impulse nods. But he gives the same answer as he did to Zedaph.

"I'll think about it."

He does. He really really does. It's all he can think about as the days move far too fast until they reach the evening the deal comes to an end. Impulse can feel the magic buzzing in the air. He thinks the other two can as well. Zedaph is fairly attuned to magic, though he admits it's easier when Impulse is close by. Whereas Tango is involved in the deal. The air is thick with the stuff. Magic. Magic and tension.

They cook together that evening. The food here is far better than what's in his dimension. Zedaph and Tango have two very different styles of cooking that seem to blend somewhere in the middle. Impulse wishes he knew how to cook better, but he's happy learning from them. They seem to enjoy teaching him, too, if Zedaph's bouncing is anything to go by. All cooked, they settle by the fire, plates balanced on their laps. Zedaph has burrowed under a blanket.

Impulse can't look at either of them when he asks, "You really wouldn't mind if I stayed?" He can feel them watching him.

"No, why would we?" Zedaph leans forward, nearly straight into his food. "You've been a better housemate then Tango is."

"Hey!" Impulse looks up to see Tango crossing his arms.

"He does the washing up," Zedaph replies.

"So do I!"

"Once I bully you into it."

Impulse smiles, "You really mean it?"

"We're more than happy for you to live with us. Hey, we'll put you on the deed for the house if that's what it takes." Tango leans on the arm of his chair towards him.

"Yeah. I think that'd be nice," Impulse can't help but tease a bit.

"Do we even have the documents for this place?" Zedaph asks.

"I have no idea." Tango shrugs. "But Impulse is living with us either way now."

"And he's adopting your sense of humour." Zedaph sighs, falling over the back of the sofa, an arm over his forehead. "Outnumbered in my own home."

"Our home." Tango smiles at Impulse.

"Yep," Impulse agrees. "Our home now."

It's not until later that night, as they head to their rooms, that Zedaph wraps his arms around Impulse just like he did the first time he summoned him. This time, Impulse hugs him back just as tight.

"You know, if I could still cry, I probably would," Tango tells him. He wraps his arms around them both.

"That's 'cause you're a sap," Zedaph murmurs from Impulse's hair as if he isn't crying himself.

"Only for my friends," Tango replies. Impulse laughs, ready to start crying too.

"Yeah." He tugs the two closer. "Wow, I’ve made friends."

"You're stuck with us," Zedaph tells him brightly.

"Not literally," Tango amends.

Impulse shakes his head, his smile hurting his jaw, "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

They wake up in the morning in the same house. The world doesn't end. Nobody's bashing at their door.

Impulse stays with his friends.

#hermitcraft #zedaph #tango #tangotek #impulsesv #impulse #my writing #magic misfits au #i absolutely adore writing team zit #and throwing ideas around with other ppl is so much fun #even if my contributions are just #slapping the table like have u considered angst

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ladylouoflothlorien · 5 years ago

Note

Hello! May I please request a Spirit! Thorin x Female! Human! Reader where Erebor is in the process of being rebuilt after the events of BOTFA. R, who is helping overlook the construction, often goes to Thorin's tomb at the end of the day and often just talks and falls asleep there. Thorin has always been present, and R discovers this when Thorin figures out a way to speak to R. Maybe a bit of fluff/comedy to help the bittersweet angst, if you can. Thank you so much! Sry if it is too specific!

I’m so sorry this took so long to get up!! But here it is!! It’s probably a little angstier than you were hoping for as I couldn’t really find a way to insert any comedy in it, but still I hope you like it anon :)

Lay Your Ghosts to Rest

word count: 2684

“Honestly I thought they wouldn’t actually let me come down here.”

It was the first thing Thoin heard when he woke up. A woman’s voice, too high to belong to any of his kin, but not irritating enough to belong to an elf. A human woman, then. Thorin sat up. When he saw his hands and - horrified - looked through them, everything came flooding back. Ravenhill, his nephews, Azog, himself…

“I thought dwarves were supposed to be secretive. Then again, I suppose you were a public figure. Still, the grave of a King…”

Thorin looked at the woman finally as her voice trailed off and saw she was kneeling beside a solid stone coffin that, after a moment, he realised was his own. The sick feeling in his gut was not at all alleviated by the two similar coffins on either side of him. As exalted as he knew the company would now be, the only two members who would ever be buried beside him would be his sister-sons.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

The woman laughed quietly, presumably at herself, and then slouched. Her whole body seemed to deflate. When she spoke again her voice was much quieter, and Thorin had to strain his ears to make out the words.

“This is stupid, I’m talking to a corpse.”

Well, it was the truth, but that didn’t make it any less difficult to hear. The woman pulled herself up off the floor and seemed to collect herself.

“Well, I hope you’re resting in peace.”

He wasn’t.

With that, the woman appeared to be done. She turned and left the room without a second thought, completely oblivious to the ghost of the King she left behind.

Thorin could not leave the burial chamber. He could walk right through the stone of his own coffin, but he could not walk through the carved stone archway despite the fact that the only thing in his way was air. So far his afterlife had been long periods of boredom interspersed with brief periods of intense guilt and self-loathing.

A week had passed since the woman had first appeared, and he had not seen her since, but he’d had other visitors. Balin and Dwalin had visited together, and whilst the older of the two brothers had barely stepped foot into the room, Dwalin had made it a little further before all but falling to his knees as his strength left him and his whole body was wracked with sobs. Thorin had done his best to comfort his bâheluh, but just as the woman before them neither Dwalin or his older brother had even known he was there.

Bilbo had come too, a visit that was particularly difficult for Thorin, as he knew that where the others might visit him from time to time he would likely never see his little friend again. Mahal knew he had a lot to make up for where the Hobbit was concerned, and now he’d never get the chance. The burglar had tearfully promised - though no doubt didn’t truly believe Thorin could hear - to plant the acorn in his garden, that it would have pride of place, and when it grew into a tree he would name it Oakenshield after him. Apparently Hobbits were in the habit of giving names to the more established and important plants in their gardens.

Perhaps the strangest visit of all was the elf who came and cried over Kili’s coffin for the better part of an hour, closely watched by none other than Thranduil himself who hovered at the entrance of the room. Thorin had been able to make out bits and pieces of their conversation, though it had been in Sindarin - he’d been forced to take lessons before the fall of Erebor - and it had been something of a surprise to him to learn that Elves, though immortal, could die of heartbreak. It seemed that this elf would soon be leaving the shores of Middle Earth to escape that same fate.

The woman came to see him again, eventually. He watched her enter. She seemed unsure of herself, as someone who had been given access to an area normally off limits and still felt like they shouldn’t be there. Thorin was left to wonder how many people had free access to his grave, and how many had to ask permission every time they wished to enter.

She came and settled beside his coffin in the same position she’d been in when Thorin had first awoken.

“I... uh... I’m back.”

Well that was one way of starting what would be a very one-sided conversation, though clearly she was more trying to psych herself up to actually talk out loud rather than keeping her thoughts hidden inside her head.

“You know, it seems unfair. You risked everything to get Erebor back for your people, and now you don’t even get to see it being restored.”

The pause that followed stretched out far longer than was comfortable, but she seemed lost in her thoughts all of a sudden. Thorin found himself genuinely curious as to what she had to say, and he wished he had some way of prompting her back to reality. As it was, he simply had to wait. Patience was never a trait he’d been known for.

“I don’t really know why I feel the need to do this but… I want to come and tell you about how the reconstruction is going.”

She paused and rested a delicate hand on the edge of Thorin’s coffin, seemingly drawing strength from the cold stone. Still, Thorin’s attention was caught. He couldn’t think of a reason why a human woman would be so involved in Erebor’s reconstruction that she would feel the need to seek out the kingdom’s dead monarch and tell his corpse how it was going. Then again, he wouldn’t have turned his nose up at information, even if he could communicate with her in some way.

“I’m helping to organise it, the reconstruction I mean… It’s a big job, and there aren’t enough dwarv- dwarrow here to do both the building and the organisational work. There are some humans who are helping with the menial labour, but for the most part, anyone actually doing the task of building is a ‘child of mahal’, as you say…”

That was highly unexpected. Thorin hadn’t thought his cousin Dain capable of letting anyone but a dwarf within a mile of the lonely mountain, and here he was allowing humans to aid in its reconstruction? He strongly suspected that Balin had been an influence on that decision, pragmatic as he was.

She came back often, multiple times a week after her tasks for the day were done, and there were some days where she would fall asleep beside his coffin in what looked to be the most uncomfortable of positions. It made Thorin wish - as had almost become a habit - that he could have some kind of physical impact on the world around him, if only to spare her neck. He supposed that, as a ghost, incorporealism came with the territory.

Less and less people visited him. He didn’t blame them, not really. He could see the pain and guilt in his friends eyes every time they came to look upon the stone coffin. Visiting his last place of ‘rest’ naturally opened up wounds his friends were trying to heal from. Besides, it wasn’t as if they expected him to actually know they were visiting. What it did mean was that he clung to the woman’s visits more than ever, and rather surprisingly she had actually kept up visiting rather regularly even when all his other visitors slowly slipped away from him.

Again she was at his side, and he had settled on top of his coffin - how exactly he could sit on top of the blasted thing and yet also pass through it when he chose to completely eluded him, but he chose not to think on it too hard. The dead King had grown very fond of her. She was his only link to the world outside the stone walls of his burial chamber, and hearing about how Erebor was progressing towards its former glory filled him with a sense of satisfaction that he’d rarely felt when he was alive and an exile from his own kingdom. Normally the woman came and left alone, but this time was different.

After she’d been down with him for a few hours, Balin suddenly appeared at the entrance to the chamber. Thorin was surprised; the advisor hadn’t been down more than a handful of times. Balin had known and been close to Thorin and Thorin’s family for practically his entire life, Thorin understood that he would take his death especially hard, though perhaps not as hard as Dwalin, who had only been to him once since the funeral.

“Lass…” Balin began, and Thorin felt like crying when he heard that voice again. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed his company.

The woman sleepily turned and smiled at him.

“Hello Balin.”

Balin took a hesitant step into the chamber, and then paused to surreptitiously dab at his eyes.

“You should not speak to the dead, lass… they cannot hear you, and they cannot reply…”

It was clear that the words pained him to say, but that he believed them. The woman smiled sadly.

“Oh, I know that, dear advisor… but… I don’t know why, I just feel like this is something I need to do.”

Balin moved to where she was sitting on the floor and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder now that he had regained control of his own emotions once again.

“I was there, you know? I heard his speech to the people and the old master… he had so much passion. It doesn’t seem fair…”

The woman cut herself off and bit her lip, glancing furtively towards the snow-haired dwarf when she suddenly realised that her words could upset him, but he merely squeezed her shoulder and hung his head. It wasn’t as if he could disagree with her sentiment, after all.

“It’s not fair, lass, but Thorin… he knew the dangers this journey would bring. He was the best of us, and he died to give us back our home. Aye, I don’t think any dwarf could ask for a more honorable death.”

Thorin felt like crying to hear Balin say those words, to know that despite his spell of madness his friends still looked upon him with kindness and love, but though he truly wished to cry, the tears just would not come. Perhaps that was just another thing ghosts could not do.

“Perhaps you’re right Balin. Maybe this isn’t healthy… feeling like I have a friendship with a dead dwarf I never properly met…”

She did not visit him for two weeks.

The dead King thought she wasn’t going back, and he cursed his never-ending loneliness. Thorin raged in his burial chamber, trying beyond hope to have any impact on the physical world around him and failing. His muscles felt tense and ready to break anything he could get his hands on, but when he tried to ram himself against his coffin he merely stumbled right through it. Eventually, Thorin collapsed to the floor of the room and screamed till his lungs and throat hurt. When he finally stopped, panting, he noticed something wonderful.

With all the construction work happening around Erebor, the mountain had become rather dusty, and with no one other than the human woman coming to visit him, a layer of dust had slowly been settling on the floor without him noticing. As he sat crumpled on the floor, his eyes picked up on particles of dust dancing around him in the air before settling. Tentatively, Thorin reached out his finger and dragged it across the floor. The finger left a clean line behind it.

You knew you shouldn’t go back to Thorin’s chamber, but there was something inside you pulling you down towards the cold stone room. When you entered, you exhaled shakily and felt almost as if you were betraying Balin’s trust - he had spoken to you since finding you down there to kindly and sincerely ask that you not continue to visit Thorin’s chamber, not because he didn’t want you down there per se, but he was worried about your mental health. Despite your conversation with Balin, and a two week detox period, you hadn’t been able to get rid of your strange need to ‘talk’ to Thorin Oakenshield.

You settled beside the coffin once again, and for a moment you weren’t entirely sure what to say. It had been so long since you were down there… you almost felt like an apology was the first thing that needed to be said, even though that was ridiculous.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been visiting you lately…”

It really was such an odd compulsion to speak.

“Apparently people were getting worried about me…”

Having not done this for a while, the more you spoke, the more self conscious you began to feel. You felt stupid, like a child believing there was a monster under their bed or a fairy at the end of their garden. There was no need to speak; Balin was right, it wasn’t as if anyone was listening. You suddenly felt like crying. You had wasted so many evenings coming down to speak to a chunk of stone when you could have been spending time among your newly found dwarven friends. A tear rolled down your cheek and fell to the floor, but when you hung your head in shame at yourself, you froze. There on the floor you could see words drawn in the dust.

I am here, and I am listening.

The reconstruction of Erebor took many years, and with your strong work ethic combined with the obvious emotional attachment you had to seeing the mountain restored, you had been promoted several times and eventually reached a level of recognition in the mountain equal to that of the surviving members of the company. The dwarves of the Lonely Mountain had wholeheartedly embraced the human woman who seemed to care just as much about their home as they did, and your organisational expertise meant that the mountain’s restoration had proceeded at a pace even some of the more optimistic dwarves could not have anticipated.

However, whilst work proceeded quickly in comparison to the lifespan of a dwarf, it was not so fast from a human perspective. Your joints ached as you climbed down to the burial chamber that you had come to know as well as your own home, for today was a very special journey. By rights you should have retired years ago, but you couldn’t. Not until today.

No longer did you kneel by the side of the coffin - Balin had seen to that once he’d discovered you’d started going there again - and there was a chair in the room permanently for your use. In recent years, it had become especially useful. You weren’t sure you could actually get up off the cold stone floor by yourself anymore.

Despite how your bones protested, there was a smile on your face when you finally reached the room and sat down, for today was a day to deliver a very special message to the ghost king. Erebor’s reconstruction was finally completed. The dragon’s wholesale destruction of his ancestral home had been completely erased. You closed your eyes as you delivered your message, and you as you did you could have sworn that, for the first time since you’d heard his speech in laketown, you heard the voice of Thorin Oakenshield himself saying thank you.

A chill settled on the room for a moment, and when it was gone, you no longer felt the pull to the room nor the compulsion to talk. Thorin Oakenshield would finally be allowed to rest in peace and go to the halls of mahal, and you knew you would not be coming back to his burial chamber again.

The end.

bâheluh – my friend of all friends

Forever Tags: @sweeticedtea @cd1242 @strongandfreedc @pixierox101 @jotink78 @luna-xial @underthemoon-n

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agoodgoddamnshot · 5 years ago

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Glamour - Geralt/Jaskier

[Gif isn’t mine]

Originally posted on my AO3 account.

Geralt is observant. His job calls for it, Jaskier supposes. He’d be a pretty shit Witcher if he was killed by a monster who managed to sneak up behind him in the thickets.

It was probably something ingrained into him during the trails and mutations. Travelling around the Continent together only gave Jaskier an insight into how sharp the Witcher’s instincts really were. He heard things that Jaskier didn’t. In taverns, he would be able to tell what people were talking about at each table: even those who would give them side-eyes and keep their whispers to themselves. The noise always got to him. Jaskier noticed how Geralt could only be in one place for a certain amount of time before the noise grew deafening.

And on most nights, he doesn’t even think that Geralt sleeps. He has every ability to sleep. After a particularly long trek in between towns and cities, or even after a round of lovemaking, Geralt sleeps. But sometimes, noise keeps him awake: the creaking of a floorboard, crows cawing outside, or even the distant hum of conversation floating up to the upstairs rooms of inns.

So Geralt could be one of the most observant people that he’s ever met.

But, gods divine, could he be dense.

Emotional constipation and an incredibly short temper aside, it’s the little things that manage to slip by.

Though, in Geralt’s defence, Jaskier has been wearing a glamour for most of his life. In fact, the more he thinks about it, he isn’t entirely sure when the glamour was placed in the first place. He can remember the first time he saw a mage in his mother’s drawing-room, pouring over some old, leather tome on his lap. He remembers his mother beckoning him over, explaining that the mage was a friend. That Jaskier was ill, apparently. And the mage was very good at making sure that Jaskier would always be healthy and safe.

It wasn’t until he got a bit older, when the glamours started to flicker and fail, did he realise what his mother meant by all of that.

He imagines how the whole thing would have sounded: the Viscountess de Lettenhove had, at some point, fallen into an elf’s bed. The union produced a halfbred bastard – something entirely concealed at Jaskier’s birth, when the Viscountess demanded that the mage be in the room with her, when an army of midwives requested that he stay well out of the business of ladies.

But he understands now.

She just wanted to keep him healthy. And safe. For all that his father knew, Jaskier was his, and that was that. How could he have thought any differently? Especially with the help of the mage who, for all he knew, was only there to monitor the health of his son.

It’s only for his ears. That was the only thing abnormal – though, Jaskier never really liked that word. But he could never find a word that did match how he felt about the entire thing. The faintest arch of the top of his ears: too faint to be belonging to an elf, but enough of an arch to set him apart from human men. Enough of an arch to earn looks.

And he definitely wasn’t the only one who wore glamours. If people actually paid attention and looked, they would be able to see them everywhere.

And it’s not like Geralt hasn’t seen him bare. If anything, he knows the plains of Jaskier’s body better than most. People he had only spent nights with, he didn’t care much for them. They only saw what they were interested in seeing and that was it. Lovers he kept for longer started to scout, but Jaskier never kept them around for long enough to actually map.

Geralt is the only one that holds that kind of information.

And not once did he ever think, or give the inkling of a thought, that Jaskier might have been something else than human.

His ears stayed covered, glamoured to have a rounded arch – a human arch – for most of his life. That was one thing he could hide. Other things were more complicated.

Then Jaskier arrived at the conclusion that Geralt of Rivia was either very bad at acknowledging the passing of time, or he knew what Jaskier was, and made no mention of it.

And Jaskier, knowing Geralt for as long as he has, he’s absolutely convinced that it’s the former.

He met the Witcher when he was starting to claw his way out of his teens. And ageing had kept up well with him; he might have looked like a young eighteen-year-old, but he was eighteen years old nonetheless. And his half-elven blood allowed him to trudge through the years, gaining small little tokens with each year that passes. His skin does start to dull, after a time, and albeit not too noticeably. The faintest of lines scratch at the corners of his eyes and lips. But his blood kept him just out of the reach of whatever claimed other people his age. Or other people that should have been his age. He watched as other people gained white hairs and their muscles starting to slink away. He’s not going to lie and say he didn’t feel a modicum of joy at seeing Valdo Marx squinting at a tome in the middle of Oxenfurt library, adjusting his spectacles, and then huffing when he couldn’t make out anything no matter how close he pulled the book to his face.

Hiding what he was only became complicated when he found himself injured.

Something he can’t hide is how well his body can knit itself back together again. Elf blood is good at extending a life – either through shooing away the effects of time, or making sure that the body it inhabits doesn’t do anything too stupid to kill itself.

He’s never sustained an injury for something like that to be shown. If anything, it’s a very good testament to how well Geralt protects him. The most he’s ever gotten while out on the Path are collections of cuts and bruises – all of them disappearing within a couple of days.

This, though. Jaskier grunts as Geralt lifts him up the last couple of stairs. This could be more difficult.

Then again, it’s the last fucking thing on his mind at the moment.

“Thank you for your help, Witcher!” their contractor calls up the staircase. He’s still covered in rainwater, dripping it on to the floorboards at his feet. Rubbing some manticore blood off of his brow, he offers them both a grateful smile. “I’ll be sure to tell the town about how your deeds here tonight!”

Geralt grunts and takes Jaskier further down the landing, towards their own rented room for the night. As soon as he drags the bard inside, he ushers them both over to the bed. Geralt pulls at the blankets, tossing them down towards the foot of the bed. On the dry mattress, he sets Jaskier down. “Stay here,” he says firmly before wandering over to his bags.

If his lungs didn’t feel like they were caved in, Jaskier would muster up enough air to shout at his Witcher. Where the fuck would I be going? A manticore corpse fell on me. Because of you and your hunting partner not looking where you’re going. Do you know how disgusting that is: a corpse falling on you? Do you know how heavy those fuckers are?

He can’t verbalise it: so staring at the man across the room will have to do. It could have been worse. He’ll give the Witcher that. He could have been pierced by teeth or claws. But gods divine, his right side feels like Roach kicked it. There’s a hefty and deep bruise. He’s sure of it. And possibly a cracked or broken rib.

Or a punctured lung.

Geralt gathers what he needs; a collection of salves and ointments all encased in glass vials and bottles. He sets them at the edge of the bed. As soon as one of the vials is uncapped, Jaskier nose wrinkles. A pungent scent of tea tree coats the roof of his mouth. He turns his head away, staring at the wall at the other side of the room.

Geralt gathers some of the salve in his palm, warming it up a bit, before smearing it along the worst of the bruise. A sharp hiss leaves Jaskier. It might be nothing, but he’s sure that he hears Geralt mutter a soft sorry under his breath.

His blood will knit himself back together again. But it never dulls pain. A design flaw if ever he saw one: living with Geralt is a hazard to his health and wellbeing.

Night fell quickly. Though, winter has long since settled over the Continent, shielding the land from the sun for the past couple of weeks. Any light that does manage to fight its way through the thick, grey, heavy clouds doesn’t last long. The days have grown shorter and the nights stretch out longer. The hunt started when a sun still sat high in the sky. But rainclouds tumbled in, and soon night fell and in all, it has just been a wholly unpleasant day.

With their room only lit by the hearth’s fire and candles sitting on tables, Geralt works mostly in darkness. His eyes aren’t back to their normal gold just yet. Some small trace of black still clings on. Jaskier stares at the wall, holding his breath when Geralt’s hand drifts over a spot that took most of the hit.

Time drifts by. Jaskier blinks when the lip of a glass vial is suddenly set at his lips. “Drink this,” Geralt says gruffly. Jaskier can smell it. Poppy’s milk. It’ll dull the pain, and possibly put him in a coma for the next few days if he takes too much. He lets Geralt tip the vial, judging how much of the potion the bard needs.

Jaskier only tastes a drop of it on his tongue before the vial is gone. He makes a sound in the back of his throat. “This stuff is addictive,” Geralt frowns, putting the vial away completely.

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “I know that,” he sighs, wincing slightly when Geralt prods at the bruise at his side. “Bards are rarely sober. Especially when they’re in college.”

At that, Geralt lifts an eyebrow. “Did you raid your professors’ opium gardens yourself, or?”

A light laugh leaves Jaskier, though he quells it when his lungs start to tighten. “Gods, no. We would have been found out. They had those gardens on lockdown. We...just became very friendly with passing traders.”

Geralt snorts. He works silently, offering the occasional apology whenever Jaskier’s face screws up in pain. It’s been ebbed with the potion, but it still hurts when Geralt presses his fucking fingers into his ribs—

“It’s not broken,” he says after a time. “But it could be cracked.”

“Then stop poking it.”

“Are you like this with physicians?”

“I never see physicians so I wouldn’t know.”

A small frown creases Geralt’s brow. “You don’t see physicians?”

Jaskier’s tongue swells in his mouth. “...No?”

“I can’t say I’ve met a human with such a strong immunity then,” Geralt goes back to his work. There’s a new ointment now; crushed arnica petals, with a strong scent of pine wafting off of it.

You love the Witcher, something in his brain whispers to him. In an otherwise quiet room, he flinches. The thought seems loud enough that it could be heard within the room. But Geralt offers another apology, before smoothing out the last of the salve. You love him. And he loves you. Shouldn’t you tell him?

And it occurs to him, just then, that outside of his mother, a long-since passed away mage, and himself, that no one knows. He’s never told anyone.

Swallowing a lump clawing up his throat, Jaskier rasps. “Maybe it’s because I’m not human.”

Geralt’s hands still over Jaskier’s skin.

He rushes to amend. “Well. I’m half-human. My mother is human.” Jaskier chews the inside of his cheek. “My father...I don’t know who he is. By all accounts, I suppose, Father is my father. He didn’t suspect anything else. But in a biological sense,” why is Geralt staring at him, “Mother told me that he was an elf. But...I don’t know who he is.”

And if the room wasn’t quiet before, it’s certainly quiet now.

“Say something,” Jaskier breathes. “Please. Stop staring at me and say something. Anything.”

And he swears he can see pieces fitting together in Geralt’s brain. It’s a long time before anything resembling a word leaves Geralt’s mouth. “We’ve known each other for so long. Why didn’t you tell me before?”

Jaskier lifts a shoulder – as much as he’s able without his ribs hurting. “It never came up, I guess.”

“It never-” Geralt’s mouth opens, but no more words manage to come out of it. The Witcher catches the bridge of his nose between his fingers before sighing heavily. When he’s finally composed himself, he looks back to Jaskier’s body. “So you’ll heal?”

“Quicker than most,” Jaskier nods, “but not as quick as your lot, I imagine.” He hasn’t dashed out the room yet, or jumped out of the window. That’s good.

Geralt hums. His eyes still run over every stretch of exposed skin lain out before him. The bruise really only takes up one side, spreading from the peak of his hip bone to the foot of his ribs. It’s been almost an hour and it’s already beginning to change colour. What was once red and blue is now turning yellow around the edge. His body is starting to knit himself back together again. And with whatever salves Geralt smeared on him, he’s sure that the worst of it will be gone in a few hours.

Jaskier lifts a hand to Geralt’s jaw, skimming his fingers along the ridge of the Witcher’s jawline. “I’ll be fine,” he assures him. “When the sun rises tomorrow, I’ll be right as rain.”

Geralt stares at him blankly for a moment before nodding. “Alright, then.”

It’s not the nicest inn they’ve stayed the night in. But he didn’t expect much for a small trading town on the axis of a crossroads. But the pillows and mattress are soft, and the sheets are clean. And these days, that’s all he ever asks for.

Geralt has every capacity to be gentle with him. He lifts Jaskier just enough to fluff the pillows behind him, and sets him back down again. He gathers the sheets from the foot of the bed, bringing them up to Jaskier’s shoulders. “Do you want the furs too?” he asks, nodding to a collection of pelts.

Jaskier smiles. “If you wouldn’t mind. The nights are getting darker and colder.” So Geralt gathers them, spreading them out across the whole bed, but making sure that they cover Jaskier from chest to toe.

Jaskier stifles a yawn. The poppy’s milk loosens his muscles. If the bed was any softer, he thinks it might sink deeper and drown. Eyelids become heavy, making them difficult to stay awake. He does though, because Geralt is still padding around the room doing menial tasks. He stokes the fire, placing a spark-guard against it. He strips down to his underclothes and sets his armour, shirt, and breeches over the backs of two chairs.

Jaskier must mumble something that resembles a Geralt. Suddenly the scent of the Witcher is all around him. The bed dips by his side and warmth follows. “I’m here,” gentle words mumble against the shell of his ear. When they’ve settled, a peaceful sort of silence blankets over them. Geralt lies on his side, an arm folded underneath his head. His other hand sits in between them both, twitching to reach out but unsure.

“I have a cracked rib,” Jaskier mumbles, rolling his head to look down at Geralt’s hand. “I don’t have the pox.”

And the Witcher reaches out, fingers gentling along the crest of Jaskier’s collarbone. He shuffles closer, and Jaskier only hums with how warm his Witcher is. The last of the winter chill is chased away.

He’s almost asleep when he hears it. “You know what I am,” Geralt’s voice rumbles out of his chest. “And yet you still stay with me. You love me, despite all of that. Why do you think I would be any different with you?”

Jaskier sighs. “I don’t know,” he says truthfully. “I guess even those who are prejudiced against by others can hold prejudices of their own against something else.” He hears Geralt click his tongue, shushing him. Sleep tugs at him. His body is lax and warm, and Geralt knows where to skim fingertips so sleep can creep up on him more quickly.

“Sleep now,” Geralt gentles, his thumb smoothing over Jaskier’s cheek. He drifts off to sleep like that; a chest suddenly, despite being crushed by a beast, lighter than before.

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bonsaiiiiiii · 5 years ago

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100 Weird AU's? Yes.

So, I had these AU prompts on my phone for quite a while, and I was actually thinking about using them. And what better way to do it than using them with the Tracy's?

Reading and reading these prompts again (and under the gentle guidance of @willow-salix ) I thought that these prompts doesn't exactly match the brothers' everyday situation, but what if we push it past its limit? Yes, biting more that you can chew can be a little difficult, but I don't think it will be impossible. And that's where this challenge is born!

Get the Tracy's out of International Rescue's bubble and let them live an everyday situation as normal people! They can also be medieval nobles or even futuristic robots, the choice's up to you! You can choose from soo many things others don't even think about (and not even me, for a while)!

Many thanks to @tag2060 for the cover and @willow-salix for the support (both emotional and 'fic-ical'. I love both of you💚

NOTE: THESE PROMPTS AREN'T ALL MINE. I TOOK THEM FROM A GIRL I'M NOT IN CONTACT WITH ANYMORE, BUT I WAS TOLD I COULD USE THEM. ALL CREDITS FOR THESE AU'S GO TO HER, WHATEVER IS HER NAME (lmao). THE GOLD MARKED ONES (7, 11, 20, 23, 39, 47, 63, 64, 70, 83, 89, 91, 93, 96, 100) ARE ALL MINE, IN SUBSITUTION OF A FEW THAT WERE THERE, SO CREDIT FOR THE GOLDEN MARKED ONES GOES TO ME, BUT NOT EVERY ONE OF THEM.

NOTE²: SOME OF THE PROMPTS CONTAIN STRONG THEMES, LIKE DEPRESSION AND SEXUAL CONTENT. IF YOU'RE SENSIBLE TO THESE THEMES, DON'T DO THEM, NOBODY FORCES YOU IF YOU DON'T FEEL COMFORTABLE.

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ:･ﾟ✧(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ:･ﾟ✧(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

To participate in this challenge, all you have to do is take one of the AU prompts from the list, one or more (or all) Tracy characters, and post your fic (can be a ficlet, or a series) under the tag #100weirdTracys and #100weirdAUs.

If you don't want to participate, please don't harass/bully me. I made this challenge just for fun, and I don't want for it to feel like something bad. In fact, I don't even regret doing this thing, even if it's strange.

Ah, I almost forgot: this challenge will be over in December, so you have 4 months to choose a prompt and make a fic about it. On December I'll review all the fics, but I'll always be reblogging and reading during these 4 months lol.

If you want to tell me something, hit me up on DM's! I hope you have fun with those prompts and those bois!

(づ￣ ³￣)づ(づ￣ ³￣)づ(づ￣ ³￣)づ(づ￣ ³￣)づ

TO RESUME:

• Swearing is allowed.

• You can write as many words as you want!

• Oc's and muses can pop in too!

• Make sure to tag your fic(s) under the '#100weirdTracys' and '#100weirdAUs' tags, so that I can find them easily.

• Always tag or contact me if you need help with anything! I'll be more than glad to help you!

• If you decide to do the mature prompts (19, 90, just to state an example) please refrain from using a too mature language and don't go further than making up. I don't like that kind of language, so it would be peachy to just avoid writing so they make wild sex behind a bush. Any kind of very mature fic or language won't be read by me, I'm sorry. You can still use those prompts, but don't work their bed life too much.

• Any dialect or first language apart from english is more than welcome in this yard! I would love even to read snippets of foreign language in fics, as long as there's a translation near it, but you're not forced to write in another language. If you don't feel comfortable doing it just don't do it, even if I'm telling you. (For the record, I love Irish so much I could listen to a person speaking this language for hours and you won't hear me complaining).

• I will accept this challenge in whatever form it takes, be it a fic, a drawing, a song, etc. I’m open to anything and I watch everything that comes before me!

φ(．．)φ(．．)φ(．．)φ(．．)__φ(．．)

That said, you can find the prompts down here:⬇️

#1 I saved you from drowning!AU

#2 I broke into your house at two in the morning because I was drunk and I thought it was my house!AU

#3 I am a door-to-door seller please buy something!AU

#4 I grabbed the wrong luggage at the airport!AU

#5 I know we hate each other, but a wedding would be more convenient for both of us!AU

#6 I accidentally poured you a love potion!AU

#7 I sent you 12 messages but you left me on read!AU

#8 I am your secret admirer and I leave you anonymous cards!AU

#9 Sorry, but I was first in line!AU

#10 We don’t know each other but let's pretend to be together because someone is bothering me!AU

#11 We pack up to do a funny trip but we end up in Bolivia without fuel!AU

#12 Locked in quarantine and we're bored! AU

#13 I do everything to find out the identity of this superhero and you try to mislead me because it’s really you!AU

#14 I got into a taxi just to find out it was already occupied!AU

#15 I called the wrong number!AU

#16 I got into the wrong car OMG I'm ashamed, but while you’re there why don’t you give me a ride!AU

#17 I found a wallet and my business is to find the owner and return it!AU

#18 I am a street artist and you complain that I play in front of your house at night!AU

#19 I caught you watching porn!AU

#20 We're two strangers that start chatting while waiting for the bus!AU

#21 Nosy and sloppy roommates!AU

#22 Old childhood friends who come back after years!AU

#23 I got shot to the arm/leg but you're there to save me and OMG ILY!AU

#24 We’re sitting next to each other on a plane and please don’t throw up on me!AU

#25 We accidentally switched phones!AU

#26 We are both contestants in a reality show and let's pretend to be together because the audience will ship us!AU

#27 I am a wedding planner and my ex’s wedding had to happen to me!AU

#28 I learned sign language to communicate with you!AU

#29 Professional model and novice photographer!AU

#30 Sorry I ran you over!AU

#31 We make out and then I find out that you are my roommate’s boyfriend!AU

#32 I’m quoting aloud the last book of a series and I’m spoiling you!AU

#33 It is a universally acknowledged truth that a bachelor with a large fortune must be looking for a wife!AU

#34 I am a Partisan and you are a fascist!AU(Italy during World War II!AU)

#35 I am the blood of the dragon!AU (Iron Throne!AU)

#36 Your dog is hitting on mine!AU

#37 I’m depressed and I decide to call a hotline!AU

#38 You are my soulmate but I am in love with someone else!AU

#39 Strange encounter at tattoo shop!AU

#40 On my mark, unleash hell!AU(Roman Empire!AU)

#41 I am an Elf, don’t look at me for ears I am ashamed of!AU(The Lord of the Rings!AU)

#42 Maybe my life should be more than just survival!AU(The 100!AU)

#43 I am an activist and I am trying to convert you to the cause!AU

#44 We are occupying the school but you are a spoilsport!AU

#45 All our friends are drunk and we're not!AU

#46 We’ve been together for three months and now you’re telling me you’re a werewolf!AU

#47 X has to go into a rocket to the moon and Y has to train X!

#48 Knight in shining armor and damsel in distress!AU

#49 We reluctantly team up against the zombie apocalypse!AU

#50 I’m a vampire and your smell is driving me nuts!AU(Twilight!AU)

#51 Monsters have attacked the Earth and the only way to save humanity is aboard giant robots piloted by two people who must maintain a mental union!AU(Pacific Rim!AU)

#52 My timer stopped as soon as I saw you!AU(Soulmate!AU)

#53 I need a lawyer and you are the best!AU

#54 I’m a Viking and I plundered your ship!AU

#55 I’m a classic dandy from the Regency Age and you’re just a silly girl from the lower middle class!AU

#56 I’m a policeman and you’re an intrusive journalist and I really shouldn’t give you any information about the new murder!AU

#57 You are a wannabe actress and I am a theatrical director who is losing patience and health!AU

#58 Due to a computer error, X and Y become college roommates!AU

#59 X wants to see the world of Y, how he lives and what he usually does, and ends up spending a night in prison!AU

#60 I attend the yoga course just to watch how flexible the instructor is!AU

#61 I am a bounty hunter and you are my prey!AU

#62 I am a secret spy and pretend to be your friend only to get information about your father!AU

#63 I discuss with you about a thing but you have in mind another!AU

#64 We are forced to be best friends just because our moms were best friends too but you're too bossy for me!AU

#65 We broke up but I never changed emergency contacts and now I’m in the hospital and they called you!AU

#66 I am an angel and you are a demon!AU

#67 I hit you on the balls during a game of paintball and oh my god I am so sorry!AU

#68 We live in a dystopian world where your partner is chosen by society!AU(Matched!AU)

#69 I’m a dragon trainer I’ll prove to you that they are peaceful creatures!AU(Dragon Trainer!AU)

#70 Date at japanese restaurant!AU

#71 You’re a cheerleader and I’m a punk and we live in two different worlds!AU

#72 I was a zombie and I was "re-animated" but you treat me like I’m still a monster!AU(In the Flesh!AU)

#73 I am your son’s teacher and I am calling to talk to you about his conduct, would he also come to dinner with me!AU

#74 I am an Achaean warrior and you Trojan and we are fighting the Trojan War!AU

#75 I met my asshole boss at the bar but I found out he’s pretty cool!AU

#76 It was not my intention to touch your ass, it’s just that the bus is crowded, it’s not my fault ok!AU

#77 I went fishing and accidentally fished a mermaid!AU

#78 I just committed a crime and I need to use you as a hostage!AU

#79 You’re the bastard who always parks in front of my door and in spite I’ll scratch your car!AU

#80 I accidentally went back in time and fell in love with you, too bad you’re a barbarian!AU

#81 I urgently need you to fix my computer but please don’t judge me for my chronology!AU

#82 I work on the cruise ship where you are spending your holidays!AU

#83 I'm out in the rainstorm without an umbrella because the weather forecast was sunny!AU

#84 I hugged the wrong person from behind!AU

#85 Celebrity on the run and ordinary citizen confused!AU

#86 Stuck in a ranch cleaning horse poop but it doesn’t matter because that cowboy is a badass!AU

#87 We got married in Vegas, but we’re total strangers!AU

#88 But, officer, I wasn’t doing anything wrong, I was just smoking a joint, want a hit!AU

#89 X is an astronaut and Y is a weird but funny alien that likes to scream, overreact and laugh!AU

#90 I slept with you for a bet but I loved it and I’d like to keep seeing you!AU

#91 I reveal to some friends that you wear boxers/underwear with green aliens on them but you're behind me and oh gosh total shame!AU

#92 Oops I accidentally entered a busy dressing room!AU

#93 You're a stranger but I keep crossing paths with you and I'm kinda confused right now!AU

#94 X is a medium and Y a ghost!AU

#95 X is a guardian angel and Y wants to die!AU

#96 X accidentally enters in a cat and Y has to rescue it from up a tree!AU

#97 X risks losing the house because Y’s company wants to buy the land!AU

#98 I’m an artist and I need a model do you want to pose for me!AU

#99 I’m not really sick but the new doctor is so beautiful that I found out I have a disease with an unpronounceable name!AU

#100 A strange job application!AU

φ(．．)φ(．．)φ(．．)φ(．．)__φ(．．)

If you find them more practical, I also have some photos down here with all the prompts organized:⬇️

That said, enjoy! Hope it brings you joy and makes you happy while you do it!💙💚🧡💛❤💜💖🖤

#100weirdTracys #100weirdAUs #Thunderbirds are go #ThunderChallenge #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #John Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Alan Tracy #oc's #muses #fic #drawings #first challenge ever!#enjoy!

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girlandgeese · 5 years ago

Text

Artist ask thing!

I was tagged by @kourvo and I am a big baby who is afraid to tag even my mutuals so if you see this I WOULD like to read your responses and please DO tag me if you fill it out. :’-)

What is the character you’ve drawn the most (Can be original or fanart) Other people’s Lavellans by about a mile.

What colour do you often use? I like muted and muddy colors. Give me those soft tonal shifts!!

Any colour you are bad at using? Bright and poppy shades. It isn’t in my programming.

When drawing people, where do you start? Jawline, then nose, then eyes, then mouth.

What is a character only your eraser will love? I’ve accepted that I’ll never draw Solas and that this will be why I never climb to the top of the DA art fandom.

Which of your works took the longest time? Almost definitely this one for @teknon who put a lot of faith in me, haha. This is still one of the most ambitious concepts I’ve ever actually completed. 🥺🙏

What techniques do you use when you want to improve in drawing? Eugh... I really haven’t actively tried to improve in a long time. Any of my improvements have been through sheer repetition, like taking on two dozen portrait commissions inevitably makes me better at faces. A lot of times I will burn out, stop drawing for a few months, then be slightly better when I get back at it. It’s a mystery. 💦

What do you think of the art of the person who gave you this ask meme? Their art is so lovely and striking and distinctive!! Extremely strong and emotive portraits. Wonderful use of light and dark values. When I read in their response to this that they don’t often use reference, I was like, “...?? How is this possible?”

What art tools/media are you good with? All my digital work is Procreate + iPad. Whenever I’m traveling I’ll bring a sketchbook (Leuchtturm is the best) and some ink pens.

Art tools/media you are bad at? Pastels, watercolor, charcoal. Messy things.

What do you think about your own art? ... Honestly I’m not a fan, haha. Occasionally I’ll make something that I’m proud of, but the vast majority of the time I’m just frustrated. This probably means I need to make some changes to my approach. But. Y’know. There’s currently a very large gulf between where I am and where I would like to be.

Do you consult references for your drawings? Every time for every thing. You haven’t lived until you’ve got eight tabs open of searches for “old man stern”, “old man angry”, “old man frown”, “old man face downward angry”--

What do you like about your art? I like my line work. I like how I render different planes and edges on a face.

What habits do you have while drawing? Planning to do something quick and then accidentally overworking it.

Are you good at drawing faces facing right? I think so.

How frequently do you draw? Not at all, then a TON for a short period of time. This is maybe my worst habit.

What do you do when you have artist’s block? I wait six months to several years. I do “junk food” art like drawing an easy portrait to build my confidence a bit. Photo/master studies.

What must you have when you draw? I have to have some noise, and my workspace has to be free of clutter. 9/10 times I will make a hot drink to have beside me; 7/10 times I forget about it.

Do you have a lot of stray lines (messy lineart)? Nah. I’m pretty economical.

What is drawing to you? Something I’ve been doing for a long time. A place where I have put most of my skill points but not enough of my attention and dedication.

Your art goal from now on? Make things that are unrecognizably mine. Confront my insecurities. Draw for no audience whatsoever.

Artists you’ve had influence from? See next.

Artists you like? Akihiko Yoshida, John Singer Sargent, John William Waterhouse, Ivan Bilibin, Even Amundsen.

Which is easier to draw, humans or animals? Ha ha. Humans.

Show us an old drawing. This is my favorite one to peddle out.

What is the charm-point of your art? Nice faces that are pleasant to look at. Chiseled cheekbones and numerous elf ears.

What is the first thing you would draw if we’re talking about fantasy? Elves, unsurprisingly. If I were just doodlin’ it would be outfit and armor designs for various adventurer types.

Please draw your most beloved character: I have spent literally 100% of my artistic energy on donation drawings so here is a year-old Lavellan that I still like a lot, to represent Elves as whole.

When thinking of characters is it mostly female? male? or androgynous/no sex? I think it’s a mix, at this point? When I was younger I would only draw girls.

What did you draw yesterday? Donation drawings! Last one was a nice OC. :-)

What is the most fun part to draw? Eyes and brows. Hair is fun to draw but miserable to paint.

What part of other people’s drawings do you notice first? Line work, color theory. Mark-making.

Regarding backgrounds, what is your method of making it easier to draw? Simply do not draw a background.

What colour coordinations do you like? Zorn palette, baybee.

What character did you last draw? Attractive male-presenting OC with long white hair and a nice skin tone.

What part of drawing do you pay most attention to? Line work requires the most active attention. You cannot save a bad drawing with good painting. I have learned this. I may spend more time painting, but it doesn’t ask as much of me mentally.

How do you feel about drawing adult art? At any moment I am ready to sell out and be paid large amounts of money to draw NSFW content.

Do you like criticism from others? When I solicit it and when it’s from someone whose opinions I value. That sounds like “no”, but it’s more that many people don’t give good, actionable criticism. Luckily I am my own harshest critic. 🤡

How many people do you normally draw per artwork? 1/6 of one humanoid.

#ask gg #kind of #thinky thoughts #long post #thank you for tagging me!! this was really fun to think through

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soul-eater-novel · 4 years ago

Photo

«-first // archive // Ramsus-kun Scanslations

★ Chapters 0-1 complete translation

★ Chapters 2-3 complete translation

★ Chapters 4-5 complete translation

★ Chapters 6-7 complete translation

★ Chapters 8-9 complete translation

★ Chapters 10-11 complete translation

For your reading pleasure and enjoyment, below the cut are the full rough English translations of chapters 12 and 13 of the official 1998 Suikoden I Soul Eater novel (volume 2 of 3). Individual page translations can be found in the chapter 12 and chapter 13 tags.

Chapter 12: Hope Remains

They hurried along the dwarven mountain road. After leaving the Village of the Elves, they had ridden for one full day then spent another crossing over the mountain on foot. In this way, it had taken two days total to reach the wide basin that comprised the Dwarven Village. Their party of six was now returning back along this same route after meeting with the chief elder of the dwarves.

The burning mirror was indeed a weapon invented by the dwarves. The elder had told them that the dwarves believed the blueprints for it had been stolen from their large vault⁠—normally a source of pride⁠ for its impenetrability—but the identity of the thief or thieves was as yet unknown.

When Valeria noted that she had heard a man named Kage had stolen the blueprints on General Kwanda’s orders, the elder was livid. “Kwanda! That insolent bastard! We won’t stand our blueprints being stolen, or shoddy knockoffs of our work!” His eyes burned with rage. “The burning mirror is a terrible weapon, immensely powerful. It cannot be destroyed by ordinary means... but our windfire cannon can be used to shatter it in an instant. We’ll get to work constructing the cannon right away to show that bastard what happens when you mess with the dwarves. It would besmirch our good name to let some sneak thief just get away with this!”

Although they had not been able to obtain any reinforcements, they had been promised a means to destroy the mirror. So they hurried on their way without a moment’s pause to rest.

“Young Master…” wheezed Gremio miserably. “Couldn’t we take a break? This mountain path is… just a little… too much for me…”

“Sure, take a break!” Valeria spat, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “As long as you don’t mind being left here.”

“I-I could live with that…”

“Hang in there, Gremio!” Tir cheered him on kindly. “Everyone is toughing through this together.”

“We need to get back to the elf village to evacuate everyone immediately. The dwarf chief said he could destroy the mirror, but we have no idea when the cannon will be ready.”

“You gonna beg that old man to evacuate the elves?” asked Viktor. “He didn’t seem too keen on cooperating last time.”

“Oh, please don’t talk like that.” Kirkis replied forlornly. “He may be hardheaded, but the elder chief has done everything in his power to protect our village.”

“Ah, point taken. Sorry, Kirkis.” Viktor shut his mouth and they hiked up the mountain path in silence.

When they finally reached the summit there was no time to enjoy the beautiful view from the mountaintop and they all hurried on. But no sooner had they begun their descent than Kirkis stopped cold.

“What is that?” He pointed toward the wide swath of forest to the southwest. Surrounded on all sides by the forest, something gleamed atop the roof of Pannu Yakuta castle.

“It can’t be! The burning mirror?!” shouted Valeria. “They’ve completed it already?!” Everyone tensed.

“Hurry!”

The six of them tore down the mountain path at full speed. But even when they reached their horses at the foot of the mountain, they would still need half a day at minimum to reach the elf village. Tir stole a glance at the burning mirror. It sparkled with even more intensity than it had just moments before.

There’s no mistaking it—the mirror is already gathering heat from the atmosphere.

“Damn it!” Tir swore. “Will we make it in time?!”

Running, Viktor called, “It’s autumn, ain’t it?! So maybe it’ll take longer for it to gather heat!”

“But look!”

Gremio pointed to the sky. The sun broke through a gap in the clouds and shone upon Pannu Yakuta castle. Receiving the light of the sun, the mirror sparkled brighter than ever.

“Shit!” groaned Viktor. “It’s gathering heat from the sunlight?!”

Kirkis screamed as a dazzling light shot out of the mirror. It all happened in an instant. The light hit the western forest, reached the elf village, and the center of the village exploded violently in a pillar of flame. The flames roared. Only later did the thunderous roar of the explosion and the pillar reached their ears—as they stood stock still, dumfounded. To Tir it sounded as though the very trees themselves were screaming.

“This is crazy… it’s crazy!” Kirkis mumbled. The tragedy was so great it left the rest of them speechless, and all the while the flames spread across the forest. Black smoke billowed into the sky.

“You musn’t give up hope, Kirkis” said Tir, gazing intently at the spreading flames. “Some elves may have escaped the fire. Let’s hurry!”

Kirkis gritted his teeth. “You’re right.”

The band of six galloped onwards, hoping against hope for the safety of the elf clan with all their hearts.

- - -

“This is horrible…” Valerie’s voice echoed hollowly among the trees reduced to scorched earth.

They pushed their horses, and by the time they arrived at the forest, the fire had burnt itself out. No trace of the forest remained; only scorched fields stretched out around them.

As they moved forward, the ground grew harder in spots beneath their feet—Tir guessed they were stepping on the roots of the elves’ giant tree.

Because the tree had borne the full brunt of the mirror’s onslaught, it hadn’t been so much burnt down as it had been completely obliterated. It seemed that some scorched sections of its root system were all that remained. There was no sign of a single elf—the acrid stink of charred tree and the wind whistling were all that surrounded Tir and the others.

“If the forest looks this bad, then the elves must have all...” Gremio murmured and trailed off, dismounting. The others also dismounted but no one else said a word. Kirkis walked across the scorched earth and up to the roots of the great tree.

“Why...” Kirkis slowly sank, his knees on the ground. His slender shoulders shook, and his weeping dyed the burnt field in shades of sorrow. “Why did this happen…?” He sobbed. “Was everything we did in vain?”

Gremio stood by his side. “Kirkis…”

“We did everything we could... but there’s nothing left here...

Everyone and everything I wanted to protect is gone…”

He stood, wiped his tears, fumbled in his pockets, then took something out. Seeing the glittering object in the palm of Kirkis’ hand, Gremio started. “Oh. That’s...”

“I was planning to give this ring to her once the war was over… and now... she'll never wear it. Oh, poor Sylvina…”

It fell from Kirkis’ hands and struck the roots of the great tree.

Tink…

The ring that should have adorned Sylvina’s pale, beautiful fingers tumbled along the charred forest floor and was lost amidst the dark ashes of the trees charred by the Empire’s attack.

Tir gripped his staff tight in his hands.

Even if he tries to bury his feelings beneath the ashes, Kirkis must be so angry with us for not being able to help him like he asked us to.

Gremio picked up the ring. “Kirkis… you mustn’t throw this away.” He took Kirkis’ hand and placed the ring in it, his voice gentle. “This ring represents all your hopes. And you mustn’t ever throw hope away. As long as you have even just a little hope, you can go on living… I think elves and humans are the same in that regard, don’t you?”

“Gremio…” Kirkis gazed at the ring now back in his hand, then looked up at him. “Yes… yes, that could be true.”

“It is. Please, as long as you draw breath, always remember what it feels like to hold hope in your heart.”

Kirkis rubbed his eyes dry and raised his head. “W-would it be all right if we stayed here just a little longer? If any of my friends managed to escape into the forest, I want to be here for them…”

No one was going to refuse Kirkis’ request. Listening to Kirkis’ footsteps as he walked out of the burnt forest, Tir and the others surveyed the forest and the surrounding fields.

The setting sun cast an orange glow over the blackened forest. Eventually Tir and the others returned to the remains of the forest once the sun had set, and rested among the great tree’s roots. Kirkis was also tired from walking the forest, and was resting against a fallen tree in a stupor. But it seemed like no matter how long he waited, his fellow villagers were unlikely to reappear.

“Kirikis…” Valerie began somberly. “We’ve waited here but no one’s come. That probably means there are no elves nearby. Unfortunately we don’t have time to wait for any elves who were far away enough to avoid the attack.”

Kirkis stood. “Yeah…”

“Please don’t lose hope, Kirkis...” Gremio urged, his voice kind as could be. Then he turned to Tir. “Young Master, let’s return to headquarters. We can no longer decide how to proceed in this fight on our own.”

Viktor grinned in response. “No need fer that—look!” Viktor jerked his chin up, pointing to the northwest where a group of horse riders were galloping towards them, weaving their way through the trees that were now little more than charcoal.

“Lord Tir! Are you unharmed?!” Called the man in the white halfcoat, waving his arm.

“Mathiu!”

Tir leapt on his horse and raced towards the riders. Mathiu was galloping their way, with Pahn, Lepant, and Varkas following close behind.

Mathiu looked around them, aghast. “Lord Tir, what in the world happened here?”

“It’s a long story...”

Tir relayed the events at the elf village, the dwarven village, and told them all about the burning mirror.

“I see… So that’s what happened...” Mathiu looked down at the ground for a time, but then spoke to Tir in gentle tones. “You did everything you could do, Lord Tir. Thank you.”

“I really didn’t accomplish anything. It’s still uncertain whether or not we can get the kobolds to lend us their strength, and neither the elves nor us are strong enough to face the Empire on our own.” Tir hung his head.

“What happened to the elves is truly saddening.” Thundered Lepant in his robust voice. “But, Lord Tir, you have no need to worry about the size of our army!”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Master Tir,” explained Pahn, “right before we left the castle, Humphrey and Sanchez arrived, leading a bunch of soldiers.”

“Aha! So they’re finally here!” boomed Viktor behind them. Tir turned to look and saw that everyone had lined up on their horses without him noticing.

Viktor grinned happily. “So, how many troops did they bring?”

“About 5,500.” Varkas answered cheerfully, looking at Tir. “They met others along their way, and now their ranks exceed 6,000.”

“Master Tir, that’s more than enough to take on Kwanda! We’ll leave ‘em in the dust!”

“Um, I’ve been wondering…” interjected Gremio. Just how did you all get through the Lost Woods? I thought it was impossible to find without a guide or someone to lead you.”

“Quite so. We were actually entirely flummoxed, stuck on the other side of the Lost Woods…” replied Mathiu. “...until two elves who came out of the wood kindly offered to guide us.”

“Two elves?!” Kirkis exclaimed, leaning forward eagerly. “Where are those elves now?!

“I believe they are waiting in the Kobold village—” Mathiu started to say, but was cut off by a voice distantly calling from the north.

“Heeeeeey! Kiiiirkiiis!!”

A figure came racing across the burnt fields at an unbelievable speed. He sped along faster than a horse, quicker than the wind, blue clothes and long azure hair whipping in the wind. As the elf drew closer, they could also see someone on his back, long purple hair streaming out behind them.

“That’s Stallion—and he’s got Sylvina with him!” Kirkis turned to everyone, his eyes shining. “Stallion is the fastest elf in the land… and to think we always made fun of him for only ever using that speed to run away...!” Kirkis choked up. Tears welled in his green-blue eyes. Even though tears wet his cheeks, Kirkis laughed and spurred his horse forward into a gallop.

When they were only a short distance away from each other on that burnt plain, Stallion let Sylvina down off his back at the same instant that Kirkis leapt off his steed. And so, the two embraced.

“With speed like that, I can certainly see how he could escape the burning mirror…” Gremio said, his voice filled with admiration. As everyone watched, Kirkis took Sylvina’s hand and slipped something into it. Tir and the others had a good idea as to what that something might be. Everyone’s hearts were warmed at the sight.

Mathiu turned to Tir. “What next, Lord Tir?”

For a moment, Tir couldn’t answer. But it wasn’t because he was uncertain—it was because he was so happy he could hardly speak.

We have a glimmer of hope after all.

He raised his face and answered. “Okay! We march on Pannu Yakuta!”

Chapter 13: The Big Battle

At Tir’s order, the Liberation Army began to move. They all drew courage from Humphrey and Sanchez joining in the fight against the Empire. The Liberation Army’s spirits rose even higher when Kirkis, Sylvina, Stallion and Valeria also volunteered to fight alongside them.

Nevertheless, the fact that Kwanda Rosman had completed the burning mirror instilled a deep unease in their hearts as battle drew nearer. Tir was especially worried that if their army made a misstep, they would meet the same fate as the elf village.

That was when Valeria proposed her plan to Mathiu.

“Once every three days, General Kwanda sends out a patrol to check on the status of the surrounding area. It takes five days for the patrol to circle the forest and their route is predetermined, so we could lie in wait to ambush and capture them without giving away our own position.”

It was decided that Mathiu would send out Varkas to capture the patrol at once. The main force lay concealed in the forest that ran along the base of the mountains to the east and they set up camp in the forest near Pannu Yakuta castle. Mathiu called everyone together at the camp for a war council meeting while their main force got some rest.

Pahn, Lepant, Gremio, Cleo, Viktor, Humphrey. These brave leaders of the Liberation Army met with Mathiu and Tir, along with Valeria and Kirkis, which made ten altogether. They had all sat down at the big table. Everyone looked around at each other. Mathiu spoke first.

“It is imperative that we capture Pannu Yakuta, but of course the burning mirror prevents us from doing so. As we’ve seen from what befell the elf village, the mirror’s power is absolute. If they turn the mirror on us, that’s the end⁠—us and our army will be ashes in seconds flat.”

“Hrm…” rumbled Lepant thoughtfully. “How can we deal with the mirror?”

“I’ve got an idea!” Kirkis quipped cheerfully and took a stand. “I think the mirror’s weak point is how it collects heat from the atmosphere. If it’s unable to do that, then they can’t use it.”

“But, Kirkis…” This time Gremio piped up. “Since it’s autumn, it certainly is difficult to gather heat from the atmosphere, but they can still use the mirror by harnessing the power of the sun.”

“Yeah, what do we do about that?” wondered Cleo. "It would be best to do battle when the temperature is low and the sun is not shining, correct?"

Mathiu nodded. “Yes. That iss what I was thinking as well. Waiting for the weather to grow colder only gives our enemy further opportunities to go on the offensive. Let’s attack the castle tonight. What do you say, Lord Tir?”

“I think that’s a good plan.”

“Then just leave the tactical side of things to me.”

Mathiu stood and briskly assigned everyone their duties. Lepant was in charge of the advance team. Forest surrounded Pannu Yakuta castle, but it seemed there was a path to the northern side where they could move their troops through quite a wide swath of the forest. Lepant would take up position there and challenge Kwanda to do battle. Pahn and Valeria would each lead a group of soldiers and lay concealed on either side of the forest. Lepant would lose to Kwanda’s army on purpose and then retreat, luring Kwanda and his forces out into the forest, where the other two parties would make their move, cutting off Kwanda’s retreat. Humphrey would act as commander of another party, playing things by ear and acting as needed as the plan unfolded.

“I see. What a splendid plan. Just as I’d expect of our tactician!” Lepant cried in apparent satisfaction, but Kirkis hadn’t been assigned a role, and his expression grew stormy.

“Lord Mathiu, what shall I do? I want to help out, too.”

Mathiu did not sugarcoat his answer. “Kirkis. I’m grateful you feel that way, but I am afraid I cannot use you in this battle.”

“Why not?!” shouted Kirkis.

Tir didn’t understand the reasoning behind Mathiu’s words, either.

Of course Kirkis would want to fight against Kwanda Rosman, the man who destroyed his entire clan…

“Is there some reason we can’t use Kirkus in this battle?” Tir asked, bewildered.

“Yes, just one…” Mathiu placed both of his hands upon the table and stared at Tir. “Lord Tir, before you departed the castle you and I spoke about Kwanda Rosman. We both agreed that he is not a man inclined to senseless slaughter...”

“What?!” cried Kirkis, his voice filled with grief. "How can you say that?! He just used the burning mirror to destroy my entire village!”

“I am well aware,” said Mathiu, now holding Kirkis’ gaze. “I understand your feelings. Painfully so. But, Kirkis, grudges have no place in this battle. We intend to capture General Kwanda without killing him to find out what drove him to this atrocious act, whether it was by order of the Emperor, or by his own design. We must first establish that before taking any further action.”

They all fell silent, then, admiring Mathiu’s ability to believe in the humanity of others, even enemies.

“I understand, Mathiu...” Kirkis said quietly. “I despise Kwanda. Words are not enough to describe how much I hate him. But I am a member of the Liberation Army now. If you say we are to capture him alive, then I will abide by that.”

Mathiu smiled, bowing his head. “Those are the words I’ve been waiting to hear. Now that that’s out of the way, I will assign five hundred archers to you. Please hide in the forest with Lady Valeria, and let loose volleys of arrows immediately after we have cut off Kwanda’s army’s line of retreat.”

“Yes, sir!” Replied Kirkis, his spirits back at full force.

Now that all the roles were divided up, the war council was over. Mathiu dictated that Cleo and Gremio’s units would cover their bases by protecting the rear and that Viktor’s unit would stay with Mathiu on standby.

The camp burst into activity. The soldiers were pumped up for the oncoming battle. This was Tir’s first campaign and electric energy coursed through his veins.

Night fell at long last, a pervasive chill invading the forest.

To avoid detection by the Kwanda army, they lit no fires in the camp. Under the cover of night, the troop of foot soldiers led by Pahn left the camp first. Then went Valeria's calvary unit and Kirkis’ archers. Once the night had worn on, Humphrey’s raiding party and Lepant, leading the main body of soldiers, also left the camp.

- - -

“Show your face, Imperial General Kwanda Rosman! You will pay for your crimes!" roared Lepant. He had gathered his troops at the front gates. If the impressive formation advancing out into the field with blazing torches was any indication, Kwanda Rosman was also preparing for battle.

Braziers burned here and there and on the other side of the sturdy, high stone walls of the castle, the whinnies of horses could be heard.

“You hear us, Kwanda?! Or are you pissing yourself in your bed, scared shitless ‘cuz we’re out here?!” Shouted Lepant again, earning laughter from the soldiers.

Perhaps no longer able to endure these insults, Kwanda appeared above the gate of the multi-storied castle. “Just who do you think you are? Are you aware this castle you’re causing a ruckus at is under the protection of one of the five imperial generals, Iron Wall Kwanda?!”

In line with his nickname, Kwanda’s entire body was covered in sturdy armor. Even his head was protected by a helmet, only allowing a portion of his face to show. He wore the title of imperial general without shame. The brazier fires glinted off his silver armor, turning it red.

Lepant, however, continued unleashing his torrent of abuse upon the unflinching Kwanda. Mathiu’s strategy was to turn Kwanda’s quick temper against him and, of course, lure him out of the castle.

“Here he is at last! The cruel demon who exterminated the elf tribe! I am Lepant of Kouan, now leader of the Liberation Army vanguard! The autumn breeze carried the ghosts of the elves to our doorstep, where they whispered in our ears their desire for revenge. Resign yourself to death, for we bear the grudge of the elves, and we will destroy you!”

“Liberation Army? You’re nothing but rebels! Perfect. I’d been meaning to squash you like the bugs you are sometime...” Guffawed Kwanda as he descended the stairs. “Thank you for saving me the trouble of tracking you down. Prepare to face Kwanda Rosman’s wrath!”

At that moment Lepant also brought out his unit in order to draw out Kwanda’s forces.

The castle gates opened with a grating sound. Kwanda was framed by the gates for a moment, astride his horse with his long-handled battleaxe at his side. Without waiting for his regiment, Kwanda leapt through the gates alone.

“Damned Kouan bumpkins! You’ll help me clean the rust off this axe of mine!”

“Bastard! You’ll bow before my gleaming blade Kirinji and beg the elves for forgiveness!” shouted Lepant, pushing his horse into a gallop. The two men collided with the electric force of a lightning bolt. The flames glinted from their raised blades as they dueled, the sounds of their clashing blades echoing in the night.

“Take that!”

Weaving through Kwanda’s assault, Lepant lunged with his blade, stabbing it towards Kwanda’s flank. But Kirinji was repelled, ricocheting off Kwanda’s golden armor. He wasn’t even scratched.

“Fool! This armor was hand-forged by the dwarves! Your dull blade couldn’t even hope to dent it!” Bellowed Kwanda, raising his battleaxe. Flustered, Lepant turned his blade to the side and it bit into the handle of Lepant’s axe, halting the blow.

“Guh!”

Lepant was hit by the full force of the weight of the battleaxe coupled with Kwanda’s physical strength. He managed to somehow stop the blade of the axe, but his horse could not bear the weight and abruptly dropped to its knees.

“Oh no, Lord Lepant!”

Perceiving he was at a disadvantage, Lepant’s unit surged forward as one at the same moment that Kwanda’s soldiers also moved to the front. The two sides clashed and erupted into chaos. The soldiers’ roars, screams, and the pounding of the horses’ hooves filled the grasslands.

Finally, Lepant called out to his soldiers. “Retreat! We’re pulling out!”

“Running away, are you?!”

Lepant retreated from the battle on the field, fighting as he withdrew. Kuwanda’s assault had left many soldiers injured and now the only thing they could do was believe Mathiu’s plan would work.

Lepant’s unit eventually retreated down the path that ran through the forest. Kwanda’s large force followed them right in, torches blazing.

“Kwanda Rosman! You razed the Elves’ sacred forest to the ground and that is a grave crime indeed!”

Valeria’s mounted unit chose that moment to leap out of the forest to Kwanda’s right. Pahn’s foot soldiers also came rushing out of the forest to the left at the same instance.

“General! Surrender quietly!”

They had swooped down and attacked Kwanda’s two units at the rear of his forces, but Kwanda had been chasing Lepant so eagerly that he did not seem to realize he had been ambushed. As the sounds of the commotion reached him he finally turned to his aide and demanded, “What’s going on back there?!”

“They’ve ambushed us and cut off our path of retreat!”

“Wh-what...?!”

Kwanda turned back to break through the enemy ranks. Lepant knew as soon as Kwanda turned away from him that Valeria and Pahn had launched their attacks.

“You’re caught in our trap! You’re such a short-sighted fool you can only see what’s right in front of you!”

He launched a counterattack with his entire unit. Pressed at the front and the rear, Kwanda’s movements grew limited. Adding to his misfortune, a rain of arrows fell on his forces from an unknown source. Soldiers fell in droves. Amid the chaos, Kwanda ground his teeth in anger and bellowed, “Not yet! We haven’t lost yet! Hey, you! Use the you-know-what! Three shots!”

“Yes, sir!”

His aide took some sort of tube out of his backpack and pointed it toward the sky.

Pshhew!

Three balls of fire shot out of the tube and into the black night sky, turning the sky white in their brilliance.

Staring up at the flashes in the dark sky, Tir murmured, “What are those, Mathiu?”

He and Mathiu were leading their unit toward the tail end of Lepant’s forces.

Mathiu groaned softly. “I should have expected no less from Kwanda Rosman... He is one of the Empire’s generals, and apparently not your average foe.”

Viktor snorted, leading his horse beside Mathiu. “Ya mind breakin’ that one down for us, Mr. Tactician?”

"Those flares are a type of signal used by the Imperial Army. The number of flares determines the meaning. One flare is an order to advance, while two indicates standby."

"And three?" asked Cleo.

Glowering at the sky bathed in white, Mathiu answered. "Three is a call for reinforcements."

- - -

"Damn!” Shouted Valeria, who was intimidating Kwanda’s flank but stared in dismay as another wave of soldiers poured out of the opened castle gates. “Kwanda's still got more soldiers?!"

As she and Pahn pressed Kwanda’s rear flank, Pahn realized that one of the new enemy units was advancing on them from behind.

“Lady Valeria, will you take care of the castle soldiers? I’ll handle Kwanda!”

“Got it!”

Valeria and Pahn quickly reorganized their troops into two separate groups and both clashed with the enemy Imperial Army forces. As the ranks of ambushed soldiers fell their strength dwindled as well. However, now Pahn and Valeria’s two units were trapped between Kwanda's forces returning to the castle and his reinforcements exiting the castle, forcing them into an awkward position.

"These bastards just don’t let up!"

Soldiers appeared in front of Pahn and attacked him. It was all he could do to hold them back. It seemed only a matter of time before Valeria's unit would also be crushed by the soldiers from the castle.

- - -

"We need more arrows! Up and at ‘em, people!"

Kirkis did everything he could to rouse his archers to aid Pahn and Valeria, caught in Kwanda's pincer attack, but it was difficult to tell friend from foe in the dead of night and the fighting on the forest's pathways had descended into chaos. This was no time for an arrow to go astray. Kirkus and the archers grew impatient.

“Can’t we shoot yet?! Kwanda’s winning, isn’t he?!”

Kirkus clenched his fists even tighter.

“Hey, Elf!” a cheerful voice called from within the forest. “Don’t screw up, now!”

When Kirkis and the archers peered into the rustling bushes, a pair of gleaming eyes appeared, glinting in the dark.

“Looks like a close fight. But everything’s all right now. Us kobolds have come to back you up!” As he spoke, the kobold soldier Kuromimi materialized from the pitch-black woods.

“Kuromimi...!”

Kirkus was still reeling in surprise at Kuromimi’s sudden appearance, but Kuromimi licked his chops and laughed. “You Liberation Army guys really kept your word. The Imperial Army hasn’t shown up in the north forest this whole time!”

“S-so that’s why you’re here to help us?”

“I hate liars. But I love people who keep their promises. We got you covered!” Shouted Kuromimi, and leapt onto the meadow, his tail bristling. Behind him followed all sorts of kobolds waving their swords - burly, strong kobolds, slim, clever kobolds, and on and on.

- - -

“What the?!”

Valeria stared in amazement at the unit that came charging out of the woods. She had been born and raised in the forest, so kobolds were nothing new to her. She inferred in a flash that they were allies because they had appeared from where Kirkis was concealed.

“Reinforcements are coming, everyone!” Valeria raised her sword high. “Don’t fall behind, kobolds! Give it your all!”

Amid the bloody battle, the soldiers once again regained their fighting spirits. The kobold clan charged into the soldiers from the castle. The imperial soldiers, under attack from Valeria on one side and the kobold clan on the other, prepared to flee. At the moment Pahn’s unit began to move, having received notice of the reinforcements, another unit flanked them.

“Sorry to keep you waiting...”

It was Humphrey, accompanying the commando unit.

“You’re late, ya bastard!” cried Pahn as they shifted ranks and Humphrey’s unit switched with his, allowing injured soldiers to pull back from the battle.

Humphrey’s uninjured unit pressed Kwanda once more. Watchinging as Humphrey’s huge sword and Kwanda’s axe clashed, sending sparks flying, Pahn reorganized his unit and struck the soldiers from the castle opposite the Kobold clan’s attack.

- - -

“Hey, tactician!” roared Viktor, turning to Mathiu, drawn sword in hand. “Ain’t it our turn yet?!”

He had readied his unit for battle the minute Kwanda’s reinforcements had come out of the castle. A subordinate came running up to Mathiu and reported on the state of the battle. It only took a second, but to Viktor it felt like an eternity.

At last, Mathiu shouted, “Viktor! Provide support to Pahn’s unit as Lepant’s unit falls back!”

“Whoo! Finally! Head-bashin’ time!” Viktor turned to his soldiers. “Let’s go! We’ll show ‘em just how stubborn the Liberation Army is!”

The soldiers, who were tired of waiting, all at once gave a great battle cry. Viktor’s horse broke into a gallop. The moment his unit slipped in beside Lepant’s, the screams of the Imperial soldiers noticeably ticked up a notch.

- - -

The battle between the two armies raged seemingly without end. The land was soaked with blood, the field covered with corpses, with no clear victor in sight. Mathiu had ordered an all-out offensive attack on the all-powerful Kwanda’s army.

Along with Gremio and Cleo, Tir had joined and were fighting beside Lepant’s unit. It was Tir’s first large battle and the unimaginably gruesome sights made him sick to his stomach, but he gritted his teeth and fought on.

We need to settle this fight immediately.

“Young Master! Let’s hurry and capture General Kwanda!” Shouted Gremio, swinging his axe. The sky was beginning to turn violet—dawn was not far off. When the sun rose, Kwanda would be able to use the burning mirror. Impatience burned in Tir’s breast.

Suddenly Kwanda’s unit gave cheers of joy. Kwanda was unmistakably penetrating the space they had carved out between Valeria and Humphey’s unit. At that moment the soldiers Tir and the others were fighting turned and fled.

“Don’t let him escape! Don’t let General Kwanda get away!” Tir shouted as loud as he could, but imperial soldiers blocked his way and he couldn’t give chase.

Kuromimi, Pahn, and Viktor all launched incessant attacks from the sides but the imperial army merged to form one huge unit, impossible to smash.The imperial soldiers and Kwanda made a mad dash toward the castle gate. Tir and the others flew right behind them on their steeds, but the castle gate smashed closed right in front of their noses. The enemy soldiers were amassed beyond the gates with no way for the Liberation Army to get at them. Slowly but surely the sun began to rise over the eastern mountains.

“Gh...” Tir bit down hard on his lip without being aware of it.

We sacrificed so much in this battle, only to lose now...?

“That’s what you get for rebelling against the Empire, fools!” Kwanda suddenly called from above. He stood on the castle roof. Set up beside him was the huge, elliptical shape of the burning mirror.

“This farce ends here! Let’s settle this once and for all!” Kwanda sneered. “I’ll give you a taste of the burning mirror’s full strength!”

The burning mirror glinted. As the sun climbed higher in the sky, the mirror shone all the brighter.

They were out of time.

“Young Master...” Gremio looked up at the mirror, mortified. “We can’t fight this. We’ve got to pull our forces back.”

“I know...” Tir gripped his staff hard, looking back at the soldiers. He kicked his horse into a gallop. “Everyone, spread out!” he yelled. “Spread out as much as you can to minimize casualties!”

Valeria and Viktor’s units as well as Pahn and Lepant’s units carrying the wounded soldiers all obeyed his orders and the soldiers scattered in all directions.

“Ooh, spreading yourselves thin to make it harder to aim, are you? But you’re too late!”

Kwanda’s scorn reached Tir’s back. Urging his horse forward, he looked over his shoulder at the burning mirror. It was already emitting a glaring light—any moment now there would be a flash and....

“Hurry! Hurry, everyone!”

No sooner had the words left Tir’s lips than the burning mirror was enveloped in a dazzling light.

“Woah...?!”

An intense wind suddenly sprung out of nowhere ahead of Tir. With a dreadful groan, the wind whooshed over his head roaring like a wild beast and flew toward the castle. Immediately afterward came the violent sound of an explosion on the castle roof. The noise rippled out in a shockwave across the plain, setting the trees in the forest swaying. Simultaneously, from the burning mirror on the roof a pale light seeped out, closing around Tir and his comrades.

Tir looked back once more and saw the burning mirror was no longer emitting light—it was only the surface of the mirror smashed into a million pieces, leaving the roof of Pannu Yakuta castle fully exposed.

#Suikoden #Soul Eater #Chapter 12 #Chapter 13 #English #Translations #WOOHOO! It's been a year since the last two chapters were posted!#; w ;#only one picture in these two chapters when there were about four in the last two lol

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inside-of-a-fangirls-mind · 5 years ago

Text

The White Wolf’s Dance; Chapter 2

Request; Still none but I needed a little action and angst. Hope you guys enjoy.

Words;2,753

Warnings; Minor Character deaths, Family deaths, Blood and Gore. Trying to save a life. Reader passed out from wounds after a fight.

Pairing; Defintley more Geralt x Reader ish. IF you squint.

Note; So I dunno where I really went with this chapter. Just wanted to give some background info on reader mainly. And show how freaking powerful she is and how much Geralt lowkey cares about her already. Maybe one day Geralt will train her to become even better? Idk.

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{I don’t own any gifs or witcher content!}

Tag List;

@yuminyg @andyl394

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*Chapter 2; The Girl Behind the Mask*

Geralt and Jaskier stood away a bit from you, Jaskier just staring at you the whole time. “She’s a bit peculiar isn’t she?” Jaskier whispered to Geralt as he watched the girl. “Maybe I can get her in a talking mood. It seems she knows loads about us and we know nothing of her.” Before Geralt can say a word Jaskier walks over and pulls a log up to sit by the fire as well.

“Y/N,” He hums softly setting his lute down beside him “That’s your name right?” Jaskier offers a smile to you but you don’t open your eyes. Just giving him a slight nod which he would have missed if he wasn’t staring at you.

“Why’d you try to go after the harpy yourself? Surely you could have just put out a contract on it like anyone else?” He watches you before his attention goes to the fire. You peek an eye open to look at him before a soft smile tugs at your lips.

“I’ve killed many a monster before. Didn’t think one with wings would be too different. That’s where I was wrong. Unlike your friend,” You glance over to where Geralt is pulling up a log to sit at the fire as well. “I haven’t had years of training or been enhanced in any way. I just try my best and out of sear will I make it.” You look across the fire and catch his amber eyes looking back at you for a second before you sigh loudly. “Well, I’m sure you have more questions. Let me hear them. I’ll answer all I see fit.”

“Why’d you start killing monsters?” Geralt’s rough voice shocked you for a second, you didn’t expect a word out of him. His tone didn’t seem truly interested in the answer just trying to make conversation.

“Well the basic sob story, my village was attacked, my people killed. My father went off to fight and never returned. I was the oldest so someone had to take care of the family. Mom couldn’t do it all alone. Soon I was hunting, small animals. But one day something attacked my little sister. Tore her leg clear off, I picked up my first sword that day and I did what I had to, to save my sister. Just luck has it be, life wasn’t easy. Ma got sick, sister healed but couldn’t walk. My brother and I had to provide. I took to towns betting mostly, I’m pretty good at Gwent if I say so. Come across a bit of oren. My brother was the monster hunter. They attacked our village often because of the smell of death each grave gave off. Once ma died I decided I would protect everything I knew too.” You shrug and glance up at the small patch of sky through the tree line.

“And your sister? Where is she now?” Jaskier asked leaning in for the story. He was very interested in the new travel companion, Geralt was never this talkative.

“Dead.” You speak softly, before throwing more sticks on the fire. “Brother was all I had left after she passed last winter. Part of me hoping he’s still alive somehow. Though I know he isn’t.” You stretch over your head before letting out a yawn. You had all but blocked out emotions from your family matters. It had been a while and you were better off on your own anyway. No one to care about or miss.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier whispered before putting a hand on your shoulder. You stare at it for a moment before shrugging it off. He didn’t take it the wrong way, moving his hand back to his lap.

“It’s fine. All the more reason to kill the creatures.” You hum, you had been numb for a while to all this. Not like they would understand anyway. Not like they knew what you really were. Most of the story had been true, though the monsters at first. They weren’t beasts like the one you hunt now. They were humans, mostly men. See what your hired monster killers didn’t know is that you were an elf. You hid it will. Passing off as a sorceress explained your magick and a simple concealing spell hid your ears. Soon you could go back to your home and live out the rest of your days avoiding humans. Just had to stop that harpy first.

“Where’d you learn magick?” Jaskier asked then followed up with “And why’d you use it on me in the first place?“ He wasn’t used to having magic used on him. Geralt knew some but never once used it on him. Yennefer had to heal him but that was a whole didn’t story.

You chuckled at first before looking over at him. “The brotherhood,” You lied easily before smirking. “You weren’t my first choice. I was looking for The Witcher. Though he was suspicious of me, weren’t you?” Your eyes turn to Geralt as you offer a charming smile.

“No normal lady buys free drinks for strangers, especially without speaking first.” His rough voice was almost like music to your ears however you didn’t let it phase you. Sure he was big and handsome. But Witchers have no feelings, they only care about money.

“Well If you hadn’t left the party so soon I would have gladly explained my job to both of you. But Jaskier had other intentions didn’t you?” You smirk looking over the bard before winking.

“Hey! You came on to me! She came on to me Geralt!” Jaskier tries to explain looking to his friend. Although he did play a part in everything. She had made the first move.

“Hmm,” Geralt grunts with an eye roll.

You chuckle softly before smirking. “Relax. I just wanted to make sure you got some needed sleep before this journey. Though looking back. You’re not much of a monster hunter are you?”

“Uh..no.” Jaskier looked away before faking a yawn. “I’m going to bed have fun you two.” And with that, he was heading a bit away from the fire to sleep.

Not much was said for a while. Just glances at each other before he spoke. “Just don’t get killed. I want to get paid.” The Witcher grumbled.

“That’s the plan. You don’t get killed either. Don’t wanna be known as the one who got a Witcher killed.” You glance at him through the flame as it flickered quickly before you looked away. Okay, maybe the Witcher was pretty hot but still. You needed to get a grip. Not like the two of you would ride off into the sunset on his horse. Your dream of finding someone died with most of your people.

“Don’t worry.” He stood up before looking down at you and at this moment you felt incredibly small. “Get some rest. I’ll take the first watch. I know that’s on your mind.”

You don’t say a word as you stand up and look at him in a different light. Before nodding and then glancing at where Jaskier was laying down. “But I’m not sleeping with him.” You smirk before heading to a nearby tree and leaning against it. Suddenly your eyes feel heavy and you’re quickly drifting off into sleep.

Geralt keeps watching overnight. Though he is mostly watching you. The way your flowing H/C locks frame your face. The soft steady beat of your heart. And your willingness to run off and try and slay this monster yourself. For a human you had guts and he couldn’t wait to see you with a sword.

He already thought he was going soft because of Jaskier. Now another human he could grow to care about? What was all this becoming? He did his best not to think of it as he watched the fire dance in the night. A few hours later you woke up and noticed Geralt was gone. You feared he had runoff. You quickly checked your pockets but nothing had been stolen and as you focused your gaze pass the fire you saw Jaskier still laying on the ground sound asleep.

Suddenly a hand on your shoulder made you jump. Quickly another flew to your mouth before your eyes met familiar Amber ones. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” But the smirk on his face said otherwise.

You pulled his hand from your mouth and rolled your eyes. “a simple hello wouldn’t have done that.” You lean back against the tree noticing the softness of the black night sky. “Sun’s rising soon. We best be on the way. Not much further.” You stood up and brushed yourself off.

“Jaskier will wait here with Roach. We will continue on our own.” He spoke before going to wake his friend and tell him.

As soon as you two were getting ready to leave you walked over to Jaskier and placed a hand on his forehead. “Beri- na- os- cin.” You whisper as a soft blue light admits from your hand.

“Geralt…?” Jaskier whispers looking to his friend who didn’t seem alarmed.

“Relax. It’s a spell to hide you and protect you from everything else in this forest. Do not worry though. I’d bet my life on that spell. And have many times.” You pat his cheek roughly before strapping your sword to your hip and bow to your back.

“Stay here Jaskier. And don’t make too much noise. We will be back come nightfall.” Geralt’s rough time warned him before starting up the rocky trail to the mountain top.

You followed behind not saying a word. Just fiddling with the handle on your sword.

“Hope you got silver.” His voice was softer and surprised you.

“Yeah. Forged from my mas old jewelry. Made her myself.” You pat your sword on your hip smiling slightly. You were quite proud of that. But soon nothing stood between you and the top of the mountain but an area of trees.

“Hell, we go. Right past these trees. She’ll be there hopefully asleep.” You whisper as you draw your bow ready for anything. Geralt draws his sword and you both creep out of the trees and up the small trail to the nest. Only when on top do you both realize the mistake you made.

Not only was there the harpy sound asleep but two more. Three in total and they were twice the size of you both. This was going to be a lot harder than you thought. Geralt glances to you before motioning you to creep to one side as he did to the other. Taking out two while they slept making the third easy.

Though what you didn’t expect was a soft wheezing sound from the far side of the Harpy’s nest. And a weak “help.” You crept along to see who or what was making noise and upon laying eyes on your brother he screamed for your help. The Harpy’s shot up just as Gerald was slashing at one of them.

You notched your arrow and fired but the harpy moved out-of-the-way just in time. Soon the two of you were standing in their nest back to back as they circled you. “well this wasn’t planned.” Geralt spoke to you and you nodded. You had to stay focused.

Geralt was soon caught in a slashing fight with a harpy before you could respond. You notched arrow after arrow firing at the two that still flew around you two. That was until your brother cried out as one of the Harpy’s was trying to pick him up in her claws.

“GET AWAY FROM HIM YOU BITCH,” Yout shouted sword now drawn as you ran towards it. Swinging your blade at it with pose and slicing off one of its wings. It recoiled in pain and shrieked at you.

While being distracted the other swooped in and gashed your arm and thigh with its huge claws. You cried out in pain and dropped your sword. Geralt had managed to kick back the harpy before running over to you. “Get out of here kid. I got this.” He growled before knocking the already wounded Harpy’s head off.

“No!” You shouted picking up your sword in your other hand and standing with your back to your bother. “COME AT ME, YOU SORRY BITCHES.” You cried out sword pointed to the sky. Another harpy swooped and you swung at it missing. Tears covered your cheeks as your brother screamed for you to leave him.

Geralt managed to fight one-off giving it a gash on its foot before backing up towards you. “Kid leave now. I don’t get paid if you die, remember?” He yelled at you his amber eyes were something furious now.

You shook your head no and swung your sword again but the Harpy’s claws hit your shoulder with another gash. You cried out in pain and dropped to your knees.

Geralt turned towards you and got surprise-attacked by the one he had wounded. Pinned to the ground as the harpy tried to sink her claws into him. The other heading for your brother again. This was it. Your last few seconds and you had to make it count.

You dropped your sword, “GET OUT OF HERE KID.” Geralt yelled as he tried to hold off the harpy.

You got to your feet and slowly lifted your damaged arm and other. Both palms to the sky as you screamed out “Rost naur!!” And fire shot out of your palms as you screamed. Your hair coming undone and falling against your shoulders. Your eyes shut as you merged the flames into a dome and let them burn the harpy above you to dust. Then with one quick move, you shot your hand out at the one on top of Geralt and screamed “Torth- -o cín faer!!” And ripped the harpy in two.

Blood crashing down and drenching Geralt. He got up and watched as you were about to drop. And was there to catch you as your legs gave out. “Easy now.” He whispered.

You rested against his chest for a moment before a surge of power ran through you and left to the sky in blazing orange light. Your appearance slightly changing. Your eyes turning a soft orange your ears returning to their familiar pointed ones and your body covered in glowing light blue tattoos. You take one look at your hands before up at him.

“I have a job to finish.” You whisper and push out of his arms before he can say a word. You fall to your hands and knees crawling to your brother. Only then does he notice you and your brother’s features.

You’re face stained with tears and blood you take his hand and smile. “I never thought I’d see you again.” You whisper holding it close. Your brother smiles slightly, “Y/N, my Luna. I need you to follow through with our promise.” His voice was rough as he coughed up blood. At this point, you could see one of his arms was missing. His legs ripped opened and a hole in his midsection. Tears streamed down your face as you nodded.

“I love you, Rydel. Say hi to ma, pa, and Nuala for me.” You smile before caressing his face once more than going to your hip and pulling out your dagger and slicing his throat. Your hands going to the blood and drawing a symbol on his forehead before chanting “N- with mín kin in mán a faer.” Then setting your hands on his chest as a shooting solid blue light goes through his body. You fall backward everything going dark as his body burns in soft blue flames, the ashes dancing to the sky.

Geralt quickly grabs you in his arms looking over your wounds before carrying you down the mountain back to Jaskier without a word. Once Jaskier sees the two of you he freaks out. He runs over following the two of you like a lost puppy.

“Y/N!! She’s an elf!?” He nearly shouts as Geralt lays her almost lifeless body on the ground. Jaskier instantly puts a hand to your cheek, he was just starting to get used to you around.

“Doesn’t matter. Get my bag.” He spoke softly as he moved your hair and ripped your shirt off your shoulder, stitching you up the best he could at the moment. At least you wouldn’t bleed to death. But it was going to be a long trip back.

Chapter 3

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gi-maeve-rose · 5 years ago

Text

Dark Matters

Chapter 2: An Old Friend

“Man, I fucking hate Elf Town,” Daryl complained from the passenger seat of the police car.

Nick huffed a sigh, keeping his eyes on the road. “I’m aware. You say that every time we drive through.”

“Because I hate it every time!” Daryl groaned in distain as he watched the expensively dressed elves go by. “Those Magic feds couldn’t come out to the station? It’s not like they ain’t been there before. They know where it is.”

“You read the email, Ward,” Jakoby reminded, glancing at his partner. “If they were to come out too close around the time of the Wand incident, people are gonna start suspecting things.”

“It’s been two years, man. And isn’t it suspicious that two LAPD officers, the ones who were involved with the Wand incident, are going to Magic Task Force HQ?”

Nick said nothing. He understood Daryl’s apprehension. After their traumaticing encounter with the Inferni, and the revelation that Daryl is a Bright, all he wanted was for things to go back to normal. or as close to normal as possible. No one knew about Daryl being a Bright except Nick and the two MTF agents, Kandomere and Montehugh. Not even his family knew.

“I can’t deal with this shit again, Nick,” Ward continued. “We almost died last time. You did die.”

Nick grunted. He hated being reminded. The scar was reminder enough. “The sooner this is taken care of, the sooner we can go back to our normal lives.” He pondered for a moment. “Well, normal-ish.”

Daryl scoffed, and the rest of the ride was silent. Whatever it was the agents needed from them, he knew it was Magic related. And it was going to take a while.

Although having gather as much information as possible for the moment, Kandomere paced his office once more with more files in hand. Perhaps he missed something. Another, a different, elf involved, maybe not an elf at all? He was desperate for it to be someone else, anyone besides-

The landline on his desk buzzed and he stopped pacing to answer.

“Agent, the LAPD officers are here,” a woman informed.

“Thank you, send them in.” He quickly shut the files away in his desk and sat in his chair as Jakoby and Ward entered.

“Thank you for coming out on such short notice,” he started as they sat. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I called for you in the first place.”

“something Magic related?” Daryl asked. He already knew the answer, yet he still so foolishly hoped otherwise.

Kandomere sighed. “The Wand was stolen.” Daryl and Nick stared in disbelief, so he opened his laptop to the security footage so they could see for themselves.

“Fuck...” Ward muttered, running a hand over his face. Kandomere nodded somberly as he shut the laptop. “So, what? You want us to go looking for it?”

“Of course not,” Kandomere reassured. “You two got lucky retrieving it from Leilah, and you only got accidentally roped into that one. You’ll get yourselves killed if I send you out purposely after these people.”

“Then what?”

Nick kicked his partner’s foot and shot him a warning look. Now was not the time to get an attitude. Daryl glared at Nick and rolled his eyes with a scoff.

Kandomere, although annoyed, kept his composure. “I need your assistance.” He handed them a background check sheet. “I have reason to believe this elven woman might be affiliated with the two in the footage.”

Nick handed Daryl the sheet. “Do you want us to bring her in for questioning?” he asked.

Kandomere shook his head as he stood from his desk, grabbing his car keys. “We’re going to go to her. We’ll take my car.” Anxiety hit him like a freight train the moment those words left his lips.

Daryl and Nick followed after him. “So we’re your muscle?” Daryl asked with an eyebrow raised. Kandomere said nothing and continued walking, earning a cocky grin from Ward. “Hear that, Nick? Big, bad Magic fed needs some bodyguards.”

“My partner, Montehugh is busy with gathering more information,” Kandomere spoke sternly, clearly annoyed. “And I need you because she’s a Bright. If she were to try any funny shit, I figured having another Bright may be useful.”

Daryl’s smug smile turned into a scowl at the reminder. He looked over to Nick who only shrugged in response. Daryl shook his head in displeasure as they reached Kandomere’s sleek, black 2020 Audi S7.

The trio found themselves driving through East LA. It was more diverse with humans, orcs, centaurs, and many other creatures of the like. It’s also an area you’d least likely find an elf passing through, let alone living.

Daryl stared out the backseat window in confusion. “Some shit really must’ve gone down with her if she’s living out here.” He looked at Kandomere, who kept his eyes on the road ahead. Daryl’s worry was confirmed. “What happened?”

“That’s not pertinent to this, Officer Ward,” Kandomere answered firmly. “We’re to go in, get the information we need, and get out.” All the while praying that he could keep it at that.

Daryl and Nick didn’t buy into it. There was a history between him and this woman, but they knew better than to pry.

After another short while of silent driving, they arrived at their destination. They pulled into an apartment complex parking lot, taking an open space in front. Two orc children and one human child played in the grass, their parents socializing with each other on the patio. The orc father was the first to notice the car, very out of place in this part of the city. He stood from his seat and approached the three men as they exited the car.

“Good afternoon,” Nick greeted, feeling it was best that he took over for now. “This is Agent Kandomere, with the Magic Task Force. This is Officer Wa-”

“Officers Ward and Jakoby, with LAPD,” the orc resident finished. Yeah, I’ve heard about you guys. Especially you.” He held his hand out to Nick. “The name’s Markus.”

Nick smiled and shook his hand. Daryl and Kandomere gave each other a relieved glance. Perhaps this would go over easier than expected.

“So what can we do for you? You guys look like you’re far from home.” Markus asked.

Kandomere felt the question was more directed toward him, seeing that he was an elf and all. But he didn’t pay it any mind. “We’re looking Ynshael Cortez. Goes by ‘Shae’?”

Markus nodded with a chuckle. “Ah, I should’ve guessed. She sticks out like a sore thumb around here.” He turned toward the entrance and pointed them in the right direction. “Through that door, up the first flight of stairs, door on the right.”

Kandomere nodded in thanks before heading toward the door.

“She’s not in trouble, is she?” Markus called after.

The three men stopped and turned back to face Markus. “Do you have relations with her?” Daryl asked.

Markus shrugged. “Her and I don’t talk much, but she’s good friends with my wife and she nannies the kids in the area. The kids definitely seem to love her.”

A moment of relief washed over Kandomere. Shae hadn’t been up to no good after all these years. Or so it seemed. Sadly, he still couldn’t rule he rout just based on a good word.

Kandomere nodded again. “Thank you.” He continued to the door, this time faster. Was it the anticipation to see her, or did he just want to get this over with? It had been over a decade since they’ve spoken, let alone seen each other. How much had she changed? Would she even remember him? The things they’d been through together? If she did, would she even want to see him? They hadn’t exactly left off on good terms...

Before he knew it, the three of them stood just outside her door. Kandomere pushed aside the bothersome thoughts. This was business. But though it was such, he found himself paralyzed.

“Agent Kandomere?” Nick tried. Kandomere didn’t move. Daryl huffed in annoyance and knocked on the door himself, the sound shaking Kandomere from his stupor.

The first thing they heard was a large dog barking, then a woman’s voice. “Titan, hush! I fucking swear, I never wanted to fight a dog before, but you’re testing my limits, dude.” The clicking of the locks coming undone could be heard from the other side. The door opened. “I love you, but seriously. Can I he-” She stopped the moment her icy blue eyes, smudged with eyeliner, caught Kandomere’s.

Kandomere felt a lump in his throat. It really was her. Wavy black to blond hair falling over her prominent collarbone, a grey, ripped up Metallica crop top hung loosely on her torso, falling off her shoulder. A pair of black spandex shorts hugged her full hips.

She was exactly the same, except... Different. She now sported multiple piercing on her ears, a piercing on one side of her button nose, and one decorating the center of her bottom lip, drawing attention to their plumpness. And so many tattoos... Yes, it was her, exactly the same, yet different.

Kandomere cleared he lump in his throat and pushed away years of suppressed feelings (and the rather new suppressed feeling in his trousers). “Hello, Shae,” he managed to speak as professionally as possible.

“No...” A knowing sharp-toothed grin grew on her face. “...way.” She propped her elbow on the doorway above he rhead and placed a hand on her hip. “Kandomere? Is that really you?”

~~~~~~~~~~

Art by: @morphinetunee

Taglist (open):

@morphituu @faeylinn @nheireii

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~

I do not post to any other website! Please do not repost my chapters to any other website unless I give you my written permission!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Bright or any of the characters except for my OCs!

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thewheezingwyvern · 6 years ago

Note

Could you write or describe a first kiss with Aaravos? Thank you!!

So I spent some time thinking about how I could make this work (especially since I can’t see Aaravos just smooching a random person without any kind of rapport before hand- unless he was manipulating them for his own gain) and while I was singing to myself this morning it gave me a nice idea! I had to take a few interpretation spins on what will happen when the star boi gets free so bear with me on that! Here you are:

Aaravos x Bard!Human!Reader (Gender neutral)

Evening found you seated on one of the balconies overlooking the country side of Katolis. You liked to come here when you grew stressed or were having a bad night and given how life in the castle had been almost dramatically uprooted by the presence of the Startouch elf. You furrowed your brows and started pulling a soft melody from your lyre

‘How am I supposed to handle a rare, mysterious and disarmingly attractive elf here that no one else seems to see other than Viren and I?’ you furrowed your brows as you plucked out a vague song, ‘I did help gather the information so Viren could break Aaravos out but I figured after that I would be ignored.’

Yet the Startouch Elf seemed intrigued by you as well and it was almost unnerving. Under normal circumstances you would be happy that someone so utterly gorgeous was expressing interest in you but in this case it was over whelming. What did he want from you?

A quiet song spilled from your lips as you tried to bury yourself in the music. It was easier and you knew that you weren’t going to figure anything out tonight. You weren’t sure how long you were playing for but you were not you were not alone for long.

“Such lovely music you play.”

You jerked in surprise, abruptly halting in your singing. The sight of Aaravos standing there watching you, the dying light of the sun playing across his starred skin made your heart start a staccato rhythm in your chest. A lump formed in your throat as you wondered what to say. What to do. As attractive as he was, there was still the unshakable sense of danger around him and you were never quite sure of what he wanted.

Aaravos’ smirk twisted on his lips, “Please, do not stop on my account. Continue.”

He gestured with an elegant hand towards the lyre you had balanced in your lap. You swallowed and awkwardly cleared your throat. It was hardly unusual for you playing in front of people, being the palace bard and all but you had never played or sang in front of Aaravos. It was unnerving but you let your fingers start again, unsure of what would happen if you refused him.

You were acutely aware of the Archmage moving around you but you tried not to think about it. But that became impossible when warm fingers lightly trailed up the skin of your arm. It was slow and sensuous and you tried to keep playing and not be distracted by the man who was drawing closer to you.

His fingers slowly skimmed up to your shoulders, both hands memorizing the feel of your skin. Then they found their way up to your neck, goosebumps raising on your flesh in the wake of his touch. When he traced the shell of your right ear and his left hand brushed your collarbone, your voice stumbled over a note. Aaravos chuckled deeply behind you, earning a rush of heat to your cheeks.

“Don’t stop.” he murmured to you.

Song after song you played and sang, growing increasingly stimulated as the elf traced patterns along your skin. Your fingers fumbled more and more until at last Aaravos dipped his fingers beneath your jaw, taking hold of your chin. He tilted your head back, golden eyes agleam as he dipped down to claim your lips with his own.

A shudder rolled down your spine, lips parting in a soft gasp. The archmage took full advantage of your parted mouth, pulling a soft whimper from you. His kiss was intense and languid, one that clearly said he planned to savor every moment. And he was very, very thorough, hands still tracing your jaw and neck. When at last he pulled away, you heaved a shuddering breath, feeling nearly light headed. For a moment you thought he seemed a bit breathless too but he was composed far too quickly for you to tell.

“I wonder...” his fingers traced your lips, a rumbling purr flowing from him, “How many different ways can I hear you sing?”

#aaravos #TDP #the dragon prince #Aaravos x reader #writing request #into the fanfiction star boi

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sadoeuphemist · 5 years ago

Text

Once upon a time, when magic still flourished on the outskirts of the world, all sorts of benevolent and capricious creatures lay in wait for any small kindness, ready to bestow boons upon some humble woodcutter, or maiden come to draw water from the well. Some would conjure up instruments of pure gold as gifts, some transformed pumpkins into carriages, others still handed out magical treasures so as to revolutionize a humble human’s life forever.

And among all the countless blessings a single kindness could bring, there lived an elf, whose sole magical talent was making shoes.

His name was Wurtchel, and to accommodate his talent he had moved into the basement of a poor but goodhearted shoemaker, and only emerged at night to replenish the shoemaker’s stores. He would wave his spindly fingers, curl up his toes, and with the innate magical talent other elves might have used to make gold, conjured a pair of leather shoes into being.

Looking at the lumpy dull leather shoes afterwards, like a pair of shrunken chopped-off feet, was always depressing. They weren’t even particularly good quality shoes, honestly; the old shoemaker outdid him on that account. And while the old man was always grateful to have an extra pair of shoes to sell - surplus inventory, marked down - it could hardly be said that Wurtchel was having any sort of transformative effect on his chosen beneficiary. He had been doing this for six weeks now, and the poor shoemaker was still unquestionably a poor shoemaker.

One day, Wurtchel was walking back to the shoemaker’s shop through the woods, having gone to visit his parents. Their specialty was handing out axes made of gold. Wurtchel had done the math in his head as to how many poor-quality leather shoes a single gold axe could buy, and was now more depressed than ever about his life, and in general his effect upon the world. Through the overgrowth, he heard a rustling, and as he turned to look the branches parted and a beautiful young maiden burst through, wincing as she bounded along in a sort of painful hobbling run.

“Oh!” she said, nearly bumping into him, and froze in her tracks, staring.

Wurtchel hastily mumbled a greeting, trying to remember what it was you were supposed to say when you encountered someone obviously in need out in the wilderness like this. He had been domesticated, he supposed. He’d never even talked to the old shoemaker face to face. “Erm, are you in trouble?” is what he settled on. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Oh,” she said again, her face relaxing into relief. She doubled over for a moment, leaning heavily against a tree. “Yes. Just escaped my evil stepmother. She locked me up in that tower over there,” she said, pointing.

Wurtchel had noticed the tower in the distance before, an edifice of black stone with no obvious doors, highly formidable and clearly meant to hold a prisoner, and had very sensibly ignored it. “Ah,” he said.

“I’m going to find my true love,” she went on, somewhat breathlessly. “My evil stepmother went out to the market for the day, and I took my chance. We’ve been exchanging messages by birds, my true love and I, and she’s escaping her evil stepmother too, and we’re planning to meet up at Holtzheim by nightfall-”

“Uh-huh,” said Wurtchel, desperately wracking his brains for any way he could be of help. He did not know the way to Holtzheim, and would be scant protection when traveling, and in fact hated being out of the basement and was already anxious enough over his visit to his parents.

He briefly wondered if a golden axe would help in her predicament, and decided that in her vulnerable state it was more likely to get her robbed. “Well, I mean, erm .... good luck with that ...”

“Oh, thank you,” she said absently, and winced again, and reached down to rub at her feet, and Wurtchel looked down and almost forgot to breathe.

The young woman was barefoot.

The tender white soles of her feet were quite filthy, with bits of gravel and briar embedded in them, bleeding from scrapes here and there. Wurtchel felt such a rush of hope that it was almost indecent, and then felt ashamed of himself for getting so excited over the evidence of her suffering. “I - I could -” he started to say, his voice cracking, and then coughed and then steadied himself. “W-Would you like me to make you some shoes?” he said, as nonchalantly as possible.

She looked blankly at him. “Shoes?”

“Shoes,” said Wurtchel, and pointed down at his own feet. He had on a pair of the shoemaker’s shoes, with nice brass buckles. He hated wearing his own creations. “You know, to - to protect your feet ... ?”

“Oh!” she said, and crouched down to study his feet, and shot up again, bright-eyed. “I’ve never worn anything like that before!” she said earnestly. “She never let me out, and the tower was always carpeted.”

“It - it’s my talent!” said Wurtchel, stumbling over his own words in his excitement. “I make shoes! I could - I could make you some right now! Would you like a pair?”

“That would be wonderful!” she said, with a gratitude Wurtchel had not known he could inspire. “Something to protect my feet from the briars and the stones - Why, thank you, thank you so much!”

“Right,” said Wurtchel, and cracked his fingers, and curled up his toes inside of his shoes. His face was flushed due to her worshipful gaze upon him, and he could feel his heart beating in his chest. Easy. Easy. Just do what he did every night. He could feel his blood burning in his ears. His eyes kept creeping back down to her feet unintentionally, and he had to shake himself off, trying to picture the shoes in his head instead. Good as gold, the shoes. Better than gold! A terrible tremble ran through his fingertips, and as he curled up his toes he could feel them drenched in sweat. Just do it! Do it! Good as gold! Gold! Now! Do it now!

He splayed out his fingers, and there was the smell of musty leather, and absolutely nothing else happened.

The maiden stood there, watching, one eye flicking up occasionally to glance at Wurtchel’s face. “Is ... um, is something supposed to be happening?” she said at last.

Wurtchel was mortified. All the blood from his face seemed to have sunk down into his chest, his stomach, and now sat there cold and heavy while he continued to hold his fingers outstretched like a moron. “It’s, erm - I don’t - It- it should be happening,” he mumbled. “If you’ll - if you’ll just give me a minute -”

“It - it’s all right if you can’t,” she said delicately, backing off with such a look of compassion in her eyes that Wurtchel felt his face flame up again. “I mean, I’m sure I’ll get used to it, walking on the ground.” She looked down at her dress. “I could make some shoes myself, maybe, if I tore off some cloth and ...”

“No! No no no!” Wurtchel swallowed down a rock in his throat. “Just - That won’t do any good, ripping up your dress like that! Cloth, you can’t make shoes out of that! Terrible, ha-ha!” A quaver ran up and down his voice as he tried to force a smile. “Just give me a - This is all I’m really good for, ha-ha! You just stay right there! I’ll have you your shoes, quick as a wink!”

Again he thrust out his hands, all the tendons in his wrists taut. Shoes. A pair of shoes. This was it. This was his purpose. They’d be the finest leather. The finest shoes he’d ever made, just this once, and why not? He imagined poulaine toes uncurling, full foot long, lovely satin insides to caress her tender feet, protect her from all the awful pointy edges of the world, salve her wounds. Just this once! He was all tensed up, vibrating, trembling with the effort, sweat dripping down his face. Shoes to walk her all the way to love, to safety! He was almost weeping now, so filled with an eager benevolence towards her. Just this once, to justify all else!

There was a loud gusting noise, and then a half-frayed shoelace materialized between his hands and fell limply to the dirt.

Wurtchel strangled a gasp, let his arms drop, limp. There was nothing else left in him. “I can -” he started to stammer. “I can try again -”

The maiden was already averting her eyes, looking up at the path of the sun across the sky instead. “Look, it’s all right,” she said, glancing back down. “You tried. I - It’s fine, really, I didn’t have shoes before this, so no great loss, right?” She tried to smile. “But I really have to get going if I’m going to make it to Holtzheim before nightfall, so, uh ...” She was already beginning to limp away. “Thanks for trying to help -”

“Wait!” cried Wurtchel, and in a desperate impulse flung himself to the ground and wrestled off his own shoes, thrusting them into her arms. “Here! Take them!”

“Oh,” she said, and looked down at the shoes in her hands, and looked back at him. “You’re sure?”

Wurtchel nodded.

She found a fallen tree and sat down for a minute, brushing most of the debris off her feet and fiddling with the shoes until she got them on. She stood up again and walked, tramping around on the dirt, satisfied with the feel of them. She looked back at Wurtchel, who was still sitting on the ground.

“Thank you,” she said, and bent down to put her arms around him briefly, her hair brushing against his cheek. And then she was up and running again, more confidently now as she crashed heedlessly through the brush, making a terrible noise until she was out of range of hearing.

Wurtchel sat there on the dirt, barefoot, looking at his own pale feet, the veins standing out on them. He held out his arms - they felt wooden from the exertion - and almost experimentally flexed his fingers, clenched, waiting to see what would happen.

A pair of crude leather shoes popped into being.

“Now you work,” Wurtchel grumbled to himself.

The shoes were terrible. They didn’t fit right, and pinched in all the wrong places, and the leather was stiff, but he could walk well enough in them. He took a couple of hobbling steps at first and then relaxed into a normal gait, bearing the discomfort.

He sniffed, wiped off his nose, rolled his tensed shoulders. He should feel triumphant, he told himself, if only by the property of transmutation. She had a new pair of shoes, and he had made a new pair of shoes, and so even though the creation and the receiving hadn’t lined up perfectly, it was like he had magically bestowed upon her a boon anyway.

But he didn’t feel triumphant, or in any way vindicated. The end result of his magic powers was that he hadn’t had to walk the rest of the way home barefoot. Which would have been an inconvenience, to be sure, but hardly anything that he wouldn’t have put up with gladly.

He trod on, kicking pebbles along the path, and as he walked pass the trees the thought came into view: If that was the case, then his magical powers had been completely irrelevant. All he’d needed to do was to be in that place, at that time, wearing a pair of shoes, and everything would have worked out for her. Everything else was a matter of his own convenience.

Wurtchel kept walking, thoughts tumbling loosely through his head, weary, but with the sort of comfortable weariness which comes with knowing that you’re going back home. The shoemaker’s shop came into view over the hill, and he realized that his shoes weren’t pinching nearly so badly anymore, felt like they halfway fit. He was breaking them in, he thought. Maybe he’d be able to wear this pair just fine.

#fiction

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