#// fucking bears. big bears. rune bears. too many bears.

[infinitethree]

It is, to put it bluntly, too goddamned quiet.

Stepping onto the stage was supposed to be a big deal! A crescendo in the production, the climax of the story!

At the very least, things were supposed to be less fucking boring!

But it is, sadly, a ghost town. Even the Showrunner doesn’t have an exact idea of the metrics of the sad little platform their existence is really known on, but they know it’s not great.

Uhg. They really don’t love the idea of jumping the shark already, but…things need to get livened up.

The audience really needs to appreciate the marathon of bitching that will be Show’s reward for the bone they’re gonna throw into the spectral audience.

Quite literally kicking down the door into the library, they shout, “Hey, Scribs, we need to chat! Get your nose out of your fucking books!”

Much like the Showrunner’s stage, the library is the domain of another unusual individual. The infinite rows of bookshelves bear titles in indecipherable scripts, but…that’s the only real feature of the space.

Everything else is a void. A white, empty void, stretching out over Eons and Eras.

Show’s face shifts to a brief animation of an eyeroll. Great, in-jokes that exactly one person can possibly understand. That bodes super well for how this’ll play out.

From amidst the shelves, a figure slowly emerges.

Like the Showrunner, their form is…unusual. What little ‘skin’ is visible is, much like their counterpart’s, rather similar to a jointless mannequin. The color differs, though– a swirling, silver-and-lavender as opposed to the Showrunner’s gold-and-black.

But largely, they are obscured by a cloak.

The cloak covers most of them, bar their many extra arms– and the number of them keeps shifting, as do the sizes of the books they’re writing in– and their ‘face’. It looks almost like a universe is depicted in them.

Or…it is a universe. Because it moves– the stars, the celestial bodies, all of is moving. In just a few moments, several stars wink out, while others suddenly appear. Along the edges of the ‘garment’-- if it really can even be called that– are ever-shifting runes in that same silvery-lavender color that seems unique to them.

Each rune seems to be made up of a shifting mess of overlapping words.

In much the same way, the odd, dark purple, crown-like ring of horns that blends into the cloak are made up of untold words in seemingly eternal flux. Above the center of that crown is a large, cat-like eye made of yet more words– these in bright lavender.

Around the eye are dozens of rings of varying widths and sizes, spinning in seemingly random directions, with yet more eyes embedded into them.

And…that only leaves their face. Or what passes for one.

There’s a geometric, elongated sideways eye-esque shape in the center of an otherwise white mask. The edges of it shift slightly, but only enough that gives the impression that it’s capable of more change.

In an almost bored monotone, the Scribe says, I have made it clear I have no interest in being on your stage. Leave me to my work.

“It’s fucking boring, though! If there’s no audience, there’s no point in writing! Scribs, you gotta–” Showrunner, you have already interrupted me and dragged your audience along with you. Whatever game you seek to play, I will not be partaking.

The Showrunner groans, multiple extra arms appearing to help them emphasize, “The game is that there’s nobody to write for! The seats are empty, the stage is lifeless, and I’m bored outta my mind!”

At this, finally, the Scribe’s own additional arms pause in their writing.

…I already allowed you to use my name to, as you put it, ‘liven things up’. “That wasn’t even me, not really! That was the yahoo at the keyboard needing to make your precious little sociopath play nice!”

The first hint at emotion comes, the Scribe replying, You speak as though you have no favorites of your own. “I never said I was unbiased, but it still fucking helped you, too!”

The pupils of all the eyes thin in unison. I grow weary of your arguments. Leave, you have gotten the hint of mystery that you, ironically, are incapable of cultivating on your own.

A shriek of frustration accompanies a sound like breaking glass. Jagged, teeth-like shards of the Showrunner’s flickering red screen-face mouth along to the distorted echo of, “Holy fucking shit, how are you such a giant bitch!? Stop being such a useless stick in the mud and help me make this fucking work!”

Emotion is once again gone from the Scribe’s voice as they sigh, Still a spoiled child, demanding attention and affirmation. If your stage is so empty, stop waiting for a prompt to populate it. Simply…devise the scenario yourself.

The flickering gets more intense, and the Showrunner seems to become just a little larger. The circle of extra screens around their face spins faster and faster, until they stop looking like anything more than a glowing red ring.

And then it all cuts out. The audience has not yet earned this particular reveal, no matter the desires of the one who usually mans the cameras. 

[of-forossa]

// really ought to do some more general worldbuilding and the like for the northern lands for the sake of being able to write about fist fighting rune bears and other megafauna.

[allegra-writes]

“The Devil all the time”

Hunter!Tom x Demon!Reader

Supernatural AU

NSFW

Warnings: Smut

"Break the silence, damn the dark

Damn the light..."

The Chain - Fleetwood Mac

Forget everything you thought you knew, you had every reason to be afraid of the dark when you were a kid. In this world where monsters are real, the Holland brothers hunt them so normal people can continue to live in the bliss of ignorance.

But when something goes terribly wrong, Tom will do anything to save his brother's life, including selling his soul to the devil. Well... Not exactly the devil, but close enough.

You don't need to watch Supernatural to read this AU

MY MASTERLIST

He knew it was you, even before turning. He knew it as soon as he heard your deceptively delicate footsteps break the supernatural silence that had fallen over the forest the moment he had buried the little metal box in the old crossroad. Tom didn't want to think about what it meant, having such an intimate knowledge of you to be able to recognize you by the cadence of your steps, being so in sync with you that he could tell whenever you were in the vicinity. 

So he used his favorite deflection technique whenever it came to you.

"Y/n? What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this? Sorry, did I say nice girl? I meant evil skank"

The insult didn't phase you. None ever did. It was hard to take them seriously when you knew how many nights he fell asleep with your name on his lips, after pathetically releasing himself into his own hand, or fucking his boring girl-next-door girlfriend, chasing orgasm over unsatisfactory orgasm that would never completely satiate him. Because it wasn't your face the one contorted in pleasure looking up at him from the mattress.

"You called. I came" You batted your lashes, sweetly. "I always come when you call…" 

He gulped, the innuendo not lost to his ears. It threw him off guard, like it always did. 

"I would have thought this would be… beneath you" Tom cleared his throat, looking away, trying to regain his footing, "collecting a deal, like a vulgar crossroad demon"

There was nothing vulgar about the soul of a Holland. But he didn't need to know that, so you just shrugged,

"Queen Rowena has an interest in you boys. She finds you entertaining. I'm just being a good subdit" 

He scoffed,

"Funny. I would have never peg you for a sub"

You took a step closer to him.

"You don't have what it takes to make me submit, Holland" Your hot breath fanned over his skin, setting his skin on fire. Making his blood boil. You had a way of doing that, of bringing out the worst in him. Of making him lose control. And you thoroughly enjoyed it, poking at the bear until the claws came out, laughing at the carnage.

Another step, and you could physically feel it: The hate, radiating from his every pore, his mind screaming with it. He hated you. He hated your kind. He hated your beauty. He hated the pretty white dress you were wearing, so pure and innocent, glowing like a beacon in the dark. A lure, guiding uncountable men before him into perdition. 

But above all else, he hated that, even then, he couldn't help but to want you. Fervently. Desperately. Irreversibly. 

"I came here to make a deal" He croaked, cursing himself internally for showing weakness. 

"Let's negotiate, then," you replied, stepping away, mercifully letting him breath. 

"My brother-"

"I know" You interrupted, sounding bored already, "Reapers everywhere are going berserk. Who, oh who, will get to reap the soul of a Holland?" 

The wind picked up, making your long dress billow around your legs. You twirled a little, admiring the way it moved. Tom's eyes were glued to you, almost hypnotized. Partly because you were too dangerous to be left unsupervised even for a second, partly because you looked beautiful like that. It had never been more obvious to him that you were an unearthly creature, you didn't belong to this world. There, surrounded by greenery, barefoot, swaying softly under the twilight light, he wondered how could anybody ever mistake you for a human.

"Of course" your apathetic voice took him out of his revery, "being reapers, watching them go wild is rather boring. I swear they are the most uninteresting beings of all creation" 

That made him see red.

"Boring? Boring?!" He knew his voice was rising with every word but he just couldn't help it, "They're waiting for my little brother to die!!"

"Which could happen any minute now," You reminded him, all playfulness gone from your demeanor, "so if you wanna strike a deal, I suggest you start making me an offer worth my time"  

He was taken aback by that.

"I- My soul in exchange of a wish, and you collect it in ten years" He tried and failed not to think about what that implied: vicious, invisible hounds of hell tearing apart his body and dragging his soul to hell, "Isn't that the usual deal?"

You scoffed,

"After all the things you did in your life, what makes you think your soul doesn't belong in hell already? And if your brother dies, that is one less Holland on earth to worry about. You and your brothers have managed to become a big pain in the ass for us…"

He pulled out a knife, a strange one, with runes in the blade. You arched a brow in recognition

"The Winchesters' knife. Are you threatening me, little hunter?" 

Your lack of reaction was another blow. He had hoped you'd be more impressed than that. Nonetheless he turned it in his hands, offering you the handle.

"I'm throwing it into the deal" 

To his surprise, you didn't immediately take it from his hands, choosing instead to pace the clearing, deep in thought. 

The truth was you couldn't care less about the knife, it wasn't more dangerous to you than a toothpick. And while it was true it could certainly damage your queen, she had a far better weapon to protect herself: You.

But it did confirm your suspicions about the Hollands having access to the old Winchester arsenal, which meant they had access to something way more dangerous than that rustic weapon made of steel and bone. A book, made of ancient dark magic and human skin, written in blood. A book that was precious to queen Rowena and by extension to you: the Book of the Damned. 

The Hollands were a family of extremely talented, yes, but old fashioned hunters. The stab first, ask questions later kind. They probably had no idea what they had in their hands… but you did. 

"Very well then," you finally declared, "this is my offer: Your soul and that knife in exchange for sweet Harry's life and one year for you to get all your businesses in order" 

Tom felt all the blood drain from his face. One year. Just 365 more days to live, before an eternity of torture in hell. 

"O-one year?" He breathed.

"One year" You confirmed, "More than enough time to go see the Grand Canyon, eat the world's spiciest burger or whatever you have on your bucket list" 

The disdain in your words only made him hate you harder.

"Not nearly enough to live" He replied through clenched teeth. You rolled your eyes, 

"You're a hunter. You lead short, violent existences, charging head first towards what most humans run away from. Things faster, stronger, more powerful than you, surviving each encounter out of sheer luck. Killing one monster after another, until that luck runs out. Because the monsters? Unlike you who rely on it everyday, they just need. One. Single. Lucky. Strike." You punctuated every word with one step in his direction, until you were face to face again. Until, for the first time ever, you could see the fear, the desperating hopelessness he kept hidden inside, reflected on the warm coffee of his eyes. You knew a lesser man would be already crying and begging for Mercy.

Tom wasn't like other men though, that was the whole point. 

"Or…" You soften your tone and your stance, letting your fingers ghost over the back of his hand, his whole skin erupting in goosebumps. That was the very first time you touched him. Ever. 

And it was as if nobody had ever touched him before, the light caress enough to set every nerve ending, every single one of his cells, alight.

He was so distracted by the sensation and his body's response to it, he almost didn't hear your next words over the sound of his own pounding heart. 

"Or you could keep your little pocket knife, and even have your ten years if…"

"If?" He struggled to focus.

"You let me borrow a book"

His brows furrowed in confusion,

"A book? What book?"

"Any book of my liking, for as long as I want" You shrugged it off, "Do we have a deal?"

There was a catch there, it was obvious. He knew he was going to regret it but, what choice did he have? 

"Deal"

Your smile was blinding, luminous. If he didn't know any better, he would have called it angelical. Now, that was one ridiculous thought.

"What now? We seal it with a kiss?" His eyes fell to your lips, so soft looking and inviting. He wasn't eager to put his mouth on a filthy demon and doom himself. He wasn't. 

You chuckled, but there was no humor behind it.

"Oh no, darling. This is big. This is special" You're special, "A simple kiss just won't cut it…"

No. You couldn't mean… could you? Was there no limits to your hatred for him? Did you really want him so defeated, so humiliated? 

"What do you want?" He spat through gritted teeth.

"The same thing you want" You put your hands on his chest, rising to your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, "The same thing you have wanted ever since we first met . The thing that's obsessing you..."

"I don't know what you're talking about"

You smirked,

"You can lie to your family, you can even lie to yourself, little hunter... But you can't lie to me." 

He couldn't hide, you could see every fantasy, hear every single one of his thoughts of you on repeat, like a prayer in your direction. Just like he couldn't hide the way his skin was burning now for you, the way his blood rushed south, the way all logical thought left his brain, his iron grip on his emotions finally breaking as he snapped. 

Lightning fast, in just a blink, he twirled you around, your back hitting the rough bark of a tree, as he towered over you, demon blade to your throat, every inch of his body pressed against yours. His eyes were ablazed with rage, and passion, as he surged forward, striking you with his best hit.

He kissed you. 

Lips vicious against yours, teeth biting and scraping only to soothe the offense seconds later with his tongue, until he was dizzy, light headed with the lack of oxygen and the taste of you. The hand not holding the knife to your neck fell to your breast, squeezing the pliant flesh with enough force to cause pain on a human woman, merely making you moan. He swallowed the sound, letting his fingers trace your waist, your hips, clawing at your dress until he finally, finally, felt skin under his fingertips. 

It was better than anything his mind had conjured in his feverish fantasies in the dead of the night. The skin of your inner thighs velvety soft, as they parted under his touch, the sweetest sounds leaving your lips as his fingers found your naked core. You weren't wearing any underwear, probably never had. The realization that, in all your past encounters and fights you had been standing there, just feet away from him with nothing under that damn dress hit him like a truck, making his head swim. 

He searched between your folds, and suddenly his fingers were inside you. He was inside you, a part of him was buried deep within you, within your silky heat, claiming you as his, if only for the night. 

And you were so wet for him, and only getting wetter as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, scissoring them, opening you up until he was able to slip a third one in, fucking you with his hand in earnest. You were sobbing, clutching at his biceps, head thrown back in pleasure. He took advantage of that to suck bruises on your neck, only to see them fade before his eyes. Your skin tasted clean, smelled like wild flowers and rain. Ozone. Lightning. Like those coursing through his veins with every cry, every delicious gasp you made. 

He found the perfect spot inside you, the one that sent sparks through your nerves with every stroke of his calloused fingers. 

"This what you wanted?" To make him lose it? Lose his mind, himself, in you? "For me to make you come on just my fingers, like the little slut you are?"

The floor disappeared from under his feet as you sent him flying away from you, a searing pain exploding at the back of his head as he landed, sprawled at the feet of an old, dying oak. With blurry eyes, he saw you stalk towards him, all power and cold, controlled fury. 

"Let's get one thing straight, Holland. I'm not one of your sluts" You sneered, "and I'm definitely not your basic bitch of a girlfriend. So you better start showing me a little respect, are we clear?"

He gulped, sitting up. He had to be seriously fucked up in the head, for his cock to be twitching inside his pants at your threatening tone.

"Crystal" 

"Good" You declared, coming to a stop right in front of him, standing between his parted legs, "Now, let's put that mouth of yours to a better use"

He knew that image was going to be forever tattooed on his brain: You standing in front of him, holding the skirt of your dress up, waiting for him to put his mouth on you. Tom took a moment to admire you, before delving in, flattening his tongue over your slit, before drawing tight, precise circles on your clit with the tip. God, you tasted so divine it was messing with his head; something as dark and corrupted and twisted as you, feeling so exquisite, so perfect, so heavenly to his every sense. 

He helped you hook your knee over his shoulder, his other arm snaking around your leg, pulling you even closer. You could feel his smirk against your cunt the moment he realized your legs were shaking, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care, not with his wicked talented mouth devouring you like a last meal, rocking your whole world, making you see stars behind your closed eyelids.

You always knew that man would make the stars fall. 

Tom kept on, penetrating you with his tongue as far as it would go, his whole face moving against you. The slight burn of his scruff felt delicious against your delicate labia, as he used his fingers to open you up like a flower, separating your petals to get to the delectable nectar inside. You were close, he could feel it, the obscene sounds you were making, the waves of sweetness falling on his lips feeding his ego, filling him up with pride. By the time the night was over, you'd be unable to forget him. He would make sure of that. He would make you come, over and over, until the only thoughts left in your brain were of him, the only word your lips knew how to speak was his name. He would mark you, like a bloodstain, like you had done to him. 

Almost there, he almost had you. Your muscles were locking, your walls starting to tremble, when a loud crack resonated over his head, and you stepped away on unstable legs, breathing hard. You didn't even need to breathe, it was just his effect on you. He made you feel human. And it was both exhilarating, and terrifying. 

You took another step back, but he took hold of your ankle, tugging hard enough to make you fall on his lap, white skirt covering the place where his hands were fumbling with his zip, with his boxers, aligning himself with your entrance.

"Fuck!" He cursed, as you sank on his rock hard cock, not giving him any time to get used to the feeling of you around him, before starting to move. 

"How does it feel" You taunted, "fucking a monster? Is it as good as you dreamed of?"

Better. You felt even better. Tom hadn't thought it was possible, but he loathed you even more for it. 

"Shut up" He growled. 

You leaned forwards, breath hot against his ear,

"Cause you feel amazing, Tom. Your cock feels like heaven" 

His hand tangled in your hair, keeping you in place as he crashed his mouth to yours again, the other fumbling for the buttons at the back of your dress, tugging and pulling, tearing at the fabric, in his haste to feel more. More of your skin against his, more of the body that had been his hyper fixation for far too long. 

You sat up, still grinding on his cock, letting the tattered dress fall to your waist, watching in satisfaction as his eyes went wide, zeroing on the way your breasts bounced in sync with your hips. 

Reaching up, for a glorious second Tom could feel one perfect pebbled nipple against his palm, the roundness, the weight of your soft flesh on his fingers; before an invisible force pinned his hands to his sides. 

You tsked.

"Still don't get it, do you little hunter? This?" You let yourself fall all the way down his thick cock, hard, tearing twin moans from his mouth and yours, "This isn't about you. This is about me." 

Leaning back, you braced yourself on his strong thighs, changing the angle, changing your movements to a slower rocking against his pelvis. The friction against your clit was perfect, the feeling of his big, throbbing dick so deep inside you, stretching you like no one before, sending electrical pulses through your spine. It was decadent. It was ecstasy.

It was torture. Underneath you, Tom was sobbing, eyes bright with unshed tears, fighting in vain against his bonds. He needed it faster, harder, anything to help tilt him over the edge you were keeping him on, your sweet cunt too tight, too good around him to allow his cock to soften, your rhythm too leisured to let the tensed, strained coil inside him to snap. You were uncaring, using him remorselessly to get yourself off, your little moans getting higher in pitch the closer you came to your climax. Tom felt himself getting higher just by looking at your beautiful pleasure ridden face. You cried out, and suddenly it was happening, you were coming, pulsating around his cock, falling apart on top of him.

And the ground beneath him quaked. The sky above his head bled, the blue twilight torn open by lightning, and thunder, despite the fact that there wasn't a single cloud marring its diaphaneity. You fell forwards, hand braced on the tree, next to his face, ridding the aftershocks of your orgasm until the end. 

"No!" Tom cried when, after a few seconds of catching your breath, you dismounted him, letting his dick slip out of you. 

You arched a brow,

"Something you want, Tommy?" 

He locked his mouth shut, gritting his teeth. You smiled, amused, knuckles stroking his still iron hard cock.

"Do you need more, little hunter?" You enveloped him in your hand, moving it up and down his member, watching the head disappear under his foreskin, "Do you need to come?"

He banged the back of his head against the bark.

"Yes!" He finally admitted, "So badly…"

"Then beg" You commanded, stilling your hand. He snapped open the eyes he hadn't realized he had closed. Oh, if looks could kill…

"Never" He hissed, livid.

"Very well, then" You picked up your pace, pumping him fast, your grip almost too rough. He gasped for air, feeling the telltale tightening of his balls, the coil inside just about to break under the tension. But you must have felt it too, cause your hand let go of him altogether. Too late, he understood what you were doing.

One beat. And then another, and he was coming all over his t-shirt, orgasm completely ruined. 

He cursed, tears escaping through the corner of his eyes, fingers digging into the moist ground under his hands. You chuckled, cruelly, standing up and stepping out of your shredded dress. He could have ganked you with the demon blade in that moment, he really could have, except his hands were still pinned by an invisible force at his sides. 

"Let me go, you bitch," Tom growled, tossing, fighting against his restraints to no avail, "aren't you done?!"

"Not quite." You smiled, mockingly sweet, "Just one more thing before I leave. Don't worry, it will only hurt for a minute…"

He renewed his efforts to escape, as you bended over, reaching for his chest, white hot pain burning through his ribs. He almost cried out, but what he saw stole the voice from his throat, turned his blood into ice inside his veins, leaving him shaking, jaw slack and mouth open in a soundless scream: 

You, naked and gorgeous and terrible. Transfixed, eyes glowing with a supernatural indigo light, the shadow of two massive, bended, broken wings projected on the trees behind you.

Not a demon, he thought. You're not a demon.

You smiled, and it was terrifying.

"No. I'm the thing demons have nightmares about" You replied out loud to the words he had only said in his mind, "And now, little hunter, you belong to me. Mind, body and soul"

[dungeonsanddragonsfifthedition]

5, 9, 14, 31 for the DND ask game!

dee and dee questions

Which of your d&d characters has been the most like you?

hm... not d&d characters, but ves and keeper are probably my biggest self-inserts; if i'm choosing a d&d character specifically, i think it's probably eirlys? she's more jaded than most of my other self-inserty guys which is. more like me. + her family situation is easily the most like mine.

Has one of your d&d characters ever died? How?

well. io and eirlys both died pre-campaign, io from fall damage and eirlys from The Savalirwood Is Fucked Up. anthe died in a religious ritual pre-game too. but anthe is my only character who has died during a campaign i think? and she's done it twice. once, she was eaten by a purple worm (nev brought her back) and the other time, it was a hunger games poison berries situation in a puzzle where all of us had to "die" before we could get out.

Have you ever had a romance with an NPC or another PC?

anthe is the big one because she is. happily in a relationship with nev, clay tumblr user quillith's firbolg paladin. ori, in curse of strahd, had hook-ups with ireena and esmerelda, but she isn't really the romantic type.

Tell me about your current party!

i am in wayyy too many games to do this so let's just go over the two games i dm!

divinity & doors is a wildemount game, and the party has referred to themselves as the hypesquad and the shapes. it's made up of adaeze agubanko, a protector aasimar great-old-one warlock with a fucked up sword and a habit of handing out citrus fruits; agnodice abbadelli, a human alchemist artificer & divination wizard who makes research alchemical compounds and who lives in a basement; cyrus thorn, a half-orc redemption paladin who loves to make art and who i have hurt far too much; elvira cain, a drow grave cleric who makes knitted tapestries for the dead and whose passive perception is like 100; felicity perpetua, a tiefling divine soul sorcerer raised to be a prophet of tharizdun in the cult that's causing a lot of the campaign's big issues; kai murdoch, a beasthide (polar bear) shifter storm barbarian and profane soul (goo) bloodhunter from a giant pirate family, he is 17 and he loves to fish; and of course theodosia wright, a human blood cleric and also a bit of a narc, who is trying to solve the mystery of the strange, arcane illness that killed her mother.

thirty-six is a game set in arryl, my undeath/fey/psychological horror homebrew world, and the party doesn't have a name yet, but they are involved in a silly little prophecy together. it's made up of aeon, a firbolg rune knight fighter whose memory is spotty at best and whose history is... confusing; ainé, a reborn eladrin undying profane soul bloodhunter whose patron is the manifestation of her depression; echo goldaline, a half-elf enchantment wizard & ritual dancer who is very normal and who has nothing wrong with her; fraim tinkettle, a ghostwise halfling inquisitive rogue and trickery cleric who is running away from her temple after accidentally killing her uncle; thyme, a dhampiric wood elf hexblade warlock and cookbook writer who eats people's pride at the encouragement of their pact weapon, a chef's knife; and ymira, a flower nymph bard of songbirds who is subject of a mysterious, fucked-up curse.

[rocket-remmy]

My Sanctuary || Luce, Nell and Remmy (Feat. Bea)

TIMING: Before the First of the year PARTIES: @nelllraiser @divineluce @beatrice-blaze and @whatsin-yourhead SUMMARY: Remmy assembles the Vural sisters to cast a spell on the Mansion and make it into a true sanctuary.

Remmy paced the outside of the house, trying to make sure they had everything Nell had asked them to get. It wasn’t much, she said they were going to bring most of the ingredients, and Remmy was completely okay with that-- but they also didn’t want to make the Vural sisters do all the work. They were going to be doing most of it, anyway. In fact, Remmy already felt a bit useless, but they didn’t have magic, and they couldn’t do magic at all. Being undead prevented them from that, from even being able to give to a spell. Just like with the bracelet Nell had made them, all they could do was rely on others. But, in all their time in White Crest, relying on others was the one thing they’d determined was okay to do. Accepting help didn’t have to be a big thing, and they were starting to believe, now, that they deserved it. That they deserved good things. And making the mansion into a sanctuary was one of the good things they wanted to leave behind. They had just finished their second round of checking the outside of the house when they saw Nell, Luce and Bea pulling up to the house. They waved and trotted over to them. It’d been a while since they’d seen all three of them together-- Nell’s birthday party being the last time, and even then, the three had been spread out among the people. “Thanks for coming,” they said, giving a hearty smile, “I uh-- don’t know what all you guys will need, so I just sorta...made sure everything was in working condition. And clean.” Did cleanliness affect spells? They didn’t know, but it couldn’t hurt, right? “So, what first? How can I help?”

Stepping out of the driver’s side of her 4x4, Luce glanced at the Haunted Mansion. She’d been here before, many times in fact, but being here now, with her sisters? And with things being what they were with Remmy? It was… uncomfortable to say the least. But, Remmy needed their help. And she wanted to help. She wanted to do something fucking good. She needed to make amends, right the karmic scales that loomed over her. As Remmy came up to them, Luce kept her face impassive as she stared at the side of the house, as though she was taking stock of the size for the spell they were going to cast. “Clean works.” She said shortly before glancing over at Bea and Nell. They were the ones who knew more about this sort of thing. She was just here to help. To fan the flames. Her fingers twitched at her sides and she forced herself to hold still. She had to be able to help, had to be able to channel her magic. She could do this. “I don’t think we’ll need your help. Bea, Nell?” She said, looking to her sisters. 

Hopping down from Luce’s Jeep, Nell was careful not to jostle the supplies she was carrying, having no interest in dropping any of them and possibly having to start the preparation over. Sanctuary spells were tricky and generally intricate, not to mention needy when it came to power supply. “Clean’s great,” Nell commented, trying to offer conversation that wasn’t the painfully awkward energy Luce was offering in response to Remmy’s words. “We could probably do an energy cleansing as well- just to make sure we’re starting with a nice, clean slate on that front. We brought plenty of sage for it. It’s homegrown, so don’t worry about the over-sourcing of it.” Trying to think of something for Remmy to do, Nell came across something that might actually be helpful. “You could help us position the logs in the circle around the house,” she offered, jerking a thumb towards the pile of massive tree trunks they’d left here another day for the spell. “Super strength would probably be handy there while we fiddle around with it magically.”

Remmy watched the three of them unpack from the car and come over and begin setting stuff up. Luce was still acting distant and they decided to ignore her for now. Smiling over at Nell, they gave a little wave. “Ooh, yeah! I mean, if you think you can do it. I don’t wanna push y’all to do more than you want, or like...getting too overworked and stuff.” They looked between them all before nodding. “Oh, yeah! I can definitely do that! Logs,” the snapped at Nell, “got it.” They went over to the pile they’d left and started rolling the logs into position. Their brain was made for this, really. Setting things up and calculating distances. Whatever the mansion became, they knew that it was going to be good, even if they weren’t here with it. They hadn’t told anyone they were thinking about leaving yet, but they wanted to tell Luce after all of this. She deserved to know first. And then Nell. They remembered fondly the first time they’d met-- back in that dingy bathroom, with Blanche, when they were making the bracelet. The one that was nestled on their wrist at the moment. It was more of a memento, now, than an actual charm. They blinked when they realized they’d been staring too long and went back to rolling logs. When they finished, they came to stand by Nell and Luce. “What next?”

Luce rummaged through the supplies that Nell had brought with them, taking a bundle of herbs from the bag along with some large charcoal sticks. She needed to be in touch with her element for this to work and while she hated the idea of having to break out the training wheels, her magic… it wasn’t what it used to be. Glancing over at Bea, she wondered if she should bring it up to her sister. But, Bea had her own burdens to bear. And Luce wasn’t going to add to that. Holding tightly to the end of one of the sage bundles, she tried to tap into her magic, willing the spark to form in the center of the leaves. It took longer than she wanted, the flames needing to be coaxed out and encouraged to take, but the end of the herbs began to smoke and burn. She cleansed the area while Remmy set the logs out and once the sage had burned out, she tossed it aside, the fire dying almost immediately. “So, next steps… We need the buggane tusk and carve the runes of sanctuary into it.” Luce said, more to the air than directly to Remmy. “Sounds good?”

Once Luce, Remmy, and Bea were done with their bits of setup— Nell began to walk the circle of trees, pulling a buggane tusk from their pile of supplies to bring with her. Every now and then she stopped along the way to bend and carve runes into the wood of the fresh wood, speaking determined words of power over them. For a moment they glowed purple before sinking back into the normality of scarred tree bark, the magic symbols an off-white that stuck out against the darker wood surrounding them. As Nell worked she focused her intentions carefully, knowing how important this was to Remmy, and how important it would be to those that came to seek refuge and safety in this place. They’d find solace here, and hopefully a serenity that would bring them peace in the end. That was her wish for those that would walk the walls of the mansion. As she walked back to her sisters, she kept a string of her magic alive- turning to Luce when she paused beside her. “Alright- light her up.”

Remmy looked between the three sisters, watching Nell head off to begin...whatever it was she was doing. They didn’t really pretend to know much about magic, because they didn’t, and they enjoyed watching and learning more than trying to figure out what was going on themself. Luce idled near them for a moment before she went off to do her part of the inscribing, and Bea joined after a bit as well. They looked around, admiring the moment for a second. Remembering how they met each of the three sisters individually. Nell had been the first, so it was no wonder they were close friends now. They’d been through so much together-- the beach attack, joining the Ring, getting taken together, fighting their way out, helping take Roy down, and so much more in between. There was no one Remmy trusted more with this place than Nell. 

They’d met Bea second. The slight embarrassment from it still lingered in Remmy’s cheeks when they remembered how they’d talked on Tinder, and they hadn’t known the entire time that Bea and Nell were sisters. And when they’d found out, later, when they’d found out Luce was her sister, too, they’d just made more of a fool of themself. But Bea was a constant in their life, even if just on the periphery. She was always there for Nell and Blanche, two of the most important people to Remmy. And that made her important to them as well.

They’d met Luce last, and yet she’d been the Vural that had wormed her way fastest into Remmy’s heart. From the moment they’d met Luce, they’d thought she was someone truly amazing. Her art was inspirational, and her smile was infectious. She’d accepted them as they were for who they were, and whether she’d ever admit it or not, she cared deeply for them. And they cared deeply for her, too. Which was probably why they looked upon her now with a sense of sorrow. Finally, they all recongregated and Nell motioned for Luce to light the fire and start the spell. Remmy looked over at Luce and gave a nod. “Go for it.”

Luce followed her sisters’ lead, going through the motions, letting the other two take the reins as she tried to focus on her magic. Ever since… Lydia, she’d lost her fire. She’d lost the flames that used to come so easily to her and nothing she’d done had brought it back. Helping Adam had nearly been a disaster, trying to scry and see Remmy had only summoned the ghostly spectre of Nadia, nothing was working. None of it was working. But it had to work now. She had to help Remmy, had to do something good for them. Because so much of what she’d done had only ever hurt them. As Nell finished up the last of her runes and Remmy cast her a nod, Luce took a deep breath and reached for the fire.

It was there, but it wasn't at the same time. The fire was burning low, wounded and dying inside her. Her will was strong, her need for the flames to come to her stronger than it had ever been. It didn’t matter, the flames wouldn’t rise. The bundle of herbs she’d lit to cleanse the area smoldered, but they weren’t ablaze. The wood wasn’t catching. Luce gritted her teeth as she tried to bring forth the anger that usually brought on the fire. But, that felt wrong. She couldn’t create a sanctuary spell with the same hate that had flowed through her body when she’d burned Lydia, when she’d hunted Monty, when she’d handed August over, when she’d decided the fate of lives that weren’t her own. She wanted this to be good, she wanted her magic to stand for something better than she was, she wanted to create a spell that could be what Remmy needed. This place was going to be a sanctuary, a place of peace. Someplace that people could turn to when the world was against them-- just like Remmy had been to her. With a deep breath, Luce’s hands rose of their own accord and the scent of crackling ozone filled the air as electricity sparked between her fingers. Love. Protection. Peace. Family. With her sisters beside her and Remmy behind, Luce sent streaks of lightning across the circle they’d created, igniting it into bright flames. “There we go.” She breathed, relief washing over her.

Nell could still remember the first time she’d met Remmy huddled on the floor of Blanche’s dingy bathroom floor, barely understanding what was happening let alone how to escape it. Together, the three of them had created a spell of safety, a way for Remmy to go on and find the life they deserved without being needlessly murdered, charged for crimes they hadn’t even yet committed. From there the pair’s friendship had grown effortlessly, and in the end it hadn’t been Nell saving Remmy from the Ring, but the pair of them saving each other— both refusing to leave one another behind, finishing everything together. That was what others deserved. The chance to be saved. The chance to find safety among friends and others of their kind in the mansion, a place where violence wouldn’t be viable. To finish together. 

That was what Nell thought of as the smoke rose from the burning wood, billowing above the mansion as the spell began to form and she chanted the words of protection and serenity along with Bea. As she spoke the smoke began to shift, and instead of rising into the sky it created a cushion of grey about the mansion, as if it was shielding it from prying eyes, from those who might seek to hurt its inhabitants. The wisps of cinder seemed determined to get into every nook and cranny of the house, making itself at home. And once it had touched every surface it could find, the smoke began to dissipate, finally releasing into the sky above without leaving a single trace of its presence behind. Nell’s shoulders sagged as the spell completed, her hand going a little limp in Bea’s hand as she felt the enormous batch of energy leave her. “Alright...that should be it, then.” She’d have to leave behind care instructions for the spell. After all a piece of magic this big couldn’t go long without being maintained. “There’s your sanctuary,” Nell said with a suddenly tired smile. 

As Remmy watched, a sense of peace fell over them. As the smoke billowed up and around and enclosed the house, they felt as if it were happening to them, too. They watched with bated breath as it covered the mansion and slowly seeped in, becoming a part of the house itself. Creating a place in which supernaturals could be safe and feel the same. A place they wished they’d had. There would be no hunters here, no pain, no Lydia’s hiding dark secrets in the basement. No Alain’s looking at them with disdain and disgust. No Jax’s, using their words against them, trapping them within their own hell. This would be a place of only peace, of only sanctuary, of only safety. Remmy closed their eyes and let out a long, deflating sigh of relief. They could almost swear they felt Nell and Bea’s and Luce’s energies swirling in the ether around them, and they smiled, so peaceful, and breathed in the air.

When Nell spoke, they opened their eyes and glanced at the three of them. “Thank you,” they said simply, “I owe all of you a lot, and this means so much to me. Right now all I have is thank you. And some free food if you want it. Nora had a bunch of extra meat so I cooked up a stew if you want any inside.” A cheeky grin, as they ushered them all in for their thank you payment. But before Luce could go, Remmy reached to grab her hand, tugging. “Wait,” they asked quietly, “can we talk first?” 

Because while the spell might have been done, and the mansion saved-- there were still things Remmy needed to say. Leaving was never easy, but they knew it was the right thing. And Luce deserved to know, too. They all deserved better than life had given them, and this was only the start.

[theredraccoon]

A Desperate Proposal - Ch 1

“Have you gone absolutely insane, Alec? What the fuck is this shit?”

Jace had barely even entered Alec’s office before he started yelling, waving the crumpled, fine linen paper bearing the official Seal of the Clave around wildly. 

Alec sighed and leaned back in his chair, lifting his hands to scrub at his face. Sounding absolutely exhausted, he said, “Ah. Jace. I see you got the memo.” 

Jace could feel himself going redder. “Yes, Alec, let’s start with the fact that I found out that I was getting married in a fucking memo! Are you shitting me right now? A memo? What, were you too scared to tell me in person? You had to write it on fucking Clave stationary? This is a joke, right? It’s got to be a joke. What the fuck is going on?” 

The room was quiet for a solid minute, apart from Jace’s furious panting breaths. When Alec still didn’t say anything he lowered the (goddamn) memo and finally looked at his parabatai. Alec’s head was resting on the back of the ornate chair, the very same one that six Heads of the New York Institute had sat in over the course of the last two hundred years, and he was staring blankly into space. There were deep purple bruises under his eyes and permanent frown lines had been carved into his brow and mouth that had slipped Jace’s notice until now. 

Jace’s anger suddenly cooled, and he dropped heavily into the chair in front of Alec’s monstrous desk. Which he now saw was practically buried under paperwork. He said quietly, “Alec, what the hell is going on?”

Alec still didn’t meet his eyes. “How many Shadowhunters have we lost in the last year, Jace? Do you know?”

Jace shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to be reminded of the funerals that somehow had become a normal part of their lives. “I dunno, maybe ten? Why? Demons get lucky sometimes and we die. What does that have to do with me getting married?” Although now Jace was trying to think about when that had happened, when it had become normal to have this many funerals. It hadn’t been like that when they were younger. Right? He was pulled from his thoughts when Alec spoke again. 

“Twelve. We’ve lost twelve Shadowhunters in New York alone, just last year. That’s one a month. And some of the other Institutes have been hit worse. We’re dying, Jace, at an alarming rate.” There was a depth of grief in Alec’s voice that Jace couldn’t understand, more than just the normal loss that all Shadowhunters felt when one of their own died, and he found himself pressing a hand over his parabatai rune, feeling an echo of it deep inside him. 

Alec gestured at the mess on the table in front of him. “Do you know what I’ve been doing the last few weeks? I’ve been combing the archives to see if something like this has happened in the past. I’ve asked Magnus to search his Downworld scrolls to check and the answer is no. The Shadowhunter population has stayed almost completely stable for centuries, regardless of wars or anything else. Something new is going on. Something is killing us off, bit by bit.”

Jace was dumbfounded. “And your solution is to fucking marry me off? To a vampire? In what world does that make any kind of fucking sense?”

“You’re not the only one getting married, Jace. The Clave has ordered a series of marriages to create an alliance with the more prominent groups of Downworlders— warlocks, Seelies, werewolves, and vampires. Izzy, mom, and I are all getting married to Downworlders the same day you are.”

Jace’s head was pounding. “What? The Clave wants all of us to marry Downworlders? Who are you marrying? Who is Izzy marrying? Why are any of us getting married at all?” His voice was getting slightly hysterical but Jace didn’t think he could be blamed for it. Nothing made sense. 

“We are dying, Jace. Something is going on and we need other people to help us stop it and the Downworld is our best option. At this rate, we can’t keep the demon world in check and figure out why we keep getting killed with the number of Shadowhunters we have. We need allies. We need more people on patrol. We need the knowledge the Downworld has that we’ve been ignoring for centuries because of our own stupid prejudices.

“So Izzy’s going to marry a Seelie, I’m marrying a warlock, Mom is marrying a werewolf, and you’re marrying a vampire. This is happening.” Alec’s words were hard and firm.

Jace was reeling and he couldn’t figure out what to comment on first. He fell back to repeating his earlier question. “Who are you marrying? Who is Izzy marrying?” Jace’s eyes widened as he realized that he’d missed something in Alec’s deluge of information. “Wait, who is Maryse marrying?” 

“Izzy is marrying Meliorn, he’s one of the Seelie Queen’s knights.” Jace saw Alec take a deep breath. “I’m marrying Magnus,” Jace started to puff up and Alec spoke louder, “the High Warlock of Brooklyn and the inventor of the Portal. Mom is marrying Luke, the Beta of the New York pack.” 

The knot of rage in Jace's throat was now so large he could barely speak. "So you get to marry your boyfriend and Izzy gets to marry someone she knows and likes and has been sleeping with for six months already, Mom gets to marry her ‘one that got away,’ and I get to marry a stranger. A random-ass vampire. Do I have it right, Alec? Anything I’m missing?”

He watched Alec swallow. Jace was in complete disbelief. “I am missing something, aren’t I. Holy shit, Alec, what else? Is there something I should know about this vampire? Do you even know her name? Anything about her?” Jace could hear himself shouting but didn’t care. 

Alec seemed to shrink down into himself, shoulders curling in for a long moment before he stood up and came around the desk to stand in front of Jace. He straightened into an open battle stance, centered on the balls of his feet and braced for anything. Jace stared up at him. There was an ugly sense of foreboding in his gut. 

Alec's voice was even, no inflection whatsoever, and he was looking past Jace’s head to the far wall. "There tend to be more male vampires than female. I told the Clan that you were bisexual. I don't know if you’re marrying a man or a woman." 

Jace's fist had broken Alec's nose before he had even registered that he'd moved. Alec's head snapped back and blood started to pour out immediately. He’d made no move to defend himself, just rolled with the punch, hands hanging loose at his sides. 

Jace could hear the breath sawing in and out of his lungs and his hand was throbbing in time with the heartbeat thundering in his ears. He looked at his parabatai and saw the acknowledgement of betrayal in Alec’s eyes. And regret and resignation and about five other emotions Jace couldn't identify. 

Alec stood there, unmoving, and the blood slowly dripped down his face as they stared at each other. 

Jace's voice was a croak when he finally spoke. "Is it really that bad?" 

Alec's voice was nasal and choked and he had to clear his throat several times before he could speak. "Magnus and I estimate that all the Shadowhunters in the world will be dead in three years if we don't do something. Maybe less." 

Jace staggered back, moving far away from Alec until he hit the wall of the office.  He slid down until his ass was on the floor. He buried his fingers in his hair and blindly looked at the carpet in front of him. 

He heard Alec sigh and move back around his desk, rattling drawers until he found a handkerchief. Jace watched as Alec put it over his face and set his nose with a crack and a grunt. He made a cursory wipe at the blood and then dropped the handkerchief in the trash bin.

Jace let his head fall back against the wall as Alec walked over and settled down on the floor next to him. They breathed for a few more minutes before Jace spoke. "How could this happen? How come no one has noticed that we're all fucking dying? What the hell, Alec.”

Alec sighed and Jace watched as Alec let his long legs stretch out on the floor before glancing over at him. His voice was tired. “Magnus thinks that there’s some powerful magic going on, some kind of worldwide glamour that makes us, just, look away? Just accept what’s happening and not think about it. Like you did. By the Angel, Jace, you thought that ten Shadowhunters had died last year and you said it like it was no big deal! And in reality it was twelve. One every damn month. There are only a few hundred Shadowhunters at the Institute in the first place. And it’s getting worse. Only six died two years ago.” He huffed out a breath. “Only six.” 

Jace shifted, uncomfortable with the idea that he was under some sort of glamour and didn’t know it. “So how did you notice it?”

Alec’s laugh startled them both. He cut an amused glance at Jace and said, “Magnus says it’s because I’m a workaholic with a giant hard-on for paperwork.” Jace grinned and Alec smirked back before sobering. “Although he’s not really wrong. Do you know how much funerals cost, Jace? It’s a lot. And suddenly the Institute was slowly going broke and I couldn’t figure out why. And then once I started connecting the dots, it was like a veil lifted and everything was clear. Ask Magnus; I freaked out on him pretty badly when I figured it out. He started investigating too and then we reached out to the other Institutes to see if it was just us. It wasn’t. 

“They didn’t actually believe us, at first, either. We had to ask for their funeral records. Those were harder to ignore. We got the Clave involved a few weeks ago and everything has happened pretty fast since then. Even those stubborn asses could see the problem. Magnus and I were able to convince them that with the help of the Downworld, we might have a chance to figure out what the fuck is happening and hopefully not all die before we can. This was the best solution we could come up with to make alliances quickly that couldn’t easily be broken. There will be an amendment to the Accords to include our marriages right now, and then we will rewrite them completely in the future, after this is over. That’s the deal. If this works at all.”

The room went quiet again after Alec finished. They sat there. Jace listened to the clock on Alec’s desk tick softly. Alec didn’t say anything. When Jace glanced over at him, Alec’s head was leaning against the wall and his eyes were closed. He looked almost asleep. Jace was startled to realize that he didn’t remember the last time he and Alec had trained together. Or done much of anything together in the last few weeks. Jace’d been so busy with patrols. And apparently funerals.

Jace closed his eyes. “Okay,” he whispered, “okay, I guess I’ll marry a vampire.” 

There was a touch on his arm. Jace looked down as Alec wrapped a cool, dry hand around his wrist. “Entreat me not to leave thee, or return from following after thee. For whither thou goest, I will go, And where thou lodgest, I will lodge.” Jace heard the words Alec spoke softly reverberate in his head and his parabatai rune burned. 

“Jace, I am sorry. I know you have… complicated feelings towards being bi. I hope it’s not even an issue and that you’ll end up with a woman that you can get along with. I just knew that the Clan might not go for it unless I offered them the option. You know they have weird hierarchies. I couldn’t take the chance. We’re dying and I can’t stop it.” Alec’s hand abruptly tightened on Jace’s arm, becoming a bruising vice grip. “But Jace, you are still my parabatai, your soul is in my soul, and I will be with you through this, every step of the way. And I’ll find a way out of it if we need to. I promise you.” Alec’s voice was fierce before fading away into silence again.

Jace was suddenly exhausted, the maelstrom of emotions coursing through him finally easing, leaving behind bone-deep weariness and a headache behind his temples. Alec’s hand rested on his arm for another minute before dropping away. He looked over and Alec’s eyes were closed again. He wondered when Alec had last slept. The leftover blood still on his face had turned dark brown and was crusted in little flakes around his nostrils. The bruising would be spectacular if it wasn’t healed soon.

“Are you going to use an iratze on your nose.” Jace’s voice was flat, more of a statement than a question.

Alec’s eyes opened a slit and peered over at him. “No,” he said, shortly. His eyes closed again.

Jace felt a small, vicious curl of satisfaction in his gut. He relaxed against the wall and closed his own eyes. “Shit, man. This sucks.”

Alec let out a breathy chuckle. “Yes, Jace. This fucking sucks.” 

[fallen029]

Festive

Laxus boots crunched under the snow and he regarded the same as he did every year, a slight snarl on his lips as he spied not only the accumulation, but the godawful snowmen that people liked to roll up in their front lawns. It was all he'd been welcomed to, the second he stepped off the train at the city station, as well as annoying kids pelting one another with snowballs or adults skidding around as they tried to navigate the hellscape that was wintertime in Magnolia.

"You're a downer," Mirajane told him more than once when this yearly attitude of his whipped up, a sentiment that was echoed bravely by her siblings now, knowing that now counted among his siblings as well (at least by marriage), they were above reproach. "And one day you're going to regret that."

"What you gonna do?" he'd retort back, not only in those instances, but when the woman complained about his attitude in similar situations. While there were many things she loved her dragon for, his inability to not easily play into a situation was not one of them. "Curse me, demon?"

"Maybe," she toy back and if he wasn't really feeling so lowly, just annoyed or purposely up playing his attitude, he might give her a grin back for that one, but during the winter?

Under these situations?

No fucking way.

"You're a realist," Freed offered him more than once. And he said it in such an admiring way. With a sharp nod and such honest insistence that it was hard to combat him. "You have difficulty placating the easily amused. Your interests are not swayed by the fanciful and bright. It is not a blight; rather a mark of a true, serious mage. If you are not that, then what are you?"

A sourpuss. Crank. Hardass.

"A jerk," Lisanna offered him, in a way only she could, as though he hated it so much, maybe she was his younger sister now, poking at his cheek one night when she was drunk and so was he. She pressed her finger deeply into his cheek, leaning over the table they were at to do so, much to the wide eyes of the nearby (and sober) Lucy and excitement of Natsu. But Lisanna held none of the fear or exhilaration of her friends, rather sneering in the guildhall she'd grown up, at the man who knew it still much better than she, "You're a jerk, Laxus Dreyar."

This was hardly a revelation.

He'd been one his entire life.

Save the few short years in the beginning there, perhaps the crux of why he, in the end, did become a flat out jerk, Laxus had pretty always encompassed that stigma. His family name bared heavy weight and he shoulder it best he could, but that meant sacrificing a huge part of himself in the process. He liked to think of himself as a mostly changed man now, but his stick in the mud, aversion to (others) nonsense had followed him into his later years and now, a fully grown married man, he found it too hard to shake.

It was his shtick, maybe, his placement in his family and friend groups, and it hardly bothered him most of the time. A sense of pride. Like Freed had insisted to him. He was a serious man and there was something to be said for that. The rune mage himself could be classified as one at times.

And yet, Freed also knew when to turn it off.

He could don a silly costume for the Fantasia Parade. Drink coco and reminisce towards the end of the year, trade gifts on sentimental holidays. Turn it on. When he needed to. In a way that Laxus had never learned to.

They all could. All of them. In the hall. Even the gruffest among them, with the most tragic and horrific of backstories, could squash their traumas and beefs for their friends and guild in the rare times of true kinship. Celebrations of the important things in life, holy events observed by even outsiders to their intended recipients, they could all get a teary eye out of the most seasoned wizard.

Laxus though, he always found these emotions too far out of his grasp. He'd done well to wiggle away from his natural aggravation toward these events, hoping for anything more from the man was shitting away desires. He never had those hopes for himself and, for the most part, others didn't have them for him either.

The demon though…

She was always and optimist.

Or at least she was now.

She'd gone through her own trials and tribulations, only to come out not a buried person, but rather a different one. And Laxus respected that. Fuck, he loved that. He loved her. But sometimes...he just couldn't indulge her in the way she wanted.

And that was fine. Maybe. Other than throwing around threats of curses or humorous jabs, Mira mostly left him alone in his misery. It was what Makarov instructed her to do, that first Winter Festival that she was dating his grandson and had come to him, dismayed over his lack of interest in the festivities.

"Master told me all about it, Laxus," she'd come to him, all weepy and shit, launching herself at him the second he opened his apartment door to her urgent knocking. Sniffling as she nuzzled her head into his chest and the man just tried to figure out what the hell was going on, Mira said, "About your father and mother and how they treated you, you know, during that terrible winter when they were getting a divorce and I just-"

"Mira," he complained, patting awkwardly at her head. "Why the hell were you talking about that with Gramps?"

"Because you're miserable, Laxus." Blinking back her tears, she stared up at him then with her bright blue eyes uncharacteristically clouded with concern. "I always thought you were just distant around this time because you didn't have someone in your life to force you to be better. And then I thought I was failing or something, at making you happy. But now I know that you're just sad and hurt and-"

"My parents were fucking shit all the time, Mira."

"L-Laxus." She frowned then, pulling away from him some. "Don't be vulgar."

"They're my parents," he pointed out. Shrugging some as he only moved to pull the woman further into the apartment, he questioned, "What'd the old man tell you, huh? 'bout the time my mom locked me outta the house? In the snow? And Gramps was outta town and I sat outside the locked house cryin', all fuckin' nigh, in the snow? Or no, I bet he told you 'bout the time that my father decided to fuck with me, because I was a shitty little kid, and used his magic to trick me into thinking the snowman I built came to life? Attacked me? That was fucked up. Or how about the Winter Festival where they-"

"Laxus-"

"Let's talk about the Fantasia Parade. All the times they promised to be in it, to be there, even, just fucking be there, for the Harvest Festival, but never showing up. Never being around. Or oh, you wanna get into birthdays, demon?"

"I-I mean if you need to-"

"I don't." And he told her this flatly, frowning as he spoke. "And you don't need to go and talk to Makarov about it. About me. To find out why I'm the way I am. I just fucking am. Just like you just fucking are the way you are. And I don't ever want to have this fucking conversation again, alright?"

Mira nodded then, in agreement, but he didn't rightly mean it as much as he thought he did, after only a few months of dating. As the years waged on and the relationship deepened, it was his grandfather telling all of his darkest secrets, but rather the man mentioning them, either in passing or bearing his soul, openly, whenever they lounged together.

It was a lot.

Sometimes.

The things that made his shoulders tense all these years or his jaw clench so heavily, sometimes, when he got to thinking too much, got too quiet, and she knew how to get it out of him. Or she learned. Eventually.

She was able to drag most things from her dragon, the demon was, and yet…

He just wasn't someone who had the spirit. For the season. For any season. Time was elusive to the traveling mage and he was around more now, a married man, settled down all he could, but that didn't mean that he'd adjusted fully. Given up fully.

But...if it meant so much to her, he'd be around. For the important things. Maybe not enjoying them, but he'd be there. He came to the parades and the festivals when he could, always around for the demon's birthday and his own, if only because she seemed to enjoy it so much more, when it was about him. He spent time with her family and brought them into the fold with his own, Gramps and the Thunder Legion.

Holidays had meaning again. In a weird way.

Just not enough for him to get over his...hangups.

So no.

Laxus wasn't in a jolly mood, as he walked through the city that afternoon, observing in passing the sights and sounds of the approaching Winter Festival, thoughts of his own drifting to the presents he'd have to get and even dreading, perhaps more, the ones he'd receive in return. The long parade and the huge jobs he'd be passing over, just to stay at home.

All while dealing with the frigid temperatures, threat of blizzards, and, every fucking year, snowmen.

Fucking snowmen.

The years had been kind to the S-Class wizard and it wasn't a tiny apartment anymore, that he had eventually asked the demon to move into him with, but rather a rather nice home they owned together, he liked to think, with a big tree in the yard for climbing and a nice front porch for a dog to lounge.

A home of an S-Class wizard.

"Papa!"

But also a family.

Laxus smiled some, as he came up the shoveled walk of his home, being greeted by a loud call of his name as well as someone rushing right over to toss their arms around his waist and he was still getting used to it. The feeling. His daughter was only three and was growing every single day. While the warmth of her hug was something he was accustomed to, it was still refreshing, every time he was away for a week or more, to see how her speech had grown or notice she'd grown a bit a more.

And she had a lot to tell him that day, as Laxus ruffled her white locks, the little girl abandoning the piles of snow she'd been pushing together, as she tugged at his hand to finish tugging him up to the house.

Mirajane was with her, of course, as well as Lisanna, both giggling at the girl's action, but following all the same, the old dog up on the porch, who did find that he loved to lounge there, stretching before rushing to get in just as the door to the house closed.

Everyone told Laxus that he took to being a father better than they thought he would.

This was something that was mostly said in pretend awe, but he could tell it was actually absolute mystification. People that he'd known in his former life, the one before he settled, had never pictured him as more, he imagined, than his stupid deadbeat father and hey, he'd fucking give it to them.

There was still time.

He'd always taken it for fucking granted. How easy it must be. To fucking leave your kid behind. Just walk out the door. Forget about them. Put them away. Like he did all his memories or the people that used to work in the bar, used to be a part of the guild, when he was a kid. His fucking parents both walked out at him, at different points, his mother before he knew what it him, when he was still cute and lovable, his father when he had a chance to know him, really know him, and hate him.

Laxus couldn't imagine either now though.

He thought, sometimes, when he was drunk and reflective, that his father had it easiest. He knew his son was a shithead and took off. Okay. But other times, when he was sad and remorseful, he thought about how his mother must've had it the easiest, right? She must've. Because she could still keep him there, he figured she still kept him there, wherever she was all these decades later, imaging him as whatever she needed, whenever she needed, and he was still a kid probably, in her mind. A little boy waiting for her. Sitting up for her. Thinking of her often.

He didn't imagine either of them slept well, when they thought of him, but then, he didn't imagine either did often enough for it to give them any real problems.

But it was so fucking weird.

So fucking weird.

The first time he looked down at his daughter, all covered in gunk from birth, a disgusting, distorted version of a little human, an aliens, really, that was breathing and crying and...his.

None of it made sense any more.

And it made even less as time went on.

He'd been able to rationalize his childhood, all of it, as just something that happened. His life in the guildhall was filled with kids who had parents that just didn't given enough of a fuck about them. It was a tale as old as time. He'd normalized this type of thing so easily due to his upbringing and yet…

Yet…

It killed him to go away on jobs, knowing he was coming back, that he was certainly, without a doubt coming back. And one day, he imagined, when she was strong enough to keep up on her own, when she had her own magic, he wouldn't be without her.

She'd be out there with him.

On jobs.

Probably.

He liked to think anyways.

"I think someone missed you," Mira giggled to him as they all ditched their snowy coats and boots by the door, Lisanna bending down to help her niece out of her own. "Dragon."

"Yeah, well," he grumbled a bit as he looked over his wife, taking in how she'd changed too, even just in that a few days, her form had changed, just a bit, as she edged deeper into her second pregnancy. "Maybe I missed someone too."

He was down for the month, at least, as they cycled through the ceremonial events of the Winter Festival and it's accompanying celebrations. Laxus was welcomed to all that coco drinking and reminiscing, but now with his daughter as they traded her usual bedtime stories in for winter themed ones, him even donning the matching set of pajama pants that his demon had purchased, to go along with hers and the girl's.

Family time was all he had time for, it seemed, as the Thunder Legion was around most days, alternating ones they weren't with Mira's siblings, and Laxus bared it all with ease.

He'd had a few years now of learning to do so.

The morning of the Winter Festival, Mira had to get down to the bar to prep for things there and Laxus made a big breakfast for his daughter, back at home, as she dreamed so heavily then, so close then, of the gifts her aunts and uncles would be presenting her with, for being so good all year long. He played along, even playing coy as to what he and her mother had gotten her.

"What do you think you got?" she asked him over their food, staring at him with the same deep, blue eyes of her mother. "Papa?"

"Mmm," he hummed, "I dunno."

She giggled at that, as she had the past few days, when she asked the same thing, and he imagined she'd gotten him something nice. Err, well, that her mother had and she knew about it. That was how it had been, after all, the other two years. Mira was such a sap, when she'd get him something, she'd put the baby's name as well and last year, even, she'd drawn a little picture on his card.

It was cute.

He was a father now, he could admit when things should be classified in such a way.

Mira was busy all festival. She was for all of them. They saw her at the parade, at least, and their daughter clung in her arms until it started before being sat on her father's shoulder, and it snowed that night.

Something that his wife thought made it special, as it hadn't on that specific night in years, and Laxus was glad to leave everyone else behind at the bar that night, him carrying the gifts his daughter had scored, while she stayed snuggled up in her mother's arms, nearly asleep by the time they arrived home.

"I'd almost just wanna put her to bed," Mira remarked softly as their faithful mutt didn't even rise to greet them, as they entered their home, "but still need to give her-"

"Wanna give Papa his present," came a soft, muffled protest from Mira's shoulder where the girl's head was still pressed, but her eyes were open now, bleary and tired. "Mama."

"Well-"

"Here, let's do it then, huh?" Laxus dropped her other little trinkets and toys by the couch before going to snag his daughter from Mira's arm. Helping her out of her coat, he said, "Let's all trade our gifts. You won't believe what I got ya, demon."

Considering with her strong snooping skills, this was probably false, he knew, as she had a tendency to spoil such things for herself long before the suspenseful date. As she feigned surprise at the earrings that her husband and daughter had gifted her (because fine, Laxus was a sap too and signed her name as well), his wasn't so put on as he found himself presented with not one, but two gifts.

Mira had gotten him some nice, new boots she'd seen him eye for a long time, but would never justify buying, but while he was thankful for them, it wasn't what would capture his full attention that night.

"You bought this for me?" he asked his daughter from his chair as, when she presented him with a wrapped gift, it was with bright eyes and a snuggle, when he pulled her into his lap. "Huh?"

Shaking her sleepy head, she only yawned some as she informed her father, "Made it."

"You?" He nuzzled his head into hers as she yawned, heavily, and nodded.

"Me," she assured him. "Papa."

"How did I know," Mira was musing over at the mirror in the hall, where she was looking over where her earrings now were placed, in her lobes, "to wear this exact dress? To match these? Must have been meant to be."

"Yeah, must've," Laxus retorted with a roll of his eyes, but he was busy then, ripping at the haphazard wrapping job his daughter had done, still uncertain as to what he was expecting to find.

It was strange.

Laxus didn't particularly like gifts. Even things he needed or wanted. There was something false about it, to him, a disconnect. Saving up something for someone for some specific date that only had as much meaning as you could manage to give it. And, as mentioned previously, he struggled to scrounge much up at all. He went along because other people did and that was good and well, but…

"Wow," he whispered as he was presented with children's construction paper, stapled together neatly (no doubt by her mother) to form a little book with a title of 'Me and Papa' written, also, in her mother's handwriting, and this would be true of the other few sentences he'd find inside. But the pictures were the main draw. "You drew all of these?"

"Yep!" And she was forcing some excitement then, fighting back a yawn as he flipped very slowly through the pages. "Me!"

It wasn't like it was a story or anything. Just pictures that she'd drawn, hard to decipher to an untrained eye, but Laxus was becoming well-versed in the world of toddler art. And...Mira's sentences helped a bit. They described the scene, in most cases.

They were drawings of things they'd done. Him and his daughter. Together. Going to get ice cream. Going to the store. Playing with the dog. Reading books. Drinking coco. Nothing special. He'd gotten drawings from her before, frequently, her scribbling going to something (only slightly) more substantial recently, and while he treasured them in one sense, he knew that it really didn't mean much.

But this…

It wasn't about the little book, which Laxus would now carry with him, when he traveled out on jobs, placing it in the waterproof pocket of his pack, to look over when he was far from home and missing his baby. It was about something much greater. Something he thought he was void of. Hadn't experienced in a long time.

She'd been young.

The first winter. Oblivious. And the last, though she was old enough to at least some what enjoy it, there was still a bit distance in this.

Now was different. Not really one that she'd remember, necessarily, but certainly part of the beginning of her memories. A piece of understanding. A start.

For the entire day, Laxus had had this...bubbling in his stomach, like when he was a little kid, seeing it all again. The parade and the games. The party at the hall. And now, at home, trading gifts, her actively doing so with him…

He laughed, shoulder dropping as he openly smiled down at his grinning daughter. She leaned up to kiss him and his smiled brighter, if it was possible, his clear joy causing Mira to come over finally. It wasn't lost on the slayer either, as she leaned over his chair, that by this time next year, he'd be able to start the process all over again, only with more knowledge this time.

"It's cute," Mira agreed, thinking his interest was mainly in the gift itself and while Laxus could agree, it was something much more that was causing him to nod his head as he beamed down at his daughter.

"Yeah," he agreed. "It is."

[anxiousdepressedintrovert]

Otome Thursday

IT’S BRAM!!!!

Y’all, you have no idea how excited I was for this route/series to start. I wasn’t a big fan of Ravi.

ANYWAY

Bram Route

Episode 1 (The free one 😉)

-I really dig the beginning of the route.

-Like a land hidden from even the Elves? Nice

-Also also, I like that this series, Love and Legends, AND Reigning Passions all take place in the same universe and it makes sense. Unlike the more modern series where the crew just sticks characters in the stories to say “Hey, look, notice these characters”

-Sorry. I’m ranting

-Focusing now

-I named my MC Mari Rya

-She’s beautiful

-She’s got a little, sprite/fairy/thing named Ness

-I love them

-I only know the name of the new land because I played the Ravi short but it’s called Tallav

-Mari’s got a reputation as a researcher.

-But this is also a lifelong dream of hers.

-Ness doesn’t speak (what I’m going to call) English, but Mari understands her anyway

-Ness uses They/Them pronouns. RESPECT IT

-Magic time!

-Ness magic time!

-Mari can feel all the living things. I feel like that’s not a human thing.

-But I will reserve judgement

-She’s had a rune stone since she was a baby. Yeah, she’s def not human.

-Holy shit a bear!

-…with a shield and a spear on it’s back.

-Subtle

-The way these sprites move are fucking hilarious

-Mari said “Nope not today”

-Can’t out run a bear. What does this bitch do?

-Drop down to play dead. Cause that’s totally gonna stop a bear from chewing on your spleen

-the “bear” is able to turn her over to her back (duh)

-it turns into a man and…oh what a man

-this CG is so fucking cute!

-he’s like “Is she alive?”

-She’s like “the fuck is he doing?”

-I’m like “Squeeeee they’re both so stupid rn”

-Oh those eyes…

-I haven’t been this in love since Razi. Or Renzei.

-Oh no! headbutt. Gives me a headache just reading it.

-Fuck look at those abs.

-LVS really knows what they’re doing with these character designs

-And Mari’s being thirsty too. It’s not just me

-Whew chile, the way she describes this man. Girl,

-Thank you, Ness, someone has their head on properly

-Never mind. They’re just as thirsty

-I still wanna know how Mari can talk to them

-He knows she’s a human cause she’s wearing clothes. Good lord this series is gonna be a riot in the first couple seasons

-Oh Mari…you’re sounding very Colonizerish

-I don’t like that

-Though it is kinda cute how she nerds out

-I can see her doing this with any thing she comes across.

-Thank you, Ness. Time and Place Mari!

-Invasive is one word for it

-Not much to write.

-She’s gushing. He’s listening. They’re both hot

-oh no, not an eyebrow lift!

-from both of them!

-I can’t do this.

-This bitch just walks away from a question ‘cause she got caught staring!

-I can’t! This is me. Running away from all my problems

-Bram follows cause, y’know, stranger in the woods

-Bram likes Ness. It’s adorable

-Anthropologist=Skald? Maybe.

-Apparently rune reading is impossible, so is befriending a Puck (Ness)

-Mari is def not a human. At least not fully

-See, I feel like if she showed Bram the rune stone she carried with her, that would help bridge this gap.

-But y’know. Whatever.

-Oh they are two bull-headed people

-He’s got (understandable) prejudices against humans/bipeds

-She’s like “MY RESEARCH”

-I’m like “Girl, they’re living people. Respect their boundaries. And Dude, Learn a little”

- She’s very forceful with the fact that she ‘needs to do her research’

-It’s very Colonizerish and I don’t approve.

-Mari, You can’t prove that the Duke who hired you only wanted you to do pure research.

-Ha, Bram called her pretty

-Ohhh Mahuwin Villiage

-Cue Victor from Underworld: “YOU MUST BE JUDGED!!”

-damn he called her insidious

-Mari…honey. Going to a village, you’ll get to see how they live and see how the justice system works. Calm down.

-Of course, no one’s ever been so unwelcoming. You’ve been dealing with other humans and elves.

-Girl!

-I’m judging you so hard rn

-Whew chile that took a lot outta me

Episode 2

-Awww I do feel bad for Ness tho

-They’re scared too

-Bruh, Bram JUST said he doesn’t know what an anthropologist is. You barely related it to a Skald. Showing him your notes means nothing.

-Bram, dude, I get you’re supposed to protect but you’re seeing enemies in the wrong people. Though I get why you’d suspect her.

-The Dinae have no secrets between their tribes (I’m assuming) so there’d be no need for an anthropologist to go looking for old history.

-Also he called her cute (again)

-Ohkay. I draw the line at you accusing Mari of torturing Ness.

-Only a heartless monster would lay hands on Ness.

-I need you to think baby: WHYY WOULD NESS STAY? If Pucks are magical creatures, surely you don’t think that Ness would be foolish enough to stay with a powerless human.

-Oh. Don’t make me insult your intelligence

-Oh don’t make me

-Mari. Don’t do anything stupid. Please. He’s actually being nice. In a weird way. Taking you to be judged. Someone else would’ve just killed you

-Mari…you can’t do your job in someone else’s country without permission. To get permission, you need to go to a village.

-I’m starting to question your intelligence

-Oh good. The bull-headedness is back

-No shit it’s more than just a job! I think you would have gathered that from the fact that to enter Tallav you had to pass a BEAR statue

-Oh no not the sad face

-I know LVS is gonna use that face to get money out of me in future scenes

-Mari, you’re both stubborn. And if I had it my way, you’d’ve gone with him already

-MARI! HE’S NOT A SOLDIER!

-ARUGH

- Not the type of roleplay I thought I’d be reading in this story but sure. Have some hearts

-I wanna smack her so bad and the first season’s not over yet.

-Usually the urge to smack doesn’t kick in until at least season 2.

-She’s a record setter

-Uh oh Bram, you called her an interrogator.

-And he STILL doesn’t fix it!

-They’re both so rude

-Ok, so he gets the why.

-We’re making progress

-This woman can’t let her thirst rest for five minutes.

-I mean same but come on

-Ah! Progress on both sides!

-Still don’t like how forceful Mari is about her job. How would she feel if her job put people in danger?

-You kinda did Mari. You kinda did say “I’m going to do what I want anyway”

-Not in those exact words but enough

-My point!

Bram: You ever think that if we wanted to be bothered by any kingdoms, we would have officially contacted them

That’s my point

At the same time, Bram and his fellow Dinae have their fellow prejudice against bipeds. As I said, mostly justified but they act that they can’t adapt or change

-Mari, interest isn’t always flattering…we aren’t in high school

-Now she’s running away. From a guy that can turn into a bear

-I’m very much questioning her intelligence now.

-Cause she dumb dumb.

-And thus begins an infuriating game of human and bear

-Oh yeah Mari, cause you can totally break the hold of a guy WHO CAN TURN INTO A BEAR

-As Mari is kicking and screaming, Bram: Am I hurting you?

-LMFAOOOO

-Awww Ness trying to help.

-Bitch. He puts you down and you climb a tree. Like bears don’t climb trees?

-Thank you Ness for talking some sense into this stupid girl

-Why is she so defensive?!

-Why can’t they just give me the option of “Fine.” FOR ONCE

-Seriously Mari? If you had stumbled upon a village during your wandering that really HATED humans, the chances of them killing you are SUPER fucking high. Doing it this way is arguably a lot safer

-YO  WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT!!!

-That looked like a swamp deer  monster from It Lives Beneath

-FUCK THAT

-RUN BITCH…FUCKING RUUUNNNN

-Why is run never an option when we are clearly outmatched?

-Oh god why does it have to look at the screen!!!

-I don’t like that

-and ewwwww they did detail on the muscles

-Yeah no shit it’s targeting Mari, Bram!

-I think that’s pretty obvious!

-Thank again Ness for saving One Stupid Bitch

-We…we get to RIDE Bram?

-I can (and will) make so many jokes about that

-I’ve already restrained myself from making Bear jokes. So, you’ll deal with that

Episode 3

-Hehehehehehehhehe

-We rode him

-Hopefully this won’t be last time

-and the next time won’t be in bear form

-Ohkay. I’m back. The chapter’s loaded

-Wait one more

-And we can use that rope for something else too

-Idk how to do the lenny face so……just imagine it

-Ok. NOW I’m done.

-Finally, a decent option. THANK YOU, BRAM

-Yeah Mari get that through your thick fucking skull. He’s a defender. He defends.

-Awwww Bram isn’t comfortable with praise. I’m gonna take every opportunity to do it now

-Mari, this is why we don’t talk shit up.

-Hehe still riding him

-Ewww that thing is back.

-Plus side?

-FIGHT SCENE

-Oh nooooo Bram’s hurt

-MARI CONTROL YOUR THIRST THE MAN IS INJURED

-Thank you, Ness! I swear they’re the only character I haven’t been pissed at

-Mari begins to nerd out over plants. Honestly same

-OMG HIS BLUSH

-GUYS. HIS BLUSH

-The stuff of nightmares was an Abberation. I like my name better so it and all its freaky brethren will be called The Stuff of Nightmares

-And Bram’s back to being suspicious. Sigh. And we were having such a nice time

-The Dinae don’t have pets and that’s the saddest thing I’ve read all day.

-Mari just realized that Bram’s been naked this entire time.

-Lol

-Oh so, if Bram trusted Mari, he’d happily tell her everything she wanted to know.

-Hmmmmmm

-I certainly can’t say no to that face. So neither can you Mari. Here. Have some hearts

-See, they say fur covered thigh, all I hear is, cuddling for the winter.

-OMG SHE COULD SQUISH HIS PAW BEANS

-IF SHE DOESN’T SQUISH HIS PAW BEANS WE’RE GONNA HAVE A PROBLEM

-Mari stahp being so thirsty. There’s a stream next to you. Go dunk your head.

-Ness is adorable and I want a plushie of them

-Oh NOQOOOWW she has a problem with riding him

-…Ok, I mean…her explanation makes sense.

-See, every Dinae does it!

-Bram is so tired of her. It’s so funny

-WAIT. THERE’S WOLVERINES

-….is one’s name Logan?

-I’ll leave now

-I’m so glad they’re starting to understand each other more. Cause I was ready to jump through my phone screen.

-Things are still tense, of course.

-Wait a fucking minute. Going through a patch of brambles saved you a fucking DAY of travel? WTF

-I’m very interested in seeing how this plays out as opposed to Ravi’s route.

-Let’s meet Chieftain Mael!!

[foulserpent]

chap1

4000 words - xikeel and ned enter a gate to oblivion, and find it already occupied by some troubled new owners. ned meets an old friend. xikeel flirts with someone who just threatened to throw her into lava. wat will happen next

"This is... Different." Ned stated needlessly.

Xikeel blinked. "Yes, a bit."

They stood just inside a gate to the Deadlands, the volcanic plane of Mehrunes Dagon. This was hardly unusual for the two of them. They had been named the "Heroes of Kvatch" after all, and could barely go anywhere together without the town guard recognizing them and demanding their assistence. As a team, the argonian and bosmer had an almost preternatural talent for navigating this realm while skillfully not dying. It had been a few months since the sack of Kvatch, and this alien plane had already lost its novelty. 

What was unusual was the lifelessness of this island . And the piles of dead dremora soldiers placed in methodical stacks on the rocks nearby, all of their heads severed and dripping black blood down the stakes that ran through their mouths. And the fact that Xikeel and Ned two were standing waist deep in lily pad laden swamp water.

Before finding themselves in an unexpected wetland, the “Heroes of Kvatch” had been on their way back to Bruma from a stressful and ultimately fruitless weeklong errand to the Imperial City. Xikeel had been taking on her morning chore of feeding Shadowmere scraps of meat that the lazy horse had grown too spoiled to scavenge for herself. She had last seen Ned lying in a patch of sun, smoking something that left a pleasant, earthy scent on the nose, and just the slightest hint of sweet burned meat on the tongue.

She didn't rush him. In fact, she meant to join his basking as soon as she finished packing. It would be another three day's ride to Bruma, and the two were in no particular hurry to return to their friend with tidings of "the Mages Guild's library and every book seller in the city was cleaned out of most books on Daedric ritual runes, the only ones we got from your list were Glories and Laments and that one on alchemical uses for every organ in a clannfear, which we're guessing was more for light reading than anything else. Ned got a new sword though!"

Xikeel had just returned the sack of meat into Shadowmere's saddlebag when she found herself frozen. The background melody of insects and frogs had ceased as if they'd been wiped out of existence in the space of a heartbeat. She dimly processed that something was deeply wrong just as air then closed a heavy hand around her, hot and thick in a manner alien from the already oppressive humidity of central Cyrodiil’s jungle. Each breath was a gulp of something horrid that dripped into her lungs with an overwhelming taste of blood and ozone. She felt herself lagging a few inches behind her body. She felt each moment as an age.

The world seemed to take a breath. Tensed itself. Then, something instinctive in Xikeel became aware that time had resumed its normal function, just as the air split with a thunderous crack. A blast of energy knocked her off her feet and into the bush, leaving her stunned and gasping for breath, only dimly registering the colossal splashing noise that followed.

A high pitched whine filled the air. The soft morning light bled red. A gate to oblivion had just opened almost directly on top of their camp.

"Holy FUCK!" Ned yelled.

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

Now, they stood just within the gate, soaked and half coated in pond-scum. The water and the corpses of the realms inhabitants were unusual, but now that Xikeel had time to look at this island, so was its layout. They were in a great chasm between two parallel rows of towers, all connected by bridges and almost entirely shattered. At the center was a recognizable sigil keep, but it keeled to the side at an angle that should not have been possible to sustain. Rubble hung suspended mid-fall. Most strangely of all, its top was cleaved off entirely, with the sigil stone and its column of fire visible even at this great distance.

"You think we should even do this?" Ned sniffed. "I mean, what the hell even happened here?"

Xikeel scented the air. Blood, ozone, the smell of dead immortals, swamp. And underneath it all- "Ned, there were argonians here. I am smelling us everywhere!" She looked around in excitement. She began to sniff the air furiously, taking several steps forward.

"Hang on ‘Eel, this isn't right." Ned splashed up behind her.

"Well I am not smelling the smell of hostility, so I'm going to-" the words caught in her throat as her bare foot came down on something fleshy. Something that gave a start. Something that turned on a dime and plowed away through the water with just one swing of a massive tail.

"Ah. Someone is here." Xikeel said simply. The bosmer groaned behind her, beginning to draw his sword as Xikeel continued to stare ahead excitedly.

All was still for a moment. Subtly, the tip of a snout broke the dark water, followed by a pair of hooked horns. Two eyes blinked up at them, glowing dimly with reflective light. No one moved.

The water surged away as a massive form hoisted itself from beneath. A bulky, green  argonian man now loomed before the two of them, squinting through the dim light as he set down an equally hefty spear in the muck. He had wide red eyes, crowned with a rather small pair of horns resembling those of a bull. He flicked his forked tongue at the pair. Xikeel flicked back. He was not difficult to read. Big, but out of his element. Perhaps even scared- his gills flared outwards and eyes were held wide. He held the spear in an unpracticed grip, rather like one would hold a fighting staff. Oh!- she thought. He's just as confused as I am.

The strange man began to form the sound of speech deep in his throat, when his eyes narrowed on Xikeel's companion. He froze. A lily pad dropped from his shoulder into the murk with a fat plop. She heard Ned inhale sharply, before feeling his hand clumsily grasp at her shoulder and then lean as if he'd lost his balance. She stumbled under his weight, shooting him a questioning look, but his gaze was locked tightly ahead. Ned had the unmistakable look of a man seeing a ghost. Well, Xikeel had questions and no time for concerns of this man's corporeality.

"Hello, why are you h-"

Before Xikeel could speak another word, the water boiled and surged all around them. Dozens of argonians were rising from the murk and bearing down on the interlopers. The alien waters of the deadlands had been hiding an entire troupe of armed soldiers.

Every one of them appeared to hail from more deep-marsh tribes than Xikeel could count. They were scaled, scaleless, even feathered, all wearing little armor and many fresh wounds. The foremost soldiers crowded in, spear-tips lowered towards the interlopers. There was great murmuring, yet no one moved, as the troop seemed to await a signal.

How could she have been so stupid? This was a textbook ambush setup. They had probably walked directly over the hidden soldiers, staying perfectly still at the bottom of the water until their prey was surrounded. To be fair - she supposed, the deadlands of Mehrunes Dagon were not a textbook ambush location for a group of deep-marsh argonian soldiers. She stayed quiet as she observed, ignoring Ned's hand dug tightly into her shoulder. Something was off. Most of them bore the same look of confusion that had tugged at the first man's features. Their hands shook and their feet shifted. She sniffed. These were not trained soldiers.

The mass of soldiers rippled and awkwardly parted with sheepish expressions as a muscular and substantially smaller woman pushed through the front line. She was an unusual looking sarpa. And, Xikeel noted, she really was quite handsome. Her iridescent black feathers shed water like those of a waterfowl, yet she possessed the same fishlike gills as Xikeel's more reptilian stock. Unlike the other soldiers, she was fully armored in what appeared to be wamasu hide, treated for water and embroidered with beads. Even more unlike the other soldiers, her entire body radiated poise. Her feathery crest flagged erect, held almost as high as her spiked chin. With a grunt, she thrust her spear into the muck, and strode forward. The claws on her left hand were filed to the quick, hovering over a cruel looking dagger.

The green argonian saw this and let out a distressed chirp, drawing stares from those around him. A spiky companion glared and elbowed him, but the man let out a sharp hiss and stepped out of line towards his superior. She turned to glare at him. expectantly.  He grasped at words, opening and closing his wide jaw soundlessly until they caught on his tongue and sputtered out.

“(General, Ma’am, this - I know the bosmer. Uh, respectfully, he's not a, um. He's-")

His superior's eyes narrowed in annoyance.

("Go on, soldier.") ("Sorry, he's- Please don’t hurt him).” He finally spat out in increasing panic.

They were speaking Jel! Xikeel was not sure why this surprised her. Had it been that long since she'd even heard her native tongue?

The handsome woman turned, crest low to her nape, and spoke in a deep voice.

“(You know them?)” She jerked the corner of her snout towards the two, eyes narrow. This man far outclassed her in bulk, but looked tiny under her piercing red gaze.

“(The… the bosmer is a friend of mine. He kept me safe, when I was in the imperial’s arena. I don’t know why he’s here, but he can be trusted.)” He replied, using the familiar “he” pronoun to drive in his point.

“(And the saxhleel?)” The man with quill-like spines growled.

“(Ah... yeah, I... dont know her. But please...)” He trailed off.

“(I see.)” The woman’s slick feathers glimmered in the red light as she turned to stare the two interlopers down. “(But you don't give the orders here, Shap-Mota. I have half a mind to throw this mammal-licker and dryskin into the lava.)”

Shap-Mota let out another fearful chirp, looking between the woman and Ned in horror. His teeth were bared, gills held out far enough to show the pink flesh underneath. The general returned the gesture, half his size but bearing down with a practiced confidence that would have said otherwise. The crowd awkwardly waded back away from the two argonians. There would be a fight. Or, judging by how terrified Shap-Mota looked, a thrashing.  

Xikeel barely noticed the drama escalating around her, or the heavy breathing of her friend in the midst of an episode, and had instead been listening in silence and bristling with insult.  These people had wrongly clocked her as an ojel, an outsider. Assimilated and incapable of understanding the language.

“(Ah, excuse me. But you’re speaking my birth tongue, marsh-sister)” Xikeel interjected.

Shap-Mota and the general both whirled around, aggression nipped at the roots. The woman’s twitching crest betrayed a moment of surprise.

“(Interesting. It’s very rare to see a true egg-sibling in Imperial country.)” She mused. Some of the tension drained out of her taut frame, but her fingers still kissed the edge of her dagger. She paced back towards Xikeel and Ned. “(What is your business here?)”

Xikeel hesitated. Telling this woman that she was a shadowscale would easily have her rank most of the argonians present, perhaps even this general herself. However, if her story was later investigated and it was found that Xikeel the shadowscale was alive - and therefore had abandoned her order- the results would be catastrophic. Scales couldn't kill other scales, but deserters almost always wound up dead one way or another.

“(I am on an assignment of absolute secrecy,)” Xikeel bullshitted. "(I close these gates on this assignment, and this one just has appeared before me, as if fated...)" She paused for effect, and began to pace around, dragging Ned limply behind her. "(Yes, it pains me to say, but I cannot give more information, or the consequences may be dire. But I swear on the Hist of my birth that we are on the same side.")

A larger woman with a fishlike face snorted and flared her gills. “(Oh that's just rich. An ‘assignment of absolute secrecy?’ with that?”) She tossed her snout in Ned’s direction. Xikeel dared a nervous glance back at her friend. He still stood with the same dazed expression, eyes glazed and breathing slightly ragged. He was somewhere far away from here. Perfect.

Xikeel hissed dismissively. “(Please. In my field, having dumb muscle around cannot hurt)” she said with a practiced poker face. This seemed to satisfy most of the crowd. However, the large green man glared at Xikeel with a gaze that said he wanted to rip her in half, and a physique that said he very much could.

He opened his mouth and took a step towards Xikeel. "(You-)"

“(ENOUGH about the stupid elf! And get back to your fucking position!)" The dark-feathered woman took a frustrated swing in his direction him, feathers raised in irritation. He bowed back, continuing to glare from under his horns.

The general let out a groan of frustration and closed the gap between herself and Xikeel. She hooking a claw from her untrimmed right hand under Xikeel's chin, tilting it up slightly. 

"(If you are on our side, your business is not secret from a general of the An-Xileel.)”

Xikeel swallowed and flared her gills. “(Fine.)” She did not look at Ned, but prayed his attention would be captured enough to pick up on the ruse. “My name is Thux-Ha” Xikeel announced to the crowd in Cyrodiilic, then in Jel. She stretched out her neck and stood tall, as if to give credence to the name "Snake-Throat". She leaned towards the general, speaking quietly now.

"(I am under service of the King of the Black Marsh.)" she spoke in the old innuendo. "(I assume that will suffice.)"

The argonians close enough to hear rippled in surprise. Most outsiders still lingered under the assumption that the Black Marsh had a king, as if one saxhleel could ever represent the rainbow myriad of tribes that populated the land. To "Serve under the king" was merely to serve Sithis as Its scales, and Its scales were to be respected.

The general's eyes narrowed. She flicked her tongue. Xikeel flicked back. The larger woman huffed, leaning in until their muzzles nearly touched as the two took each other's scent in rapid succession.

Satisfied that "Thux-Ha" did not have the scent of a liar, the general leaned back.

"(She speaks truth)" She announced to the crowd. "(This is a kinsman. You will treat her with the same respect as myself. Believe it or not, this little snake ranks all of you)". She pulled her spear out of the murk, gesturing broadly.

"(Return to your positions. I'll finish dealing with our guests.)"

The crowd muttered amongst themselves, glancing back at the small argonian and elf in their midst, but did not object. They lowered themselves into the water, and began to kick off towards their separate posts. Xikeel counted the tails churning the algae. About fifteen to twenty saxhleel in total. Not counting herself, the general, and this "Shap-Mota" who remained staring at her friend with his hands clenched tight around his spear.

"(You too, soldier.)" The general addressed Shap-Mota. He gave a rather pathetic look at the still dazed bosmer before awkwardly flopping back into the murk.

The general remained standing before Xikeel, watching with narrowed eyes and a wrinkled nose as her troupe finished melting back into the water. Once it looked like they were never there, her piercing eyes returned to Xikeel.

"(Thux-Ha.)" She said, an odd quaver pulling at the edge of her voice.

"(Yeah?)"

The general looked around again, rotating her neck to scan the full perimeter. Then whipped back and dropped her face to Xikeel's level. In one moment, all of her previous poise rolled from her feathers like water.

"(We need help. Badly. Do you have a couple days?)"

Xikeel could barely keep herself from startling. She played off the motion into a shift of the feet, squinting in a smile.

"(Ahh, as I said, I have an assignment of great importance. I am unsure I can make time in my schedule... What is it you need?)"

The general drooped even lower, crest held tight against her neck.  

"(Every. Single. Person alive here is a civilian soldier. The other two troupes all got FRIED by the damned stupid sigil rock, and I am the only damned STUPID fucking ranking soldier left!)"

"(Oh, wow, that's-)"

"(We have one of our mages left trying to get us back to the marsh, and now that it's just me and my fucking auxiliary troupe of unpracticed nobodies left, we've got the GODDAMN dremora harassing us every other day and she can't get anything done!)" The general raved.

Xikeel searched for a response, but was distracted by the sound of splashing. Ned had wandered a few meters away, searching the water where the green argonian had been. He hissed a name. She shook her head and returned her attention to the general.

"(Uh, the gate is right there? You could always leave. Y-")

"(No the hell we can't! This is life or death for more people than you can possibly imagine!)". The general threw out her arms in exasperation, a few downy feathers flying like confetti. She remained in that position, eyes begging the woman's response.

"Shap? Shap-Mota?" Ned was several feet away, whispering at the water. The two argonian's eyes flicked to him, then back to each other. "(Well, what exactly are you wanting me to do? Because I am not sure what you are wanting from me.)" Xikeel said, putting her hands on her hips.

"(Just- Just come have a look at the sigil stone thing. See if you can help our mage. I know you came here to take it, shadowscale, but I believe our assignments here differ.)"

"Frog?" Ned called louder, flapping his hand around in the water as if to summon the man. The general whipped her neck towards him, then back at Xikeel. Her red eyes narrowed in exasperation as she brought her claws to her face yet again.

"(Can you PLEASE tell your elf to shut up?)"

"Ned, the general wants you to please shut up." Xikeel called over her shoulder.

Ned spun around and gestured wildly at her, mouthing something that was probably a curse. Xikeel smiled back at him, winking and giving the "okay" signal.

Xikeel turned away before she could see his response. "(I've told him. But I will need to confer with him first, let him know what is going on, yes)?"

The general's body melted with her sigh. "(So you will help?)"

"(I will see what I can do.)" Xikeel said casually, checking at her filed claws. "(Though, I would feel much better about taking this time off my assignment if I were to know your name, friend.)"

The general startled slightly, looking a little sheepish.

"(Ah, yes I - Ah - suppose we're of the same rank. It's Kot-Veesk.)"

"(Pleased to be working with you, Kot-Veesk.)" Xikeel smiled. 

Kot-Veesk stiffened back into her military poise, hands clasped behind her back.

“(You'll be doing a great service to me, and to the Marsh. Meet me by the spire as soon as you're finished)” The general said. Without another word, she strode collected her spear and vanished into the water.

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

Ned finally seemed to have come back to reality as he cautiously approached. "Um, hey Thux-Ha." he said quietly. "Could you tell me what's going on?"

"The general here requests our assistance, and it’s probably pretty much what we were here to do anyway. Maybe. And I expect you to be polite and careful with what you say. A lot of these saxhleel likely understand your tongue and we do not need you insulting them, or compromising our assignment."

"Right." He said plainly, looking awkward.

The fact that Ned did not sass back seemed to indicate his understanding of the underlying message - "I had to lie to them, we’re probably still surrounded,  please in Sithis' name do not say ANYTHING that could come back to bite us"

"Listen, where did that one we saw first go? He was-he was just here a second ago."

"Ah, the green one? He said to them that he knew you. Who-"

They were interrupted by the man himself emerging yet again from the murk, looking around nervously as if he expected the general to descend upon him with the wrath of a god at any moment. Satisfied at her absence, he turned his gaze to Ned with an intensity that burned the air between them more than the open flame of the deadlands already had. Finally, he spoke in near-perfect Cyrodiilic.

“Nedirael? That is you, isn’t it?"

Xikeel turned to her friend in a whole new type of confusion, dropping her arms into the universal gesture for "what the hell is going on?". It was to no avail, as Ned continued to stare past her with a face twisted into a crossroads of relief and absolute agony.

"Hi, Frog.” He responded in a wavering voice.

“’Nedirael’???” Xikeel hissed.

‘Frog’ dropped his spear and practically lunged for the shell-shocked bosmer. Xikeel instinctively reached for her knife, only to be stopped by a sight more unexpected than some long delayed enactment of revenge.

Shap-Mota had bent down and pulled the bosmer into a gentle embrace, emitting a pleased rumble as he eagerly pressed his forehead against Ned’s. He then rubbed the bridge of his snout against the other man's face, slow and savoring, in a gesture Xikeel knew well as an affectionate greeting. A very, very affectionate greeting. Ned seemed to know this as well, as he shakily returned the gesture, eyes still wide. The only sound was the two men’s horns awkwardly clacking against each other.

Shap-Mota finally pulled back, still holding a slightly limp Ned by his shoulders.

“It is so good to see you, old friend!"

"It's. Yeah it's.." Ned trailed off, his yellow eyes starting to look bloodshot.

"Are.. you okay?" Frog cocked his head. Ned had suddenly become very interested in the murky water still lapping at his own legs. His eyes locked downward, lips trembling.

“I thought you died.” Ned said flatly.

Shap-Mota recoiled slightly, hissing faintly in confusion.

"Wha- How?"

"Are you kidd-You were being dragged off the killing floor the last time I saw you, I-" Ned's voice caught in his throat. Shap waved at the air with his hands as if grasping for words. "I... I was released! They carried me out after that... I, ah, know I was not allowed to say goodbye, but I figured at least one of the guards might have told you?"

Ned shook his head, looking like he'd just been kicked in the stomach. He laughed without humor. "Uh, no. I asked for you and they always just said they didn't know, didn't care. You... You know how they were."

The argonian was silent for a moment.

“They just released me after my last match. Said my sentence was up. I wanted to stay and wait for you, but... Well, I'm sure your argonian friend has told you about how the Hist started calling our people back." He spat the word 'friend' like venom, glaring at Xikeel. She was about to say something, when he shook his head and continued. "I... I'm so glad they freed you, too. I wish I could have stayed to see it.”

"Yeah, uh. So do I." Ned murmured, half to himself.

The two stood in a morose silence, bridged by Shap-Mota's now limp arms still grasping Ned's shoulders. Ned finally stepped back out of the man's grip, rubbing at his eyes a little too hard. His knuckles were coming away wet.

Xikeel made up her mind as his breathing began to hitch. This was probably none of her business.

"Stay where I can find you, old man." She said to Ned, walking off towards the spire and not waiting for a response.

[shnuggletea]

I realize many of you have already read this on either FF or AO3 but in case you read on Tumblr only, here it is!

Heads up, these ANs are a repeat of STYH so if already read that one, feel free to skip these! Working on a few modern day ones but they're not quite ready yet.

So, I have a few fics to chose from for next and I was assured these were wanted to be heard. Or rather read. Please keep in mind, the sequel to Bad Karma, Terrible Fate, and Cell Mates isn't on this list because they will be posted next along with the ones I'm listing here for consideration. I like to do a cannon based fic and an AU in tandem when posting. Or try to anyway, I'm also still posting for SM and working on originals so this might get a back seat from time to time.

So here's what I got (none of these are finished yet but close):

The Shogan's Daughter: Kagome agrees to marry a man, sight unseen so that her village falls under his protection. With a steady rice supply and a few soldiers to protect them, she leaves home and enters the house of one Inuyasha Tenoe. Married life is made so much more difficult with enemy threats hoping to take Tenoe's title from him, ex-lovers weakening Kagome's resolve, and falling in love with your husband no matter how hard you try not to. Set in a Feudal Japan.

Beautiful Hell (working title): She was free. It almost killed her but she had escaped and now she just had to stay out of the dark clutches of her former king. And not be discovered for what she was by the new one. Too bad the Prince is a glutton for punishment, meeting the fiery Kagome, and doing what? Putting her in his harem of course! The setting is a made-up world but hints at Arabic tones.

Hidden Demons: Kagome was doing as commanded, going deep into the Vragoli territory and entering the fabled Crnac Mountains. But she is there to ensure peace, wanting nothing more than to keep her home, Fatamorgora from any more attacks. Her first time in Nema Dusa and yet, the King feels so familiar. Confused, she'll have plenty of time to figure it out, or will she? Her mind slipping all around with dreams that feel more like memories of a past she never had! The setting is made-up here as well but similar to The Hobbit/Lord of the Rings kind of vibes.

All of these are romances and have lemons btw. Let me know what you guys think?

Possible trigger warning with some violence towards a child! I didn't go into detail or anything graphic but just know poor Shippo gets beat up.

FF HERE

AO3 HERE

Chapter Nine

Ever since she started eating with them, Kagome had sat next to Shippo. But as Miroku's 'bitch' she now had to sit next to him. And let him wrap an arm around her from time to time. But when he tried to touch her ass, she drew the line there.

"Cut that out!"

He smirked with a devilish glint in his eyes. "Lovers touch, Kagome."

"Except, we aren't actually lovers?!"

"And we don't want everyone knowing that now do we?"

He had a point and it would all be pointless if it didn't look like they were a couple of sorts. Resigning herself to getting touched, she closed her eyes tight. "Fine. Just don't take liberties."

It wasn't that she found Miroku unattractive. He was a very good looking man. But he was a friend. If he ever confessed to her, she would give him the same answer she gave Koga. She was pretty sure Miroku felt the same about her but that didn't mean he wasn't a horny bastard, taking advantage of the situation.

Her eyes squeezed shut, she waited to feel her butt getting accosted and only felt a chill across her skin. Miroku was laughing when she opened her eyes again, even though Inuyasha had his hand twisted back to Miroku's chest in a painful-looking position.

"Hey Buddy. I've been looking for you."

She had never heard Inuyasha call anyone so much as 'friend' let alone 'Buddy'. His tone was clear he wasn't there to be friendly. "Hey, Inuyasha. You were looking for me?"

"Yeah, we need to chat," Inuyasha said, twisting Miroku's hand a little more.

"I'm in the middle of something here, in case you didn't notice?"

She glanced towards Shippo who just shrugged. The rest of the table was ignoring the duo, must be business as usual for the two. They had never done it around her before though so she struggled to see the humor in it. Miroku was still chuckling as if it was the greatest joke of all time.

"Alright, just give me one second," Miroku leaned around Inuyasha to look back at her, "pardon me, dear, I'll be back in just a moment. Then we can get to you bearing my child as we discussed."

She was feeling very uncomfortable with the conversation but Inuyasha steered Miroku away swiftly after that. They didn't go out of eyesight, just earshot. If anyone was listening, she couldn't tell, every time she glanced over, they were in some kind of heated discussion and those around them focused on their food. Kagome didn't pretend to know what they were talking about but Shippo chuckled from time to time as he listened.

Looking his way, she wanted to see if Koga was listening to anything going on. When she found his eyes staring back at her, she quickly turned her head to look anywhere else. Given the fire his eyes held, he had heard about her new 'relationship' and wasn't pleased. But, since it was Miroku, then she should be fine from now on since everyone was terrified of Miroku's cursed hand. Even with the runes in place, his hand was still sealed up, giving many the impression he could rip the runes on his hand off and use it on them.

Shippo chuckled again and it made her smile, as well as get curious. "What is it?"

"Miroku enjoys messing with Inuyasha too much." He said through his laughter.

Looking back again, Inuyasha's face was red. If she were to guess, he had pulled at his hair in irritation at some point while Miroku was still calm and smirking. Whatever was going on, Shippo and Miroku enjoyed it a little too much.

Lunch over, they all progressed to the yard for free time, only she was swept up by an anxious Kagura. "Kagome. I need a Doctor."

Rushed but silent, Kagura was oddly quiet as they speed-walked to the infirmary. Her eyes danced to the door when she left it open. With haste and care, so to not look too eager to shut them out, Kagome shut and locked the door. The guards had a key but it still gave a sense of privacy.

Kagura had yet to still, pacing the length of the infirmary while she pulled her wheeled stool out and waited. She already had a feeling what this was about. After all, she did consider sticking to the maternity ward after her rotation there.

After several more minutes of agitated pacing, Kagome caved. "Kagura, there's no point in worrying until you know for sure. Right?"

A small amount of calm washed over the demoness, enough to get her to sit at least. Kagome rolled up to her side and placed a comforting hand on her knee. "I'm late."

"How late?"

"...a month?"

She kept her face stoic, her bedside manner training coming into play with this one. "That's pretty late, Kagura. Any symptoms?"

"Demons don't really have 'symptoms' with pregnancy. Not like humans that is."

Irritation was clear in Kagura's tone. But she had a point as Kagome was clearly not adept to Demons and their differences. "Alright. Teach me. Tell me what it's like to be a pregnant demon?"

"Nausea, having to piss all the time, pimples, and whatever else you humans get, we don't get any of that shit. Instead, we feel it."

"Feel it?"

"Feel it growing. I can feel it growing and moving inside me. I'm sure I'm pregnant even without any tests. Demons have never needed them in the past and frankly, I'm not sure it would even work." Kagura had a point there. "So all I really need to know is… can you get rid of it?"

This time, Kagome didn't hide her shock. "Wha… you want to terminate the pregnancy? Why? It's Sesshomaru's right? You two seem like you'd go through hell and back for one another, surely he wouldn't mind having a child with you or you him?"

Jumping up, Kagura went back to pacing. "Like that even matters?! Look where we are Kagome! Open those big, pretty teal eyes of yours and pay attention! We're in prison! One designed to suck the life out of everything and one inside it. This isn't a vacation, you're never going back to your old life, Doctor! And I don't even remember my life before this place, it's been so fucking long."

She took a deep breath to steady her nerves because that was a lot to unpack. "I know this is my home forever… but we have to keep living, Kagura. We can't let them break us. That would be letting them win."

Kagura pulled at her perfect hair, mussing it up beyond repair. "I know that! But what choice do I have?" She fell to her knees before Kagome, grabbing up her hands in a tight grip. "Please, Kagome. They will only take my baby away and do whatever they want to it! To them, we're just vermin and a baby of Sesshomaru's would be experimented on for as long as it lived. Which wouldn't be long with all they would do to it. It doesn't deserve that, that life."

Conceding, she had no choice but to agree with Kagura. But there was only one problem. "I have nothing to terminate a pregnancy with here. And if I ask…"

"They'll make you tell them who. FUCK!"

Kagura was pacing again and Kagome jumped to her feet to stop her. "Do you want this baby? If you weren't in here and its life wasn't threatened, would you have it?" Kagura nodded hard, "We still have some time. I'll do all that I can to help you. Something will have to change and I refuse to let your child suffer. Trust me, Kagura."

oOo

It had been three days since Kagura had come to her and Kagome could focus on nothing else. How the hell was she going to save Kagura's baby? Kagome didn't have a clue but she wasn't about to just stand around while an innocent life was taken. And Kagura wanted the baby, she just didn't want her child to suffer. It was a terrible place to be, unable to protect your own child.

Everyone was coming back from 'work' and Kanna was milling her way through the crowd. Ever since the day in the yard with Naraku, Kanna and Shippo had gotten...closer. They worked in different places but met up on their way back every day now.

Which was why it was strange to see Kanna alone.

"Kanna? Where's Shippo?"

She shrugged, her face as neutral as always. "He told me to go without him."

"He did?" That was weird, Shippo likes having a friend and spending time with them.

"No, someone else told me for him."

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Something wasn't right. Kanna didn't react but Kagome didn't expect her to. "Go on to your room."

"You mean cell…"

"Whatever, just go!"

Spinning on her heel, Kagome ran as hard as her human legs allowed and then pushed harder. The laundry room was in her sights when she heard it. Once again, her experience served her and she really wished she was wrong.

Rounding the corner, she saw a group of wolves circled around something, beating it. Staggering forward, she quickly saw that the something was Shippo.

"No! STOP!"

She flung her body at them, trying to get inside and to Shippo who was a quivering mass of blood and swollen flesh. They laughed and shoved her back, only to continue. She tried again and got tossed, hitting one of the washing machines hard before hitting the floor just as hard. Now she crawled, using her palms on the cold floor to drag herself towards one of the wolves. He didn't seem to notice as she took hold of his leg. But he did notice when she bit down on the back of his ankle as hard as she could.

"AHHH!" He kicked her off hard and the others turned on her with him. "You stupid bitch!"

Another grabbed the one she bit by the shoulder. "Koga said she's off-limits. Just her friends."

She wished she could say she was surprised. Koga was attacking her friends to get to her. "You can tell Koga to fuck off!"

They glanced at one another and then returned to their advance on her. At least they now left Shippo alone. That comforted her as fear shivered up her spine. They could smell it, smell her fear. It was why they kicked her lips she was sure. Their auras flickered, staying the same orangey-pink but flashing the closer they got to her. Was this what an aura did when malicious intent was planned? Naraku's didn't flash but his was so dark, she was sure it only sucked in light, not let any out.

They bent down to her and one had their hand around her throat when they were all ripped off and back. There were growls all around, some from the wolves but most from Inuyasha as he stood protectively over her. Miroku pushed them back more with his fist and then his hand, holding it up while keeping the palm hidden in his clenched fingers.

"Don't make me use this!" He screamed.

They coward but recovered. "You wouldn't!"

"Yeah, you'd suck up your friends too!"

Miroku shrugged, "the runes knock off some of my power. Enough to keep them safe while sucking you assholes up!"

They stepped back with that and she didn't know if it was the truth or not. But they believed it so it was enough for her.

With Inuyasha and Miroku here, her attention went back to Shippo. His ragged breaths fogged up the floor he laid on, his fur matted with blood. "Oh, Shippo."

Crawling again, she made it to his side while Miroku and Inuyasha wrangled the wolves out of the room. Before they were completely gone, Inuyasha grabbed one of them up. His blood-red eyes matched his aura, shining bright and fierce.

"If you or any more of your mangy mutts ever come near her again, I'll shove your nose so far up your ass you won't know whether to fart or burp for the rest of your life. Got it?"

The one in his hold nodded heavily as he was dropped to the floor to run. Then Inuyasha's eyes went to Shippo, his head now resting in Kagome's lap.

"Miroku, make sure they don't come back."

Miroku looked confused but more like he wanted to argue. But Inuyasha flashed him a warning glance, his aura nearly blinding. Which made her earlier theory of malice fall to the floor because Inuyasha had no intention of ever hurting her, that she was sure.

The three of them, he shut the door and slowly came to kneel at her side. Shippo was barely breathing.

"I should….we should get him to the infirmary...I can…" She said through her heavy sobs.

Inuyasha laid his hand heavily on her shoulder. "Kagome...there's nothing you can do."

"But he'll heal! I just have to…"

"You can't give him the time he needs."

She stared at him with watery eyes. His own hurt reflected back. No tears, but it was clear he would mourn the kitsune too.

Most people, even most doctors, would understand. They would pick themselves back up and move on, telling themselves they did all they could. Because most doctors would have already done all they could.

But she wasn't most doctors.

Placing her hands over Shippo's tiny body, she sobbed again as her cords of, for lack of a better term, magic dipped into him. She felt every break, tear, cut, and bruise the poor child had endured. He winced and whimpered when she pulled bones back together. Especially the rib that pierced his lung and when she inflated his spleen, sewing the shattered organ back together with her mind.

Her concentration was set and she had no clue what Inuyasha was doing or thinking. This was her biggest secret since she was a child but she had no regrets, not even ones of revealing herself to him.

An exhausted and satisfied sigh left her as she left Shippo alone. The outer cuts and bruises she left for appearances. The only thing that matter was Shippo would live now.

Falling back, Inuyasha caught her. "Are you okay?!" He was checking over Shippo and then glaring at her. "You did it, you healed him, didn't you?" She nodded. "Why? Why the fuck would you…" shaking her head he growled, "this is how you got caught, isn't it?!"

"He's a child…"

"He's a demon!"

Summoning strength from deep inside, she pushed up into his face and yelled. "He's a life! And my friend!" A sob bubbled up too, "and they did this to him because of me."

Inuyasha wrapped his arms around her, crushing her to him. "You don't belong here. You shouldn't be here at all"

She wasn't sure if he meant that in a good or bad way but his comfort was too nice to turn down, twisting until she was cradled in his hold. It caused her to brush her arm against his, pain searing through her and making her hiss.

He pulled her back, inspecting the deep cut closely. "Can't you heal yourself?"

Kagome nodded but then shook her head. "I can't. Any of them could have seen...and I'm human…"

At that, he ripped the hem of his shirt and wrapped it around her arm tight. "I'm going to kill every last one of them. And then Koga…"

"Inuyasha?" Shippo whispered, coming around.

Kagome gently pushed the Hanyou back, grabbing Shippo's little shoulders to keep him still. "Shippo! Hey buddy," she cooed, a few tears slipping free, "you're alright now."

"They...cornered me...made me tell Kanna to go without me and then started wailing on me."

"They didn't say anything? Like a message you were supposed to deliver?" Inuyasha asked his eyes on Kagome's.

"No...nothing…"

The smile on Inuyasha's face was forced so she forced one on her face as well. "You got lucky, kid. The doctor here saved your life. But you're gonna hurt for a while so take it easy."

It was then that guards showed up, looking genuinely confused either at the scene in general or that there wasn't a body or two to deal with. She was surprised they showed up at all.

oOo

Her arm was still stiff but it would be fine. Kagome had replaced Inuyasha's makeshift bandage with a real one but held onto his piece of shirt, hiding it amongst her things. The attachment she felt to a tiny shred that was his was truly telling and Kagome worried about what it said.

Just about to collapse to a gurney for the night, a knock rapted on the infirmary door. She moved slowly in part to the hour but mostly due to her aching muscles screaming at her. She should probably take something but she didn't want to waste her supplies or her gifts on herself.

Her breath caught in her throat when she opened the door and the man smirked all the more at the sound of it. "Inuyasha?"

[nildespirandum]

At Hel’s Edge: A Viking Loki Story - Chapter One - The Curse

Art by @caffiend-queen​

---I am posting the entirety of this fic on Tumblr for the first time, in anticipation of taking it down from AO3, since it is being turned into a Webtoon by the incredibly talented artist @papergangster​!  I will post a chapter every few days.  If you want to read ahead the whole story can be found here for the time being:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/14940284/chapters/34615787

There were many stories about Bredg’s mother Verða, that famed and curse’d she whose very name meant ‘a thing that must be dealt with.’

The ones her son knew to be true were few enough.  That she had been a slave - brought home by the king after visiting the settlement in Armorica - with filthy black hair and snarling teeth was known by all.  It was said she was wild, and ugly, with big features and a cruel, oft cursing, mouth, but that she had a clever, ravenous cunt that the king - having taken her to bed when the queen was too great with child to be meddled with - was unable to free himself from once he had been drawn within her power.

The king had her bathed and her hair deloused.  He had her draped her in linen and gold and let her laugh at the golden and red haired maidens who wanted to be his second wife.  

The other slaves went in fear of her, knowing she would relieve her spite upon them - biting and punching for the mostly imagined slights she endured, her long, thin arms holding surprising strength.  Once, when an assassin had breached the hall while everyone slept she had woken and, after watching him slit the throats of the lazy guards who had fallen asleep, she took the king’s spear from the wall and threw it with the might of a giantess, impaling him to the wall, and then painted runes around his dying body with his blood, cursing those who sent him.

The king gave her arm rings that he might have given one of his jarls, because he said she was fiercer than any of them.  She would take the mead cups from hands of his feasting warriors, getting drunk on their wine and like them would pull pretty girls onto her lap and kiss them until they swooned and fought for her favor.

She refused to tell anyone, even the king, where she had come from before she had been captured.  Or what her true name was.

One time she said she was from the dark forests past the lands of the Rus.  Another from Hibernia, from the lands of the Tuatha de Danann under the hills where time stopped and started at the will of their gods.  Still another story had her from the Maghrib, where she had been born to a surviving Vandal, one those whose empire had been overrun by Byzantium, and one of those Berbers who had killed the Byzantines in their turn.

It was said she was actually a troll wife, using dark magic to look mortal and deceive their king to some unknowable end.  

It was known that only the queen was exempt from her malice, having been a legendary shield-maid in her youth and a powerful fjǫlkunnig afterwards.  The queen had even made herself a cloak of white bear fur and eaten the raw heart of an elk killed by her magic, and was welcome in the hut of the oldest vǫlva, who was gifted in prophecy.

Verða respected the queen alone, and so when she was dying after having birthed Bredg, she called for her.

“Would you have me save you?” the queen asked, giving her a sip of watered ale for strength.

“No, dróttning .  Death frees me.  From your man’s pawing hands, from the stink of the mead hall and the fucking cold.  Take my child. Raise him with your Soren. Let them be brothers and then I can go into the many-colored lands with no fear.  You are a better mother than I would have been to him.”

She turned her head and looked at Bredg, his eyes the color of her true home, his hair a black mass of curls, and kissed him with the only tenderness anyone had seen from her.  At the same moment a great log within the firepit cracked, and she laughed. “My gods are far from here, so let your fire god, the strange one, Loki, be my child’s patron.”

“You should not wish it so.  Loki would torment even those he loves.”

“Just like all men,” she answered, dying.

The queen gathered the babe up, wrapped in the blanket that had covered his mother, and carried him to her chambers.

Years passed.  The slave’s son was raised beside the queen’s, to love each other, to fight each other, the golden bear cub and the black wolf pup, brothers in all ways.  

They came to their majority in time, the king ready to step aside for his and the queen’s son, knowing that his other child, more clever and subtle, would ever speak wisdom to his brother, who was often in need of cooler council.

All admired and sometimes feared the king’s sons, Soren the Golden with his strong arm and ready laugh, and his brother Bredg the Black, with his sly gaze and keen-edged tongue, were as inseparable as day and night, one ever following the other.  

Soren, mountain shouldered and ocean-eyed, was beloved of the warriors and shield-maids, armed with an axe and boar spear he could knock forth a turtled warband by his strength alone, though he was much skilled in arms and could, when his patience could be found, be a leader without equal.

Bredg, kestrel swift and leaf-eyed, was beloved of the wise folk and those who were wise enough to desire peace.   But when battle came few were braver, as he moved like the wind itself, speeding past enemies who were cut and dying before they knew that they had been touched by his gutting knife.

The night before Soren was to take his father’s seat at the head of the meadhall, they drank with their comrades and boasts were made. Of feats on the battlefield, and at feast, and in the bedchamber.  Only Bredg kept his own council, drinking moderately and speaking little, neither of which was his wont.

He had since rising had a feeling of ill-omen and so remained sober that he might watch over his brother.

Soren drank deeply and boasted long into the night.

Of how his arm was touched by Thor and struck as hard as the god’s lightning.

Of how his brow had been kissed by Freya, and so he was gifted with her beauty and her battle-wisdom.

Of how his will was fashioned by Odin, and so was strong enough to rule even the fierce and independent North men.

And on and on, thanking all of the gods for their gifts to him.

Save one.

As any child who has heard a story at an old lady’s knee knows, you must never forget just one.  And if you do forget just one, it should never be Loki.

When Bredg warned his brother, as they walked through the velvet darkness, that he had forgotten the God of Mischief, the Lie-smith, whose favor all men will need some day, Soren clapped him on the back.

“Thank him for me, brother.  He is your patron, after all.”

Sighing, the king’s black haired son knew that he must try and protect his brother, even if he was a fool.

So that night Bredg stood in the kitchens, where the hearth is Loki’s altar and where the wise house-woman thanks Him for unburned bread and properly cooked meat, and poured mead and claimed his brother’s gift for winning maidens to his bed came from Loki, whispering clever seductions into his ear, but the Jotunn god, Odin’s blood brother, would not be appeased by these words.

The next morning, Soren woke, raving and tearing at his flesh, an invisible fire tormenting him.  He would calm for a time, long enough to drink water and eat a few bites of food before falling back into madness.  Only his mother’s hand on his forehead and the force of her seidr would allow him rest.

The queen sat on the edge of his bed and sang to him as she had when he was a babe until he calmed and slept.  Then she called for her other child and walked with him outside of the hall, but not straying far, should she be needed.

“Bredg, you must go to the vǫlva and ask her to beseech Loki and find what will offer Him comfort in His wrath, to spare your brother, or I think he will die a madman.”

“Mother, will she speak with me?”

“For my sake she will.  Do whatever she asks.”

The vǫlva lived in a hut near the forest, far from the hall and the farms of the other folk, for they feared her and they bored her.  The floor was clean, her few furnishing well-kept, a pot of soup boiled on the fire, and her garden was neatly weeded and flourished in the early summer light.  All as would be expected from any aged widow of good standing.

But from the ceiling hung the cleaned and rune-carved bones of a hundred animals, from the vole to the boar to man.  When Bredg entered the breeze that followed him rustled them, so they made sounds of like flutes and chimes.

“I know why you are here, son of two mothers.  To save your brother. Why would you wish to, when if he is mad you might be King?”  The woman’s gown was covered in the beaded necklaces of a thousand tributes from the warriors who had come to her for luck and blessings before going Viking and had returned with gifts of gratitude and fear.  Her face was covered in wrinkles, each speaking of her knowing years.

“I do not wish to be King.  It is better to control the one who sits at the head of the meadhall than to be that one.  I love my brother, but he lacks wisdom and I would rule through him rather than in his place.”

“You are honest for one who is loved by the God of Lies.”

“No.  But I am wise enough to know who deserves my truth.”

She laughed, and offered him water.  “You are to go raiding soon.”

“My father has called off the raid to Hibernia, since my brother cannot lead the party.”

“No.  You will go and lead.  There is monastery of females near the coast, with fat farms and lazy farmers around it.  When you take it there will be a girl there with fiery hair, which marks her as Loki’s own.  You will take her to the rock where He was bound and shed her blood there, that He might be comforted in His wrath at your brother.  Her blood will soothe the venom of the viper that drips onto His face when His wife must empty Her bowl.”

Such a sacrifice, such a request, was harsh even for one such as Loki.

Bredg frowned, “There are red-haired girls aplenty here.  I could shed the blood of a hundred in the time it would take me to go to Hibernia and drag her all the way to His rock.  Surely the blood of one maiden is as red and as sweet as that of any other.”

“But He wants the Hibernian girl,” she said, as if speaking to a dim child.

Nóirin was weeding Sister Agnes’s secondary herb garden, hidden in the trees when the Northmen came.  

She had been cursing the holy sister for an hour as she worked in the dark, her fingers stinging as she brushed thistles and then burning as the oils from some of the healing plants found their way into her wounds.  But the nun had insisted that the weeding must be done under the light of the full moon due to the delicate and efficacious nature of the herbs.

Which was bollocks as far as Nóirin was concerned.  Some business from one of the massive Latin books the Sisters kept.  She liked to read them herself, Sister Constantia having taught her the language of the old Romans just like she was one of the proper Novices and not just a servant taken in for charity’s sake, but most of them were filled with learned nonsense when it came to farming.  Stuff written by men who had never turned their hand in the dirt.

Still, she couldn’t complain.  Sister Agnes had decided that Nóirin would be her assistant since none of the current group of Novices had any aptitude with medicine, so her work was less strenuous than many of the other servants.  No working the fields or washing the endless reams of linen the holy woman dirtied, she never mucked the pigs and only had to scrub the floors in the infirmary and the herbarium. And listen to the Prioress’s urging her to take orders.

“Although your mother left you here and we have taken you in as a charitable service, you are a bright girl, Nóirin.  Not like the other servants, you could actually accomplish something with your life if you were to take orders. I could even see you starting your own monastery, if you could get your head out of the clouds for more than an hour at a time,” the elegant woman said, offering a complement as an insult and an insult as a complement.

“Rather not,” she had answered, offering no more explanation to turning down a flattering offer.  She also appreciated that the Prioress had not mentioned the honor of offering her life to the glory of Christ in her offer.  It was one thing to turn down earthly glory, but even though Nóirin’s people followed the old ways it didn’t do to insult any of the gods.  Especially the one who insisted He was alone up there.

The Prioress had been right about her thoughts being in the clouds.  Or, rather, they were simply far from the cloister. Nóirin once dreamt of life in a village, as a wife and mother.  

She dreamt of it once .

And then laughed herself silly.

What she wanted, truly wanted, was simply to go!  To be free of the Sisters, of the other servants who resented her favorite status and then also were proud that one of them was considered special, of the Novices who hated her for being little more than a slave and yet speaking Latin with hardly an accent and yet wanted her to be their friend because they were all lonely little girls.  Free of the coast and sound of the sea that taunted her with its stories of seeing the world.

To wander in the mountains.

To see cities, proper cities, like Rome or Constantinople.  

To take a boat upon a great river and watch the world she passed.

She cut her finger on her spade.  

“Fucking garden!”  She stood, sucking the wound, and when she was upright the alarm bell in the tower tolled.

Raiders.  

Leaving the basket of herbs, tucking her knife back into her boot, she ran back to the cloister, fleet and sure as a long eared hare, her earth-brown braid a flag behind her.

Bredg’s men were wild and eager.  He had chosen his raiding party for their wits as much as for their strong arms, but no man who went a-Viking was cool-headed.  Save Bredg himself.

“Remember,” he shouted above the roil of the sea as they approached the shore, “take what you will - gold, food, slaves, but -”

“Any red-haired girls are to be brought to you!”  Half of the men called.

“Untouched!”  The rest finished and all laughed.

“Don’t worry, Jarl Bredg, no one will take the auðr you’ve claimed, especially as you have said you will take no other plunder.  Hel’s tits, we’ll find you more red maids than even your cock will know what to do with!” said Thorvald, Soren’s closest sword-brother, who alone knew why their leader sought such a girl but played ignorance.

The boats glided upon the land with no more sound than a goose’s wing on the air, and they were on the farthest outlying farms before a signal could be raised.

There were no red haired girls there.  Ravens aplenty, brown haired farm maids, even a golden young wife, but none kissed with fire.

But Bredg knew she wouldn’t be found amongst the sheep, she would be in the shelter of their god’s women.

When the fires were seen the bells sounded and he knew they had to reach the convent before they could shut their gates.  The foolish women would leave them open for the peasants to run to for as long as they could and now it was a race through the fields and the thin forest to reach it first.

His men and the few shield maids who raided with them moved through the forest wolf-like and fast, prey scented and hungered for.  Bredg saw them trample a garden of healing herbs. Someone had been there that night, a basket of fresh cut plants perfumed the air.

The screams of the slower Hibernians sounded as the surest footed of his men reached the clearing where the monastery stood.  They would be in.

All was on fire when Bredg arrived, the air filled with soot and the smell of blood and fear and rage.  

He had eyes only for the girl.  She had to be here.

“There are no girls here!”  Thovald’s hoarse voice found him as he searched the chapel, filled with aging nuns who prayed to their Roman god and pretended that the Northmen were not there, under the stern eye of their Prioress.

“What?” Bredg was tired and filled with fear for his brother.  The farmers in the courtyard had put up a fight, more than was expected.  

“No girls, only these holy hags.  They must have had another way out and sent the maidens through it to spare them.”

“Find it!”

The cave was but ten yards from the tunnel that they had followed out of the cloister, but Nóirin could lead the novaites no farther.  The Northmen were everywhere, searching for them.  

For rape.

For slaves.

She had done her part, as had been instilled into her over and over by Sister Agnes should this happen, that she was to take the girls - Novices, servants, the younger nuns - and lead them to safety, no matter what else should happen.  Because she was the cleverest, and the bravest.

Nóirin felt neither now, though she had been proud as anything when she had been given the important task.  Should the Northmen come.

Now they were trapped, in a cave that felt smaller by the moment, that would sure be found by the Northern devils so loudly were some of the girls breathing.  The leader of the Vikings, the looking like very devil himself, black-haired and tall as an ancient tree, looking more to be a Gael than one of the raiders, was driving them in their heathen tongue.

It was like he could smell they were near.  

The girls huddled close to her, trying to not sob, afraid in the dark, all holding torches they could not light, all wanting her to do something that would save them.  The littlest, Grania who was the cook’s child, clutched her hand and buried her face in Nóirin’s skirt.

They were so close to the path that would lead them to safety, if the Northmen would only look away.

They needed a distraction.

Nóirin fiddled with a piece of flint like it was a holy bead and prayed for an idea.  Even a mad one. Which was the kind that came to her. With a hasty beseeching of Brigid, saint of the springtime or the goddess of fire, she wasn’t sure which she whispered to Dione, the oldest and steadiest of the novices.

“You have to take them up the path.  Keep them quiet and safe,” she whispered as she started to unhook her apron.

“And where will you be then?” the girl answered, furious, anxious, and wisely quiet.

“Out there, making a spectacle of myself,” she answered, and then added, “see if there is any pitch on one of those dark torches, then.”

“What for?”

It takes a great deal to distract men hunting for girls.

But one girl can do it.

If she is mad.

And brave.

And shouting like a bean sí.

And naked,

And her hair is on fire.

The girl ran from what looked to be nowhere straight through the mass of Bredg’s raiders, screaming loud enough to wake the dead in Ran’s hall, her long legs carrying her past the stunned men, who jumped back from the fiery rope of hair that followed her.

Bredg gave a harsh laugh and tackled her, hard enough to drive the wind from her as they rolled in the dirt, and she struggled like a wildcat but had the strength of a kitten in her scrawny body, and no idea how to fight.  Straddling her, the burning braid of her long, long hair wrapped about his fist, he leaned in and said in her ear, low and sneering, in priestly Latin, “If you come quiet then I won’t tell my men where you’ve got the other’s hiding.”

She glared at him, her eyes lit with by fire from her hair, her lips set in a growl.  He could see the defiance in her eye die.

She nodded.

One swing of his seax severed her braid, which he threw into the trees so he could no longer see her, and cursed his God for a bastard.

[volzaannir]

The 30 LDB questionnaire

So there was that 30 LDB questions ask meme floating around, and I decided to answer them all for the sake of character building and reference for myself skjfhksdjhf

Questionnaire below!

1. What is their background and backstory?

Signe was born in a small home in the Rift on the 9th of Evening Star, 4E 173, to Ragnar and Freyja, two Nords who abandoned their lives to be with each other and start a family. Ragnar (aka ‘Ragnar the Berserkir’) was an infamous mercenary in Skyrim, who would be hired through out the land and even some places beyond for his battle prowness and seemingly inability to fucking die. Freyja was an assassin for the Dark Brotherhood, an archer/mage type who was going to be chosen as the next Listener until she dropped all connections after meeting Ragnar.

She was raised a warrior and avid hunter by her father, and a novice mage and singer by her mother. Unfortunately, at the age of 6, a fire engulfed her home one night after sneaking out to climb trees. It killed both her parents and left a nasty scar on her face after some debris sliced it while trying to free the two. Signe was taken to Honorhall, where she was bullied most of the time by other kids and of course Grelod, some accusing her of starting the fire - even though she swears it was a dragon that had started it. They say grief can make a child believe many things.

At age 17, with only a few more months to go before getting kicked out of the orphanage, she encounters Brynjolf. He’s a few years older than her, and is on his own mission to prove that he’s a valuable asset to the Guild at such an age. She assists him in his little heist, and runs away to join the Guild.

At age 28, after a small mistake during a heist near the border to Cyrodiil, she attempts to cross the border to escape being caught. Of course this doesn’t work, and thus brings us to the events of the game!

2. What “class” do they follow (i.e. warrior, archer, mage, thief, etc.)?

She’s a warrior, archer, and thief! 

3. How do they feel about being Dragonborn- does the identity feel right for them and did they embrace it immediately? Do they consider themselves a true dragon?

At first, Signe took to it slowly, still rattled from the suddenness of it all. First Helgen, then needing to tell the Jarl, then fighting a dragon and absorbing its soul, then being yelled at by four old men at the top of a mountain, and being thrown into quests here and there for so many reasons. She takes to it easily and enjoys the bouts of praise here and there during the events of Dawnguard, but it’s not until after defeating Alduin that she realized how much of a toll it takes on her mentally. While the authority is nice, she’s still too humble to go about bragging about it to those who don’t know her off the bat. She wished she could have earned her reputation like her father, rather than becoming a legend overnight. 

4. At present, how are they perceived by the people of Skyrim? By the general population, and by different factions?

By the general public, she’s of course seen as a hero, but a hero that causes a little too much damage for what’s needed. Not to mention she’s chaotic, loud, disrespectful, sleeps around, and takes no shit. But they know she’s necessary.

She’s a constant contract by the Dark Brotherhood and Morag Tong, competition to fractions like the Comonna Tong and Summerset Shadows, and always pressured into joining the Companions. (She would, but they don’t offer a big enough thrill for her- not to mention the whole werewolf thing)  

5. How were they perceived before their Dragonborn identity became widely known?

She was a Thieves Guild member and Nightingale, so within the ranks she was looked up to and respected. Outside of the ratways, though, she was just any other Nord citizen; only few knew of her amorous adventures though, as she makes sure it’s kept under wraps.

6. How are they perceived by the major villains- Alduin, Harkon, Miraak, etc.?

Alduin: He sees her as he sees the LDB in game; an obstacle and threat he needs to eradicate.

Harkon: An asset that immediately turns into a threat when she refuses to help them.

Miraak: Similar to Alduin, but grows more and more frustrated with how skilled she is in her young, young age. 

7. How much do they utilize the power of Thu'um? Do they actively try to expand their inborn abilities through research and exploration? Or are they less invested?

Signe uses Aura Whisper like how we need to breathe to live. She uses it to see where she should either avoid or take caution of, as well as alert her followers where enemies may be! It helps for when she’s looting too, as she need to plan how to knock them out first. Signe doesn’t like to kill innocent folk. As for others, she uses Unrelenting Force mainly when she’s annoyed by something in her way, Dragon Aspect when the enemy is insanely powerful, and Storm Call when she needs a distraction! The Thu’um is useful, but she’s not heavily invested in it, until way later on in her journey after the events of Dragonborn.

8. If they were to invent a shout, what shout would they create? Bonus if you can come up with the words of the shout in dragon language.

It works similar or such to Dragon Aspect, but could like, literally turn you into a dragon for a short time. I thought since the DB has the blood and soul of a dragon, then with some effort surely they can call forth their soul to turn their flesh to match, right?

It would be a Shout containing some from of these words: Ofan (Bestow), Dov (Dragon), Slen (Flesh), Sil (Soul), Rii (Essence), Gron (Bind); I haven’t found an order that really ‘rings’ yet. 

Otherwise, it would be the name given to their dragon soul, like how you call to Odahviing. In Signe’s case, it would be ‘Volzaannir’: Vol (Horror), Zaan (Shout [as in yell, shriek, etc.]), and Nir (Hunt). All three words are reference to a barn owl, which is her pet/familiar, since they’re known for their horrific shrieking and astounding hunting skills.

9. Whether they are magical or not- if they were to invent a spell for their own uses, that does not already exist in Skyrim, what kind of spell would they come up with?

Conjure dragon familiar! A spectral dragon will appear to fight for you for 90 - 300 seconds.

10. Which factions are they aligned with? Including civil war sides, Thalmor, guilds etc.

Thieves Guild, Dawnguard (not active), and TECHNICALLY the Imperials even though she considers herself a neutral force who just wants this shit to end.

11. If they had a pet or magical familiar as in ESO (excluding the dogs in Skyrim) what creature would it be?

She actually already has one! It’s a barn owl named Hyl (Danish for ‘shriek’).

12. Which standing stone have they used for the longest and why?

Thief stone, since it levels up sneak and such easily. 

13. Dungeon delving- are they a fan? Do they do it for fun, or money, or just because of circumstance? Do they prefer Dwemer or Nordic ruins?

Signe did it in the past for the loot, and still kinda does, though after becoming Dragonborn it’s kinda become her daily tasks lmao. She’s more familiar with Nordic ruins, but Dwemer ruins are unique and fun to explore.

14. What is their personal favorite place in Skyrim- a town, hold, home, dungeon, or just a natural spot they happen to have a fondness for?

One is an area just above the Twilight Sepulcher, where you go to defeat the Guardian Bear in Kyne’s Sacred Trials; there’s a fairy ring and a shrine to Akatosh here, as well as a beautiful view!

Another one is where I also envision her old home being, before it was burnt down, as there are remains of a possible building there. It’s a little Northeast of Ivarstead, on top of a hill where you would meet a Whispmother.

15. What is their personal LEAST favorite place in Skyrim- somewhere that annoys them, or comes with bad memories, or otherwise?

Windhelm. It’s a beautiful city, of course, but the PEOPLE…. They’re just so awful and rude (Not including the Grey Quarter). Every time she’s there she always finds herself getting into a fistfight with some racist Nord asshole.

16. Where did they choose to live and what drew them there? Does it really feel like home?

She chooses to settle in Lakeview Manor, as it’s close to Riverwood - one of the only places Teldryn finds habitable, and she can agree. Although, she always finds herself missing the beautiful golden and red birch of the Rift. If she could have one of the homes from ESO in the Rift, she’d absolutely choose one of those. 

17. What’s their style- do they tend to wear armor and if so, what sort? Otherwise what’s their average day-to-day clothing?

Signe’s armor is an alteration of Nordic carved steel mixed with dragon scales/bones, and has a variety of rune engravings and patterns befitting a walking prophecy. Before being Dragonborn, she normally wore the usual Thieves Guild attire, or her Nightingale uniform. Her day to day wear is typically a comfy fitting tunic and pants with well worn boots, and her sleepwear is similar to a miner shirt, but longer and only the shirt.

18. Your Dragonborn is now an actual dragon- what do they look like? Do they possess any unique features or abilities?

OHHH YES I WAS HOPING FOR THIS KIND OF QUESTION.

Signe actually has a dragon form! But she doesn’t harness it till way later in the game, after all the main quests. Her Dragon Aspect form reflects some of it, however.

Her dragon form is called Volzaannir [see question 8 for details], and she’s what I would call a Crested Dragon; a dragon that is partially feathers, the end of their muzzle is beaked, and is a tad thinner to allow more fluid aerodynamics. She utilizes shouts that call upon more natural forces, or invoke fear/frenzy, or conjure a variety of types of thralls. (Storm Call is a common one, Animal Allegiance, Cyclone, Dismay, Drain Vitality, Marked for Death, Soul Tear, and sometimes Frost Breath if fighting head-on).

19. Which NPC have they killed and regretted it?

Signe doesn’t like to kill, at all. It stems far before she even joined the Thieve’s Guild, and was thankful that they valued that rule as well. But, just because she doesn’t like to, doesn’t mean she won’t; she has to survive after all, and that means killing when justified. 

She hasn’t regretted any of her intentional kills; however, she does mourn the loss of lives when they have become collateral damage. After a dragon attack, or rescuing travelers being attacked by bears, anything like that, there’s always lives she could not save in the pursuit of rescue. She often times feels survivors guilt - terribly so after Helgen, especially.

20. Which NPC have they killed and absolutely NOT regretted it (excluding the major villains)?

Ulfric and Mercer Frey.

Mercer was the first person she ever intentionally killed, driven near mad at the hurt from his betrayal. She squeezed his throat and held him under the water of Irkngthand, effectively drowning him slowly, eyes locked on his water-distorted face. The pure bloodlust she felt frightened her afterward, leaving her shaken and vowing to keep whatever that was under check.

She did not personally kill Ulfric, but she was the one who decided his fate in the end. When the Civil War is won, she summons Ulfric to death by Blood Eagle, and remains face-to-face with him until he dies - making sure her disappointment is the last thing he ever sees.

21. Do they worship any of the Divines, and if so, which do they have the strongest affinity for?

Kyne and Akatosh! (Or any name they go by in each culture). She mainly worships Kyne, feeling the strongest connection to her through culture, history, and soul.

22. Which Daedric Prince(s) do they end up most aligned to, if any? Which artifacts do they own and which do they actively make use of?

She aligns to Nocturnal majorly, thanks to being a Nightingale, and finds her to be surprisingly well-tempered and benevolent sometimes. Signe also finds herself more familiar with Azura, thanks to traveling with Teldryn most of the time - but she holds no judgement, and encourages worship if it brings others comfort or clearance.

While Nocturnal’s artifact, the Skeleton Key, is in its rightful place, she still holds the powers of Nocturnal’s Agents; typically switching between the Agent of Shadow and Subterfuge. 

23. Which non-Daedric artifacts/magical items do they make regular use of?

A Stahlrim bow, dragonbone arrows, dragonbone swords (dual wield, one has electrical damage and the other traps souls), and two Stahlrim daggers affectionately named Frostbite (frost damage) and Freezer Burn (fire damage).

24. How did they respond to Miraak and what do they feel about him? Do they regret killing him? Did they spare him?

She saw Miraak as a threat at first, obviously, but there is of course that melancholy feeling of wishing he wasn’t so power-obsessed… He is the only other Dragonborn she (or anyone, in the 4th Era) has ever met, and he could have helped her in her quests, in defeating Alduin, in teaching her how to live with these powers and their consequences - being a mentor. Signe had planned on sparing him, attempting to convince him to escape Apocrypha with her, to live a new life on Nirn… But in battle, when his mask falls off, she finally gets a solid glimpse at his soul through his eyes, and realizes his mind is too far gone to save. Too tortured, too desperate, too power-hungry. Death is the kindest thing she could give him, while still keeping Nirn safe.

25. Which of the Dragon Priest masks do they favor and wear the most? If the answer is Konahrik, pick the second favorite too.

Signe doesn’t wear the masks, as she feels there’s too much evil floating around in them, no matter how fuckin’ cool they look. She’s not against the Dragon Priests themselves, just that the history and power held within the specific masks makes her anxious and uncomfortable. If she were to create her own (and she does), then she would wear it.

26. Which follower(s) would they never go anywhere without? On a personal level, what is their relationship with the follower(s) in question like and why do they stick with them?

TELDRYN. SERO. He’s her partner in crime, the only one brave enough to be her damage control, and who's always been at her side at the worst of times… and still willingly chooses to be. Signe met him when she was delivering a letter to Glover from Delvin (well before the main quest, but after Dawnguard), and decided to rest a bit in the Retching Netch overnight before heading back to Skyrim. His stupid charm and humor was enough to convince her to let him tag along, and she’ll never regret it.

Not only does she find out later on that he used to be good - if not best - friends with her father, the two of them being infamous mercenaries for hire in their respective countries. They slowly fall in love, cliche I know, but trust me - after the shit they’ve been through and bond over, how could they not?

27. If your Dragonborn were an in-game boss fight, what would their lair be like? What enemies would help them in the fight (if any) and what quest might lead to another hero having to fight them?

Ohhhohohoo boy, this one’s a fun one. 

First off, her lair would be similar to ruins like Skuldafn, or the Blades headquarters, somewhere difficult to get to and holding this ancient aesthetic to it. Either that, or her very own plane of Oblivion, a pocket containing a strange mix of both Apocrypha, the Evergloom, and the Quagmire. A place of knowledge and wisdom and history that still holds unimaginable terror and secrets and madness. 

What could lead to battling her perhaps is due to how she devotes her life after the events of Skyrim; seeking to bring forth her dragon blood and soul forth to not only give her a dragon form, but extend her life as well, as she has an underlying fear of death. If she cannot go to Sovngarde and be with her parents due to her soul being promised to Daedric Princes, then the afterlife is not something she looks forward to. However, she did not anticipate the toll an extended life would take on her human mind. Perhaps Teldryn and Ondolemar passed away somehow and she can’t bring herself to take another lover, she can’t make friends because she knows she’ll see them die too, and dragon companions to not hold the same kind of compassion or humor or affection her fellow mortals could. 

She becomes reckless, often times falling into episodes of paranoia and madness, and people have noticed. Some worship her like the Dragon Priests in ancient times, but the others fear what she may be capable of. Signe may have holed herself away in that lair of hers, but the public still fears her power, and knows she was not meant to live as long as she has. Soldiers and mages and wizards and heroes alike are sent to grant her death, but are never successful, as her insanity and fear has brought her to sending dragons of all kinds after anyone who dares try and approach her with malice-intent. If your aura holds no hostility, however, you could be lucky and hold a conversation with a possible demi-god such as her; beware, as her dragons watch over your every move from the stone arcs and towers above.

She is the Last Dragonborn, and you WILL show her respect, even if it means getting on your knees and praying to her as if she were a god. And perhaps she is.

28. What are their greatest assets, both in terms of in-game skills and otherwise? What gave them the upper hand that allowed them to defeat Alduin?

Archery, dual-wielding, sneak, lock-picking, pick-pocketing, charisma/speech, and smithing have been the most helpful throughout her life thus far. As for defeating Alduin and Miraak and Harkon, though, it would have to be her resilience and determination to protect the life amongst Nirn. Without such personal strength and wit, she would have given up for sure.

29. What do they do post-Skyrim, once all the main quests are finished? What happens to them in the aftermath?

It’s tough for Signe to come to terms with the thought that technically, everything is over. The journey’s have made her an adrenaline junky, they’ve brought new nightmares, and there are fractions up the wazoo who still want her dead despite doing nothing to harm them. The Black Books and Herma Mora haunting her have caused her to act relatively ‘insane’ at some points; she’s gained too much of a reputation as a hero to really return to her Nightingale days; and being a mercenary isn't up her alley. 

Her overall dream in life was to just settle in a cottage somewhere in the Rift and carve wood and bones for a living, take up smithing and open an armor and weapons shop called “Helm of Awe”. But of course after having her life altered so intensely in such a short time, it’s taken its toll on her, and left her too restless to fully settle down. 

So, she takes her band of Merry Mer (Teldryn and Ondolemar lmao) and they travel all over, looting burrows and taking high-risk jobs. 

She also takes up researching and meditating on Words of Power, aiming to create a Shout that allows her to harness the entirety of her dragon soul - all the way to flesh. Signe also looks into ways to bring her dragon blood and soul more forward, less buried in her spirit, to lengthen her life more; purely for the sake of her Mer lovers, though there’s an underlying fear there too. [See question 27]

30. Are they proud of themselves? Do they see themselves as a hero?

She is proud, deep down, because she knows in the end it’s for the betterment and safety of the world. A hero? Absolutely. Signe may be humble in the present about her position, but not even the kindest person on Nirn could pass up the chance to brag about saving the world thrice over.

VERY IMPORTANT BONUS QUESTION: In their opinion, who is the best dog in all Skyrim?

MEEKO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[jflashandclash]

Tales From Mount Othrys

Ajax: Birth of the Triple A Chimera II

           Upon hearing they were surrounded by Romans, Alabaster put on music. If Pax had to guess, this meant the Witch Boy had conceited defeat and wanted Axel and Pax to be comfortable in their last minutes. The phones lines were already down. The Romans must have cut those first while getting into position. Might as well relax to music before they cut the power too.

         “I won’t be able to hear—” Axel protested over Pax’s metal mix.

         “And they won’t either,” Alabaster hissed. His fingers rifled through the boxes, refrigeration tanks, and crates. He didn’t look down while he searched, trusting—unwisely—that Pax and Matt hadn’t boobytrapped anything.

         While Alabaster sought ingredients and pre-rendered runes, Axel tore through their supplies for weapons. He found an antique harpoon gun from Alabaster’s private stash of awesome, several lengths of electrical cord for the band equipment, actual rope, dissection equipment, spikes, and a few crowbars.

         They already counted Axel’s sword and Pax’s utility belt. There weren’t many weapons attached on the belt, but Pax had taken to hoarding smoke bombs from their band supplies and darts from the lounge. When they didn’t think Dr. Thorn was paying attention, Pax and Matt liked to throw darts at his spikes and use the smoke bombs as cover in their retreat.  

         Alabaster cursed, withdrawing his gloved hand from a Styrofoam box of dry ice. “Do they know you that you spotted them—”

         “No. I don’t think anyone saw me, or they didn’t indicate if they did. On our hopeless exit options: the back door is locked and barricaded with boxes from when Matt unloaded earlier,” Pax said. Alabaster had been frustrated that Matthias completely blocked the back exit; however, Matt’s impertinence might buy them a few more minutes of cowering and pathetic farewells. “The windows are still shut and locked since you think fresh air is evil or something—”

         “It’s to their benefit to charge us from more than one angle,” Axel said, dumping a box of artifacts on the floor. A PVC pipe rolled out beside some naked, wooden statues. Leave it to Alabaster to have porn in the form of long-dead people doing some kind of mud dance. Axel tossed the PVC pipe to Pax. Pax caught it, feeling along the holes. Not the best make-shift blow dart gun, but it would do. “If we can funnel them, their numbers mean nothing. Ajax, did you see explosives or a Bear Cat?”

         Despite everything, Pax almost dropped the pipe in his delight. His mouth slipped open and he giggled with—

         Axel paused in his rifling to glare at Pax. “The armored vehicle. The kind that rams down walls.”

         “Though, also a species in Southeast Asia that I promise to turn you into if we get out of this alive,” Alabaster muttered.

         From the name of that animal, it must have been cute. Pax tried not to tremble at the words “if we get out of this alive.”

         “No Bearcat,” Pax said. He wracked his brain. “I didn’t see any vehicles.” Which made Pax wonder if the Romans had taxied here with all of their weapons or if there was a flock of eagles perched atop the building like the most overloaded phone line. Knowing how big they were, Pax guessed the ceiling would be sagging if that were the case. “Just that Mr. Friendly Bryce and his Done-With-This-Shirt Centurion, Ari and their gang.”

         “Ari,” Axel echoed. He froze. His gaze unfocused as his tufted ears sank into his hairline. “Ari? Julian’s girlfriend? She’s supposed to be in university—unless… she came back to the military to avenge him…” His fingers sank to his chest, where a single medal—Julian’s praetorian badge—hung from a strip of leather.

         Pax hadn’t meant to say her name and hadn’t meant for Axel to put together who she was. He puffed up his cheeks and popped them. After the air left his lungs, Pax jumped to his feet, waving his hands towards the ceiling. "Axel! Earth to fucking, badass Axel! We. Here. Going to die. Not just you. We probably only have minutes left. You can feel guilty about Julian’s death on your own time!”

         Sure, Axel woke up screaming from the shame and trauma or whatever, but this wasn’t the place for Pax’s brother to stare off into the distance and soliloquize about his sins.

         Axel shook his head. The hand near his chest clenched into a fist. “Fifteen, you said?” His ears shot up as he scowled at the “weapons” in front of him. “That’s too many for me. We can’t just pick them off. They’re Romans. They’ll group and we’ll get swarmed. Alabaster?”

         Alabaster’s posture looked so rigid that he could have been a statue. A frown tugged his lip in a way Pax normally found cute. “If they were all in one area and none of us where in that area, I might be able to take them out with an elemental explosion of sorts, but I would need time that we don’t have for ritual casting and their utmost cooperation to die”

         “Cho,” Axel said. His eyes darted to the entrance of the inner laboratory. If this were anyone other than Pax’s badass, infallible brother, Pax might have guessed panic was setting in. “Think. Think. There’s too many to fight.” Axel unsheathed his sword, stalking between the narrows labyrinth of boxes in the world’s shortest bout of pacing. “We can’t channel them so their numbers don’t matter; we might get flanked if they break through a window. We don’t have enough supplies to barricade all the doors effectively and they could just set the building on fire if we did. We don’t know what individual powers they have. What did older generals do when they were outnumbered and out maneuvered?”

         The idea struck Pax so hard that he thought it must have come from some divine source. He would thank his mother (or maybe Prometheus) later. For proper dramatic effect, he snapped his fingers. “The Romans don’t know that we’re outnumbered and outmaneuvered. Not for sure.”

         Alabaster’s lip quivered. His emerald gaze danced to Pax. “Didn’t Mercedes’ reports say they weren’t sure if Axel was a monster? And me, a mad scientist?”

         “That’s it!” Axel inhaled deeply. “We’ll Zhuge Liang[1] it, or at least a variation of Empty Fort strategy.” He pivoted to their scattered band equipment. “They’re prepared for witchcraft. Not stage performance.” There was a plan formulating in Axel’s head—Pax could tell since he was no longer saying things that would incur a sand-and-soap mouth washing from their Chiich.

         Alabaster hesitated, his gloved hand squeezing the lid to the Styrofoam case. He mumbled something in Latin: a prayer, an incantation, or a final request for McDonald? Pax wasn’t sure. When his eyes opened, they blazed. “I’ll get the vat of dried ice in the back. Hecate bless us, I can’t believe I’m leaving things up to luck with you two. It’s like betting against loaded dice.”

         Pax, who hadn’t gambled much, resented this comment; he and Axel would most likely be using loaded dice. This almost not-suicidal plan and Alabaster’s cynical “hurrah” made Pax swallow. Now, they just needed to pull the plan off and have nothing go wrong, something that definitely wasn’t in their track record.  

 ***

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! Tune in next week to see Pax’s fanfiction of the events. I hope you guys are staying safe and healthy!

 Footnote:

[1] In the Romance of the Three Kingdoms, Zhuge Liang opened all the gates of the city he defended and sat atop a platform, where he played his guqin. The enemy leader, Sima Yi, ordered a retreat since this looked too much like a set up for ambush.

[gingerpeachtae]

Concentric [8.1]

masterlist

Words: 2.6k

Genres: fantasy!AU, angst, fluff, enemies to lovers, eventual smut (?)

Warnings: some sad boi times ✊

Summary: You had been ready for the end of the semester. You had been ready to spend time away from your best friend, Jimin, and finally move on from the feelings you harbored. Yet, after your friend was forced to reveal a secret, you found yourself in a new world that was chock full of magic, war, and wonder. So, here you were, basically thrown into your own fantasy novel, with your best friend on one side, and six male warriors on the other.

A/N: A BIG THANK YOU TO EVERYONE FOR BEING SO PATIENT AND SENDING IN THE BEST MESSAGES TO REASSURE ME. I WUV YOU. 💜

You sat on the counter and swung your legs as you took another bite out of your apple. You happily munched on the green fruit, savoring the slightly tart flavor as juice dribbled down your fingers onto your wrist. You glanced at Tae out of the corner of your eye. He, too, was eating an apple, although his was deep red in color. “The green ones are too sour for me” he had told you, declining the one you had held out to him. You smiled softly at how he was also swinging his legs. It looked as though he hadn’t got a care in the world. Before today, you might’ve believed that. The thought made your smile falter slightly.

Just don’t ask about it. It might upset him again.

You took a final bite and set the core down next to your thigh, wiping your juicy hands off on your pants. “So, what’s this whole ‘trainee fighting seminar’ thingy gonna be about?”

Tae took a moment to swallow the food in his mouth before replying. “Well, I would assume that it will be a seminar… about fighting… for the trainees.” His blue eyes glinted teasingly.

Thank you, Captain Obvious.

You reached up to tug on his feather earring. “What I meant was what do you think we will be doing?”

“Not my fault you didn’t specify that to begin with!”

“Geez, why do I bother putting up with you?” You chuckled and rolled your eyes while giving the Saeni next to you a nudge, not noticing how he flinched at your words.

“You… you really shouldn’t. I’m not worth it.”

You looked at the Saeni in shock, your chuckle instantly transforming into a choking sound of disbelief. How could he just… say something like that?

Like before, he was avoiding your eyes and began fiddling with his hands. His legs no longer swinging.

Way to go, you dumb bitch. You mentally smacked the hell out of yourself.

“Tae…” you hesitantly began, not wanting to make him feel any worse. “Please don’t say that.”

He clenched his hands into fists and blinked rapidly as if he was trying to keep a handle on his emotions. “Why not? It’s true.”

Your jaw dropped at his absurd statement, but you only paused for a second before you shook your head and pried his closest fist open so that you could thread your fingers through his.

“You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to, but I will not let you think that about yourself. You’re sweet, caring, funny, loyal, and honestly one of the best people I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. You are the person who made me feel comfortable in this new world. You are the person who always keeps me company. You are the person who makes me smile the most these days. You’ve become one of my best friends. Never think that you aren’t worthwhile because you truly, truly are.”

“But I-”

“And if you don’t believe me, I’ll just keep repeating myself in various ways until you do!”

He let out a sad laugh and looked at you, allowing you to view the tears tracking down his unsure face. “You might not have the time to do that. The training semin-”

“Fuck the seminar. This is more important. You’re more important.”

“But-“

“Taehyung is the best! He is so fucking amazing!”

“S-stop!” He stammered out, heat rushing to his face as you screamed about everything that made him so wonderful.

“TAE IS THE BEST ARCHER! HIS SKILLS ARE UNMATCHED! AND HIS FACE!? HANDSOME AS FUCK! THE MOST GORGEOUS MALE IN HIS ENTIRE KEILA! HE-”

He slapped a hand over your mouth with wide eyes, muffling the remainder of your declarations. “Do you want Jin hyung to kill you!?”

You winked at him, happy to see that despite the pain and insecurities still floating behind his eyes, he was at least smiling a bit now. As he removed his hand, you sighed and gently moved the hair that flopped over his headband and into his eyes to the side.

“I’m serious, though, Tae.”

He leaned into your touch and you watched as his bottom lip trembled slightly. Before you could attempt to reassure him again, he closed his eyes and took several deep breaths.

After a few moments, he reopened his lids and in a small voice, said, “You should know. About what they said.”

You didn’t respond verbally, you only nodded to let him know that he had your full attention.

He averted his gaze from you again as he whispered, “‘Rootless.’ ‘Stump.’ They’re slang terms, discriminatory terms, for Saeni who’s draeva have… died.”

With a jolt, you suddenly remembered how silent Tae had gotten when you were learning about draeva marks and how Jungkook had come and put his arm around the older Saeni.

Fucking hell, Tae. I’m so sorry we talked about that in front of you.

“My draeva was a juniper tree…” He smiled faintly at the memory, but it quickly turned melancholic. “It got caught in a forest fire an-” The sobs starting to erupt from deep within him made his throat too chocked up to finish.

“Oh, Tae…” You enclosed the now crying Saeni in your arms and held him as tightly as you could as he clung to you.

The two of you stayed that way for several minutes, providing Tae with as much time as he needed to get the tears out of his system. Finally, he lightened his hold on you and you gave him one more squeeze before leaning back to wipe at his damp cheeks while he cleared his throat.

“Two years ago, there was a really big fire and my draeva didn’t survive.” He took a deep breath to further settle himself. “My connection to the forest was severed and my draeva mark disappeared. I literally felt it being pulled out of my soul. Like it was being uprooted. It hurt… it hurt so much.”

Afterwards, he said that he just went numb. To everything. He could no longer feel the forest and he lost his sense of self. He didn’t know what to do. He said he had felt utterly empty and it only got worse once others found out what had happened. Without his brothers, he didn’t think that he would have been strong enough to overcome the animosity that stemmed from others at his situation. They blamed him for what had happened, stating that he should have protected his draeva as if there was a way to do so against a freaking forest fire.

You heart stung for your friend as he continued, describing how there’s a rune that allows a Saeni to share part of his draeva connection with another, but with a catch. It shortens the giver’s lifespan and decreases their connection to the forest by transferring what is taken to the receiver. All of the boys in the kiela tried to give Tae the rune, but he wouldn’t let them. He said he couldn’t bear the thought of them losing their connections too, even if it was only a little bit. Eventually, after months of begging, Tae was finally convinced to let his dad give him the rune.

You didn’t say anything for a minute, fully digesting everything he had told you while wishing you could go back in time to deck every one of those fuckers from earlier in their nether regions. 

At your silence, his breathing began to quicken, thinking that it meant you thought less of him.

Realizing he was about to become undone again, you quickly, but genuinely, said, “Tae, I don’t care if you have a draeva mark, a rune, or a damn Cheeto tattoo. Whatever happened isn’t going to make me care for you any less.”

“Even… even though I’m not whole anymore?” His voice held a sliver of hope as he awaited your response.

You gave him a warm smile and began prodding and inspecting around his body before starting to tickle him, causing giggles to escape past his lips. “Hmmmm? I don’t see anything missing? What is this ‘not being whole’ blasphemy which you speak of? You look perfect to me.”

His giggles grew louder and louder as he tried to wiggle his body away from you. “Q-quit it! I… c-can’t… breath!” He choked out between his laughter.

You eventually relented and gave the poor boy some relieve. While he steadied his breathing, you located a clean cup from a shelf and filled it up with water from the hollowed-out branch that acted as a faucet. You really weren’t sure where or how the water came out since there didn’t appear to be any plumbing, but you shrugged it off as a magic user’s doing.

You walked back to Tae and handed him the full cup, instructing him to drink at least half. Satisfied when he did as you said, you settled yourself on top of the counter beside him again.

“Thank you, Y/N. For everything… and you’re one of my best friends now too.”

You hummed in acknowledgment and contentment while raising your hands and placing them on his cheeks. Turning his head to face yours, you then proceeded to squish his cheeks together, pulling them upward so that he was grinning chubbily.

“There’s that adorable, boxy smile!”

“Ya!” He swatted your hands away, but you didn’t care because he was smiling for real now. “Just because I did that to you doesn’t mean that you can do it to me, little scorja!”

“I’m pretty sure it does.” You pursed your lips. “Plus, I just like squishing your cheeks. It’s cute.”

“Oh, so you think I’m cute?” He slyly, but in an over-the-top way, inquired.

Good lord, I’m going to get whiplash from how many times his mood shifts today. Not that it isn’t justified, though.

You chortled as you sighed and gave him a pat on his chest. “Honey, you’re literally one of the most attractive people I’ve ever seen. So… yeah, you’re cute.”

He made a joyful noise and started swinging his legs again. The endearing action brought an interesting thought to your mind.

“You know, I might’ve started crushing on you if I didn’t already li-” You snapped your mouth shut mid-sentence while your eyes widened in horror as you realized what you’d said.

Of course, you’d let it slip that you liked someone to the biggest gossip head in the kiela. Shit. Shit. Shit! You scrambled to divert the topic, stuttering and completely failing to do so successfully.

Meanwhile as alarms were blasting off in your brain, Tae gasped in shock and observed your panicking form before shrieking, “YOU… YOU LIKE SOMEONE!? WHO!? PLEASE, PRETTY PLEASE TELL ME IT’S KOOKIE. I’VE DREAMT ABOUT YOU TWO TOGETHER, I SWEAR TO ILLAI YOU WOULD BE THE CUTEST COUP-”

It was your turn to smash a hand over a mouth. “It is not that asshat! Also, in regards to your last sentence… what, and I cannot stress this enough, the fuck!?”

The Saeni wiggled his dark eyebrows at you and did his best to speak around your hand. “O, com oon, Y/N! Yu don haf ta lie ta mee!”

You groaned in frustration and pulled your hand back. “For the second, and last, time, it is not Jungkook! And please stop dreaming about us. That’s so weird!”

“Ah! You said ‘us!’”

You went to fake throttle the Saeni. “Why you little-”

A sudden outburst of giggles caused you and Tae to spin around. Peeking out from behind the door that led to and from the kitchen was the lilac head of the princess of Illain.

“Sorry to interrupt! I just needed to grab a few things…”

You hastily lowered your hands and stepped away from Tae in an effort to appear somewhat normal. “Oh, um, you’re fine. That conversation was over anyways.” You made a point to glare at the male who only shook his head stubbornly at you.

Jiae laughed at Tae’s reaction, hiding her mouth behind a hand as she moved around the kitchen to place various items into the basket looped around her forearm.

You went to open your mouth but hesitated and closed it. Only to do it yet again. Finally, you just mentally screamed at yourself to just ask already.

“Hey, Jiae? Er, Princecss Jaie?”

“Jiae is fine!”

“Jiae, okay. Um… is Jimin alright? Have you seen him this morning?”

“Jimin?” Her hand paused briefly in its course to grab a loaf of bread. “Oh! You mean Chim! He… he was very upset yesterday. After a while, I was able to calm him down a bit and then we just talked and caught up with each other. He seemed to be in a better mood when he left to go to sleep.”

She hummed to herself and stuffed the bread into the basket. “As for this morning, I’m actually getting all this for a picnic with him!”

Oh…

You hoped she missed the slight wince on your face before you morphed it into a smile. “Well, it’s a beautiful morning. I hope you two have a good time.”

And you did. You really did. Just as Jimin wasn’t your keeper and couldn’t decide things for you, you weren’t his. He was free to do what he wanted. With whom he wanted.

Can’t say it didn’t hurt, though. Knowing that you would never be the one he would want to go on cute picnics with in the early hours of the day. Knowing that you were never going to be person he wanted more with.

But yet, while it hurt to hear, you were almost… glad? It was a reminder that your best friend didn’t return your feelings, and while it wasn’t the most pleasant thought, it was one you probably needed. You had subconsciously gotten hopeful ever since you learnt Jimin’s secret, thinking that you knowing the truth might spark some romantic feelings in your friend. But it hadn’t. And it was time to come to terms with the fact that he will never see you in that way.

You couldn’t even resent Jiae for whatever was going on between her and Jimin. She seemed like a sweet girl and you weren’t going to wrongfully hate her because she may end up “stealing” the guy who wasn’t even yours to begin with. Maybe this, whatever it was between them, was the push you needed to finally and fully accept your forever friend-zoned status. 

You saw Tae give you a questioning look as you gnawed on your lower lip with your teeth, lost in thought. Only when Jiae exclaimed her goodbyes did you snap out of it. You muttered a “bye” and waved as she closed the kitchen door behind her.

“Hmm.” You heard Tae muse beside you.

“Oh, what is it now, you dream creep?”

“Hey! Also, I think I know who it is.” His eyes flickered with pride at his deduction.

You let out a long sigh since it wasn’t exactly hard to pick up what he was referring to. “Yeah, well, it’s time I move on and forget about it. About him in that way. And so should you.” You pointed a finger at the grey-haired Saeni and narrowed your eyes.

He crossed his arms and looked at you defiantly, not intimidated in the slightest. A far cry from how he had been previously this morning.

“Only if that means I can still picture you and Kook together.”

You slowly inhaled and trailed a hand down your face. “Ugh, fine, whatever. Just keep your weird shipping dreams to yourself. Also, when was that training thing starting? We’ve been in here for a while.”

Tae cursed and grabbed your wrist, yanking you down from the counter and making a beeline for the door.

“Aish! Kookie is gonna be so mad if you’re late!”

As you and Tae hurried over to where you needed to be, you wondered what that asshat was doing. You were still curious as to why he had acted so strange before Tae dragged you away to get food. Maybe you would ask him about it later. Regardless, you just prayed that whatever he had signed you up for wouldn’t be the death of you. Both physically and figuratively.

previous [7] — next [8.2]

[saintjosaphime]

Wishful Thinking|| Morgan and Josephine

Just your average run to the witch supply store.

After being in White Crest for so long, one would naturally develop a curiosity for things that weren’t quite within their realm. And although Josephine understood that her abilities were gifted through magic and used powerful magicks, she found herself quite interested in the more...mortal versions of it. There were so many kinds! Alchemy, elemental, summoning, healing! It was absolutely fascinating. And it was with this mindset that Josephine found herself at one of the local magic shops-- a real magic shop, not the magic shop downtown that sold “energized crystals” that were just painted quartz-- perusing the shelves for anything that caught her eye. But halfway through her shopping, something else caught her eye, something much more interesting. A someone, technically. 

She’d walked into the shop with a bit of a sulk, but it wasn’t her saunter that gave her away-- no, it was the waves and waves of sadness and angst rolling off of her. Buried deep underneath it all, an anger. One that Josephine felt herself all too eager for. It was a familiar anger. The kind she dealt in. Someone close to this woman had wronged her, and by the way her curls sagged on her head, it was someone she had cared for very much. Josephine put on a grin. She sidled around the corner, pretending to be occupied with something or other, before reaching out as if to grab the same thing this woman was reaching for. “Oh! I’m sorry, you go ahead,” she said, giving a pleasant smile.

Morgan was just going to pick up some good basics for her supply box--now that she and Cece were out in the open about the whole magic thing, she could grab more than just what she could hide under the bed or in her thermos. Just a run, like going to the supermarket, and maybe if she’d managed to go right after classes it would have been, but now it was past five. The sun was already quitting on the world for the day and the working witches were strolling the aisles with their families. It was stupid--everyone had a family, even if it wasn’t alays a good one--but something about Mom, Dad, and Screaming Baby made the boards that held up her soul threaten to give. And maybe it was creepy, following the sound of stroller wheels over an aisle and becoming super fascinated with some mugwort she did not need, but Morgan couldn’t help herself. The kid was in a princess elsa onesie, kicking her little feet and grasping clumsily for rune stones she couldn’t reach. She was crying. Aren’t you going to do anything? It’s not that hard, just fix it. Fix it. And in came the dad, some ritual urn on his hip, scooped up his little bundle of hope and gave her a good rock. Enjoy it while it lasts, kid, she thought. The girl looked up from her Dad’s shoulder and flashed a toothless smile.

Morgan turned away and reached for the glass phials she's actually come for. Too much. Way too much. Time to get home, grade papers, and find out whether it was going to be a cuddle and fuck the pain away kind of night or the stare into the dark and pray for sleep kind. 

There was a woman’s hand next to hers, brushing close. Morgan jumped back. “Sorry!” she said. “No, I didn’t see you. You can, um, go ahead. I should’ve been paying attention. Really.” Her smile was big, even pleasant, as she insisted, but her arms locked tight around her chest, holding herself up until the exchange could be over. 

Oh, this was much worse off than Josephine had originally thought. The way the other woman held herself, the jerk when they’re hands touched, that look on her face that said ‘Please just let this be over’. It bothered Josephine. Whoever had done this to this poor woman, they deserved to suffer. A frown furrowed Josephine’s face, unable to stop the involuntary motion. “I don’t mean to pry,” she found herself saying, pulling a phial off and holding it out to her, “but you seem a bit...down for the wear.” Hmm, was that saying still a current one? Sometimes her age showed, but perhaps this woman, so distracted by her pain, wouldn’t care nor notice. She tilted her head. “Everything alright?”

Morgan tried to keep the horror of being recognized out of her eyes as best she could. “What?” She said, laughing incredulously. “No, I’m--I was just distracted. Thinking too much, you know?” She did not want to take the phial from the lady, it seemed charged somehow, like admitting she needed pity, or wanted it. Here she was, flying into regular panics over balancing her life so everyone stayed at an even distance, and the Universe, her parents, who the hell ever had tripped the curse back when, hadn’t given her even half that consideration. “I’m okay,” she managed, smiling again as best she could. “T-thank you though.” She checked her view of the cash register-- the family had just taken their spot in line. Baby girl was sucking on the rim of the urn like it belonged to her. Fuck the universe. “It’s nothing serious,” she said quietly. “You’re kind to ask, but I’ve got it.” She plucked the vial up quickly and shifted her gaze around the store, looking for somewhere else to be. 

Josephine tilted her head in concern. Someone in denial was always harder to get through, but she literally couldn’t walk away at this point. The pull of her burden was too strong. She followed her line of sight. The family standing at the register. So it was likely her parents that had dug this deep pit inside of her. Josephine could relate, and it made her angry, a brief flash of it crossing her face. “Must be nice, right?” she said, knowing that she, too, used to look longingly at happy families, talking in public, eating together, doing simple things like walking through a park or getting groceries. “I hope she realizes how good she’s got it.”

“Oh god, right?” Morgan said back. It was just so true, it slipped out of her like air. “If she’s real lucky she’ll never have to figure it out.” And that hurt. Morgan didn’t know who she’d be at all if this hadn’t happened to her, if she’d never been given a reason to even think something was off with her life. But that wasn’t going to get her anywhere to be and she shouldn’t be dumping this out loud on random strangers. She turned back to the woman, looking her over carefully for the first time. “I’m sorry--who are you, exactly? I mean--do you always strike up conversations with sad people?”

“Oh, sorry,” Josephine said, giving a slight smile. She couldn’t make it go any bigger, both for the ache inside of her and the ache coming from the other woman’s heart. “My name’s Josephine. And no, not usually, but…” she glanced around, then back to Morgan, “it’s hard to watch someone suffer without at least trying to help. I didn’t mean to drag stuff out...but I’d be lying if I said I couldn’t relate.” She set the offered phial down into Morgan’s basket before reaching up to grab her own. “But we can talk about something else, or pretend this never happened, if that’s what you want.” Turned to look back at her, putting the phials in her own basket. 

“Josephine,” Morgan repeated. That sounded like something. “Guidance counselor Josephine?” Oh, no. Not another one. Between Remmy, Cassie, Blanche, and whoever else she was forgetting, Morgan had all the absurdly kind people near her that she could bear. If she was really as kind as all that she would just run, maybe even be rude, and let Josephine get on with her life. And what was the point of convincing her about her sad story anyway? She was normal, wasn’t she? “I spoke with you online! Briefly. I meant to show and see that the community part of White Crest was all about, but Valentine’s Day turned out to be pretty rough, mostly. I’m Morgan, by the way. I um-didn’t think I’d be running into you here. Color me at least a little surprised.” This wasn’t really the muggle-type place to shop now that she thought about it. She scrutinized Josephine a little more carefully. Was she somehow...not normal? 

“Morgan!” Josephine said, a little brighter. So she’d been right. And she liked being right. “You can just call me Josphine, though, Guidance counselor Josephine was my mom.” Her face soured at the mention, though, because her mother was anything but a counselor. Her mother was a scourge on Earth. The only good thing she’d done was give birth to Josephine and MJ. She snapped back from the thought. “Why? Because I seem so normal?” she gave a flashing grin, before shrugging, “I guess I’m a little too good at it now, but I’d rather not lose my job because someone called me a witch on main.”

Morgan sputtered. This was a lot, and Josephine’s being a witch didn’t really mitigate her concerns over her being too upsettingly nice to be around for long. “--Okay, kind of, yes. Not that I don’t understand! Hunters are real and humans, normal ones, can be really horrible with things they don’t understand. I get flack sometimes for naming my crystal shop a witchery, but I just can’t bear to be completely closeted about everything. But it’s a balancing act, you know?”

“You have your own shop?” Josephine asked, genuinely curious. She supposed she could understand that. Josephine hated it as well, but growing up black and queer in the 60’s didn’t exactly allow for an leeway in not hiding. “I can get that. I do. But perhaps it was my experience that showed me that hiding, while sometimes unbearable, was safer than being out.  In any sense.” Gave her a glance. “I’m almost jealous of you. It’d be nice to just be out about...what I am, but secrets have kept me alive and so...I’ll keep them.” She gave Morgan a tight lipped look. It would be hard to pry into her in a public place like this, but she couldn’t seem to pull herself away. The draw of Morgan’s resent was too strong and too familiar. “Hey, looks like the counter is open,” she pointed, as the family with the little girl made their leave. “Ladies first,” she offered, smiling somberly at Morgan.

“Etsy shop,” Morgan clarified, bracing herself for whatever kind of way Josephine wanted to feel about it. She held Josephine’s glance and felt immediately abashed. Oh, so not a witch. Something with a lot more risk involved. Fae? Wolf? Zombie? Morgan wasn’t sure if it was her place to ask. “I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “About whatever...happened, or came after you. You’re a really kind person and you didn’t deserve that.” She smiled back, plucked up a bushel of dried herbs from another shelf and made for the check out line with a mumbled thank you.

“Esty shop? That’s admirable. It’s hard to make a living off small businesses like that,” Josephine commented truthfully. She did admire small business owners and operators. It took much more gusto and determination to do something like that. “Oh, nothing came after me, except life, I guess. It came after me and my sister and it took things from me that I can never get back.” She stuffed one more thing into her basket. “Being queer didn’t help.” She followed Morgan up to the counter. She was itching to ask her, itching to tell her, that she could probably solve all her problems, if only Morgan would let her. But it was still too early and they were still in too public a place. “I’m sorry, too. For whatever’s making you...hurt right now.” A subtle hint, maybe Morgan would take it.

Morgan laughed dryly, “Oh, I don’t. I also work for two departments in the College of Arts and Sciences at UMAC, adjuncting. And then, after taxes, I kinda get by.” She laid all her things out in neat stacks and took out her very real card to pay with fresh, real, deposited funds. “No, it definitely wouldn’t have,” she said quietly. “We’re about the same age--” Unless she was some 200 year old fae. “--Maybe. And it was hard even for me.” Josephine would’ve grown up alongside the same broadcasts and speeches as she had. Read the same headlines. Seen the same arrests. The same bodies. She leaned in between making small talk with the cashier and asked, “Was I really that obvious?”

Josephine gave a small chuckle. “Typical. I wouldn’t say I make a killing, either, but I’ve learned how to manage my money better because of it.” She watched the stuff Morgan was buying with curiosity, but didn’t say anything. She doubted Morgan was close to her age, unless she was really good at illusions, and by the ingredients in her basket, that seemed unlikely. “Hmmm,” was all she said to that, giving a nod. They weren’t fond memories or fond times, but they were events that had led to the world being the way it was now. When Morgan whispered her question, Josephine softened her expression. “No, not really,” she said back, just as quietly, giving a bit of a rougher bite to her voice, “I’m just really good at telling these things.”

Morgan knew by now when someone was trying to supernatural code at her, but she was not especially gifted at deciphering it. She wanted to ask Jospehine to just tell her before she made some weird gaffe about the wrong species, to say whatever she wanted to ask of her in return. Because Josephine did seem to think she knew something. She lingered after she paid for her things, her canvas shopping bag held close over her with leftover nerves. When Joephine finished, she walked out the store with her, checking there was no one else within hearing. “I’m really bad at the guessing game,” she said. “I’ve learned about at least five new supernatural species in the last month so I may not even know what you’re trying to say, so can you just...say?”

Morgan was forward, Josephine couldn’t deny that, but she imagined the wear of her sadness was making things harder to give an effort for. Sighing, Josephine shrugged. “It’s a big world out there, isn’t it?” she said, holding her bag loosely. “I’m sure it can get daunting at times.” But Morgan was trying to be genuine, and Josephine was sure, by her own description, that it was unlikely she’d know what species Josephine was. “I’m going to tell you this because you seem trustworthy, but also because I believe that I can help you.” She paused. “But, I’m going to ask for discretion in return, of course. You understand, right?” she asked, looking over at her as they shuffled along. She waited for confirmation before continuing on. If Morgan did end up telling someone, it wouldn’t matter too much. But getting on the bad side of an Erinyes wasn’t the brightest idea. “I’m something called an Erinyes. I’m...magical in nature. But I promise you, this isn’t any sort of “baby’s first illusion” magic. I use my magic to...help people. To grant them the opportunity to stand up to someone-- or something-- that’s wronged them.”

Morgan kept her eyes focused on the dimming sky ahead of them in case they actually were trying to bug out of her face. Erinyes were real now? As in furies? What did she smell or taste like to Josephine that made her want to talk? “Make that six new species,” Morgan said, swallowing for composure. “I uh...I should probably tell you now that just about everyone I might have any feelings that strong about are dead.” She slid her gaze sidelong at Josephine, as if the new revelation between them might change how they were seen. “This is normally where I insist you don’t want to hear my sad little story, partly because I hate telling it sometimes, but since that’s the only reason you talked to me, you should know there’s nothing to be done about it. I’m a dead end.” 

Josephine didn’t like that answer. “I think you massively underestimate my power, Morgan,” she said flatly, but kept her same demeanour, same composure. “No one with feelings as powerful as yours could be a dead end.” She turned her head enough to look at the woman walking beside her. “But I won’t pry. Your story is yours. And your narrative is yours. But I’m guessing if you’ve ended up in a place like this, you’re at your grasp’s end. So what harm could trying, do?” She turned her gaze back to watch the sidewalk in front them. “For what it’s worth, though, that wasn’t the only reason I talked to you. It might’ve been the initial draw, but...I talked to you because I know how you feel. That pain inside of you....” she was quiet for a moment. This wasn’t something she’d shared with anyone in a while. “I know that pain first hand. It’s why I do the things I do, now. So that one will have to feel this way, if I can help it.”

Morgan took her time down the street as she tried to take all this in. She didn’t know much about furies and now was a terrible time to be finding out. She was afraid, damnit, but only because she didn’t know what she was up against. And because she had been seen, really and horribly seen, out of nowhere. Without saying anything. She listened, forcing her breath to steady as she walked. Oh. Oh no. She stopped, not quite able to face her. “I am really sorry, if you actually felt like this. If someone—if the people who were supposed to take care of you didn’t do that. But what’s happening to me is magic power, and…” How to put this? She didn’t share this with strangers. But hasn’t she been saying she wished for help a little less personally invested? But Josephine was kind. She chose to work with high school kids. She was one more absurdly kind person Morgan couldn’t shake her awareness of. “I just need a minute!” she said, and plopped herself onto the nearest bench. 

Josephine stopped when Morgan did. She didn’t sit on the bench with her right away, but stood by her, contemplating her next move. The power inside her told her to push and pry and make Morgan take a deal. She deserved it, after all. To be free of this pain. But the person in Josephine told her it wasn’t going to be so easy. Morgan’s problems were dead, which meant Josephine couldn’t wrap her own hands around their necks to watch their life drain, but souls in the ether were still prone to punishment, even if it meant reaching through planes to rip their back down to suffer for all eternity. She could do that. But only if Morgan let her. Only if Morgan accepted her help. Finally, she sat. “Take your time,” she said quietly. She turned enough to look Morgan square in the eyes, burning with something that she didn’t often let to the surface. “But whatever magic has cursed you, it’s nothing compared to what I can do.”

Morgan tapped her fingers over her chest. She’d just been saying it would be easy if she didn’t know the person willing to help, if she didn’t have to care or worry. If she could see them more like her piles of sand and glass, objects to be weighed, negotiated, exchanged. Not wronged, not used, exactly, but balanced. So why was she scared? Why not seize this right now?

Because it was easy. 

Too easy for someone like her.

How many times did her freshman students bemoan the idiot heroes who said yes to the first spirit who offered everything they ever wanted? Why is he so dumb? They’d ask. You don’t get things free. So how long before it bites him in the ass? 

And Morgan would explain, kindly, ideas beyond common sense and consequence. Why is a good question. What would make you do something like that? How bad would you need it, what’s worth the denial it takes to say yes to something like that? But those were ideas. This was her.

“I--think there’s more I need to understand right now,” she stammered. “What do you get out of this? Hypothetically, you fix my life, or you make it worth dying with a curse on my shoulders, but what’s the cost?”

As Josephine waited, she took the time to look Morgan over properly. She was a smaller woman, cozy in her dressings today. She had curls which probably sagged more today than most, and little creases around her eyes were forced smiles had worn away at her. Josephine looked down. Age wasn’t a thing that she’d ever have to worry about wearing on her, and sometimes she felt pity for the people who were already being dragged down with it. Morgan didn’t look too old, but she had mentioned going through some of the same times Josephine had. It was a stab in the dark, but she couldn’t be any younger than 35. What could have wearied someone like this by only their 30s? So early in life, even for a mortal. “Must there be a cost?” she said evenly, leaning back and tilting her head to look up at the sky. “Must there be some ulterior motive on my end?” It was a fair question. And while there technically was, it didn’t change the situation. She glanced sideways to look at Morgan, head still leaned back. “If you must know, granting these...opportunities is what fuels my power. It’s how I feed, I suppose you could say. But I choose to believe it’s because this is my duty to the world. And while I can take in return for those who ask a lot, I don’t have to. Duty is more important than material gains.” She looked back at Morgan. “But do not misunderstand me, Morgan-- I can not fix your life. That’s up to you. What I can do is grant you a wish that can change your circumstance. Rid you of something that looms over you, or destroy someone who has wronged your heart. That’s what I can do. And I can do it all with a snap.”

Morgan sagged back on the bench. “I’m a cosmically screwed alchemist,” she sighed, rubbing away at the worry wrinkle on her forehead. “I know about cost.” And then Josephine went on. Not about kindness, but duty. Stars above, did every supernatural femme in town have a secret pledge to something? Was that what she was missing from her life? Morgan smirked and held herself a little more loosely, turned to look at Josephine, smiling in her small, soft way, her first and last line of defense with the world. “Sorry. You just reminded me of someone. In a good way, mostly. And I do appreciate you not proposing the sun and stars and a fresh start or an insta-happy-ever-after. But I can’t be any more of a game for the universe than I already am. Can you magic promise me to disclose the fine print or something?”

“Sure,” Josephine said, “there’s usually a cost for everything. On a human level. But that’s not exactly what we’re dealing with, now is it?” She gave her a look, noting the small smile, the wall, the lock, the key all in one. She leaned forward again, turning on the bench to face Morgan more. “I hope it’s a good reminder. I can’t promise bind like fae can, but you can look at me here and now, in the eyes, and I can tell you that I will disclose anything you want me to. I’m not malicious, my powers aren’t evil-- they’re a gift. Divine, if those such things truly existed. I was born into obscurity and found my way into becoming something that truly has the power to right wrongs and change the world. I’m not out to hurt you, Morgan. Just the opposite. I help. I help those who can not help themselves, not for lack of trying, but lack of circumstance.” She held out her hand-- a symbolic gesture this time. There were no deals behind this handshake. “Promise.”

Morgan looked, tapping her fingers still, breathing deep and silent. She didn’t have any duty or grand principles. Once it had been her family and what they needed, what was best for them. Then it was just her. She tried to make fair bargains with the universe, but the universe always held back, and she always kept a half useless card up her sleeve, just in case she lost her hand.  But at least this was magic. Magic, for all its mystery, was bound by rules. Magic couldn’t play dirty, just the ones who used it. And this was just for full disclosure, right? If she could spot the trap, if there was one, she wouldn’t have to fall in. If she really wanted, she could stay at her safe remove between all options at once. Cassie, the Vurals, Blanche, and Remmy to one side; this to another. Just a little longer. Slowly, Morgan took Josephine’s hand. “Okay,” she said. “Okay. We--don’t have to do this right now. Or right here, at least.” The dark was closing in, and the shadows were stretching on the ground like monsters. “I don’t know how, uh, hungry you are in any sense, but we could always...do something less horror movie than sit on a bench in the dark. Unless that’s your thing! In which case, there are at least more picturesque choices.”

“I keep well fed here,” Josephine said simply, as Morgan took her hand. “So you can take your time. I didn’t come to you out of desperation, I came to you because your pain touched something familiar in me.” Josephine smiled sweetly at her, withdrawing her hand. “We can go wherever you want. I don’t mind the dark, but sitting on a bench at night isn’t technically my favorite thing to do, no.” A tease, to help lighten the mood a bit. “You can take your time.This is a big decision, and it should be made right. We can go somewhere else. Or we can get a drink and go for a walk. The ball is in your court, and I like to think I’m a pretty open gal.” She stood, held her hand out to Morgan again, this time in a gesture to help her up from the bench, a kind smile on her face and in her eyes. “Or we can go our separate ways while you think. Like I said, there’s no rush. I’m good at other things, too. Of the not talking variety.”

Morgan gave a breathless, flustered laugh. Was Josephine--? She hadn’t even been flirting. She had, in fact, been costing through a spectacular variety of anxieties this whole time. She fussed with the ends of her hair and smiled a little wider. She had a preference for how she spent her nights, of course, but there was plenty of room around Deirdre for a little fun. Fun, and maybe even a way out of her mess of a life. “I’ll...keep that in mind,” she said. Waited a moment, still breathing. “Where do you like to drink anyways?”

Josephine just smiled. “Just an offer. Not too many older queer women around here,” she answered. “Not that we’re old, of course. My favorite bar is Dell’s, but that’s mainly because it’s close to home and work. The Magic Circle and the Seven Selkies are nice for when you’re too tired to pretend to be normal anymore. They’re more our kind of scene than Mary from accountings kind,” she said simply. 

“Oh, I know,” Morgan said, getting up with Josephine’s help at last. “Until you, I was starting to think I was the oldest queer woman in town.” She held herself against the night air and began to walk beside her. “I’m kind of surprised I’ve been able to meet anyone here who I can really connect with. The world is so big and somehow so small at the same time. But, anyway,” She was getting off the beaten path with that way of thinking, and no one liked a date distracted by someone else. She drew herself up and mustered some cheer, “Put a cocktail in my hand and I’ll give you my story.”

“The world is smaller than we think,” Josephine answered. “Oh, I doubt that. I’m sure there are even some older than me. But unless you remember President Eisenhauer, I think I’ve got a couple decades on you.” She flashed another grin. “This town is special like that. It draws in a certain type of person.” She lead them down the sidewalk, feeling the brisk air cool her skin as the sun dipped ever lower. “Well, we’re right nearby the magic circle, and it seems rather fitting, considering,” she said, “Drinks on me.” She moved to open the door, giving a bit of more playful smirk this time, “I’ll even pay, too.” 

Wow, that was old. “Nope, Reagan baby,” Morgan admitted. “You wear it amazingly. “ She curtsied with appreciation as Josephine opened the door. “You’re too kind, Josephine.” But not so much that Morgan wouldn’t happily let her. She went and found them a booth tucked away in the back and let the stuffed backing swallow her a little. Maybe don’t think too hard about it, she thought. Maybe just...see what’s possible. She reached up to help Josephine set the drinks down when she appeared and took a good gulp. “Thank you for this,” she said.

“Ah..that asshole,” Josephine said with a knowing nod. “And thank you. I think so, too.” Immortality helped, as well. She followed Morgan in and watched which booth she tucked herself into before going up to the counter to order them both an old fashioned. They needed something strong for this, and Josephine’s tolerance was higher, anyway. She took the drinks back and set Morgan’s down. “Hope you’ve got a high tolerance,” she said, sliding into the booth opposite. Held a hand. “No need to thank me. I don’t do it for the thanks,” she said, a smile brimming on her face. She couldn’t help but get excited about granting a wish for someone like Morgan. Her pain and resent would fill Josephine up for weeks. That was thanks enough.

Morgan shrugged. “Moderate enough. So--” And Morgan worked her way through the bones of the story. She went down the list of so-called accidents and sudden losses. She explained about her mother, how she’d had to be asked, point blank, after the funeral, because Morgan was sure she had done this just by existing. And how she had died hiding something else: that she had come here before. That she had a whole life that would never be known now. She explained about Agnes, and Sean. When she was done, she rewarded herself with another gulp of her drink and steadied her breath. “So, I’m carrying some shit someone did however many hundred years ago on my shoulders, but I didn’t ask for any of it. All I ever wanted was a nice life. So what, hypothetically, could your magic do for that?”

It was quite the explanation. And quite the curse. But Josephine was positive, if spun in the right way, she could easily rewrite a few chapters of history here and there to get rid of the curse. If that’s what Morgan wanted. It would change her entire life, after all, and that was a big thing to swallow. If not that, then perhaps a different spin on her current situation. She could give Morgan the power to dispell the curse herself, or maybe give her the chance to take revenge on the one who cast it in the first place. Drag their soul up from the ether or whatever new form it had taken, and smash it into a rotting corpse for her to pummel. “Well...it depends on what you want my magic to do for you. The caveat, I should say, is that my magic works by...fulfilling retribution. I can not simply wave away your curse because that’s where your pain lies. But I can reach into the ether and find the soul of whoever cursed you and send them to eternal suffering. Or rewrite their history so that the inciting event never happens. The list goes on.” 

Sometime after Josephine made it clear she couldn’t wipe the pain off Morgan’s shoulders, her brain went quiet. Of course she couldn’t. Not even an old fury could save her that neatly. There was no cash-in system for all the suffering credit she’d accumulated. It couldn’t carry its own weight to buy her some simplicity and peace of mind. No, instead they had to break the world, or steal a soul just for the catharsis of the thing. And what would she have to give up for that? Her own humanity? Her life? For something that fundamentally screwed, would she have to Marty McFly herself out of existence? Or lose all the kind people she was trying to balance? How was this cost going to be any better than what she was doing already? Morgan stared into her drink, and even that wasn’t much for comfort. “I can’t do this right now,” she murmured sadly. “I thought I could, at least understand the basics, but--” she breathed, sniffled, and raised her eyes to the ceiling to keep them focused and dry. “I think I need to get home. I’m sorry.”

This didn’t bode well. Morgan’s silence was deafening to Josephine. She recalled the dozens of times she’d sat across from her sister in their room, or at the table, or hiding in their closet. And they’d just been quiet. Drowning in their own silence. Looking at each other wondering if it would ever end. Her heart burned with an anger unlike most at the thought and Josephine had to hide it behind a large gulp of her drink. “I understand,” she said. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her card, the same one she’d given Dot a few nights ago. “If you change your mind,” slid the card across the table, “or just want someone to talk to, give me a call.” Then sat back and took another drink. Morgan wasn’t a loss, though. No, this wasn’t the end of this. Josephine would get her deal from Morgan, because she knew what kind of person Morgan was. And she knew what kind of person anger like that made people into. 

[kaiekasunwhisper]

Shadow’s End

(( Co-written with @thefugitivemango / Alteris / @brent-sunborn . @pariker / @nepenthea​ for character mention ))

~*~*~

Alteris gasped as his body materialized once again in a hidden grove just outside Stormwind’s city walls. Despite it happening once or twice already… he still wasn’t used to the sensation of being ripped apart and mashed back together again somewhere else. It wasn’t like teleporting, or slipping through the shadows. It was painful - excruciatingly so! Far from elegant, but effective enough to keep members of the Coterie from dying before their time. And while his tenure with them had been brief, the rune had remained. 

Until now. 

He sat up once he got his bearings, and examined his wrist. The rune was gone. His safeguard spent. He’d have to be more careful from here on out.

He’d underestimated Brent Sunborn, it seemed, assuming the Starfrost Manor would strike those who hunted him as ‘too obvious’. He’d hoped to hide in Gattius’ radiant Light like he did in days past to evade detection. But Sunborn was thorough - he had to give him credit for that. Did he know immediately, he wondered? Or had he somehow tracked him down…? It didn’t matter now. Starfrost Manor was miles away from Stormwind. It would take the Blackened Blade hours to return, if not days. He smirked at the thought, head still rather hazy, as he brought himself upright.

To his surprise, however, the runic marker where he’d been delivered wasn’t quite as he remembered it. Tall ghost iron bars wrapped in ebon chains surrounded the marker. The bars curved inward up top, forming something of a bird cage around the runic circle… and Alteris, as a result. He huffed.

That made twice, now, that he’d underestimated Sunborn.

But all wasn’t lost. Sunborn underestimated him, as well. His little trap only bought him an hour or two, if that, before Alteris would be free. There weren’t too many locks on the chains. He could tap them easily enough. And once he had a length of chain at his disposal, bending the bars would be simple! He shook off the last of his haze, and set to work. Time was of the essence!

“You just has to go and piss him off, didn’t you?”

Kai’eka pushed herself off the crate she’d been leaning against as she waited for her brother to awaken. She knew it was only a matter of time before Brent found him, and when the rune on her neck painfully activated and disappeared, she knew exactly where to go to find her brother. 

She walked up to the prison Brent had so carefully set up and eyed Alteris. Her large blades remained propped up against the crate behind her. She wasn’t in her armor, but in the tank top and pants she often wore when in a dressed down state. Her expression was unreadable, but the exasperated sigh she gave made her disappointment more than obvious.

“You’re such a fucking dumbass, you know that?”

Alteris exhaled a relieved sigh. It was only Kai’eka! He chuckled, giving her a cheeky grin as he shrugged.

“Meh, y’ know me, Kai. Dunnae play well with others,” he sneered, as if it were somehow an endearing trait of his. “Help me outta this thing, aye?”

The Shieldmaiden rolled her eyes, but set to work. Unlike Alteris, she didn’t need the chains to bend the bars. Using her raw natural strength, it wasn’t long before she’d made an opening just large enough for Alteris to squeeze through. 

“You fucking owe me, you little shit!” She growled, moving away to give him the space he needed to get out. She walked back over to the crate, where a well stocked backpack rested on top of it. “I fucking told you to stay out of cult business! You had your freedom! I didn’t interfere with your stupid love affair! I let you be!”

Hurt became obvious in her tone as she continued on her rant. The look on her face as she turned to face him, backpack in hand, complimented her tone. He’d abandoned her, again, and she was more than a little upset.

“I thought we were bonding! I just needed you to be patient! I was going to talk to Thea, but you had to go and pull this… this stunt! She was the Speaker, Alt! And now Brent will never stop hunting you!”

She held out the backpack for him to take, her shaking hand telling how hard she was working at keeping her composure together.

“I can’t protect you anymore,” her voice broke. Gods! Those words were probably the most painful she’d ever uttered.

Per usual, Alteris blew off the gravity of the situation. Her lecture seemed to flow into one ear, and right out the other. It wasn’t that he couldn’t tell his sister was upset… but more that he just didn’t care. He snatched the bag from Kai’eka’s hands as he rolled his eyes. 

“Tch, relax…” he sighed, as he began rummaging through the provided bag. “Yer pretty-boy partner got lucky, ‘s all. Blew m’ main hideout, but I got more. Won’t underestimate ‘im again, dunnae worry.”

He tugged a shirt from the backpack, and pulled it on over his head hastily. Then did the same with a pair of woolen pants. Not exactly the most protective of gear, but inconspicuous enough for his purposes. Aside from the change of clothes, the bag had a few rations and supplies that would help him in his life on the run.

“Figure I did yeh a favor, anyway. Out from under that bitchy harlot Speaker o’ yers, now! Dunnae tell me y’ actually liked ‘er, didja?” he chuckled. “Yer makin’ it out bigger’n it really is, anyway. Cult trash like ‘er dies on th’ daily. Some other scum’ll take ‘er place in a week. Dunnae fret.”

Kai’eka closed her eyes and clenched her fists. Every word out of Alteris’ mouth only made things worse. It only sealed his fate. And the fool had no idea! Every word confirmed everything Brent had said. Kai’eka hadn’t wanted to admit it at the time, but she saw it clear as day now. 

Alteris would always be a threat. A loose end. A distraction. How many years had she spent searching for him the first time he’d fled? How many resources had she used up? —to search for him and bring him back both! Now, she was responsible for the death of a Speaker, because she’d chosen her brother over the Coterie. Her brother over her service to the Old Gods. Her brother over her friends… the people she trusted above all else.

One of those friends paid for it with their life. And Brent, her best friend, would likely never recover from losing Nepen’thia.

She opened her eyes to look at a Alteris once more. He was so blissfully unaware… Frustratingly so. But this was so very typical. Alteris hadn’t changed at all, no matter how hard she’d tried. 

She took in a deep breath, both to keep herself calm and to prepare herself for what was to come.

“Where will you go?”

"Oi, cannae tell yeh, can I? An' risk yer sneaky lil' partner catchin' wind of m' plans?" Alteris shook his head. "Y' know how this goes, Kai. When I go hidin' from th' Cult, I hide from the whole cult. Yerself included."

He chuckled at that, too. Like it was a game the two played, or some minute but lovable quirk he had. Unabashed, he gave a careless shrug as he looked at Kai'eka.

"I'll come by'n bother yeh when I need supplies an' such. Maybe check in so y'know I ain't dead in a ditch somewhere." he added a few empty promises, just for kicks. "Maybe we can swap stories 'bout guys we've fucked, aye? Now that y'ain't all square 'bout that kinda stuff."

“Fair enough,” she managed, despite wanting to beat the living shit out of his self-centered ass.

She took a step forward, closing the distance between the two of them and wrapping her strong arms around him in a tight hug from behind. He felt her trembling now, but she didn’t care. She needed this. A final moment with all she had left of her family. With the boy she’d practically raised on her own. The one she’d spent the past couple of centuries trying to protect.

No longer.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a defeated whisper.

Alteris only sighed. She wouldn’t see him roll his eyes again, as he brought his hand up to gently pat her arms where they met across his chest. 

“Tch, dunnae be sorry, Kai. Yeh’ve actually been a big help in all this,” he replied, “But… Gods, quit snivelin’! So emotional, aye? I love yeh, but yer actin’ like a whiney lil’ b--”

He didn’t have time to finish his sentence before Kai’eka’s brought a hand up to grasp the side of his head. The movement was quick and swift, made effortless by her incredible strength. The sound of Alteris’ neck snapping echoed loudly in her ears. Her other arm continued to hold him close as his body went limp.

Her legs felt weak, and she let herself fall to a kneeling position as she cradled her brother’s body in her arms. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she closed her eyes and rested her forehead on his shoulder. 

It was done. Without the rune, he had no failsafe left. His body didn’t vanish in a puff of shadows. His soul didn’t flee into the mind of another. This time, there was no coming back.

Alteris Sunwhisper was dead.