#blue threads = sidestep colors | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

icelily17 · 5 months

Text

Merry and Bright

I wrote my holiday themed Astarion/Durge (Melphie) fic! Happy holidays every one, hope you enjoy it!

Summary: Melphie just wanted to surprise Astarion for the Yuletide holiday. Astarion gets a little bit jealous.

Rating: T for implied attempt of sexual assault, some language but nothing explicit.

~~*~~

Read on AO3!

"Remind me why we're out here in the freezing cold again?" Astarion quipped, gracefully sidestepping a passerby so as to avoid being knocked around. The marketplace was bustling, a hubbub of people scattering to the various booths in the cold evening. Luckily it got dark much earlier this late in the season, so his anxieties about the sun were nagging at him a little less as of late.

"Because Gale needed us to pick up some groceries for dinner when everyone arrives tomorrow night," Melphie said, hurrying over to the nearest fruit stand. She began to pick up the various apples, testing their weight and scrutinizing their colors. After picking out four and handing over the payment, she turned on her heel and promptly walked over to the next stall. Astarion had to jog to keep up, dodging the whole way.

"When we decided to come to Waterdeep I didn't sign up to be an errand boy," he grumbled, pressing closer to Melphie's side as she was peering at various greens.

"Gale is busy cleaning up the tower, and it was the least we could do since he let us stay for a few days already," she said, reaching for the onions. Astarion rolled his eyes but didn't have another complaint, instead turning his face down and covering his nose with the red scarf around his neck.

He watched her as she picked out the various vegetables that Gale tasked them to purchase, and he smiled into his scarf as he saw the glint of the ring on her finger that matched his own. He remembered when Melphie had slipped the ring on her finger, murmuring how beautiful it was, and how she had excitedly pressed it's matching ring into his chest hours later in the Healing House in Reithwin. 'Look, Astarion, now you and I can feel as if we're always together!' she had beamed at him, and he had huffed and made a show about how she was being absolutely ridiculous as he accepted the ring and slipped it on his own finger.

"Okay, all finished!" she bounded in front of him, holding up the basket for him to see.

"Excellent, if I have to stay out here for one more second I just may freeze to this spot," Astarion sighed dramatically as he offered his arm, and she promptly hooked her hand around it as they set off back to the tower.

"You know, you could have just stayed behind by the warm fireplace while I ran out myself," Melphie looked up at him, the corner of her mouth turned up in amusement.

"And pass up an opportunity to have you all to myself?" He leaned down and tugged her a little closer, a playful smirk gracing his face, "I think not, letting you loose in the city by yourself means someone could snatch a pretty thing like you right up."

Melphie giggled, "Oh please, no one is going to whisk me away. And you get me all to yourself every night!"

"And it's never enough for me, my love."

"Has anyone ever told you you're sweet?"

"It could stand to be mentioned more," he kissed her temple. They walked down the road, the lamps illuminating the cobbled stones and the people zipping through on their own errands. Melphie had paused in front of a shop, the sign hanging above reading Celie's Clothing Shop.

"Ooh look at this!" She motioned Astarion over, "Do you want to look around? Gale could wait a bit longer, I think."

"Hmmm," he hummed, "Well alright, let's go then."

They entered the shop, looking at the various clothing on display. "Just a minute!" yelled a tiefling from the center where she was hemming a skirt. Astarion wandered off to a mannequin sporting a gorgeous blue jacket, embroidered with gold thread. He reached out and delicatley held the sleeve, feeling the material in his fingers and hummed his approval.

"This is beautiful," Melphie remarked, her eyes watching Astarion study the garment. "You would look very handsome in it. Do you want it?"

"Yes it is, but I don't see the need for it while we're out on our adventures," he said, his voice a little wistful. He let go of the sleeve and crossed his arms.

"Well, you could still wear it just because," Melphie tried to reason, but Astarion just shook his head.

"It's quite alright, love. Did you want to look at anything?"

At that moment, the tiefling hurried over to them, tucking her pins into a pouch tied around her waist. "Thank you kindly for waiting! I'm Celie, and welcome! Can I help you find something to your liking?" she asked.

"Oh! Hello, and we were just perusing. Your clothing is beautiful!" Melphie smiled, and Astarion watched Celie relax. It was amazing, the way she could make anyone feel at ease once she talked to them. "Do you make these yourself?"

"My, thank you! Yes, I make all the clothing myself, with a little help from my asisstants. I can assure you they are the best quality you'll find here in Waterdeep," Celie tucked her hair that had fallen out of her braids behind her ear. "Is there anything here that has caught your eye?"

"Yes, my partner was just looking at this here," Melphie gestured to the jacket. "How much would this cost?"

Celie clapped her hands together, "Oh, very good ma'am! That there is one of my more ambitious projects, but it has been one of my best! That jacket goes for about 800 gold."

Astarion sputtered, "Goodness, that is a pretty penny." Melphie elbowed his side.

"Yes well, as I said that one was one of my more ambitious projects. And only the most fine threads were used for that one," Celie said proudly. "But if that one is a bit beyond your coffers, perhaps I could interest you in some of my others?"

"No thank you, we should probably be on our way," Astarion said with a small smile as he turned to leave.

"Astarion!" Melphie admonished lightly, then turned to Celie. "Thank you very much for your help. Please, have a happy Yuletide!" and she hurried out after her vampire.

"It's such a shame," she sighed when she caught up to him, placing her hand in the crook of his hand again, "it was so beautiful. And you look so wonderful in blue."

"I know, but 800 gold? For a garment I most likely won't wear while out in the wilds of Faerún? Better to just forget it," Astarion said.

"Okay, if you say so. Let's get these groceries back to Gale, before he wonders if we've stolen his gold and ran off," Melphie said, resigned.

~~*~~

The tavern was loud, buzzing with patrons talking over each other to be heard by their companions. Being as the holiday was around the corner, it was busier than usual. Gale looked a little uncomfortable, but Melphie had insisted on her and Astarion taking him out of his tower for a little while, and Tara had agreed that it would be good for him. Gale hadn't been able to refute them after that, and so they had made their way over to the nearest tavern that Gale would sometimes go to with his colleagues from the School of Illusion.

"I'm going to go get us some mead, do you want wine?" She asked Astarion as she stood from the table.

"It most likely won't be good, but better than nothing. Thank you, love," Astarion pat her hand and smiled. She returned it, then turned and disappeared in the crowd towards the bar.

"So, Astarion, have you two made any progress on finding the Sunwalker's Ring?" Gale asked, leaning on his crossed arms.

"We have a lead that places us in Neverwinter, though we still don't have an idea on where the ring itself is," Astarion said.

"I'm sorry I couldn't have been more help myself, none of my colleagues have an idea. Some haven't even heard of it," Gale said. Astarion waved his hand to dismiss it.

"No harm done, the fact we have a lead at all is enough."

"Yes well, I'm familiar with your method of not really having a plan," Gale smiled.

"And look where it's gotten me! A new and improved family of weirdos, a sense of self-worth, and a beautiful and kind lover," Astarion looked in the direction of the bar, where he could see Melphie having a conversation with the human man next to her. He frowned slightly as he immediately noticed the man's body language: leaning in toward her, a big smile across his face that even from across the room Astarion could tell didn't reach his eyes. Astarion narrowed his own when he saw the man scoot a little closer, and to his dismay Melphie didn't get up to leave or move away; she just laughed herself, her voice clear as a bell to his ears above the din of the crowd.

Gale looked in the direction of the bar once he heard the low growl coming from his friend's throat. "Looks like she's got someone's attention," he mused aloud, "though I am a little surprised considering her appearance. It's not often someone would be daring enough to try their hand at flirting with a drow."

"Well who wouldn't? She's a vision! But he's clearly trying to seduce her--"

"I don't think you really get to be upset about that, as I seem to recall you--"

"I don't think you want to finish that thought, my friend," Astarion glowered at Gale, who just chuckled. "And that was different. I was doing what I knew best in order to secure protection!"

"So it was transactional?"

"Well yes, but when you put it like that it makes me sound cruel," Astarion scoffed, though he looked a little uncomfortable. Gale almost felt sorry for him, but he didn't often find himself on this side of teasing and was having a bit of fun.

"In a way it was, we could all see just how much she was in love with you from the beginning."

"Gale!" Astarion sounded exasperated, and the wizard figured he should throw him a bone.

"Alright! In your defense, neither of you were spoken for then."

Astarion looked relieved, and sat up straighter in his seat as he resumed glaring at the two at the bar. "Exactly, unlike now. He's just lucky he--" Whatever he was going to say turned into another growl as the two men saw the human rest his hand atop Melphie's. Gale looked at his friend and was alarmed at how murderous Astarion looked with his teeth grit, fangs bared in a barely contained snarl. "Oh, now I'm going to kill him."

"Astarion, wait!" Gale lowered his voice, grabbing his wrist. Astarion whipped around, and Gale was afraid for a moment that he was going to tear his arm off. He cleared his throat, "Melphie's not helpless, let her handle this so as to not make a scene."

"Are you serious?!" Astarion was incredulous; was Gale actually suggesting he let this sorry excuse of a creature attempt to seduce his lover?

"Listen to me!" Gale hissed, "If it gets messy then by all means go to her rescue. But don't forget that she's powerful in her own right."

Astarion ripped his arm out of Gale's grasp, but to Gale's relief he just sat back and crossed his arms, settling for glaring at the man's back. His chest was tight with anger, "You're right of course, but I can't help worrying about her. You know how naive she is, she probably doesn't even understand his intention is to just fuck her."

Gale winced slightly at his crudeness, "I know her nature as well as you do, but she more than capable of taking care of herself." The men watched Melphie laugh, extracting her hand before placing it on the man's shoulder. She then grabbed the mugs from the counter and walked back to their table. Astarion kept his eyes on the man, who was noticably watching Melphie's backside before looking up and meeting the vampire's eyes. The man's smile disappeared and his eyebrow quirked, as if challenging Astarion.

"Sorry! I was just chatting, but here we are!" She passed the men their respective drinks but before she could sit in her own chair she was abruptly pulled into Astarion's lap. "Astarion!" she let out a squeak, but he was not paying attention. He and the stranger were still locking eyes, and without breaking eye contact he kissed her neck.

Melphie tried to wiggle out of his grasp, completely unaware of what he was doing. "Hey," she said weakly, but his hold on her was like a vice.

Gale let out an awkward cough, and at that same moment the stranger stood up and slammed his payment on the bar before stalking out, his irritation written plainly on his face. Satisfied, Astarion loosed his grip and she slid onto her seat. "Sorry, my sweet, I just missed you in my arms."

She tilted her head in confusion, "But I was only gone for a moment. Oh! But I met such a nice man!" she smiled at Gale, and Astarion's glare returned. "His name was Brendt, and he's a local cobbler. He was telling me about his favorite Yule activities around the city, and he even invited me out to visit the festival in Lower Waterdeep. I told him I thought visiting the festival was a lovely idea and that maybe I should--"

Gale noticed Astarion getting more and more agitated, and felt he needed to get her to stop talking. "Melphie, Astarion was telling me about your progress with the Sunwalker's Ring! Perhaps I can help you with some more research?"

"Yes! Oh that would be wonderful!" Melphie then began to tell a story of her and Astarion in a cave near Ormath nearly two months ago. Astarion was seething internally, but he remained silent. How like his Melphie to be completely oblivious to someone seducing her--after all, it had been child's play to do so himself. And then, her being her sweet self, just building that hope by unknowingly reciprocating. Still, he was making an effort to be a better person, for her sake.

That didn't mean he wasn't thinking of murder, all the same.

Time passed as the three exchanged stories of their adventures, Astarion gradually relaxing after Melphie grabbed his hand with a squeeze under the table. Before long, Gale stood up and placed 10 gold on the table next to the empty mugs, "Well! This was delightful but I think it's time we get back. Lots to do before everyone arrives tomorrow night!"

Melphie stifled a yawn, "Okay." They all got up and donned their fur coats and scarves to brave the chilly winter air. As they walked, Melphie was telling Gale about a woman that they had helped a tenday ago with locating her missing family heirloom. Astarion remembered her, a curvy woman whose clothing was snug and untameable curly hair. She had been a little too friendly with touching them both, but Astarion was already on edge from the man's clear advances on Melphie earlier so his mind was warping his memory just a little. Now his mind conjured the image of the woman holding Melphie's hands, her smile just a little too perfect and a bit sultry. And Melphie, sweet clueless Melphie, was smiling widely and laughing.

Astarion shook himself and gripped Melphie's mittened hand tighter, anchoring him in the present. Don't be ridiculous, he chided himself, she's here, she's chosen you and no one else. He released a breath he didn't know he was holding, and he firmly tried to keep his thoughts away from any jealousy.

He wasn't quite successful, but dammit he was trying.

They eventually arrived at Gale's tower, Melphie and Gale greeting Tara as they removed their coats and stomped the snow off their boots. Astarion, however, kept his furs and boots on. "I'm going to go and hunt. The wine was decent but I'm quite peckish."

"You're going to hunt? In the city?" Melphie asked, taken aback. Usually he really only fed from her or from their enemies in battle.

"Yes, I'm rather hungry."

"Hmmm…as long as you stick to criminals. The southeastern part of Waterdeep is particularly seedy, you may have some luck there," Gale scrutinized Astarion, who lifted his hands up with his palms out.

"I promise, no innocents," he echoed his vow from way back in the Grove. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm a hero now!"

Melphie put a hand on his arm, "You sure? I mean, you know you can feed on me, I'm alright."

Astarion smiled down at her and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, "I know, my dear. But as delectable as you are, I'd rather give your poor neck a break tonight. There's a whole city out there, with plenty of ne'er-do-wells that I can take a nibble out of." He leaned in and tenderly kissed her forehead.

She let out a contented sigh. "Alright. Just please be careful out there."

"Of course, darling." He watched her give him one more smile before Gale invited her to the study for a game of Three Dragon Ante.

~~*~~

Astarion returned a few hours later, feeling sated. He had gotten rather lucky and encountered a group of men that had cornered a young woman down an alley, saying many nasty things about what they would do to her. He had taken them out rather swiftly--it helped that they were all very drunk--and told the woman to go home. She had shakily whispered 'thank you' before scurrying off, and he had felt the need to tell Melphie about this so that she might throw her arms around him and tell him she was proud of him. It was strange, this need to get her approval when he already had it, but it was there.

He heard murmuring coming from the study as he peeled off his layers and shook snow out of his hair. He entered, the fire casting a warm glow on the two sitting at a table with chess pieces. Gale was sitting back in his seat, looking confident while Melphie held a fist in front of her mouth as she was deep in thought. Her eyes scanned the board intently, searching for a move.

"Welcome back, Mister Ancunín," Tara greeted him from where she was curled up on a cushion near the fireplace.

"Hello, Tara," he greeted. He'd never admit it out loud to Gale, but he was quite fond of Tara. The two seemed to get along very well, much to everyone's surprise.

Gale's eyes met the vampire's, "Yes, welcome back! Got your fill, I take it?"

"I did, thank you. I found a rather uncouth group of men surrounding a lady in a dark alley, so I swooped to her rescue," Astarion puffed his chest out a little, proud of himself. He never quite got used to the fact that being a good person would make him feel…good. His eyes slid over to the half-drow, who was still concentrating and didn't respond to what he said. His nostrils flared, and he narrowed his eyes as he recognized the smell of fresh snow on her. He noticed her hair was damp as well, and he frowned slightly. "Have you been out as well?"

Melphie let out an 'aha!' as she leaned forward and moved a piece. She sat back triumphantly and grinned. Gale scanned the board once, twice, before taking his piece and knocking over her King.

"Checkmate," he grinned. Her jaw dropped and she flopped back in her seat with a humph.

"Good game," she grumbled. Then she looked up at Astarion, "I'm sorry, I didn't pay attention. What happened while you were out?"

His eyes flit around, taking in the fact that yes, Melphie had definitely just come back from being out herself. "I rescued a woman from assault and then fed on her attackers," he said with his tone short, also a little annoyed she hadn't listened to him the first time. He hated it when things didn't go the way he pictured they would.

"Oh, that's great!" Her eyes shone, and he cleared his throat.

"Yes, thank you. But have you also been out? You smell like the cold air." He didn't miss the way her eyes darted in Gale's direction.

"Well, um…Gale and I….uh…"

"We forgot an important ingredient for tomorrow's dinner," Gale broke in. Astarion's eyes narrowed and his eyebrow raised. He knew very well they were lying; Melphie had never been good at lying to him, and Gale didn't have the same smell of the crisp outside air as she did. Suddenly, the vision of Melphie and the man earlier swam into view of his mind's eye.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes!"

"And I suppose you didn't make a stop at the tavern again?"

"What?" Melphie scrunched her face in confusion, and despite Astarion seeing the truth in her expression he couldn't help himself.

"I saw how you couldn't resist flirting with that man, Bodie or Brendon or whatever--"

"Brendt," she corrected. It was the wrong thing to say.

Astarion bristled, "Oh, you're right! Please excuse me, my dear, for not remembering!" His voice was getting more scathing. Stop it, the rational part of his brain told himself, she is not to blame, that man is. But she was here in front of him, and Brendt was not--and Astarion was never good at controlling his emotions, despite his efforts. All of his irritation and anger and fear at losing her flooded him in this moment, and before he knew it he stood abruptly and started to walk away to their room. He needed to get away so as to not say anything else that he would regret. His mind swam with images of Melphie meeting Brendt at the bar once more, smiling and touching his arm and--

"Astarion!" Gale called to his back, his voice stern. "That's not fair--" but the vampire was already gone.

Melphie sat still as a stone in her seat, watching the doorway. "I…" she tried, but her brain couldn't come up with anything else, too caught off guard with what had just happened.

Gale ran a hand over his face and sighed. "Well, that could have gone better."

Eventually she turned to him, "Why would he think…? I would never...I thought he knew…" Her voice was small, pleading. Gale's heart broke a little for his friends.

"Oh, I'm sure he does know. Vampires are jealous creatures, I imagine it's no different for spawn," the wizard sat back in his seat. "As I'm sure you know better than I, Astarion has always been a little…ah, impulsive."

"But why would he be jealous? I don't know Brendt! I was just talking with him, and he was being nice!" Melphie's hands twisted in her lap, desperately trying to think about what she had said or done wrong. Brendt hadn't seemed weird, he hadn't leered at her or anything…so why?

"Maybe it wasn't obvious to you from where you stood, but from where we were sitting it was pretty clear that Brendt had, erm…not so pure intentions." Gale looked at her, eyes shining with sympathy. "I thought he was going to commit murder, I had to practically beg him not to go to your rescue."

Melphie's brow furrowed as she met Gale's eyes. "You're saying Brendt just wanted to bed me?" Gale nodded, and Melphie groaned. "Oh, gods…and here I thought I had made another friend!"

Gale chuckled, "You do have a knack for that, I'll admit. But--and don't let Astarion hear me say this--you are also a very attractive woman. It's no surprise some people get brave and try their hand at capturing your attention."

"But Astarion knows I love him! I've been in love with since I've met him, he has to know that!" She sat up straight, her voice desperate. "I could never look at anybody else!"

"Oh believe me, I know," Gale sighed, "But I'm sure you can understand that you can't always control your feelings, or your thoughts when you feel so strongly about something. Or someone. And looking at it objectively, lying to him about where we were didn't really help matters."

Melphie sighed and leaned on the table, chin in her hand. "No, I suppose it didn't. I just wanted to surprise him."

"I know. I think he'll appreciate it, just let him be for now."

"Okay. Thank you, Gale. I'm really glad to have such a wise friend," Melphie shot him a tired smile.

Gale returned the smile, "At your service, my lady."

~~*~~

Melphie nervously watched Astarion's back as he was regaling Karlach with thier latest adventures. The tower was filled with laughter and voices, the air was warm and the decorations of pine leaves and glittery tinsel shone. She was mostly enjoying the party, seeing everyone together again for the first time since Wither's own shindig and being caught up in so many hugs. Shadowheart had honed in on her like a magic missile and flung her arms around with an enthusiastic 'I missed you!' while Scratch followed behind; Karlach had scooped her up in a giant bone-crushing hug while Wyll beamed behind her; Lae'zel had managed to show up in person this time, as she was nearby in the area on her quest to take down Vlaakith's regime--and more than a little determined to see her friends again; Jaheira had managed to track down Minsc, bringing news that Halsin wishes he could have made it but was responsible for festivities for the children in Reithwin and could not tear himself away.

Melphie was mostly content as she chatted away with her former companions or occasionally helping Gale in the kitchen. But then she would catch sight of Astarion, who had not spoken a word to her since the previous night. To everyone else, nothing was out of the ordinary with him as he grinned, good-naturedly bantering with the others and allowing Karlach to hug him within an inch of his undead life. But Melphie, who knew him better than anyone ever could ever hope to, could see the air around him was off and her heart sank even lower into her belly when he wouldn't even look at her unless someone was talking to them both.

"Melphie, could you please come help me with this?" Gale called to her from the kitchen. Melphie excused herself from Minsc as he was telling her about Boo's latest heroics and made her way to the wizard, who was taking a big roasted pig out of the oven.

"What do you need?"

"I need you to stir the soup if you please."

Melphie got to work, watching Gale put the garnishes on and admiring his work. "So I see things haven't gotten better with Astarion since last night," he mused aloud, eyes checking over the roast.

She hummed, "Not really, no. He's brooding and won't talk to me. I can't even get him alone to apologize."

Gale was silent in thought. "Well that's simple enough. I'll call everyone into the study for games, and you get him alone then," his eye twinkled.

Melphie smiled, "Thank you."

She put the spoon down and doused the fire, then helped Gale bring the various dishes to the table where everyone gathered. "Soup's on!"

"This is just like the good old days," Shadowheart sat down, already on her second goblet of wine.

"Yes, thank you very much for your generosity Gale," Wyll nodded his head.

"Oh, what's a little graciousness among friends? It's Yuletide!" Gale chuckled. As they began helping themselves and talked animatedly amongst one another, Melphie took her seat next to Astarion who had his own large goblet of blood he was sipping from every now and then. "Are you having fun?" she asked eventually, not sure what to say.

"Hm? Oh yes, hard for me to believe but I actually missed everyone. Even Minsc, as bizarre as he is," his voice was it's usual lilt, nothing betraying if he was still angry with her. It drove her mad, not knowing what to do to reconcile things. He still wouldn't look at her.

"Me too, I'm really glad Lae'zel is here this time. She let me hug her, and didn't threaten me this time!" Melphie told him, determined to meet his eyes. She'd be able to tell then.

Still he looked anywhere else. "I guess even she can't escape the holiday spirit," he said, and then Wyll on his other side asked him a question that she didn't hear.

Dinner was an otherwise uneventful affair, and after everyone helped to clear the table and do the dishes (which included a very drunk induced splash battle), Gale called everyone to the study for games. His eyes met Melphie's and he gave her a small, subtle nod. She thought of the wrapped package on the small table in the hallway, and gave a little nod of her own.

There was happy chatter as they moved to the room, but Melphie grabbed Astarion's wrist. "Astarion, wait."

He froze, then turned slowly toward her. "Yes?"

Now that she was here, Melphie found it was she who couldn't meet his eyes. She was afraid of what she might find there. "Um...I just...wanted to tell you something."

"Well, what is it? We're missing out on bonding time," Astarion lightly scoffed.

"I just, I wanted to tell you I'm really sorry. I wasn't thinking about your feelings at the tavern. I guess I was so used to us being so...well, us that I..." she swallowed and looked up. Finally, finally he met her eyes, and her insides clenched painfully as she saw the hurt in his own. "I took for granted the fact that you knew how I felt about you and didn't think. I didn't realize what Brendt wanted of me, and I...I'm sorry I didn't take you into consideration. I guess I'm as naive as you always say I am."

Astarion searched her eyes for a moment, before closing them and sighing impatiently. Her jaw clamped shut, shame washing over her. How could she be so selfish? She always did this, always chasing that high of making friends and not hurting someone that she threw herself headfirst into being a people pleaser, never thinking about how others might feel. She knew she couldn't keep doing that, but she never seemed to learn her lesson. She just didn't to be a bad person, even though there was a part of her that always whispered about how awful of a person she was. She wrapped her arms around herself, holding her breath and waited for his response.

"Oh, sweetheart," he said finally, and her heart seemed to unclench slightly. "I...you have no need to be sorry. If anything, I should be apologizing to you." He gently took her hands, "I knew it wasn't right of me to take out my irritation on you, but I did it all the same. And I made you feel awful for it." He lifted a hand to cup her cheek, "I'm so sorry, Melphie."

She leaned into his hand, feeling the weight in her stomach lift. "Well, we both messed up. I'd say we're even." She looked up at him, her red eyes round and so innocent that Astarion wanted nothing more than to sweep her into his arms and take her to their room, guests be damned. "But you do know just how much I love you, right?"

Her voice was so sweet he gave into his thoughts and kissed her, so deep and slow that a small noise came from her throat and she snaked her arms around his neck. They parted when she needed air, and he kissed the corner of her mouth. "I do, and I couldn't love you more if I tried," he said solemnly, his expression as soft as she'd ever seen it.

Melphie smiled so wide she thought her face was going to split. "Before we get back to everyone--"

"Do we have to?" he leaned in and nuzzled her neck, arms fully encircling her waist.

"Yes, silly! Anyway, before that, I uhm…I have something for you," she smiled sheepishly as Astarion retreated to look at her.

"For me?"

She untangled herself from him and grabbed the brightly colored package, then skipped back to him and held it out. He could practically feel sparks coming from her, which he supposed they might in her case. "Yes! I, uh...you were right that I went out while you were gone yesterday," she blushed, a light purple spreading across her blue cheeks and nose as he took the gift from her. "I'm also really sorry Gale and I lied to you, but I wanted to surprise you with this."

He stared at the package, then looked at Melphie. She had gone out to get him a gift? And how had he repaid her? By being petulant and spiteful and jealous. He sighed again, his shoulders slumped. "Oh, dear. And here I was acting like a spoiled child while you went out of your way to be nice to me." He looked at her, "Why do you even put up with my nonsense?"

"Because I love you," she said, so matter-of-factly that he had to fight the urge to kiss her again. "And anyway, what's done is done and we've cleared the air. Now open it!" she said eagerly.

"Oi! You two stop making out for two seconds and get in here!" Shadowheart called from the other room.

"Just a minute!" Melphie called back, giggling and bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Astarion unwrapped the ribbon, then carefully pulled the wrapping paper off to reveal a long white box with Celie's Clothing Shop embossed across the lid in gold lettering. He glanced up at her before opening the box. "Oh," he breathed, his eyes wide. He picked up the cloth and held it up, the beautiful blue and gold jacket from yesterday shining in the candlelight. "Oh my love, you got me...?"

"I went out last night and managed to get in right before Celie closed up shop," Melphie explained. "I just remember how much you liked it, and I really wanted to get you something. I want to get you nice things like I think you deserve." She looked down, suddenly feeling very shy, and when she looked back up she saw in his face a look of a man so in love she felt her heart flutter.

"Gods, you really are perfect," he said in wonder, and she blushed again.

"Put it on!"

He shrugged off his current red and white doublet, then slipped the jacket on carefully. He did a little turn, "How do I look? Seeing as I can't check for myself."

Melphie smiled, her white teeth standing out against her always-dark lipstick. "You look like a prince in a fairy-tale," she said earnestly.

"Well, that can't possibly be true. No fairy-tale prince would do the things to you that I want to," he gave her a wicked smirk as he pulled her closer by her hips, hands firmly gripping her ass.

"Astarion! We can't, our friends are waiting!"

"Fine, fine. Tonight then?" He leaned in and met her lips again, and where the first one was sweet and loving this one was dangerously on the cusp of filthy, his teeth nipping her lower lip and enticing noises from both their throats. He pulled her impossibly closer to his body, and her hands gripped his shoulders as if her life depended on it.

"Yes, tonight," she agreed breathlessly, and he kissed the tip of her nose before letting go to grab her hand. He loved that he could get her into this state of need, and felt satisfaction that it was only for him.

"Excellent. Now! Let's go show off my new gift to everyone."

They walked into the study, which was almost too warm as everyone sat scattered around the room and chatting amongst themselves. Karlach grinned, "Finally! I thought you had abandoned us to go fuck all night!"

Melphie's whole face burned and turned a lovely shade of rosy-purple. She hid her face behind her hands as Astarion giggled. "You could always join us, you know," he shot back without missing a beat.

"Astarion!" Melphie whispered her admonishment, and he giggled again.

"Nah, but thanks for the invite," Karlach laughed.

"Now we can get started!" Shadowheart practically crowed from her seat on the plush sofa.

"Yes, I would like to know this 'charades' I've heard so much talk about," Lae'zel crossed her arms, her voice inquisitive.

"Oh, it's a blast," Wyll assured, "Although I must warn you, I am very good."

"Oh, is that a challenge?" Shadowheart grinned mischeviously.

Astarion pulled Melphie over to an unoccupied chair that matched the sofa, then sat and pulled her onto his lap. She kissed his temple, and he squeezed her waist in return. The night was filled with shouts and laughter as her family was gathered once more, without a looming threat above them, and she felt full--of happiness, of warmth, of love.

#ice writes fanfic #long post #guys im still hyperfixated its ridiculous #astarion #baldurs gate 3

1 note · View note

bokettochild · 3 years

Text

Day 4 - Trust Fall

Went with the prompt 'taken hostage' for this one, and I'm quite pleased. I might follow it up from another prompt on the list, but I quite like how it ended.

Suffer :)

There are many people who hate the Hero of Warriors.

It was a well-known fact, and something that had haunted him since the ends of the war, but he couldn’t exactly blame the folks who did. After all, it was for lust of the hero that Cia had killed so many, and there were families all across Hyrule who had lost loved ones because the hero had refused the affections of one lonely, corrupted woman.

Zelda had tried to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but that changed nothing; people had still died because of Cia’s lust, and still more had died because of his own over-confidence. So, when he walked the streets of Castletown and the people who wanted to thank him faded to the background as a single soul would stand and spit insults loaded with venom more poisonous than a deku baba, he would take their words and let them speak, never once challenging them, even when his men would protest and beg for permission to reprimand his attacker. Zelda had pleaded for him to stop, claiming that he lowered the moral of the army by not carrying himself strongly and with honor, but how could he rob someone of their voice when he’d already robbed them of everything else?

There was one upside to it all though; when Warriors met Legend, there was nothing the younger hero could say that could truly hurt him. Legend would huff and complain and tease and jab, but his insults were a gentle nudge in comparison to the hearty shoves into boiling lava that he’d seen from his own people, and he welcomed the verbal sparring with the other hero. It was nice to be able to speak back without having guilt rise in his chest, and he enjoyed getting to tease and bother the veteran hero in return.

In that manner, an unlikely friendship had formed between a hero who hated soldiers and a soldier who hated being a hero.

He was close to all of the others of course; Sky, Wild and himself would spend hours discussing their worlds and the systems of knights and training and the like. Time and Wind, his boys and the pride of his heart, would mess around with him and it warmed him body and soul to offer them advice or comfort after a long day (and having the two of them cuddle up when they thought no one was looking was an extra warm bonus on multiple fronts).

Four was- well, there was no words for the relationship he shared with the smithy. It was a relationship of exchanged looks and mutual silence. One of two brothers who knew each other as well as if they’d actually been born to the same mother, and who could read the others actions as if they were reading their thoughts. It was them flopping over each other and Four climbing onto his shoulders to reach things, it was him throwing the smithy bodily up towards high places and leaning on the top of his head when he was drained or feeling playful.

Wild and Hyrule were his baby brothers, the chaotic ones who he was helping to bring up right, the boys who needed a guiding hand and a firm voice to push them and guide them, but who reveled in warm hugs and teasing or encouraging words.

And Twilight? Twilight was his sparring partner, his closest brother and the one he’d probably end up socking in the face one day. There was enough said on that front. Legend very nearly made the same rank, except...

Except Legend was, truth be told, as much a kid as the others and despite their verbal battles, he didn’t think he could actually ever hit the kid for real, no matter how often he cuffed the pink head or pushed the short vet over in jest, he didn’t think he could ever cause the younger hero harm. Yeah, yeah, so maybe it was the big brother and father in him that said he wouldn’t live with himself if he hurt the kid, but it was also the soldier and captain that saw a reflection of every cocky recruit he’d ever trained and a certain mask wearing child in the vet’s painfully rare smiles and much more common snarky comments.

And he just couldn’t bring himself to hurt a kid in the first place.

No matter how much of an ass they were being.

“Seriously though, how have you not died?” Legend was scoffing, but the vet’s arms were wrapped tight around himself as the kid rolled his eyes. “I mean, one bokoblin? How is that the first time an enemy has ever grabbed your scarf?”

Warriors would have laughed it off with a tease about the vet’s lack of leg protection, but he could see the worry shining in violet hues and feel the tender bruising that wrapped around his own neck. He hardly remembered the last battle, adrenalin and the concussion had seen to that, but legend had been weirdly snappish with him since, yet simultaneously clingy in a way that was painfully uncharacteristic of their salty veteran. “Most monsters are just dumb.” He’d shrugged off at last, but Legend hardly looked contented, picking at his tunic and scowling at his boots as if there was something more he wanted to complain about or say, but he lacked the words to say it.

Oh goddesses, the vet really was like Mask, wasn’t he? All bashful worry and fussing disguised as insults and annoyance, but underneath just a kid who desperately needed the assurance that the people around him weren’t seconds away from death.

“I’ll be fine, you grouchy little bumblebee.” He scoffed, tugging at one of the vet’s long ears, just as he did with Time when the now older hero was getting to wrapped up in his head. “We’re in my world anyway and the monsters here are dumber than rocks.” Usually he’d just say ‘dumb as rocks’ but they’d met a talus in Wild’s Hyrule and he couldn’t honestly think of that phrase the same way since.

“Black blood makes them smarter.” Legend huffed, batting his hands away with a scowl, nose wrinkling up in an almost adorable manner as he sidestepped a swipe at his hair. “And I just fixed that thing for you, I don’t want to have to do that again.”

So much like Time had been, did the vet see it? Just like his middle kid and it was messing with his brain in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. How upset would Sky be if he gathered Legend in amongst his boys as well? The Skyloftian wasn’t particularly possessive of his descendants and he might not mind sharing responsibility over the vet. He’d have to ask, but only once he was sure Legend was out of earshot, the kid was barely tolerant of Sky coddling him, and even then, usually only when he was sleepy or scared shitless.

“Are you listening, Captain? I’m not mending that scarf again this week, you ass.” Legend flicked his ears, irritation at being ignored coloring his face with a scowl that quickly faded into surprise as a blue heap of fabric settled over his head and shoulders. Of course, the surprise disappeared too once Legend’s face was covered with the tail end of the scarf, and he had to grab the back of the vet’s tunic to stop him from tumbling to the ground as he tripped over the rocky path.

“What the heck, Wars?!” The teen squeaked, fumbling with the fabric as the captain let a laugh rumble up through his chest into his throat.

“You keep fussing about the scarf, yeah? Well,” He reached out to tug the loose end down, chest thrumming with warmth as the pout on Legend’s face beneath the scarf and a fierce blush. “So how about you keep it safe for me, just for a bit.” He shifted the fabric again, arranging it to lay better around the veteran’s thin shoulders. “You can give it back after the next battle, yeah? Then you’ll know it’s not damaged.”

The pink-haired hero rolled his eyes at that comment, but Wars didn’t miss how the kid nestled in amidst the blue fabric with a soft hum.

Oh yeah, despite all the teasing, it was clear Legend liked the scarf as much as his other boys. He hoped Sun and Sky didn’t mind sharing too much, because there was no going back now.

“Dramatic arse.” Legend huffed, but despite the vet tugging the scarf up over his nose and mouth he still saw the grin the lay beneath.

Somewhere behind him, he could hear Time and Wind exchanging whispers while Twilight grumbled something exceedingly rude and fond all at once.

“Should we split up to find supplies then?” Sky asked, pointedly ignoring Twilight’s comment as he addressed the group as a whole, earning a thoughtful nod from Time.

“Probably best.” The man hummed out. “Groups of three, Hyrule and Wind, you’re with the vet, Four and Sky, you’re with Wars, Cub, Pup, I want you two with me, if something happens I want a responsible adult on every team, as well as someone who knows this Castletown well.”

Agreement thrummed over them as they split up, Wind catching his party members by their hands and pulling them off towards the tailor and apothecary shops so Legend could restock on thread and fabric and Hyrule could gather more healing supplies. Time’s group turned the opposite way, heading off into the main market square so Wild could restock on food stuffs and a new haversack for the traveler as Hyrule’s had had a hole worn in the corner that even Four doubted he could fix. Warriors himself led his team towards the fletchers and the forge, with the intent of buying more arrows and getting Four permission to repair a few of their weapons.

The chatter of the town was cheerier than usual, and to his surprise, not a single person spoke to him beyond the occasional inquiry about directions or an apology or insult after bumping into them. It was like he was invisible, or very nearly, and even those who made a point of calling out thanks or insults only waved cheerily to him as if he was just another passing soldier.

At the smithy, the Master Smithy, Gaepak, blinked in surprise for a good minute when Wars had approached to ask for use of the workroom. “Gen’ral? Is ‘at yew?”

He cocked a brow at the question. “Yes? Is there a problem?”

Gaepak boomed a nervous laugh, motioning to his own short neck with a faint flush on his face as his ears twitched lightly. “’Ard to tell you apart from yer men wit’out that scaaf of yers.” The man apologized, and the apprentice at the blacksmith’s side nodded nervously.

He couldn’t help back slip into a disarming smile (although he had to fight not to slip into their heavy accent as well when he spoke). “Quite alright, gentlemen. I’ve just let it out to one of-”

“Yer boys.” the smith nodded knowingly, earning a snigger from their own short-statured smithy and a light chuckle from Sky.

Warriors flushed slightly. Really, the people of Castletown knew him too well. “Yes, one of my boys.”

“An’ a moighty fine father ye are.” Gaepak drawled with a grin. “Use the forge ta yer ‘eart’s content.” The smith added, moving back to his own workstation with a cheery wink. “Jist moind ye clean it up when ya done.”

Four had shouted something of a reassurance before moving to the offered work station with shining hazel eyes and fingers already flitting over the available tools to familiarize himself with them. In the meantime, Sky had shot him a knowing smile, eyes twinkling as the captain had flushed softly.

Four was deep into his work and the two of them had already finished a lengthily talk and a trip to the fletchers when Wind and Hyrule had burst in, heavy breaths heaving through the two and a healthy flush over two sets of rounded cheeks as wild eyes had turned to the two adults.

“Wind, you can’t bust into a forge! Four shouted over the clang of metal. “It’s dang-”

“Legend was kidnapped.” Wind blurted out, voice strained and barely holding onto the collected and controlled report method Warriors had drilled into all of his soldiers during the war. Four’s hammer froze mid-air as the three had whipped around to face the two younger heroes, both knights stiffening instinctively as all laughter left their faces.

“What happened.” Warriors demanded, stepping forwards, jaw set and eyes hard as he met the sailor’s wavering gaze.

The aura of peace faded in instants, and soldier met the eyes of soldier as Wind snapped a neat salute. Unnecessary, yes, but trained into the kid by the other soldiers and probably a comforting sort of habit to revert to in the moment (Warriors felt the same about standing at parade rest as he listened to the kid’s report). “We were just entering the apothecary when a couple of folks approached Legend outside the door. He waved us inside to do our business while they talked, and Hyrule and I did as he asked. We gathered the needed supplies- that doesn’t matter though- the point is, when we were at the counter ringing up-”

“There was shouting outside!” Hyrule interrupted, fingering the strap of his faded satchel. “We thought it was just Legend being Legend, you know how he is but-”

“But then there was something of a scuffle and some bangin-”

“- and when we finished at the counter, because the man wouldn’t hurry up and refused to let us leave ‘till we’d been rung up-”

“Legend was gone!” Wind exploded, eyes shining with near panic as they met his own.

“Where were you exactly?” Wars demanded, mind already flitting across the list of people who were likely to have taken the vet. There weren’t many people the kid would have interacted with here, especially not alone, and saving the soldiers he’d accidentally embarrassed a couple of switches back (kid needed to wear some pants if he didn’t want to mistook for a girl) there wasn’t anyone he could really think of that would have cause to try anything. Sure, Legend’s winning personality might earn him a blow to the face from some of the rowdier townsfolk, but at worst he’d be left on the street on in an alley with a bruised face and a fractured rib or two, not taken away entirely.

As he considered, Four was already tidying up behind him only to have Gaepak wave them off with a worried look. “Moi boys will see to this ‘ere mess, don’t botha. Yew got a kid missin’ you go fetch ‘im, goodness knows Gen’ral that yew don’t need to be suff’rin’ that again.”

It was a bitter reminder, but he’d nodded his thanks all the same and grabbed ahold of Wind’s hand as he led the charge back into the street, Hyrule and Sky tagging along as Four made arrangements to come back later for the still cooling weapons before scampering out after them.

Searching Castletown’s streets would take hours, but after they’d run into one of his men, Bav, he’d filled the soldier in on the situation, and hardly had the words ‘my kid’ been out of his mouth before the other was nodding and agreeing to get the rest of the squadron to search the town. They’d found the others not long after, and the trio had dropped everything (even Wild’s slate for a hot second) to come rushing after them, their now two groups weaving in and out of alleyways and streets.

“Your wife?” A painfully familiar farm-wife had tutted. “First your poor daughter and now your poor wife. I’m sorry, luv, but I haven’t seen a thing.” Wind had crooked a smile at the groan Warriors had barely stifled as he led their group away, Sky and Hyrule both staring at the duo in confusion as they pressed further into the crowd.

Continued asking had brought up nothing, and after hours of trotting through the streets in a growing panic, Sky at his side and Hyrule nearly fluttering along with them, they’d finally been pulled aside by one of the soldiers and made to sit down in a guard-station long enough to drink some water and be caught up on the soldiers’ findings.

“Nothing yet, General Link, but we’ll keep looking. Until then, you should take a rest-” He’d moved to protest only to be cut off by a frown from one of his mates. “You’ll be run ragged by the time we hear word, and if the scamps intend harm of any sort, you’ll be in no state to help.”

He’d had to agree after that, but it hadn’t stopped him pacing while Sky held the other two close, rocking them softly and humming soft reassurances to the two smaller heroes that he’d bundled in his cape. The other four joined shortly after, Time demanding that Bav tell him what was happening and Twilight bundling over to grab Hyrule from Sky and curl up around him, the rancher’s nose buried in Hyrule’s curls as Four had settled between him and Sky, the smithies callused hands gently rubbing both their arms as he murmured soft reassurances to the others.

It was Wild that pulled him down to rest, flinty blue eyes sparking dangerously as the kid pulled him down to the ground and thrust something edible into his hands. Vaguely, he processed eating it, but his mind was too lost in spinning to take note if it was hot or cold or even what it tasted like.

When word finally came, it was with Bav’s face drawn and the entire guard having had to leave the post in wake of the nervous energy that flowed out from the exhausted heroes.

“Well?” He’d snapped to his feet, jostling Wild on accident as he did so and making the kid nearly toppled over with his sudden movement.

“An ultimatum, General.” Bav replied, clipped and carefully emotionless, even if there was pain in his eyes. “It’s addressed to General Impa, but-”

The note was snatched from waiting fingers before the other soldier had a chance to finish, and he was already breaking the seal as the man stepped back with a shake of his head and a murmured ‘poor man’.

The text that stared up at him stank, copper assaulting his senses as looping crimson script stared mockingly up at him. “General Impa,” The note read. “We have in our possession your branded puppet; the ‘hero’ of the war. We write to you now with a warning; should Hyrule and her queen not repay the debt owed to those fallen and forgotten, he will not be the first to pay the price.

“Repay that which is due, and release the prisoners who you hold unjustly under the claim of treachery. If this is done, your ‘hero’ will meet a kinder fate, and we may even allow you access to the corpse.”

The note was left unsigned, save a spattering of blood over where the signature ought to have been.

“A threat.” He choked, furrowing his brow and shaking his head. “It’s only a threat.”

“I wish, sir.” Bav’s eyes were downcast. “But they sent this as well.” A bundle, already unwrapped by the soldiers was offered to him. “But based on your description, that kid- I'm sorry, Sir.”

Trembling fingers tore aside the stained brown paper as he stared at the contents within.

A blood-soaked blue scarf stared back up at him.

#whumptober 2021 #linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu warriors #lu wind #lu sky #lu legend #kidnapping #dad warriors #warriors' scarf #scarf #idiot writes angst #idiot writes whump #will I follow this up later?#who knows!#until then #draw what conclusions you please #about what's happened to legend #i have no regrets

83 notes · View notes

toosicktoocare · 4 years

Text

The winner of prompt pick! Jaskier gets injured, and Geralt has to hurt him to help him, ft. Jaskier talking Geralt through what to do to help him.

(Friendly reminder-- I am NOT a doctor.)

Kikimora, a vile species, Jaskier thinks, one he’s hoped he would only have to experience through stories, through the low vibrato of Geralt’s tired voice on safe nights surrounded by the warmth of a small campfire, not while trudging through a swamp, not as a surprise attack that Geralt’s struggling to keep at bay.

Jaskier’s defenseless, the other sword with Roach, who’s run out of the swamp, and he can’t get to it because the fight with the Kikimora is blocking his path forward. He can’t backtrack, and he can’t find a safe enough opening to go around, the fight too widespread at times, and he feels incredibly helpless watching as Geralt grunts with each swing of his sword, as Geralt ducks and sidesteps around each jagged wave of the Kikimora’s limb.

He forgets that he’s standing in murky swamp water, forgets how clammy and uncomfortable his feet feel, his boots doing nothing to protect against the cold water. His mind is completely focused on Geralt’s every move, and he gulps, starting intently with bated breath, only exhaling when Geralt’s sword pierces right through the Kikimora soldier and the soldier’s listless body falls back into the swamp, fading away against thick, muddy water.

Geralt’s dripping wet, long hair clinging to his face, and he turns to Jaskier, chest heaving, and Jaskier meets his sharp gaze with a wide smile that bleeds with relief. “Well that was unpleasant. Great work as usual, Geralt.” He looks past Geralt at the short, remaining distance to blessedly dry land, with only an another hour’s walk waiting for them until they reach a small town to regroup for a few days, and he doesn’t see the way Geralt’s face falls, a frown taking over his lips. He doesn’t see Geralt reach out to him, but he does hear the frighteningly loud, panicked growl of his name right before he’s pulled painfully under water.

He’s aware of a searing pain shooting down his right arm, all the way to his hand, aware that dense, murky water is flooding down his throat as he squirms and screams against another Kikimora soldier that has him pinned under water. He’s aware that his chest physically burns with a need to inhale air. It’s tight, restricted, and panic grips at every inch of his being because he cannot breathe. His heart is slamming against his ribs, and then his vision begins to gray around the edges, darkness pushing forward across his eyes, his mind, until he blacks out.

He comes to to heavy, repeated pressure against his chest, hard enough he feels it against his ribs as a sharp pain that his ribs are struggling against. Then he feels the burn of hot water shooting up his throat. It hits his taste buds, and he gags, eyes shooting open. He’s pushed roughly onto his side as water pours out of his mouth. He’s coughing, and it hurts his ribs, but he can’t lift his right arm to press against his abdomen because his right arm hurts.

He can feel Geralt’s hand rubbing up and down his back, and the gentle touch is the only thing keeping him fully grounded as he focuses on his hammering heart and each ragged inhale and exhale.

“That’s it, Jaskier. Just keep breathing. You are alright.”

Geralt’s voice, though deep and soft, manages to break past the roaring in Jaskier’s ears, and he clings to the sound, reaching out with his left hand until he finds Geralt’s chest, hands curling into Geralt’s sodden shirt.

“Geralt,” he wheezes around a few lingering coughs. “My arm--” He can’t lift it. It’s burning hot, a stark contrast against the chill of the swamp water, and it stings, the slightest movement bringing a searing pain up and down his limb.

“It’s... fine.”

Geralt’s brief moment of hesitation is enough to have Jaskier whipping a panicked gaze to Geralt, taking quick note of the worry coloring Geralt’s amber eyes before reluctantly breaking the gaze to look to his right arm.

There’s a deep gash, starting at his shoulder and twisting down his arm, curving to cross the back of his wrist and stopping on his palm, right under his index finger. His skin is completely split, red and angry around the edges, and blood is pouring from the wound, coating the grass below him.

Slowly, he pulls his gaze back to Geralt, eyes wide, pained, scared, and Geralt’s face twists, displaying an array of emotions in just a few seconds, before he makes wordless work in helping Jaskier to his feet. Jaskier sways, whether from blood loss or pure, icy panic, he’s not sure, but he’s struggling to remain upright. He leans heavily against Geralt, and Geralt guides him to Roach with a steady hand around his waist.

For the remaining hour to the town, time seems an unclear concept for Jaskier. He’s aware that Geralt is speaking to him, offering soft words of encouragement, but he can’t fully process them, his mind always flitting back to the pain in his arm, to the fatigue draping over him like a thick blanket that does nothing to stave off the chill in the air. He’s shivering, exhausted, in heaps of pain, and he doesn’t fully snap back to the present until he’s at the inn, being gently stripped by steady hands, then guided into a large tub filled to the brim with steaming water.

The second the hot waters splashes against his wound, he hisses sharply, mind flooded with burning pain, and he makes to jerk it out of the water, but Geralt stops him by quickly stripping down himself and stepping into the tub across from him, placing a gentle hand to the side of his neck.

“We need to clean the wound.”

Jaskier’s heartbeat is beginning to quicken, his chest moving up and down harshly. “It hurts,” he presses, gritting his teeth and trembling against the pain. He can barely see through the haze coating his vision, but he just manages to make out the pure, transparent, disheartened concern that takes over Geralt’s rough features.

“I know, but we cannot risk infection.” He reaches out of the tub and snags a clean cloth from the floor, Jaskier’s wide pupils following his every movement, and he holds it up right before the wound, almost as a peace offering that Jaskier struggles to agree to.

Jaskier tilts his head back, gaze dragging toward the ceiling, and he breathes out a trembling breath. “Okay,” he whispers, and Geralt makes quick but careful work of cleaning the wound.

It burns, stings, is unbearably uncomfortable. Jaskier’s jaw is clenched so tight he fears he may crack his teeth from the pressure alone, and the only thing keeping him glued to the present is Geralt’s gentle, kind words, all while he works.

“You are doing very well.”

“I know it’s painful, but I’m almost finished.”

“Just keep breathing through it.”

“I’m right here.”

This goes on for minutes on end, and Jaskier clings to each word until, finally, Geralt lets the bloody cloth slip into the water. He can hear Geralt stand and leave the tub, and only then does he pull his gaze back down, watching as Geralt stiffly walks across the room, dripping water with each step, as he grabs a large wooden pale filled with clean warm water. Jaskier glances down to the murky water below him, colored a reddish brown that makes his stomach churn, but then Geralt’s behind him, ordering him to close his eyes and hold his breath before dumping clean, warm water over his head. He does this a few times before stepping back into the tub himself to dump the remaining water over his own head, and then he’s helping Jaskier out of the tub and into a rather soft, navy blue robe that stops just below his knees.

Jaskier winces when Geralt eases him onto the bed and slips his right arm from the robe, leaving it exposed. It’s throbbing, but it’s no longer bleeding, and Jaskier’s mind holds a little more clarity, watching with a frown as Geralt slips into his own robe, a deep forest green that’s dark against his light, dripping hair.

He wishes he could only focus on this, on Geralt, on them, but there’s a pit growing in his stomach, twisting and knotting, and when Geralt stops before him, holding a small kit and a spool of black thread, his stomach lurches lightly, and he swallows back the burning fear.

“Sutures,” he breathes out, voice shaking. The severity of the situation hits him like a bucket of ice water being thrown at his face. He’s shaking fully now, his heart is slamming against his ribs, he feels cold all over, breathless, completely and utterly panicked.

“You know how to do this,” Geralt reminds him, dropping gently onto the edge of the bed beside Jaskier’s injured arm.

“Yes,” Jaskier spits out, meeting Geralt’s eyes. “But I cannot exactly do it one-handed, and--”

“--talk me through it.” Geralt’s retrieved a needle from the kit, and he’s working the thread from the spool. His eyes, though kind, are sharp, determined, and Jaskier wants to get lost in the trust that pours from them.

“It’s...” Jaskier spares a glance to the reddened, angry gash down his arm. “It’s a lot.”

“Yes,” Geralt agrees, briefly setting the supplies down in favor of cupping a rough hand to Jaskier’s cheek, and it’s only when Geralt thumbs a tear away that Jaskier realizes he’s freely crying.

“It is a lot, and it is going to hurt, but you need it, and I need you to trust me.” Geralt slides his hand down to Jaskier’s chest, handing slipping past the loose robe until his palm is resting right above Jaskier’s heart. “And trust yourself.”

Sniffling, Jaskier nods, and he lets out a shaking sigh. “Okay,” he agrees. He feels slightly nauseous, a little light-headed, but he chases Geralt’s determination, setting his own eyes sharply as he begins to verbally walk Geralt through what to do, pointing at his wound, showing him how to handle the needle and thread, what direction to go, what speed, and Geralt takes it all in with bright, clear, understanding eyes.

When Geralt hands him a thick, but small twig from outside, instructing him to bite down on it, Jaskier braces himself. He slips the stick into his mouth, bites down against it, and for just a moment, he and Geralt share a wordless conversation of trust, of fear, of steady readiness.

When he nods, Geralt gets to work, and Jaskier moans, his left hand curling tightly around the blanket below him, fingers digging into the rough fabric. Tears are spilling from his eyes, and his back is arching as if trying to physically move away from the pain. His entire arm is pulsing, and each pierce of the needle against split skin feels like a stab of a knife. Geralt works for a few minutes before pausing, allowing Jaskier to catch his breath.

Jaskier rips the stick from his mouth and looks down at Geralt’s work, surprised at how clean and precise the sutures appear. “You’re doing well,” he pants out, struggling to catch his breath.

Geralt smiles gently, cupping a hand to Jaskier’s pale cheek. “As are you.” He waits a few moments until he’s satisfied with the slow, albeit rather labored, breaths. “Ready?” He swipes a few tears away with a gentle brush of this thumb, and Jaskier nods and pops the stick back into his mouth.

The second go through somehow hurts worse than the first. Jaskier had been hoping his arm would go numb, yet the pain is hot, searing even, and ever-so present. He can’t help the whimper that breaks past his clenched teeth, nor can he help the quiet sob, but then Geralt stops again, and he immediately whips his gaze to his arm. His palm is the only section remaining, and Geralt has his hand resting open carefully on his thigh.

Jaskier’s breathing is choppy, uneven, short, rapid bursts of air that do nothing to clear the panic gripping at his mind. He allows a brief moment to drag his gaze to his lute resting against the wall before he pulls it back to his palm, his right palm, staring through welling eyes at the angry wound stripped across it.

He spits the stick out. “Do you think,” he starts, voice shaking, “do you think I’ll still be able to play?” It’s the single thought that’s been gripping at his mind the second his eyes first laid on the wound, and the muted panic is coming in cold, quick, and he’s shaking again, eyes ripping from his palm to Geralt’s. “Tell me I’ll still be able to play.” His voice is cracking against each word, against the fear pulling at his chest. “I have to play. It’s all I have. Geralt, tell me--”

Geralt’s lips suddenly pressed against his stop his words, his thoughts, his mind short-circuiting against the warm, firm lips against his. While his eyes are wide, exposed, Geralt’s are closed, relaxed, save the furrowed creases in his forehead that display his worry. When Geralt pulls away, his eyes are once again bleeding with trust that Jaskier soaks in through his tears.

Geralt’s hand finds Jaskier’s left hand, and he squeezes it tightly. “You will be able to play again. I promise.”

There’s something about the intensity of Geralt’s tone that Jaskier doesn’t think he needs to question how Geralt can promise something like that. He simply believe him, believes every single word, and he can only manage a shaking nod, opening his mouth when Geralt offers the stick.

“Just a little more,” Geralt assures. “Ready?”

Jaskier nods, and the pain comes back full force, yet he can’t help but focus on the kiss. their kiss, all while Geralt finishes the sutures, when Geralt bandages his arm, and when Geralt helps him fully onto the bed, pulling the covers over him.

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s hand drops to Jaskier’s forehead, pulling him from his thoughts. There’s a faint heat that coats his palm, and he frowns slightly. “You’re warm. How do you feel?”

“Light.” Jaskier smiles, the heaviness from the day’s been lifted off his shoulders, and despite the burning pain in his arm, despite the pounding in his head, the tightness of his chest, the lingering fear of a lute-less life, he feels completely and utterly light.

Geralt grunts at the response, worry still etched across his face, and he makes quick work of cleaning up the room before crawling into bed beside Jaskier.

“You did very well today. You’re stronger than you think you are.”

Jaskier rolls his head to the side, meeting Geralt’s tired eyes with his own fatigued, slightly glassy ones. “And you,” he starts, smiling wider at the mere thought, “you, sir, you kissed me.”

#the witcher #netflix the witcher #geraskier #geralt/jaskier #whump #whumpfic #geralt/dandelion #sickfic #injury #geralt of rivia #jaskier #hurt jaskier #my writing #my witcher writing

1K notes · View notes

prettyandsarcastic · 4 years

Text

when you have to be both.

herald/sidestep

1,997 words

"Can I ask you something?"

Herald's question is whispered into the darkness of his bedroom, so quietly that January almost misses it. It's asked gently, softly, the way someone would speak to a spooked animal - and if that isn't just an apt description of January she doesn't know what else would be more fitting.

His mind is a nervous, curious hum, almost vibrating against the walls of her mental shields. But there's a fear there as well, pawing plaintively behind the anxiety.

She wants to tell him no. Because that's what got her into this situation, into Herald's bed, in the first place. A simple favor asked with too endearing, nerve-flushed cheeks and a bright, hopeful smile.

She wants to tell him not right now. Because she wants to forget, just for a moment longer, about the world beyond the edges of this bed. Wants to curl up into the solid warmth of him and pretend they're just Daniel and January.

Instead, January takes a breath and replies in the same way she doomed herself those months ago: "Asking's free."

The inhaling breath that Daniel takes is as much for courage as it is for time. His mind is now a flurry as possible reactionary scenarios to his question flit across his thoughts like a flip-comic. His best case scenario is that she'll have a similar breakdown to when January revealed her tattoos to him. His worst case is that she will leave and he'll never see her again.

"Please," Daniel begins and January hears him lick his lips in the dark. "Don't… don't feel like you have to answer, but… how are you different… from the — others?"

The others.

She knows without clarification that he means the other ReGenes. The ones who could not possibly be mistaken for anything near human with their blue-grey skin and full bodied sickly orange tattoos. Meant to stand out, be seen and feared, used and recycled or discarded when they outlived their usefulness.

Not like you.

The blanket pools at January's waist as she sits up. And the room begins to spin as she drops her head in her hand, tries to keep the panic from crumpling her lungs like tin foil. Sweat starts to dampen her hairline, is beading on her upper lip and she's terrifyingly aware of how heavily she's suddenly breathing. Her throat is achingly dry when she tries to swallow and desperately wishes she had a drink. Whiskey, bourbon, scotch, anything to burn out the bile she can already taste at the back of her tongue.

January is desperately trying not to feel the chill of an exam table against her back. The sharp, biting pinprick of a needle at the bend of her elbow. White noise static loss of feeling in her fingers and toes from too tight restraints. The weight of sensors and their cords attached to her skin, itching with adhesive. The too clean scent of disinfectant, antiseptic overpowering the metallic tang of blood, the sour smell of sweat. Whirs and beeps and the humming of machinery drowning out the cacophony of detached, methodical thoughts —

Daniel's hand is suddenly warm and real against her back, splayed across her shoulder blade, the tips of his fingers fitting between the notches of her spine. "Hey," he breathes. "It's okay. January, come back to me."

She focuses on the weight of his hand on her, the navy tinted, apologetic concern of his thoughts. The ridges of certain scars beneath the pads of his fingers as he soothes his hand across her shoulders before he cups the back of her neck. If he can feel her trembling and the sweat slick on her skin, he doesn't acknowledge it.

"I'm sorry," he says when she seems to, finally, calm. "I shouldn't have asked."

January shakes her head, takes a deep fortifying breath. "Don't be, it's alright," she replies, and if her voice is a little wrecked, a little brittle, well...

And maybe she says it's alright because there's no malice in his thoughts. No disgust - no, never that and never because of her or anything she would ever tell him (and if that thought doesn't just make her want to laugh out loud because he has no idea). There's a definitive divide in Daniel's mind between her and the others even without January answering his question. Just as he had made the divide between Sidestep and January.

ReGene. January. Sidestep.

Three faces. Three masks. Three divides. She's not sure how much more Daniel can separate the pieces of her identity before the person he says he loves isn't even her. Before that person in his head becomes something he wants her to be rather than the person she is…

Before he starts to look at you like Ortega does. With the weight of too many expectations.

She can’t even make the distinction between her masks that Daniel can. Not anymore. There are too many threads that she has to keep separate and they keep getting tangled and twisted into knots. And one day she’s going to get caught in her own spider’s web of lies and deception. ReGene. January. Sidestep. Jane. Enyo. She is all of those and more. And yet, perhaps, maybe none of them at all because she’s never had the true freedom to discover who or what she might really be.

January can't fault him for his curiosity even though she knows that she should. After all, it's not everyday the person you're in love with tells you that they're not even human. She also knows it would be better in the long run for them both if she shoved him away with all the violence trapped behind the prison of her ribcage.

But you tried that already.

"I'm… valuable," January finally says on an exhale.

She sees Daniel shake his head out of the corner of her eye. "January, it’s okay you don't -"

Her fingers, gentle against the plush of his lips, cut him off. Her hand is a ruined mess compared to beauty of him. Long fingers that would be elegant were they not crooked from fractures that healed wrong or the scars on her knuckles and the jagged, chipped polish of her nails.

"It's okay," she assures him.

Daniel nods, his mind going soft and golden like sunrise so overwhelmingly relieved that she hasn’t run, hasn’t tried yet again to push him away. His expression remains neutral as he takes her hand, kisses the scar on her palm that itches when she’s stressed, then lightly over the pulse fluttering beneath her wrist and the haggard scar there as well. He’s not certain he could bear to be parted from her now.

“Okay,” he replies. “Tell me.”

So she does, haltingly at first, then with more confidence if not with more detail. It’s more a bullet point summary because truthfully she can’t bring herself to give more details. There’s things Daniel doesn’t need to know, things January doesn’t want him to know. She doesn’t want to add even more fuel to the raging wildfire of anger his thoughts have become.

Daniel never moves to comfort her, or try to reach out and touch her again as January speaks; just sits quietly, holding his rage softly inside himself even if she can see it hardening his eyes and tightening his jaw. And even though there’s a whirlwind of questions in his mind, he never asks them, never pushes her for more than she’s willing to give.

Not like Ortega who asks and pushes and insists because he doesn’t know how to give up without a fight and everything he’s ever let go of has bruises from how hard he holds on. Because he wants everything to fit into the image he has in his head, wants to fix everything, fix her. And it doesn’t matter to Ortega how much he cuts himself on all her sharp edges trying to piece her back together.

“And… that’s it,” January finishes rather inelegantly.

“So I take it that January isn’t your real name?”

The absurdness of the question startles a laugh out of her. All the things she had just told him and that was his first question. Relief trickles down her spine, something warm and comforting curls in the pit of her stomach like a content cat. And Daniel smiles, laughs with her, beautiful and so full of adoration for her that for just a moment she hates him. Why should he still love her even now?

“No, it’s not. They never gave us names. It was January the first time I escaped.”

“And Moreno?”

She shrugs. “Saw it on a highway sign.”

“This is why you never officially joined the Rangers.” It’s not really a question.

With a sigh, January lays back against the pillows, but turns to look at Daniel. “I wouldn’t submit myself to the background check because I knew I wouldn’t pass it.” Idly, she lifts her hand, contemplates the freckles and the scars, and her crooked fingers. “There are so many things that bear my fingerprints, things I don’t remember.”

And then there are things she does remember, like shattering Herald’s knee.

“Not to mention,” she continues, “if I had done the background check they would have found me that much faster. If they catch me this time... I don’t think I’ll be able to escape again.”

And when it comes down to it, isn’t that why she’s doing this? Why she let Sidestep rot at the bottom of the grave they dug and rose up again as Enyo? Because January won’t let The Farm get a hold of her again and there are no limitations or rules to hold her back anymore. She’ll drag their dirty secrets through the streets with bloodied hands for everyone to see…

And what are you willing to sacrifice to see it happen?

Daniel’s hand finds hers, strong, warm fingers threading through hers. “They’ll have to go through me first,” he insists.

“They will,” January answers, her voice flat. “They can and they will.”

The bed shifts suddenly as Daniel moves and then he’s over her and January shifts until her knees bracket his hips. There’s that brief flash of instinct she has, the points on Daniel’s body she needs to hit to escape, but she forces it away and blinks up at him. His eyes are intense and so, so blue and his thoughts are all the metallic steel color of stubborn determination.

“You don’t get it. I won’t let anything happen to you,” Daniel says. And he has that look on his face again, the hard set one that he sometimes gets when they spar. He means every single word. “I won’t let anyone or anything take you from me, January.”

“Daniel -”

This time it’s his fingers, soft against her lips that stop her. “No,” he tells her as his hand moves, fingertips caressing the angle of her cheekbone, brushing against the bruised circles under her eyes. “I love you.”

January sighs, if only to keep herself from giving in to the stinging at the corners of her eyes. He’s ridiculous, but he loves her and he would do anything to keep her safe and in his arms. He won’t hear her tell him how he can’t protect her, can’t keep her safe, that he won’t have a choice when The Farm finally comes for her again.

She rises up on an elbow, catches Daniel in a kiss that he eagerly returns with a soft sound. She’s not sure if she loves him, and if she does, how would she know what love feels like? Perhaps they made her incapable of it for all she knows. But she does know that her heart hurts, feels fit to burst when Daniel presses her back into the mattress and his hands start to roam.

You are going to ruin him.

… Maybe. Lover or enemy. Hero or villain. Human or monster. She has to be both.

what is more unfair than having to choose between being a monster or being a hero?

(- when you have to be both.)

when you learn that the road to hell is paved with more than just good intentions. - you are not heads or tails; you are the coin

m.a.w

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero: retribution #fhr sidestep #fhr #fallen hero sidestep #fallen hero #fallen hero herald #herald x sidestep #flystep #january moreno #kay writes

141 notes · View notes

ofmorninglory · 3 years

Text

WIP snippets

Thanks to @espoir-et-reves for tagging me in this! Let's see what's in my WIP folder that I can share!

after the war ch. 5 - team 7 centric, Naruto

Kakashi makes it home much later than usual. The lights are already off in all of the kid’s rooms, but the one in Yamato’s study is still bright. He doesn’t know the actual hour, but he does know it’s too late for his partner to be working on any wood. He also knows Yamato had been out on a mission until earlier today--there’s no way the man has any energy left to actually carve.

Defeated and more than a little irritable, Kakashi drags his feet into his home and right towards the door of his partner’s workshop. Pakkun greets him as he passes before the door, but doesn’t offer to follow him, eyes downcast. He wonders for a second if his ninken had attempted to pull Yamato from his work only to be shut down immediately by the wood user’s cold stare. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time that happened, but Kakashi sets the thought aside in favor of steeling himself for what’s to come.

Yamato would often get like this after missions, but it had been a while since Kakashi had been the unwilling spectator of his strange moods. Ever since he had become commander of the ANBU forces, the Mokuton user had remained in Konoha for the most part. Kakashi hadn’t done that on purpose, he swears, but he had to admit that knowing Yamato would be usually stationed at home gave him peace of mind. Even better, Kakashi knew that the missions Yamato had been taking on were mostly related to re-building and diplomatic security. It meant less injuries, and better yet, it meant he’d see less of that neutral, unresponsive Tenzo that usually came back from difficult missions. It was good for everyone involved.

As he reaches the door, the Rokudaime takes in a shuddering breath, and pushes into the room with the kindest smile he can muster. Yamato is curled almost protectively around the piece of wood he’s working on, the soft sounds of his carving almost rhythmic in the stillness of the room. Kakashi clicks the door closed behind him, trying to be as soft and careful as is humanly possible to reach Yamato sitting in the middle of the room.

fake married au (+wandavision au) I was supposed to finish for Jax's birthday - bluepulse, Young Justice

“You look like you saw a ghost,” Bart laughs upon seeing his face, and Jaime feels like his “husband” just knows what’s going on in his head. “Calm down, Blue. Whatever this is, it’s obviously not real.”

Something clicks in Jaime’s brain. Like a memory unlocked that he can’t reach. “What did you say?”

Bart quirks an eyebrow at him. “This isn’t real. Don’t you think so?”

“No,” Jaime shakes his head. “Not about that. What did you call me?”

“Uh,” Bart’s hand slides off from the doorknob to the floor, his body following suit as he leans to one side. “Blue?”

“Yeah, that!” Jaime exclaims. His tie suddenly makes a lot more sense. There’s a thought just in the tip of his tongue. “I think I’m--”

The doorbell cuts his statement short. Both men snap to attention, standing up from their positions in record time. Through one of the square glass panels on the door, Jaime catches black hair and blue eyes. Something in the back of his head screams at him--the color red overtaking his senses for a second.

Jason.

“Jay!” Jaime greets just as he opens the door. He can’t remember who this person is, exactly, but the smile he is answered with is enough to show him that at least he knows his name. “What--uh--what brings you here so early?”

“Did I just see you both pop up from the floor?” Jason grins toothily at them both, looking pointedly at Bart, who is tucking his shirt back in his pants where it had been pulled out in the tussle to get back up. “You naughty children--I know you haven’t been married for so long, but shouldn’t your honeymoon phase be over?”

Bart laughs, cheeks dusted a rosey pink. “Is it ever really over, Jaybird?”

“With you,” Jason says as he sidesteps around Jaime to walk into their home. “I don’t think it is.”

astronomy (? - ushisuga, Haikyuu!!

“Okay, hold on a minute, Ushijima,” Koushi whirls over his axis, taking a step back so he doesn’t have to crane his neck so far up. “Let’s just--let’s take a moment, yeah?”

The confusion in Ushijima’s face is more than evident. Koushi feels like maybe this is what mothers feel like when their toddlers are learning about the world for the first time. Ushiwaka may have been one of Japan’s top 3 spikers, and captain of the strongest powerhouse school in the Miyagi prefecture, but he sure was obtuse when it came to his feelings and those of other people.

Suga doesn’t know why that makes him upset.

“Let’s take a moment, then.”

They stand there for a while, both of them at a loss for words, before Suga finally takes the plunge.

“Ushijima,” he says, voice even, but avoiding golden eyes. “Do you like me?”

The answer doesn’t come immediately, which makes Sugawara a little nervous, but when he turns to peek at Ushijima through lowered lashes, he finds the man’s cheeks alight with the most endearing shade of pink. It does something to his stomach.

“Perhaps I do,” Ushijima begins. “I’ve never really--well, I don’t really know what liking someone entails, but I know it’s different, getting to talk to you and spend time with you.”

“So you’re unsure of your feelings?” Suga prods further. “And you still want to drag me into this? Whatever this is?”

The question sounds a little more forceful than he’d intended. His companion pays him no mind.

“I’ve been told some things are worth taking a risk for,” the ace says, with an air of finality to his tone. “I think this is a risk I’d enjoy figuring out. With you. If you’d have me.”

How sincere can a man get? Koushi has the smallest inkling that he might end up getting his heart broken if he doesn’t thread carefully.

Me? Having a million different WIPs for a million different fandoms? Please, that's UNHEARD of! I'm tagging @distance-of-song, @bluepulsebluepulse, @paintingwithdarkness, @teatitty and @schweeeppess, if you guys have any WIPs to share!

#long post #i used the new tumblr editor for this bcs i was curious JAJAJA #did i have too much fun using colors? YES.#but do tell me if this makes it a bitch to read or see on your dashes #;about the author

5 notes · View notes

justjessame · 3 years

Text

Glorious, Before the Burden - The Comfort ~ 5

Odin was grief stricken and angry. For once, at least in my recent memory, neither was focused upon me. His knees met the marble beside me, his arms pulled Frigga’s head from mine and his gaze met mine. Pain rushed through me, but I relinquished my hold, knowing that at least in this - his affection for her was equal to, if not more than, mine.

Thor was holding Jane, and I knew as surely as I knew my own name, that Odin’s ire would be directed at the Midgardian and his son soon enough. They’d brought the Dark Elf’s aggression and thirst for the Aether home to roost. This, the queen’s death at their hands while she played guardian over both Jane and the Aether, would be a final pin in Odin’s distaste for the pairing. How pitiful and terrible. I almost thought my own banishment and supposed suicide was merciful in comparison.

Preparing the dead for their final trip - Valhalla awaits after all - is one of the hardest parts of grief. When Odin insisted Loki was dead and I assured him he was NOT, we dared not go through the playact - not that I assumed they would have done it for someone so many insisted was a traitor. I had to wonder, as I watched Frigga, my queen and mother, draped in silks and set off along with all those who died at the hands of the Dark Elves and in collateral damage from the invasion, had I been given such a funeral?

Odin, standing tall at my right, Thor as tall at my left, I watched as the archers lit the pyres and the sky was aflame. A warm hand touching my right hand made me flinch, so unprepared for the touch, but then Odin’s voice joined it.

“If you would, Lady Sigyn,” my jaw clenched, as he continued, his voice quiet and soft. “A moment alone, please?”

Alone? Without witnesses, of course. A tilt of my head was the only answer I felt capable of giving. My eyes were dry, tears burned out and I yearned to go to Loki, to tell him and comfort him, but a moment with Odin I’d allow.

The throne room was in shambles. Dark Elves destruction all around and Odin seemed at a loss of whether he should sit or stand. Rudderless without Frigga near.

I chose not to kneel. I’d been banished, and felt that freed me from fealty to his leadership.

“Sigyn,” he stared down at me, voice still quiet and I wondered if he was feeling as lost and broken as I felt when I woke up in Midgard alone and confused. “You must hate me so -”

I shook my head, I didn’t hate him. I felt sorry for him. “No, I don’t.” His eye widened. “You just lost the love of your life, mine is simply locked away. I still have hope.”

He huffed out a breath and sat hard on the throne. “Yes, I suppose that does make you come out ahead.” He looked far older than he ever had to me. “Did she tell you why?” My arms were crossed over my chest as I waited for him to expound on his question. “Frigga, I mean, did she tell you the reasons for -” he gestured at me, as if all of me was a reason to be had.

“Do you mean, did she give me a reason for banishing me and telling my husband and everyone here that I committed suicide?” Odin’s eye closed as if he needed strength to deal with me, strange since he’d asked for the audience, not me. “Yes, in part. Something about Loki making a deal with a terrible being and THIS being a way to keep him safe.” The amount of sarcasm and disbelief coloring my tone would have choked a lesser being. “I have doubts.”

“The young always doubt their elders,” he sighed, opening his eye to study me. “You love him still.” Not a question, he’d stopped questioning how I felt about Loki finally. A harsh laugh and he sighed again. “You remind me of -” His eye went tight and my eyes burned again.

“I’ll always love him.” I reminded him. “I should go check on him.” He shook his head and I wanted to throw something. “I’m not going to release him, Odin.” I bit my lip and wanted to scream. “He’s alone and his MOTHER just died.”

“I know, Sigyn, I know.” Odin looked down and I waited. “He’s been told.” By a guard, I wanted to argue. “I can’t let you -”

“That’s where you have it wrong,” he looked up at me and I wasn’t sure what he was seeing, but it stopped him from opening his mouth and giving another edict. “You won’t be LETTING me do anything from here on out. I will be visiting my husband. I won’t go into the cell, but he will have me as a visitor.” Turning on my heel I walked away from Asgard’s king, leaving him to grieve alone, much as he left me to grieve alone on Midgard.

I had to sidestep several guards and cleaning crews - the cells had been partially destroyed along with the throne room and a greater portion of Asgard then Odin cared to speak about - wearing my regular clothing, my gowns and my hair in my normal way felt both freeing and strange after so much time in Midgard. Although not as odd as seeing my people stare and gasp as if they were bearing witness to a ghost haunting the very halls.

Loki was sitting with his back against the far wall, the entirety of his cell destroyed within, but the integrity of the cell itself was perfect. He didn’t see me, not at first, and I took a moment to appreciate the reversal from when I was a child in the gardens to our current state. Barefoot, hair down and wild, he looked as if he’d finally allowed his inner turmoil and madness to have free and full reign. His grief coupled with the reality of not making peace with her before she died had done this.

“Sigyn?” His tear stained, red rimmed blue eyes locked on me - where I was standing on the other side of his cage - and he sounded unsure. Was I real or was I simply another vision?

“Yes, my love?” I drew closer, touching the surface of his cell, letting my hand press against it, letting him see the golden ripple to prove I was real.

His gasp followed by a sob cut through me. “Oh my,” he didn’t stand, choosing to crawl across the floor, our faces were almost level that way - when he made it to where I stood. “You’ve come home.”

I nodded, no longer trusting my voice. He lined up our hands and I blinked away my tears, not wanting this to be a tear filled time, even with Frigga’s death - oh no Frigga’s death.

“I was with her,” somehow I managed to say the words and his eyes grew tighter. “I was.” I nodded and when his first tear fell so did mine. “I’m so sorry, Loki.”

“Don’t, love, don’t.” He shook his head. “At least she had you with her,” he was clutching at whatever threads he could. “The daughter she always wanted.”

“The son she must have dreamt to life,” I whispered.

I didn’t stay as long as I wanted, simply because being on the wrong side of the cell didn’t make either of us happier. And Loki actually forbade me from coming INSIDE the cell with him. Having me closer, he promised, helped.

“I could be closer,” I tempted, but he shook his head.

“I won’t have you a prisoner too, Sigyn.” His red rimmed eyes pleading for me to understand. “Go, please?”

Promising to come back, vowing that I would regardless of Odin or anyone else, I left. As I ascended the stairs, I wondered if our rooms had made it out of the invasion intact.

I should have known, perhaps it was being home surrounded by the comforts of Asgard and the familiarity of the walls that I’d known from such a young age that had allowed me to forget just who I shared those walls with, but I should have known that Odin’s distrust of Jane and the fact that her body was currently nothing more than a warm a living container for the Aether - awaiting the Dark Elves’ next attempt at taking it by force - would lead to Thor attempting to free her from her own prison. And who better to aid him in this, than his adopted brother and my own heart, Loki?

How had I not known it? How had my own powers of premonition failed me so? Simply put, I couldn’t control that power, I couldn’t aim it at what I wanted to see and force it to show me what would be coming. I was powerless and rudderless, much as Odin was without Frigga, and as such, didn’t see Thor freeing Loki to aid him in his madness.

That was a failure in my powers, but in my own knowledge of MY FAMILY? That just couldn’t be forgiven, not only by Odin - who looked at me with pity this time, not suspicion - but by myself. How could I have missed the reality of it? Thor, as desperate for Jane’s freedom from both Odin’s heavy boot and the draining power of the Aether would have gone to ANYONE for aid, and Loki was NOT as troubling to ask for help as so many would assume - even if Volstagg, Sif, and Fandral all made pains to make it sound so. I would have laughed, if I wasn’t scared to my very marrow by the idea of the three of them alone and facing the monsters that I saw behind my closed eyelids - not simply the Dark Elves, but that thing that had faced Frigga.

“Leave us,” Odin entoned, anger radiating off him in waves. He was on his throne, the debris still littering the throne room, but nowhere near the top of the list of problems facing my king. I knew when he said ‘us’ he meant the two of us - our remaining family. I was leaning against one of the remaining pillars, close to the throne, and praying for strength. “Do you see ANYTHING, Sigyn?” He was pleading for hope, that the two of us - our duo - wouldn’t be all that remained for the rest of his reign.

My eyes went shut and I tried with every ounce of my being to try to follow them - Thor, Jane, and the one who should have been easy to follow MY LOKI. Taking a deep breath, I centered myself and tried to find HIM. Instead of finding the one I so desperately wanted to see, I found another - the one I’d left with Sylvie, in his own desperation, wandering stacks much like in a library or bookstore, searching for SOMETHING and I tried to brush him away - NOT NOW. But I couldn’t, and I nearly screamed when he found Agent Mobius, even as I felt the wave of relief flow over him, but it left just as quickly - Mobius didn’t recognize him, had no idea of his name or who he was.

Shaking off the vision, I growled at my frustration. Why was this so damn difficult? “Nothing,” I opened my eyes. “I cannot find them, Odin.” Why was it that I GLOWED, but I saw nothing when I searched for Loki? How was that fair?

My king studied me and I could have sworn that his lip twitched. “When your parents first brought you here,” a nod and he went on. “You were tinier than I expected, I asked Frigga if she’d been wrong about your birth.” My lips curled at the idea of him daring that - and he laughed, a sound that I hadn’t heard in so long from him that it startled us both. “It went over quite well.” He sighed and sat back in his throne. “So small, yet -” his gaze fixed on a sight that seemed farther away than where I stood. “Like a flame, you burned so bright, Sigyn.” My smile dropped. “She didn’t tell you?” She had, I just assumed it was Loki who saw it - ONLY Loki. “I knew you were powerful, so did she.”

“He thought you took him as a souvenir.” I swallowed down the dryness in my mouth. “Loki,” Shaking my head, I took another deep breath. “You make it sound as if I was simply another one.”

Odin let out a long breath of his own. “I haven’t been the best parent,” he conceded, and I chose to remain silent. “I should never have explained taking him in the way I did.” He was still staring off in the same way, and I wished I could see what he did. “Seeing an infant, left to die, Sigyn -” he swallowed something as hard as I had. “I hope you never have to see something so cruel, I truly do. I couldn’t have left him there, no matter the reasoning.” He looked down at his hands. “When I touched him, he changed, his naturally blue skin, red eyes - they changed. I didn’t do that, he did.” I felt the tear roll down my face, but didn’t move to brush it away. “When I tucked him against my chest and brought him home, Frigga met me and one look at him and she was in love.” His smile was soft, the memory like new. “He was hers from the first look, first touch.”

“She told me,” I was surprised by how strong my voice sounded, even as my tears were running down my face. “Before Loki and I first -” Brushing away my tears, I shook my head. “She told me how my future husband’s family would cherish and honor my honesty.” Our gazes met and he waited. “Instead, I was punished for it. Was it because you chose not to exercise it with Loki about his parentage, Odin?”

He shook his head, and I wished we could continue speaking - we’re interrupted by a guard informing us that they’ve learned where Thor, Jane, and Loki had disappeared to.

#loki #loki spoilers #loki x sigyn #loki series #sigyn #angst #character death #alternate universe

1 note · View note

ryik-the-writer · 3 years

Text

Laughter in the Walls: The Basement

A03

It was sometimes easy for Belle to forget that her new home was haunted.

There were days when Rumplestiltskin—the self-proclaimed “residential haunter” of the salmon-colored mansion—would be jumping off the walls, moving things, bringing chaos and excitement into Belle and her son’s life.

Then there were days like today when he’d go oddly quiet. Belle had woken up that morning to no Rumplestiltskin. None at breakfast, none when she saw Gideon off, and none now with her having more free time than she’d had in weeks.

Though she cared for Rumple very much, she took immediate advantage of his absence.

She went through the budget for the town library that was set to open in another week, unpacked her last box in the living room, and got the kitchen cleaned…all in less than thirty minutes.

She leaned back on her couch, listening to the clock hanging over the fireplace.

“Wow,” she muttered aloud. After being a mother for nearly 18 years and living in a haunted house, she’d grown completely unaccustomed to quiet time.

“Um…” she hesitated, double guessing when she’d ever get a moment like this again, a moment just to sit back and breath.

But that novelty quickly wore off.

“Rumple?” she called out, preparing for him to suddenly appear behind her or jump onto her coffee table…something!

But Rumplestiltskin did not appear or attempt to scare her.

Belle hummed, worrying her lip. Where was he?

With a determined hum, she began her search, going up the bedrooms and even checking the closets, on the way down she did the same until finally she stepped out into the garden.

Belle addressed the area, scrunching her nose at the dead vines on the fence. She hadn’t touched it since she moved in being that it was far too cold to begin cleaning up, and she was certain that Rumple would give her grief when she began.

She walked around the small space, mulling over her ghostly housemate’s antics.

The last few weeks had certainly been an adventure, truly the most interesting few weeks of both her and Gideon’s life so far.

Knowing Rumple’s life before his unfortunate death had softened her to him, and him to them in return it would seem.

Sure he still played his little tricks but he was finally allowing them to settle in and get comfortable.

But Belle had also noticed that he seemed to keep them at arm’s length as well.

He never officially joined them for meals, and the first time Belle asked him he looked shocked enough to die all over again. Instead he’d levitate peas or shuffle around silverware, hiding his true feelings behind harmless chaos.

She moved a stone with the toe of her shoe, mulling over where her residential haunter could be.

Her eyes landed on the dusty basement windows—the one room in the house she hadn’t touched yet.

Snapping her fingers, she ran back inside to find the key Mary Margaret Nolan had given her the day she moved in. It fit in the lock perfectly but Belle grunted a bit to turn it.

She had to force her weight onto the door to get the thing open and nearly tumbled down the stairs when it finally swung open.

She spat when she walked into a cobweb, waiving away dust and the smell of age as she carefully made her way down the skeptical wooden steps.

“Rumple?” Belle called down, her voice echoing off the gritty walls as she felt for a light.

She found the end of the steps—thankfully without falling down them—and squinted into the dark, just able to make out a few objects.

She stepped around carefully, hands reaching out to graze along what felt like furniture until blessedly she felt the coolness of a glass lamp shade. She eagerly groped the lamp until she felt pull string, and with a tough the room was illuminated in a gentle but useful light.

She blinked, letting her eyes adjust, and after a moment she gasped at the objects before her.

It was like she was in a dusty museum full of treasures. Furniture and lamps, and so much more that Belle just could not see from the lack of light.

She looked around and spotted the windows. They were caked in a thick layer of dust and dirt, the thinnest slithers of light struggling to escape.

Belle sidestepped a few crates and removed her cardigan, using a table against the wall to lift herself up so that she could clean the glass.

After a great deal of effort, the glass was clean enough so that she could see better. As she eased herself off the table, she felt paper crumple under her palms. She looked down and to her delight, the table she was on was overflowing with an old tea set and…books!

She brushed off her hands, eagerly examining the piles before her. Dickens, Hugo and even an older copy of Shakespeare poems! Some were unbound, as if someone were trying to prepare them?

One book towards the end seemed to be in the roughest state of all. It’s spine a strip of cloth and Belle couldn’t even make out the title on the overly worn cover, though she noticed that the spine was held together by some new thread.

She carefully picked the book up to look at the pages, hoping to gain some sort of insight of what the book was about when a cold presence suddenly washed over her.

“Careful dearie!”

Belle jumped back, knocking into the table behind her and causing the porcelain on it to clatter. She visibly paled when she heard one of the pieces hit the dusty floor.

Rumplestiltskin stepped to her side, taking the crumbling book from her hands much more gently than she thought he would.

“You’re holding one the first copies of La Belle et la Bête!”Rumplestiltskin growled. “It took me months just to stitch the pages back together.”

“I’m…I’m sorry,” Belle gasped, overcoming her shock quickly to address the damage she did to the porcelain tea set.

A lump formed in the throat when she found the cup she caused to fall on the ground, a very small but noticeable chip in its rim.

“I’m so sorry,” Belle said, cursing her unyielding curiosity. “I chipped it…”

She tensed when Rumple squatted down to her level, addressing the cup in her hands with a blank expression.

“You…you can hardly see it.” She offered with a strained smile.

Rumplestiltskin met her eyes and caught the fresh terror there. Though it pleased him he could make her feel such fear despite their month-long acquaintance, it did concern him just a bit. Did she really think he’d rage over a cheap tea set? Sure, it was bothersome that she stumbled into his sanctuary…but it wasn’t all his now anymore…

“It’s just a cup,” he assured, taking the thing out of her hands and avoiding how he almost…almost…felt the heat from her skin. “Worth nothing really. I don’t even have the full set any more.”

Belle visibly sagged in relief, picking herself up as Rumplestiltskin placed the cup on the table.

“What is all this?”

Rumplestiltskin turned to acknowledge the relics of his past, years of toil gathering dust or rotting right in front of his eyes.

“What’s left of my shop.” He answered, leaving her side to flick a cobweb from an old spinning wheel.

“Shop?” Belle gasped. “You had a shop here?”

“No,” he laughed wetly. “In town. They moved all this here after I…”

Belle worried her lip, know his next words.

“You…fixed things?” she said, rushing to change the subject.

“Fixed, appraised, some might even stole,” he giggled, though the humor wasn’t in his voice. “It was an antique shop with a pawning theme. When people couldn’t pay back what they borrowed for their items, I sold them. Some would call that theft.”

Belle shrugged, not wanting to comment on how a bit unfair that seemed.

“Is that why you came down here?” she inquired. “To remember?”

Rumplestiltskin blinked, a flash of who he used to be running before his yes.

Mr. Gold, the pawnbroker who owned everything in Storybrooke from the properties to everyone’s first born. The monster. The friendless fiend who’d watch parties and get-togethers at the diner from his car. Who had all the wealth in the world but no one to share it with.

Someone his own flesh and blood tried to forget.

“Rumple?”

He glanced back at her, those soulful blue eyes easing away his less savory thought.

“Not much to remember,” he sighed, walking past her.

Belle’s mouth went dry as she tried to find the right words to comfort him, however it was painfully obvious that their experiences with loneliness were painfully diverse.

The loneliest time in her life was during her pregnancy with Gideon and right after he was born. Will’s paternal instincts just wouldn’t turn on and her parents, thought accepting of her new role, were silently disappointed.

By the time Will left for good and Belle began online classes and a part-time job to support her new baby, she’d been able to accept her new role as a teenage mother.

And she’d never truly been alone, but judging by Rumple’s demeanor and the Nolan’s insight on his previously life, he had been.

She looked around at the objects that had filled his life, that brought him company when people could not.

She smiled fondly at the books, wondering how many hours he spent caring for them, if the words from the words managed to tame some of his time.

Her eyes scanned to the spinning wheel, wondering what he created from the antique.

“What do you think about bringing this upstairs?”

He stared at the old spinning wheel, disgusted.

“Why?”

“It’s beautiful. It’d look great in my library,” She shrugged. “Plus, it was yours, and … this is your home too.

Rumplestiltskin scoffed, his gaze softening when his back was to her. “Do what you wish.”

Belle smiled, noticing the change in his tone. She got him this time.

She looked around the basement, noticing several other pieces that would fit in other parts of her – their home.

She’d volunteer Gideon to help her fish them out later, but for now she’d start small.

She turned to make work on the spinning wheel but noticed it had vanished. A moment later, a loud thump above sent a shower of dirt and dust on her.

“Wouldn’t want you to say something, dearie!” he called from upstairs—her library.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #belle french #rumplestiltskin #ryik's fics #laughter in the walls

6 notes · View notes

akitokihojo · 5 years

Text

Enchanted - Part 1

Softly inspired by “Enchanted” by Taylor Swift

Disclaimer: If Kagome can take a bike to the past without messing up the space-time continuum, I can write a story that isn’t 100% historically accurate.

----------

Inuyasha ignored the calls behind him, taking a sharp turn through the tree line to disappear within the foliage, dodging low-sitting branches and thick roots that decorated the forest floor. Even from a distance, he could still catch the faint wheezing of his aide trying to catch up to him, to stop him from running off yet again. As fun as it was to escape his role in the kingdom, even just for an hour, he'd happily admit that the real joy came from the torment Miroku was clearly put through whenever he wandered off.

He'd been in the forest neighboring the country and his castle time and time again, but for the sake of adventure, this afternoon he chose to venture further. It wasn't like he'd been sheltered all his life; there have been many occasions where he and his squad were sent out on missions or what have you, traveling through plenty of greenery and distant jurisdictions, but that was in the line of duty. When it came down to it, he took his responsibilities as prince very seriously, always sure to keep himself in check so that his team followed suit. He was well-trained and well-respected as such, and Inuyasha was sure to let that show so that whomever worked under his name would put forth the same amount of effort. That didn't mean his wanting free spirit was muddled in the process, though. Whenever he had a moment to spare, or found it suitable to borrow a moment, he'd disappear into the woods, ready to explore a world that wasn't made up in glam, wasn't tended to by servants, wasn't shiny and new and made beautiful - but was natural and aged and magnificent all on its own.

The prince slowed his pace, knowing he was in a territory he hadn't had the pleasure of roaming through recently. His sensitive ears picked up the sound of the large river that ran through the land his family ruled, birds in the trees calling their mates, bugs fluttering along, small animals creeping through the grounds around him. It was liberating. Nature didn't know who he was, didn't care of his status. It carried on without so much as a bow, and it lifted the dense weight he carried from his shoulders.

Not too far off, catching his attention, he heard someone crunching through the drying leaves and giving small, breathy huffs all the while. He'd left his attendants back in the dust, so there was no way they were seemingly struggling with something up ahead, the mystery serving to peek his curiosity. As he slowly sauntered closer, his ember eyes caught the brief glance of a long, dark blue dress through a thin part in the trees.

It was like his feet moved on their own accord then, just the glimpse of flowing thread dragging him forward, boots quiet along the floor as he worked to catch up. Waving, black hair landed at her mid-back, and the girl worked to flip it with the flick of her head, as if to keep it from cascading over the front of her shoulders. In her arms, from the angle he could see, she'd stacked an assortment of moderately-sized pieces of wood, the pile itself a little too large for her to comfortably carry; she had to continuously peek around the arm-full to see the path before her. The girl stopped and he immediately halted at the curve of a tree, almost stumbling against the root he'd aimed to carefully step over, her attention gathered at the patch of plants to the right of her feet. There was nothing special about the weeds that he could see. Not even a flower poked from the head of any of them, but there she was, angling herself to squat down to get a better look, almost losing her pile along the way.

From where he stood, he still couldn't catch her features, the passing seconds increasing his thundering interest. The end of her long, cream-colored, bell sleeve grazed the dirt as she attempted to reach out to touch the plant, supporting what she carried with her legs while her balance somewhat wobbled. She was going to fall. Inuyasha was practically counting down until she did. As the girl went to rise, her once-removed arm now trying to weave back under the large stack, she swayed on the balls of her feet, concentrating more on not letting her armful fall than her body.

It was impossible to stifle his chuckle, even behind his hand or with a clenched throat, so he laughed freely, the young woman shocked as she directed a look at him over her shoulder, her butt now planted uncomfortably along the dirt path.

"Were you just watching me?" She asked skeptically, brows furrowed.

"Sorry," He smiled, laughter subsiding. "I couldn't have caught you before you fell even if I'd wanted to."

"Well, thanks for trying." Big, brown eyes rolled sarcastically as the girl pushed the remaining kindling off of her, rolling over to stand on her knees, her back once again facing him.

"What was so interesting about that weed, anyway? You were doing so well until you stopped to look at it." The prince's grin never faded as he walked forward. He kneeled beside her, nonchalantly trying to study the face slightly hidden behind long, dark hair while he helped scoop up the broken wood. Those round eyes he'd glimpsed before shot at him then, plush lips curving disapprovingly.

"That weed is also an herb that could be used for pain management."

"Fascinating. So pick it."

"My hands are full."

"Your hands are empty now."

"My hands will be - stop helping - will be full. I'll come back for it." The girl swooped away his neat pile, dirt dragging with the edges of the wood, slightly dirtying the cloth of the chemise along her arms.

"Oh, so now you don't want my help." Inuyasha chuckled, observing while she attempted to stack it all in her grasp once more.

"I never knew you were there to want it in the first place." She answered plainly, not looking at him.

He couldn't help the intrigue he felt at the audacious woman. There was initial surprise in her expression when she first noticed him, but not the kind he was used to; he could tell it was because she was snuck up on and nothing more. The way she spoke was as if he were any average person interrupting her solitude, almost holding an impertinent tone. The eye contact was what got him, though. No one but those he was closest to, his aides included, held stable eye contact with the prince, yet here she was staring him down when she saw it suitable. Others would respectfully meet his glance, but swiftly look off to the side or just below, almost as if he, himself, were the intimidating factor - not his royal title. It drove him crazy if he thought about it too much, so he didn't, it being something he'd grown up with and something he was reasonably-adjusted to.

Who the hell was this woman? He was almost inclined to ask why she failed to show the esteem he'd grown to expect from people at just the mere sight of him, but was too entertained to see how far she'd boldly go.

Her fair cheeks were brushed pink by the brisk air of autumn, her lips a little brighter, like she'd just been eating berries and the juices had painted them beautifully. He was almost disposed to believe they were naturally that color. As she straightened her hunched-over form, preparing to stand, she wobbled again, his hand instinctively catching her wrist.

"Let me carry some of that."

"No, thanks." She brusquely declined, peeking around the edge of her stack to give a cheap smile. A little taken aback by her refusal, Inuyasha inadvertently couldn't help but wonder what her real smile looked like.

"You're going to fall again."

"I'm sure you're out here on business, so I'll mind mine while you mind yours."

"Why are you so opposed to me helping you?" The prince laughed, supporting her arm as she rose to her feet.

"I've done much worse on my own. I think I can handle some fire kindling."

"But why so much? You've got tiny arms."

"My arms are not tiny, sir."

"They're pretty tiny."

"Well, not everything can be as big as your ego."

Inuyasha nearly choked, an actual, shocking jolt causing his body to freeze as the insult shot him through. His jaw dropped, words caught in his throat, his smile only growing wider as she continued on her way, leaving him where he stood.

He jogged to catch up, sidestepping to look at her as he held pace at her side. "Have I offended you?"

"Not at all."

"Then, may I ask why I'm receiving... this from you?" Inuyasha motioned to her entire form with his hands, not quite able to put a word to the sort of attitude he was receiving. It wasn’t cold, but couldn’t be described as welcoming either.

"What?"

"You're sassy, you're stubborn, you wont take my help, and you won't stop - would you stop walking?"

The girl halted, her head slightly rolling back as she huffed, directing the puff of air upward, causing her bangs to flutter out slightly. She didn't speak, didn't even look at him. He could see her shoulders begin to fidget, though, her lips pressing into a thin line.

"Getting kind of heavy?"

She hummed a yes.

"Want me to take some now?"

She hummed another yes, a little more high-pitched that time.

Inuyasha chuckled again, crossing to the front of her as he swiftly scooped a little more than half of the pile into his arms. Finally, he received his first, full view of the girl, his breath catching in his lungs. Her wavy hair sat perfectly behind her shoulders, unable to hinder his view. Her brown eyes were no longer sharp as daggers, but held a hint of wonder. Enough of her was visible now that he could see the blue overdress laced up her torso, holding her waist snuggly. The long chemise beneath was modest, perfectly curving over her chest, only revealing what refused to be hidden.

Kagome gazed at the man before her, his lips slightly parted, almost seeming to take her in as she was him. He was handsome. Almost too handsome to be fair. The rays of light that filtered through the thick treetops caught his short, tousled, silver locks, bringing them to glimmer like the sun caught water. His eyes resembled a glowing fire, burning away her resolve as quickly as she expected the wood in her hands to char to nothing tonight. He was tall, chiseled, and a little more tan than the tint her own fair skin sat at.

"Thank you." She meagerly whispered.

"That wasn't so hard now was it?"

"Alright, give it back." The girl deadpanned, rolling her eyes again, the deepened pink in her cheeks almost dwindling away before his eyes.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Lead the way. Are you in town?"

“Mhm. Not too far from here." She conceded, trudging forward, Inuyasha falling by her side as if it was as natural as their surroundings. "I'm the assistant to the herbalist at her shop."

"Ah. Explains the interest in the plant back there. So, you make medicine?"

"No, I mostly just help out. I haven't quite gotten all the recipes down yet, but I know a lot of the herbs she uses, and I study as much as I can in my downtime. Kaede does the intricate work, I do the running around."

“Oh, Kaede. Yeah, I know her. That sounds…” Inuyasha struggled to find the proper word, not quite sure how to label her duties. To him, it seemed painfully dull. "...fun?

"Oh, it is. I really enjoy it all.” The girl perked, nodding his way. Her smile grew, and while it wasn't as bright as the potential he knew it held, it still somehow caught his undivided attention. He wanted to see more. He didn't understand, he'd never felt so intrigued about a single person. It was always the outside world that grasped at him. He'd seen women smile, he'd seen beautiful bodies, and cute faces, and wavy hair, and the color was so common it'd be impossible to claim he'd never noticed it before. What about her held him so captive?

The unspoken question was answered immediately. Her demeanor. She treated him like he was normal; just another person. She wasn't afraid to give him attitude, there was no guard about her. It was inexplicably and unexpectedly more refreshing than he’d ever imagined. More over, it was peculiar and he had to experience more.

“Who are you?” Inuyasha asked, dumbfounded.

“My name’s Kagome.” The girl replied, watching her feet as she stepped over a protruding tree root and out into a small field. The other end of it harbored a small cottage, one he’d seen while passing through the village plenty of times, and one the castle’s messengers were often sent to. They had a practitioner of their own living on castle grounds, but he was mainly kept there out of courtesy, too old to maintain his work; he’d been with the royal family for years, since before Inuyasha's older brother was even born, and deserved the comfortable life he’d been bequeathed. In emergency situations, he jumped at the occasion without complaint, but in most circumstances, Kaede was called for. It was important she was accessible considering her relationship with the princess, and Inuyasha distinctly remembers the king offering her living quarters within the gates. The proposal was declined, though, the elderly woman choosing to be available to the public and not just the royal family.

Her decision was respected so long as she tended to the princess’s health regularly.

The prince tensed as they neared closer to the shop, suddenly finding himself nervous their casual conversation was about to end. No doubt, once they saw the apothecary, he'd receive questions of his family's well-being, and he just didn't want to dance around the formalities.

“Is - uh -“ He stammered, trying to get his question out. “Is-is Kaede here?”

“No, I don’t think she’s back yet.” Kagome shook her head, glancing over her shoulder at him as she neared two stacks of wood at the side of the cottage, one made up of larger chunks of firewood and another lesser pile for kindling. “I’m pretty sure she’s still on the castle grounds. One of the guards fell and hurt his ankle.”

“For Christ’s - which one?” Inuyasha groaned, rolling his ember eyes.

She eyed him questioningly, brows furrowing skeptically as she dropped her wood in the respective pile. “I don’t know.” She admitted, swiping her hands of any dirt. “I don’t think they mentioned who. Speaking of, neither have you.”

"What?"

"You see, I've introduced myself. Isn't this about the time where you return the courtesy?"

He wasn't sure how to respond, his stomach leadening but staying put in his abdomen. A warm rush soared through his veins, causing tingles to poke at his flesh from beneath as it passed. She didn't know who he was. That explained everything. His eyes followed her as she skirted around him towards the entrance to the shop, the dark blue hem of her dress sliding along his brown pant leg, practically dragging him to follow after just as he placed down his own armful.

She didn't know who he was. This was a first. He'd never once had to introduce himself within his own kingdom. Only outside their borders did he get the benefit of anonymity. The moment he gave her a name, it was all over. She'd be overly polite, she'd curtsey, she'd apologize for the jab at his ego, and he immediately found himself wanting none of it from her. Still, the question stood: how was she unaware?

"I'm sorry," Inuyasha shut the door as he stepped inside behind her, the air smelling strongly of the wood they'd most likely burned this morning. "You don't know who I am?"

"Sort of why I'm asking." Kagome answered simply, stepping behind a small counter where rows of labeled drawers organized their collection of herbs.

"You haven't seen me around? Town, I mean."

She glanced up at him, brown eyes slowly looking him over before she gave a shake of her head, a small smile beginning to grow. There was a gleam of amusement in the expression. "It's a large town. And even if I had, I still don't know your name."

"You don't know my name." He smiled, more of astonishment.

"You're being weird." She slightly grimaced. "I think I'd definitely recognize a face like yours."

"Right, because it's the face that gives me away." Inuyasha sarcastically mentioned.

Kagome peeked at the ears on top of his head, her attention drifting back down when he cocked a brow. Demons were common, and she knew he had some of that blood the moment they met. Those details, she didn't like to pay attention to. A being was a being to her.

His look was challenging, but the grin on his lips was subtly charming, bringing her to laugh and shy her glance away.

There was a flurry in his chest as she smiled, the giggle being the absolute undoing of the eruption. He'd been waiting, curious to see that, and it was worth every second.

"My manners are horrible," He smiled, trying to speak as smoothly as possible as he fumbled over his thoughts, racking his brain for a name. Any name. Any name other than his. "I'm -" He sat on that word for a small moment, dragging out the hum. "K-Koga. I'm Koga."

"Are you a guard?"

"What makes you think that?" He quickly asked, a little edgy.

"Your reaction earlier made it seem like you knew them. And the way you're dressed could pass off as one." Kagome gestured toward the sword at his hip. "Am I wrong?"

Inuyasha looked down, his off-white, long-sleeved Bastian shirt a little dirty from the wood he'd carried, tucked loosely into his pants. He was glad he went out casual today - for a prince's standards. "You're not. I'm a guard."

She gave a pleasant smile, shifting her eyes downward as she pulled a loaf of bread out from beneath a towel. "Well, Koga," She emphasized his alias, causing him to slightly stiffen. "Can I offer you some bread? It's fresh; I just made it a few hours ago."

"You'd offer food to a stranger?" He cocked a brow again, watching as she carved a few slices out with a knife.

"You aren't a stranger anymore. And it's the least I could do after you insisted on helping me."

Inuyasha inched his chin upward, an inquisitive expression twisting his features. "No, thanks. Could be poison. I'm a thrill seeker, but I'm not a big fan of the taste."

Without missing a beat, Kagome picked up a slice of bread and took a bite out of it, amusement once again shining in her eyes. "Suit yourself."

He looked at her with bewilderment, mouth unintentionally hanging agape as she casually went about her business. The more he stood in her presence, the more he needed to know about her. He couldn't explain it, and maybe the lack of explanation was what provided the excitement behind it all. Surprisingly, where it should matter to him, it didn't. There was something about this woman, something that he needed to discover himself.

"You are very interesting."

"I know how to bake bread, sir, and poison isn't measured once in the recipe."

"Fair enough." Inuyasha steadily nodded, inwardly appreciating her wit. He stepped toward the counter, snagging a slice for himself. "Since you haven't keeled over, I -"

He tensed, catching the nearing sound of his aides calling for him. Miroku's pleas drew out dramatically, croaking, music to Inuyasha's ears but also the bright signal that this meeting had to end.

"I have to go."

She swallowed, her brows furrowing minutely, the question as clear as if she'd said it aloud.

"I'm so sorry, but I do. I have to go." Inuyasha smiled, trying to stifle his laugh as Miroku continued to beg for him to appear. He had to stop him before he got too close and blew his cover.

"Are you alright?"

He took a bite of the bread, hopping closer to the door, hand outstretched for the knob. "This is good, really good. Greatest bread I've ever had. Bye."

Kagome's face twisted perplexedly, observing the man as he danced out the door, giving a final wave and shutting it behind him. It was hard to ignore the abrupt shift in his attitude, and even harder not to follow after, especially when she heard someone shouting incoherently and approaching quickly.

Inuyasha ran towards them, shushing Miroku's whines while Sango pierced him with a dangerous glare, his hands held out in front of them to get them to stop.

"Why do you always do this to me?" Miroku wheezed, doubling over with his hands propped on his knees.

He shushed him again, a bit more aggressively this time.

“You couldn’t have stuck just a little closer?” Sango asked, almost as winded as her partner but always holding better composure. “It’s one thing to wander off, it’s another to completely disappear.”

"Wait, why were you at Kaede's shop? Did something happen? Are you alright, Your Highn-"

Inuyasha omitted a series of strained sounds, cutting his dramatically-frantic aide off midway. Miroku and Sango both flinched back, justifiably confused.

“I’m fine! We can talk about this later!”

“Um – “ Kagome’s voice rang from behind them and Inuyasha couldn’t ease the sudden rigidness of his muscles. His stomach felt uneasy as he turned around to see the girl leaning against the doorframe, looking at them puzzlingly. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“If you give me two minutes of total cooperation, I’ll answer any question you have after.” He murmured quietly to the two at his side.

“Koga?” Kagome tried again.

Miroku snorted, strangling back the laugh that immediately swelled. The prince shot him a look of warning, shoving the remainder of the slice of bread into the guard’s mouth. “Here. Eat.”

“Hi, sorry.” Sango walked over, greeting the girl with a friendly smile, appearing perfectly nonchalant. “Hope our friend wasn’t too much trouble for you.”

“I’m never trouble.” Inuyasha defended.

Kagome shrugged, bobbing her head from side-to-side, a small grimace on her lips. “He was decent.”

“Excuse me, I came to your rescue.”

“Yes, from the heavy stack of kindling. My hero.”

Miroku snorted again, patting his chest to pass it off as him trying to swallow correctly. “Wow, I don’t think we’ve met.” He smiled, reaching for the girl’s hand. “My name’s Miroku, a knight serving the crown.” He bowed down slightly, bringing the back of her fingers up to meet his lips.

She slid them out of his grasp just in time, giving him a cheap grin. “I’m Kagome, and my hands are dirty.”

“Just as well, so is his mouth.” Sango sneered.

"Disregard Sango."

"I don't know, seems like sound advice." Kagome shrugged again, giggling.

Inuyasha felt that flutter again, watching her interact with his aides. Her smile was strangely addicting, and in the back of his mind he felt himself steadily growing envious of any person that got to see it daily.

"Anyway," Miroku nudged the prince, bringing him out of his reverie. "It's been lovely, but we're running late. Ready, Koga?”

Her brown eyes met his ember, lingering longer than she’d originally planned, catching herself stuck in the color and pulling herself free by blinking away.

“Yeah.” Inuyasha replied gently, not yet looking from the girl before them.

“Hope to see you again.” Sango smiled. Walking back towards the path they came in. Miroku followed close behind, turning to wait for the prince to join them.

“Hope to see you again.” He softly echoed, smiling as he walked backwards away from her. Finally, at Miroku’s side he turned around, forcing himself to keep his attention on the route before him.

—

It’d been two days. Two days of staring out the windows of the castle, mindlessly trying to see if he could pinpoint the apothecary's cottage from any vantage point. The answer was no. The forest was dense, and curved inward and around the left portion of the country, where homes and whatnot grew further apart and more livestock was kept. Kaede’s shop was stuck somewhere in that thick heap, and therefore impossible for him to see. He didn’t know why. At moments, he’d just catch himself staring out the large windows of his study while he was supposed to be doing paperwork. Then he’d go back to it. Then his mind would wander to that herb she’d dropped her wood for, and as he’d ask himself if she ever went back for it, his eyes would drift back out the windows, once again searching for the distant cottage.

Very soon, his study wasn’t good enough, so he excused himself for a quick break from his workload and ventured to the library. Obviously, he had no business there, but it was a floor higher and the princess often complimented the view from her favorite reading window. When he realized that was the wrong angle to be searching from, he crossed to the opposite wing of the castle. Then gave himself an excuse to go up another flight. When that didn’t work either, he stomped back down to his study and stared at the stack of paper pertaining to one of the forts under his personal jurisdiction - one he’d stared at for forty minutes straight before his break. It was pathetic how he couldn’t get through the first two lines before he told himself to try two floors up once more, a different room this time around.

Shockingly, he didn’t receive as much teasing from Miroku as he’d expected. No matter how many times he walked off and returned ten minutes later, his aide only served him knowing side-glances and entertained smirks. He wasn’t even laughed at the entire way home from the shop for his choice in fake names. Small jabs were all he received before the subject was lost and replaced with a scolding for his running off.

When he stared off into the distance from the roof of the high tower, it was typically for the momentary peace it brought him. He took his role as the prince seriously. He served his kingdom to the best of his abilities. He showed face when necessary, led his troops proudly, stayed up to date on current affairs, reported back to the king as requested, and even eventually got the tedious paperwork completed. The trees, the woods, they didn’t expect anything from him, though. Now, he was staring out, waiting for something to jump at him. After twenty-four hours, the wanting became frustrating. He couldn’t even begin to explain why he was doing this, because he didn’t understand, himself. He just couldn’t stop looking, searching, wondering.

Just before the sun began to set on the second day, Inuyasha gave in. He needed air. Air that couldn’t be provided within the gates of the castle. He feigned a stomach bug so Sango and Miroku would leave him be for the remainder of the evening, and used the opportunity to sneak out, keeping close to the walls in the courtyard before he was at his usual spot to climb and hop over, safely landing in the woods he’d trail through. Allowing his feet to blindly lead the way, the prince took in a deep breath, allowing the fresh, untainted, responsibility-less oxygen to fill his lungs.

The river was close, rushing, water gliding over smoothed-even rocks, the sound hitting his ears more beautifully than the wind hitting a chime. It wasn’t until then that he realized where he'd wandered. As if exasperated with his own self, Inuyasha rolled his head back defeatedly. What was wrong with him? Was there an herb that cured needless infatuation with fleeting curiosity?

As much a he knew he shouldn’t have been in the area, so far from the castle without his aides, it wasn’t all that surprising he’d ended up there. As he passed by the princess’s quarters after hightailing from his own, he could hear Kaede giving her her weekly checkup. In the back of his mind, he knew Kagome was alone. In the back of his mind, he knew it was safe to come all this way.

He planned to satisfy whatever this sensation in his chest was by locating the spot they’d met. He’d asked himself countless times if she’d gone back for the plant, so he may as well see. Afterward, he’d turn back. That should be enough for now. As he searched for any landmark he may remember to lead him toward the path, he heard a distant, heavy sigh. It was rough and short, holding a hint of aggravation. Like he had the attention span of a three year-old, Inuyasha followed the pull toward the heaved breath, treading carefully over the dirt and twigs beneath his boots.

Kagome dropped the axe on the ground, her fingers admittedly too unsteady to properly hold the wooden handle. If she kept going, kept attempting to chop the wood before her, she was afraid the axe would fly right out of her hands. She tried to shake the words she’d heard out of her head, but no matter how many times she pushed the new memory from her mind, it came back full force, too fresh to be forgotten so soon. There was a man she’d encountered on her way back from a delivery not even an hour ago, one who was capable of smiling through clearly unwelcome and unsettling comments. He made subtle insinuations and followed her down the road toward the shop, which she forced herself to walk passed, roaming through the busy part of town until he casually promised to see her later like any old friend would. He wasn’t entirely overbearing, if she were being honest with herself. His “compliments” were nothing she hadn’t heard before, nor any other woman for that matter. What tipped her off and had her concerned was the feeling she immediately got from him. Like he wasn’t just a flirt. Like there was more hidden beneath his skin.

That was what caused his words to linger around, flinging back to disturb whatever peace she’d momentarily gained by walking the empty woods or daringly chopping wood in her state. With the sharp object now lying on the leaf-covered floor, Kagome shook out her hands, hoping her irrational anxiety would fly out from the tips of her fingers and leave her alone. It sort of worked, and she sighed out, plopping her butt down in front of a nearby tree and leaning back against it, brown eyes traveling upward to stare at the shifting colors of the sky.

A loud crack caught her attention, and her head whipped to the side, searching around to spot what had made the noise.

“It’s only me.” Inuyasha cautiously stepped out from the hefty trunk he’d hidden behind. “Sorry.”

The tension visibly left her chest and the prince couldn’t help but wonder if he had legitimately scared her, guilt beginning to pool in his abdomen. There was an air about her that was different than the other day. It wasn’t like he could claim to know her well enough to pinpoint it exactly, but it was washing over him almost as easily as the moment he’d become stricken by her wit. This was thick, blue, and unnerving, the brief curve in her brow increasing the weight sitting in his gut.

Before he could speak, Kagome shook her head, a small smile gracing her lips. “What are you, the guardian of the forest?”

“What are you, a forest nymph?” He chuckled.

Her laugh was breathy, no voice trailing behind it as she once again shook her head, black hair spilling over her shoulders to curve around the sides of her cheeks.

"What are you doing out here?" Inuyasha asked, stepping forward to be in the small clearing she'd claimed.

"I could ask you the same thing. You're far from the castle grounds."

"I'm off duty."

"I'm chopping wood."

He looked at the few, uneven pieces she'd managed to cut, strewn about the ground. "It's a little late for that, don't you think? It'll be dark soon."

"But it isn't dark yet." Kagome shrugged. "It's fine, I don't mind."

Inuyasha observed her, taking in the features of her face. Their eye contact was short-lived as hers fluttered away, downward. It only served to bring him in more, choosing a tree of his own to lean against as he removed the sheath of his sword from his side and sat to the left of her.

"Is something wrong?" He carefully asked. He knew the answer he would receive, but still, as she responded with a semi-convincing denial, a knot began to form in his chest. Somehow, he could tell she was lying. But who was he to push her for the truth?

Kagome glanced back towards the sky, the hues on the few clouds a mesh of ferocious orange and temped pink. "This is my favorite time of day. It isn't always worth looking at, but sometimes you get to see something even brighter than this and you're glad you remembered to look up for a moment."

Inuyasha, tearing his focus from her, followed her line of sight, absorbing himself in the warmth of the colors. "What about the sunrise?"

"That's pretty, too. Not as much potential for purple to appear, though."

"Is that your favorite color?"

He caught her nod in his peripherals, eyes swiftly landing back on her. Kagome's smile was a centimeter bigger, lips sealed but still just as bewitching.

"That and teal. Do you enjoy watching the sunrise?"

"Not necessarily. It means I'm up too early." He laughed. "Though, if I had to choose between dawn and dusk, I think I'd say dawn since I don't see it nearly as often. When that happens, you learn to appreciate its beauty a little more."

"I wouldn't say that. You can always appreciate the beauty in everything no matter how often you stare at it, because if you look a little closer each time, you can find something you didn't notice before."

"Says the person who just said the sunset isn't always worth looking at."

Kagome laughed, her cheeks growing pink as she brought her knees in closer to her chest, the sides of her dark overdress following gravity and folding along the floor while her cream chemise kept her legs shielded from the chill of the air. "Sometimes it's overcast!"

Inuyasha would never admit out loud how lost he found himself in admiration of her, especially as more color flushed back to her face. He liked it. She didn't look so frightened anymore, her eyes no longer lacking their glimmer. They were deep in shade, but when the light hit just right, he could see a ring of feverish gold within them.

He looked back up to the sky, the sun lower than before and the colors now richer. "That's not to say I don't enjoy this just as much. On good days, it resembles the world on fire, burning away the weight of any burden with the promise of something new in a few hours."

She grew quiet, and after a moment of the deepening silence, the prince turned back toward the girl, finding her gaze on him. There was something to her expression, something soft and tender. He couldn't put a name to it, nor could he think straight enough to find one.

"Too bleak?" He asked.

"Not at all." Kagome answered, their eyes meeting. "There's plenty of beauty in embers."

A thud in his chest, a swelling in his diaphragm. He could feel the thin skin of his lips slowly part as he let her statement hang in the air. The stillness between them was comfortable, as was her stare, and he allowed himself a small moment to stop thinking, to stop trying to figure out what was happening and just relish in the peace he'd found. As the sun hid itself behind the distant mountains in the West, shadows filling the woods, Inuyasha pushed himself to stand.

"Come on, It's late. I'll walk you back."

Kagome stood, dusting off her dress and moving to collect her axe. "Oh, that's okay. It's not far from-"

His hand landed on the sleeve of her arm, stopping her mid stride. Though the darkness was setting in, she could still make out the glowing hue of his eyes, the shape sharpening."I know I didn't really take no for an answer the other day, but this time there's absolutely no chance that I will. I'd like to make sure you're safe."

"But, you don't have to." She hesitantly said, a little taken aback by his insistence.

"It's not about obligation, Kagome." He stated, bending down to scoop up the few pieces of chopped wood. "It's about what's right, and capability."

"What if I'm perfectly capable of protecting myself?" She challenged, grabbing her axe from the floor and holding it safely. Inuyasha looked at her, a smile growing.

"Well, then I guess you've got two safe havens to rely on now." He nodded his head in a gesture for her to lead the way, Kagome smiling in return as she stepped out onto the unmarked path, the half demon following close behind.

#My dudes I am over halfway done with this fic someone help me #I'm so excited for you guys to read this!#also thank you if you do read this!!!!!#inuyasha #kagome #Kagome higurashi #inukag #royal au #Inuyasha fanfiction #inuyasha fanfic #inuyasha fic #inukag fanfiction #inukag fanfic #inukag fic #my writing #enchanted #akitokihojo

375 notes · View notes

erintoknow · 4 years

Text

a little victimless crime

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

Nothing like combining business and pleasure. [Do It All The Time] Originally: [bigger than the sound]

[Read on AO3]

It is as if you’re fighting with one arm behind your back.

When you originally conceived of this plan, you figured you’d use the villain suit sparingly. When infiltration as either Jane or some other possessed stooge wouldn’t cut it. Maneuver people into positions where you could plant suggestions, instill compulsions, weave a web of threads over the city with yourself at the center.

Argent’s possession has entered into your regular stable of nightmares. If that wasn’t enough, she’s hounding you at every turn, ensuring you can’t forget. Even pushing the mental commands, is starting to fray at you. Are you really any better than The Directive if you don’t let people think for themselves?

As long as they go down, does it matter?

“Ugh.”

Dr. Mortum frowns from across the table. “Is everything okay, mon amie?”

“Oh, sorry.” Jane grimaces as she looks up from the day planner in front of her. “I’m just trying to figure out how to – to fit all this shit into one week.”

“Mm.” She picks up her wine glass, eyes scanning the night’s crowd at Joes. “Your boss is running you ragged these days.”

“Tell me about it. Oh, that reminds me, I need to put in another order for more of that black 2.0 paint.” Jane groans, one hand holding her forehead as she scans the week for an open time slot. “Can’t believe how high-maintenance that damn suit is.”

“A problem with my work?”

“No, no, it’s the damn paint. The slightest scratch ruins the effect. And of course, I have to route the money to pay for it, through like, three shell companies.” She chews at the end of her pen, circles an open slot and jots the reminder in. “There, hope that’s enough time.”

How many lives are you living at this point? Jane with Mortum, Jane dating Ortega, Jane as criminal fixer, Ghost, Ariadne the retired vigilante, and whatever the hell is going on between Ariadne and Ortega… to say nothing of keeping both bodies fed and healthy, or skimming enough cash to pay for everything.

“Do not forget to put aside time to sleep, mon amie.”

Jane puts her planner to one side and looks up at Mortum with a hopeless smile. “Personally, I think that’s a feature, not a bug.”

That does nothing to ease the look of concern on the doctor’s face. “Trouble sleeping?”

“It’s nothing. It’s fine.” Jane sighs, waving the concern away. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Mon amie–”

“I said don’t worry.” It’s touching, almost, how concerned Dr. Mortum has started to get over Jane’s wellbeing. Haven’t figured out what exactly her angle there is. “Look…” Jane trails off as you try to find the right words, a way to thread the needle. “I… appreciate your concern but I’m fine. Seriously.”

“If you say so.”

“I do. Say so. Look, I’m not even working the frontlines anymore. No more being blown up, you know? I promised.”

Mortum does not look convinced. “Spying on the ex-marshal does not count as ‘front lines’ to you, mon amie?”

Jane scoffs, “What’s she gonna do, give me the tingler?” Actually...

No! Stay focused!

Mortum gives her a tired expression. “Charge is a craftier woman than you’re giving her credit, mon amie.”

Loud, brash Ortega? The woman whose smile makes Jane feel like she’s lighter than air? She shakes her head. “I don’t see it.”

“Well, that’s rather the idea now, is it not?” Mortum’s smile is grim and she holds out her hands, palms up. “We all play up particular roles so that others might overlook the parts we wish them too.”

That gets a raised eyebrow, “And are you hiding something from me, doc?”

“But of course, mon amie. As I assume you are from me. This is how people are. Can anyone ever truly know another?”

“I thought your thing was science, not philosophy.”

“In my prefered field? The distinction between the two can get terribly blurry.”

It’s hard to argue with her. And that alone is enough to make you nervous. Is Ortega up to something? How much does she know about Ghost and how much does she just suspect? You thought she was just trying to reconnect with Ariadne out of sentimentality, but what if she’s trying to keep tabs? The thought is enough to make Jane frown.

You have to face facts and admit that cutting ties with Ortega completely is the safest move. Jane’s the one with the relationship, the one making a connection. Ariadne’s a ghost from the past, a hanger-on. She’s got no business making eyes at Ortega.

Being around her… being forced to confront face-to-face with the impossibility of what you can never have… it’s painful. Ortega would hate her, if she knew the truth about Ariadne; what she was, what she’d done.

You can’t go back. It’s unthinkable. So, if you can’t work yourself up to dying then there’s no choice. You’re stuck on this path. You can’t unring the bell.

“–mon amie?”

Jane blinks, jerking her head up from her planner. “S–sorry, what?”

Dr. Mortum watches her from across the table, concern knitting her brow. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Oh, ah.” Jane winces, an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I got lost in my head there.”

“It is the lack of sleep mon amie.” She smiles.

“Maybe.” Jane mirrors the smile back. “Still – there’s no rest in sight for this bad girl.” With a sigh, she snaps her planning shut and tucks it away in her purse. “I’ve got another, very exciting meeting tonight.”

“Be careful, mon amie.”

Jane flashes a smile and downs the rest of her drink before leaving a twenty on the table. “You know me, I always am.”

–––

“Thanks for coming with me,” Ortega whispers from the corner of her mouth.

“Of course, thanks for inviting me.” A smile flits across Jane’s face as she studies the mess of an abstract portrait hanging on the wall in front of them. “Hopefully no super villains crash this party.”

Ortega laughs, uneasy, as she rubs the back of her neck. “Anyone that does is going to regret it.”

Jane arches an eyebrow as you try to keep her from smiling. In the aftermath of the Gala fiasco, security has tripled in order to keep the city’s elite feeling safe. The Mayor’s Guardian force was milling around here somewhere, ready to jump into duty in a split second. For the Rangers, beside Ortega, Jane has seen Herald milling around somewhere and it wouldn’t surprise you if either Argent, or Steel, or both had been bullied into attending.

The Mayor needs to prove to her benefactors she was worth keeping in office. The Rangers needed to prove they were worth keeping in Los Diablos.

Lucky for you then, Ortega still owed Jane a second date.

No explosives this time. No dramatic fights, or burning buildings. No terrible mistakes with people screaming and blood everywhere and emergency rooms filling up. Going to do this right. Going to do this quiet. The bastards won’t realize the damage until it’s too late.

“Charge! How are you holding up?”

Jane and Ortega turn together to find Herald walking towards them. It’s a little strange seeming him in a tuxedo again. All crisp angles and sharp features. He raises an arm to wave and you think Jane spies a glimpse of blue sleeve from a Ranger skinsuit underneath. Well, that confirms what you suspected from the Gala. Wonderbread really is ready to throw-down at a moment’s notice.

Is Ortega? She’s in a suit this time instead of a dress. Easier to fight in?

Ortega waves back at Herald with a smile. “Haven’t throttled anyone yet, how about you?”

Herald takes Ortega’s hand and pulls her into a quick hug. “Oh, this is old hat to me. I just focus on the art, and see how many fancy hors d’oeuvres I can sneak before anyone notices.” Ortega laughs and Jane politely covers her mouth to hide the smile. He shifts his gaze down to Jane and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Sides–?” He flinches and shakes his head. “Wait, no?”

Jane keeps her face blank. Sidestep? Sidestep who? Never heard of the bitch.

There is a tense silence and then Ortega breaks it with a forced laugh. “Sorry, this is my friend Jane I was telling you about.” She gestures towards you and then from you to Herald. “And Jane, this is Herald, but you probably already knew that.” More forced laughter.

Friend?

“Sorry,” Herald rubs at his knee, “you just reminded me of someone.” He shoots Ortega a curious look.

Was it too late now to go back and dye Jane’s hair? You idiot. You stupid vain idiot. All the more reason to keep the two lives separated. Why did you have to go and get Jane involved with Ortega?

Moron. Fool. Buffoon.

Jane keeps her face a careful blank. “It’s… nice to meet you too, Mr. …?”

Herald smiles, awkward. “Just Herald is fine. Nice to meet you, Jane.” He doesn’t offer a hand to shake.

When Ortega and Herald descend into small talk Jane breathes a sigh of relief and politely detaches herself from the conversation. A few tense moments, but it had at least bought you some needed freedom from Ortega.

Time to get to work then.

“Excuse me, folks, I’m just gonna duck into the restroom real quick.”

Ortega nods, “You know where it is?”

“I’ll figure it out. I’ll see you at the shrimp bar, sweetie.” Jane winks at Ortega, a smirk spreading across her face at the slight color on her hero’s face. Still got her.

Your sense of direction as Jane isn’t as strong as Ariadne’s but enough time spent studying floor plans makes up for it. Weave through the crowd, past the buffet table. The further from the food and the booze Jane gets the less people in ritzy outfights milling around being offensively rich.

There, next to the restrooms, a side entrance for the gallery. A very bored looking cop stands next to the door, watching the guests.

Mustering up all the elitist disdain she can muster, Jane approaches the door and gives the cop a dismissive glance, adding some gravel to her voice. “I’m taking a smoke break.” The man frowns but otherwise doesn’t stop Jane as she steps through the door, pretending to fish through her purse. Perfect.

Outside, the street gives a clear view to the Hero Museum just down the block. Once again closed for renovation and repair. The dumb bastards. Maybe you’ll trash the next grand opening too. Keep it up until they get the idea.

It doesn’t take long to spot her. The woman pacing back and forth down the sidewalk, staring anxiously at her phone, purse hanging loose in the crook of her arm. Jane whispers to get her attention and when that doesn’t work progressively raises her voice. “Hey! Ochoa!”

She looks up, sags in relief and hurries over to Jane, her movements stiff and awkward in the tight black and gold floral dress. “Finally! I was about to call the whole thing off.”

“Do you want your dirt or not?” Jane hisses.

“Please, Jane.” Mia Ochoa’s frowns, “I’m an investigative journalist, not a tabloid columnist.”

“Sure, whatever.” Jane glances up and down the street. She keeps a hand in her purse, fingering the gadget from Dr. Mortum that should be disrupting the video cameras. How long did the charge last for again? Five minutes? “Sit tight, I need to get the pig out of the way first.”

“You’re not going to–?”

Jane snorts, “I’m not going to hurt anybody. I’m not stupid.” She tilts her head, thinking. “Well. I’m probably not going to hurt anybody.” She shakes her head and holds up a hand. “Whatever, wait here. This’ll only take a second.”

“Ugh,” Jane contorts her face into a visage of barely contained fury as she steps back inside. “I can’t believe some people.”

The cop sighs, “There a problem, Ma’am?”

A short bark of a laugh. “Problem?” Jane glowers down the hallway. “Yeah, there’s a fucking problem.”

Eyes flicker to Jane’s nametag. “There’s no need for that kind of language, Miss Smith.”

Jane snarls, “Tell that to the asshole who can’t keep his hands to himself.”

That gets the cop’s attention. “Again, is there something I can help you with, Ma’am.”

Jane holds her breath. You’re about to do something really shitty. Oh well. Sorry Kieth, it’s for the greater good. “Yeah, alright.” Jane sighs, avoiding the cop’s gaze. “someone ought to teach that damn waiter at the cocktail bar some manners. I’m not the only woman either he’s harassed tonight. The ass.”

The man’s eyes narrow. “I’ll see someone talks to him.” He puts a hand up to the walkie-talkie strapped to his breast pocket. Presses the button. Jane holds her breath. “Hey, Sam? I got a woman here reporting a problem with one of the help.”

The cop frowns as no one answers.

“Sam? You there?” No response. “Kim? José?”

Jane crosses her arms, and taps her foot. “I thought you said you’d take care of it.”

He shakes his head, “Something’s wrong with my damn walkie.” He taps it one more time and shakes his head. “Goddamn this garbage keeps busting. Sorry miss, I’ll have to find my superior.” He shoots Jane a glance, eyeing her up and down. “In the meantime, use some common sense.”

Jane huffs, as the cop walks off, grumbling about equipment.

Honestly, you half-expected that not to work. Thank you, Dr. Mortum.

A quick glance around to check for any other eyes and you step back to hold the door open. “Alright Ochoa, you’re in.”

“Finally.” The reporter quickly steps inside and you let the door close. “I can’t believe I’m really doing this.”

Jane frowns as she digs through her purse again. “Yeah, well, if you want the real meat you gotta go where they don’t want you to be.”

“Oh believe me, I know.”

“Ah, here we go.” Jane pulls out a small laminated pin, holds it up for Ochoa’s inspection. “Your own name pin. It’s like you were supposed to be here all along.”

“Oh!” The woman takes it from Jane’s hand with a look of surprise. “You thought of everything.”

“Don’t jinx it.”

As the two of you walk down the hallway to rejoin the main event Ochoa pins the name tag to her chest and smoothes out her dress. “Alright, well, thanks for getting me in. I can take it from here.”

“Just don’t forget our deal. You owe now.”

The smile fades from Ochoa’s face. “Of course.”

Jane scans the room as the two of you step in. There’s Ortega and Herald still talking in the far corner, and then there’s… “Actually,” a tight smile crosses Jane’s face, “how do you feel about an introduction to the Mayor’s right-hand man?”

Ochoa’s eyes light up, “I’d love it.” She frowns, “But do you think he’ll talk?”

“I think you might be surprised.” Jane grabs Ochoa’s hand, pulling her through the crowd. There we go. Jane raises her free hand in greeting, “Professor Vanderpoel, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

The balding clerk turns with startled surprise towards Jane, as the other two men in his group stop talking, watching the two approaching women with mild interest. “I’m sorry… do I know you?”

Jane laughs, a bright smile on her face. “Don’t tell me you forgot me already? Tell me you at least remember the linden trees?”

A cascade of color rockets up the man’s face. “That– that was a very different time in my life.”

One of Vanderpoel’s companions laughs and elbows him in the side. “You never told me you used to teach!”

Vanderpoel flinches, “I haven’t for eight years.”

Jane nods, knowingly. “Such a shame what happened! Still, I’m so happy to see you’ve bounced back without any problems.”

“Well…”

“Anyway,” Jane cuts him off without mercy, “I was just catching up with my good friend Mia,” Jane tugs Mia forward by the arm. “When I saw you over here.”

One of Vanderpoel’s friends tilts his head, “Mia…? You look familiar.”

Ochoa’s smile is strained. “I’m a reporter for LD Confidential.”

Jane laughs, “Don’t worry, she’s not working today.”

Vanderpoel’s two friends laugh with Jane, but Vanderpoel himself has a thoughtful look in his eye. Encouraging. Ghost’s bridge-side chat with the man has been sinking in after all.

The man on the right claps Vanderpoel on the back. “You know some lovely ladies man, I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on us!” A strange look crosses across Vanderpoel’s face and the three men make room for the two of you to join their conversation. You can’t stop the smirk on Jane’s face. You’ve got them.

S u c k e r s.

Not every bomb needs to be literal.

A few more minutes of smalltalk to help work Ochoa into the conversation and then Jane politely excuses herself from the group. She’s got a date to rejoin after all.

Ortega perks up as Jane crosses the room, a glass of wine in each hand. She doesn’t wait to ask before offering Jane one of them. “I was beginning to think you might have ditched me.”

Jane smiles, laughs, as she takes the wine glass. “Sorry, sorry, I saw some people I knew and got distracted.”

“Oh?” Ortega’s focus zeros in on Jane, “Anyone I’d know?”

“Oh, I doubt it.” Jane shakes her head and waves a hand to dismiss the idea. “Just some old college friends. “ She glances about the room, “Herald still around?”

Ortega laughs, “He’s around somewhere. Why?”

“No reason. Just wondering.” Jane sips from her glass. “You have a lot of attractive friends.”

Wait, fuck what? Why did you say that? What the fuck? What happened to that masterclass of infiltration?

Ortega blinks, surprised, then laughs. “I hadn’t pegged you for being into men too.”

Jane glowers up at her. “So what?”

“Hey, it’s fine. I’m bi too.” Ortega smiles, pats Jane on the shoulder, then lets her hand run down the arm.

“You are?” Jane winces, “Ugh, what am I saying, of course you are. Sorry, I’ve apparently lost my mind tonight.”

“I suppose my love life is pretty well documented at this point.” There’s a bitter tinge to Ortega’s voice that catches you by surprise.

“I’m surprised we haven’t shown up in a tabloid yet,” Jane admits.

“Ghost’s debut kind of took over the headlines for awhile, didn’t it?.” Ortega laughs, “It’s just as well. I don’t get the kind of media attention that I used to.”

“Miss it any?”

“God no.” Ortega smiles widely, and then the smile quickly fades. “Sometimes I wonder how many relationships it cost me.”

Huh. “Was it that bad?”

“You got out for dinner with one guy and suddenly they’re your boyfriend. After awhile I just kind of embraced it. Especially once I became Marshal. At least I could take some ownership over it that way, you know?”

“I’m… sorry, that sounds pretty rough actually.”

“It’s in the past now.”

Silence threatens to stretch out between you two. Jane coughs, “So… when did you figure out you liked women, then?”

Ortega rubs her neck, “When I figured it out…? Hrm.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“No, I’m just… it feels like so long ago now.” Ortega sighs. “I guess… there was this vigilante…”

Jane holds her breath. No– It couldn’t be, could it? “A vigilante?”

“Well, I had just joined the Rangers properly.” Oh. “This vigilante, Axel. She was this speed boost that worked in the south end of the city. She was Latina too, and we just… kind of hit it off.”

“Wow,” Jane says. You try to wrack you memory for anything about an ‘Axel.’ It’s not ringing a bell. “What ended up happening?”

“It wasn’t easy trying to keep it out of the press. Eventually it got to be too much and we just kind of… mutually broke it off. She retired not long after. Or moved, maybe?” Ortega crosses her arms, thinking. “That’s it, she moved down further south. I haven’t heard from her since.”

“She didn’t want to go public?”

Ortega sighs. “This was like the early aughts. Things were starting to change but…”

Jane frowns. “There would have been consequences.”

“Yeah. I think…” Ortega stares at the floor between the two of you, lost in memory or maybe regret. “I think maybe I had been too pushy. I was under a lot of pressure at the time. The new face of the Rangers. They told me I needed a relationship to look ‘normal.’”

“Human.” Jane prompts, unbidden.

“Yeah,” Ortega laughs, bitter. “That too, I guess. Not that it was an excuse, mind.”

“Would a relationship with a woman really work for that though?”

“Well, we’ll never know now. I wanted to try but…”

“But?”

“I don’t think I gave her the space to really process what coming out would mean. We just fought about it. A lot.”

Jane rocks back and forth on her heels, avoids looking at Ortega. “That’s rough, I’m sorry.” Ortega never shared this with you – with Ariadne. You’re not sure what that means. How to feel about it.

“Well, hey,” Ortega looks up, catches Jane’s eye. “I learned from it. Eventually.” She smiles, and Jane smiles back. “Well, I told you my story, what’s yours?”

Jane blinks, bites her lip. “Oh! Uh. Hrm.”

“Sore subject for you too?”

“Uh… not exactly…” Jane laughs while panic runs through your head. “Like… when I figured out I liked guys…?”

“I was more thinking women? Society kind of expects the male interest.”

Jane forces a laugh. “I guess that’s true. I’ve never actually dated a guy though.”

Ortega shrugs, “Doesn’t make you any less bi. Nothing wrong with that.”

“Is it still bi if you don’t want to date guys though?” Jane frowns, looking away. Floor, artwork, the crowd. Anywhere else.

“Oh. Hrm,” Ortega pauses, “I guess that’s up to you? I’m not the sexuality police.” She laughs and Jane finds herself joining in.

“Oh good. I’m safe then. I mean… guys can be… attractive, I guess.” Jane shrugs helplessly, “But… I don’t know. I guess I’m kind of afraid of them?”

“Jane…?” There’s a note of concern in Ortega’s voice, and Jane cringes. This conversation is getting too real.

“This isn’t really the place to talk about it.”

“Okay. I get that. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Jane sighs. That is absolutely not a subject you want Ortega to chew on. You need something to distract her. “ As far as women go, well..” You need to think of a story quickly. “There was this… girl I worked with in – in… college.”

“You know,” There’s an impish grin on Ortega’s face, “they say you should never date a coworker.”

Jane scowls, “Oh believe me, no dating was involved.”

Ortega puts a hand over her mouth. “Oh no! You just pined from afar?”

“Uh… more like, right next to her. For five years.”

“Ouch. She never caught on?”

The pained expression on Jane’s face matches the one in your heart. “I… have no idea?” Shesighs and downs the rest of her wine glass in one go. “Honestly, I didn’t really… understand what it was I was feeling until years later. And then… it was too late.” She shrugs and looks away. Can’t believe this conversation is happening. Have you lost your goddamn mind?

Ortega is shaking her head, equal parts amused and pitying. “I never would have pegged you for the shy type.”

“Hey!” Jane crosses her arms, “not shy enough to keep from kissing you.”

Ortega laughs again, “I’ve noticed.”

“I learned from my mistakes too,” Jane lies.

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero fanfic #fanfiction #fhr/Ariadne

14 notes · View notes

windyfiend · 4 years

Link

Briony stared into the sun that burned between her old friend’s hands, and she almost wished it would blind her.

“Empress Isobel has a deal… with the Kith,” she murmured. Her voice fell low, disappointed and weary. “She trades kids for sunlight and tells everyone that they’re dead.”

“So no one will come looking for us,” Sorn agreed. The deep glow of his eyes shivered like a shadow passed over a flame. “As far as I know, none of us except Felurook has killed anyone. If I ever ate people meat, it wasn’t on purpose.” He flashed sharp teeth in a halfhearted smile. “All of us are the same kids we were.”

At this, Briony looked up through tendrils of dirty hair, and she studied Sorn’s sloth-skull face as if she could compare it to the kid that she used to know.

She reached out and grabbed his skull with her fingers in the sockets and mouth. Sorn let her tip back his head so she could see underneath.

“You still have a nose under there,” Briony observed aloud, peering close. She could smell the tart melon on his breath. “I don’t remember sloths having shark teeth, though.”

“A piranha-spirit owed me a favor.” Sorn grinned white and jagged.

“So where are your eyes?” Briony wiggled Sorn’s head back and forth, but at every angle the bone of the skull seemed attached behind the bridge of his nose.

“Gone,” Sorn confirmed, “but better. I can see in the dark, and I see colors you can’t.”

Briony pulled down his head and stuck a finger into his eye socket. All she felt was a dark heat, like the rippling pressure of fire.

“Where’s your brain?” Briony pressed her face close and searched inside the skull’s eye. Inside, she found an expanse of darkness and a glob of orange light staring back at her.

“Weird, huh?” said Sorn.

Briony let him go. She folded her arms on her knees and watched him with a narrowed stare. “Did it hurt?” she asked as if she didn’t care.

Sorn shrugged and dropped backward to lay in the grass, arms folded behind his head, and he stared up through the branches at the shimmers of sunlight. “Nah. Only for a minute before I passed out.” The orange drops of magma in his eye sockets turned to stare at her. “You’re way older than I remember.”

“You were gone three years,” Briony huffed. “I was ten. I was little.”

“Three years for you.” Sorn rippled his fingers like the shimmers in the woods. “For me, I’ve been here six months.”

“Your math is bad.” Briony flicked his skull with a sharp snap. “You’re sixteen.”

“I’m thirteen. I’m short.”

“You’re malnourished,” Briony countered. “You can’t live on melons and oranges.”

“You’ll see,” said Sorn.

In the distance, a hollow flute warbled like a bird on the breeze, then drowned behind a chorus of whooping shouts. Briony could hear the creak and strain of swinging ropes, a shriek and a laugh, the crash of broken pottery and a shout of anger. The colors on the trees dappled bright as the flowers that cascaded down endless ivy. The air smelled new and wild like sugar and potpurri.

Briony could still taste copper on her tongue.

She climbed to her feet.

“Where are you going?” Sorn asked sleepily.

“You’re taking me back to the tunnel,” Briony answered in a dead voice. “I’m going home.”

Sorn sat up. He tipped back his head to watch her with his molten eyes. “No.”

“Why?”

“You’re being stupid,” Sorn said. “It’s been two days at least, maybe a week across the ripples. Everyone thinks you’re dead. How often do you get to fake your own death?”

“Take me back,” Briony commanded. “Unless you can’t. I knew you were weak garbage.”

Sorn bounced to his feet and bared pointed teeth, his shoulders rigid and sharp.

“Everyone’s dead! What’s even left there for you?” he snapped. “Your grandma, who makes you wear a dress to her knitting parties? Your stupid cassette player? We can make our own metal band--”

“MY NAME!” Briony roared. She planted her feet, immovable as a mountain lion. “I spent my life doing everything I can to be who I am, but I’m nobody here! You want me to get rid of my name and my face and my home! What’s left?!”

“You’ve got me,” Sorn sneered.

“Do you even remember my name?” Briony stalked in a slow circle around him, bristling and wild-eyed, as if she might jump out and bite him.

“Ditch the name,” Sorn warned. “Leave it in the city, start a new life.”

“I have a life!” she growled. “I won’t run away! I’m not scared!”

Sorn took a step back and raised his dark hands in caution. “You should be…”

“My name is Briony!” She sidestepped Sorn’s striking fist and tripped him sprawling to the ground. “I’m going to Runa’s real funeral because she was my real friend! You can’t even say my name!”

“SHUT UP!” Sorn pounced and tackled her hard to the ground, but Briony didn’t stop screaming.

“MY NAME IS BRIONY!” she shrieked, as if the name could wage war against the burning skulls of the Kith. “MY NAME IS BRIONY! MY NAME IS--!”

Her body seized.

Her throat constricted, her mouth trapped open like bolted metal.

Her lungs stopped moving. Petrified.

Her arms and legs snapped straight and shaking, and she was trapped inside her own rigid body.

She couldn’t move.

She couldn’t breathe.

Tears shivered in her terrified eyes. She watched while Sorn expanded a sun between his hands, then tossed it high in the air where it exploded with a thunderous, fireworks bang.

Sorn leaned over her. Briony’s vision was full of nothing but his nightmare skull.

“This is why you never let the forest know you,” Sorn said gravely while Briony’s face turned pale and blue. “It’s taking you. It wants you for its collection. You showed it your face and told it your name, and that’s the same as giving it control.”

While Briony shuddered stiffly-- choking and struggling to breathe, to move, to blink --bright blue light glowed deep beneath her skin.

The blue shine radiated softly inside every limb, casting her bones in stark silhouette. Briony could feel it like living oil writhing and churning in her chest, her stomach, her feet, her fingers, twisting and rippling. It brightened in her mouth, writhed in her ears, spidered across her face.

Her hands twitched and curled against her will.

Through her fading eyesight, she could see thin tendrils of blue glittering light rising like smoke from her body. They faded among the leaves above, devoured by the hungry forest.

She tried to scream for the smoke to come back to her-- she wasn’t done living! --but her existence had become only a thought in the prison of a body that was no longer hers. Her cry was swallowed by empty silence…

...and she felt herself fading...

...rising with the smoke…

“SHE DOESN’T BELONG TO YOU!” a voice reverberated like thunder, and a hand clamped strong on Briony’s forehead.

The jackdaw’s skull glowed bright orange and red, every socket and crevice bursting with light, a sun surging beneath the furious bone.

“LET GO OR I’LL SNAP YOUR ROOTS LIKE TOOTHPICKS!” Felurook bellowed. “THIS ONE IS NOT YOURS!”

Briony’s arms and legs shuddered and twisted while the oily light shrank away, and she choked a blessed breath that ended in a gagging, ragged cough.

“Renounce your name!” Felurook demanded, each word like a dagger, while her hooked bird-skull shone bright and hot. “The name is dead! Kill it! Kill everything you were, or you will die right here, right now, with me.”

Briony could still feel the weakened threads of the forest tickling inside her, wrapped around her bones, veined through every inch of her body in search of blue light, waiting for Felurook to release her grip so they could drink again.

“RENOUNCE IT!” the jackdaw howled. “Or I’ll feed you to the forest! Die with your name or live without it!”

Felurook’s grip burned against her skin. Briony thought of her parents’ funeral, her grandmother’s picture frames, spray paint and heavy metal, the look of terror on Runa’s face…

“I renounce it,” she murmured.

“Say it!” Felurook commanded.

“I RENOUNCE THAT NAME,” the girl screamed through a gurgling sob and tears rolled down her face, into her hair, into the ground beneath her.

She felt threads snapping and breaking inside her.

“I am not that person!” she shouted at the forest, begging it to believe.

Felurook bowed low over her. “You have to know it’s true,” she said. “Change your resonance, I can’t change it for you. Shift your heart and the forest can’t find you. Who are you now?”

The girl dragged painful breaths into her burning lungs, her teary eyes full of the jackdaw’s light, and the broken shards of everything she’d known felt like glass in every breath.

She screwed her eyes shut, grit her teeth, and poured all her courage into the shining blue light that pressed bright and alive in her heart.

“My name is--”

#original writing #original fiction #stolen suns

1 note · View note

spicysarahcha · 5 years

Text

First Impressions

Pairing: Julian Devorak x Fan Apprentice Words: 2,822 Synopsis: Harlow makes a risky trip into the marketplace while sick for thread and gets tangled up with a handsome yet intriguing Doctor. Notes: So I’m on a roll with this whole Harlow x Julian thing, so have a fic about the two of them meeting!

Thread. It was all she needed in the marketplace, then she could go home and be sick in the private of her own home. That was the only thought motivating her to get into the marketplace instead of keening over and lying in the street or, less dramatically, just going home and saving the trip for another day.

Her head swam as she focused on putting one foot in front of the other, eyes downcast and heart hammering. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been this sick. She silently cursed the woman who came in the week before, sniffling and sneezing while Harlow attempted to assess the dress and see what needed to be done to get it fitting properly.

Ironically, that same woman who got her sick is also the reason for her trip today. The color of her dress was so different from what she typically worked on - a bright baby blue - that she didn’t have the correct color thread to fix up the dress, which was supposed to be done within the next few days.

Yet another reason to curse that woman.

As the familiar tents and bustle of the marketplace got closer, she drew the hood of her travelling cloak further down her face to try and mask her face. She quickened her pace as much as she dared, just wanting to get back before she really passed out. Really, the cloak wasn’t helping her much. It was warm outside as it was, and she was running a fever. That mixture of things was making her dizzy, but she pressed on.

Thread. Thread. Thread.

She breathed out in relief as the vendor came into view, the various exotic fabrics laid out and on display for shoppers to browse. She could identify a few at a glance: velvet, silk, crêpe, satin. That was all she could identify before she approached, and the vendor greeted her with a bright grin and friendly wave. “Harlow! What brings you here today? Need some more silk?”

She brought down the hood of her cloak, exposing her messed up ponytail and flushed cheeks. Her throat clenched as she tried to swallow, and winced at the feeling of what she assumed swallowing needles would feel like traveled through the back of her throat.

Well, here goes nothing.

“Thread. Please.” The vendor’s eyes widened at Harlow’s raspy, nasally voice. Typically, it was bright and almost melodic in the way she spoke, but that was all but a memory now.

“C-certainly.” She dipped below the table, reappearing with a bin filled with threads. Harlow wanted to help clear an area for the thread box, but in fear of contaminating the fabric and getting everyone else sick, she buried her hands into her cloak and simply watched. “What color did you need?”

“The-the dress is sky blue, like-” Harlow swallowed as a coughing fit threatened to overtake her. Eyes watering, she pointed out the color she needed. The vendor quickly prepared the thread, and she awkwardly shifted her weight.

She hated feeling this helpless.

A figure emerged beside her, and she quickly sidestepped a bit, trying to keep some distance. “I couldn’t help but overhear that your voice is a bit on the raspy side. Might I offer a bit of advice?”

Harlow’s cheeks burned as she looked up at the man next to her. His hair was auburn and curly, longer on his right side than his left. An eye patch covered one eye, and his face was on the angular side. Actually, all of him was angular. She couldn’t help but admit to herself that the man in front of her was a bit attractive.

But he had overheard her talking, sounding like a frog. Did he know she was sick?

“I-I’m okay.” Her voice was barely above a whisper; it was all she could give him with her throat in such bad shape. The man beside her tutted.

“Nonsense! I can hear the rasp of illness in your voice! I suggest trying to rest your voice and drink some tea with honey in it. The most important part is rest, though. In order to get better you can’t-”

“I said, I’m fine!” She snapped, a lot louder than she meant to. It triggered a coughing fit that racked her whole body. She doubled over, trying to get a hold of her body again. Her cheeks warmed as she felt the gazes of all the people near fall on her. A hand pressed into her back, gently rubbing up and down and patting.

“You obviously aren’t fine. Where do you live? Can I help you home?” Eyes watering, she forced herself upwards and shot a pleading look to the vendor.

Wordlessly, she handed over the coins for the thread to the woman behind the table, took the thread, and frantically escaped into the crowd, ignoring the man’s pleas to wait. The eyes of the people on her were too much; she pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and forced her weak body into a light jog, squeezing between shoppers.

She had to get out.

BANG.

She all but slammed the front door to her shop behind her, making sure that the sign was flipped to “Closed” before slumping over. A vicious cough rattled through her chest all but paralyzed her for a moment.

Once she made it out of the marketplace, she had slowed her pace to a regularly-paced walk the rest of the way. By the time she made it back, it felt like her heart was going to burst out of her chest and keep going down the street without her.

Finally, the coughing subsided enough for her to straighten up again and make her way to the counter, dumping the spool of thread on it before shucking off the cloak. Her skin felt clammy and slick with sweat; her head was pounding and her nose was so blocked she had to resort to mouth-breathing, making her mouth feel dry and disgusting.

She didn’t know who that man was telling her how to deal with her sickness, but she would be damned if she let him tell her how to take care of her throat. Her mother had always told her to gargle salt water and lower her voice, which worked just fine in the past. She didn’t need some stranger telling her what to do.

With her Mother’s words echoing through her mind, she slowly made her way upstairs to her little apartment. Most of the shops in the area were like this, making it easy to prevent theft and quick to get to the shop from home should something go wrong. Her parents were fortunate enough to get a shop that had enough space for the three of them, but without her parents there to fill the remaining space, it always felt empty.

As she prepared the salt water the younger her was already cringing at, her hazy mind floated to her family. Both of her parents had succumbed to the Red Plague that had cursed the city before. Her father went first, when the plague first came to Vesuvia, and her Mother followed towards the end. Harlow was thankful to still be alive today, to not have caught it, but every day, guilt followed her, almost as bad as the threat of the plague was: She should have been the one to die.

Of course, she knew that was just her conscience speaking on behalf of herself, but she couldn’t help it; she loved her parents dearly. Both were hardworking, honest people, working hard to provide for their only daughter and support each other. If anything, they were her heroes, her role models. Now, though? They were gone, and she was on her own. All she had was the memory of them, and the thought of them moving on to a better life outside of the one they shared.

Shaking her head to cut off that train of thought, she quickly mixed up the salt water and tossed it back, crinkling her nose as she gargled and spat it out into the tiny sink of her kitchenette. She cleared her throat, coughed, sniffled, then trudged off in search of her pajamas, some tissues, and an extra hair tie to get her hair off her damp neck.

The apartment was dead silent, besides her sniffling and coughing, allowing her thoughts to run wild. How would she work like this? She could barely walk, much less thread a needle and make precision cuts into fabric! And how would she communicate with customers? Notes? Pathetic.

She groaned as she flopped down onto her bed, wincing as her throat protested, and tossed an arm over her eyes. Of course she got sick. She was usually so healthy; she couldn’t even remember the last time she had been so sick that she could barely move.

Her eyes had drifted shut when she heard a faint knock on the door downstairs. She waited, hoping they would see the closed sign and leave. But, they knocked again, a bit louder this time. God, just leave me alone!

Not even caring about her appearance, she made her way downstairs, gripping the railing like a vice until she got down and shuffled to the door. When it swung open, she was ready to attempt to turn away a customer, but fell short.

It was the man from the market.

Annoyance simmered inside her veins at the man standing there, looking both proud and sheepish all in the same breath. He let out a sigh, his shoulders sagging a bit. “She did give me the right address. I was afraid I had been pounding on some random shop for no reason.” Harlow tried to give him her best you’ve got to be kidding me look, but it probably fell short. “How did you find my shop?” Both she and he winced at the sound of her voice; her from the pain, him from the shock.

“It’s worse than I thought. How much have you been talking today? I know you spoke some in the marketplace, but have you spoken much today?”

“Yeah, I was just across the way chatting it up with the neighboring shop about business tactics,” she deadpanned. He chuckled quietly.

“Yeaaah, I suppose that was a dumb question.”

He fell silent, looking at her. She looked back, confused and just wanting to lay back down. “If you’re here for me to alter or make something for you, I’m closed.” She gestured towards the sign on the window. “Now, If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go wallow in self pity-”

She began shutting the door, but it was abruptly stopped by his foot landing in front of it. “I know this seems weird, but I was really concerned about the condition of your throat earlier today. It sounds like a bad case of Laryngitis, in which case you need to rest your voice and-”

She raised her hand up, silencing him. “And just how do you know this?”

The man’s face fell for a moment, confusion spreading across his face for a moment before his eyes widened and cheeks reddened. “Did- er, did I not introduce myself?”

“Nope.”

“Oh- oh, no. I’m so sorry. Erm, I’m Julian Devorak, or Dr. Devorak. I’m. Well, I’m a doctor.” He stuttered slightly in embarrassment, shifting his weight slightly. That’s when she noticed he had a bag in his hands. A doctor’s bag.

“What, are you here to give me a checkup and charge me? Because newsflash; I’m sick, I need medicine, but hey, what do you know, I’m broke and can’t afford a doctor right now!” She coughed when her voice rose, swallowing painfully.

Dr. Devorak’s face fell. “I’m not going to charge you. Why would I do that? I didn’t ask half the people in the Vesuvian Marketplace if they knew where you would be to give you a checkup and charge you for it. I just wanted to help you.”

She couldn’t tell if this was a joke or not. Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, his words ringing around uselessly in her mind as she tried to figure out what he was saying. He continued.

“I brought over some things I thought would make you better. Could, um… May I please come in?” He offered her a sort of sheepish smile that she couldn’t detect any malice from. She stared at him for a moment, standing there in his ridiculously extra coat and knee high boots and eye patch, and finally stepped to the side.

She showed him upstairs, where Dr. Devorak promptly laid her down and examined her. When he finished, he had a bit of a frown of his face. “It seems you just have a cold that turned a bit nasty, dear. I’m going to make you some tea with honey in it.” He patted her shoulder lightly and stood up, rifling through his bag and pulling out a packet of tea and a container of honey. “You stay here, alright?”

She wasn’t going anywhere. She didn’t think she could even stand. Harlow nodded weakly, eyes sliding shut as she listened to the sound of his footsteps retreating into the kitchen. It was quiet, except for the sound of water boiling on the stove and Dr. Devorak shuffling around in the kitchen. She worried about him rifling through her things, but it quickly faded. He wouldn’t do that.

When he returned, he helped her sit up with a gentle hand on the back, holding her up while he stuffed pillows behind her. Harlow sniffled and coughed a little before groaning. “Shh, try not to use your voice.” His gloved hands cradled one of her parent’s glasses like it was worth millions as he brought the tea up to her lips. “I cooled it a bit, Take a sip, dear.”

She did as she was told, unable to fight him on it. In all honesty, she didn’t mind being taken care of like this. It reminded her of having her parents back again, taking care of her on the rare occasion she did fall ill.

The thought made her shiver slightly. She missed her parents, but they were gone. Dr. Devorak was here, and the tea sliding down her throat was soothing and dulled the ache in her throat a bit.

“T-thank you, Dr. Devorak,” She murmured, eyes drifting shut. She was tired, so very tired.

“Julian, please. No need for formalities.” Harlow didn’t have the energy to respond; his voice was already far away to her, as if hearing the echo of his voice. “Rest easy, Harlow. I’ll be here when you wake up.” The last thing she heard was the sound of the glass being set down before she fell asleep.

The pain in her throat was bearable when she awoke. Disoriented and sweating, she tore off the blanket covering her and sat up, groaning when a wave of dizziness hit her. “Don’t sit up so quickly, Harlow. You’re still recovering.” She froze. Did she recognize that voice?

Wary, she glanced around, finding a man sitting in a chair beside her bed. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place where she had seen him or how he was in her room until the memory from before came back.

The marketplace. Talking on the doorstep. Him making her tea before she fell asleep.

Dr. Julian Devorak.

She watched as he stood up, pulling off one glove to press the back of his hand to her clammy forehead. “It seems your fever broke. Great job. How are you feeling?”

When she opened her mouth, his eyes widened and he cut her off. “Don’t try talking yet. Give me a thumbs up or down.” She shot him a look before raising her hand and giving him a thumbs-in-the-middle. “Good, good. That’s much better than a thumbs down!”

As he tended to her, pressing a cool cloth to her forehead and helping her drink some water, she allowed herself to relax. If he wanted to hurt or rob her, he could have done it in the time she was passed out instead of lounging in the chair beside her bed. If she was being honest, she somewhat liked being taken care of by him. His presence was comforting, as she had been alone since her mother passed.

At least for now, she wasn’t alone, and that was all that mattered. When he went to take the now warm cloth from her head, she reached up, gripping his wrist. He froze, eyes wide and cheeks reddening as she murmured, “Thank you for helping me.” His gaze softened as a smile graced his lips.

“Of course. Now please stop talking, you’ll hurt your voice more.” She obliged, closing her eyes and allowing him to tend to her.

Maybe getting sick wasn’t so bad after all.

17 notes · View notes

theislesunfamily · 5 years

Text

Three & Four (For You, the Stars Will Roar)

The following story is the follow-up to “Three & Four (Some Phoenixes Just Take Their Sweet Time)”, which can be read by clicking HERE.

This story also contains collaboration in the form of a vision reading from the fantastically talented @stormandozone. Thank you as always, Mel.

Ithanar Islesun is dead.

He must be.

But then...

The sound of a heartbeat… rings in his ears.

Ba-dum.

Steady.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

Ready.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

The world hasn’t halted.

This isn’t death.

It’s something close to it.

In his periphery, he can see… it.

The valley.

Untouched by apocalyptic ashes.

It begins… the same.

In a small valley. But different from the one in reality. A path of torched trees and frayed leaves, wrought with apocalypse. It is all too familiar. A place used by an ancient demon within who tried to tear a man asunder in body. Any attempts made at the mind were a failure, but the body... it had been weak. Like it was now. Eyes scan the premises. They search. They sought. No sign of it. Only a moon of red hangs overhead.

She is beneath it; crimson light casts over her frame and paints her in harshness, but she is apart from it as well. The shadows gather at her feet; the writhing dark around, behind. Strewn are the shards of a life that once was, and they gather like so much detritus and flotsam around, but she is not of this darkness.

When the Oracle speaks, it is the flat voice-- the voice that does not belong to the almost-daughter, but to the magic she called her own. “You visit dark places, Breaker.” There is a color of mocking to it, for all its ashen flatness.

He approaches. He cannot speak yet. This is not his court to rule over; this ruin may be his doing (or undoing) but she-- the Oracle-- is the voice that matters in the red-riddled dark.

She is herself, and not; two eyes glow in the shadows. Awe cloaks her like shroud, wrapping her, hooding that freckled face.

In her hands appears the deck; it is bright against the darkness, a star shining in myriad colors, kaleidoscopic. It cuts against the darkness. The power aches within; it does not belong in the Nightmare. But his need has brought it; his need has brought her.

The Oracle smiled, just slightly, beneath the heavy hood that shrouds her. “Ask your question of fate, Breaker.”

The command falls, and he cannot but speak.

“Will the world ever figure out its true problems? The Old Gods? The Nightmare? Or we will fall prey to our cycle?” He feels the need leave him. He has asked. Whatever comes next… is what the cards say.

At once. The deck separates; shatters into a thousand glowing pieces. They slice through the night and swirl around him like flurries of embers, stark and brilliant. Their lightrails weave around them, in colors unimaginable until he is in the center of a vast, woven universe, that extends beyond what sight can capture. In the threads, he sees...

“Worthy.” The judgement cast. Her voice is around him, reverberating in bones, and if he reached out he could touch her face, but the light within those eyes is not living. “Tell me when to cut the thread.”

He hesitates, just for a moment. He can see now, unlike ever before, and it is… maddening, addictive, the cusp of something grander than he has ever perceived. He reaches out, and he feels--

Ithanar’s palms begin to bleed from slashes, and he feels the weight of this magic.

“Stop.”

Everything cracks. It falls apart-- the weaving becomes nothing but a million flecks of independant light, and they fall apart around them, a fall of stars that surround the Oracle and the man. He is with her and then--

He is not.

Ithanar Islesun isn’t dead.

No, he finds his vision to be clear as he opens his fel-green eyes.

It is nothing blurred, nothing fraught with frustration.

He can feel his limbs suddenly, a sudden herk-and-jerk mismash of movements that comes crashing back to life, and the tightening of fingers around the choker of one’s-

It’s Shan’ran.

Memories flood back into his lifestream.

And his fingers tighten in response, fury a fire in his gut that continues to rise until it reaches the half-collapsed ceiling of the building he had sought refuge in. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Shanara take a few steps back, eyes wide with a fear that can only be seen as wise.

They have poked the bear.

They have climbed into the spider’s web.

They are the cause for yet another stubborn rise from ashes.

Arcane energy clicks to life across the plates of the old elf’s armor followed by the sudden release of the male Shattersun, as he is tossed across the room and goes crashing through the opposite wall. A sickening thud follows and there are cracks left by the impact of her body against the stone foundation.

As she falls?

Ithanar rises slowly, debris flowing off his form and crashing to the ground. The clicking and whirring sounds of magics springing to life echo, and there’s a sudden flash of light, a veritable rainbow of reds and greens, blues and oranges, of all colors in runic shapes and forms.

They spring to form on the plates of his armor, but…

There are others.

These are etched on the old elf’s skin, crawling up the pale and scarred flesh. They climb like ravenous spiders, pushing their way to rest on his neck, under his jaw, and then on either side of his lips before coming to a stop just above his hawkish nose.

A faint whirring sounds in his ears, and then the harsh grinding whine of his blade buries it all.

Just like he wants to do to them.

Just like he will do to them.

There is no alternative.

He sighs, head tilting just a little, a fanged snarl coming to rest on his features. When he speaks, the harsh nature of his tone seems almost amplified by the energies coming from him, through him, around his form.

“I’ll tell your masters myself then.”

Shan’ran rises, one hand curling around the handle of his warhammer.

He’s furious.

Shanara reaches for her twin blades.

She’s frightened.

Ithanar just stares, almost motionless.

His blade turns in his hand until the point is directed to his pupils.

“I’ll tell them that…”

Fury rolls off him in waves, ferociously beating against shores. Never before has he ever been so… upset, frustrated. Not even in the most wicked of moments, when he was terrible to his family, to his friends, to lovers new and old was he like…

Like this.

That feeling of being alone.

No, he has felt it before. Back in those times, it was something he could not crawl out from.

Now he is no longer crushed under the debris of his own depression, his hubris.

“... I’m not fucking dead yet personally.”

Ithanar has his focus yet again.

And he strikes.

Blades clash and clang.

The wars outside of the walls and valleys come to wait.

He stands in an empty hall-- tall columns extend skyward, and the marble floor is shined to mirror finish. He sees himself, when he looks down. His armor is red and gold. His shield is tall. He is a Spellbreaker still. When he looks up-- he sees this man. The man he was once. Younger, strong, not yet ground against the stone of progress.

His other-- his self-- speaks low. “You’re holding back, old man.” There is cockiness to the smile. He remembers it; the woman who had trained him to think had smacked it off his face when she pressed his cheek into the mat. This young man has not yet had that life.

A sound, and Ithanar turns. Behind him, the Warden of the Isle. Old, armor leather and mail and gouged with the fights he has won-- lost. Scars cross this Ithanar’s features. Scars haunt his eyes. He snorts. “Not yet old enough to know better,” the man he may become says.

And yet-- Ithanar looks down at himself, and he is--

Skin, and bones. Leaves of autumns past for eyes that burn. Amber, and red. A smile of scorched plains, of battlefields laid barren for crows. Man-shaped, but like the shadow of a man– the hungry remained, after the soul had gone.

You cannot change what you do not accept.

You must take the bitter with the sweet.

Take the N I G H T M A R E with the dream.

Do not resist the changes to come.

Do not allow yourself to become obsolete.

Not again.

The hunted becomes the hunter.

A turnaround, a change of roles only suited to master and student.

One knows the other better than even they think.

They believe.

Ithanar pursues his quarry out of the half-collapsed building and into the streets.

His former students can only run, but they don’t get far.

Shan’ran comes first.

The screams, an unending roar.

There it is.

But this roar is merely of this world, not something otherworldly and unnatural.

It’s just… an elf.

A young one trying to fend and flee for the last few moments of his life.

Shan’ran is the younger of the twins by a few minutes.

Even with that, there’s a way to prey upon such unfortunate youth. He relies too much upon his weapon, barely resorting to his magics especially when pressured.

A simple application upon the shatterpoint is all Ithanar needs.

He punches through the younger elf’s defense with blinding strikes and easily evades the wild swings and furious roars., it is a horrific but fascinating display.

When he finally catches Shan’ran off guard, Ithanar sidesteps a ferocious two-handed strike that slams into the dirt, pirouettes with practiced ease, and then brings his blade up to sever the young elf’s hands from his body.

Then he follows through with a decapitating stroke through the neck.

There is no reluctance.

A head rolls.

Blood.

These streets and avenues will be stained with them for time.

None of that matters.

For now Ithanar is the predator without thought.

Only Shanara remains, her screams echoing over the blood-crazed whine.

He is not moved.

She will die.

In time.

He remembers failing them.

He reaches out, the runes that once were so familiar to him alive and strange on this immortal, corrupted arm and then--

He is alone.

No hall. No selves. A man, in the darkness of the wooded Isle. The woods press in. He lifts a lantern against the dark. All is silent and still, save the rush of distant waters and the drip of past rains from the canopy.

Within the lantern, he sees her. She is made of flame, but it is the Oracle. She reaches to him, and he hears her.

“The winnowing of truth from desire does not come from without; seek inwards. Seek the reality of what is and is not, within the confines of the self. Solitude bears the fruit of wisdom; time apart, the solution to the chaos that rages.” In a blink, the light goes out. And--

The sun above rises, and falls. Rises, and falls. Faster and faster until like flashes, he sees the isle beneath his feet changing. He sees the seasons as moments; years pass in flashes. He watches the Isle as it continues; forever, eternal. The sky will grow red; he will see the Nightmare come to grasp his home, and then flame-- and then, the green returns, slowly and inexorably as time sweeps onward.

The cycle repeats a thousand times. He understands.

He reaches out, and stills a single moment. The moment the Nightmare dies. Someone is killing it-- locking it away. He feels the flames as they consume the woodland. The magic is so familiar, to keep and contain.

He turns it back-- all the way back, and he is young. His siblings are young, and they are all there, ringed around Idaena. She is cold in her way; the world is dark. He feels the mantle that extends back into their bloodline.

It revolves. It will continue.

(It cannot continue. The cycle must be broken, but he cannot see the way of it now. There is more to come, and when it does--)

Shanara is different.

She always has been.

Her spellbreaking was… breathtaking.

Even when fatigued, she could cast aside great gouts of flame with a wave of her hand.

And then have a blade at your throat in an instant.

She’s done everything Ithanar could have ever asked. She’s walked a thousand miles in a mage’s shoes.

But she hasn’t walked where he has, into the dark and ancient places of the world

The old elf’s plan of attack is more complicated.

No magic comes to play.

The runes that have spread over his skin and armor flicker out, becoming dark and inert, which is a stark contrast to what he does.Every motion is carefully thought out.

If he even tries as much as a simple rune of flame or frost, he knows Shanara will snuff it out.

The chance for such isn’t even given.

She swings her twin blades here, but his blade is there.

Each swing is countered, each thrust evaded, and every step imitated.

Seconds become minutes. Minutes become hours. Hours perhaps turn into days.

Who knows?

The world has come to a crashing halt.

Blades untangle from one another, and bodies take a few paces from one another.

There is only breathing.

Heavy.

Labored.

“I’ll kill you.”

There is no entity from the Void now.

There doesn’t need to be.

There is only Shanara and her sobbing.

Her weeping over the loss of a brother.

Ithanar stares.

Unfeeling.

Furious.

“You look tired.”

Before Shanara can even retort, before even a scream leaves her lips?

The old elf runs her through.

Again.

And again.

Suddenly, he is in the ruined, Nightmare isle once more.

The Oracle is before him… and she crumples, strings cut by unkind hands. The Nightmare at once rushes in, sliding over freckled limbs and over her, the cards lighting to flames.

Ithanar surges to her side, and the tainted magic recoils as he slides to his knees, draws the girl up into his arms.

He can speak.

“Elleynah--” His voice is rough and low in his own ears. He reaches for her, bleeding palm sliding over her cheek as he stares at her, those tight-shut lids, her parted lips that seem to not even stir for breath and--

Her eyes open. One green, and one gold. Her hands shoot forward and clasp his between them tightly, so tight it hurts. The voice that emerges is the girl’s, and it is weak with weariness-- the control it takes, to speak through her own mouth almost too much.

“Ithanar--” She gasps in pain. “Ithanar, don’t-- don’t let the ending for you be the ending for it all. Don’t let it be over yet. You have to see it through-- Ithanar, I promise it’s so much worse. Don’t let it end for you and give the burden to others, it’s yours and you have to see it to its own end--ahh--” She bites back a cry of pain, and she goes limp in his arms.

And then.

The Oracle is standing before him. She is beneath a moon of red. Crimson light casts over her frame and paints her in harshness, but she is apart from it. Shadows gather; the world nothing but so much debris at her feet.

She looks at him, and there is no more smile on those lips; they are etched in a barely-decipherable frown.

“An ending is an ending.”

She explodes in that faceted, multi-colored light. The Nightmare shatters around its edges. And he…

Awakens.

Now it is Ithanar’s turn to look upon what he has wrought.

Shan’ran.

A headless mess.

Shanara.

Her arm torn away.

Her body punctured a dozen times over, bleeding out before his feet.

His task… is accomplished.

But no master is appeased.

He watches their corpses carefully.

Cautiously.

Then it all leaves him.

The unfeeling fury.

The feeling of being a person again hits him like a brick.

His eyes widen.

And he collapses under the weight of it all.

As Ithanar goes, the last thought that comes and goes is that of his students being like stars.

They roar out of existence, consumed by the void.

Just like he might.

No.

He can’t.

She looks at him, and there is no more smile on those lips; they are etched in a barely-decipherable frown. “An ending is an ending.”

She explodes in that faceted, multi-colored light. The Nightmare shatters around its edges.

And he…

Awakens.

Hours pass.

Old bastards always soldier on.

As he leaves the valley, Ithanar casts a look over his shoulder.

One last time.

It’s hard to see as apocalyptic ashes rain down.

Never again.

#writing #ithanar #the phoenix wars

23 notes · View notes

bubmyg · 6 years

Note

pls god I beg u write the concept abt calling yoongi ur boy and him calling u his girl :-(

a/n: based off this concept; god again i’m sorry for any of your teeth that rot out of your head after reading this jafkdjfl

prompt: three times you call him your boy and the one time he assures you that you’re his girl

word count: 1,467

1. “How’s my favorite boy today?”

Yoongi shied away when the device clutched in his fingers lit with an endearing picture of you. Your smile mirrored the filtered cat ears burrowed in your hair, a sweet pink nose poked to the button tip of your own. It was your contact name that he tried to hide, however, flipping over his phone as he sidestepped from a prying Hoseok.

He was entirely too late when Hoseok shrieked in high pitched laughter, matching his step away to hook his chin on the elder’s shoulder, “Hold on what did that say?”

The flushed man tucked his ringing phone underneath his chin, swatting halfheartedly at Hoseok’s swelled cheeks, “Nothing, it’s just-”

“-your girl,” Hoseok finished for him, trilling the word obnoxiously, “and with a heart emoji too! You’re getting soft in your old age, hyung...”

The younger let out an audible oof when Yoongi’s elbow jabbed against his torso, taking the opportunity to swipe across the screen with his thumb and jam the phone against his ear.

“Hi,” He rushed, overlapping your cheerful greeting as he glared at a recovering Hoseok, “Hi, how are you?”

Your giggle was tentative, “I’m okay...” Your speech became gargled in his ear when Hoseok began chattering your name, again hooking slender fingers around Yoongi’s elbow to encourage him to put it on speaker, “...is that Hobi?”

Yoongi sighed, tapping the screen and stretching the device towards his friend. “Hi Hoseok!” You were chattering as the speaker flipped over to emit the sound to both, “How are you doing?”

“I’m doing well,” Hoseok beamed to Yoongi’s glower, “Thank you for asking.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, a fuzzy sound over the static of the phone call. “Of course, Now...” Yoongi’s stomach churned, did two back flips and landed on it’s metaphorical head when you chirped tenderly, “...how’s my favorite boy today?”

His skin dappled twice over in the blooming colors of spring, blotched in reds and pinks and maroons that contoured particular pieces of his features. He’d never moved so fast, turning off speaker and cupping the phone against his ear as his shoulders rolled away from a jumping and giggling Hoseok, boot clad foot flailing absently behind him in hopes of catching on his giddy friend’s knee caps.

“I’m well, angel, thank you-”

2. “Good morning, my sweet boy.”

He reveled in the occasions he woke up before you, taking the time to just breathe in the simplicity of your beauty. Shards of natural light bounced past the sheer fibers of curtains on the far side of the room, bathing each of your in a gentle ambiance that could be easily broken by a simple shift in the rising sun outside.

Yoongi’s fingers reached for you, flipping the rough pads of his pointer and middle digit over to drag crooked knuckles lightly across your cheek. Your eyelashes fluttered but you didn’t wake, shifting closer to subconsciously welcome the tenderness of his touch. He continued to stroke at your cheek, following a line to your hair where he twisted disheveled strands and let the curl off his grip.

You were squinting at him when he followed his fingers back to your eyes. A smile creased all the way to your eyes, lighting the hue of your irises in gentle paints of glitter when he mused, “You’re awake.”

“Mmm,” You pressed your lips together, humming when he cupped your jaw, “So are you.”

He nodded, trailing the movement of his thumb as it swiped underneath your eye before landing on the parted crease of your mouth, taking in the minuscule details of your dry bottom lip as it rounded the shape to the far dimple of your cheek. “Just admiring you,” He hushed softly, a gentle admission that was sliced through by your loud laugh.

“Gross,” You feigned, wrinkling your nose.

Yoongi shrugged, thumb tucking under your chin to pull your lips up to his, rumbling deep in his chest, “Maybe.”

It was a chaste kiss, awkward at the angle across the crease of your pillows but filled you with butterflies to the curl of your tip toes. “Well,” His lips pecked at the corner of your mouth, your laughs curling over his skin in spite of yourself, “Consider this your proper good morning.”

You lightly patted the heat of Yoongi’s cheek with the flat of your fingers, poking his nose as you hoarsely whispered, “Good morning, my sweet boy.”

3. “What’s on your mind, my beautiful boy?”

His fists came down harder than intended on his counter, the clatter of his bouncing keyboard startling some of the tension away from his forehead. He sighed, lightly correcting the position of the piece of technology, instead focusing his frustration by threading slender fingers into his hairline which promptly dislodged his backwards cap to tumble down the slump of his spine.

Nothing fit together, the muddled beats too painful to even check all the way through. He’d scraped nearly four files before he exited the program completely, instead trying to etch out some lyrics. The inspiration he went in with wouldn’t write just as the mix of his fingers wouldn’t produce, landing a pencil across his desk and an array of crumpled notebook paper underneath the wheels of his chair.

Yoongi sucked in a breath when the security system beeped and a figure lodged through the door. Grunted footsteps were gentle, calculated as the figure, intruder, entered, the crinkle of plastic landing on the table behind him before soft footsteps were moving and stalling once more.

“I brought food,” You tried gently, the tentative waver of your tone shattering his guarded heart a bit.

Taut muscle fell around broad shoulders as he sighed, fishing around for his hat to messily smash it back across silky hairs of raven. Kicking feet turned him to you, the smile on the seam of his mouth not quite reaching the unabashed grin of his gums let alone the giddy glint in the cocoa grains of his irises. “Thank you,” He praised quietly, eyeing the sagging plastic bag around tubs before dragging up the tense hold of your stature.

You held his gaze for a two, three, five passing moments before your head cocked chin coming to rest on your palm, raising a curious eyebrow.

“What’s on your mind my beautiful boy?” You whispered.

Yoongi didn’t speak, eyes quietly misting over with an onslaught of unwarranted tears as he stretched out welcoming fingers to you. Softly, barely there, a broken request, “Come here.”

...and 1. “You are my girl, my only girl, my favorite girl...”

He fiddled open the clasp on navy blue sleeves, messily rolling and shoving silky fabric up past the bend in his elbow. The chains of his bracelets shook over his delicate wrist as he pulled and adjusted until he was satisfied, only then turning his attention to what he’d originally stalked into the bedroom for. He nearly swallowed his tongue, instead clamping down his teeth over the muscle, breath whistling through his teeth when he found you.

You nervously patted your palms over the dress draped across your thighs, metallic spilling from the inside of your cheek when you bit a little too hard into the tender skin. Your gaze wasn’t allowed to linger on the wiggling peak of your toes from your shoes when a finger crooked underneath your chin, dragging your gaze into the brew of an adoring warmth.

Yoongi cocked his head, pretending to ponder an adjective before settling simply on, “Pretty...” a simple musing before he pinched your chin with his thumb, adding quietly, “My pretty girl...”

You shied away, adverting your gaze down as you side stepped around him, “That’s my line.”

He caught your wrist, tugging until his lips landing flush against yours. “Well, you are my girl,” He explained, following you and pecking your lips again when you stepped backward, “My only girl,” You were giggled now, pressing your hands against his tummy when he met your descending steps again, landing a lingering, harder kiss against your mouth, “My favorite girl.”

“You’re sweet.”

Yoongi captured you in the threshold of the bedroom, cradling the warmth of your cheeks, pecking each softness, teasing, “And you’re my girl.”

You swatted at one of his wrists, laughter light when he pressed his forehead into yours, “Stop!”

Caramelized cocoa was serious, assuring, “You know I love you, right?”

“And I love you,” Your eyes rolled, peeling his hands off your cheeks by his wrists before threading fingers easily into the spaces of one appendage to tug him down the hall. “Come on, we’re going to be late for our reservation-”

“Reservation for two at eight please,” Yoongi recited in an exaggerated boom as he trudged along behind you, “Yes, that’s right, for Min Yoongi and his girl-”

#min yoongi #bts #bts reactions #bts scenarios #yoongi scenario #yoongi scenarios #min yoongi scenario #bts imagine #yoongi imagine #min yoongi imagine #yoongi x reader #this is so gross im so sorry #but u asked for it kind of jskfdjaksl #Anonymous

469 notes · View notes