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readwithnox · 1 year

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10 Indie Fantasy Books with A-spec Main Characters

Enjoy some magical a-spec spec-fic.

From asexual to aromantic and every variation inbetween, these fantasy books have a wonderful selection of a-spec LGBTQIA+ main characters for your next read!

While some of these books don’t outright announce some of the characters’ identities in the story, there are cues that a-spec readers are likely to pick up on either in the first book or later in the series. For the ones that aren’t completely obvious, I’ve received confirmation from the authors.

Structural Integrity

by Tabitha O’Connell Fantasy Romance featuring an a-spec trans mc

Messenger boy Kel never expected to strike up a romance with a government official. But Yaan lacks the self-important snobbery of the others, seeing Kel as more than just a pretty face. Living with him in the city’s plush government complex is everything Kel could want: no more expenses, kitchen workers and resident animals to befriend, and of course seeing Yaan every day. Even if Yaan does spend most of his time working or worrying about work, and seems to have forgotten that they used to have actual conversations…

When the city decides to tear down the iconic theater building in Kel’s old neighborhood, Yaan’s indifference toward his pleas to help save it forces Kel to confront his growing unhappiness. In the aftermath, both will have to decide whether their relationship is salvageable.

Song of Phoenix and Ink

by Margherita Scialla New Adult Portal Fantasy featuring an a-spec mc and a-spec li

All Nadzia Kaminski wanted was to finish writing her novel.

When she finally finished the manuscript for Crimson Mayhem, she did what any writer would: gave it to her best friend to read. Her friend’s reaction, however, wasn’t what she had expected and, upset by her criticism, Nadzia left her at the café where they had met.

Waking up the next morning, Nadzia was no longer in her bedroom, finding herself in a world of her creation, surrounded by dangerous magic and vaguely familiar settings.

With a country at war and no clear way home, time is running out and Nadzia has to find a way to gain the trust of the very people she created and figure out her confusing feelings for two of her own characters.

She soon realizes stories aren’t perfect when there is no one left to write them.

Dirt-Stained Hands, Thorn-Pierced Skin

by Tabitha O’Connell Fantasy Romance featuring an a-spec nonbinary mc and a-spec li

A queer, Beauty-and-the-Beast-inspired novella

Heron thought ey wanted to be with handsome, charming Tiel — but the relationship hasn’t quite lived up to eir expectations. With Tiel’s confidence comes a tendency to be overbearing, and now he wants Heron to leave eir farm life behind and move to town with him. And Heron can’t figure out how to explain to him that ey doesn’t want that.

When an accident strands Heron’s mother at a castle rumored to belong to a family of mages, Heron rushes off to make sure she’s all right — only to find the castle occupied by a single man who isn’t a mage at all. Prone to hiding behind his long mess of hair, the mysterious Theomer possesses a long-neglected, semi-magical garden. A job tending it is Heron’s perfect opportunity for some time away from Tiel while ey decides what to tell him.

Heron did not plan to be drawn in by Theomer’s attentive gaze and understated sense of humor. But as an undeniable bond forms between them, ey’s soon going to have a much bigger choice to make…

A Searing Faith

by Audrey Martin Epic Dark Fantasy featuring an aroace fmc

When sixteen-year-old Rena finds herself the sole survivor of the fire that destroyed her home town, the only thing keeping her going is the suspicion that the tragedy wasn’t an accident. She is determined to find those responsible, no matter how far her quest might take her. But no one in charge of the kingdom of Kal-Hemma seems to care that this isn’t the first town destroyed by a mysterious fire. And according to Rena’s travelling companions, there’s a lot the members of the Royal Council aren’t telling their subjects.

If Rena is truly the only survivor of the tragedy, why did she find her sister’s ring outside of their destroyed home?

Who planted the strange bird figurines around the town’s church before the fire?

And what do the old, forgotten Gods have to do with any of this?

A Searing Faith is the first book in an epic fantasy series and based on the award-winning, interactive audio drama The Heart Pyre.

A Kind Voice in Hell

by Ames Mullery Urban Fantasy featuring an a-spec trans mc

What’s a few years of bloody gladiator matches and witchcraft-for-hire when your best friend’s life is on the line?

To cover the soaring costs of his best friend’s life-saving healthcare Lark signs away everything he’s got — his body, his freedom, even his witchcraft — to a billionaire who plays at philanthropy for entertainment. Although Lark may have the heart of a saint, he doesn’t have the patience of one. It isn’t long before he begins to rock the boat and ends up threatening the very people he wants to save in his reckless heroics.

A KIND VOICE IN HELL is a story about an occult-obsessed billionaire looking for away to bring gladiators into the twenty-first century, a trans man with a hero complex who has never known illness a day in his life, and the disabled people caught in the middle. It contains queer love, found family, and a hero who needs to sit down and shut up before he tries to help anyone.

Follow Lark as he forges an unlikely alliance on the inside and weaves masterful spellwork in hopes of changing the world for the better.

Havesskadi

by Ava Kelly Fantasy featuring an a-spec mc

The red dragon is hunting her own. Up in the icy peaks of the northern mountains, Orsie Havesskadi spends his days hiding from her, but eventually he is found and his dragon magic stolen. Cursed to wander the lands as a mortal unless he recovers his magic before twenty-four rising crescents have passed, Orsie embarks on an arduous journey. Spurred by the whispers in his mind, his quest takes him to a castle hidden deep in a forest.

Arkeva Flitz, a skilled garrison archer, discovers an abandoned castle in the woods. Trapped there, he spends his days with his two companions, one cruel, the other soothing. One day, a young man arrives at his gates, and soon they are confined by heavy snowfalls and in danger from what slumbers in the shadows of the castle.

The Thirteenth Key

by Cara Nox New Adult Science Fantasy featuring an ace mmc

The chaotic crew of heisting misfits in Leigh Bardugo’s Six of Crows meets the familiar yet fantastical, modern landscape found in Robert Jackson Bennett’s City of Stairs.

“The thirteen emblems given to the original rulers weren’t just symbols. They’re keys to the Vault — one that no one’s ever opened.”

Noa has lived her life as an unsuspecting, ID-burning, face in the crowd that disposes of “problems” for her miscellaneous, secretive employers. So, when Noa’s surrogate father — a Seer — hands her a long-lost emblem, telling her with his dying breath that it’s her responsibility to reignite magic, she laughs at the idea that the fate of their world rests on the shoulders of a killer. Instead, she uses his words and the key he gave her as an excuse to go on one final suicide mission to seek out the power supposedly waiting for her to annihilate his murderer.

Prince Glacier Caelius has lived his life trapped inside a gilded cage, pushed down by the ever-present threat of death as the bastard son of Amarais’s late king. But when the rebels attack during a nationalist party, Glacier’s rescued by none other than Noa and her merry band of thieves, who are scrambling to salvage a failed attempt at stealing his country’s emblem: the Soul of Amarais. When the dust settles, he’s the only person left alive to unlock the palace vault and give the Soul to Noa in exchange for saving his life.

Well, once they’re able to formulate a plan to take the palace back.

Struggling with their tentative, newfound freedom, Noa and Glacier must learn to work together to survive the urban landscape of Avaria’s greatest cities fortified by technology in the wake of dwindling magic. The goal: steal as many keys as they can before their pasts catch up. But the further they go, the more they realize that something worse may be lurking on the horizon, and they may very well be the only ones able to stop it.

Bloody Spade

by Brittany M. Willows Young Adult Urban Fantasy featuring an ace fmc, aro mmc, and demi fmc

Bloody Spade is the first installment in an upper YA urban fantasy duology that follows a cat-eared thief and a softhearted girl as they navigate his wild magic, her hotheaded brother, a sinister plot, and the feelings they’re developing for each other. Suitable for fans of A Darker Shade of Magic and This Savage Song, or anime/manga such as RWBY and D.Gray-Man.

A girl full of heart A thief touched by darkness A hot-tempered golden boy An unwitting servant of evil

The era of magic was once thought to be a myth, but after the Reemergence ushered forces both dark and light into the mundane world, it has since become a harsh reality. Now those affected by this strange power — a specialized group of Empowered called Jokers, known collectively as Cardplay — must protect their world from the darkness that threatens to consume it, all the while fighting for equality in a society clinging to normalcy.

But the Reemergence was only the beginning.

When another influx occurs on the seventh anniversary of that fateful event, an unfortunate encounter at ground zero lands Iori Ryone, a teenage boy in possession of a corrupt and legendary magic, in the care of recent Joker graduate Ellen Amelia Jane. From him, she learns the Reemergence may not have been the inevitable natural disaster it first seemed.

Someone is trying to tear down the barrier that separates the magical realms from the mundane. The question is why, and can Cardplay stop them before it’s too late?

Tell Me How It Ends

by Quinton Li Young Adult Fantasy featuring an aroace nonbinary mc

A coming-of-age cozy fantasy with a queer cast, witches, and tarot. Perfect for fans of Legends & Lattes and Our Flag Means Death.

Iris Galacia’s tarot cards do more than entertain gamblers.

With the flip of her fingers she can predict the future and uncover a person’s secrets. But under the watchful eye of her mother, she is on thin ice for pursuing a passion in the family business, and then cracks start to form until she eventually she falls through.

She is given an ultimatum — a test to prove her worth: earn a thousand coins or leave the business, and the family.

Enter Marin Boudreau, a charming young person who can scale buildings and break off door knobs, who comes for her help to rescue a witch who’s been falsely imprisoned in Excava Kingdom.

And Marin is willing to pay a high sum for her talents.

But saving a prisoner from royal hands isn’t easy, nor is leaving home for the first time in eighteen years.

Now Iris must learn to trust in herself, Marin, and this new magical world, while racing the clock before the royals decide the fate of the witch, and before any secrets catch up to her.

Trick

By Cara Nox New Adult Urban Fantasy featuring a demi fmc and aroace mmc

Cassandra Clare’s The Mortal Instruments series meets V.E. Schwab’s The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue with a dash of Disney+’s Loki in this new adult urban fantasy.

WELCOME TO NEW ATLAS: A CITY WITHIN A REALITY JUST BEYOND OUR OWN.

Evie is a nobody. Spending her days in college classes and her nights studying, having a social life has never really been a priority. With her sights firmly set on the future to keep away her thoughts of the past, she loses her grip on the present when her world is ripped out from under her. And it’s all thanks to two mysterious strangers showing up on her doorstep, claiming that she can turn back time.

Cade is a notorious troublemaker. He’s never been afraid to throw around his name to get what he wants as someone who’s clawed his way to the top. But power is quick to change hands in this city, and when he chooses to blatantly disregard an order from his leader, his older brother, he’s tossed back down to the bottom again. He’ll be more than lucky to regain any sort of trust when everyone knows he’s one of the best spies there is, sliding in and out of shadows in the blink of an eye.

Ren is a bored teenager. Always labeled as the “golden child” or “gifted student,” he finds himself writing down cryptic messages and following strange leads, rather than putting on the same old song and dance for his family. Especially once he discovers his little stolen fragments of the future are starting to take a darker turn. Perhaps chasing the life everyone wants him to have isn’t necessarily in the cards for him, but there’s only one way to find out.

So when someone within the secret society known as the Custodians targets Evie for her power, the clock starts in the final sprint to hunt down the culprit. In order to uncover whatever hidden clues are lurking in the past, the three of them have no choice but to peel back the layers of obscurity built up between their factions to figure out why she’s being hunted and how they might be able to fix their bleak futures before it’s too late.

Just remember: time is nothing but a trick.

Follow the divine archivists on twitter for more queer indie lists, reviews, and recommendations.

Where to find Cara Nox: instagram • twitter • writing tumblr • reading tumblr

Disclaimer: anything purchased through the links provided in this article helps me continue writing with compensation through Amazon’s affiliate program.

#a spec books #aspec books #indie books #pride month #queer books #lgbtq books #asexual books #aromantic books #ace spec books #readers of tumblr #readblr

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auggieparkhurst · 11 months

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Fox Hollow

DRUSTVAR - THE CRIMSON FOREST Some Months Prior

The booming was furious and incessant.

His heart swelled into a mallet and swung against his ribcage, each percussive strike ringing hot and fast in anticipation. He thought she would hear it for sure.

The girl appeared to have been born from the thorn-laced thicket. She was small, pale, but a whipcord of muscle. Her face was hidden beneath a mask crafted from a bear’s skull, a single rune etched onto its brow. Only her eyes, a blue as piercing as the sunburnt sky, could he see. She crept low and on light feet, notching a raven-tipped arrow into her bow, as she wove through a land mine of gathered kindling and stones. His mouth dried when she passed, holding his breath. When her gaze grazed over the pool of shadows he hid inside, he palmed for the dagger at his belt. He lingered in the penumbra for what felt like near an eternity. Watching. Waiting. Hoping…

“There are no foxes here.” Her voice was strange beneath her mask, yet he heard the piping note in it. She was young. He reckoned no more than thirteen. She peered over her shoulder with a huff, the sound refracted by keratin. “Can we please go home, now?”

“Have care, Niamh.” A voice lifted from the trees, wine-dark and thick as blood. From the forest emerged a woman wearing a wool-lined cape and an antlered crown. Her skin glistened in the wane light, carrying neither age nor blemish. If the girl was born from thorns, then she was born of a much deeper and far older spirit. Perhaps from the rain. Or the trees. Though by the depths of her near blacks eyes, he suspected she was the daughter of something as ancient and dark as Gol Koval.

The woman appeared to float with her fluttering hem as she brushed past the girl named Niamh. Her lips, painted a deep maroon, curled in a knowing smile. She knelt down, the drape of her cloak like the framework of wings, and raked her fingers through the grass. “Foxes are cunning and sly,” she mused, lifting splayed fingers that were stained in a rich crimson. “They hide at the scent of danger.”

A chill raced down his spine as the woman licked the blood from her fingers. She paused. Quiet and contemplative. Then, her gaze snapped to a cropping of misshapen aspen and birch. The trees stood tall at one point, but now huddled together in a conspiratorial hunch. His heart sank as she rose, beckoning Niamh hither. Together, they drifted towards the shaded alcove.

“No!”

His voice escaped him, scorching his throat. He cringed as it echoed through the brush. Such a wild sound, like an animal caught in a trap. A twang of regret sat heavy in his stomach. It lasted only a moment before fear seized his heart. Beneath his feet, the dirt churned and rippled. He sucked in a breath, light-headed by the sudden desire to run. But before he could even find his feet, thorns erupted from the earth and snaked around his legs. They coiled up his thighs, across his torso, and around his neck with a whip-like quickness. They crushed the air from his lungs and the will from his limbs. Bright spots danced across his vision as he felt needle-sharp barbs dig into his skin, coloring his flesh with brilliant pain.

“There you are,” came a gentle muse.

The thorns ceased their strangulation, though their grip did not slacken. His vision cleared to the sight of the woman and her companion. The latter had the string of her bow drawn, its arrow’s tip aimed straight for his skull. Only when the woman upheld a hand did the girl lower her weapon by a small degree. The woman laughed, though he saw nothing amusing. She drifted towards him and his thorn-cage, nails trailing along the root’s spiraling path. Up close he could smell the hemlocks and belladonnas woven in her dark hair. She smiled at him, feline in nature.

“Why are you here?” she hissed, “What have you come for?”

She held his gaze when she caught it, forcing him to peer into those pitch black eyes. In their fathomless depths, his own soul was reflected back and laid bare before him. It was gangly like a puppet without its strings, and its wide-eyes were dull as a candle snuffed of its flame.

“Please,” Augustine choked out, “Please…”

Layer by layer, he peeled the words from his heart. The woman was fed only the most bitter-sweet of truths.

“I just want to take my sister home.”

#the alchemists #| Fox Hollow |#Parkhurst stories #timeskip stories #Prior to their return to Stormwind

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lattewritings · 1 year

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You Should See Me In A Crown

Meretseger tore Ra's head of slowly, enjoying every bit of it. Ra had earthy dirt skin very beautiful of soft but stained in her own blood and Meretseger's. She didn't go down without a fight.

"I was never destined to save anyone. I became a doctor because money can buy lots." She said watching blood seep out.

"You could've changed today's fate. Yet you decided to let me suffer, not even a half assed human sent my way. And I'm sure as hell Aron wasn't a gift from you." Ra wanted to beg but her pride got the best even during death. A golden spiked crown levitated over her head at an angle. She took the crow as it pierced her hand causing it to bleed, there wasn't any other way as it was more a thorned crown. "I don't need a weapon to beat your beautiful golden face." She coughed up blood and muttered, "I. ." Ra's eyes rolled back to the back of her head.

"You should see me in a crown. Gold and bloody."

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abstracthappiness · 2 years

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microfiction, November 13 - 19

The green ones went first, then red, then blue. Little flower fairies pirouetting over the baby girl’s head. When the father checked on his daughter, he couldn’t see them properly—little lights, fireflies darting out the window. She giggled, and he wondered why.

Deep in the north, abandoned by your team, you find the last Direwolf—long thought to be extinct, lost to legend. But this beast is not a myth, or the subject of a research paper; it is an animal, and it is hungry, and it is very real when its jaws crack your bones.

Magic is outlawed here; the smallest spell can get you arrested. After his bail was paid, a Watcher was assigned to my brother “for the public’s safety”. This occult parole officer had a fake name, a friendly smile—and if I didn’t kill him, he’d kill us first.

We fell through the mirror—shattering, atomized, particles screaming—until we reformed on the other side, puzzle-pieced together. I had one of your eyes, your freckles, half my hair was your dark frizz. You had my hands, my pierced ears looking strange framing your face.

It was far from a perfect kiss, squatting six feet deep, coffin creaking under their boots. Above, the grave robber wielded his shovel, stomping about. “You have,” she hissed between stolen kisses, “the worst timing.” He grinned against her dirty cheek.

That summer, I knew a girl named Nebula, who loved the stars more than anything else. She said she came from the stars, that one day she’d go back. I thought she was making a Sagan reference. But she was perfectly literal—when the time came, she wanted me to go with her.

Lightning strikes, the cathedral spires a stark black against stormy skies. Two figures hurry through empty streets to the barred door. A whispered word charges the air, and the lock clicks open. Inside, a voice speaks from the shadows: “You’re late.”

The Lady’s bower smelt of blood, of roses. He entered silently, holding a silver blade and a wooden stake. She was sprawled upon silk sheets, red eyes watching his approach. “Well, Hunter? Will you kill me tonight, or join me in bed one last time?”

Adam didn’t want to move—he hated his stepfather’s creepy house, hated his weird stepbrother. One night he saw Lars go into a secret room between floors—surrounded by occult symbols, he summoned his mother’s ghost. Adam pushed into the room and said, “Teach me.”

She froze at his command to undress. “My Lord, the scars on my back are…unsightly. You don’t want to see—” “You think I am without scars? After all I’ve told you? Show me this unsightliness, the ugly side of your body and soul. I’ll show you mine in turn.”

Marta was a sturdy sort of girl. Solid as a rock, they said, strong as an ox. She laughed when she told her mother of these comparisons. “Imagine! They speak of oxen and rocks when I know very well you created me out of stag bones, and good river clay!”

“Can you say you’ve led a life well-lived? Thieving and whoring yourself out to the highest bidder? What about serving a worthy cause, for queen and county?” Cass told the Captain where he could shove his queen and country. “Right—then how about saving your own skin?”

They’d heard the portal’s guardian was quirky but hadn’t been expecting…this. “Welcome to the The Dismal Arch, your gateway to alternate dimensions! Payment up front—if you offer that Bitcoin shit, your friendly tollkeeper is at liberty to shoot you.”

A little gargoyle girl perches on top of the pedestal, watching the hobs and gremlins and fae cavort below. “Do you ever wish to join them?” the Goblin King asks. She tests the chains holding her fast, pierced through her stone skin. “Do not mock me,” she snarls.

They thought her a well-behaved girl, but really she was a forest—ready to rip apart at the seams. Stains of moss and dirt. Roots and thorns tripping, ripping. Rotten fruit and crackling leaves. Skittering beetles and cackling crows— Too wild to catch, too wild to hold.

read more on twitter: kattra | prompts: FromOneLine / vssNature / vss365 / vssMagic / WeirdMicro / GothicMicro / vssHauntedHouse / whistpr / SciFiFri / 2WordPrompt

#microfiction #vss #flash fiction #writeblr #writing #my writing #original writing #creative writing #fiction #fantasy #horror #supernatural #paranormal #scifi #scribblings #spooky stories

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arsontisticallyinfernal · 2 years

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▁ ▂ ▄ ▅ ▆ ▇ █ 𝒯𝑜𝓈𝓈𝑒𝒹 𝒶𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑔𝑒𝓉 █ ▇ ▆ ▅ ▄ ▂ ▁

ミ★ 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦 ★彡

Summary: What if Yuu/MC snapped, lashing out at everyone for not even being thanked or asked how they are about the overblots and more.

Content warnings: Bottled up frustration and trauma, swearing, overblot mentions, characters are most likely ooc, yelling, traumatic experiences from the overblots, overbloting[random student] and minor blood

Genre: Angst, no comfort, oneshot

Fandom: Disney: Twisted wonderland

Characters: Ace, Deuce, Jack, Epel, Sebek

Pronouns: They/them reader, He/ him Ace, He/him Deuce, He/him Epel, He/him Jack, He/him Sebek

Edited: hell nah ddfjhsdk, there will be grammar mistakes.

Writing time: On and off for four hours [multi-tasking]

꧁༺….༻꧂

It was a normal day at NRC, the first years made trouble and Yuu was ready to bail them out of shenanigans like always, though right when the sun was starting to set, and everyone started calming down, an overblot happened. It was a random Scarabia student, that of course like everyone else, was facing some mental issues and needed a therapist. Like always, Yuu banded together the rest of the first years and went to Scarabia to face the overblot, it was tricky like most of them, but everyone worked together and defeated the overblot, saving the student's life.

After the overblot, everyone that witnessed the fight was thanking the first years, all the first years besides Yuu. Yuu was laying on the ground, wounded and tired from the fight, exhausted from working too much.

They ran their fingers through their hair and let out a loud sigh, Yuu's eyes were lifeless and there were dark circles underneath, dirt and sand smudged across their entire face, sweat clung to their clothes and skin like a leech and blood trickled down their forehead, unlike the rest of the group that was defended by their magic, Yuu...wasn't. This left them defenseless and the main target, so they just became bait, they distracted the blot the entire fight, running around while the others attacked.

Yuu shakily stood up, and looked to the first years, the Scarabia students crowded them with apologies and thank you's. And yet Yuu was left there, bleeding and covered in dirt, without them the overblot wouldn't have been defeated, along with every other overblot. Yuu frowned at this and tightened their hands into fists and gritted their teeth, their knuckles turned purple and their face red with anger. The prefect quickly left the scene with a scowl, tears pricking at their eyes like thorns in their side.

Yuu arrived back at campus, walking back from the teleporter with tear streaks down their face. "Yuu! Wait up!" A familiar voice called out from behind, causing Yuu to hurriedly try to wipe away the tear stains, turning around and giving Ace a smile, behind him they see the rest of the first year squad treading behind. "Hey guys" Yuu greeted, giving an uneasy and sour-looking smile. "Where'd you run off to after the fight?" "Well obviously here-" Deuce gave a snarky response to his dormmates question, earning him a jab in the ribs, so Jack spoke up. "You okay, Yuu? I noticed how beaten up you were" the beastman asked, concerned. "You know it was foolish of you to do that!" Sebek scolded, mentioning when you were distracting the blot monster. "I know, I know. But how else would you guys fight that thing?" "Well, we didn't need you distracting it, we're strong enough to fight on our own, we've done this plenty of times!" Ace huffed, crossing his arms. Everyone gave him a warning glance, but it seemed that this was Yuu's last straw.

"What the fuck do you mean." Yuu's face fell into a grimace, their hands balled into fists, and they spoke in a threatening tone. "Say that one. more. time." The magicless student spat, their tone venomous with bottled wrath threatening to spill onto everyone. Epel tried to speak up but he was cut off by Yuu's piercing voice. "I did...everything! Without me the overblots wouldn't ever be defeated! You'd all be dead! I'm the one that suffers from the overblots the most, I'm the one that has to deal with them! I'm not even from this fucking magical world! I'm still waiting for our stupid headmage to find me a way to go home!" They yelled, hands reaching up to their hair and pulling it, their eyes were wide and they looked at the squad with a look that showcased nothing but rage. "Yuu..." Jack whispered in pity, his tail hung low and ears pinned to his head, they all looked shocked, wide eyes and mouths agape. "Yuu...we're sorry" They couldn't tell who was speaking anymore, their eyes filled with tears and everyone sounded the same. "I'm done. That's it. I'm going back to Ramshackle. If no one is thankful for what I've done then there's no point in doing a thing."

That night the squad was left speechless, it was unusual for them all to be this quiet, especially Sebek. They could only pray to the great seven they didn't lose Yuu, not yet. The only way they all got info on Yuu was through Grim, yet they had to bribe the feline with tuna to even get an atom worth of info, but that was enough, that was good enough even if Yuu never spoke to them anymore, for now.

꧁༺….༻꧂

Requests are always open

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kyberphilosopher · 4 years

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Rᴀɴᴄᴏʀ

While the Titans make their way through the district of Trost, a wounded soldier makes an unexpected discovery. Word Count: 4098 Requested: yes! Warnings: violence.

“The word rancor is best when you're not just talking about anger, you're talking about a deep, twisted bitter type of anger in your heart. The open rancor in political discussion prevents cooperation between political parties.

The most helpful way to remember rancor with all its dark, miserable bitterness is to think of how rancor rhymes with canker, as in canker sore, the horrible painful burning on your lip. Or, you might want to remind yourself that rancor has its roots in the word rancid meaning "rotten." Rancor refers particularly to the sort of ill-will associated with resentment, envy, slow-brewing anger, and a very personal sort of hatred.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Fuck. It hurts.

You collapse into a kneel. Your left knee scuffs against the damp, cold ground, dirtying the leg of your pants and the top of your boot. As your right hand prods the side of your torso, hot, burning pain courses through your veins with a spark. It feels almost as if the entire area is on fire, which you’re able to identify from the time your friend Jean accidentally caused you to burn your elbow over a candle at dinner.

Still, this is like nothing you’ve ever felt before. This pain... your ribs must be broken. Fuck.

“Shit,” you hiss to yourself through tight teeth. The hand on your abdomen strengthens its grip against the skin as your head rears back to look up to the sky. It’s cloudy grey, with absolutely no light from the sun peeking through. At first glance, the clouds appear to you as a muddy shade of blue. However, the longer you stare at them, the more you think they might be a cool purple-gray. It’s going to rain, soon.

It’s too dangerous, being on the ground like this. The tall buildings surrounding you, added to the isolation of the entire premises, makes you feel like you’re at the bottom of a valley. If only you’d been able to catch your balance on the roof.

Squad 29. Part of the vanguard, although the six of you had only been cadets. None of you were within the top ten. In fact, you’d chalked up your assigned position to just being extra bodies used to buy extra time. Completely expendable.

Although you’d managed to graduate 15th in your division, the other members of the squad hadn’t heeded your advice. They were a rather close knit group of friends, excluding you and one of the other boys. But those four had been committed to barreling head first into the titan’s mouths, regardless of what better plans there could’ve been to come up with. One of them died immediately.

You, the most physically adept of the group, killed two titans on your own, and aided in one assist. Then, you and Finn were attempting on taking down a thirteen meter, when an abnormal swatted the both of you like mere flies. You cleared the air, smacking into a distant tiled roof before you could fire an anchor to steady yourself. Even though you attempted to physically compose your legs, you rolled over the side and onto an abandoned market stall. When it broke under you, you dragged yourself to the middle of the street- where you are now.

But you can’t move. Every intake of air is a piercing stab to your lungs, a thorn in your side, literally. Beads of sweat are beginning to break across your temples, intensified with the concentration of your knitted brows.

If your ODM gear isn’t broken on some miracle, then how will you survive? You received basic medical lessons, but you’re no healer. If you ran into a healer, would they even help you? Compared to Hanna and Franz, or those friends you’d been assigned with, your life wasn’t worth much. You weren’t associated closely with anyone in the 104th, and you’d neither written, nor received letters from your family in well over three years. The irony is that you’d always thought being a lone wolf had more pros than cons. And now, you may pay the price for it.

Pop. A single drop of rain erupts in the center of your eyebrows. The first promise of an oncoming storm.

Your eyes flutter to a close briefly, before reopening. The smell of petrichor floods your senses, invigorating you with memories of spring and dirt. It’s enough to make you want to stand up and finally anchor your way to the high ground, but the slightest movement inflames your ribs all over again. And so no matter how much you wish you weren’t, you clutch the left side of your stomach in the middle of a lonely stone street, crippled in on yourself as you tremble in silent pain.

Sheets of rain begin to fall, reminding you that natural forces are never far behind. However, it’s not colorful like spring, or pleasant to associate with, like dirt. It’s icy and stark, drenching your hair and clothes in a matter of seconds.

Get up, you order yourself, but your body does not obey. Get. Up.

You’ve got more problems than just your ribs. The stiller you are, the more body parts you begin to realize are worse for the wear. Your left wrist feels stiff, like a wheel that can’t rotate full circle. Your right ankle feels limp, like a glass structure on the verge of shattering. But the main problem is in your lungs, because of the damage to your bones. It’s possible that you stabbed your own innards, and now you’re slowly dying. You need that medical attention.

A particularly sharp inhale turns to a wheeze. “Fuck,” you mutter hoarsely, digging the soles of your boots into the ground beneath you to solidify yourself.

Little pebbles between the cracks of the hard surface begin to bounce softly, like little tremors. A steady pace of booms fill the air, and the stench of death walks around the corner.

Lifting your head slightly and craning your neck to the right, you see the shadow of a large, ten meter titan lumbering towards you. With matted, dusty blond hair to its shoulders, you can make out the stain of thick redness running down its potbelly stomach, slowly washing away in the rain.

“No,” you struggle, now clambering to force yourself off the ground. “Come on- fuck.”

You’re going to die. You’re going to die- you’re going to die. You’re going to die, and they won’t even find your body. You’ll be labeled missing in action, and nobody will know what really happened to you. Not unless you get up.

A shooting cry for help springs to your veins. Every breath is agony. Your heart lurches, your ribs shaking and burning without any pressure anymore. Your left hand reaches to the ground to hold yourself up, unable to keep yourself balanced on your own.

No, this is it. You’re done for.

“Fuck,” you sigh out finally, the acceptance of defeat freeing you.

The titan’s coming closer. Your head falls back again, and you look up into the pouring precipitation. Quickly, your eyelids blink at a rapid place from the micro knives of wetness piercing into them. The sweat you previously worked up has run away, turning your skin cold.

You wait for your final thought to turn into ‘it was a good life’. But it doesn’t come. In fact, no thought comes to you at all. Your mind is blank, even when you turn to stare in the face of death, whose enormous hand is reaching out to you.

No thoughts. Just... fuck.

A fist erupts through the maw of the ten meter. With an explosive pop, something thick showers over you, glooping in your hair and dripping down your nose and into your mouth. Something in your ears click as a hollow, electric roar amplifies itself into the air. As you open your sticky, goo ridden eyelids to look at your grim reaper, you find the beast lifted off the ground by an incredible force.

Another titan- a muscular one about fifteen meters, with his hand straight through the smaller ones mouth. With long, dark brown hair whipping harshly in the wind and rain, emerald eyes glow like a flame of grass. He is... vicious, and what splattered on you was blood, and it’s burning but you’re too shocked by the sight ahead of you to care.

The fifteen meter pushes the ten meter off of his wrist with his other hand, before gripping him by the nape and throwing him through the air like nothing more than a ball.

Your free arm covers your head with fear as you flinch. For a split second, you are shielded from the rain, and can hear the whistling sound of something flying at a quick speed. Even with shut eyes, your vision darkness with the shadow of a large body. And then the ground shakes as the monster collapses with a boom.

What the hell?

Out of breath, you widen your eyes as you stare at the steaming hulk of flesh. Salty water slips in drops off of strands of your hair. The titan blood covering you begins to evaporate just as you turn to the other titan, breathing through your mouth despite the oncoming pain.

What the hell?

The fifteen meter leans back on his heels to observe his work of the other titan. His toned, muscular form shines in the glint of the wet rain. His dark hair clings to his neck tightly. When his two rows of teeth open, warm puffs of steam hiss out in a flurry as easily as air.

Abnormal. He’s gotta be... an... abnormal...

And then he meets your eyes, and it’s all over.

You watch a large, muscled hand reach out to you. There’s too much pain to move, or panic, or even think. Your life isn’t flashing before your eyes. You’re not thinking of home, family, anything like that. You’re thinking about how the icy rain has stopped falling against you for a brief moment, stopped by the skin of your killer.

Eyes shut tight as you keep applying pressure on your ribcage. The hood of your sweatshirt lifts up, choking you as your body follows limply. There’s only a few seconds before you can’t feel the rough ground anymore, and you know you’re up in the air. The rain sparks against your skin again, adding to the weight that’s gone straight to your throat and ankles.

And then...

Your feet touch against a solid again. The hood falls back against your shoulders. Your weight returns to your entire body. That’s a sharp stab against your ribs that makes you grit your teeth and pop your eyes open, but you find that there’s no gaping mouth in front of you. There is no, absolutely no chance, threat of death.

You’re... on a roof. The Abnormal is drawing his palm away from you, looking down through his dark hair that’s soaked in the salty water from above. His eyes are piercing and intelligent, but they’re not angry. He’s not going to kill you. He’s not going to hurt you.

As your eyes continuously widen, the Abnormal finally turns away from you. Great booms ring out into the air, the flats of his feet crush the ground beneath him with no effort at all. All the muscles in his back are tensing and shifting, drawing further and further away from you.

He didn’t kill you. The biggest, strongest titan you’ve ever seen didn’t kill you. Even when it had you between its fingers. And the way he looked at you... it was showing something more than other titans. It was showing intelligence, awareness. If something of this caliber has a bone to pick with its fellow titans, are you really going to slip away this easily?

If you could possibly steer the thing to find your way back to your squad, you could use it to your advantage in the battle. How many humans could you save with this? Could this be enough to take out the Colossal? Or the Armored, even? There’s only one way to find out.

You’ve made a discovery. This realization alone gives you the motivation you need to push yourself to your feet with a whimper. It’s time to catch up to that thing.

Limping as you pick up your pacing, trying your best to work up an acceleration before firing the anchors of your ODM gear. One hand still held tightly against your side, your fingers squeeze the triggers of your gear. The anchor latches into the skin of Abnormal with a click, albeit just barely, and you fly towards him with as much care as you can.

You clamber to the top of the muscle, trying to find your footing while still holding your abdomen. One of your hands reaches out to grip onto a lock of brunette hair on the beast like a kind of rope, hoping to steady yourself. Luckily, your ride comes to a stop, shifting its head to acknowledge you. Once more, you hold eye contact, but this time you’re quick to overcome your disbelief.

Could it understand communication?

You go to say something, but the pressure on your lungs makes you wince and hiss instead. A gasp falls from the back of your throat- a strangled cry that confirms how serious this injury really is. Something is broken, something is wrong, and you pull on the titans hair as you try to keep yourself steady from falling off and injuring yourself further, and for a split second you think you’ll hurt it.

“Fuck,” you wheeze out with shut eyes.

Beside you, you feel the rumbling of a growling breath. The shoulder you stand on shifts, reminding you that your ankle is also pained. When your eyes open again, there’s a hand beside you, reaching out once more.

You scoot away from it best you can, tugging on the things hair for leverage. It’s grimy, and dirty, but long and soft and slick at the same time. Weirdly enough, it’s better than most of your fellow soldiers hair.

The Abnormals fingers come into range, and with as much might as you can muster, you slap it away. It barely moves, of course. There’s another growl. The fingers extend again. Another push to shove it away.

“No,” you strangle out weakly. “Stop it.”

And then he does stop. You twist your head around to meet his eyes once more, but they’re right where you left them- on you.

“I can stay,” you say hoarsely as your ribs crack uncomfortably. “I can stay.”

The drum of the rain fades into silence. There is only you, and whatever he is, staring at each other with desperation and analyzation. Nothing else exists. Not the battle around you, nor the lives being lost at this very moment. It’s just the promise of life that pushes you to keep going. It’s the new chance of hope that you’ve been given, purely by chance.

The rain around you comes back to life. It shudders with the wind, loud and clear and explosive. It seems to be on the verge of turning to hail, popping and pricking against rooftops a million times over. It’s making the air colder, more violent. But it’s nothing compared to the way the Abnormal bows its head shortly. It’s nothing compared to the way the Abnormal nods at you.

“Okay,” you breathe out with disbelief. “Okay.”

A loud, shrieking roar pulls the both of you from your gaze. At the end of the road is a nine meter, with messy short hair and a wide mouth splattered with blood. Beside it is a smaller titan, maybe four meters, on its hands and knees like it’s about to pounce. With those stupid, hated expressions, you can see where your new partner got the strength to rip off a head.

You pull on the Abnormals hair in preparation. He rears his head back, breathing out steam to the sky. Beneath the soles of your shoes, you can feel its strange skin heating up like a fresh fire.

At once, your fingers squeeze the triggers of your ODM. It anchors into the wall of a building to the left of the smaller titan. At the same time, your Abnormal companion steps forward, cocking his fist back.

It takes a lot of strength and teeth gritting to pull both of your blades out. The hand leaving your side makes you feel the inside of your ribs pop. But you hold them behind you, twisting as you turn and make quick work of slicing the nape of the four meter before it can make any moves. It’s still, and then it collapses, smoking.

Your partner shoves the nine meter into a building. Both his hands pull back into fists, pommeling the thing repeatedly. You click the trigger again, jumping up into the air far above the rooftops all around you. You’re soaring, and coming closer and closer to the titan until you swing out with a whisper. Its head falls back, while your Abnormal lifts his leg to knee it in the chest.

The Abnormal shows emotions. It shows anger- even after he sees that his foe has been finished off. Prompting you, as you twist to aim your ODM gear again, to wonder if he is even an Abnormal. For all you know, he could be something completely different entirely. But then what is it? What have you discovered here?

You fall back to the shoulder of your partner gracefully. You sheathe both swords, grip onto his hair with one hand, and onto your side with the other. He stops his movements, still breathing out like a rancor human would.

You learn quickly that it’s better if you don’t try to control him. He’s more efficient when you treat him like a partner, and split up to clear a path for him. So you do. You spring from his shoulder to take out whatever slow, stupid creature crosses your path, though occasionally he moves before you can do so as if he’d rather do it himself. It’s not easy at all with your ribs in the condition that they are, and every movement makes your ankle and wrist click like they’re on the verge of snapping away. They probably are. Breathing, again with your rib problem, is becoming increasingly difficult, and there’s no sign of your squad in sight.

There’s no soldiers to be seen at all, actually- not even using ODM gear above you. It’s almost like the entire battle has just ended. Maybe everyone died. Everyone, except you, who did not even make the top ten and should be dead anyway.

You clutch your stomach as you think about this. The great being you’ve come to rely on in the past few minutes cranes his neck to look at you.

Your eyes close as you breathe as steadily as you can. The stabbing, electrical, unimaginable pain is becoming more and more unbearable by the second. You could’ve pierced a lung, and now you’re slowly dying, with only a foe who’s not even a foe to comfort you. At least you’ve started to like the strange rows of teeth he possesses. Looking at that as you die might make you feel better.

In one motion, the shadow of a hand covers you. The little pricks of rain have ceased once again, so you open your eyes to look up. Sure enough, a behemoth of a hand shields you like an umbrella, keeping you from soaking any further.

You look to meet his eyes. Before, they were all emerald green. But now, you can see flecks of teal in them. They’re strangely beautiful, almost otherworldly. And they remind you of something you can neither define nor place. Something you’ve never seen before. Cool toned, but also... warm.

“What the hell are you?” you whisper out, half to yourself.

Large fingers brush against your hood softly. It’s tugged up and placed over your head as gently as the giant can muster, the raindrops stuck to the cloth falling into your eyes. Maybe you won’t die. Maybe you really, really won’t.

The Abnormal growls again, though it’s still distant and none threatening. It’s more like a vibration, really. This thing is the embodiment of anger and vengeance, and yet its saved your life multiple times. You should be... you should be dead. How many times have you thought that today?

Your ribs bring you back to reality. Breathing a little too inwardly proves to be your undoing, nearly collapsing over as you grab at the area. It stings, it stabs, and you choke on your own throat with tightly shut eyes.

Yes, I should be dead. The proof is right here.

There’s one movement. It’s slow and fluid, as if something gentle was about to happen. But that, like all other gentle things, dies fast. Because there’s a second motion, a quicker one and a more abrupt one. And then there’s something slamming into you, your head going hot, the wind in your ears, and finally your back bursting open on something rough.

You can’t think. You can’t move. But only one thing comes to mind: The Titan.

“Y/N?!”

You groan in response, eyes closed as pain tingles up from your toes slowly.

“Where did you come from?! Y/N?!”

...

You’ve never liked waking up. You might’ve tolerated it in your youth, before the titans came, but since you’d enlisted, it was hard to be an early bird. It made you grumpy. Luckily, you weren’t social enough to have people around you to witness you doing so. Except for now, and the man in front of you with intense eyes and a long face.

On his jacket is the sigil of the military police- a green unicorn shining like bravery. His lips are slightly snarled, despite the charismatic voice that you barely bother listening to.

He tells you his name- Nile- and asks yours. You don’t answer. He has to get the report from the nurse, who only has your first name listed because nobody else in the corps knows your last. He keeps overusing it in some strange attempt to make you feel at ease, unaware that your intelligence has a built in bullshit detector.

What an idiot, you think behind your bandaged head.

Nile asks you if you can tell him what happened to you, but you can tell he doesn’t care. You keep it short and anonymous. (“I was assigned to the vanguard. I already know my squad is dead.”)

He asks if you know someone with the last name Jaeger. You do. But it feels wrong to say so. (“Probably.”)

By the end of it, Nile’s stupid looking eye is practically twitching. He asks about your injuries, which you learn more about. your ribs were broken, as you’d expected. There was internal bleeding, your appendix had been removed, a few broken fingers on your right hand. Twisted ankle, broken wrist. Then Nile asks how you got them.

(“I fell.”)

And he asks how you fell, like he’s looking for a specific answer.

(“I landed on a roof and lost my feet.”)

He also questions if you ran into any Abnormals. If maybe they were responsible for your injuries.

You narrow your eyes.

(“I only ran into one.”)

And finally, if that one hurt you.

(“No.”)

You know that he knows. But it doesn’t matter. Something inside of you tells you that you can’t tattle on your Abnormal discovery. If he was responsible for knocking you off his shoulder, which he probably was, you still weren’t going to say a word. He saved your life. Considering he’s alive and well, maybe even captured, it’s only fitting you save him in return.

Nile leaves at least, foaming at the mouth in frustration, masked only in a thin layer of politeness. Rain drops hit the window behind you. You crane your head around to watch them, the thunder booming lowly. Last time you were in this weather, that great beast had shielded you from it. Once with his hand, another with your own hood. And if you squint hard enough through the pain, you can just make out the silhouette of a rancor titan, and the tiny human on its shoulder, eager to return the favor.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Did I reread this? I skimmed it. Why? Because this took over a week or 2 to get out and I have to start finishing requests before i lose my mind with all these drafts oh god. i always so i’ll go back and edit but i never do lmao. my bad.

Fun fact! the original draft showcased the reader being separated from eren, and losing all gas. surrounded by titans, they yell at the titan for help, but he is distracted by a titan nearby after leading him to Mikasa. While the reader finally dies, eren sees them from over the buildings and roars, begins to stomp on the nape of the titan, and is infused with a new rage. The reader is listed missing in action, and Eren can’t remember what happened to them, but remembers seeing them. Another happy ending!

651 notes · View notes

amee-racle-ofmyown · 3 years

Note

ooo for the one word prompt thingy: choleric !

Choleric: hot-tempered, irate | Suit Saeran

(this one screamed angy manbaby to me lol)

Why?

Why weren't you breaking?

He grit his teeth a little harder, gripping the flowerpots and shoving them sideways off their shelves with far too much force, sending them crashing to the ground.

He tore flowers from their stems, yanking plants up by their roots. Crushed the fragile things in his dirt-covered hands and beneath his feet with a vicious series of ruthless stomps.

Petals, soil and jagged ceramic fragments littered the floor like a warzone, the relentless attacker destroying everything in his path like an indignant child throwing a violent, rampaging tantrum.

His breathing was heavy and ragged, the tension in his fingers turning his knuckles white, eyebrows furrowed.

'You're weak. Why can't you just give in and break like these useless flowers?!' he screamed at no one in particular. It was aimed at you, but the stained corpses of Ray's "friends" were his only audience.

He felt as if every fibre of his being was brimming with long-burried fury, tearing at his insides.

Ray had tried to repress it. Repress him. That idiot didn't want his precious prince/ss to catch a hint of anything that might disappoint or upset them. He wanted them to think he was perfect and squeaky clean until he couldn't hide his patheticness anymore. What an airhead.

He wanted to destroy everything Ray had touched. Everything.

Would he feel better, then?

When he'd destroyed everything the way the world had tried to erase him?

When he held no cards, but the tattered proof that no one would dare hurt him again?

When everything had been torn apart at the seams by his own bruised, numb hands?

Even you…?

In his angry daze, Saeran grabbed at the roses, only realising his mistake and untensing his grasp when he felt a sudden sharp pain as a couple of thorns pierced his pale skin.

He took a sharp intake of breath, wincing slightly. Hot, angry tears burned at the back of his eyes.

Finally pausing, he examined his surroundings, allowing his breathing to slow.

There was nothing left to break.

Only you.

And yet… why did the thought of throwing you away not sit right with him? More than that, it made his head hurt and his chest knot and there was still that sick feeling in his stomach.

It was endlessly frustrating.

But most of all, he felt empty.

Empty as he dropped to his knees, in the middle of the mess he'd made, the pain sinking in and the tears stinging. Empty as the exhaustion kicked in and he sunk further to the floor.

He let out a tiny sob before choking it back.

'What are you doing to me?'

He was so tired of being angry all the time. But it was all he knew. All he could do,

… to keep us alive.

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lunewell · 3 years

Text

The Lunewell Saga - Natura: Chapter 2

Can also be read on ao3 by clicking here

First part is here (:

Third part is here

Book Sumary:

Zarifa Birch, an antique shop worker with an unusual past, has made a home for herself in the sleepy town of Lunewell. Though the shop she works at is not exactly ordinary, with cryptid items and odd occurrences, she has managed to carve the normal life she always desperately wished for out of it.

However, all that comes crumbling down, as a woman from Zarifa’s past throws everything into chaos. Faced with unimaginable horrors, seemingly unsolvable mysteries, and returning repressed feelings and memories, Zarifa along with her coworkers, must find a way to return the balance- and escape the cruel hands of death in this eldritch horror mystery

Chapter 2:

At 03:45 in the morning, under a night sky covered in a thick blanket of storm clouds, Zarifa was woken, not by any natural phenomena, or by her antique alarm clock, but by the sound of her phone screeching out what was effectively deafening trumpets. Though this had never happened before, Zarifa knew instantly what it was, and threw off her warm, cotton duvet immediately.

Grant, who frankly was the only one who had anything even close to technology related competence, had wired up an alarm system in the shop not too long ago, and connected it to Zarifa’s phone. He had also, of course, been the one to design the hideous sound. As she gripped her phone with a speed that almost made it go smashing to the ground, she turned it on to see that the alarm of Thorn’s Antiques had, in fact, just gone off.

She rubbed her temples, shivering slightly. Neither the room nor the outside world were particularly warm, with a chilly wind seeping on through the wall and around the room. Her bed was a haven of heat, and a place that could soothe the ever-growing, tired ache in her bones, and her entire body protested when she turned on her heels and began walking towards the closet, shuddering.

Zarifa threw on clothes at an impressive haste; a warm turtleneck and a pair of jeans that were just the slightest bit too small, then snatched her phone and purse, and put on her necklace, before rushing out the door.

She wasn’t all that worried about the robbery, not really. While they were an antique shop, they didn’t have anything really valuable, at least not that she was aware of.

Besides, if anything of value truly had been stolen, there was pretty much only one culprit, and lucky for them, Zarifa knew exactly where to go should that be the case.

No, her haste came not from a place of fear of the robber, or worry over the supply, but from Valour’s reaction. Valour, though usually apathetic, had an overprotectiveness of the shop, and any damage to it, might lead to the new rising of a mass murderer. The butterfly over her turtleneck saw one last glimpse of the light, before it was covered in a thick, black coat, and slipped outside into the shadowy night.

The breeze was particularly strong, fiery trees not so much swaying in the wind as almost being knocked down by it. Zarifa pulled her coat tighter, shivering as a cracking whip of gust slammed her face. The stars above, usually visible in the dimly lit dirt paths, were shielded behind towering, puffed-up storm clouds, almost menacing in their own way.

She walked onto the pavement, passing her small and worn car parked outside the small cottage. She debated on taking it, before deciding it really wasn’t worth it. Lunewell was so small anyway, and the shop hidden in the far corner was but a ten-minute walk. Though driving should technically have been faster, navigating her way around the roads and towards Lune Lake, where the shop lay, would take just as long as walking there. Even after living there for five years, Zarifa still found the roads and paths an absolute maze, like the village was purposefully trying to trap its inhabitants.

As she rounded a corner, and headed towards what had become a very small street of other local shops and one bar, a wave of newly baked pastries broke through the ozone-scented air, sending yet another hard hit of a gust that pushed her back ever so slightly. She didn’t mind the wind though, as her tight expression morphed into a delighted smile and her body became infinitely more aware of how long it has been since she’d eaten.

Zarifa relished in the smell for just a little longer, though she kept her pace up, before she froze in place at the edge of a lamppost light. Mr. and Mrs. Carr, both bundled up in striped, hand-knit scarves, were walking towards the bakery hand in hand, clearly preparing to open for the day. Zarifa stood almost inhumanly still in place, as though the Carrs were hunting predators and she was their prey, her breathing having grown shallower and tighter.

Taking a step back further into the shadows, she hoped the light was poor enough and their eyes old enough that she would slip under their senses. Or, at least, that was the plan, until her feet knocked against an empty can on the ground, sending a rattling sound that resonated through the street.

Their heads snapped up, landing first on the can that had rolled into the light, and then on Zarifa herself, who was still holding her breath, even her heartbeat muted. Mrs. Carr, who had never particularly liked Zarifa for whatever reason, gave a wave and a slightly tight smile as her greyed hair blew haphazardly around her head.

Her husband turned to see what she was looking at, lighting up when he saw Zarifa, who had edged herself into the event horizon of visibility. “Zarifa!” he greeted enthusiastically, but quietly, “Hello dear. What are you doing out here at this hour?”

Zarifa rubbed the back of her neck, shuffling further forward. “Good morning Mrs. Carr, Mr. Carr-”

“As I’ve said before, just Harold’s fine love.”

“Apologies,” Zarifa said, hands moving from her neck to the gold that hung around it. “I’m not in the best mindset right now,” Mr. Carr sounded an ‘Oh?’, as Mrs. Carr headed inside slightly huffy, “you see, the alarm for Thorn’s Antiques just went off.”

Mr. Carr’s eyebrows shot up in concern, wrinkles bunched on his ever-balding forehead. “That’s dreadful,” he exclaimed, “not the kind of thing you’d expect to happen ‘round here. You better be off, Lilly and I’ll drop by with some of the baked goods later in the day.”

“Oh, that’s very generous but you don’t have to,” Zarifa reassured in a slight panicky tone, “no point in dragging you two into this mess.”

“Nonsense,” he said, “everyone needs some baked goods in situations like this. Besides, I’m sure that young lad of yours with the glasses - Graham? Brant? - would be very appreciative.”

“If you’re positively sure it isn’t an inconvenience, that would be lovely,” Zarifa said, finishing it off with a warm if anxious smile. Any lingering silence was broken by the sound of Mrs. Carr calling for her husband and co-worker in a way fit for a dictator. Mr. Carr turned towards the door

“Yes, I’m coming, I’m coming!” he shouted, back, a stark contrast to the gentle lull of his tone before. “I believe my wife needs me. We’ll stop by later. Good luck!”

Zarifa took off like a jetfighter, sprinting away with a wave and footsteps that bounced into the streets. At her speed, it wasn’t long before she was no longer landing on cobbled streets but on overgrown dirt paths covered in damp leaves. The shop, a small stoney thing with dirty windows that practically looked abandoned, came into view, and her eyes moved to the door, which was in fact left just the slightest bit open.

Sliding inside, she closed the door behind her, though the shop remained equally cold. It looked almost eerie at this time, the furniture remnant of old times, empty and abandoned, a few vases smashed on the floor from where someone had been in a rush, and a stillness so quiet that it was deafening to her ears.

Picking up a blue floral patterned shard, she continued onwards, keeping her footsteps as light as a ghost. Well, as light as a ghost that could not sneak past a deaf person, but she digressed. Pushing open the door to the back, wincing as the door hinges made a shrieking creek, reminiscent of a whining child, she made her way in.

The employees’ lounge looked, as she had expected, fine. Everything was exactly as they had left it, slightly disjointed, except for Bruin’s desk that had been organised meticulously. She began heading for the downstairs, to see if any of the inventory had been stolen, when she heard a muffled thud from upstairs, releasing the pressured silence in her ear and exchanging it with dread.

Thud, thud, thud , multiple slamming sounds, equally light, equally muffled, radiated from upstairs. She could track the being’s every movement from the sound alone, see the continuous patterns of thuds make their way through the upstairs rooms. Her eyes trailed them vigorously, pupils jumpy, as she tightened the grip on the shard. The fact that it dug into her hand, almost piercing through her thin bicoloured skin, didn’t register.

The shop yet again went quiet, though any illusion of silence was broken by Zarifa’s hammering heart. She glanced around the room, gaze going to the cellar where she could take her hiding, to the second exit, and back up to Valour’s personal floor. She looked up, waiting for any more signs of life, before snailing sneakily up the stairs with the shard held out in front of her.

The steps, normal stairs instead of the never ending spiral leading to the basement, stayed as silent as herself throughout the ascent, as though they themselves were afraid of the intruder above. Zarifa tipped-toed up them, the yellow stained walls that the stairs were encased in almost suffocatingly tight, and ever closing in.

At the top of the carpeted steps sat a black door crested in a slightly lighter shade, with a pair of Bobby pins stuck in the lock. It was the only entrance Zarifa had never taken in the shop, looming above her and guarding a floor that even so much as seeing would lead to great punishment.

It was too dark to peek into the room, and there was no sound but her own swallowing and the wind that had picked up outside. She took another step up, and reached for the handle as though it was shatterable glass. With a prayer directed more towards the cosmic force of luck rather than anything specific, she gave one push of the door.

Luck, it seemed, was on her side, as the hinges opened without the slightest squeak. She took the final stairs up, giving one last glance to where she came from, and stepped inside what was effectively Valour’s house.

Even through the fog of darkness, she could see the layer of dust, and the sheer amount of things thrown astray on the floor. Outlines of books with unreadable titles spilling over the carpet, sheets of aged papers crumbled into what she assumed had once been a paper bin, and antique knick-knacks placed in tall piles, disfigured by the low lighting.

At first glance, it seemed disorganised, but as her eyes adjusted more to the lightless room, it became clear that similar items were bundled together, and that there was some kind of system. She just hadn’t quite figured out what that system was.

Looking away from the silhouettes of mess that seemed ever-shifting, she turned her eyes downward, looking at where a path had been cleared. Whether it had always been there, or whether the dear intruder had made it, she was unsure about. She walked across it like a minefield, eyes trained on the ground and not looking at the piles which were getting higher as she went along and spilling further towards her.

She stopped at a hallway, leading in two different directions, which was deserted compared to the room she had just arrived in, only containing a painting, a few near empty shelves, and a drawer. Though equally riddled with swirling, sand-like dust, it felt cleaner, and had a little bit of light poking through a curtained roof window. It shone on the portrait hanging large and proud above the wooden desk, enough so that she could see the illuminated face of a younger Valour with colour still in her hair and a rather androgynous person she couldn’t quite recognise. They invoked the same familiar feeling she had felt yesterday, albei more distant.

She took a step closer, staring intently. The person, a sickly pale figure with light brown hair and odd, pink, heart shaped sunglasses, was almost entrancing, to the point she had barely realised just how close her hand was to the canvas.

The trance was broken not by the touch of the oil canvas, but by a sound that Zarifa, when asked at a later point, could only have described as bounding . It was the sound of a constrictor wrapping around its prey, of tight ropes encircling a wrist, of becoming trapped and helpless.

A flash of light blue light, ever so faint and ever so quick that one couldn’t be scolded for mistaking it with a hallucination, appeared in the corner of her eye. Her head snapped towards one of the doors, hair on her arms rising, as she made her ways towards the source.

From the outside door, she could hear whatever was making that sound wrap further, deeper, and for a second, her mind cleared. She considered walking out; walking safely home, telling Valour that she couldn’t find anything stolen, and not getting involved. Letting this, whatever this was, live its life or death peacefully.

After all, was that not why she had come to find herself here in the shop in the first place? Was that not why Grant, Bruin, or even to an extent Valour herself had found themselves in this antique shop? To escape a past of unexplainable events, whilst simultaneously saving others from having the same brush with the eldritch, the unexplainable? To, for even just a split second, live in the illusion of normalcy, the lie that nothing had ever been wrong?

Zarifa turned on her heels, sneaking past the portrait of Valour and Heart-Glasses, which almost seemed to be judging her choice. Valour wouldn’t have turned away, which perhaps explained the scars and bruises. She couldn’t, however, bring herself to care, as her ever growing frantic footsteps made their way down the hall.

Now, what must be understood for the following sequence of events to make sense, is that Zarifa, deep down, was one thing; caring. She sees her fellow employees as great friends, always up to help or let them take breaks, she handles her books with delicate strokes and gloves hands, and she is always up to help.

Whether Zarifa’s caring nature always outshined her cowardice and self preservation is debatable, and a subject she preferred not to dwell on. However, in the word always , lies a hidden, implied one; sometimes.

Like when Zarifa, halfway down the hallway, heard a cry and groan of pain that was so distinctly Lottie , that she would have recognised it even if her ears got chopped off. As though someone had a pressed a button, she turned right back around, sprinted with loud thuds, and pushed the door with a speed that almost broke a whole in the wall. She stood panting in the doorway, all fear evaporated into a feeling that was not quite protectiveness, not quite caring, not quite pity, and not quite anger, before the muddled emotion transformed back into fear as her eyes landed on the strawberry blonde.

Lottie sat on the floor, legs dug into by long vines dressed in a barrier of thorns, arms tightly pressed against her body in a twisted bend that no human should have been able to achieve, and a streaming, jet black smoke arising from the leaf engraved ornate box in front of her and travelling right into her deep green eyes. Zarifa moved towards her and the box without even thinking, making her jerk, digging the thorns even deeper into her skin. “Don’t… to-touch a thing,” Lottie commanded, voice unbelievably hoarse, as though she had been shouting for hours, and Scottish accent more intense.

“I can’t sit by and watch… whatever’s happening!” Zarifa shouted frantically, panic stirring in her. She crouched down to the floor, even as Lottie made a sound of protest. “How can I stop this?”

“Y-you can get the fuck out,” Lottie managed to gasp out meeting her eyes. Her brows were stern, but her expressive emerald eyes were scrunched and her face was in a grimace that drew at Zarifa’s heart strings like a wound bow. All the while, the black smoke from the box-

The box. Of course. If she just closed it, Lottie would, theoretically, be fine. She began reaching for the moonlight-reflecting gold leaf, one of the only items visible in the otherwise almost pitch black room. She stopped as she heard her name called desperately from beside her, followed by a string of curses.

“Don’t touch it!” Lottie pleaded with a tone laced in anger, voice teetering on the edge of death, “Just get out of here, butterfly!” And oh, if her heart didn’t skip at that slip-up, “Don’t want to…” she gasped again, not quite managing to bite down another whimper, “d-drag you into this shit again.”

Zarifa looked at Lottie, her pained glare, the arms that looked like they had been put on backwards, and the pierced legs. She took a breath; “I’m sorry,” she said, and before Lottie could say so much as a word, she snapped the lid shut with a snap that hit like an atom bomb.

As soon as the bomb landed, everything went quiet. Zarifa moved quickly, as Lottie fell limp into her chest like a stuffless ragdoll, arms clicking back into the place with an audible sound, and eyes fluttering open to give one last angered, intense stare before shutting. The smoke, escaping Lottie’s eyes in a violent manner, balled itself up into the center of the room, the thorns vanishing and joining it to create a rotating, black and dark green, spiral-patterned sphere.

Keeping a close eye on the orb, she scrambled further backwards, pulling Lottie along with her. Her mind raced as she scanned the thing, trying desperately to decipher what it was, what it could possibly be. Though she wanted to leave the room, to drag Lottie and herself outside and never enter again, her eyes were entranced in the beautiful, indescribable spiral. It was, Zarifa thought grimly, a bit like the train incident all over again. Or the summer camp, for that matter, but she preferred to keep a lock on those memories.

The orb continued spiralling, room still quiet except for Zarifa’s heavy breathing, and the wind outside. It was then that she saw something in the spirals, something beyond the mist of black. She squinted, though in the light and with the colour it was hard to see much of anything except the swirling pattern. She began leaning in ever closer, though recoiled almost instantly as soon as the orb came to life.

A hand, pink and fleshy and clearly human, pushed against the pattern, stretching the orb to translucency like a tight latex glove. It pushed against the swirls, followed by another, then three hands, then 10 hands, and then an uncountable number. Everywhere you looked where skin covered fingers, all trying to break the barrier that had slowly stopped swirling.

Though they pushed and pushed, hands clawing with the ferocity of a starving lion, pounding with all the force of a hurricane, the barrier refused to move, just stretching to expose the arms further up. It had gotten to the point where Zarifa could clearly see knobbly elbows bending robotically, aimlessly through the cover. She regarded the arms from where she sat, eyes trailing their every movement, before she turned over, head still on them, and took a single, crawling movement towards the door.

All the hands stopped pushing, falling limp into the orb as though their strings had been cut. They were dragged back jerkily into the core, pulled out of sight as quickly as they had appeared. Zarifa held her breath watching the orb move towards her and out of the moonlight, the colours fading to nothing but a monochrome silhouette, and the shape morphing into something reminiscent of a bald human, albeit with arms just the slightest bit too long. She could not see its face, or any details on its body, even as it took an unsteady tumble towards her.

When Zarifa was twenty-one, and visiting Lunewell for the first time since the train incident, a seventeen year old girl, younger than herself, but already the owner of a shop, named Valour Thorn had taught her a very important lesson; When faced with the unexplainable, always close your eyes. At that time, Zarifa had yet to see what that would do. After all, simply ignoring danger when it was so close seemed like a sure fire way to get yourself killed, but a method of saviour.

Now, however, faced with an ever-approaching, vaguely human-shaped blob, staggering towards her like a drunken man with a concussion, she realised that situations like this could only have two outcomes, and closed her eyes. She kept her breath and body stiff, even if she knew she had already been spotted by the sound of bagged, wet meat slapping against the ground. The sound stopped completely mere inches in front of her, and everything went quiet, on what could very well have been the last moment of her life.

A breath, muffled as though it was coming through fabric, though no less warm and moist than what would have expected, blew against her cheek. It sounded strained, as though it’s lungs were thick as needles, but the breathing was rhythmic and distinctly alive. The breath inched closer, warming by the second as she squeezed her deep brown eyes tighter, mind caught in a loop of prayers to all the gods she could think off.

Lottie, who had previously been nestled comfortably against Zarifa’s jacket, let out a slightly pained groan. Her heart stopped, as she felt the creature's breath pan over her face, and towards where the pigtailed girl rested. In a flurry of movements that made Zarifa flinch violently against the wall, she felt the weight of Lotie lifted off her in one sharp movement. A dazed whimper once again admitted it from her, but it sounded distant compared to the one that had been right against Zarifa’s ear.

She desperately wished to open her eyes, to see what was happening, to make even a singular heroic movement to save Lottie, but she stayed in her prey position; paralysed and blind. It was a grim but realistic reminder that she had and would never be a saviour, nor a survivor, just lucky. Regardless of prior experiences, she was no more competent or threatening than a shot deer.

The squishy sound returned, just as the warmth where the creature had poised left her neck. There was a distinct dragging sound on the floor, a sharp leather and zippers scrapping on wood, as the wet splotches rounded around her. She still didn’t dare open her eyes, until the footsteps and dragging vanished.

As the house and flat quiet, her eyes opened slowly, the lids still recovering from the glued fear. She glanced down to her hands, and realised that somewhere along the way, they had reached up to grip the necklace, which she squeezed as she took a shuddering, shallow breath. She reminded herself that both she and Lottie would be okay, that they’d both been through far worse, but the comfort only resonated on a surface level.

Looking around the dark room, she noticed the outline of a light switch right by the door, which stood more ajar than she had previously thought. With a final, semi-deep breath, she flicked it on. The room burst harshly into a bright yellow lamp, her eyes burning at the harsh contrast. She blinked rapidly, trying to blink away the tears that at first came from brightness, but as her vision cleared, came from a true realisation of what had just happened.

In the light, it became clear that this tiny room was a study. There was a dust laden desk with old, leather-bound journals, a desk light with a shattered bulb, and a computer just slightly more modern than the one downstairs, a corkboard with images connected by different coloured strings that looked like a conspiracy theorist's wet dream, and lots of shelves populated with antiques and books. However, Zarifa was not so much focusing on the small glimpse into Valour’s elusive personal life, as the floor where the encounter happened.

Splattered across the planks were puddles of a black, tar-like liquid, intertwined with small specks of blood. The ornate box itself had at some point been knocked over, tilted on its side, spreading a few small, thin sheets of ancient looking paper out. Zarifa gently made her way over, stepping past the puddles with a scrunched up nose, before reaching the papers. She didn’t pick it up, nor touch it, instead tilting her head to read what the dull, brown ink said.

To whom it may concern…

In this letter lies the seal, which I fear must not be opened till The Dawn. If the time is not right, you must close this box, and ignore this. Do not read onwards, or you will bring upon yourself the cruelest of fates.

In a worst case scenario, if the seal has been unsealed before The Dawn, if doors ideally locked stand open, you must be prepared to make a key.

A key is forged by fragments of Touched sanity eating a sight of one that Sees, dipped in water oh-so divine. Once the key has begun, the fragments must sew themselves between the fabric, letting all webbed light shine on them. As they are blessed by the minute, and after the final step of-

Zarifa’s eyes widened, turning the page frantically looking for the continuation of where the text had been ripped off. She glanced around the room, looked once again inside the box, only to find it an empty chasm. With a shaky breath, she wiped away her tears, determaimly, and pulled up her phone.

Zarifa furrowed her brows as the time, reading precisely 06:00, appeared onto the screen. Had it really been two hours already? Nevertheless, she decided to ignore it for now, opening up her contacts, and quickly clicking the one person who she knew would already be up at such an early hour.

“Hey Grant? I need you and Bruin to come in as soon as possible. We have a slight… situation on our hands.”

#original writing #bookblr #book excerpt #writeblr #horror books #The Lunewell Saga - Natura

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aroaessidhe · 1 year

Text

July Reading Wrapup

audio favourites

The Dos and Donuts of Love - 3.75

World Running Down - 4.5

Venom & Vow - 3.5

Love Letters For Joy - 3

The Secret Summer Promise - 3

By Your Side - 3.5

Into The Labyrinth - 3.75

My Dearest Darkest - 3.5

We’ll Never Tell - 4.25

Zombabe - 4.25

Facing The Shadow - 2.5

I Am Still Alive - 4.5

You’re Not Supposed To Die Tonight - 4.5

The Song of Salvation - 3.5

Desdemona And The Deep - 3.75

Blasted Research - 3.5

Gods, Monsters, and the Lucky Peach - 3.75

The Dragon of Ynys - 4

Ride or Die - 2.5

Thirteenth - 4

Help Wanted - 3.75

Dirt-Stained Hands, Thorn-Pierced Skin - 3.75

Catnip - 2.5

Court of the Undying Seasons - 3.25

The Grimoire of Grave Fates - 4

Flight & Anchor - 4.5

Burn - 3.75

Star Eater - 3.75

The Paradox Hotel - 4

Graphic Novels

The Moth Keeper - 5

Is Love The Answer? - 4.5

Currently Reading

Wander The Night

just for fun, since I kept noticing random similarities in the books I read this month (lists of those things):

(italics is my fave of the example)

books in a postapoc future where people live in domes: blasted research, gods monsters and the lucky peach

books with an AI love interest: world running down, catnip

books with time travel capitalism for rich people holidays: gods monsters and the lucky peach, the paradox hotel

cannibalism: zombabe, star eater, thirteenth

cults or cult-like stuff: my dearest darkest, you’re not supposed to die tonight, burn, star eater, thirteenth

dragons: burn, the dragon of ynys, into the labyrinth/facing the shadow

bonus, aro or ace characters: love letters for joy, by your side, into the labyrinth, the song of salvation, blasted research, gods monsters and the lucky peach, the dragon of yns, ride or die, thirteenth, help wanted, is love the answer

#laya reads #july reading wrapup #booklr

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bookofmirth · 4 years

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We all have a hunger - elucien

Summary

Lucien stumbles into Elain during the acofas-era (before Solstice) and they share a moment before reality rips them apart.

AO3 | tags: pining, lots of pining, a little angst at the end, acofas-era but with acosf spoilers. I didn’t tag anyone because I haven’t posted in 7-ish months!

Elain stood at the window, one in a wall of windows that looked over one of the gardens she now had dominion over.

The sun was full in the sky, the heat radiating from the glass and she knew that Feyre would chide her, delicately of course, that she shouldn’t have worn that dress outside.

Glancing down, Elain noted the mud caking the hem of her skirts and toed it away. The silks stubbornly, softly, rustled back to a resting position against her satin slippers.

Elain looked back to the window, squinting at the sun. Despite its glare, she saw every blade of grass as it quavered in the wind, watched leaves fall from trees in their final descent, her eyes flickering to where a bee rested in the pollen of a flower. All of it yards away. Far more distant than she should have been able to see. But the only thing she could stand to look at.

Pressing her palm to the glass, she took in a deep, steadying breath. She chose a flower bud, a peony, delicate, the pink of its petals just becoming apparent from between the green scales protecting its growth.

Inhale.

Elain ignored her breath fogging up the glass as she pressed her will towards the flower, asking it to open.

Exhale.

The flower began to open. Elain watched in delight as the pink, billowy petals began to push their way through the tough green scales, to blossom, to become what it was meant to be. What she could help it be.

Then it exploded in a cloud of pink dust and shook the others around it on their stalks.

Elain closed her eyes, calming the reverberation of the flower’s demise in her mind. Sometimes her mind did this, blew back on her as if scolding her for not knowing how to control it, for not knowing the right combination of words to ask for what she wanted.

“Oh.” The masculine voice came from behind and she should have known, she should have sensed him sooner, but the man who had claimed some fate-given connection to her was frozen mid stride just inside the threshold of the library.

Elain turned and clasped her hands behind her back as if she’d been caught doing something worse than murdering a flower bud.

“I’m sorry,” Lucien said, “I didn’t know you were in here.” He went to set a book on a side table, then thought better and pulled it back to him.

“You can put it there,” Elain said. “Feyre won’t mind. We have people now, to put it back where it belongs.”

“All right.” Lucien took a step further into the room, eyes on Elain. He set the book on the table without glancing down at it. “What… What are you doing?”

Elain shrugged. “Gardening.”

Lucien nodded as if he understood, looking her up and down. No, not looking her up and down, he was looking his mate up and down, and Elain had no idea who that was supposed to be. She watched him notice the mud crusting her skirts, sweat and grass stains, the strands of hair that hung loose from her chignon, the utterly disheveled, unfeminine nature of her appearance.

His gaze took her apart, one piece at a time.

Elain heard more than his heart beating from across a room, and across the courts. She often heard his dreams, listened as he screamed for his lover. His nightmares competed with her own of Graysen and the Cauldron, of the sound of her father’s neck snapping, and she hated them equally.

So now, while he watched her in the flesh, mere steps away, Elain wished she could stop hearing the pounding of his heart as it sped in excitement to see her. She hoped that he couldn’t hear the increase in her own, the involuntary hitch in her breath as she started to speak and then stopped herself.

When his gaze reached her hips, Lucien’s mechanical eye whirred quietly while his other widened in alarm. Before she could mark that he had moved he had strode across the room, pulling her hand from behind her back.

Holding her hand palm up, he demanded, “What happened?”

Elain’s hand was grey with the dryness and dirt of the day’s work, but amongst that grit she had a wound from where she had been careless pruning a rosebush. The thorn was still lodged in the fleshy part near her thumb.

Lucien’s nostrils flared as he scented her for more blood, other wounds. And then he looked up into her face.

Elain felt herself flush, told herself that she was still by the window in the full light of the sun, that trying to use her magic had exhausted her.

But she could hear his heart, she could feel it vibrating in the space around her and bringing warmth and life to his body and he was all that her vision could take in. If she kept her eyes trained on his shoulders then she could avoid his eyes and the way that he would look at her as if asking her a question that she may never be able to answer.

And he felt it, too. Elain knew from the way that his breath caught that he, too, was marking this as they nearest they had ever been to one another since he had thrown his coat on her body to shield her from lecherous glances. To spare her that slight indignity, as if it had still mattered after losing her humanity to the Cauldron.

Her body hadn’t felt a sense of overwhelm like this since she’d been with Graysen. Graysen had pressed into her, urgent and hot and demanding, and she had yielded when he called her beautiful, when he had promised that he would always love her, would be honored to be the father of her children. And she had wanted him too, she had wanted all the beautiful things he said they would have.

Elain’s head roared and she blinked, bringing herself to the present moment.

Yet for all his imposing mass, Lucien held himself just enough apart from her so that she could slip away if she wanted. Her hand was still in his, her palm prone and warming from his breath. He looked at the gash in her skin and sighed in relief.

Elain reached up and pulled the thorn from her hand, wincing and then tossing it aside. A fresh drop of blood appeared and the wound quickly healed without her willing it. Her hand stayed resting in Lucien’s and she blinked at it as if she were unaware of how it had gotten there.

Finally, Elain looked up. First at her hand, small and delicate and caked with drying mud, resting in his. His hand, tan and strong, the long fingers holding her own gently. She took in the sleek, muscled forearms where his shirtsleeves had been rolled up, that held her against the window. Then the broad chest she could make out from beneath his white buttoned shirt. And at last she looked at his face. Tan skin that glowed with his otherworldly power and the scar that did nothing to mar his beauty. That scar must have been a reminder every day, to everyone around him, that he had suffered.

Elain had no such scar that anyone could see. Above all, none that her sisters could see.

While Elain watched his eyes, Lucien’s thumb ran over her palm, still gently cradling her hand while she tried to control her features and her heartbeat. She couldn’t give anything away. Because the moment she did, it would be everything.

And he looked at her, looked, piercing the carefully constructed veil that she had just begun to rebuild after Hybern had torn it all down.

Elain felt herself loosen and her heart sped even as her guard lowered.

When Lucien began to raise her palm to his lips, she did nothing to stop him. Her heart sang as he pressed his mouth into that delicate skin and it was a song she had never heard before, and one she never wanted to stop listening to.

Elain gripped the frame of the window behind her with her free hand as every nerve in her body became aware of the way that Lucien’s lips moved and his breath warmed her skin. The thread she had felt between them since coming out of the Cauldron hummed in contentment as he explored the lines and contours of the palm of her hand. She was fairly certain that the entire world had narrowed to that point on her body and that no one would ever be able to touch her in quite the same way again.

With a sigh, Lucien raised his head and searched Elain’s gaze. His thumb caressed the back of her hand as it pressed against his chest in an already-familiar habit. His grip held her steady, even as she felt the world moving beneath her feet.

“Elain,” Lucien began, his voice a near whisper.

“Mmhmm.” Opening her mouth would mean letting go completely. If she looked him in the eye again she would throw herself into him, finally listening to the insistent tattoo of her heart - find him, see him, touch him.

“I have to tell you something.”

Elain straightened, suddenly, painfully aware that there was a world outside the two of them, and that that world would appear to wreck and ruin whatever she tried to claim for herself.

Lucien had that look in his eye, the one that Elain had become familiar with as a child. He was worried about hurting her, about watching her crumble, and she felt her back stiffen, her muscles schooling themselves into a tight smile.

“What is it?”

He hesitated, looking down at the hand he still held in his own. “Your father. He wanted me to-“

Elain pulled away quickly, all the warmth and color stripped from her face. She slid past Lucien and made for the door.

As she walked away from Lucien she could feel the bond become taut again, the tension going to her core. She felt the sun as it made its way across the horizon to usher in the night. She sensed the incipient chirp of crickets at dusk, as they prepared for night. Where the dark things prowled, and waited for her to sleep. The night-blooming datura would make their appearance, and she would listen to their petals crackle and unfurl.

And she would lie awake in her room, wondering how it could be that she still existed in a world in which her father no longer lived, and wondering when she would ever be able to hear the words he had left for her spoken through her mate’s voice.

#elucien #elucien fanfiction #acotar #acotar fanfiction #elain #lucien #jane austen-style pining #and some angst #acosf spoilers #just minor kinda?#my writing

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brax-was-here · 3 years

Text

Scarlet Briar: The Seeds of Life Chapter 2

Chapter 2: You Don’t Control Me

Sometimes life is full of surprises

Something was tickling her nose, and Ceara instinctively brushed it away before awakening suddenly. She quickly glanced around at her surroundings. Plants and trees surrounded her in every direction. Looking down at herself, she realized she was lying naked on moss-covered ground. She immediately stood, almost losing her balance in the process.

“Where…where am I?” The lush of vegetation of the jungle stretched out all around her. The air, thick and humid, was filled with the sounds of the jungle’s animal inhabitants. Various exotic bird calls she had never heard before echoed through the canopy that blocked out the bright sky. The sounds of chirping insects rose from the ground level, some spreading their wings and taking flight, flittering about the various plants.

“No…this isn’t happening…not again.” she muttered. As she stepped forward, something snagged her foot tripping her, causing her to crash to the ground. She turned swiftly, glaring at the lone vine that caused her to stumble, withered and aged as it writhed through the damp moss.

“No…I beat you…” she whispered to it. Rumbling could be heard in the distance. She quickly got to her feet as the ground around her exploded. Numerous thorned vines of various sizes sprouted forth, whipping at her.

‘NO!” she screamed. She turned to run but she was surrounded. They knocked her to the ground, coiling around her body.

“NO! I beat you! You’re dead now!” She screamed with everything she had. “YOU DON’T CONTROL ME!” The vines stopped moving and slowly crystalized. She watched as tiny fissures formed throughout them. Within moments they shattered into a fine crystalline dust that filled the air. She dropped to the ground with a thud.

“You…you’re nothing now…” she muttered, catching her breath. Slowly she got to her feet, brushing the dirt from her. She glared at the path that had opened before her as the dust slowly dissipated in thousands of tiny sunlit sparkles.

She cautiously followed the path forward as it twisted and turned through the jungle’s foliage. She would catch images in the trees, but when she focused on them, they would disappear. She took pause as a playful giggle was heard on the wind.

“You’re nothing.” Ceara spoke loudly. “Come out now. I am not afraid to face you.”

“But I’m in your head…” the playful voice mocked her.

“No. No you’re not.”

“But don’t you want to play?”

“I’m through playing.” Ceara marched forward along the pathway. It emptied into a clearing with the sun shining brightly in the area. Opposite of where she stood, a group of thorned vines had jutted from the ground, twisting and interweaving together, forming a small crudely shaped structure. Ceara approached them cautiously. As she neared a small section of the vines parted, revealing a bright glow from the interior. The glow blinded her at first, but as her vision cleared, she gasped at what she saw. Floating in the air before her was an image of Avatar of the Pale Tree, her mother. But its face was different. Its appearance seemed like a child. Ceara stared at it for a moment before its eyes grew wide, its mouth opened in an inaudible scream as a blade of dark energy seemed to slice it down the middle. The blast knocked Ceara backwards. Quickly regaining her balance, she looked at the space where the image had just stood, but now it was replaced by a blackened black. A seemingly dark version of the sword Caladbolg. Ceara stepped forward ever so cautiously. As she drew near, the vines of the sword started writhing, launching themselves at her.

Ceara awoke with a start. She was curled up in a ball laying on the makeshift cot in the community tent. The light of the morning sun was piercing through small openings throughout the leathery canvas ceiling of the structure. She stared out of the open side of the tent, the far cliff walls painted bright reds and oranges by the rising sun. Other visitors to the camp were slowly stirring awake as well. Sitting up, her mind wandered to the dream she just experienced.

“Could it be?” she asked quietly.

“Could it be what?” she heard Liathlas ask from the cot next to her. Ceara turned to see the dark skinned sylvari looking at her.

“It’s nothing. Just…just a dream.” Ceara replied sharply, turning to stand from the cot, stretching as she stood. “This cot was the most uncomfortable thing I have ever slept on.” She complained while strapping on her shoulder armor. She locked her gauntlets on and grabbed her rifle, slinging it over her shoulder.

“It is a centaur camp. Did you expect a lush bed in a fancy part of Divinity’s Reach?” Liathlas remarked, sitting up from her cot. Ceara seemingly ignored her as she started making her way out towards the sunlight.

“We should get something to eat before heading out.” Liathlas suggested as she stood and stretched. “I do believe there is a merchant here at the camp.”

“Perhaps.” Ceara said as she stepped out into the morning sun. She scanned the area noticing an asura with what seemed a small booth of simple foods.

“There.” Liathlas pointed as she walked up beside her. Ceara nodded. The asura took notice as the duo approached.

“A lovely morning to you lovely ladies. What can I do for you?” he asked, wiping his hands with a stained cloth.

“Yes! We’d like to make a purchase!” Liathlas expressed excitedly.

“Excellent! I will say I am sorry for my low volume. My source seems to be running late, which is quite infuriating.”

“It’s quite alright.” Liathlas assured him as the pair looked over the vendors wares. A myriad of fruits and vegetables accustomed to being grown in the desert heat, some breads, and casks of water.

“Not much of a choice here.” Ceara remarked, grabbing a couple desert pears, and a small canvas bag filled with jojoba nuts. Liathlas grabbed some fruits as well, and a small bag for herself. Ceara handed the merchant some coins, noticing the dry skin of the asuras hands.

“You’ve been here awhile.” She commented.

“Indeed, I have.” He replied. “Not many people supply food along the trade routes in these areas. Plus, I don’t think many people prefer centaur delicacy.” He remarked, placing the coins in a small pouch in his belt. Ceara nodded lightly.

“Well, good luck in your travels.” He said to them as they turned to leave.

“What’s on your mind, secondborn?” Liathlas asked Ceara as they walked towards the gate of the camp. “You seem to be preoccupied.” Ceara glanced at Liathlas as she bit into one of the pears.

“It’s nothing. Just thinking about the trip ahead.”

“It will take us a day at least to reach the pact camp.” Liathlas mentioned. “Maybe we could ask the centaurs to take us there?”

“It’s worth a shot.” Ceara replied, stopping. “It will save us some time.” Asking around the inhabitants within, it wasn’t long for them to find a pair willing to take them northward into the Silverwastes area of the desert region.

A few hours passed as the centaurs had taken Ceara and Liathlas as far as they would through the canyons to the desert regions to the north. The Silverwastes was a stretch of arid rocky desert terrain that once was part of the jungles of Maguuma. Over the centuries, the thick jungle vegetation gave way to the creeping desert sands. The pair continued their journey as the canyons slowly turned into a rough desert terrain filled with great buttes and mesas standing tall above the desert floor. Giant thorned vines marked the terrain, remnants of the jungle dragon Mordremoth’s advancement on Tyria. Now they lay dry and gnarled by the desert air. The life gone from them when the dragon was defeated.

“Do we really need to visit Camp Resolve?” Ceara asked, taking a drink from her canteen as they passed under a high arcing vine. Liathlas picked up on the reluctance in Ceara’s voice. “And why couldn’t the centaurs have taken us all the way there? And furthermore, are we even heading in the right direction?”

“Secondborn, of cour-“ Liathlas cut herself off as the duo spotted a set of creatures on a ridge in the distance. Ceara recognized them immediately.

“Mordrem.” Ceara whispered. “Thorns...”

“Indeed. We’ll need to be cautious.” They circled around the area in a wide berth, using the rock filled terrain as cover.

“Somethings not right here…” Ceara muttered.

“What?” Liathlas whispered back. Ceara unshouldered her rifle.

“We’re not alone.” They heard a slight rumbling in the ground before them. “Run!” Ceara shouted. The ground exploded behind them as the pair turned and bolted away. A great screech pierced the air as the sounds of heavy footfalls galloped behind them. Ceara turned in time to see a creature of Mordremoth leap at her, raising its giant pincer-like arms in the air. Ceara dodged out of the creature’s path, bringing her rifle to bare. Pulling the trigger, a thunderous boom was heard as the ley energy powered the projectile through the barrel. The shot severed one of the creature’s pinchers from its body, causing it to screech in pain. Liathlas, who had managed to teleport to a ridge slightly above, brandished her staff and motioned for a set of illusions to appear around the beast. They proceeded to attack it. Bewildered, the creature lashed out at the illusions as Ceara fired another shot, hitting the creature in its head. It dropped immediately. Their victory was short lived as more of the plant-like beasts started erupting from the ground.

“Run!” Ceara shouted. Liathlas opened a portal that Ceara dove through, appearing on the ridge next to her. The creatures approached quickly, climbing the side of the rocky incline to get to their prey. The duo turned to run, only to be stopped by a giant flower-like creature with long tentacles hovering in the air before them.

“Really!?” Ceara said disbelieving. It approached fast, lashing out at them. They both evaded the attacks as Liathlas launched a mystic bolt at it, and Ceara firing her rifle. Both attacks landed on their marks, injuring the creature. It growled in pain, as it turned towards Ceara. More rumbling was heard as the ground seemingly started to shift.

“Oh no…” Ceara muttered looking at the sand, which was shifting before her. “Please no sand worms…”. Liathlas conjured more illusions to attack the floating creature, seemingly oblivious to what was happening. The other mordrem started cresting the ridge, standing ready to chase down the sylvari. As they started moving towards the duo, rumbling filled the air as the ground cracked open. Sand shifted and before they knew what was happening, the pair found themselves falling uncontrollably. Liathlas quickly grabbed Ceara’s arm and opened portal after portal falling through each, quickly placing the each one farther and farther away from the falling debris, until they finally tumbled out of the last portal across the sandy ground. The thunderous crash of the limestone boulders that had made up the ground above echoed through the air as the pile smashed into the sandy ground, throwing sand and debris in every direction. Ceara stopped rolling, laying on her back, her ears ringing from the turmoil. She stared at the ceiling of an enormous cavern that lay under the sands of the Silverwastes.

Liathlas shakily stood on her feet, using her staff to balance herself. She stumbled over to Ceara and flopped down next to her.

“Are…are you ok?” she asked, her voice quivering.

“I’m going to lay here… until the world stops spinning, no matter how long it takes.” Ceara replied, steadily staring at the hole from which they fell.

“Ok.” Liathlas gasped before falling over, seemingly passing out.

Ceara laid in the sand as the silence of the cavern became deafening. She watched the steady stream of sand fall from the opening above. Her thoughts drifted to the dream she had the night before.

“Another pale tree…” she thought to herself. “Does it exist? Is it true?” She focused on the image of the younger looking Avatar that appeared in front of her before being cut down.

“What was that blade? A dark version of caladbolg? Has that tree fallen? To Mordremoth? Or to nightmare? Or something else?” So many questions passed through her mind. “I have to find the answers…” she thought as she slowly sat up.

“Well, this is quite interesting.” she said quietly as she scanned the distant darkness. She pulled out her small lantern and set it on the ground in front of her, then proceeded to check her equipment for any damage from the fall.

“Well, everything seems in order.” She sighed, checking the barrel of her rifle. She started returning everything to their appropriate satchels. “Now, how do-“

“Shinies…” a rough voice growled in the darkness. Ceara rose to one knee instantly with her pistol drawn, holding the lamp in such a way that allowed the light to illuminate the area in front of her.

“Skritt?” she called out.

“You have…shinies…yes?” the voice asked. Ceara heard the sounds of movement against the rocks as a shadow darted away from the edge of the illuminated area. She quickly tried to follow the sounds, tracking them with her lamp.

“Give shinies to me…” it growled.

“Show yourself!” Ceara shouted. She heard more movement to her side. Turning, her light caught the creature perched on a nearby boulder. She gasped at what she saw. It was indeed a skritt, but not like any she had seen before. Its fur, discolored and full of mange, was covered in vines and small flowers.

“This can’t be real…” she muttered. The creature bared its teeth, hissing at her. It let out a loud screech as it launched itself at her. She instinctively fired a shot, knocking the skritt from the air. Hitting the ground, it writhed in pain. Ceara stood and cautiously moved towards it, her pistol at the ready. It turned and looked at her, the vines growing from its body, whipping back and forth.

“Shinies…” it growled one last time before Ceara shot it in the head.

“Even the skritt weren’t safe from it.” She said to herself glaring at the creature. Slowly she turned, shining her light around the area, scanning for anything else that might be a problem. Satisfied nothing else was out there she slowly made her way back to where Liathlas lay in the sand.

“I guess we’re stuck here until you decide to wake up.” Ceara sat down next to her, taking out the small packet of nuts she got from the centaur camp.

It wasn’t long before Liathlas stirred awake.

“Good morning, princess.” Ceara said as she closed a panel on one of her gauntlets.

“Ow…” Liathlas groaned as she slowly sat up. “What happened?”

“You saved the day, don’t you remember? Sadly…you didn’t return us to the castle.” Ceara stood. Liathlas looked up at her as Ceara extended her hand to help her stand. Liathlas glanced around.

“Where are we?”

“A cavern under the sands. We had an interesting visitor while you slept.”

“A visitor?”

“Yes.” Ceara moved over to the corpse that lay not far. Liathlas trailed behind her slowly.

“Is that…a skritt?” Liathlas gasped.

“Indeed, it was. Killed and resurrected by Mordremoth it seems.”

“Oh my.” Liathlas said apprehensively. “Are there others?”

“None that I have seen…so far. We should get moving before anything else decides to pay us a visit.”

“But where do we go?” What direction?” Liathlas asked, rubbing the back of her head.

Ceara sighed as she pulled out her waypoint device. All of the closest waypoints she had stored were all back in the direction she had travelled.

“Thorns…” she muttered. She looked around the cavern, feeling a slight breeze in the air. She turned to the direction it seemed to be originating and pointed. ”That way.”

The cavern seemed never-ending as the pair made their way through. Ceara using her lamp to illuminate the way. The end of Liathlas’s staff also glowed to help assist in lighting the cave.

“It seems to go on forever.” Liathlas stated. “Do you think we’ll ever get out?”

“We will. The breeze moves. Something is disturbing it. And hopefully we’ll find out what that something is.”

“I hope so.” Moments passed before Liathlas spoke again. “Ceara?”

“Hmm?”

“What is it you seek in the jungle?”

Ceara paused a moment, images of her dream quickly flashed through her mind. “Im looking…I’m looking for something important.”

“Well, I figured that. Won’t you tell me what it is?” Ceara motioned for Liathlas to stop.

“What is it?” Liathlas asked quietly.

Ceara extinguished her lamp. “Dim your light.”

The light from her staff slowly faded. In the pitch darkness, the pairs bioluminescence glowed softly.

“Look. Far up ahead.” Ceara said quietly. There was a soft glow in the distance of the cavern.

“A way out?” Liathlas asked.

“Possibly. We should move quickly but be cautious.”

Ceara reignited her lamp. “Let’s go.” They quickened their pace. The ambient light of the cavern slowly grew brighter as they approached. It opened into a massive area with a pool of water in the center. The pair looked to the ceiling. In the distance, they could see structure, and small lights flickering about.

“Torches?” Liathlas asked.

“I think so. We need to get up there. Look around for anything that looks like a path!” The pair scrambled about searching along the rock walls.

“Here, I think I found something.” Ceara shouted across the cave. Liathlas rushed over to where Ceara was climbing over a pile of rocks. “There are stairs carved through here.” Liathlas climbed over the pile as well. They both stood staring up the incline. “Well, let’s go.”

It wasn’t long before one of the rock walls of the stairway gave way to the emptiness of the cavern.

“This is scary.” Liathlas muttered, glancing over the edge to the ground far below.

“Indeed. Who in Tyria would have made this?” The existing rock wall would soon start to show signs of previous habitation.

“Someone lived here?” Liathlas asked inquisitively. The pair stopped at the first door they found. An old wooden door connected by crude made iron straps showed little signs of deterioration in the dry desert air. Ceara slowly pushed it open, aiming her lamp inside. A simple room with no furnishing.

“Nothing.” Ceara said, looking over the room.

“Who would live in a place such as this?” Liathlas asked.

“I don’t know, but someone is here. Let’s continue.” The duo trekked up the stairs, passing more rooms like the first. Something fell past them as they continued the climb.

Liathlas brandished her staff. “What was that!?” Ceara pulled her pistol.

“I don’t know.” They slowly continued along the path upward.

“Too small, don’t need it.” They heard a meek squeaky voice higher up the stairway in the distance.

“Skritt?” Liathlas asked.

“I think so.” Ceara responded. They quietly crept along the route, slowly rounding a long curve as they heard more skritt chattering up ahead.

“This piece just right.”

“This piece in my room!”

“Bent metal. Good for support.”

Ceara extinguished her lamp as they came upon an area lit with torches. They found a group of skritt steadily searching through a pile of random wooden planks, bent metal and various other random items. Ceara stowed her lamp in her satchel, before stepping forward into the torchlight. The skritt turned to them.

“Visitors! This our pile! You leave now!” One yelled at the sylvari.

“We’re not here to take your things.” Ceara held her hands up in front of her. “We just want to leave this cavern and get back to the surface.”

“Oh, we take you! When Topsy-Turvy finished! We take you out of cavern!”

“Topsy-Turvy?” Liathlas asked as the pair looked at each other.

“Yes! Our ship! We build it! Soon it will be finished! And we leave! Sail to meet or brothers and sisters to the south!”

“Sail a ship? In the middle of the desert?” Ceara was slightly dumbfounded. “Where is this Topsy-Turvy?” Ceara asked inquisitively. “This is something I must see.”

“Come! Come! Follow!” One of the skritt started running up the stairs. Ceara and Liathlas hurried after him. As they rounded the bend, the two stopped, awestruck by what they saw. Indeed, there was a ship in the cavern. Precariously perched upside-down on ridges spanning the chasm. Skritt clamored all over it as they busily attached planks and random pieces of metal to the hull of the ship, chattering constantly as they worked. Ceara’s mouth hung open as she stood in silence.

“What…how?” Liathlas asked.

“I…I don’t…I don’t know…” Ceara said quietly, before busting out in laughter. “This is…this absurbly amazing, and…ridiculous at the same time!” She hurried up the rest of the stairs.

Liathlas followed grabbing her by the arm. “You shouldn’t berate them. They believe they can do this.”

Ceara snorted in laughter. “I’m not berating them. It’s just…I wish them well in their endeavor!” She said with a large grin on her face.

“Here! Here! Topsy-Turvy!” the skritt called out.

“I see…and you plan to sail this out of this cavern and across the sand?”

“Indeed! Here is plan!” he ran over to a giant board nailed to some makeshift posts. Various drawings and documents hung precariously by bend nails. Ceara looked over it all in amazement.

“This…this is…You actually have all this planned out?” she bit her bottom lip, stifling her laughter. She took a crude drawing of what she determined to be a plan to launch the ship out of the cavern. “I wish you good luck in your mission.” She said taking a deep breath turning to the skritt. “I think you will be able to make this happen. But my partner and I must be off. We have urgent matters to attend if you could show us a way out.”

“Yes! Yes! We will!” He ran towards another set of stairs. “Here! Here! Will take you up to surface!”

“Thank you kindly.” Ceara said to him. Liathlas waved to him as they started up the stairs.

“I can’t believe the way you belittled them.” Liathlas chided her.

“I didn’t belittle them. I simply wished them good luck in their impossible mission.”

“I could tell by the tone of your voice.” Liathlas criticized. “But still…how did such a ship even get into this cavern?” she asked perpelexed.

Ceara laughed as they continued up the stairs. “I don’t know.” It wasn’t long before they saw hints of sunlight, as well as voices further up the incline.

“Do we really need to be here?” a woman’s voice was heard faintly.

“We were told to guard this stairwell.” A male voice returned.

“From what? The skritt?”

“You never know. Filthy rodents could end up stealing everything in the camp.”

“That’s unlikely.”

The sylvari once again extinguished their lights and crept up the stairs, settling low once they saw who the voices belonged to.

“Hmm…” Ceara thought to herself. “Krytan bandits.” She whispered.

“What do we do?” Liathlas asked. “I’m sure there are more of them outside.”

Ceara nodded. “Can you cloak with your abilities?”

“Yes, but not for long.”

“I have a plan. I’ll activate my own stealth shield and sneak past them. Once I get past, I’ll distract them, and you hit them when they aren’t looking.”

“Ok. Seems easy enough.”

“It’s a classic.” Ceara pressed a small button on her gauntlet and disappeared. She slowly crept past the guards, careful as not to brush against them. Once past them, she turned and shut off her field.

“Hello, pretties.” She said smiled at them.

“What the?” the male asked as he drew his sword, the woman pulled out a pair of daggers.

“Who in Tyria are you!?” the woman asked.

“Oh…really?” Ceara glared at them shaking her head in disappointment. “I’m so let down that brigands such as you don’t recognize the…” she sneered. ”Terror of Tyria.”

“What? You’re de-“ A field of eldritch energy appeared below the bandits feet, shocking them as a pair of Liathlas’s illusions made short work of them.

“Well, that was easy.” Ceara smiled at her partner. She knelt and checked the two. “Still alive, but I am sure they are going have a nasty headache when the wake.” She stood and looked at Liathlas. “Shall we?

“Let’s” Liathlas smiled back.

They neared the top of the stairway, the blue sky a welcoming site. But they also spied two more humans standing near the entrance to the cave.

“Who knows what lies ahead. Depending on what is out there, this could end very badly.” Ceara muttered. Liathlas nodded her head. They laid low on the stairway as they peeked over the steps the best they could. They found a small area with what looked like old mining equipment in major disrepair as well as a few ramshackled structures that looked as if they were about to collapse.

“This does not look promising at all.” Liathlas groaned. Ceara nodded in agreement. “Any plan?” Liathlas asked.

“We could go back and get the skritt. Tell them there is a pile of fresh shinies up here.” Ceara suggested.

“Are you mad!? That would surely send them to certain death!” Liathlas protested quietly. Ceara turned slowly, giving her a dirty look.

“What!?” Liathlas asked bluntly.

“Your choice of words hurt, Mesmer.”

“What are you talking about?” Liathlas replied. Ceara just shook her head and took a deep breath.

“Fine. We won’t get the skritt.”

“Can we just stealth ourselves out of here?” Liathlas asked.

“Would our stealth fields last long enough?”

“Hmm…but it might be our only chance. At least to get past these two guards so we can at least see if there is a way out of here.”

Ceara thought for a moment. “Ok…let’s do it.”

“Wait…” Liathlas grabbed Ceara’s arm.

“What?”

“How will we be able to see each other if we’re both cloaked?”

Ceara stared at her blankly before speaking. “Just…keep ahold of my hand.” She activated her stealth field as Liathlas cloaked herself. The duo crept up the stairs and hurried from the cave, ducking behind a pile of boulders nearby moments before their fields faded.

Ceara breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, first part is done.” They both peeked from behind the rocks. “I see the way out. Over there.”

“Ok.” Liathlas looked over the direction Ceara was facing.

“Too far for our fields to last.”

“What about illusions?”

“Can you project them that far?”

“I don’t think so.”

Ceara drew a deep breath as she tried to come up with a plan.

“Couldn’t you just shoot them with your rifle?”

“No. The noise would draw attention to us. What if…we stealth as far as we can, and as our fields wear off, you cast that stun field you have, and I’ll use my holograms to strike them. Should be quick enough to take them down and not draw any unwanted attention.”

“Ok.”

Ceara opened the panel on her gauntlet. “Ready…3, 2, 1…now.” She pressed the small switch and disappeared from view. Liathlas cloaked herself as well and the pair started their way towards the opening in the rock wall.

“Stun field now.” Ceara said quietly.

Liathlas’s eldritch field appeared below the guard’s feet, stunning them. Ceara’s stealth field waned and she summoned two holograms which attacked the bandits. Liathlas’s stealth cloak faded as well.

“WE GOT A PROBLEM OVER HERE!” a voice shouted from outside the wall.

“THORNS!” Ceara cursed as a handful of more bandits rushed through the opening. Liathlas summoned her illusions as Ceara quickly unslung her rifle and quickly fired a round at the oncoming group. The leyline powered bullet tore through them, dropping two instantly.

“What in Tyria was that!?” a woman shouted as she dove into the dirt. One of the bandits pointed his pistol and fired multiple shots at the sylvari. One round struck one of Ceara’s shoulder pauldrons, the other barely missed her. She instinctively pulled the trigger of the rifle, sending another charged bullet at the bandit. The round missed its mark, but the energy of the bullet knocked him off his feet as it passed.

“Fight fair!” another bandit yelled as he tried to fend off Liathlas’ clones. “Man to man…or whatever you are!” He slashed at the clones with a pair of knives to no avail. Liathlas heard gunshots behind them.

“More incoming behind us! Seems they heard our party!” she shouted.

“I figured that would happen. Get ready to run.” A bullet hit the ground next to Ceara. She spun around and fired another shot, causing the approaching group to scatter.

“Go now!” Liathlas bolted for the opening. Ceara activated her force field and ran behind her. Liathlas tripped and fell as the woman lying in the dirt reached for her ankle as she passed. Liathlas sneered at her and she drove the end of her staff into her forehead, sending a bolt of energy into the womans face. Ceara grabbed Liathlas by the arm and pulled her up and they headed through the opening and back out into the desert.

#Guild Wars 2 #GW2 #Scarlet Briar #AU Ceara

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thelazycat220 · 4 years

Text

The Fight Female Reader x Cooper x Prince Darnell

Everyday in your life was always the same thing: waking up every morning to eat breakfast, go over your daily schedule in life, and wind down to go to sleep. It was the same things over and over. Trolls in your life were always so happy about their everyday lives that you wondered if they ever grew tired of the same thing.

So today, you decided to do something different. Ripping up your glitter-covered paper, you that huffed to yourself saying that it was time for change, you were the boss of your own life, and a flimsy piece of paper can't control it. You got to your room and got out your berry-picking basket and your hat, rushing out the door without even caring if your door was closed or not.

The sun was pretty bright, almost being a bit of a blind sight to look at. Walking into the forest were shade was constant year-round was a lovely choice. Wild strawberries were at its reddest and biggest. Your mother once told you that a juicy strawberry was a good strawberry. And you believed that once you picked a strawberry. Licking your lips with hunger, you reached out for a strawberry when you saw a glimpse of something. Turning to the left side of your body, you saw one of the strawberry bush leaves being a stain of red.

Kneeling, you examined it a bit more, realizing that it wasn't strawberry juice, since it was pink. No, this red stain was a maroon, and it smelled metallic. You swiped the leave with your finger and before you knew it, it was blood.

A shiver was sent down your spine. Was there a chance that a troll was wondering in the woods and he or she got hurt? What if they were attacked by a creature? Or a Bergen? Dropping your basket, you looked around to see if their was anymore blood in sight, walking to North. Indeed there was, in blood-red footprints, smears on trees' trunks, not to mention a few skinny branches dripping some. Queasiness started to settle in your body, growing more and more fearsome. Everywhere you looked was like the inside of a murder house, or horror movie for that matter.

You walked some more, before the sole of your foot rested on something soft and fuzzy, like one of your knitting projects. Looking down, you saw a green scarf, dirtied by small amounts of blood, swipes of dirt and leaves clinging to your fabric. Taking your foot away from the scarf, you picked it up and realized that it was a Christmas present you made for Cooper. Oh, God, Cooper! What if he was the one injured?

Panicking with fright, your troll ears perked up to listen to something. It sounded like echoing shouts and screams of frustration. But you didn't know where they were coming from. You stayed quiet and listened, the sounds were coming from the West side, just beyond the thorn bushes that bloomed poisonous Nightshade berries. You knew that once a troll ate a Nightshade berry, they would die in brutal ways that would even traumatize a baby. The first incident you heard from Nightshade berry-related deaths were just straight-up horrific: a Pop troll ate one and puke blood; two Rock trolls ate a handful and died from overdose of it; a family of Country trolls were found dead with their parts hacked off and hanging from trees, the dad survived only cause the he was the one who ate the Nightshade berries, giving him hallucinations that resulted into murdering his family.

And the last incident was a small little Classical girl that ate a couple by accident, her belly swollen painfully before the skin bursted and her organs fell out.

You shuddered, whatever was behind those bushes were the only way of saving Cooper. Slowly, you crept up to the bushes the sounds more clear to what sounded like Cooper and...someone else? Being careful with your fingers, you pulled apart the thorny bushes, gasping from what you saw that shocked you from the core.

You watched in horror as you saw the royal Funk troll brother--Cooper and Darnell. You figured out everything--the blood, Cooper's scarf, even the screams. They all belonged to the brothers. They were standing in a circle of dirt, already splattered with large amounts of red blood that seemed enough for a troll to bleed out. Cooper and Darnell were circling each other, growling at one another with eyes of anger and bloodlust.

They both looked horrible. Cooper had a gash on his forehead that drenched his face with his own blood; his front left leg had a deep bleeding wound that had a large stick stuck out, which had him limping a bit; he had inch-deep lashes on his back, his once pink fur now dyed with red; his hind legs wrapped in the Nightshade berries' bush thorns, covered in scrapes and scratches along with a couple thorns digging into the skin; his long neck covered in bruises.

Darnell had sustained more damaged than his twin: he had a blackeye with a bloodshot eye, no trace of white was replaced by red; all four of his legs appeared to be stabbed terribly, gushes of blood pouring out; his ear had no piercing, it had been torn off; twigs and leaves clung to his fur, a vine of Nightshade thorns pierced his skin that was wrapped around his body; and his neck was covered in bites, bleeding out, Cooper must've done that, which were proven by Cooper's teeth being stained with a dark pink. And his feet were covered in lacerations.

Both of them succumb heavy breathing, then, charged at each other with screaming out their lungs. Attacking each other with all their power. You watched in horror as they continued to fight each other to death. You knew that you had to stop from killing each other, but were afraid about what might happen if you stood yourself between the two.

Cooper then punched Darnell in the face, striking him down to the earthly soil, his knuckle dyed with Darnell's blood. Alas, due to the damage Darnell had, he was weak and fell back down on the dirt. Cooper smiled as he walked up to his brother, kneeling with something in his hand. Darnell's head was a bit up, until you heard something sizzle that was mixed with Darnell's scream of pain. Cooper had a thick birch branch that had its end glowing red hot, burning Darnell's cheek when the tip touched his face.

Spitting out blood, Darnell growled out to Cooper, "You bitch...(Y/N) is mine and will always will be..." A tingling sensation flowed through your body, hearing your name through the weak Funk prince almost made you fell in love.

Cooper scoffed, looking amused. "Oh no, twin bro, she's MINE. You're just going to be wolf meat, and when the wolves can't finish you off, the maggots will come and eat away what's left. And then, all that's left of you will be rotten bones covered in mold; no one's going to miss you."

You gasped, immediately coming out of the bushes and started to shout: "STOP IT! Both of you--just stop!" Both twins looked up to see you terrified. Cooper dropped the fired-up branch and smiled nervously at you.

"Heeeey, (Y/N)! S-Sorry you had to see this, we were just, uh, playing a game!" Cooper smiled, but you frowned.

"Playing a game that involves both of you to fight to the death? That doesn't even sound fun!" You then gasped once more, kneeling down the weak Darnell, who groaned in pain. "And look what you two are doing to each other! Do King Quincy and Queen Essence know about this?! Imagine what would happen if they found that their own sons tried to kill each other?"

Both of them had a moment of reality, the two looking guilty that they tried to commit an act of murder to each other. Darnell tried to sit up, but the pain overflowed his body and he fell down once more. New trickles of blood began to stain your hands and the cuffs of your sweater. "Oh no, Darnell! You're bleeding! We have to get you help before it gets worse." You wrapped one of his arms around your neck, grunting to realize that he was heavy. "Cooper, help me."

Taking his other arm to help you out, both of you began to exit out of the forest, then Cooper said apologetically: "I'm...sorry about the fight. We were just...well..."

You sighed, then smiling at the Funk twin. "It's alright Coop. You don't have to fight over me. I love you both." You grunted once more. "C'mon, let's get your brother to my pod, I have some medicine stuff for him."

(Written by LGBTQLover on FanFiction.Net)

#trolls cooper #x reader #trolls prince d

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