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linasofia · 1 year

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Around the Riverbend

This is my entry for the TSF 2023 event. I teamed up with the wonderful artist @legolasbadass and the masterpiece above is her creation. Link to her original post. Give her some love!!😍

I had so much fun during this event and it's thanks to you, @legolasbadass. 💙💙💙

Fandom: The Hobbit

Relationship: Thorin Oakenshield x OFC

Summary: In Nordic folklore, the Neck is a malevolent water spirit who took the form of a naked man and played a violin or harp so beautifully that he would enchant women (and children) to follow the music and lure them down into the river—where they would eventually drown. This is a story about Thorin, a lonely Neck who one day witnesses a beautiful woman washing clothes in his river.

Warnings: A bit angsty

The sun shone brightly from a clear blue sky, and the horizon appeared to tremble from the warmth. The air was filled with tiny winged warriors, ready to defend their queen if a sudden threat to their miniature realm should appear. A narrow river cut through the endless green landscape, separating the fertile hills from the real wilderness. On both sides of the river, where its banks met crispy grass, wild thyme, lupins, and buttercups covered the ground, filling the air with their characteristic smell. The dark, glittering water followed the countless bends without obstacles, for the persistent river had tamed the landscape long ago. Only the ancient rocks—created when the world was still young and violent—refused to bow to its will, but time had made the stones’ surface smooth and slippery. No matter how strong the sun appeared, the river would always be there to offer all living things a chance to quench their thirst or cool off from a long walk. But the river was also treacherously deep in some areas, and it was said it had a soul. The river gives, and the river takes, was a saying well taught among the gentle folk living over the hills, and songs were sung to honor those who paid with their life when the river was capricious.

The air stood still above the river and reached a higher temperature than it had for a long time. The banks along the river were dry, causing any movement to stir the sand. Not even a gust of wind made the leaves rustle, and the only sound heard was the distant noise from a waterfall. During these warm summer days, the light never went to sleep—for this was the land of the midnight sun.

On a large rock by the shallow end of the river sat a tall figure who dipped his feet in the water. Sturdy trees in distinct shapes grew close to the banks, and their branches provided shelter from the merciless sun—and cover when the brooding-looking creature needed to remain unseen. From a distance, he looked like an ordinary man, a warrior even. He was broader over the shoulders than most men who came to swim in the river, with muscular arms and large hands. His wide chest was covered in curly hair, dark as a moonless night. The most unusual cerulean shade graced his eyes, causing his stare to resemble both the sky and its dramatic reflection in the water. Despite his thick fingers, the creature could play the harp more beautifully than any other tones ever heard. He was a Neck—a water spirit—and the only of his kin, as far as he knew. During the golden hour, when the river bathed in warm light and before the animals came down to soothe their burning throats with water, the Neck let sweet tones roll from his strings—to calm his loneliness. Many were those who had listened to his music and blindly followed him without thinking of their safety. A golden harp was his only possession, and its delicate strings were made of fair hair taken from the scalps of the innocent maidens he had enchanted in the past. The countless strings were thin but twisted hard to last a long time. Not even the sharpest sword could cut off the strings, and the fingers on whoever was trying to play his instrument would bleed. On one occasion, he had tried to replace a broken string with his own hair, but the harp made a shrieking sound during his first attempt to strum it. From that day, he learned that only the fairest of hairs could create the tones he craved.

The wind had whispered an unknown word to him for as long as he could remember. The word bore a resemblance to thunder, and eventually, the Neck named himself Thorin. He was a lonely spirit, bound to the life-giving river and unable to leave it. Some would certainly call his destiny sad—if they knew he existed. But he always stayed out of sight, and the animals who came to drink barely felt his presence. Thorin had no knowledge of his age, but he knew he had seen the oak closest to the river bank grow from a small acorn to the impressive tree it was now. His long, dark hair was marked by time and for every summer that passed by, his reflection revealed how the thin braids at his temples gradually turned whiter. Thorin lived off what the river provided him, but his restless mind always searched for the pure soul who would make his lonely misery end. He was certain she was out there; it was only a matter of time before his One would make her way down to the river. She was destined to pass the cruel sacrifice of drowning, and he would give her the ability to breathe in his kingdom, far beneath the glittering surface. Then she would be his to cherish—forever.

Slowly the shadows in front of the old oak became longer, indicating the sun’s journey over the sky. Thorin watched the stillness of the water around his favorite rock and snapped his fingers to create the smallest vibration. His harp lay next to him, and it glowed like fire in the sun. Suddenly, he became aware of a movement further down the river. Thorin usually stayed in the more narrow parts of the river where the water was shallow, allowing him to keep sight of both banks at the same time. When he squinted, he saw the shape of a person moving along the river, walking straight in his direction. A woman, more precisely. Without disturbing the water, Thorin slipped down from the rock and hid behind it with water up to his waist. He waited in silence as the woman came closer, but he knew precisely how to move to avoid discovery. She carried a large basket, and as she sat it down near the water, directly in front of him, he understood why she had come. From his position behind the rock, Thorin could easily observe her, and the first thing he noticed was her hair. The woman had long, fair hair—forced into a thick braid and secured at the end with a blue ribbon. In the afternoon light, her hair shone like the sun itself, and Thorin gaped at the sight. She wore a dress that reminded him of the many cornflowers growing beyond the sandy banks. The fabric was of a simple kind, as so often when hugging the body of a woman from beyond the hills. Over the years, Thorin had noticed that the peaceful people living near the water and traveling by foot often wore these kinds of fabric to shield their bodies. On a few occasions, he had seen small groups of riders and carts pulled by large horses. Those people often wore fabrics that glittered like frostbitten river reed in the sun, but they never stopped long enough for him to learn who they were or where they came from. Usually, their animals drank water, and then they were gone as quickly as they came. The folk from the hills beyond the river were of a different kind. They regularly came to the river to bathe or clean their belongings. Some of them were only children, and those were the times Thorin had most trouble remaining undiscovered, for young minds are curious by nature and far more reckless than their parents. And they liked his music.

The woman in the cornflower dress grabbed something from her basket and waded out in the river until the water reached above her calves. Then she sank the dirty fabric into the water and started to whip it with the piece of wood she held in her other hand. Water splashed around her, staining her dress—but she did not seem to care. Thorin watched her as she worked, and something about her intrigued him, and it was not only because of her unusual hair. The woman was young but not as young as the previous maidens who had failed to resist his harp. Her sleeveless dress was of a simple cut, offering him a fine view of her tanned skin. She was clearly used to working hard; her feminine muscles were strong and well-defined. With tireless strength, she carried on, working through the small mountain of clothes in her basket, and Thorin found himself wishing she had even more chores to do. Every time she stretched her back, he admired the curves of her body, and when she bent down over her basket, he could not tear his eyes from her behind. Thorin felt confused; he had seen beautiful maidens before, naked even—as they sometimes came to bathe, alone or in a group. Without knowledge of what waited in the dark water, they unconcernedly exposed their skins to his eyes. He had never been attracted to any of them as much as the fair-haired beauty.

As he gazed at the woman, Thorin came to think of another young maiden from long ago when his braids were still dark as the eyes of a heron. He had never forgotten the fiery maiden who came to the river evening after evening, yet always alone. The warm light of the sun made her hair glow like copper as she lowered herself into the river, and in the cover of the dark water, Thorin dived under the surface and swam very close to her. He had a feeling she knew someone was watching her, and she was not afraid—she liked it. The way she used her hands to clean her body was something he had never seen, and he allowed himself to take great risks to be near her. Hidden by the dark water, he could have reached out to touch her—but he never did. When he got bored of just watching her, he grabbed his harp and let his seductive notes fill the air. She was so easy to snare. Sadly, she was not who he was searching for, and she paid the ultimate price for his misjudgment. Thorin dressed her body before he left her at the bank further down the river. Such beauty was better to cover before someone with foul intentions found her. Someone like him.

Clear, light tones suddenly filled the air, and Thorin listened intently. A sweet melody floated over the water—like mist rising on early summer mornings. The young woman had stopped beating the dirt out of her laundry and was rinsing and twisting the fabrics. As she worked, she gave air to the feelings she carried inside, and Thorin had no problem understanding the longing behind her words—for they lived inside him as well. Long strands of hair escaped her braid and framed her face beautifully. She pushed the locks back repeatedly with her wet hands, but the hair had a will of its own, it seemed. The locks wanted to be free, to be able to dance in the wind on stormy days and caress her cheeks when she lowered her chin. Absently, Thorin stroked the strains on his harp. The length of her hair was perfect, but his harp was still intact. He had no need for it—yet.

The melancholic melody she was singing penetrated Thorin’s skin, found its way to his tormented soul and wrapped itself around his lonely heart. An unfamiliar and strange feeling spread in his chest, making his heart beat faster. Her words could have been aimed directly at him when she sang of all the beautiful things he had never known but still instinctively felt he wanted; tenderness, love, and someone to hold close. The young woman’s voice was unlike anything he had ever heard, purer than the morning’s first ray of light and softer than a swift summer breeze. Her tones would harmonize perfectly with his—if he caressed the golden strings. Together they could create something extraordinary.

Thorin observed her every move carefully, and from his hiding place, he could not spot any signs of belonging on her body. No rings on her fingers nor braids in her hair—nothing indicating that she already had a chosen one in her life. Even if her hips were wide enough to bear children, no man seemed to have claimed her yet. Thorin felt a rare stream of heat rushing through his body at the thought. He was suddenly warmer than he had ever experienced, not even during the year’s hottest days. The heat came from the depth of his core, created by the music of his pulse and her singing in his veins. For a moment, he wondered if he was ablaze, and he lowered himself deeper into the water to cool off the burning feeling on his skin. The water never failed him; it helped his skin to control its temperature, and his mind regained its usual sharpness. The young woman in the cornflower dress was special in a way he could not explain to himself—all he knew was that he could not tear his eyes from her. When he turned to the river for guidance, he was suddenly met with silence. It was as if the river was forcing him to feel for himself. Could she be the one he had spent a lifetime waiting for? Was he looking at his One? His grip around his harp tightened.

When the basket was filled with wet fabrics, she left it by the river. After a quick glance around, she grabbed the hem of her dress and lifted it in modesty as she waded out in the water until it reached up to her thighs. She wore no stockings, Thorin noticed, as he caught a teasing glimpse of her skin before the water shielded the sight. Her cheeks blushed like the sky during sunset, revealing how warm she was after her hard work, and Thorin marveled at the satisfaction she appeared to experience in the cooling water. How he wished for her to pull the dress over her head and throw herself out in the deeper part of the river. The water would wash away all her sweat and help her forget the chores for a while. Maybe she was a good swimmer—some of the people over the hills actually were—and could easily make it to the opposite side of the river. If so, he would follow her. Protect her. When Thorin was underwater, his eyes adapted well to the darkness, and it allowed him to see things others could not. It also made it easy for him to approach those he wanted to avoid being seen by. Humans’ skins sometimes glimmered like the scales of a trout in the water, but this woman was not that pale. The sun had kissed the delicate skin on her arms, yet Thorin suspected not all of her body had been exposed to the burning sun. The thought of seeing what she hid under her dress made him quietly groan. Greed slowly corrupted Thorin’s heart—she could belong to him. Her voice already had the power to brighten his inner clouded sky, and if he took her to his kingdom, she too would be bound to the river. She would never be able to return to the place she came from, and they could be together—forever.

When the first mellow note vibrated through the air, the woman looked up with a startled expression. She instantly let go of the hem, and the skirt fell down into the water and created a pool of wet fabric around her. Thorin let his fingers run along the strings—echoing her melody—and it made her smile softly. Her face was beautiful while frowning, but now, when his music made her features light up like the sun, Thorin realized he was smiling as well. At first, she seemed to hesitate, but then she took a few steps in his direction and started to sing again. Without thinking, Thorin gave his harp life, and the notes rose to the sky effortlessly. The woman’s soft voice harmonized with his music, followed the same winding path, and spoke of promises neither of them understood. He watched her as she came closer, and to his delight, he saw the same golden light in her eyes as he had seen in others several times before. When she fell silent, Thorin knew he had succeeded. She was defenseless, captured by his music, and she would follow him to whatever place he led. With a pleased grin, he dived under the surface, swam quickly further away and then emerged again. The moment he broke the surface of the water, light from the sun hit his wet skin and made it sparkle. His hair appeared to be even darker than before—as well as his eyes. But the beautiful fair-haired woman did not even blink; only the sweetest of smiles formed her lips into a sensual shape. Thorin lifted his harp again and tenderly caressed the strings. Another of his melodies floated over the water—tones filled with the deepest temptation—and formed an invisible leash to wrap around the neck of whoever heard them. It never failed to make the listener unable to resist following the sound of his harp. And it did not take many heartbeats before the woman started walking, her eyes resting on a spot far beyond what Thorin could see. As soon as she came closer, Thorin dived again, and then again, leading her away from the relatively safe parts of the river. Around riverbend after riverbend, she followed him, and he played with growing desire in his heart. He wanted her—needed her. Her body and soul would eventually be his. Blinded by greed, he ignored what would happen to her if she was not his One. The river got deeper, she was up to her waist in water, and the river started to become restless. It tore at her dress as if trying to wake her from her trance. But it was to no use, for no woman nor child could stand against the power of Thorin’s harp.

The rumble of the waterfall became louder, and Thorin increased his effort so he would not lose what he had worked so hard for. His music needed to drown the noise from the fall, or the woman with the fairest hair would wake from the enchantment too soon. He just needed to lead her around another riverbend, and then they would finally be looking down at the gate to his kingdom. Thorin could picture her falling, but he was supposed to follow her—and catch her—before she passed the point of no return. If her body were resilient enough, they would then be able to enter together.

The river banks narrowed the gap between them, the trees grew even closer to the water, and their long branches framed the magical-looking scene. The air was filled with mist rising from the fall, and it gave the area a spectacular light. The fall itself was dangerously high, and the river sent cascades of water over the edge, creating a mesmerizing—but violent—entrance to the Neck’s underwater realm. Below the fall waited a long row of black, large rocks, and only Thorin knew how far they reached—and how to avoid getting smashed against them. The melody changed to compliment the dramatic nature, and by the brink of the fall stood his woman—waiting—in her soaked dress. The water was less deep here, so he could see more of her, and while the dress clung to her body, he greedily took in every shape and curve. Soon he would be able to touch her. She would slip on the flat rocks he knew were placed right in front of her. They all had. In perfect harmony, the two of them would then spend the rest of their days together, and never before had his heart been more convinced he was right. All he demanded was a few more steps.

One of his precious strings suddenly broke and was left hanging by a single piece of hair, forcing Thorin to stop briefly and rethink his notes. Losing a string was not critical, for most of his melodies could be played in a slightly different way, but it disturbed him enough to shift focus. Instead of continuing, he came to think of her song and the meaning behind the beautiful words she sang while working. Parts of the song spoke of longing for someone who could heal a shattered heart, but at the end of the many courses, one line stood out from the rest, and he remembered the words clearly: I ask you to be mine.

Thorin was already holding his harp in place—ready to fulfill what he had started—when an unwelcome feeling of doubt erupted in his chest. He tried to ignore it, but the cold feeling spread with his blood to all parts of his body and made his skin itch as if he had a rash. Like a massive tidal wave, realization hit him, and it threatened his inner river dam to collapse. He was not asking her to be his, and even if her words of love were true, she had certainly not approved of what he was determined to do. Despite that, he was more than ready to put his own needs first and take what he wanted. Thorin took a deep breath to steady himself and bring order to his chaotic mind. But what if what he truly needed was something deeper? Something pure, formed by consent between two souls and spoken with mutual words. True love. He tasted the words. True love could not be forced, he knew that deep inside his lonely heart, yet he spent all his life denying it.

The waterfall roared his name, and Thorin started weighing his options. If he broke the enchantment and approached her, the risk of having her running for her life was exceedingly high. She could hurt herself badly on the slippery rocks. He was aware of their differences in appearance, and his natural nudity was not customary—maybe even disapproved of—among the gentle folk living over the hills. On many occasions, he had seen the men who came to swim in his river and none of them were sculpted like him below the waist. Never in his long life had he lifted an enchantment, and therefore, he lacked knowledge of what would happen when she drew her first breath without his invisible leash. Thorin knew he possessed a mighty power, and he sensed a risk she might not recover quickly from it. He watched the woman as she trembled. The currents tearing at her clothes were strong and cold, and her skin was silently protesting. Her beautiful smile had the power to wake the northern light, but his mind refused to leave him alone. Would she be able to love him if she knew how he captured her and sent her tumbling down the waterfall? Could she forgive him if he passively watched her body fight in the water until no air was left in her lungs? When the light of day finally disappeared from her eyes—and his kiss marked the beginning of their union—would she then accept him as her One? Thorin could feel every heartbeat vibrating in his chest, and his breathing turned shallow as he slowly shook his head in answer to his questions. When he lowered his harp, he perceived the truth; he wanted her to choose him out of free will—not by death.

Dark clouds started to gather in his inner sky, and his lonely heart tore at his soul. Together they could end his misery, and a lifetime of searching would be over. But the possibility he earlier refused to ponder crept over him. Another thought—cold and sharp—sank its massive claws in his exposed heart, and when it got a tight grip, Thorin knew he could no longer hide from his own mind. His self-doubt fed from him as a starving leech and rapidly grew stronger. If the woman he was about to claim as his was not the one he so desperately wanted her to be, history would repeat itself. She would fight a doomed battle against the river but eventually end up on the river bank—as so many had done before her. Thorin acknowledged the longing in his body, but the more he thought of the meaning behind the words in her song, the more he questioned himself. Even if her lips no longer moved, he could still hear her beautiful voice echoing somewhere between his hope and despair. Time was running out, and he needed to continue if he was not going to let her slip from his grip. But Thorin’s fingers refused to strum across the strings. He tried again, but no tones came. Desperation boiled in his blood until suddenly, he understood. He could not proceed. She deserved to make her own choices; her life belonged to her, for she was indeed special. With a heavy heart, he took in the shape of the woman he was convinced—until just a few breaths ago—was meant to be his forever. Her fair hair was damp, and she seemed to sway like a young silver poplar during an autumn storm.

By the river stood an old weeping birch, dipping its long branches in the water. Thorin had seen the leaves fall from the old tree every autumn, but he had never been more grateful for the shelter it provided under its green ceiling. From a distance it was impossible to see beneath the branches, but Thorin could peek out. When he was certain he was well hidden, he sat down—and waited.

Time seemed endless, and Thorin was just starting to wonder if the woman would recover at all when all of the sudden, she shook her head. With a confused expression on her sweet face, she looked around, and for a short while, her gaze lingered on the old birch. Thorin’s breath caught in his throat, and suddenly he feared she could see him. Or sense him. But then she turned her attention to the water and carefully took a few steps backwards. Her slender hands rubbed her naked arms as if waking them from a slumber or bringing warmth back to the skin. The woman reached for her skirt and collected as much as she could of the wet fabric before slowly walking to the opposite side. The banks were steeper on that side, and she crawled, visibly dizzy, up from the water. Her dress that used to bear a lovely shade of cornflower before, was dirty when she reached the safety at the top of the bank. She looked back over the river, and Thorin could only guess she carried a strange feeling in her chest. Even if she did not remember how she got to the fall, she most likely understood at least part of the danger she barely escaped from. The noise from the waterfall was usually enough to keep sane folks at a distance.

Under the tall weeping birch, Thorin remained unseen, and he lowered his head, ready to be judged by the river. Pieces of his shattered heart scraped against his lungs as dry sand on sore skin, and it made it harder for him to breathe. Very carefully, he plucked a few strings, and the sad notes reminded him of large drops of water dripping into an already filled bucket. His knuckles were unnaturally white—caused by his tight grip around the harp—and a salty taste lingered on his lips when he slowly ran the tip of his tongue over them. For the first time in his life, he had done an unselfish act, and even if he doubted the pain was worth it, he could now call himself honorable.

That night, the glowing sun unexpectedly came to rest below the horizon and abruptly marked the end of summer. The people living over the hills spoke about the strange whim of nature long after the remarkable event. As darkness fell over the landscape, Thorin slowly loosened the fair strings from his harp and let them float away with the river. They glittered like gold when they disappeared over the edge of the waterfall, and Thorin sighed deeply. Stars glimmered in the sky, and the moon’s pale light made Thorin’s temple braids shine like silver. He was a fascinating creature, but as so often with lonely souls, completely unaware of his beauty. Without even the slightest hesitation, Thorin took a deep breath of the warm evening air, then gracefully entered the gate to his realm for the last time—and sealed it.

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Taglist and others who might be interested: @lathalea @legolasbadass @laurfilijames @i-did-not-mean-to @enchantzz @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @xxbyimm @mariannetora @haly-reads @sunnysidesidra @rachel1959 @knittastically @quiall321 @medusas-hairband @fulltimecrazy @s0ftd3m0n @emrfangirl @glimmering-darling-dolly @lilith15000 @clumsy-wonderland @theawkwardbutterfly @exhausted-humxn-being @beenthroughalot @chaikittie @piscesvancouverite @sotwk @dontaskmehowdontaskmewhy @mrsdurin

#tsf23 #thorin oakenshield #Näcken!Thorin #thorin #richard armitage #the hobbit #fanfiction #thorin fanfic #thorin fanfiction #thorin fanart #collaboration

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prey-4-me · 2 years

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Strange Preferences - PT XIII

Prey Predator x fem!reader

You struggle with finding meaning to Taabe’s messages

A/N- sooorrry for the delay in posting this! I really wanted to post it and the Epilogue at the same time + it was a struggle to finish the epilogue 😭

Amishta - name, meaning fearless, limitless

Tenahpu - Comanche/nʉmʉ tekwapʉ word for man

Pabi - Comanche/nʉmʉ tekwapʉ word for elder brother

Kiande Amedha - Yautja word for xenomorphs (hard meat)

Tasiwóo - Comanche/nʉmʉ tekwapʉ word for buffalo

ʉ kamakʉtʉ nʉ - Comanche/nʉmʉ tekwapʉ for ‘i love you’

kuhtaamia - Comanche/nʉmʉ tekwapʉ for rite of passage - killing something that can kill

***

Tenahpu had retold his story many times by the time you had turned in your first night back home. He had been the only victorious Young Blood.

Grandmother had presided over some sort of celebration for him. There was a lot of dancing, drinking, and fighting. Being a small human, you stayed out of the way with Sarii. Sitting with Grandmother wasn’t so bad though. You had leaned into her strong upper body while watching the good natured mayhem unfold.

Later on Tenahpu had woken you, picking you up for sleep. You curled up into his embrace, hearing him rumble in his chest. You barely even noticed when he set you down again on your soft bedding.

***

Taabe shook you awake. “Hurry, they only come out at dawn.”

You tried to ask him what he was talking about, but he only responded, “We’ll miss them if we don’t go soon.”

“Please, Taabe. Tell me what to do.” You were following him through a path in the brush now. He stopped, crouching low. Moving forward very slowly, he readied his bow. You peered around him. Hard meat was in the grass, like tasiwóo. You rubbed your eyes. What?

Taabe handed you something. It was your gun. You looked up at him, confused. It was Tenahpu. “This is your kuhtaamia,” you found yourself saying to him.

The dream changed. Tenahpu stood before you, covered in green blood. You realized you were pointing the gun at him. He watched you, unmoving.

***

Tenahpu was shaking you awake. You stopped screaming. Sarii licked the tears from your face before you knew they were there.

“Why?” Tenahpu looked put out.

Shaking, you sat up. Sarii and Tenahpu whined at you. “I… Taabe is trying to tell me something.”

“Your brother.”

“Yes.” You grew cross with him.

“What does he say?” Tenahpu shifted uncomfortably, but tried to continue the conversation.

“Nothing. I don’t know.” You sighed angrily and flopped down, facing away from Tenahpu. Sarii wiggled into your arms.

Tenahpu remained sitting. Finally, he clicked softly, saying, “Next today we… hold rites.”

You sat up and looked at him, half turning over, “What?”

“We… mmfhg… Grandmother will tell.” Frustrated, you flopped back down again. Tenahpu tried to touch you but you fended him off. Sighing, he rolled over.

***

The burial place was already prepared. Pabi and Tenahpu waited by it with Sarii as you and Grandmother brought the remains down. Unable to tell who was who, all the skulls would be buried together. Taabe and the others would be honored as one.

When you and Grandmother reached the spot, she carefully placed the bones at your feet. With a heavy heart, you knelt. Wrapping them in small blankets, you placed each of them in individually. You sang an old song of love and remembrance. The Yautja witnessed your makeshift ceremony quietly. Finally the song was over.

Tenahpu approached you hesitantly. He held out his hands, carefully clasped. Just like Taabe’s in your first vision. You flashed back to it. When he opened them, you saw your sharpened stone. You felt dizzy. Were you in a vision right now? Was this real?

You haltingly took the stone. It was warm in your hand. Turning it over once, you paused. The suns beat down on you. Birds called. They sounded less strange each day that went by. Tenahpu clicked and was shushed by Grandmother.

You both had wanted your kuhtaamia more than anything else. You had hunted rabbits and deer to prepare. Tenahpu… hunted something bigger. Crying, you whispered, “ʉ kamakʉtʉnʉ,” kissing the warm stone. You put it carefully into the burying place.

After a moment, you stood. You watched as Pabi and Tenahpu pushed the stony earth back into place. Sarii was at your feet, waiting. You pet her. As she wagged her tail, Tenahpu carefully approached you. He reached out a hand. Looking up into his face, you slid your hand into his, his rough skin a familiar sensation. He clicked softly.

***

Amishta slid her hand into his. He closed his hand over her small one, clicking reverently. When they reached home, he would give her his courtship offering. Grandmother would probably have to explain, but, as the matriarch of the household, she wouldn’t mind. He didn’t know what the future would be. But he hoped Amishta would accept him, even after everything. Grandmother led the way, clicking for everyone to follow. You all headed home.

******

“You need to forgive people you don’t understand; if not, try to understand the people you want to forgive.” - Shannon L Alder

@coolninjavoid @eclecticpatrolroadlawyer @lainphotography

#yautja x human #yautja x reader #yautja fanfiction #feral predator x reader #predator x human #predator x reader #predator x you

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90363462 · 2 years

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Album of the decade: Kendrick Lamar’s ‘good kid, m.A.A.d city’

Like ‘The Autobiography of Malcolm X,’ the 2012 opus overflows with black rage, fear of abandonment, and a sobering understanding of death and rebirth

True, Kendrick Lamar’s 2012 opus good kid, m.A.A.d city is the longest charting hip-hop studio album in history. Yes, it was the 13-time Grammy winner’s major label debut. But good kid is the album of the decade because it is The Autobiography of Malcolm Xfor our time, overflowing with black rage, hopelessness, fear of abandonment, and a sobering understanding (and sometimes reckless disregard) of death and rebirth.

Aftermath Entertainment/Interscope Records

And as with Malcolm X, a name change is an important signifier. “I learned, when I look in the mirror and tell my story, that I should be myself and not peep whatever everybody is doing … If I’m gonna tell a real story, I’m gonna start with my name,” Lamar, who had previously performed as K-Dot, told Vultureon the eve of the album’s release.

good kid’s cover art shows baby Kendrick sitting on a family member’s lap. The album itself begins with a teenage Lamar chasing after a girl named Sherane and ends with him witnessing the death of a friend and undergoing a spiritual awakening. He rockets through a galaxy of themes: love, lust, loyalty, fear, anger, divinity, spirituality, toxic masculinity, gang politics, gun violence, racial profiling, teenage innocence, police brutality, survivor’s remorse, hope, self-awareness and mortality.

American civil rights leader Malcolm X relaxes on a couch on March 1964.

Photo by Truman Moore/The LIFE Images Collection via Getty Images/Getty Images

Still, there is plenty of competition for the mythical title of album of the decade. Beyoncé’s Lemonade or her 2013 industry-shifting, self-titled album, Rihanna’s ANTI,Kanye West’s My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, Frank Ocean’s Channel Orange or Blonde, Adele’s 21, Solange’s A Seat at the Table, Freddie Gibbs and Madlib’s Bandana, Anderson .Paak’s Malibu, Jay-Z’s 4:44, David Bowie’s Blackstar, Killer Mike’s R.A.P. Music, Cardi B’s Invasion of Privacy, Noname’s Room 25, Jamie xx’s In Colour, Tame Impala’s Lonerism, SZA’s Ctrl, D’Angelo and The Vanguard’s Black Messiah, Travis Scott’s Astroworld, Miguel’s Kaleidoscope Dream,Vince Staples’ Summertime ’06, Waka Flocka’s Flockaveli, and a host of others, have stated their cases.

While good kid’s importance is widely recognized, its place in end-of-the-decade rankings varies widely. Rolling Stone puts it at No. 66! Vice settled at No. 28. Pitchfork gave it No. 18, claiming every autobiographical rap album in its wake “walks in part in its footsteps.” XXL didn’t rank its top 50 projects but noted good kid was “about as instant a classic as you can get.” Billboard ranked it as the decade’s 15th best project and NME and the Associated Press bestowed it No. 5 honors.

For many, including Lamar himself, his third album, 2015’s To Pimp a Butterfly, takes precedence. It boasts what many believe is the most important song of the decade in “Alright.” Esquire and Independent both made this testament to the anger and isolation black America felt in the wake of the deaths of people such as Trayvon Martin, Sandra Bland, Mike Brown, Eric Garner and Jordan Davis, as their top album of the decade. Lamar himself told Billboard in 2016 that good kid was great work, but not his best. “To Pimp a Butterfly is great,” he said. And that he would’ve been upset by 2014’s notorious zero-for-seven Grammy’s snub “if I knew that was my best work, if I had nothing new to offer.”

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The truth is multidimensional. Starting with 2011’s Section.80 and most recently with 2018’s Black Panther soundtrack, for which he served as executive producer, Lamar delivered a catalog of albums over the last 10 years that makes him one of music’s most important figures. His Pulitzer Prize for 2017’s DAMN. made him the first non-classical or jazz artist to earn the prestigious distinction. Every project he’s put his name on in this decade has shifted the culture.

So does Butterfly or even DAMN. check off more of the best-of-the-decade criteria than its predecessor?

“good kid, m.A.A.d city definitely set the table [for Kendrick’s decade]. And I’m a jazz guy so I’m always going to ride for To Pimp a Butterfly,” said Marcus Moore whose biography, The Butterfly Effect: How Kendrick Lamar Ignited the Soul of Black America, is aiming for a 2020 release. “But without [good kid], there’s no way he could have made To Pimp a Butterfly or DAMN.”

Malcolm X and his daughter Ilyasah leave John F. Kennedy International Airport for the Hotel Theresa in Harlem on Jan. 1, 1964.

Photo by William N. Jacobellis/New York Post Archives /(c) NYP Holdings, Inc. via Getty Images

By contrast, Lamar’s parents, both of whom are featured on good kid, are vital figures in his life story. They sought to both teach their son about street life in Compton, California, and also protect him from it. “They wanted to keep me innocent,” he told Rolling Stone. “I love them for that.”

Lamar read Malcolm X’s autobiography as a teenager, and in a 2017 interview with Vice, he spoke of the late civil rights icon in a near religious manner.

“His ideas rooted my approach to music,” Lamar said. “That was the first idea that inspired how I was going to approach my music. From the simple idea of wanting to better myself by being in this mindstate, [the] same way Malcolm was.”

X bounced around Michigan, Boston and Harlem before his incarceration. Lamar and turn-of-the-century Compton were joined at the hip, as evidenced by the bevy of local landmarks he name-drops: the intersection of El Segundo Boulevard and Central Avenue, Alameda Street, Gonzales Park, Lueders Park, Bullis Street, Food 4 Less and Church’s Chicken. Growing up in poverty for Lamar, and moving from the streets to foster homes for Malcolm X, meant resources were scarce. Hopelessness and helplessness were inevitable realities. Whether it was the Midwest and Northeast before the civil rights movement or Compton after the L.A. riots, both were conditioned to being repeatedly degraded for merely existing. The trauma was constant, as were the coping mechanisms.

“I had gotten to the point where I was walking on my own coffin,” Malcolm X wrote, reflecting on his hustling days when he was known on the street as Detroit Red. “Drugs helped push the thought [of getting caught] to the back of my mind. They were the center of my life.” “For the record, I recognize that I’m easily prey/ I got ate alive yesterday,” Lamar wrote on the title track “Good Kid.” “I got animosity building, it’s probably big as a building/ Me jumping off of the roof is me just playing it safe.”

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Malcolm X and Lamar both understood that the way society is set up, success was never meant for them. Two flawed protagonists in their own stories, they felt backed into corners and responded with desperation and anger. Malcolm X talked of cocaine making decisions for him, constantly carrying a gun and fantasizing about committing violence on a black cop who loathed him.

By high school, when good kid takes place, Lamar was already running with a crowd that committed home invasions and eluded the police. They got him drunk, after being beat up by local gangbangers, and high, after breaking and entering (“flocking”). “Cocaine laced in marijuana/ And they wonder why I rarely smoke now,” he recounts on “m.A.A.d city.” “Imagine if your first blunt had you foaming at the mouth.” Like Malcolm X before his conversion to the Nation of Islam, death stayed just out of arm’s reach for Lamar. His mom would find bloody hospital gowns of friends who got shot at their house — or Lamar would cry in the front yard after surviving a shooting.

good kid’s “The Art of Peer Pressure” shares a demonic soul with Malcolm X’s recounting of his days in Boston. Malcolm X wrote about feeling unrecognizable as Detroit Red. Yet, there he was, running the streets of Boston with his best friend, Shorty.

In “Peer Pressure,” Lamar and his friends L-Boog, Yan Yan and YG Lucky had just finished playing basketball. Now they were chain-smoking blunts in a Toyota, hollering at girls and pressing guys they saw wearing the wrong gang-affiliated covers. Red and blue had, from a ‘hood politics perspective and the police, become colors that signaled colors long representing factions counterintuitive to Kendrick’s survival. “I never was a gangbanger, I mean/ I was never stranger to the fonk neither,” Lamar raps. The group of teenagers commit a home robbery only barely escape police. Lamar knows he barely escaped. The song’s most important bar, though, is “One day it’s gon’ burn you out, but I’m with the homies right now.” In that moment, breaking the law doesn’t matter. Nor does the possibility of getting killed by gangbangers.

Kendrick Lamar performs during the third day of Lollapalooza Buenos Aires 2019 at Hipodromo de San Isidro on March 31 in Buenos Aires, Argentina.

Photo by Santiago Bluguermann/Getty Images

“The really interesting thing is how K-Dot and Detroit Red [wrestle] with black rage. Rage about feelings of nothingness in their present or future. Rage about feeling their lives are meaningless. And having to fight to matter and fight to survive,” said Justin S. Hopkins, a clinical psychologist in Washington. “They both turn to drugs to deal with this unbearable pain. And muster a sense of agency and control over what feels impossible. By so doing, [both] cope with constant fear and annihilation.”

Both good kid and The Autobiography of Malcolm X highlight experiences with pain. And how exhausting it is when one feels that pain doesn’t seem to matter to society at large. “Am I worth it? Did I put enough work in?” Lamar asks on “Sing About Me, I’m Dying of Thirst.” The record is an epic multidimensional confessional that finds him rapping from the perspective a slain friend’s brother (who eventually gets murdered himself), the sister of a young woman condemning Lamar for telling her sister’s story through song (she, too, dies after years of working the streets as a prostitute) and finally himself dealing with the burden of survivor’s remorse. You learn not to care about yourself when the world doesn’t.

Turning points define both works and the lives they chronicle. For Malcolm X, it took being sentenced to 10 years in prison before a spiritual awakening set the course of his life on a completely different trajectory. By the time he reemerged into society in 1952, Detroit Red was long dead, and the world would soon come to know, loathe, love and fear Malcolm X, who would help propel America into a decade of racial reckoning.

Growing up, Lamar, had seen a “light skin n—- with his brains blown out,” as he noted on “m.A.A.d city,” and his Uncle Tony was shot twice in the head outside of Louis Burgers in Compton, which he depicted on “Money Trees.” The true pain of which could never be resolved any sort of monetary success or commercial acceptance. But watching his friend Dave die after a shootout with guys who had jumped Lamar earlier in the day set in motion his own reality check. While he is walking around in a haze of anger and grief and carrying a gun, a neighbor, voiced by none other than Maya Angelou, persuaded him and his surviving friends to let God into their lives and leads them in reciting the Sinner’s Prayer. The conversation is poignantly similar to one she had with Tupac Shakur on the set of Poetic Justice 20 years earlier. “Now everybody serenade the new faith of Kendrick Lamar/ This is King Kendrick Lamar,” he booms on the album’s victory lap, the appropriately titled “Compton” featuring Dr. Dre.

Rapper Kendrick Lamar attends a ceremony honoring him with the Keys to the City of Compton, in Compton, California, on Feb. 13, 2016.

VALERIE MACON/AFP via Getty Images

“Both of them go to the depths of their trauma and learn how to acknowledge the deep sense of loss and vulnerability that they feel,” said Hopkins. “They start building a foundation for their own self-worth despite all the things that were attacking it all along. It’s a beautiful and triumphant story.”

Their stories spoke of resilience, acceptance and bravery from the perspectives of young black men who had seen hell and found some peace before they got to heaven. Even if, in Malcolm X’s case, he was — as he predicted in the final pages of his book — assassinated before he could hold a copy of his life’s journey in his own hands. The results resonated deeply in the generations they spoke for. For Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, who first read The Autobiography of Malcolm Xin 1968, the book became gospel for him.

“His story couldn’t have been more different than mine — street hustler and pimp who goes to prison, converts to Islam, emerges as an enlightened political leader — but I felt as if every insult he suffered and every insight he discovered were mine,” the NBA’s all-time leading scorer wrote in his 2017 memoirCoach Wooden and Me. “He put into words what was in my heart; he clearly articulated what I had only vaguely expressed.”

Four-time NBA All Star and Compton native DeMar DeRozan expresses the same sentiments when discussing the impact of good kid, m.A.A.d city. “A lot of people who come from a lot of trials and tribulations can’t vocalize the traumas they’ve been through,” he said. “Listening to that album, it’s therapeutic. You’re hearing things you went through. Things you seen, things you may feel but you don’t know how to express in words. But Kendrick did.”

Civil rights activist Malcolm X poses for a portrait on Feb. 16, 1965, in Rochester, New York.

Photo by Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images

Malcolm X’s life story was one of transition. From Malcolm Little to Detroit Red to “Satan” (as fellow inmates dubbed him when he’d curse God and the Bible) to Malcolm X to El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz. And though his ideology and the targets of his rhetoric changed over the last 13 years of his life, Malcolm X had come to know who he was. He was a black man his family could be proud of, who articulated a philosophy of how the black man should act and what he should demand of America. In the final chapter of his autobiography, titled 1965, he said, “I have given … so much of whatever time I have because I feel, and I hope, that if I honestly and fully tell my life’s account, read objectively it might prove to be a testimony of some social value.”

Lamar, now 32, engaged and the father of a baby girl, is nearly a lifetime removed from the 17-year-old who lived, bled and cried the story that eventually became good kid, m.A.A.d city — it, too, a testimony of social value. And near the end of good kid, it’s Kendrick’s mother, Paula Duckworth, who delivers the underlying message behind the album on “Real,” and one Malcolm’s legacy would carry longer than his physical ever would. “Come back a man. Tell your story to these black and brown kids in Compton. Let them know you was just like them, but you still rose from that dark place of violence, becoming a positive person,” she said. “But when you do make it, give back with your words of encouragement, and that’s the best way to give back.”

Unlike Malcolm X, Lamar is far less outwardly fierce — away from a microphone, at least. He rarely conducts interviews and therefore the evolution of his philosophy must be read through his art. At the root of both To Pimp a Butterfly and DAMN. was the value of black existence — the hope, the despair, the odiousness, the fury, the pride and everything in between. And both albums build from the process of self-enlightenment introduced on its 2012 sibling.

“good kid, m.A.A.d city represents that first level of self-awareness where you’re just starting to reparent yourself, revisit your inner child and have that first access point of self-discovery and self-awareness,” said wellness advocate and author Devi Brown, who has interviewed the Grammy-winning MC multiple times throughout his career. Malcolm and Kendrick represent, in her words, the archetype of a platform that converted pain, confusion and violence beyond their emotional and moral jurisdictions. Yet, both used that not only for radical change in themselves, but what they shared with the world. “You realize how much you have to unlearn. How much of life is dictated by things out of your control.”

“[Kendrick] puts his life in his music. Everything. The good, the bad and the questionable. That’s why it resonates with so many people, because he’s giving listeners something positive to aspire to. Yet, he doesn’t shy away from the negativity that almost took him under,” said Moore, the biographer. “Malcolm earned that trust by speaking truth to power, and by doing so in searing fashion. Though he masks certain things in poetic fashion, Kendrick’s work is remarkably honest and hits the same way. No matter when you play it.”

Lamar’s death is not required for good kid to be the modern-day version of The Autobiography. The album, like the book, is an evolving piece of art. Birthed in the same struggle for purpose and cultivated through a series of environmental roadblocks and self-induced insecurities. Both produce different experiences as they age, but more so as we age. Certain lessons are only unlocked through putting one foot in front of the other.

Like Malcolm X, only the mistakes have been Kendrick’s. Thankfully he’s still here to tell his story.

Justin Tinsley is a senior culture writer for Andscape. He firmly believes “Cash Money Records takin’ ova for da ’99 and da 2000” is the single most impactful statement of his generation.

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psychosistr · 2 years

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La Vie en Rose- Chapter 1

Summary: Agent Wildcard is a shrike of many talents both physical and supernatural, but no one seems to want them around for long. Agent Bokor Baron is a powerful master of mysticism, but his ego and temper drive everyone away. When these two are assigned as partners, will they become the most powerful paranormal pair that F.O.W.L. has ever seen? Or will this partnership be dead on arrival?

Notes: I have risen from the dead on the night of All Hallows Eve to bring you this spooky tell of dark magic, ghosts, and romance! This is the first story that I’ve had the honor of writing alongside Wildcard’s creator, @thefriendlyfour , and we both hope you enjoy the origin of how these two fiendish fowls met!

Another day, another partnership doomed to fail.

Wildcard hardly considered themselves to be a negative person, though with their string of luck, it was hard to be anything but pessimistic. Four partnerships- the shrike had been tossed around FOWL like a bomb as four separate groups and individual partners rejected them and had them reassigned somewhere else. At least three of the four had the courtesy to reassign them, instead of simply forgetting Wildcard existed at all.

Something about their random skill set of talents and lack of a real presence put people off. Sure, those things were great when it came to work, but no one they worked with would let them have a proper chance to be a FOWL agent. Best case they got to do the paperwork for everyone else.

Which is why they weren’t feeling particularly chipper about being assigned to a new partner today. Some sort of wildfire type of agent from what they heard. This was likely just FOWL’s way of trying to keep the other in place by assigning him a partner like Wildcard. What an exhausting career they had.

They stood outside a warehouse at night, waiting for their partner to arrive. Wildcard picked up some stones from the ground and without needing to think about it, threw each one to random areas around them, all perfectly ricocheting off of boxes, trash bins and lampposts to land in a tin can standing upright. An impressive feat, but nothing particularly interesting to Wildcard. Just a way to pass the time as they waited.

A slow, not-quite-sincere clapping broke the silence of the night. “Not bad, petite, not bad at all.” The voice came from a few feet off to their side, an oddity given that there had been no sound nor presence felt leading up to the on-looker’s arrival. Now that the stranger had made themself known, however, they dropped whatever shroud they’d been using to conceal themself and allowed the shrike to feel the eerie energy coming off of them in waves.

Without missing a beat, Wildcard threw the last stone they had in one direction so it would fly just slightly past the other’s head at a quick speed. Their eyes narrowed, pushing themselves from the wall they leaned on to properly look at him. “You took your time getting here.” They stated plainly, raising a brow. “Assuming you are who I think you are.”

The smirk on the hawk’s face radiated confidence as he towered over them. “That depends. If you’re thinking that I’m the best spirit-tamer that FOWL has to offer, then-” He took the oddly decorated hat from his head and made a show of letting it roll down his arm into his waiting fingertips as he winked at the smaller bird. “-you’d be right.” The hand now holding his hat crossed in front of his chest as he bowed. “Bokor Baron, at your service.” A flick of his fingers sent the cap back into its previous position atop his head. “But you, petite, may call me Henri, if you desire.”

Wildcard couldn't help but roll their eyes at the display, albeit with a faint blush dusting their white cheeks in the moonlight. "You think highly of yourself for someone High Command sought to punish, Baron." They kept a firm tone saying his name, turning away from him entirely. "You can call me Wildcard."

Bokor’s slightly-glowing red eyes blinked in surprise at the smaller bird’s reaction before a confused expression took hold of his features. This was a reaction he was clearly not used to and it caught him off guard for a moment before he quickly stepped back into his previous mask of suave confidence. “Well then, if we are going to be keeping things professional- at least, for the time being-” That part was certainly said with some sort of intent. “-then please call me Bokor, as it is my proper title. The ‘Baron’ is…..well, let us just say it’s something else and leave it at that.”

"...alright, Bokor. I won't ask for details." Wildcard looked at him with their arms crossed, walls up. There was no point in getting to know each other really, not when Wildcard knew they'd be tossed aside at the earliest convenience. "So? What's your deal? What types of assignments do you usually get and how do I fit into the equation now?"

Bokor’s expression immediately lit up at the opportunity to talk about himself, his chest puffed up with pride as he spoke. “Oho, so they decided to let you hear it from me directly, hmh? I cannot say I blame them- my skills and reputation cannot be summed up properly on paper.” One hand reached into the odd pouch tied to his hip, retrieving a translucent green glass bottle with a symbol emblazoned on the front- the same symbol on the pendant hanging from the hawk’s neck, actually. “You see, petite, I am tasked with cleansing any particularly troublesome or stubborn spirits that no one else can even HOPE to face from FOWL’s many bases and artifacts. I conquer forces of the dead that would cause most to faint from their mere presence.” He held the bottle closer for them to get a better look at its contents. “Tell me, do you see anything in here?”

At first glance, the bottle appeared to be empty. However, it radiated a dark energy that seemed far older than anything this world had to offer and, to the properly trained eye, faces could be seen passing by from time to time- distorted and tortured visages like countless spirits swirling through a vortex of eternal agony.

"That's quite a number of ghosts you have there. They don't sound so thrilled to be in a bottle like that either." In truth, Wildcard was quite ignorant to things like the dark arts Bokor practiced in, but Wildcard did possess some abilities to see and interact with the otherwise invisible beings. They just never bothered to wonder why they could. "So...ghostbusting then? That's a new one."

Bokor grinned, clearly more pleased with this reaction than the first one he got out of Wildcard. “Aha, so you DO possess the sight. That explains a few things.” The last part was said quietly, almost as an aside to himself, while putting the bottle away. “I must say, though, you are much younger and FAR easier on the eyes than the usual mediums they try to pair me with- most of them are practically spirits, themselves- how long have you practiced? What is your craft? I am eager to know ma p-” He stopped himself briefly, looking them over before apparently noticing something about them and correcting his earlier choice of title. “-mes petites.”

The shrike couldn't help but smile slightly, the corner of their beak rising before falling just as quickly. "I've always been able to see ghosts, ever since I was little. Don't know why though, it's not like I came from a family of mediums or anything. I don't make a fuss about it, and the only thing it's really any good for is being able to control ghosts of recently killed targets to get them to spill their secrets." Wildcard huffed a laugh. "At least that's what I would do if I ever got to do field work anyway."

Bokor’s eyes that practically glowed already seemed to light up just a bit more. “A puppeteer of the deceased, you say?” He looked Wildcard over with fascination clear in his gaze and a smile on his beak. “That is quite the talent, mes petites. Most would have to train far into their winter years to come CLOSE to mastering such a skill. You must possess an exceptionally strong spirit to have mastered it so effortlessly while still exuding such lovely and youthful vitality.” While the hawk’s previously flirtatious tone was still more than evident in his voice (or was that just his default when not talking about himself?), there was something almost...well, not quite sincere, but at the very least impressed mixed in this time.

The whole situation was quite foreign to Wildcard. They’d never explained their powers to someone and be met with positivity, let alone compliments. And then there was the way Bokor was looking right at them...it was chilling, and yet, made Wildcard’s cheeks heat up more. They shook their head, feeling the slightest bit overwhelmed by the man’s games.

“I’m not that young. I just know what I’m doing, simple as that.” They sighed quietly. “My name is accurate- I am a wildcard of random abilities like that. I may not be able to do everything, but there are some things I can do naturally. If you want me to do ghost hunts, then that’s what I’ll do. No need for all the unnecessary flattery...” Wildcard trailed off, the last point being for their own sake if anything else. They didn’t like the idea of being teased or looked down on by him.

“If I thought it was unnecessary, then I would not bother with it.” He didn’t seem put off by the smaller bird’s attitude or blatant dismissal of him in the slightest- on the contrary, he seemed to be enjoying it. “But, if you prefer, mes petites, then I will save the flattery until AFTER I have seen what you can do.”

Wildcard waved a hand casually, as if pushing away the comments. They clicked their tongue, thinking it over. “...could always demonstrate if you don’t believe me. This part of town, there’s probably a casualty a day with all the gang activity. First ghost I see, I’ll make them work for me, and you can decide from there on how you want me working with you.”

“I never said I didn’t believe you, petites. However-” Bokor tipped his hat to them with a flourish, still looking at the shrike with that mixture of amusement and fascination. “-I’d never turn down a good show, especially not one with such a stunning lead.”

“Shut it.” Wildcard hissed, their face going red once more from compliments they weren’t used to. “Let’s just...walk around a while, okay? Got nothing else to do, right? So...”

A low chuckle rumbled in the hawk’s chest as he did a sweeping gesture forward with his hand. “Lead the way and I will follow- it is your show, after all.”

The attention Wildcard was getting was making their chest feel funny, but they pushed past it as they led the way for them to walk through the city. To be honest, Wildcard wasn’t certain they’d find a body to use as an example, they just had a gut feeling to go by and a desire to keep moving. Anything to get conversation away from them.

“So- how many of your past partners are in that bottle of yours?” Wildcard asked simply, glancing up at the tall man. “No judgment. I’ve seen plenty of teams turn on each other in the past. FOWL isn’t exactly a buddy-buddy type of environment.”

Bokor followed them at a slow, relaxed pace, his stride being at least twice the size of their own. “Oh, I would say about ten of them are in there. I usually reserve it for the ones who manage to infuriate me.” His eyes narrowed briefly, his voice dropping to a low mumble in a momentary slip of his typical charming facade. “Though the worst one still walks free….for now..” As quickly as the slip occurred, it was covered up once more by an inquisitive look cast down at the shorter bird. “What about you, mes petites? Any unmarked graves from your own list?”

“Never been around long enough to really make any enemies if I’m honest.” They thought it over, flashes of other agents they worked with passing their mind. While they weren’t exactly happy with any of them, Wildcard supposed they didn’t wish them death either. “I think the only one I was particularly annoyed with ended up being killed by a SHUSH agent anyway. Aside from a kill I made during my training, that’s the only blood on my hands so far.”

“Such a short list.” Bokor’s remark held no judgment in it, from what they could tell. “Some time in the field may change that, though- especially if you stick with me.” Another low chuckle could be heard rumbling in the hawk’s chest as he grinned down at the other agent. “Death does seem to follow me wherever I go, in one form or another.”

“Quite a reassuring thing to tell someone who had just been assigned to you. Careful, Bokor- death can be dealt by many hands.” Wildcard gently threatened as a warning should anything happen. Though, a small voice at the back of their mind seemed reassured that there wouldn’t be any danger...Wildcard chose to ignore that voice for now.

Before they could say anything else on the matter, sounds of an argument could be heard in the distance and a man darted out from an alley in front of the agents in a panic. The frantic stranger looked around the near empty street they walked along and dove to hide behind a dumpster to hide from some rather pissed off goons that came out from the same alleyway. The whole situation screamed “opportunity”.

“Well, you wanted to know my abilities? Here’s one you saw earlier.” Wildcard kicked up a long forgotten beer can, ricocheting it against a wall and into their hand. They tossed it up and caught it before looking at Bokor. “I never miss. No matter where I throw something, it’ll always hit my target, provided it isn’t moving. If it is? Eh, the chances of hitting it drops to something like seventy five percent. But for now-”

Wildcard threw the can in front of them, kicking it sharply. A series of clatters alerted the angered goons, who stared as the can bounced between buildings and street lamps. Eventually, it landed straight on the head of the man trying to hide, resulting in a loud shriek of terror that alerted the gang of his presence. Wildcard felt no pity as they pointed and chased down the fleeing coward, taking out their weapons and aiming for his head.

Bokor seemed to share his new partner’s lack of pity for the plight of the soon-to-be-dead man; if anything, the grin on his face showed a sense of sick enjoyment from the spectacle. “Like an arrow sent by the loa of death himself.” He looked back down at the shrike with that same sadistically amused expression. “Looks like you’re already adding more blood to your hands, mes anges de la mort.”

“I have no idea what you mean. I’m not the one pulling the trigger.” Their smile turned truly sinister as they heard the final gunshot ring out and the telltale sound of a body hitting the floor. Wildcard tilted their head and cracked their knuckles as they turned towards the finished conflict. “Now usually a ghost shows up within a few moments...but I’m not feeling particularly patient tonight so-” They held a hand out in front of them, in the direction of the corpse. “Get up.”

With the stern command, Wildcard forcefully guided out the dead man’s spirit from the fresh body, unknowing to the goons checking to make sure they finished the job. Thinking it over for a moment, Wildcard glanced at Bokor. Well, he wanted a show, they thought and flicked their wrist one direction.

The spirit followed Wildcard’s direction and flew right into one of his killers’ bodies. The man spluttered, becoming consumed by a foreign spirit that took over his entire body. Wildcard kept their focus, using the multiple layers of puppetry to make this stooge attack at his fellow men. One by one, through confusion, punches, and firing a weapon, Wildcard used both a spirit and body to completely annihilate the entire group.By the time only one remained standing, Wildcard pulled the first ghost out, letting the traumatized body crumble and collapsed down to the ground amongst the corpses.

“See? No blood on my hands. Directly anyway.” They pulled the spirit they controlled over, the ghost clearly struggling to get out of Wildcard’s grasp. “This type of spirit any good to you? Or should I just let them go now?”

If Bokor had been intrigued before, it was nothing compared to the unbridled fascination and wonder clear in his eyes at the display of Wildcard’s abilities. Glowing red eyes seemed to gleam a bit brighter as he looked the shrike over from head to toe- as if he were truly assessing them now- and, by the time he was done, a smirk that showed both a sense of sadistic glee & something like genuine amusement had spread over his face. “Oh, I like you.” He didn’t leave the phantom puppeteer with much time to ponder any deeper meaning to those words before turning his attention to the struggling specter. “As for this one...I suppose it will do.” His hand reached back into the pouch at his hip and pulled out both the green bottle from earlier and a small vial of what appeared to be ashes.

Under his breath, the hawk started muttering what sounded like some sort of prayer or mantra, but it was too quiet to make out the words. Keeping the neck of the bottle gripped between two fingers so his hands were mostly free, Bokor removed the cork keeping the vial closed and poured the ashes out into his emptier hand. The pinky finger of his opposite hand traced the same symbol from both the bottle and his necklace into the small mound of ash, his eyes glowing a little brighter from the action.

All the while, a presence slowly began to make itself known as it manifested around the large man’s broad shoulders and back. It was hard to say what it was, as it lacked a coherent shape and almost looked like a red cloud of smoke rather than the usual solid and silhouetted appearances shared by most spirits, but something about it felt both sentient and dangerous. Whatever it was, it watched over Bokor’s ritual like a looming shadow as the ashes in his palm gained a similar energy to the entity. By the time he was finished with his prayers, the manifested being’s mass was even larger than Bokor’s own, creating a rather imposing image behind the man despite him not yet acknowledging its presence.

Wildcard would be lying to themselves if they said they weren’t frightened by the sight. They tried to not let it show on their face, but it was clear that their caution towards Bokor earlier was not without reason. Swallowing, they tried to keep their control on the spirit they had and was starting to struggle to keep it at bay. “A-Any day now…” Wildcard warned, a bead of sweat dripping down their temple.

Bokor gave no indication that he heard them. Whether it was because he was tuning them out or because the ritual stole his focus, it was hard to tell, but either way he seemed to reach the end of his prayer or mantra when the symbol on the ashes started to glow. Raising the hand holding the dark powder, he brought the ashes closer to his beak and suddenly blew on them. The short puff of breath was enough to send the particles into the air as a cloud that flew directly at the spirit before, surprisingly, sticking to it and coating it.

The ashes on the spirit all turned a deep, burning red like a hellish blaze that engulfed it from head to toe. With his hands now free, Bokor opened the green bottle and held it in the direction of the struggling specter.

Whatever the entity still floating behind Bokor was, it finally moved from behind him to extend part of itself forward and ensnare the ghost. The poor poltergeist was then dragged forward forcefully and shoved into the green bottle like a box being forced through a mail slot that was two sizes too small. It honestly looked painful, even for something that no longer had a corporeal form...then again, that may have been the point..

Within seconds, the mysterious mass had finished its work and added the spirit to the collective trapped within the glass confines. Once it was done, it began to dissipate just as slowly as it appeared. Before it was completely gone, however, it seemed to give off the impression that it was actually looking (as best as an incorporeal being with no discernable eyes could look, anyway) directly at Wildcard.

All the shrike could manage was a brief, sharp glare before exhaling a breath they didn’t realize they were holding as things went back to normal. Well. As normal as things could be with everything they had done.

“Glad to have been of service…” Wildcard breathed, wiping off the sweat from their forehead and trying to keep from toppling over. It had been a very long time since they’d done something like that, and admittedly, they were trying to show off. Exhaustion was a natural side effect.

After closing the green bottle and allowing what had been behind him to fully dissipate, the hawk’s red eyes blinked a few times to regain their focus and lost a good portion of their earlier glow, returning them to a level that could be easily mistaken for a trick of the light. Stuffing the now empty vial and the bottle back into his pouch, Bokor retrieved a small notebook with a pen skewered through the round binding (it seriously felt like that little bag was bigger on the inside than it should have been). Unhooking the pen and thumbing through several pages of what looked to be tally marks, he eventually found the one he was looking for somewhere near the middle and added yet another mark to the page to complete a set of five.

“One less to worry about later.” He muttered to himself before returning the pen and notebook to his pouch. Now done with his task, red eyes focused instead on the tired shrike. “You look tired, mes petites.” From the slightly more genuine tone of his voice, it seemed like he’d only just now taken notice of the other bird’s exhaustion, having apparently been blind to it until that moment.

“It’s late, and that sort of thing takes it out of me if I do too much. I know it’s only two thirty six AM but...” Wildcard stifled a yawn and glanced at their phone. Yup, exact time on the dot. “...I doubt I’ll be of much more help tonight. I’d be of more help to you after I’ve rested.”

Bokor looked the sleepy shrike over for a moment. He didn’t seem to be concerned quite yet, but he was at least doing his best to offer some form of assistance. “Do you have sleeping arrangements for the evening? If not, I know a few places to go.”

"I've got a motel room booked until I can get a FOWL issued apartment in order." They chose not to mention the very likely scenario of them living in that motel until Bokor decides to reassign them and they have to move out from St Canard to somewhere else in the world. Happened too many times before, Wildcard hadn't even applied for an apartment this time around. "It's a bit away from here but I'll be fine to walk it. They gave you my number right? Contact me when you've got a mission for me to help with."

Wildcard yawned again, finding it hard to stay focused. "You get the idea...I'll see you around, agent Bokor Baron." They said quietly before walking off in one direction.

“Until next time, mes petites chéries.” He watched them leave with a slightly more genuine smile on his face once they’d turned away. If nothing else, their earlier display had managed to endear the shrike to their new partner.

Next Chapter->

End Notes: A rocky but intriguing start for these two. What will the next day hold? Read on to find out! x3

#darkwing duck #dwd #fowl agent Bokor Baron #wildcard #oc #not my oc #and #my OC #bokard #thefriendlyfour #ghost and spirits #ghosts #spirits #la vie en rose

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mayhemandtrouble · 1 year

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Emotional Highs and Lows, Chapter 33 of Not Giving up

Full, completed story with detailed tags on A03

The twins were much fawned over that night and well into the morning. Rose called them little porcelain dolls, Leia held back tears at their names - Padme and Breha. Poe cradled them both with a surprising ease that spoke of experience with children, whispering excited promises to show them both the stars. Rey politely rolled her eyes and refrained from reminding Uncle Poe that both parents were accomplished pilots. Finn lacked that restraint, playfully snapping at Poe. Chewbacca struggled not to howl in triumph, stroking the chubby cheeks of the next generation of Solos.

Amidst the joy of found family, Ben slipped outside. The soft laughter and warmth felt too bright for his tired eyes so he leaned against a stone railing and let the cool night air refresh his soul. He ought to be next to Rey, smoothing her hair and making sure she didn’t overextend herself. Mother and Chewie would call out if anything changed though and he needed to just breathe for a moment.

“What the hell are you doing out here?”

The traitor’s voice. The last one Ben had expected to come after him and a wry smirk twisted his full lips. He would have put credits on it being Poe or Rose first. Very well then.

“I’m not the best with people, as you might guess.” Snide tones, the mask was sliding back into place, hiding his flaws and insecurities by turning them into badges of honor. Rey would be annoyed but she wasn’t here at the moment.

“You better figure it out real quick then. She went through hell today - you’re supposed to be there! How do you know she’s ok-”

“Because I’m her dyad.” Ben hissed, cutting the other man off, revealing the temper he’d worked so hard to conceal during the entire visit. “Do you think a few feet and some walls would keep me from knowing her energy, her emotions?”

Ben had to admire Finn’s straight back, the refusal to step back and the righteous anger that resonated off the man. Poe’s outbursts came from anger, Finn’s from protective affection. Turning from Finn, he braced himself on the stone railing.

“... you can feel her, from here?”

“Child’s play. I felt her arrival when she touched down on the Supremacy across the ship.” Ben smirked a little, looking down into the dark waters of the lake at night. Finn had become Force sensitive at some point, the whens and wheres made no difference to Ben. If Rey wanted to teach the man, she could. Whenever Finn got around to admitting it to anyone - Ben felt the secret burning just below the surface of the man’s skin. Ben took a slow, deep breath and made a quiet admission as Finn stepped up beside Ben. “I felt her fading during the labor, like she was slipping through my hands. The Dark side was pulling at us both.”

“Could you have helped her, using the Force?” Finn broke the silence after a long moment, his voice quiet.

“I could have taken life from someone else and given it to her.” Ben spoke as though he were discussing the best way to prepare bantha steaks, and it felt surreal even to him. If only for the context of the discussion. The horror and shock on Finn’s face was perversely entertaining, and Ben continued. “It’s written of in old texts like a blood transfusion, then it becomes a weapon. A way to kill and heal at the same time.”

Finn cussed under his breath, looking down at the water. He didn’t know what was more disturbing, the concept that Ben could do that or that Rey would be tempted by it. If Ben was even telling the truth.

“So you’re avoiding her because of that?” Not for the first time, Finn tried to wrap his head about the powers the Force bestowed, trying to picture himself with even a fraction of those abilities.

“It’s because it’s my fault she was in the position to be tempted in the first place.”

Finn turned his head to stare at Ben in the leftover light that filtered out through the windows of Varykino. Turning over Ben’s statement until he parsed the meaning. Then cussed again, Finn turning his back against the stone railing with his arms folded across his chest.

“Do not put me in a position where I have to defend you.” Finn nearly growled at the uncomfortableness of it all. What he would like to do was to push the damn ass into the lake and pray Leia never taught him to swim. “Look, Rey made a very clear point of how she was entirely a willing participant so I know more about your weird Force sex life than I ever wanted to.”

“She couldn’t have reasonably-”

“Stop.” Finn grabbed Ben’s shoulder, pulling the other man to face him. “Nobody knows what to expect when it comes to this Force bullshit. And you…. You don’t deserve her but this one thing isn’t your fault.”

“You’re saying that because Rey’d be furious with you for not saying something.” Dark humor flashed in Ben’s eyes. Being comforted by Finn was a circumstance neither could have predicted.

“Doesn’t make it untrue.”

Ben snorted a quiet laugh, interlacing his fingers behind his head. The traitor was honest, even when he oughtn’t be. Grudgingly, he was coming to like the former trooper though he couldn’t see himself being friendly with anyone - let alone Rey’s Resistance friends.

“You win. Breha needs something anyway.”

As the two returned, Ben was only a few beats ahold of his daughter’s cry. Plenty of time to beat Rey from trying to rise. He’d prefer to chase everyone out and let her rest in quiet, but she was so pleased to be making memories with them.

“Ben Solo, have you entirely forgotten how to change a baby?” Leia didn’t hide her amusement, looking on in amusement as her son’s large hands fumbled with the adhesive tabs and bits of cloth.

“Been awhile since I was a baby-sitter.” Ben grimaced, suddenly reconsidering his stance on taking on all the changing and such for the first few days. He was positive that none of the children he’d looked after as a young teen had produced anything quite so foul either.

“There’s a diagram on the side of the box,” Poe contributed all too helpfully. Ben pondered murder. The blood would be bad for the antique rugs though, and Mother would never shut up about the stains.

“You’re doing wonderfully.” Rey piped from the comfortable settee, where she was bundled up with blankets and pillows. Her voice was warm, if exhausted. She didn’t want to be in the bed, and Rey had quickly discovered that nobody was going to tell Ben Solo’s wife where she had to be when she’d just given him twins. Any attempts to suggest she moved ahead of her own schedule had been met with a silent scowl from her large husband.

Rose had tried but Ben had simply carried Rey wherever his Princess wanted to go, refusing to let her feet touch the floor. Chewie brought along the needed supplies for the twins and she was touched by their joint willingness to cater to her whims. Especially when she could offer no better reason than “the bed is too big”.

Ben flashed her a bright, overly confident grin at the praise and Rey felt her heart melting. He was so painfully sweet, and he didn’t give himself remotely enough credit. As if she needed extra reasons to cement her decision to stay at his side, there he was - faking his way through changing a nappy.

Rey snuggled back into her nest of pillows, savoring the harmony of voices around her. Ben’s rumbling tenor mixing with Leia’s neatly clipped tones, Poe’s rough banter sweetened by Rose’s gentle determination. A private smile curled over Rey’s face as she remembered that fateful night on the Falcon, when she was so certain she would never see Ben again. Rey had been surrounded by her family that night, and it was the first time she’d realized that she had a family. Now Ben was here, a part of it and with their children.

Her bliss was utterly unmatched.

Those first days, neither Rey or Ben - or anyone else at Varykino - kept much of a regular sleeping schedule. Ben found himself reluctantly appreciative of Rey’s friends as they provided a few much needed breaks for power naps. Not that anyone could comment on the devotion of either parents, much as certain people would have liked to find fault in the Father.

A cool morning breeze, chilled from blowing through the mist across the lake, helped awaken Rey after a night with little rest. Despite their plethora of baby-sitters, she found it difficult to sleep. The twins were so little, their cries were so faint - what if she slept through them needing her?

There was nothing else at the Retreat that demanded Rey’s attention and yet she felt as though there wasn’t enough of herself to give. Rose assured her that Rey was doing everything wonderfully, and Ben worried that Rey was pushing herself too hard. Still.

“Sssh, Daddy’s sleeping.” Rey cooed, hating herself for how long it took her to soothe Padme. Breha was nestled safely into her lap, swaddled in soft cloth and sleeping with a scrunched face, while Rey gently rocked her sister. Ben soothed them so much faster, Padme looked like she trying to smile with Leia held her, Poe held them more expertly-

“Neither of you have any confidence, you know that?” Annakin appeared, crouched before his daughter-in-law with a warm smile. A blue thumb caressing Breha’s chubby cheek as he admired the next generation.

“Mucking about in my head is exceedingly rude.” She snapped tartly, then took a deep breath as Padme tried her best to howl. Rey closed her green eyes and lightly pressed her lips to the little one’s forehead. Of course she was no good at this, Rey could barely remember her own mother and she’d been too busy scrambling to survive to learn infant care. The girls would have better off with anyone else as their mother…

“Can’t say it registers on my naughty list, all things considered.” Annakin snorted, remaining crouched in front of Rey and the infants. “You’re being excessively hard on yourself, you know.”

“What would you know, you didn’t even see your kids till they were grown.” Rey scrunched her own face at the Force ghost, both grateful to hear it and resentful of the unsolicited feedback. Well, if she was ever allowed to be contradictory, it was right now.

“I’d say it makes an expert on what not to do.” He rose with a dark chuckle, “They don’t need you to be perfect, they just need you to be here.”

“I don’t recall asking Sith Lords for parenting advice.” Rey sighed heavily, but wrapped Padme closer into her arms. Getting the infant close to her own heartbeat and inhaling the sweet scent of her baby. When she spoke again, it was in a much softer tone. “I just want them to have everything I didn’t.”

Annakin watched, the smile never fading from his lips, as Rey slowly rubbed the back of the swaddled infant - named for his own wife. She would have been so proud to stand here, knowing their grandson married in the same place they did. Not for the first time, he mused about how much more peaceful his family’s life would have been if he had simply abandoned the Order to have a quieter life.

“They are going to have everything they need and so much more. You and Ben are changing the course of the Skywalker legacy.”

The words were heavy with affection, and accompanied by a paternal ruffling of her own brown hair. But when Rey looked up, Ben’s grandfather was nowhere to be seen. Sighing, she looked down at Padme, who was finally soothing.

“We’ve certainly got a funny family, don’t we?” Looking down to Padme’s unfocused, brown eyes. In answer, the baby girl only waved her arms and gurgled. Rey hated to admit it, but she felt soothed for the visit. “It is nice to have them though, isn’t it.”

Full, completed story with detailed tags on A03

#reylo #reylo fanfic #reylo smut #fluff and angst and smut #angst with a happy ending #unplanned pregnancy #reunite the dyad #redeemed ben solo #fluff and smut #star wars fanfic

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l-1-z-a · 1 year

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Where 2012, Will Wright, "Gaming Reality" [Apr 25, 2012]

Our conception of modern interactive games has typically been as fantasy escapism. These are worlds we go into to get a break from our normal, everyday lives. In these microcosms we can be a wizard, a space marine or rule a simulated kingdom. But what if games took a different perspective? What if games were designed to engage you more deeply in your personal reality rather than just distracted you from it?

We're at a point now where our ubiquitous technology can build an amazing situational awareness of each of us, if we let it. From that awareness we open the possibility of a new lens on our world, a whole new sense in a way. I'd like to talk about what going down this path might look like from my point of view.

Will Wright

Stupid Fun Club

Will Wright, widely acknowledged for creating the simulation video game genre, is the creator of SimCityTM and The Sims, and unveiled the highly anticipated SporeTM in September 2008. The Sims franchise has now sold over 100 Million units around the world. A true gaming industry legend as a result of his pioneering contributions to video games, Wright has been the recipient of several prestigious awards and honors. Rolling Stone named Will Wright "One of the 100 People who are Changing America," in March 2009, placing him among artists, leaders, scientists, and policymakers who are "fighting every day to show us what is possible." In 2008, Will received the first-ever Gamer God Award at the Spike Video Game Awards as a testament to his revolutionary work. In 2007, the British Academy of Film and Television Arts recognized an individual in the Video Game Industry for the first time when it named Wright a fellow. He also received the Producers Guild of America Vanguard Award that same year.

youtube

Subtitles of the presentation:

Hi everybody. So, basically I have been making games for a number of years, a lot of games I work on tend to be recreations of some form of reality. Sim City was one the very first ones. I love games, because games really, actually collapse all these different design fields into one thing.

I think it is probably the most interesting design object there is. You know, you get aspects of environmental design, aesthetics, functional, psychological, story telling, all these really are aspects of interactive design and game design, the stuff that we're kind of doing here. Now in games, there is kind of this presumption that reality sucks and we want to get away from it, right?

So a lot of games are really about escapism, how do we put you into this fantastical environment that you can't experience in real life. And there's also been this presumption in games, that really, the more we can draw the user into this kind of counterfeit world, capture all their attention, the more immersive that game is, the better.

And so, when people would describe the ultimate game, it was like, "Oh, I'm totally immersed in this thing and I'm living in some alternate reality." Star Trek actually had this vision of the holodeck, this world that you would go into when you can recreate any reality, while you're in the holodeck, but it wasn't real.

And games also, they kind of take reality in an interesting way. They take it and they remove details from it. They abstract it. This is the same way a map does. As you remove detail from a map, it actually gets more value to you, depending on if the map matches your purpose or not. The game's pretty much like a caricature reality in an interactive sense.

Now, different games, take the City for instance, can give you very different views of a city , whether it's something like Civilization or Grand Theft Auto. They're all at different levels, but each one of these represents a very particular abstraction of the concept of a city.

Not only that, but these become like these little worlds for your imagination to roam around in. Basically, story-telling occurs by the player doing things in these worlds. So, in some sense I think storytelling and gaming are kind of opposite sides of the same coin. Storytelling is somebody else kind of bringing you through an experience.

Games are an open world in which you go in and do whatever you want to do. Robert Louis Stevenson, when he wrote "Treasure Island," the first thing he did is he drew this map of a really cool island. And he sat there and stared at this map for about a week, just kind of imagining all the adventures that could occur on this map.

And so really this is a tool for his imagination. And from that came the story of Treasure Island that he wrote afterwards.

Now in gaming there's been this explosion of platforms.

You know, we started out with kinda consoles and PC's, then moving the portable devices. Now we're getting this huge kind of plethora of platforms out there, a lot of them mobile and social.

Now we talk about platforms. As a game designer, I think not just in terms of the technological platform, the hardware that we're running on, but there are also things like a cultural platform, you know, where is somebody playing this game, what culture they're raised in, what's the psychology of that person?

We have to kind of imagine that each one of these is a different form of platform that we're designing these experiences for. They comes in wide varieties, each one of these. Demographically, there might be something for younger kids, for women, for young boys. You can take any one slice out of this.

You can say for instance, PCs in Germany and little girls and say okay that is the intersection of a particular platform set, you know, which would seem like a very small set. If you actually go to Germany and look at the PC stores and see what they have for small girls, it turns out it is all about horses, lots and lots and lots of horse games.

These are all in the market. So even a very small intersection of that platform, can be very, very deeply mined. Now some of the really popular forms of entertainment that we see, really try to cast a wide net across all these groups, if you really are trying to capture everything. And occasionally somebody does that successfully.

And it's kinda interesting when you look at Avatar after it was released. Everybody thought it was about them, the native people up in Canada or the people in China, they all thought it was about, displacing these indigenous species or tribes. But if you do entertainment very well, people can kind of read their own kind of culture into it, their own demographic, their own back story.

But again, games really up to now have been primarily about escapism. How do we get away from reality? Star Trek, you know, while it have the concept of the holodeck, also had other kind of cool tools and technologies, the phasers, the communicators. But really my favorite device in Star Trek was always the tricorder.

You could land on the surface of a planet and you could scan, they could scan it for life forms or anything. It was this amazing kind of tool of awareness that they could use and I remember having a model of one of these as a kid. And now it turns out that I have one of these in my pocket for the most part.

When I think about what I can do with my iPhone, it's just extraordinary and not only that but everyone else has one as well. I mean, we are living in a world now where we carry this technology in our pockets that as a designer just astounds me. I can't even really comprehend what we could do with this technology.

Now when computers first came out, they were pretty lame. I actually started designing computer games way back when we were down at kind of the bit level writing assembly code and stuff like that. And, you know, it was all about the limitations of the machine. We were always hitting the limitations of the hardware, technology.

And as a designer nowadays, I don't feel like there's any meaningful limitation that I have. The amount of technology that used to be applied to NORAD, tracking incoming missiles, is basically now in my pocket, helping me find frappuccinos. Actually quite a bit more technology than NORAD had back then.

Now when we look at the convergence of these things, basically free data storage, amazing communication networks and just pretty much extraordinary processing in these little devices, I think really the thing that interests me the most, is the fact that these sets of technologies can drive us toward developing a very deep awareness of our personal state.

Understanding us. Parsing our own situation and then kind of orienting the entertainment activities toward that. So whereas gaming has primarily up to this point been about simulating parts of reality, now I think it's moving toward the idea that maybe we can start parsing actual reality, and incorporating that into our play experiences.

So starting with the perceptual side of this, the way you see things, can really influence the way you think about things. These are tilt shift images. These are actually photographs, that you've probably seen before, this style. But when you look at it, it basically makes reality look like a toy.

And just your initial thought, when I look at these pictures, I want to reach in and touch these things and play with them. So just changing my perception of the reality puts me in a different mindset about what I can do, the verbs that I can apply to that reality. And that's something that, we have the opportunity to do right now, whether we're using headsets of just holding up our cell phone.

But the idea that we can blend, these realities between what we are doing kind of on the virtual side and the real side, opens a lot of interesting possibilities. We'd kind of thought that in the future there would be these super-intelligent robots. They might be nice. They might be mean.

But it was all about artificial intelligence. But what we're finding, really, is the most powerful technologies of blending of the two. It's how do we take, you know, the best aspects of human intelligence, and mesh it with the power that we get from our technology and the blending of those two things is really what makes Google work. It's really mining and distilling human intelligence and then redistributing it.

There's no super AI over at Google figuring out how to write the search results. But once we have that, once we're able to kind of mesh these things with our own reality, we'll be able to track things in different ways. We'll see the world differently and now there's some issues with the amount of data that we can be getting.

We are already awash in data, right? And this obviously can be brought to extraordinary degrees of irritation. But on the other hand, we're very comfortable now looking to our television screens and seeing these blended realities in front of us. We're even seeing things taken from games. This is actually a racing game and this is actually a real race on television where the language of interactivity, the language of these virtual worlds, is starting to be used to parse reality and help us understand it in a more clear way.

Now within our brain and our intelligence, we have a number of different kind of ways of thinking about the world, different kind of subsystems of our intelligence. Each one of these, you know, is really an aspect of the way we think and the way we see the world. As organisms we basically have this fundamental problem, is that the world's out there, we're back here, we interact with this thing and we have to survive in the world.

What happens is we take data in through our senses, process it in our brain, decide what to do now. In some sense, we're holding these elaborate models of the world in our brain that we're running, we're simulating the world, and choosing our actions based upon that simulation. We have a fundamental issue here, which is that we have this limited bubble of experience.

You know, we can only have so many experiences in our lifetime that we have to build these models from and we're abstracting from that data. We've found through evolution actually, two ways to get more data to build more elaborate models of the world. One is to have toy experiences a little counterfeit experiences.

The other one is to learn from the experience of others. When somebody tells you a story, you can actually learn from that story, incorporate it into your model of the world to make your model more accurate based upon that data that you got from somebody else. So over time, we have come to call one of these things play and the other one storytelling.

These are both fundamentally educational technologies, that allow us to build more elaborate models of the world around us by supplanting our limited experience with other experiences. Now as we start moving from the virtual to the real, especially in terms of entertainment, it opens really cool possibilities.

I had kind of an epiphany about a year ago, I was in Burbank and I was an hour early for a meeting and I was standing on a street corner kinda bored, didn't know what to do, and I looked down the street and I saw this old like Shoney's Big Boy sign and I thought, oh that's cool and I walked down there just for the hell of it.

And I walked down there and there was this parking lot at the Shoney's, full of really cool old cars and old guys sitting out on lawnchairs and stuff, and it turned out that they would meet there last friday of every month and they were just car nuts and I had a great time. I love cars and so I spent the next hour talking to these guys about their cars and later it kind of occurred to me that you know this is a situation that was near me that really matched my interest that I was just unaware of.

It just kind of happenstance that I just happened to walk down there and meet these guys. But I was imagining that really when I think about my life I am probably surrounded with possibilities all the time like that, that I am just unware of. And that is something if there was a system that we could imagine that understood me enough and the world around me enough.

It could open these possibilities to me. You know, really, the point of it being, can we make games that get me more engaged in reality, rather than just distract me from it? So I kind of started thinking down that path. Really it's about situational awareness. I think that we all have a very limited set, awareness of the things around us, opportunities things we might do, experiences we might have.

So really we have the world state, in many dimensions and my personal state. And could a system basically open and expose these possibilities to me over time. So I started thinking about the idea of proximity. Typically we think about proximity in terms of space, if there's something near me, there's value in me knowing about it, good or bad.

If it's far away, it's of less value. But there are other types of proximity. There's, temporal proximity. How close is to me in time. Social proximity. You know, is this somebody I know, a friend of a friend, etc. or a stranger? Conceptual proximity. Is this something that matches my interest, something I want to do.

So each one of these ones, you can probably think of fifty dimensions like this, that all involve proximity to me, across this kind of wide space. As they get closer to me, there is a value gradient. Across each one of these dimensions, the closer it is to me the more value it has to me. In particular If we look at like the spatial dimension. We live in these spaces that are very specialized and we move through these every day, whether it's in a city or out in the country or wherever. They're specialized in terms of what we do in them, how we spend our time, there is actually a crossover between kind of our time specialization and the actual space. What's interesting with specialization is it is driven by networks in general, and this is true of almost any complex system, whether you're talking about a city, or a microorganism, or anything, what happens is that once there's a communication system opened to build networks.

In the case of us, our bodies, it was the neuron, the neural cell, basically allowed multi-cellular organisms to form. it allowed our bodies to specialize all these different organs. Roads, of course, allowed large cities to grow and then to specialize their areas and districts. And of course, computer networks allowed specialization of, kind of, conceptual space and interests that we go to on the web.

Time, we specialize in a similar way. We kind of segment our time. We are familiar with the idea of having calendars and having daily routines where we, kind of, do the same thing in these certain time slots. Sometimes we even map these, you know, time specializations to spatial. This is the famous Minard graph of Napoleon's march into Russia.

Social, you know, we basically have this idea of social specialization, social groups. When we see somebody, we put them into a category. It's a friend, family, acquaintance, etc. Some areas have very deep, very elaborate specialization. High school and middle school are one of the prime examples, but in our heads we have this map, of what group do I belong to?

Why do I belong to it? Do I want to move to a different group? So, this is another gradient that we kind of move within a social space. And the conceptual, that gets very wide. So many different things that we can be kinda be interested in, want to pursue, want to work in, etc. One of the things I used to do, actually a lot in terms of mapping residual space before the internet, is I would go to newsstands and I would look at all the weird magazines.

And each one of these magazines represented some kind of small group of people that were into that thing. And it was amazing the kind of magazines you find. These are actually all real magazines, by the way. But, it was interesting to me that there was enough people that were interested in that particular slice, conceptual slice to actually support a magazine. Now of course, when the Usenet came around, you know, kind of pre-Interent, it exploded.

You know, now there was really no threshold. You could have a group of ten people. And so it became a very fractal kind of affair in terms of how these groups would nest themselves. Now everybody in some sense triangulates themselves, against kind of where they live, where they work, things that they're into, brands that they buy.

In some sense these become almost communities, especially nowadays. You're able to meet people without regard to where they live. And basically you can kind of become a member of all these internet communities. They are like these kind of hive minds that we are all simultaneously a member of several of these.

We basically act as a neuron in all these brains. And these things are always competing for us. You know, it's almost like Frat Rush where they're saying, "Come join us! Come join us!" And they're trying to prove their value to us. There was this kind of concept in urban planning, for a long long time, classic economics, that people were competing for land, and that was really what drove land values, and specialization, and the structure of cities.

At some point they reversed it, and they kind of came up with the idea of human ecology, which is, what if instead of people competing for the land, we think of it as the land competing for people. And you think about home owners' associations, neighborhoods, whatever, basically trying to pull in the right people so that they kind of up the values.

So really it is land competing for the people. The internet phenomena, the communities we see on the net, are very much like that. It is very Darwinian but they're basically pulling in mind share. They're trying to get mimetic processing power so that people come in and participate in these communities.

But they are very much like hive minds, the way they behave, the way they think and they're nested. You can imagine a movie website. Basically within that movie website there will be all these kind of subcategories. But within any subcategory there will be sub-subcategories and it goes down and down and these things converse.

These kinds of hive minds converse at every different level. They might have a discussion as to where is a particular television show? Is it fantasy or sci-fi or who would win in a battle between a Borg death cube and an Imperial star destroyer These are the kind of things that these hives talk about.

They have arguments about these things. There's a very interesting fractal nested behavior. Also, these communities are voracious in terms of the amount of content that they can send and as entertainers designing games, TV shows, whatever, we have to understand that we need to, kind of, turn it around so they're actually creating a lot of the content and they have the opportunity and the tools.

They can create tremendous amounts of content. And so, that's one of the things that we have really lean into on the game side. At the same time, unlike real cities, these are almost like giant squatter cities, where overnight a million people can show up if you have a successful community, but you know, just as easily overnight, they all have jet packs and they can disappear and go somewhere else.

So these things are very, very fluid and transient relative to real cities As we look at real cities, as we start moving entertainment into space, it's kind of interesting. Look at the structure of cities, the spaces we live in right now, as I mentioned Before the kind of prevailing theory used to be, that the closer you were to the center of the city, the higher the rent was, because it was worth more.

In actually different forms of land use, commercial, industrial, and residential, would value that land at differing slopes. Therefore, commercial retail would typically value the center of a city more highly so they would pay the most, therefore your city centers are mostly commercial districts, residential, industrial etc.

So there have been these kind of classic economic theories about the way cities are structured more recently in last thirty For forty years, urban geographers and urban planners have looked more at perceptual interpretations. How do people think about the spaces that they live in? Kevin Lynch was one of the first people to really go down this path.

He would have people draw pictures of where they lived. The cities, neighborhoods, etc, they would try to draw them to scale. But they would be just do hand drawn things. And he would actually start collecting lots and lots of these maps and abtracting them up. And he found that these people were distorting in interesting ways.

He found that there were five central things that people would think about the spaces that they move through. Paths, basically the conduits, the roads, streets, sidewalks. The edges, where the city really kind of changed from one character to another. Districts, they really had some very identifiable kind of identity to them.

Nodes where paths would typically connect, intersect, where choices would be made and landmarks. And they would actually build their image of the city against these five things. And that was the way they thought about cities. There's been a lot more work, kind of down this path where people have done maps. This is kind of an interesting smell-texture-sound map that somebody did, walking around an area, I think, in Washington.

And basically this is really more how we experience the environments that we move through. And this is the type of thing that I think that we really want to start thinking about how we build more maps of. There's another project a guy named Christian Nold did this thing where he had people wearing biometric devices, basically to measure heart beat, anxiety level, etc., and had them move through the city.

You see this big spike here actually a very busy intersection. He was basically trying to build a map of the emotional response that people had to this environment. He collected a very large data set and actually printed out maps of certain areas in England. using this. This is the kind of data we can collect.

The other side of this is really the user, the people that we're dealing with, especially in terms of entertainment. What I am really interested in is they way people think, what they are interested in, what makes them tick. When you look at the amount of activity that somebody spends on their device, their cellphone, whatever.

We can actually distill a lot of stuff from that. We have done that a lot of that in games. We can understand the users move, what they want to do, how they are feeling at the time. In online games we can actually kind of look at these graphs and figure out what kind of person it is that's playing the game.

But really I think that in the future, the direction I'm heading towards and I'm very interested in, is how do we distill a model of the user. How do we perceive exactly who this person is and build a very unique experience between that person and the environment they live in. And I think, basically the mobile technology that we have now has removed most of the barriers to this and now it's more about kind of digging into teaching our computers to understand our players.

And that's it. Thank you.

#Will Wright #where #where 2012 #Youtube

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spainkitty · 2 years

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How Much Symbolic and How Much Real?

Part 1 of 5

Tags: Arranged Marriage AU, also 'what if Arlathan never fell and the Evanuris were defeated' AU, Cullavellan, slow(ish) burn, mentions of past (like really really past) Sola vellan, basic DA fantasy setting with a lore-twist

There was something amazing about it. A whole world had sprung up while she had slept.

So many nations and races and peoples. So many stories and songs and legends. There were cities that could compare with her home, perhaps not in magic or depth, but in sheer scope and ingenuity. There had been heroes come and gone, wars fought and won. So many that it dizzied the mind trying to keep them all in order.

And something even more amazing was how little her own world had changed despite everything.

Arlathan was home. It was beauty and light and everything she'd ever loved about her People showcased in one place. Spirits taught in grand halls and Elvhen walked boulevards made of magic and crystal. With the Evanuris long defeated and the end of slavery an "embarrassing blight" safely millennia in the past, Arlathan was even more glorious than her earliest years of existence.

But Lanil Surana strode the paths and corridors and parks like one caged. Whether on the outskirts of the Arlathan Forest where her clan resided or deep in the heart of Arlathan itself, Lanil felt the same.

Desperately and absolutely bored.

She snorted quietly to herself. She knew exactly what that sounded like. Like a whining child not past their hundredth year. Bored. Bored. What would others say if they heard that?

You're a mage and warrior, Surana. Surely you can think of something interesting to do.

Bored? When the Fade is at your fingertips, when magic and life has no bounds?

Do you want another rebellion, Surana? Do you miss the glory of fighting at the Fen'Harel's side?

Lanil rolled her eyes and barely kept a snarl from her face. It always came back to Solas in the end, didn't it?

"Lane!"

She stopped mid-stride with a slight smile on her face and an uptick in her mood. Only one voice was so young and bright. She turned to see the young, dark-haired Elvhen running through the shimmering corridor of the Grand Hall.

Once, this had been called the Way of Elgar'nan. There had been a lot more ostentatious gold around, too. She liked the look of it now, with its living decorations of trees and flowers and dainty halla running riot and beautiful among the glassy white stone and gleaming blue Veilfire. The Elvhen woman running towards her matched this new look much better; her bare feet all but silent, her clothing of green and brown and black melding with her surroundings.

"Merrill. Or should I say First Alerion?" Lanil said, bowing with a flourish as her friend approached.

Merrill's fair skin flushed cherry-red as she laughed. The twining and complex branches of Mythal's vallaslin on Merrill's face was new, but not shocking. Many Elvhen continued to honor Mythal after her betrayal. Especially mages. It probably helped there was no actual slave binding in the action of it with Mythal long dead; the spark that lit the rebellion.

There had been talk at one point of creating a Fen'Harel vallaslin. Lanil still grinned when she remembered Solas' utter fury and disgust. It had shaken all of Arlathan's beautiful crystal towers.

"Just Merrill, don't be a twit," Merrill retorted, elbowing Lanil's ribs.

"Twit? Sounds like somebody's been in Kirkwall recently," Lanil noted with eyebrows rising, careful to keep her voice low. Merrill smiled happily.

"I have! I tried to invite you, but Keeper Lavellan said you were on one of your 'wanderings'," Merrill said. Her smile, usually brighter than sunshine, dimmed. Ah. Concern. From someone who was actually a youth. "You've been wandering the Fade a lot recently. You're not... you're going to leave again?"

"Not anytime soon," Lanil said, though she wasn't sure how honest she was being. "Maybe whatever the Council has called us for will be interesting enough to keep me awake for another century or two."

"Don't joke. We've barely started becoming friends. I never would've been brave enough to--"

"Not here, Merrill."

"Oh. Right."

Merrill glanced around warily and obviously. Lanil wasn't exactly subtle herself, but Merrill was a stampeding herd of gurgut in comparison.

"So you don't know what the Council wants?" Merrill asked as they continued onward. Owls were perched on the trees, their wide knowing eyes glinting with blue fire as they watched the two Elvhen. The boulevard branched in several directions and Lanil led Merril to the widest branch that twined on and on in a lazy spiral upward.

"No. Neither did my Keeper. She would've told me."

"If even the infamous Stormrider doesn't know, perhaps I should become concerned?" a voice remarked, dry and hoarse. And instantly familiar to Lanil.

"Tabris."

A figure somehow appeared in front of them as if from shadow, although this section of the Upper Walkway was much too bright for a sliver of shadow to exist. Like Lanil, her skin was dark tan, but there were no other similarities (that other Elvhen didn't also have). Her nose was strong and hawk-like, her eyes like pitch and slanted at the corners, her hair thick and straight and as black as her eyes and cut at chin-length. A scar cut all along leftside jawline, as if someone had tried to slice her throat and barely missed. Which was exactly what had happened; Lanil had been there to see it happen and helped heal it. Long, deadly daggers were sheathed at each hip, but there were definitely more daggers hidden out of sight. Despite her suspicious glare and stone-like expression, she and Lanil clasped hands warmly, tightly.

It only takes one time for someone to rescue your life to consider them a friend, in Lanil's opinion. And they'd saved each other countless times throughout the many horrific years of the rebellion.

"Mahariel was also summoned. She went on ahead," Danae Tabris said as their hands released.

"Mahariel? The Rynira Mahariel? The one who--" Merrill exclaimed breathlessly. She broke off. All three of them frowned at the same time, gazes catching.

"That's four of the youngest Elvhen currently alive, and only women," Lanil stated the obvious out loud.

"You think... that's on purpose?" Merrill asked, voice a little squeaky.

"Nothing else connects the four of us. Two mages, but also a dagger-wielder and an archer? Mahariel and I fought in the rebellion, but you and Danae weren't born yet. We both have sworn to Mythal, but Danae and Mahariel never retook vallaslin."

Danae snorted and barely kept from spitting in distaste. "I can't believe you kept yours," she muttered.

"I was a sworn initiate of the Well--" Lanil started hotly.

"Yeah, yeah." Danae rolled her eyes and cut the air with her hand sharply. "The Council is known for patience and all, but I want to suck out the venom and get it over with. Let's move on."

Without waiting, Danae turned on her heel. Merrill and Lanil followed quickly, the younger Elvhen sidling closer to Lanil.

"You don't think they know about Kirkwall, do you?" she whispered to Lanil.

Lanil hesitated, worry and its usual accompaniment of anger wormed its way into her head. She didn't need permission to do whatever she damn well pleased. After a moment of stewing, Lanil shook her head.

"Tabris wouldn't be caught dead sneaking out to play with the quicklings. I don't think Mahariel is fond of anything outside her clan, either. So that can't be the reason why we've been summoned."

Merrill pressed a hand to her chest and let out a relieved sigh. The rest of the walk was in silence, which scratched at Lanil's vaneer of calm. She wasn't good at silence. Or waiting. Or wondering.

Stepping in the huge, circular Assembly Hall and seeing every single Eldest in attendance shattered her calm more. Even honored Spirits of Command and Justice and Law hovered among the Elvhen. Was that a Spirit of Wisdom, too? Yes, in fact she knew that Spirit personally, the distinctly feminine-presenting Spirit was one of Solas' dearest friends. The four young Elvhen that had been summoned walked side by side into the middle of the room. Most of the gathered stood or sat along the benches in front of them and rising above their heads, although some were arrayed on either side or behind their backs.

"I'm sure you four have noticed the commonality among you already," stated one of the Eldest with an infuriating serenity and slowness. Halleon had been an Elder during the Evanuris' reign, and it made Lanil want to snap her fingers in his face every time they spoke. "Today we ask you to consider, with all the due weight and severity that it entails, a proposal from the quickling kingdom of Ferelden."

The four woman glanced at each other in confusion. But Halleon did not continue, just steepled his long, elegant fingers and examined them closely.

"Well? What proposal?" Lanil demanded, hands on her hips. Don't snap your fingers at him. Don't snap your fingers at him.

"A proposal of marriage, little one," said Rhona, one of the youngest on the Council and one of the few who was more warrior than mage.

"Oh," Merrill said on a confused laugh. Then, broke off abruptly. "OH!"

Danae, however, started laughing and didn’t stop, head tipped back and shoulders shaking. Not a single note of it sounded truly amused. Mahariel's blonde eyebrows were so far up her forehead, they'd disappeared behind the loose sweep of her bangs. Merrill had both hands over her mouth, her eyes wide enough to pop.

Lanil was stone. Completely and utterly stone.

A proposal of what?!

"Just so I understand the facts," Mahariel began. Her voice was always so lilting and musical, as if she were more bird than woman. It didn't help that her armor had feathered pauldrons and she wore feathers in her long, pretty, golden hair. For a woman so dainty and pretty, she was one of the most dangerous archers in Arlathan and had a kill count that rivaled Lanil's, probably surpassed it, since she'd once been a disciple of Andruil. "You want one of us to marry one of the quickling?"

"I knew the Ambassador of Ferelden had come, but I didn't know this was why," Merrill whispered.

"The Ferelden ambassador came with an offer of an alliance. A very... persuasive offer," Rhona explained.

"Quicklings are nothing, and we've never needed alliances before." Danae spat on the ground. Several of the Eldest sighed in resignation, although a few nodded in agreement.

"Before we were not surrounded on all sides by powerful nations and empires. Before the quicklings lived in the mud and barely patched together furs for clothing. Before they had no mages that could compare to ours, nor universities in which to flourish their talents. Most importantly, before there was no Tevinter and there was no Qun," Halleon pointed out mildly.

"As long as they continue to fight each other--" Danae started.

"No, listen to them. You live in the heart of the Elvhenan. Many clans do not. For the past few millennia, we have lost border territories while they've chipped away at us like rats nibbling cheese," Mahariel interrupted with her hand in front of Danae. "I've been in skirmishes and lost many good hunters and friends to these quicklings. Especially those that name themselves qunari."

"An alliance with one quickling nation would make the others hesitate," Rhona said. "Or perhaps seek to do the same."

"But why Ferelden?" Lanil heard her voice ask it, but hadn't felt her own mouth move.

"True, it is a young nation..." another voice said. Lanil's eyes darted over to see Tislain. Tislain had once been of Clan Lavellan, and her grey eyes mirrored Lanil's. Lanil wasn't sure it was calming, but she also wasn't sure what emotions were darting wildly in her head. "But it has managed to regain its independence twice despite its... shall we say, underdog position?"

More than several groaned and rolled their eyes at Tislain's horrible pun. Merrill looked at Lanil, who hadn't been able to help her snort of amusement.

"They have a thing for dogs there," Lanil muttered. Merrill groaned in disgust once the pun registered.

"More importantly," Rhona said with a warning look at Tislain, "the newest king has strong ties to Orzammar. The Ambassador has insinuated that a trade for lyrium could be made with their intervention."

Merrill and Lanil gaped.

Orzammar. Willing to trade lyrium. With Arlathan.

Lyrium.

Elvhenan didn't need lyrium. They interacted with the Fade and with magic like other races interacted with... with air. It was incomprehensible to be without magic, even if one weren't a mage.

But long ago, so long ago it made the rebellion feel like yesterday's news, they had access to lyrium. The artifacts they'd created, the spells they'd woven, there were traces of them all over Arlathan. Precious and few traces. Those bits and pieces were hoarded like dragons hoarded treasures and bones. Clans had fallen apart in schisms and blood oaths to never reconcile over debated ownership over lyrium-infused artifacts.

But dwarves despised Arlathan with a hatred as deep as their hidden roads. The Titans might have been lost to their Memories, but the Stone remembered anyway. To think that a quickling--a human kingdom barely out of its infancy could offer even a trickle of lyrium...

Offer a starving person a feast and they will gorge. Lanil herself felt the pang of hunger at the idea.

"But marriage?" Danae asked harshly.

"That's how those quicklings do it," Halleon explained with a negligent wave of his hand. "Their concept of alliances rely on marriage and progeniture--"

"Progen--No. I won't breed with them. I refuse," Danae snapped. She tightened her hands around her dagger hilts reflexively. "You slavering mages can get your lyrium without me."

"That is your right," Halleon agreed.

"Elvhen don't just... leave Arlathan, and elf-blooded quicklings aren't allowed in Elvhenan," Mahariel said. She cocked her hip to the side and crossed her arms over her chest. "How about you explain what exactly you expect from us? Excepting Tabris."

"Consider it more... symbolic. It'll be a human marriage and it'll last as long as the life of the quickling. Any..." Halleon's mouth twisted in distaste, "progeny will remain in Ferelden with no rights or allowances within Arlathan." Halleon paused and sighed. "As long as this marriage lasts, whomsoever agrees to it will not be allowed back in Arlathan. You are exiled as long as you're bound by their marriage contract."

"Exiled?" Merrill whispered.

Danae scoffed loudly. Mahariel frowned and shifted on her feet. Lanil, however, felt her heart beat for the first time since the word 'marriage' was said.

No more sneaking out of the boundaries like a naughty child just to see somewhere, something, new? No more of the same days over and over with the same faces? No more passing like a wraith from eluvian to eluvian to glimpse a world she wasn't allowed to experience and that despised her? No more walking purposeless in Solas' shadow? No more facing the awkward guilt for something that happened centuries ago?

"Me," Lanil said. Every eye turned to her. She squared her shoulders, tipped up her chin, and stepped forward. "It'll be me. I'll do it."

"I told you," Tislain said with a wide grin and glinting eyes. "Surana was the most obvious choice."

"There had to be choice, Tislain," Rhona said, as if she'd repeated it several times.

"You haven't even asked who you have to marry!" Merrill hissed from behind her hand. Uselessly, because everyone could hear.

Lanil raised an eyebrow. "Does it matter?"

"Fortunately, the alliance will be with the commander of their army. You'll have much in common," Tislain said. "Ferelden seems to give their commanders the proper amount of respect."

Several Eldest nodded sagely. Many of them had been leaders in past wars themselves. It was expected of Eldest to have known true combat, to have faced death in a way most Elvhen never would.

Lanil cocked her head to the side. "So we'll spend the few years of this human's life swapping war stories?"

"Exactly."

Lanil snorted quietly and shook her head. But it didn't sound so bad. She hadn't picked up a sword in centuries, but maybe she could learn something new.

Learn something new.

A grin tugged at her lips.

...

Arlathan was more Fade than material world, but many of the clans were settled firmly on the earth. Elvhenan spread across what the quicklings called 'Thedas' like a splatter of inkblots on the map. Perhaps their adversaries would say their borders were like a stain seeping between the lines of all those mostly human nations. While a few clans, and Arlathan itself, had control of a few port cities, Lavellan did not. Lavellan's lands were south of Arlathan, so south most of the quicklings they met were simple Free Marchers who'd accidentally crossed an invisible line into the clan territory without even realizing it. Until they were surrounded on all sides by silent hunters who led them back into their lands like naughty chickens loose from the coop. The Fade made permanent borders tricky or downright impossible, so it happened often.

Merrill had hoped that leaving from Lavellan would mean their journey would lead them down to Kirkwall, but Rialto in Antiva was the closer port. Lanil had been a little disappointed herself. However, the entourage Arlathan had appointed probably would've been impossible to escape for a last night of revels with Merrill's strange friends.

Lanil glanced at the suspiciously glaring Danae and Mahariel's eagle eyes taking in everything around them.

No "probably" about it.

Although they'd denied being the sacrificial pawn in this newfangled alliance, the three other women were assigned to escort her to Ferelden and stay through the confirmation of treaty talks.

Which would end with Lanil's marriage.

She scowled as her stomach turned in knots and it wasn't the unfamiliar smell of the sea. She raised her face to breathe in deep the salty air. Lanil couldn't remember the last time she'd been on the open sea. These past few weeks on the ship had been... wonderful. The first shaking off of the cobwebs on her life. Had the sea air always been so warm and pleasant? The sea so alive? Not even the port city of Highever, greyer and muddier than Rialto had been, dampened her opinion. The gangplank was being set and she wanted to race off the ship, leap through the air and take off through those narrow, jumbled-looking streets. She curled her hands tightly around the railing to hold herself in place. Next to her, Merrill was jumping up and down on her toes. Danae and Mahariel stood like silent and disapproving statues on each side of them.

Lanil's eyes snapped in every direction, nothing too small or beneath her notice. So many humans! And look, dwarves! She didn't know dwarves could leave the Stone! Or sail? There weren't enough to sail an entire ship, so perhaps they lived in Highever or were surface-dwelling merchants? Great white gulls cried and swooped overhead. Ropes and sails creaked and cracked in the wind. A dog as big as a wolf ran down an alleyway, barking and hopping like an eager puppy before racing back the way it had come. The buildings were low, made of stone with wooden roofs and windows were made of foggy glass. The clothing was a mix of rough and undyed, and garishly overdyed with weird puffy sleeves. And everyone wore... shoes? Or were they called boots? Which were boots and which were shoes?

Antiva had been more lively and not so... brown. But even here, languages Lanil had never heard swelled up from the busy crowds. She didn't understand everything! Whole words and sentences that meant nothing! Her eyes widened as Elvhen walked by--No.

Elves. Bor'len

Lost Children.

She couldn't help but crane over the railing to watch them walk by. One of them caught her staring, a look of bewilderment quickly followed by a grimace, and then the Lost Child made an obscene gesture with their hand. Lanil reared back in surprise and scowled at Danae who laughed in her face.

"Look, look! There they are!" Merrill somehow began to bounce even faster. She grabbed Lanil's arm with a suddenness that almost had Lanil recoiling. "Which one is your husband?"

"You are too eager about this, Alerion. It's just a quickling marriage," Mahariel said.

"To a male one," Danae added with a grimace.

"Yes, yes, we all know why you said no, but Lanil likes men, don't you?" Merrill asked, shaking Lanil's arm. Lanil raised an eyebrow at her. "If you're going to have children, aren't you at least interested in what he looks like?"

"You mean she has to breed with it, because everything these quicklings do is about breeding," Danae muttered. Lanil and Merrill both ignored her.

"I planned on lying back and thinking of Arlathan, but I suppose a pretty face in the middle of that wouldn't be too bad," Lanil said dryly, and Merrill laughed. Lanil cared more about the horses and the return of that massive black hound. Everything about Ferelden was so... sturdy and big, not exactly tall or massive, but built on bigger lines. Lanil had never seen a hound so large it could probably snap her spine, not unless it were actually a shapechanger. Merrill barely smothered her laughter as the Ambassador approached them.

"I do hope everything is ready," the woman fretted, watching as the sailors unloaded cargo (most of it not from Arlathan). Strangely, the woman was Antivan rather than Ferelden, but she'd been kind and, no better word for it, efficient during the entire journey. She was also beautiful, sweet, and suffered fools with a cutting sort of grace. A few times, Danae hadn't been able to help the lingering glances she gave Ambassador Montilyet. When she thought no one was looking.

"I don't know how we'd be anymore ready," Lanil said with a shrug.

In Elvish, Danae muttered, "Let's take you to your jailer, then."

Mahariel rolled her eyes and Merrill frowned, obviously about to argue. Lanil shook her head and put her hand on Merrill's arm. Then, the four of them followed Ambassador Montilyet down the gangplank.

...

Cullen tried not to grimace as Cassandra hissed a steady stream of well-intentioned advice beside him. He was pretty sure she hadn't stopped giving advice since Arlathan approved of the alliance Ferelden had proposed with very little hope of success. Queen Aleandria had been sure the alliance relying on the symbolic marriage to a commander rather than a noble or royal would immediately be seen as the insult the council pretended it wasn’t, and King Alistair had been sure immortal beings of magic and mystery would want nothing to do with "that muddy dog country". When Cullen had been told he'd be married off like a pawn in a game of chess after all, Cassandra had been even more offended than him.

And then she somehow channeled his older sister's nosiness and followed him around for weeks to "prepare him" for it.

"Make sure you smile when you meet her. You don't look half bad when you smile--"

"Cassandra, please be quiet," Cullen begged, rubbing at his face.

"Don't do that." Cassandra grabbed his arm and tugged it back down. "What if she saw that? She'll think it's about her."

"Maker preserve me," he whispered.

By his horse's side, his mabari whined and shuffled, ready to run off half-cocked again. Cassandra had said to leave him in Denerim, he wasn't well-trained and barely more than a pup despite his size, but... Cullen had just adopted him. He couldn't let him feel abandoned.

A few sailors came down the gangplank from the ship--The Bodice Ripper? What kind of name was The Bodice Ripper for a ship?--and with them a woman who sauntered and rolled with each step as if she was still at sea. Her high boots and long tunic almost disguised the fact she wasn't wearing trousers. Where in the Void were her trousers? Cullen quickly looked over at the more familiar and more dressed woman speaking with her. Josephine always stuck out in a crowd, but in a good way. All bright silks and smiles and too many ruffles.

And then four elves--No, Elvhen, don't forget everything Josephine and Leliana drilled into your head--came down. He heard Carroll let out a quiet whistle and barely held back a grimace. He'd have to remember to reprimand Carroll later; even if he understood. There was something almost unearthly beautiful about the blonde woman who was all legs and a dancer's sort of grace. But she had a bow and quiver on her back.

Not Lavellan.

Hopefully the darker-haired and darker-complexioned woman next to her wasn't Lavellan either. Not because of the daggers she gripped at her belt. Cullen was more intimi--concerned about the curl of distaste on her mouth and the utter disdain on her face as her dark eyes scanned the crowd of horses.

The next two came down side by the side. The shorter, fairer one with an almost tree-like facial tattoo was tugging at the fourth's arm, grinning wide and pointing every which way. It was nice one of them looked excited... but she reminded Cullen uncomfortably of his little sister despite them looking nothing alike and the Elvhen probably being several decades older than she looked.

The last one, though. She was scowling like the dagger-wielder, but she was looking everywhere her friend was pointing. She was darker, but her short-cropped hair was the color of ivory, spiky and windblown around her face. There was something there, along her cheekbones that glinted, but Cullen couldn't quite make it out. More facial tattoos? He thought Elvhen no longer had them... She was almost as short as her friend and just as slender.

Both wore leather armor, one in green and one in blue. Both carried staves on their backs, one made entirely of wood and crystal, one of smoky grey metal carved into a dragon's likeness at the head.

Cullen couldn't take his eyes off the woman in blue. He wouldn't even let the words form in his head. What would it matter starting a thought like 'please be--'... Nope.

He was trying so hard not to make a fool's wish in his head that he forgot about the mabari.

With a series of loud excited barking, the dumb dog raced towards the women at the bottom of the gangplank. He'd probably caught scent of Josephine, or maybe the scent of a new creature suffused with magic. Cullen bit back an oath and threw himself out of his saddle, Cassandra right after him and not holding her own cursing back.

"Fetch! No!" Cullen shouted as they chased after the damn dog who, of course, didn't even slow down.

Josephine sighed and quickly held up her hands, begging the Elvhen to please not worry. The blonde Elvhen raised a single eyebrow, the angry one loosened her daggers, the smallest one clapped her hands together in delight, and the one in blue stepped forward and knelt. For a woman so small, Cullen winced and expected Fetch to bowl her over. Maybe knock her right into the bay.

Instead, the Elvhen barely moved an inch, gripping Fetch to hold him in place and talked to him in rapidfire Elvish. The mabari actually sat, wriggling in place, stump of a tail going wild, and let both the woman in blue and her happy-go-lucky friend coo and stroke him.

"Fetch, is it? What a perfect name for such a fiercesome beast," she was saying in a softly accented Common. Cullen skidded to a stop as Fetch licked right across her face. Her friend burst into laughter as she grinned widely.

This close, Cullen could see the subtle gold tattoos along her high cheekbones, the scar that cut down the right side of her face from under her eye, forking towards her jaw and down to her mouth, another smaller scar just under her bottom lip, and her obviously broken nose. It made her... look real. Like a real person, not some ethereally perfect elf goddess. When she looked up, her eyes gleamed silver as the early afternoon's light struck them.

"I wasn't expecting such a warm welcome," she told him, her grin becoming more like a smirk.

It's her. It has to be her.

"What's a Ferelden greeting without a mabari," Josephine said with yet another sigh, although Cullen could see the beginnings of a smile. "Enchanter Lanil Lavellan, this Commander Cullen Stanton Rutherford. And his dog, Fetch."

"I should've left him in Denerim, I know," Cullen muttered. He tried grabbing at Fetch's ruff, but it was a bit hard to do when neither he nor Lavellan had looked away from each other.

"No. This is better," Lanil Lavellan said. She was the first to break the eye contact. So she could smile at his dog and scratch Fetch's ears. "It would've been all grand and stuffy otherwise."

"You mean it would've been a whole lot of etiquette while you tried to pretend like you cared," the blonde Elvhen retorted. She looked a bit like that ethereal goddess idea that had gotten into Cullen's head, even her ears were longer and higher, like in an artist's painting of the Evanuris War, compared to Lavellan's wider and lower ears.

Lanil Lavellan shrugged. She got to her feet and stepped around Fetch to hold out her hand. Cullen stared at her, then gratefully clasped his hand around her wrist and she returned it. His hand basically encircled the entirety of her wrist, but her grip was tight and firm belying her much smaller, thinner hand. He wasn't used to a mage displacing that much strength.

"That's a lot of names," she said, her head tilting to the side.

"Cullen. Cullen is fine."

She nodded. "Lanil is fine."

"What about us?" Her friend with the tattoos nudged Lanil Lavellan away. She went with a grunt, her hand dropping from his. "I'm Merrill, I'm an Enchanter, too. You can tell from the staff, right. Anyway. The other scowly one is Danae Tabris and she's Rynira Mahariel."

"This really isn't how it's supposed to be done," Josephine said, utterly mortified.

"It's too late now, precious," the ship's captain teased. There was a quiet thwap and Josephine startled in place and eeped.

"I'm Cassandra Pentaghast. I'm a Seeker of Truth working in the Ferelden court for a time," Cassandra said. She held out her hand and each Elvhen clasped it respectfully.

"Seeker of Truth? Isn't that the same thing as a Templar?" Lanil Lavellan asked with a frown.

"No, their little Chantry split into Seekers and Templars a few hundred years back," Tabris said dismissively.

"You know nothing, Tabris. It was an Inquisition that split into Templars and Seekers," Mahariel corrected with an eyeroll.

"Oh. That. With the bor'len," she said using a word in Elvish that sounded like an insult. Lanil Lavellan said something equally sharp and cutting, and Tabris crossed her arms over her chest and glared off to the side.

Cassandra and Cullen exchanged a look.

"We're not here to talk about the past!" Merrill clapped her hands together and then shoved Lanil Lavellan forward. Lanil Lavellan glared over her shoulder, but let Merrill push her past Cullen and Cassandra towards the end of the docks. Fetch jumped and hopped and ran in circles around them.

"Wait! We need to get your things!" Josephine called after them.

"We trust you to get it sorted," Mahariel said as she followed her compatriots.

"I'll stay to make sure it's done," Tabris muttered, still glaring at nothing. Mahariel trilled a few words in Elvish and Tabris snapped back. Mahariel only laughed.

"Well, this has been something," Cassandra muttered.

"Yeah..." Cullen agreed, watching Lanil Lavellan get shoved towards the squad of mounted soldiers. He startled slightly and rushed after them. "Your horse!"

Lanil Lavellan glanced over her shoulder at him. And she was still frowning. How is it that Fetch got her to smile and he hadn't yet?

He was not going to compete with his dog.

"I have, um, actually you have a horse. This one." Cullen held up a hand and Captain Rylen tossed him the reins to a Green Dales Feral. Cullen caught them to hand them off to Lavellan.

She took them awkwardly, eyebrows rising, only to immediately drop them. Cullen lurched to grab them while she stepped up to the horse. She stroked down the mare's nose, muttering in a mix of Common and Elvish. Like Fetch, the horse made her smile. Cullen dug in his pocket and cleared his throat. Lavellan turned those eyes on him, now a darker, stormier grey out of the sunlight. He held out his fist and dropped a lump of sugar onto her palm when she offered it. She turned back to the mare and grinned when it lipped the sugar right out of her hand.

"Does she have a name?"

"No, Dennet doesn't bother naming the ones he sells. It's up to the new owners. That's you," Cullen explained quickly.

Finally, she smiled at him. A closed lipped, slight thing, but it lightened her entire face.

She looked beautiful.

Cullen cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck, quickly looking away.

"I can't ride."

He startled and stared at her. She was smirking at him now. "You... can't?"

She shook her head. "We travel by eluvian. They can cover long distances in seconds. There's no need to ride horses."

"I thought... the halla?"

"We don't ride halla. They were sacred to Ghilan'nain before... you know, all of that, and now they roam wild," Merrill explained, hands waving around.

Lavellan cocked her head to side, sizing up the horse silently. She walked around, stroking her hand along the mare's neck, then gripped the saddle horn and hoisted herself up in an easy, fluid motion. As if she'd done it a thousand times.

"She's well trained," she said, patted the mare's neck again. "We'll figure it out together."

"These will help," Cullen said as he handed her the reins again. Lavellan grimaced, but shrugged and took them.

"And us?" Merrill asked, bouncing up and down on her toes as her eyes lit up cheerfully. Cullen realized all four Elvhen were barefoot, their leggings that ended wrapped around the arches of their feet the only covering.

"Uh, right. Everyone has their own horse while visiting in Ferelden. It's a long road to Denerim." He motioned at the soldiers leading the other mounts, including Josephine's.

"How far?" Lavellan asked.

"A week at best."

She frowned and leaned towards her mare's ear. "You're beautiful, my friend, but you're not as convenient as an eluvian." The mare snorted and shook her head making Lavellan and the other Elvhen laugh.

Cullen stared at Lavellan, wondering what he was supposed to say or do next. The blonde one, Mahariel, caught him staring. The look of amusement on her face had Cullen's mouth thinning. He nodded his head once and turned away without a word. The Elvhen began to talk in their own language among themselves, sparing no other soldier their attention, while Cullen stood with Josephine, Cassandra, and the stone-faced Tabris to watch his soldiers packing all their supplies. Fetch darted back and forth between the Elvhen and Cullen, barking and leaping excitedly.

The last of the supplies were packed, Tabris was with her Elvhen comrades, and a few soldiers were assigned to stay back to guard the caravan with cargo from several ports. Not quite allies, but not enemies, willing to trade with Ferelden while they had their own sovereignty. As he walked away from the caravan and Captain Rylen, Cullen rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. Josephine touched his arm and he glanced towards her, an eyebrow rising.

"Give it time, Commander. I've been travelling with them for weeks and this is the most Common I've heard them speak," she assured, squeezing lightly and briefly. Cullen huffed a laugh.

"Couldn't have been fun for you."

Josephine tsked and waved it away. "Their language is fascinating, honestly. But you must understand, Elvhen don't just leave Elvhenan. Enchanter Lavellan has agreed to become an exile for this alliance and it'll be decades before she'll be able to return home. She'll need time to adjust."

Cullen leaned in close, voice low and heated. "What? No one told me that! This was already a bad idea, and now she probably hates me, too." He scrubbed a hand over his face and braced a hand on his hip. Cassandra smacked his back hard enough to make him grunt. And he was wearing armor.

"She'll have decades to get over it," she said.

Josephine giggled and quickly stifled it at Cullen's look. She skirted away, her face carefully angled down to hide her expression. Cullen ran a hand through his hair, grimacing when his gauntlets caught. When he looked over at the Elvhen, Lavellan was already gazing at him. She didn't need to hide her face, her expression was already unreadable.

Fetch threw himself against Cullen's legs. Cullen let out an involuntary grunt and his stare-off with Lavellan ended. Shaking his head, he lowered to a knee and ruffled Fetch's ears.

"Yeah, I know. I'll get it together," Cullen promised. Fetch barked and proceeded to slobber all over Cullen's face. Because even his own dog laughed at him. Cullen laughed and shoved Fetch's head away, standing to walk over to his mount.

#i also call this What Not to Do When You’re Bored #Cullavellan #Cullen × Lavellan #Arranged Marriage AU #poor cullen is instantly smitten #lanil just really likes his dog #dont worry she'll get there #also cullens entire life is just being surrounded by women #let this poor man have peace he can make his own decisions

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melonblood · 2 years

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i really hope this is relatable and doesn’t expose me and my emotions :))))))

#pls tell me i wasn’t the only one #uhuhuhuh they said expose #anyways this is real i actually have that shirt #beavis and butthead gave it to me themselves #they said it was ‘like an award for being the biggest crybaby or something’#i was honored. this is a real story look for it on the rolling stone next week #FINALLY SOME RECOGNITION FOR CRYING ALL THE DAMN TIME /j #beavis and butthead #beavis and butthead do the universe #mtv

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siempre-bucky · 3 years

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lavandula stoechas

Druig x Reader

summary: after the disbandment of your family, you traveled the world painting it as beautiful as you found it. Your travels always brought you back to Druig, when he made a new building in his village, you paint it. As the emergence approached Druig was the only one who knew your permanent location by your signature in all your paintings; lavender.

wc: 2k

a/n: thank you for your patience with this story, anon! I hope you enjoy it. TBH I really hate lavender.... but it looks pretty. also minorly inspired by the story of painter Élisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun♡ I struggled a lot with this one, I hope you like it♡

A warm, gentle breeze blew through the stone doorway, the sun shining down on the city. You stood at the edge of the entryway, your eyes flashing between the city you grew to love and the replica on your canvas.

You hummed softly as the wind brushed against your face, tilting your head to get a better angle while you absentmindedly tapped your paintbrush on your palette. The people moved below you, their figures looking like ants from this high up. It was peaceful these days; the number of deviants was almost zero, which meant more time to spend with the people, paint them, paint with them, then there was him.

Druig was sprawled out on the stone slab, trying to catch his snack of choice in his mouth. He stayed relatively quiet while you worked, a soft groan escaping his lips whenever he missed a shot. "My love," you spoke softly, cutting the comfortable silence between you two.

The master of mind control turned his head, his blue eyes lingering on your back. "Yes?" he inquired in between chews.

Your eyes glanced up at the city below to compare it to your painting. "When will you let me paint you?" you asked him, returning your brush to the wet canvas.

Druig could sense the smile on your face. He lurched forward, sliding off the slab gracefully. He walked up next to you, letting his hand touch the small of your back, the warmth of his gentle touch radiating through your light purple tunic.

"Portraits are for when you're trying to remember someone and what they looked like," he chuckled, "you get the honor of seeing me every day... and I don't age."

You rolled your eyes at his response. It wasn't the first time in the centuries that you had asked to paint his features, and it wasn't the first time he'd turned you down. Even when you told him Ikaris sat down in front of you and let you paint him, Druig dismissed it. "It would be nice to have your picture in my room," you sighed.

Druig looked down at his empty palm only thing remaining was the crumbs. "It's a good thing I get to share your bed then, m'love" he quipped, showing you the emptiness in his palm.

With a deep exhale, you pull a piece of paper from the pocket of your apron. Taking the pencil from your hair, you drew a sloppy version of some grapes. You took the drawing and placed it on Druig's palm; gold circles and lines appeared around the paper before turning it into the real fruit.

Druig grinned boyishly and kissed your cheek, "Thank you," he said cooly as he popped one of the green grapes into his mouth. His eyes looked down at the painting, the pop of purple caught his eye "What's all this?" he asked, pointing to the flowers.

"Oh," you beamed, "It's lavender; I thought it could be my signature. So that when the mortals take credit for my work, I'll at least know it's mine."

"You could just put your name on it."

"I don't want all the questions," you replied, setting your tools down and beginning to walk over to the slab.

"What do you want?"

"To paint you, Druig." He smirked at your comment, making his way over to you. He took a seat beside you, letting you take a few of the grapes from his hand.

"Besides that," he mumbled.

You let your shoulders relax, leaning against the stoic Eternal beside you. "I want to be the greatest painter in the world, including Olympia. And when we finally go home, I want to be by your side forever."

Druig concealed his frown like his best-kept secret. He didn't have the heart to tell you about what was brewing below them. Doubt poked at his mind as he looked at your painting across from him. If he had told you about the brewing violence with the mortals and the rumors he'd heard from Makkari, would you have stayed with him if Ajak really let you all go? You could go and be the artist you'd always dreamed of, far away from the plan of isolation forming in his head.

"Go paint a masterpiece," Druig whimpered releasing your hand that was warm from the fires below, "then come find me if your wants are still the same."

The Eternals walked the grounds of the village Druig built, their eyes watching the people who lived there. "Ignorance is bliss," Kingo smirked as they walked.

Sprite looked at the wood buildings, some much older than the others. She caught sight of one of the walls, it was different than the others. The dull yellow and purple paint still stood out amongst the blues and greens of the environment. It must have been there for years since the paint was almost chipped away to nothing. The redhead raised an eyebrow and hummed in thought.

Druig woke up with a slight groan, sitting up in the make-shift bed. As he sat up, his tired eyes scanned the cold room. Your scattered clothes from the night before are no longer there. His still swollen lips formed a soft smile.

"A little higher, please," you sigh as you place your paintbrush in your mouth, as you stood on a wooden crate, a man below you holding up your wooden pallet "Thank you." You took the brush and added a soft purple to the lavender in the center of the painting.

You didn't tell Druig your plans to paint the first building they constructed in the Amazon. After declining to let you paint him, this was the next best thing. "What are you doing, my love?" Druig asked from behind you.

You turn and smiled brightly, "Painting! This place could use some color."

Druig exhaled softly and placed his arms behind his back. The few years you spent in Italy were kind to you, he noted. "Do you think the masters would approve?" he joked.

You huffed and climbed down off the crate, sauntering up to him before wrapping your arms around his neck. "This is better than some church."

Druig leaned in, his lips dangerously close to yours, "Don't let Michelangelo hear you say that, my beloved"

"I've missed all of you," Druig spoke lowly with a smirk as he emerged dramatically from the building. Sersi took in a deep breath, the smell of the earth was mixed with something else. It was floral and calming to her senses. Her warm brown eyes glanced at Druig's feet, short lavender springs were planted by the doorway. She tilted her head, that plant wasn't native here.

"Y/N," he breathed a sigh of relief as he saw you walk through his growing village. When you left him the third time you told him it would just be a year or two you'd have to spend without him. Then you'd been summonsed by Marie Antoniette to paint her family and you didn't come back till now. He didn't tell you how much it broke his heart to watch you go time after time. Maybe he should've just taken you with him when you offered the first time.

But here you were, his arms wrapped around your waist tightly. Your light giggles send waves of warmth to his heart. "What brings you?" He asked, lips pressed against the top of your head.

You pulled away and placed your hands on the sides of his face, you missed the feeling of his skin. "Well, being associated with the royal family right now isn't ideal. I needed somewhere safe," you informed him.

Druig melted into your touch, his fingers covering your wrists delicately. His blue eyes looked into yours, "You are always safe with me."

He had gotten used to waking up beside you again, your frame pressed against his as you snored softly. Your hand rested on his chest, he glanced down at the dried paint that was lingering on your fingernails.

You awoke to the feeling of his nails scratching your own, "I love you," you yawn.

He hummed and nuzzled his head into the pillow, looking lovingly at the vase of purple and white flowers on his nightstand, "I love you too."

He let you paint as many building walls as you wanted in the few years you spent with him after the revolution; they were almost all covered in your art. Druig approached you one morning, your knees in the dirt and a twig in your hand. Your drawing came to life, lavender sprigs from the drawing you made rose next to the steps.

His expression turned sullen as he looked at the steps, an opened letter threatening to blow away in the wind sat in the center. He didn't need to read it to know what was inside. "Where are you wanted?" he managed, trying to not let his emotion show.

"Russia. The royal family wants me to do their portraits."

Druig turned to walk away wordlessly. He fully regretted telling you to go make masterpieces than night. He was tired of your absence, but this is what you wanted. This was your dream, and who was he to get in the way of that? And besides, you hadn't told him you wanted to stay.

Sersi approached Druig as he stared at the water. She stood next to him, twirling the purple flower in between her fingers. The place he kept safe for twenty generations was gone, all the memories destroyed by deviants. Your paintings on the wood were strewn across the camp, but what did it matter, you hadn't been around for centuries. There was nothing left for him here now, he could take his broken heart anywhere.

"Who do we find next?" Phastos asked as they boarded Kingo's jet. "Has anyone heard from Y/N?"

Druig frowned at the mention of your name. Kingo's laugh cut in as he looked into the camera "Y/N, the painter, the one who can bring art to life! She got famous and never returned," he spoke dramatically.

Druig clenched his fist, he could easily drive his sunglasses through the actor's heart. But was he wrong? She planted a garden and left him. The mission was important, the humans needed them... all of them. "I know where to find her."

The team walked along the large fields of lavender in the French countryside. The smell of the flowers was overwhelming, "Why would she wanna live here," Sprite complained as she swatted at a bug. Druig had his hands in his pockets as he lead the way to a little cottage at the top of the purple-covered hill. He hesitated as he approached the door. He took in a deep inhale and finally knocked hesitantly.

The door swung open, "Druig!" you cried happily, pulling him in for a hug. The mind controller swore he heard you whisper, "you finally came for me." but he wasn't sure. "Come in, come in," you ushered, holding onto his wrist.

He followed you inside the small dimly lit home, the skylight pouring golden light on the middle of the living room. He listened to you ramble about your paintings and what you'd been up to. He looked away from you and latched onto the large easel in your living room. His partly done portrait staring back at him. "You painted me," he interrupted.

Your bright demeanor shifted, shyly clasping your hands in your lap. You meekly nodded, "I got tired of asking," you said, your voice coming out as barely a whisper.

He swallowed and clenched his jaw, "You never came back," he told you bluntly.

You shrugged and avoided his gaze, "You never said goodbye when I left for Russia. I took it as a hint."

He jerked his chin upward, snapping his attention to you "I never wanted you to leave," he scoffed, slowly walking to you, "I regretted telling you to go off and paint. I just wanted you by my side, I didn't realize what I was missing till it was too late."

You closed the distance and slid your arms around his chest, your head falling to his shoulder, "It's not too late, my love," you whispered, your voice cracking. "I don't want to paint anymore, I just want you."

Druig pulled away and pressed his lips to yours, "Finish one last masterpiece," he told you as he pulled away, tilting his head towards the painting of him. You chuckle and nod happily in agreement.

"How about I paint one last building of yours?"

"About that... there's something we need to discuss outside, I brought company."

#druig x reader #druig x you #druig x y/n #druig imagine #druig fanfic #druig fluff #eternals #eternals fanfic #eternals imagine

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wkemeup · 5 years

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Little Lion Man

summary: Sent on an assignment back to 1943, you encounter a drastically different version of the man you know pairing: bucky x reader warnings: time travel, a charming af 40s!bucky 😉, a sad af present!bucky 😔 a/n: I used the time travel logic from Endgame except fixed points exist. This was also written for @buckysknifecollection‘s 1k challenge! I had the song prompt of Little Lion Man by Mumford and Sons! Congrats on 1k hun!!

Weep little lion man, You're not as brave as you were at the start

You found blue eyes lighting up across the crowded courtyard, beaming smile touched on the dirt freckled glow of his face, and it startled you; stilled you right in your tracks and set a stone deep into your chest, made it hard to breathe, because that wasn’t the man you knew.

No—he wore a weightlessness about him, even as he stepped away from the crowd erupting in celebration and shied to the outskirts of the commotion, he was smiling. It wrinkled up by his eyes, left behind dimples in his cheeks, a slight shake of his head as small wisps of hair fell down to his forehead.

He didn’t seem to be counting each moment of joy on his fingers, calculating how much relief he allowed for himself before the shadows came rushing back in to take it away. He was... happy.

Dark army green was torn like rags as his shirt barely hung off his shoulder, exposing the blood and grime covering his skin beneath. Silver dog tags hung at his sternum; muted in their color, lacking the shine they once possessed, though they chimed against one another with each of his steps. He settled outside the Colonel’s tent and as he slouched to the wooden post, they fell behind his shirt. The last remaining tie to his identity nestled by his heart.

You could spot the trail of blood from his left ear, a light scruff covering his cheeks and jawline, bruising under his eyes from a lack of sleep and over exhaustion, but it was his hair that drew your attention; short, swept over his forehead and parted to the right. Its messy strands that did nothing to cover his eyes even as he dropped his chin to his chest and lit the cigarette he’d nestled between his lips.

You knew who he was, heard stories from Steve and read the articles hung in the Smithsonian; stories of what he was like in his youth, before the fall, before Hydra twisted and warped his mind and mutilated his body. And yet, none of it prepared for the laugh that echoed through the courtyard as he waved at an old friend at the center of the crowd surrounded by men who once mocked him, now lifting him on their shoulders for bringing hundreds of their men home alive.

It was him, and it wasn't.

Your Bucky.

You almost forgot why you were standing on a military base in a newly Allied Italian war front in 1943 as Bucky shook the hand of a soldier as he passed by. You recognized him from the drawings on Steve’s desk and the old faded photo album shoved into Bucky’s nightstand drawer.

Dum Dum Dugan.

He was taller than you pictured, rougher around the edges too, but he had a kind smile and a laughter that bolstered through the camp.

It was like a scene from the film clips they used to show you in school; ones of soldiers huddled around campfires in the middle of a war zone, reminding you how incredibly human these men were, that they weren’t just numbers in a fatalities list. They were real and significant in their entirety. They had hopes and dreams, fears and families.

Focus! This isn’t a field trip, you reminded yourself sharply, the words of Director Fury echoing in your head.

There was a file located in the Colonel’s office, the contents of which well above your clearance level, though it wasn’t your business to know what it contained or why Fury decided to risk sending an agent back to a war two of the Avengers’ current members barely survived. You were a part of SHIELD long before you were an Avenger, so you knew how to follow the chain of command. You didn’t ask questions.

Get the file. Get the hell home.

But you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Bucky.

He was laughing again, taking another drag of a cigarette you’d never once seen him smoke in your time as he talked with another one of the Commandos. Jim Morita, you thought. He seemed happy, relieved even, and as Jim made his way to the nurses’ tent, Bucky pushed the lighter into his pocket, pulled the cigarette from his lips with a puff of smoke, and paused.

He narrowed his eyes in your direction, a slight tilt of his head, and you realized your mistake when ocean blue caught you staring from across the open green. A smile slowly curved up broken lips and your stomach plummeted because suddenly he was jogging towards you, dog tags bouncing against his chest with every step he took and there was nowhere for you to escape.

You shoved your gun to the waistband of your pencil skirt and draped the back of your jacket to conceal it. It wouldn’t be surprising for you to be carrying a weapon, not with the uniform you wore indicating you were on rank with the likes of Peggy Carter, but it wasn’t a gun Bucky would recognize. It was from your time, one you did not ever travel without, and the technological advancements wouldn’t be easy to explain.

When Bucky reached you, he pulled to a slow stop and casually ran his fingers through the short mess of hair, pushing it back to expose his eyes, the dirt lining the creases in his forehead, and the bruising above his brow. He tugged his lower lip between his teeth as he looked you over, eyes trailing down to your shoes before returning to your face, a heavy sigh on his breath and he leaned on the wall beside you.

“Don’t think I’ve seen you around, doll,” he said and even the tone of his voice seemed different from the man you knew. Lighter, maybe. Confident. Flirtatious.

He smirked, a whistle on his tongue and he seemed a little winded as he shook his head. You wondered if he felt your connection to him, knew the depths of your care for one another before he’d even met you, but you pushed the thought aside quickly.

Wistful thinking.

“Don’t think you’ve been around for a while, Sergeant,” you replied steadily, because even though your heart was racing and your stomach was twisted to knots, you were still an agent and you knew how to manage your emotions and keep your panic hidden behind the surface.

“I guess you saw the welcome wagon, huh?” he chuckled, turning back to the crowd as they continued to gather around Steve.

It was almost as strange to see Steve from this time as it was Bucky. He had the same kind of innocence that the Bucky standing before you carried now. He hadn’t lost his best friend yet, hadn’t made the decision to trade his life for the people of New York and bury himself in the Atlantic, hadn’t missed out on a lifetime with a woman he cared so deeply for, could even grow to love.

Bucky faced you again and you saw it in his eyes, too.

It was hope, you realized. They were still holding onto it.

“Just glad you made it home safe, Sergeant Barnes,” you said evenly, trying not to focus on his left hand as it raked it through his hair. There was a scar on his palm that ran along his lifeline, red and angry and in need of treatment. There was dirt caked under his nails, in his knuckles, dried blood on his wrist, and you resisted every urge to reach out and grab it just to feel the pulse of his heart in his fingertips or maybe even the warmth of his skin.

You were used to cold and metal and you let yourself wonder what it would be like to be held by these hands, hands that were completely and entirely Bucky’s, hands that he didn’t despise and held away from you like it was something outside of himself, like it could act of its own accord and hurt the woman he wanted so desperately to touch with nothing but a tenderness he hadn’t known in decades.

“Please doll, it’s Bucky,” he requested cheekily. He waited for a response, though when he didn’t get one, he was unbothered by the silence.

He twisted the cigarette in his hand, twirling it like a baton and you were mesmerized by the way it danced through the fingertips of his left hand. It dropped ash as it flipped between his middle and index finger.

“So...” he drawled, amused by your trance, “do I have the honor of your name as well?”

You snapped your eyes away from his hand to find that smirk across his face again. It was one that felt strange to you, foreign almost, from the Bucky you knew. It was confident, charming, but there wasn’t a trace of arrogance or presumption. It was the smirk of a man who could still manage to flirt with a woman moments after returning to a camp he was captured from weeks prior. He was quite proud of himself and it read on his face.

“Y/n,” you finally admitted, watching him carefully as he repeated your name, testing it on his lips, and it still sounded like honey and silk. It seemed to be one of the few things that felt constant between these versions of Bucky; your name on his lips, in his voice, as he smiled at you. It was still as sweet.

“Y/n is a lovely name,” he said, “suiting for a lovely woman.”

Steve had mentioned this Bucky was a charmer in stories of their youth. Each time it was brought up, your Bucky would shake his head, roll his eyes, maybe even blush a little as he sank down into the couch as Steve recounted the dates he used to go on, the women he’d bring to Coney Island, the dance moves that could make any woman swoon.

You’d ask him about it, tease him as to why he didn’t take you dancing and win you comically large stuffed animals with his unparalleled marksmanship. He’d brush it off and say it was all luck of the draw but you know better than that. He was a flirt in these days and as handsome as ever, even with blood dripping from his ear and scars on his face. You couldn’t imagine a woman who would turn down a man as charming and beautiful as he was.

You wondered how much Bucky remembered of these days, if he could still recall the one-liners and the flirty comments, or if it felt distant, like he was watching something outside of himself, standing behind a glass wall and simply observing.

He was sweet with you, teased you behind closed doors and made your heart soar, but you couldn’t imagine a world where he would seek you out amongst a crowd, not knowing your name or face and flirt so openly like this.

Your Bucky retreated to corners of crowded rooms with a drink in his hand that did little to relieve him from the anxiety in his veins. He nursed a bourbon as he sought out open spaces away from the overstimulation of music, chatter, glasses on bar tops.

He was quiet, reserved, and favored whispering jokes in your ear that would have you rolling with laughter over saying them aloud for the room to hear. There was an intimacy in it and you were thankful for every glimpse he gave you past the demons who had come to obstruct his heart.

But this, this Bucky, the light-hearted charmer with a world of pain ahead of him, was not a man you ever expected to encounter firsthand.

Over his shoulder, a group of men called his name. He rolled his eyes, trying to wave them off but they only yelled louder, hollering and whistling as he tried to shield you from their teasing.

“I suppose I’m being summoned,” he grunted reluctantly.

You glanced back to his friends, Dugan, Jim, and Steve among them as they waved frantically at him. A smile etched to your cheeks, knowing that this was his element, beside Steve when he didn’t have the shadows cast over him and he could live in a moment where he just might see himself as one of the good guys.

“Yes, I suppose you are,” you smiled at him, enjoying the way his brows pinched together as he shot a glare back over in his friends’ direction before he turned back to you and let his features soften again.

“Will I see you around?” he asked, hopeful and eager, and it took you by surprise.

You didn’t know what else to say so you nodded, eyes glancing to the Colonel’s office. You had a mission to complete. It was the reason you were sent back to this timeline in the first place. It had caused enough problems when Fury assigned you; Steve arguing as to the necessity of it, Bucky leaving the room abruptly without another word. You hadn’t even been able to track him down before you left and you’d never once gone on a mission without saying goodbye to him.

You supposed that for him it may only be a few seconds, but you didn’t know how long you’d be stuck in 1943. You missed him terribly, even when he was standing right in front of you.

“I’ll find you again, then,” he said with a wink. He put the cigarette between his lips again, thought he didn’t light it, and jogged back to his friends. He paused halfway, turned back to you with a simple salute, a shake of his head like he was surprised you’d gone along with his flirting, and then, his back was to you.

Tears burned in your eyes before you felt the lump in your throat.

For a moment, it was easy to forget that he was just coming off of weeks behind enemy lines, that he already had the serum running like toxins in his veins; the same Hydra concoction that would save his life when he fell from the train a few weeks later and would allow him to survive long enough to endure decades of torture.

You knew this Bucky carried demons, that he wore a mask the way everyone else did. You knew that there were times that he smiled just long enough for someone to notice before they turned away and his eyes fell downcast to the floor. You knew that he joked and flirted and laughed because how else was a man drafted to a war he never signed up for supposed to cope with the blood on his hands.

They were different masks than the ones the Bucky you knew carried, but they still shielded the pain underneath. The masks you were familiar with were overflowing and demons seeped through the cracks and broke into his soft moments of relief. They were weathered and breaking in your time but he still tried to wear them, still tried to put on a brave face despite the monsters in his dreams and swarming in his past.

This Bucky could still hide his demons.

This Bucky, who smiled so easily, was almost nothing like the man you knew.

But he will be.

Your heart broke for the time in between.

***

Seventy-two hours. That’s how long Fury said you’d need to obtain the file. Seventy-two hours maximum. A load of bullshit that turned out to be because two weeks later you were still trapped in the heart of a world war.

You’d managed to avoid Bucky as much as possible, though that proved rather easy as he’d gone off with Steve and the rest of the Howling Commandos liberating Europe and punching Nazis. But the times in between, when they returned home and regrouped for a day or two, he’d spend his first hour at camp seeking you out while the rest of his team was catching up on sleep.

He was persistent, you’d give him that, but he was never forceful. He’d simply talk with you as you tended to the tasks assigned to the cover you were portraying. He’d lounge out on the grass while you cleaned weapons or follow you through the bunker as you alphabetized personnel files, asking you questions about your day, trying to convince you to get dinner with him at the mess hall, telling you dramatically inflated stories of his heroism on the battlefield that made your stomach ache with laughter.

You understood why Steve was so determined to help Bucky get back to how he was before Hydra. He was incredibly endearing, outgoing, witty. Your Bucky still had those things but they were in pieces, strung together with scotch tape and staples. They were muted a little, but they were still there, scratching at the surface.

It had been a few days since you saw Bucky last and you found him again as you walked right into the square of his chest on your way out of the Colonel’s office, file absent in your hand because yet another day had gone by without any sign of the document.

Hands quickly dart out to grab onto your forearms and he chuckled lightly under his breath, steadying you on heels you were entirely not used to wearing; an era appropriate necessity, Tony told you. You would have like to throw one at his head right about then.

“You alright there, sweetheart?” Bucky grinned, stepping back to give you space.

He had a few new scrapes and marks on his face, but otherwise he looked unharmed. His smile was enough to tell you he hadn’t been injured enough to require medical attention. There wasn’t a pinch in his brow indicating pain, at least.

He brushed his hands off on the thighs of his pants and judging by the mud on his boots and the rifle draped over his shoulder, he hadn’t even made it back to his tent before he came in search of you.

“Of course, Sergeant Barnes,” you replied and despite the way he was smiling so sweetly at you, teeth biting down on his lip, you swerved around him towards your own tent.

“Call me Bucky,” he reminded you, stepping aside for you to pass, though he followed your pace.

“Well, Bucky,” you said, clenching your hands, “it’s good to see you safe. You should get to the med tent, don’t you think?”

“Later,” he shrugged, waving you off, cheesy smile on his lips. “I wanted to see my best girl first.”

It punctured right to your chest and though you knew he was teasing, that he was flirting innocently and smiling when he could be giving into the harsh realities of war, it hurt. It hurt because you saw pieces of your own Bucky in him and knives embedded and broken through skin with every laugh, every smile, every word he said, because you knew how quickly it will be taken away, how hard it will be just for him to find small pieces of this and let his guard down long enough to let even Steve in again, let alone you.

There was a guilt that festered and boiled deep in your stomach, that physically ached and burned. You knew too much about his future, about the things that will happen to him that would rip that sweet smile from his face and turn him inside out, until it took decades just to find the will to live again. You could hardly look at him without tears springing to your eyes.

You thought about telling him, about warning him of what would come and maybe create a new timeline where he was free from Hydra, where he might go home from the war and see his mother and sister again, maybe meet a woman he could love and have a few kids. But then you remembered Tony’s warning, that certain events were fixed and what happened to Bucky that day on the train, would never be changed. There was too much history riding on it.

Your sweet Bucky was fated to Hydra from the start.

"There’s a dance tonight, you know.”

Your heels dug into the grass and brought you to an abrupt stop, balance wavering somewhat as you held your arms out to the side. Bucky chuckled, that smile of his so bright it was almost blinding and he quickly jogged back to you. He offered a hand and you took it just long enough to pry your heels from the dirt.

You tried not to focus on the feel of it; the callouses on his palms or the grip of his fingers, the warmth in his hand or the fact that it was made of flesh and not solid metal. You let go as soon as you were able, though he didn’t seem to take any offense.

“Just a few of the guys are going,” he continued to say, pushing his hands into his pockets. He seemed nervous as he swayed in his stance and brushed his hand through his hair. “Thought it could be fun and, well, don’t know the next time I’ll get the chance to ask a pretty girl to dance with me.”

A pink rose in his cheeks, light and flushed, and it surprised you.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sergeant Barnes,” you said slowly, voice almost a whisper and his smile didn’t falter for even a moment.

“Bucky,” he reminded you again. So persistently charming.

“Bucky,” you repeated, “I don’t think it’s--”

“When was the last time you did somethin’ for fun, doll?” Bucky whined playfully, slumping his shoulders until you swatted him on the arm. He rubbed at it with a laugh in his voice. “I promise it’ll be a good time. You have my word.”

“I have work to attend to,” you argued, though your resolve was fading quickly. You never liked saying no to Bucky, even from your time, but it was the innocence, the hope, intertwined in shades of blue that made it that much harder.

“Come on, darlin’,” Bucky smiled sweetly at you, a crack in his lips and a bruising on his cheekbones, still as beautiful as he’s always been, “we’re shipping out to the Alps tomorrow and I don’t know when I’ll see you next. Just one dance, doll, and I swear I won’t ask you for anything else in my life.”

Your heart skipped. “The alps?”

Bucky nodded, pursing his lips. He lost his playful smile for only a minute as it melded into the solemn, determined expression of the soldier you’d seen memorials painted of alongside brick buildings in Brooklyn.

“We were able to confirm Zola’s on a Schnellzug traveling along the Danube River,” he said, quite proud. “We’re gonna bring the bastard in and put an end to this war.”

Your throat was dry, like sandpaper and dust, stones filling your chest, and you kept your features as blank as you could manage but everything inside you was on fire. He seemed so pleased, eager almost, and you felt your stomach lurch.

“Whaddya say?” he asked, a slight tremor in his voice for the first time and you turned to find him nervously chewing on his lip. “Fulfill a soldier’s dying wish?”

“Okay,” you blurted out hastily, biting down on the inside of your cheek because he didn’t know the gravity of what he just asked. You clenched your hands to fists at your side, nails digging into your palms until it stung, but you were well trained and you hid it from him before he could notice.

“I’ll pick you up at eight?” he asked, slowly backing up to his tent with the widest smile you’d ever seen on his face. It wrinkled up by his eyes and stretched into his cheeks. So light, so unburdened from horrors that had not yet warped and twisted their way through his mind and body.

“Okay,” you replied again, unable to say much of anything else for the lump in your throat was starting to choke you.

Bucky disappeared into the camp and you were left standing in the open; tears burning in your eyes, slipping down past your lashes and over your cheekbones, knowing that by this time the following day, he’d be in the hands of Hydra.

***

You located the file an hour before Bucky was meant to pick you up. It sat on the edge of your cot, watching you, because you weren’t signaling Tony that it was time for you to come home. No—you were adorning rouge to your lips and curling your hair the way you’d seen in the movies Bucky liked from his youth, the transmitter hidden in your bag under the mattress.

An emerald dress swung at your hips, one that you’d borrowed from one of the exceptionally kind nurses. She seemed to be the only one who wasn’t glaring at you from across the room for daring to take the attention of the famed Sergeant Barnes and insisted you wear it since she was on shift for the evening anyway.

You slipped into the heels, brushing down the skirt of the dress and caught one last look in the mirror. The sleeves hung off your shoulders, exposing collarbone and a faded scar along your clavicle from a mission in Brussels six months prior. Bouncing curls pinned up from your neck and bright red upon your lips, you looked like a painted model in the posters hanging in the bar hall.

You wondered how your Bucky would feel to see you like this, if it would make him happy to be reminded of his youth, or if it would bring back memories too painful to let stir to the surface.

A knock rang on the post outside and you quickly pushed the file into your bag at the end of your bed. Out of sight and out of mind, at least for the next few hours.

“You ready, doll?” Bucky called from outside the tent as you started to make your way to the exit. “Steve’s been breaking my back all day saying you weren’t gonna show and I really need to prove him wro— oh wow.”

You stepped out from behind the flap of the tent, ducking under the low hanging ceiling and Bucky’s words seemed to die on his tongue. He pulled a lip between his teeth and eyes glanced down over you; not with a hunger, but instead with a genuine kind of awe. His smile was aching on his cheeks as he tried to bite it back.

“You look stunning,” he exhaled, shaking his head. “You’ll be the envy of every dame at the dance.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Sergeant,” you replied.

He wore his dress greens; dark olive overcoat with golden buttons down the center, two pockets at the breast, two at his hips, golden tie around his neck and a series of military badges in bright, vibrant colors along the right side of his chest. He looked like the images you’d seen in the Smithsonian; the man he tried so desperately to emulate; the one with honor and dignity, he said.

Bucky offered you his arm, and you took it graciously. Your hand slipped around the crook of his elbow, holding onto muscle where you once only know metal, and he guided you down to the jeep at the edge of camp. There, Steve, Dugan, Morita, and a few of the other Commandos were there waiting.

Steve stood against the door of the jeep, a woman you easily recognized in a dark red dress at his side; Peggy Carter. Steve seemed surprised to see you on Bucky’s arm, but when he hung his head, he was smiling, like maybe he was pleased to lose his own bet.

Bucky grinned, nudging your side before he turned to his friend. “Pay up Rogers!”

***

People were laughing, smiling, amongst the backdrop of a war that would almost certainly take the lives of half the men in this room. It was something of beauty to witness until it started to break your heart.

You’d spent nearly an hour on the dance floor with Bucky; letting him spin you around, lead you through dances you should have known if you had grown up in this era, though he paid it no mind. He liked teaching you, liked it when you stepped on his toes and grimaced apologetically at him. He liked seeing you flustered because you were not a woman who easily blushed. He enjoyed the twinge of embarrassment in your ears when you’d bump into a couple beside you and he’d quickly yank you back to his arms in a protective cage, the light rumble of his laugh in vibrations through his chest.

“I tried to tell you I’m no good at this, Bucky,” you said after a young couple on your left sent another glare in your direction for turning the wrong way in the middle of a Charleston Stroll.

“I don’t need you to be a good dancer, doll,” he smirked, pulling you impossibly close so that your chest was flush against his, the slow sway of your bodies in contrast to the fast-paced jives surrounding you. “All I wanted was an excuse to hold you like this.”

The music faded into long, melodic notes as your breath stilled in your lungs. The chaos around you fell into gentle motions as couples hung off of one another and the world seemed to come to a stop. You expected to find a teasing grin on his face, maybe even a hint of laughter, but there was sincerity in the blue of his eyes, a slight trace of longing because he knew what he was facing the next day on a train running through the ravines of a snowy mountain.

He smiled sweetly at you, carefully slipping your hand into his and guiding your other up to his shoulder. He set his right hand at the base of your back, fingers pressing into the soft curves like the keys of a piano, just feeling, and it reminded you of how your Bucky grounded himself in the worst of his nightmares; how he’d hold onto you, grip you so tightly he’d leave marks by the mornings that would ultimately add to his guilt, though they were colors on your skin you cherished. A physical symbol of his fight towards recovery.

You found yourself doing the same as you clasped at his left hand. With every dip of the beat and every sway of his body to yours, you squeezed at his hand; feeling for the slight give in the muscle, the warmth of flesh, the hard callouses on his palm. It was so real, so him, so tangible right in front of you and you felt tears prickle in your eyes.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” he asked quietly, noticing the trail of your gaze on his hand and the glossiness consuming your eyes.

You shook your head, brushing away the wetness on your cheeks and setting your hand back to his shoulder, though this time you curled up closer to him, focusing on the steady beat of his heart under his fingertips. “Nothing, honey.”

“’Honey’?” he repeated, chuckling a little under his breath. “You getting sweet on me, doll?”

You smiled, letting your head rest onto his shoulder, cheek brushing his collarbone. His hand started to run in smooth circles on your back, his nails traces shivering into your spine. It was something your Bucky did for you, to help ease the tension from your muscles.

“’Course not,” you replied in a breathy sigh, “I’ve got a fella, you know.”

"You don’t dance with me like you’ve got a man waiting on you,” Bucky retorted cheekily, though there was no jealousy in his voice, no resentment. He didn’t seem surprised, but he didn’t pull away either. He sighed, a heat of his breath brushing over your exposed neckline. “Tell me about him?”

You lifted your head from his shoulder, just long enough to caught sight of the tenderness with which he watched you. The corners of his lips curved up, only a little, before they fell again.

On some level, you wondered if he knew that he would never find even a semblance of normalcy in returning home from war, that he’d never settle down in the time that he knew and grow old and have children running around at his feet; that instead of showing up on his mother’s doorstep with bags in hand and a smile of relief, it would be two men dressed in uniform even he didn’t know, carrying an envelope that would break his mother’s heart.

You squeezed his left hand again, letting your right trace up along his jawline and cup the side of his face. He sighed, leaning into the touch. Clean shaven and smooth on his cheeks, decades younger.

“He’s a good man, even on his worst days,” you said tenderly. “He’s been through... so much, things that no one should ever have to experience. Anyone else might have crumbled under all that pain, but he’s still kind, still loving and impossibly sweet. He’s the best thing to ever happen to me though he argues against that most days.”

Bucky nodded, listening quietly as you continued.

“He’s handsome, like you, though his hair is longer, his shoulders a little broader with muscle,” you teased lightly and Bucky scoffed, feigning an offense, though he was smiling. “He’s quiet, different than he used to be, and there are always setbacks, always days where the pain outweighs all the good in his life, but doesn’t give into it. He’s a fighter, a survivor. He’s my best friend.”

“He take you dancing?” Bucky asked with a grin and you shook your head.

“No, not like this. Crowds aren’t easy for him.”

“He one of ours?”

A military man. He knew exactly what you were alluding to, so you nodded.

“Parts of him never came back from the war,” you confirmed, a frown pushing at your lips, “but he’s not broken. He’ll dance with me in the living room if I ask, let me hold him like this even when he feels like a stranger in his own skin. He tries, he heals. I know how hard it is for him to open up and I’m grateful for every moment he can let his walls down, if even for a second, and he shows me pieces of who he used to be, pieces of who he still is.”

A silence passed over the two of you, the music and the sight shuffling of feet around you taking over as you curled into Bucky’s side.

Bucky, but not your Bucky.

“You love him?”

Your relationship with Bucky was messy and complicated. You slept in the same bed most nights, pressed against one another to fight off the demons in his sleep, but you’d never touched him intimately, never so much as kissed his lips no matter how many times you’d wanted to. You met him in the ring and sparred until you were both aching and sweating, until you collapsed to the mat and talked for hours just staring up at the rafters. You were the first person he sought out when returning from a mission and it was his name you shouted for when you were surrounded behind enemy lines.

But there were darker forces between you; ones that kept him from letting himself open up completely, that kept him on the edge from you because Hydra was still in his mind, still convincing him he wasn’t worth the good in his life and he didn’t deserve to be treated with the affection and care with which you showed him.

Even when he kept you at a distance, he still held pieces of your heart, exposed and vulnerable in the palm of his hand.

“Yes,” you whispered, eyes darting to the collar of his shirt because you couldn’t dare to look him in the eye. You felt him squeeze at your hand, patterns on your back, and he pressed you closer to his chest; so perceptive of the heartache in your voice.

“Sounds like you might want to get home to him, huh?”

You shook your head, feeling embarrassed. “What? No, of course not. I’m-- I’m here to dance with you, right? You’re shipping out tomorrow for the alps and I—I owe you a dance, Barnes.”

Bucky chuckled. “Sweetheart, we’ve been dancing for hours. Look around, everyone’s practically gone home for the night.”

You narrowed your eyes, surprised, until you scanned the room to find that he was right; the dance floor was near empty and the staff had already begun cleaning up the refreshments table. Only the pianist remained on the stage, playing gentle melodies while his bandmates placed their instruments in their cases. He smiled at you, a short wink before he turned back to the pages of his sheet music.

Steve and Peggy were sitting by the bar, talking quietly with one another, unbothered by the lateness or the lack of party guests and the absence of alcohol beside them. Jim and Dum Dum must have hitched their own rides home because they were nowhere in sight, though a few stray men swaying on unbalances legs stumbled by the door.

“I’d say this was a pretty nice last go of it all,” Bucky sighed, a genuine smile on his face. “Zola’s not a threat physically. Can’t imagine we’ll have too much trouble bringing him in, but you never know, right? I couldn’t pass up an excuse to bring a beautiful woman to a dance.”

You bit down on your cheek until blood pooled in your mouth. You swallowed it back, tasting of copper and it burned on the way down.

“Certainly can’t blame you for that,” you replied, forcing your voice as steady as you could manage.

The pianist slowly brought the song to an end, chiming on the high end of the keys before closing the lid and stepping away. Bucky sighed, a nod the indicated that the magic of the night had ended and he moved to step away, but your hands darted out to the sides of his face.

“You’ll get through this,” you said sternly, adamantly, because he needed to hear it. The confusion read on his face though he didn’t question you. “You’re strong, Bucky. You’re brave. Please remember that.”

He narrowed his eyes, brow furrowed, though he nodded slowly.

You stepped back suddenly, letting your hands fall away from his face. It was a gesture too intimate for the man standing in front of you, one you’d done countless times for the man he’d ultimately become, and while he didn’t flinch at the touch, it surprised him. Perhaps it was the heartbreak on your face, the guilt, that confused him most.

“I--I should go,” you said quietly. “Thank you for the dance, Sergeant Barnes.”

“The pleasure was all mine, doll,” he replied, a soft smile etching up onto his features.

He was so young, so untouched by the damages that would be inflicted upon him; even after he’d already been captured and held by the same men who would break him from the inside out, he still carried a hope about him. He was different at the start of it all.

You loaded into the back of the jeep and Bucky slid in beside you. He kept his hand at his side, didn’t try to push into your space because, after all, you had someone waiting on you, but you could see the twinge in his fingertips, how he ached to hold your hand. It broke your heart.

At the end of the night, he walked you back to your tent. Hands shoved deep into his pockets and a tight smile on his face, he asked, “will I see you again?”

You thought again about telling him the truth, warning him that he wouldn’t find his way home for nearly seven decades and when he did, he’d be a changed man in a time he didn’t know. It wouldn’t change anything. Your Bucky had always gone through the horrors of what Hydra inflicted on him and what you did in this time wouldn’t affect that.

“Of course,” you replied with a smile light on your lips though you forced it into your cheeks. He sighed of relief. “I’ll be here waiting when you get back.”

“What about your man?” he inquired, a teasing grin and a raise of his eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me you don’t believe in friendship, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Whatever you’ll give me, sweetheart,” he replied, smiling so wide it much have ached, and you tried to memorize the way it wrinkled up by the blue of his eyes. You wondered if you’d ever see him smile like that again, like the very act of it didn’t rip him to pieces.

You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek, light and short, a feather’s touch, and you watched as a light pink flushed his face. A thumb brushed along his cheekbone to rid him of the lipstick staining on his skin, but he gently pushed your hand away.

“Let me brag a little to the guys, won’t you?” he laughed. It was a sound so sweet it threatened to tear you in two.

“Goodnight, Bucky,” you said slowly, stepping back to the tent.

He sighed, shaking his head as he took one final look at you, the last one he’d know for nearly seventy years. “Goodnight, Y/n.”

***

There were still tears in your eyes as you were pulled from between the cracks of space and time to land on the platform of the Avengers’ hanger in update New York.

Tony was down on your left, adjusting the buttons and levers on a massive computer board, slamming his hand against a faulty monitor until it shifted from a grainy static to a sharp input of bright green data. Steve was rushing up to you, already starting to remove the gear from your back and help you out of the suit. The file had slipped easily from your hand into Natasha’s and she was gone from the room before you even noticed, racing it off to Fury.

"Where is he?” you choked out, lump burning in your throat.

Steve paused for a moment, eyes flickering down to the floor because he must have seen the tears in your eyes. There was no need to specify. Steve knew exactly who you were looking for.

"The training room, I think.”

“Training room?” you repeated, surprised, eyes narrowed as Steve helped you slip your arm from the sleeve of the suit.

"He’s, um, he’s not coming, Y/n.”

“He always comes,” you insisted, peering up and over Steve’s shoulder to get a better look at the door, but they were still closed shut. There wasn’t a time since you’d joined the Avengers that Bucky wasn’t the last person you saw before you left and the first person you ran to when you came home.

Steve swallowed, continuing to work on your suit. “Y/n, the—the idea of you going back there, it wasn’t easy for him. You saw how he stormed out of the debriefing when Fury assigned you to this mission."

“He’s never not been here, Steve. Why would he--”

“Well for one,” Tony piped up, eyes still glued to the computer board, “he wasn’t entirely keen on shipping you back to the time where he was walking around with a brain that had yet to be thrown in a blender and a personality with a range wider than a pet rock."

You gritted your teeth, hands clenched to fists. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Tony shrugged, powering down the platform as Steve removed the last remaining panel from your suit, “just means that he’s probably sulking somewhere because only that idiot could be jealous of his own damn self.”

You looked to Steve who only bowed his head, lips pressed to an apologetic line, and suddenly, you took off running; sprinting across the room and shoulder shoved to the double doors at the exit. Neither Tony nor Steve were foolish enough to call after you, to believe that you’d stop for anything when it was Bucky you were running towards.

You passed by Sam in the living room, who pointed a finger to the gym, not even lifting his head from his cereal bowl. Clint waved from the couch, cheesy grin and all, before Wanda threw a pillow at him, hushing him as he tried to ask you how the mission went. It was all noise; nothing that you could hear when your focus was on Bucky.

When you made it to the gym, you found it to be empty, save for the distinct grunts in the far back corner, the slamming of fists against a sandbag, the labored breaths of a man in pain.

Bucky stood with his back to you, muscles evident under the thin layer of his navy t-shirt, sweat soaking through the fabric and clinging against him. His whole body utilized in every punch and you stood back and watched until he ultimately hit it too hard and the bag dislodged from the ceiling, falling to the ground and rolling next to two of the same. Sand poured from the hole he’d created.

Bucky groaned, brushing his hand over his forehead to rinse the sweat from his eyes. As he turned around to hang another bag, his eyes landed on you, a flinch flexing throughout his body, a catch in his breath, because it wasn’t often you could sneak up on him. He swallowed, trying to find his bearings.

“You forget something?” he asked, voice low, tired. He didn’t realize you’d already gone and come back.

“No,” you replied, trying to mask your hurt though it did little use, “did you?”

He clenched his jaw, eyes darting down to the floor as he bent to grab another sandbag from the line. There was guilt etched into his features as he hung the bag on the chain as if it weighed nothing. It was then you noticed his bare hand, how it was beaten raw and bloodied.

“Jesus, Buck,” you gasped, reaching out for his hand and for the first time in nearly a year, he pulled away from you. He held his hands close to his chest, crossing his arms when he’d realized what he’d done, having seen the hurt on your face. You stepped forward to comfort him, but he flinched away.

“Talk to me,” you pleaded, tears in your eyes because you’d just left him to face 70 years in hell and all you wanted was to hold him again. Your agony for him ached deep in your bones, but he was keeping you at a distance, walls up, protecting himself from a threat you couldn’t see. “Did I—Did I do something?”

“No,” he said quickly, sternly, because it was one of the few things he was absolutely certain of. “No, sweetheart. It’s never you. It’s never anything you’ve done.”

“Then what is it?” You took in a shaky breath, one that barely took in air for the stone lodged in your throat. He glanced up at you and winced at the tears burning in your eyes.

“You saw him, didn’t you?” he asked slowly. He swallowed. “Me. You saw—me.”

“Yes.”

“But is wasn’t me,” he said, almost in a question. “It was some parallel version of me, right? That’s why I don’t remember... not because of what Hydra did to my head?”

You nodded, taking a cautious step forward. When he didn’t retreat from you, you took another. He kept his stare on the ground by your feet; appearing small, as if he didn’t tower over you, as if the strength of his body couldn’t snap a cement brick in half. Your hands slipped into his and you felt his whole body sigh of relief as you brought them closer to you.

Even the cold metal of his left hand was a familiar comfort for you; cool and solid, tangible. It was a piece of the man you knew. His right hand was swollen, skin broken at the knuckles, raw and bleeding. You winced as you quietly examined the wounds, carefully turning his hand in yours to get a better look.

“Will you let me wrap this?” you asked gently and after a few moments, he nodded.

You led him carefully to the edge of the ring and sat him down on the raised edges; a kiss to his forehead as you backed away and you quickly grabbed the first aid kit from the latch under the ring.

Box in hand, you sat down beside him and pulled out the bandages, disinfectant wipes, and soothing gel. You set the kit on the floor and gestured for his right hand. It was quiet as you worked, applying the disinfectant and cleaning the damage he’d inflicted. You felt his gaze on you, studying you as a crease furrowed in your brow in concentration.

Several moments of silence passed before he spoke again.

“Do you see it now?”

You narrowed your eyes, confused by his sudden question. It was something he did often, let his mind wonder and spin until finally something stumbled out, whether it made much sense or not, but you were exceptionally patient with him. You sighed, gently easing the cooling gel onto his knuckles. He hissed at the sting of it.

“See what, honey?”

“Why you shouldn’t be with me.”

You closed your eyes, jaw aching from how tightly you clenched it. You could feel your lower lip trembling, tears burning in your eyes when you looked at him again.

He was better than he was when you’d first met. He didn’t wear the dark circles under his eyes in permeant stains anymore, didn’t leave grease caked into his roots, or wasted away closed off in his room without food for days at a time. But he still carried guilt in his eyes, still hung a heavy shame over his shoulders, still found himself unworthy and irredeemable, even on his best days, no matter how hard he tried to believe you otherwise.

“Bucky,” you sighed, his name aching in your voice, “why would you say such a thing?”

“You know now,” he replied flatly, like it was what he’d been waiting for, like he was so sure that his worst nightmares were already true, “you know what I was like then and how—and how broken I am now. I can’t be him, Y/n. I won’t ever be like that again and I-- I can’t give you the things he could. I won't be enou--”

“Stop, please,” you whispered, holding tightly to his hand as you wrapped the bandages. A tear slipped past your nose and fell to the white fabric along his knuckles, soaking into the cloth. “It broke my heart to see who you used to be, what you were like before Hydra, before all the pain they’d inflicted on you. You were... light and sweet and so impossibly charming.”

He clenched his jaw, eyes to the ground ahead of him as he listened, nodding along. You could tell he was preparing for the worst, like you might tell him that he was right, that this past version of himself opened your eyes to how empty he’d become, how weak and burdensome, how he was only a shell of the man he used to be and he’d never be enough for you.

His hands were shaking in your own and you swiftly lifted them to your lips and kissed at his knuckles, first upon flesh and then to the cold metal of his left. It pulled a gasp from him, an involuntary sigh of relief.

“I saw pieces of you in him, Buck. In the way he’d watch from a careful distance, how he smiled to himself when he thought no one was watching, the kindness in his eyes, the way he said my name,” you continued, letting his left hand sit on your leg so you could reach up to cup the side of his face, gently drawing his attention back to you. His eyes were red, strained, and you smiled sweetly at him. “It’s the same way I see pieces of him in you. You still tease and joke, even if it’s quieter, more intimate. You still make me feel like my hearts going to beat out of my chest when you look at me. You’re still impossibly charming, Buck. You are to me, anyway.”

He shook his head, biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood.

“Sweetheart, you’re not broken,” you soothed, sweeping your thumb along his cheekbone. You grazed bristles of hair along his face, scruff from a few days without a razor. “You’re not less than who you were then. Just different. The things that happened to you changed you, Bucky. They’d change anyone. I don’t ever expect you to be the man you were before the fall.”

Bucky took in a shaken breath. “I thought—I thought you might prefer him. The way Steve does.”

“Oh honey,” you exhaled, pulling him into your arms, his head resting on your collar and you stroked your hand along his back to ease the tremors away as he clung to you, “Steve doesn’t--”

“He wants me to be how I was,” Bucky mumbled, his lips muffled by the sleeve of your shirt. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling himself closer. “He doesn't think I can see the disappointment on his face, but I can. I know he misses how things were.”

“Steve just worries about you, Buck,” you said gently, rubbing circles along his back. “He just wants you to be happy. He wants you to be okay.”

It was like he didn’t even hear you, so caught up in the rush of consuming thoughts in his mind, threatening to do him in.

“I’m scared you’re going to start looking at me like that.”

You sucked in a harsh breath, though you willed your voice as steady as you could manage. “Like what, sweetheart?”

“Like I’ve disappointed you,” he admitted simply, like he’d thought about it a dozen times over. “I always thought I had nowhere to go but up with you. You’d only seen me at my worst but… but now you’ve seen me then and—and I don’t know if I can take you wishin’ I was him, doll, because I’ve tried and I—I can’t and I don’t want to lose you because I think it might ki—”

“Look at me,” you requested sternly, pulling him from your embrace and guiding his eyes to you. His cheeks were red, ocean blue of his eyes wet with tears as the words died on his tongue. “I will never ask you be someone you’re not. I would never want you to.”

He shook his head against your hands. “But I’m—”

“You are the man I’ve always known you to be,” you insisted. You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead, one that you felt his breath leave him as you pulled away. His eyes were glossy but they were vibrant blue as they met yours. “You are the man I fell in love with, Bucky. You, as you are right now. Not some idealized version of who you think you should be. Not the man you were in the forties. You.”

His entire body was rigid in your arms; solid, like stone and steel, and when he finally pulled back, there was an ocean of disbelief in his eyes. Lips slightly parted, brows pinched at the center and a flush of red in his cheeks. An imprint of your sleeve was prominent along his temple as his eyes searched yours, seeking out a deception he would never find.

“You love me?” he whispered, voice barely audible, but you watched as his lips mimed the words; the way he licked at the dryness and tried to swallow back the sandpaper in his throat.

“With everything I have, honey.”

When he finally did let himself exhale again, the breath carried a world of relief in its release. A smile hung on his lips, curving up into his cheeks, and wrinkled into his eyes. A vision of a man decades younger, lighter, where the blue was brighter and the stones were lifted from his shoulders.

“You love me,” he said again, though this time it wasn’t a question but simply a statement of fact. He repeated it again, like he was engraving it into his mind, into his memories where Hydra couldn’t touch it, where it would be protected and entirely his.

“I do,” you giggled, playing with the ends of his hair. “Any chance you might--”

Lips were suddenly on yours, melded and perfectly warm, soft, eager, and you wondered why you ever thought he was any different from the man he used to be. His hands snaked up into your hair, curling delicately into your scalp as a sigh left his breath and touched your cheek. He kissed at your jawline, your cheekbones, the tip of your nose, and returned to your lips where he was wanted most.

When he finally pulled back, you let him go reluctantly, and he set his forehead to yours; the brightest smile on his face you’d ever witnessed and you were almost certain it must have ached in his cheeks from lack of use, but god, was he beautiful.

“I love you, too.”

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#buckysknifecollectionchallenge #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you

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edenmemes · 4 years

Text

the witcher 3: wild hunt starters

including quotes from the dlcs hearts of stone & blood and wine

❝ you were always an unruly child. i adored that about you. ❞ ❝ mmm. yes. of course. the excuse you resort to when you’d rather not talk about something. ❞ ❝ how many have you killed? how many more might you still? ❞ ❝ you know who i am. and why i’m here. ❞ ❝ you're a madman and always have been. a cruel, cold-blooded killer. ❞ ❝ a man should frame his wishes carefully. it forestalls disappointment. ❞ ❝ no argument. you knew what you were signing up for. ❞ ❝ maybe once, in a different time...i’d have helped. ❞ ❝ don’t train alone, it only embeds your errors. ❞ ❝ wanna get drunk off my ass. and it’s gotta be on cheap wine. ❞ ❝ you’re a heartless bastard. ❞ ❝ try to trick me anyway, anyhow, you won’t go anywhere, you know that. ‘cause i’ll take your head off right where it meets your neck. ❞ ❝ sorry. i don’t want to talk about it. not now, at least. ❞ ❝ we are more like a family. we support each other and help each other survive tough moments. ❞ ❝ so how’s it feel to be the village witch? ❞ ❝ realize, please, that you were made for great things. ❞ ❝ folks say a curse has fallen on that place, a dark power brought down by the bestiality of the murders it beheld. ❞ ❝ so, now you’ve threatened me and all...are you in or are you not? ❞ ❝ i know it must sound foolish, but in the dream - well, it was all too real... ❞ ❝ we may not survive this. in fact, our chances are slim. ❞ ❝ it’s always been about you. only you. ❞ ❝ i remember finding your sense of humor both groan-worthy...and somehow endearing. ❞ ❝ kings die, realms fall, but magic endures. ❞ ❝ i detest banquets. vacuous conversation, food portions fit for a mouse, drinks that taste like piss... ❞ ❝ despite what you’ve heard, i don’t lunge at every monster i see, sword in hand. ❞ ❝ each day’s more dangerous than the last. ❞ ❝ it’s folks like you that restore my faith in humankind. ❞ ❝ my power lies in possessing knowledge, not sharing it. ❞ ❝ the rotten smell brings back childhood memories. ❞ ❝ awfully noble of you, showing so much concern for the needy. ❞ ❝ no need to thank me. always glad to save your ass. you’re welcome. ❞ ❝ i may be inhumanely beautiful, but i don’t have super human senses. ❞ ❝ anyone can be made to talk, even a corpse. one must simply know how. ❞ ❝ we’ve done the hardest part. only got the pleasant bits now. ❞ ❝ there are few causes worth saving. even fewer men. ❞ ❝ don’t treat me like a child. ❞ ❝ there’s strange men lurking outside the house. watching me. ❞ ❝ you must be careful what you wish for lest your wish be granted. for there are consequences. ❞ ❝ shall i be free of the suffering? the sadness? ❞ ❝ i wish to gaze into those eyes, eyes the devil would be proud to have. ❞ ❝ you were born with a great gift. and only you can decide how to use it. ❞ ❝ any other words of wisdom? or can we go? ❞ ❝ what i need is an ally. and something tells me i shall find none better than you. ❞ ❝ i can see no row can occur here without your participation. ❞ ❝ i and what concerns me have not been a concern of yours for some time now. ❞ ❝ if you’d not arrived in time, things might have ended considerably worse. ❞ ❝ if they can bleed, they can die. ❞ ❝ a man must display some madness from time to time --- it helps him feel alive. ❞ ❝ i was deeply troubled. you’ve no idea. ❞ ❝ done that so many times, but...it felt like our first kiss to me. ❞ ❝ don’t need to play tough on me. ❞ ❝ i've lost too many mates already. i won’t risk it, i can't. ❞ ❝ there’s just not enough of us. it’ll be a hard fight. ❞ ❝ in lonely woods, screams carry long. ❞ ❝ things used to be simpler. monsters were bad, humans good. now, everything’s all confused. ❞ ❝ as for your missteps --- i don't rightly see why i shouldn't laugh if they're amusing.. ❞ ❝ i’ve no gold to offer you in reward...but i shall be ever so grateful. ❞ ❝ if you’re scared, turn back. i’m gonna go on. ❞ ❝ if anything happens, i’ll defend you. ❞ ❝ once you say "i love you," a kiss has to taste differently. ❞ ❝ maybe we should sit? you look a bit dazed... ❞ ❝ drink it off, sleep it off, whatever it takes...just get yourself together and think things through. ❞ ❝ i shall join later, if it’s no trouble. i don’t yet feel strong enough to venture out. ❞ ❝ awake at last. you writhed like a squirrel caught in a snare. ❞ ❝ again you plan without even asking what i think! ❞ ❝ come to see how i’m feelin'? thanks, not bad. ❞ ❝ i remember that day quite well...there was a light drizzle, yet the cold tore right through you. ❞ ❝ you gotta keep your eyes peeled wide open. someone’s taken an interest in your work. ❞ ❝ oof...for a minute, i actually thought we were doomed. ❞ ❝ you shouldn’t worry yourself --- it tarnishes your beauty. ❞ ❝ i’d even embrace you...were you not covered in blood. ❞ ❝ guess i could’ve been someone worse...just a shame i had no choice. ❞ ❝ facts interest me. not fairytales. ❞ ❝ hm, odd smell. blend of alcohol, blood and monster stench. ❞ ❝ i’m old and i am wealthy. i may say what i please. ❞ ❝ now, be so kind and leave me to my thoughts. ❞ ❝ in your shoes i’d pack it up and go hide somewhere far away. ❞ ❝ forgive me, but that's the blatherin' of someone who clearly can't snap out of it after a tragic loss. ❞ ❝ that all you gotta say? i saved your life. ❞ ❝ i swear on all that is holy: we shall be together forever. ❞ ❝ think of me as part of the decor. ❞ ❝ anyone who’s bold enough to fight is already a hero. ❞ ❝ if this is a trap of some sort... ❞ ❝ you can count on me, you know? always. ❞ ❝ you don’t know how much it means...to have someone you can rely on in this fucking city. ❞ ❝ i know you. you have no heart. ❞ ❝ no room for friendship in this business. ❞ ❝ evil is evil. lesser, greater, middling, makes no difference. the degree is arbitrary, the definitions blurred. ❞ ❝ hands off, or i'll cut them off. ❞ ❝ i’ll need to clear my head first. after those deranged dreams, i feel it’s full of cobwebs. ❞ ❝ on your way? or will you stay longer? it’s far safer with you around... ❞ ❝ really sad story, but something’s not right. got a feeling you’re not telling me everything. ❞ ❝ gotta admit, there’s something about you. you’re...different. ❞ ❝ with each arrow i shoot, i think of my dad. he’d be proud, i think. ❞ ❝ i merely know when to indulge my pride, and when to swallow it. ❞ ❝ you were born to greatness. ❞ ❝ these’re dark, grim times. no room for knights pure of heart or happily-ever-afters. ❞ ❝ a life without liquor’s like loving without licking. ❞ ❝ my certainty i walk the right path grows strong as iron, firm as steel. ❞ ❝ few make me feel awkward, but in your presence, i feel anxiety, discomfort. ❞ ❝ some men have got good reason to fear their own shadows. ❞ ❝ some men cannot admit defeat. some keep fighting from beyond the grave. ❞ ❝ stare into their eyes, feast on their terror. then go in for the kill. ❞ ❝ forget not that you are a person right and honorable, devoted to doing good. ❞ ❝ ash shall fertilize the soil. by spring, the valley shall bloom once more. ❞ ❝ there’s lots of wraiths here. i hear them whispering every night. ❞ ❝ no one has the courage to face this threat! yet we must kill them, or sooner or later we will all die. ❞ ❝ you are a step away from losing your head. speak the truth and you might yet keep it. ❞ ❝ you carry within you the weight of a terrible tragedy. you are a good person, but lost. which is why you come across as grim. ❞ ❝ if i understand you correctly, you would rather help a monster than kill it? ❞ ❝ discouraged after a mere eight attempts? ❞ ❝ easier to pat someone on the back and hope things will work out than it is to face the truth. ❞ ❝ know that they can’t teach an old dog new tricks? ❞ ❝ my, you’ve grown beautiful. ❞ ❝ my swords a promise --- if i reach for it, heads will roll. ❞ ❝ one condition: no one dies. that clear? ❞ ❝ patience happens to be my weakness. so dispense with the dramatic pauses and talk. ❞ ❝ you proved today you can take care of yourself. ❞ ❝ you under the delusion you’ll complete your tasks, live happily ever after? ❞ ❝ i will not sit and twiddle my thumbs. i'm sick of waiting, sick of hiding! ❞ ❝ glad you know who i am. haven’t introduced yourself, though. ❞ ❝ i’ve seen a great deal --- cruelty, cynicism, greed. ❞ ❝ you tempt fate, because at heart you are unhappy. ❞ ❝ we had our chance, but...let it go. ❞ ❝ come now, you didn’t expect it to be that easy, did you? ❞ ❝ promise me one thing --- you’ll stop risking your life for others. ❞ ❝ instead of dwelling on the future, i’d rather live in the moment. ❞ ❝ i adore love stories. especially the ones that end happily ever after. ❞ ❝ we are drops of rain that together make a ferocious storm. ❞ ❝ the path to freedom is paved in blood, not ink. ❞ ❝ we’ll get our happy ending. one day. ❞ ❝ i’ll never forget what you did for me...and what we had together. ❞ ❝ don’t meddle in other people’s lives. ❞ ❝ i don’t get attached to places. just people. ❞ ❝ it’s dangerous, there are risks involved. understand that, don’t you? ❞ ❝ and here i hoped someone would finally take pity on me. ❞ ❝ seen a lot of dead in my time, but that must’ve been hard. ❞ ❝ air is strange...like dropping into a deep cellar on a hot day... ❞ ❝ wouldn’t carry a sword if i didn’t know how to use it. ❞ ❝ take it you didn't summon me to reminisce about the good old days, so... ❞ ❝ i was attacked --- had to defend myself. ❞ ❝ guards have never stopped me, you know that. ❞ ❝ treating the ill and wounded...it’s my calling. ❞ ❝ you think it’s enchanted? ❞ ❝ there are times when a woman should simply not explain her decision. ❞ ❝ won’t find too many comforts, but try to feel at home. ❞ ❝ i was looking for you...sometimes i thought you were just a step away. other times, i felt like i was going around in circles. ❞ ❝ i’ll remember you. always with a smile. ❞ ❝ i’d rather you not make anymore trouble --- for yourself, or us both. ❞ ❝ got the stench of corpes on you. ❞ ❝ you stood to gain --- that is why you saved me. ❞ ❝ sages invariably have hidden agendas. altruism is simply not part of their constitution. ❞ ❝ the gods have abandoned us. the mighty of this earth care not for our fate. ❞ ❝ is that admiration i hear in your voice? ❞ ❝ i started off heading in the opposite direction, but then turned around. ❞ ❝ i’m fed up. i won’t have others deciding for me behind my back. ❞ ❝ where’d you get this idea? what’s gotten into you? ❞ ❝ i don't expect you to commit now. think it over, what you've heard, what you feel. ❞ ❝ head torn clear off...takes incredible strength. ❞ ❝ desperate fathers have been known to do a lot to find their daughters. ❞ ❝ you cannot kill me. you know this... ❞ ❝ "i give you my heart”? what kind of spell is that? ❞ ❝ i’d go anywhere with you. ❞ ❝ why? because i am a woman? in a frock, rather than plate? i can take care of myself, i assure you. ❞ ❝ everything we discussed here, hope you’ll keep it to yourself. counting on it, in fact. ❞ ❝ trusted you once. won’t make that mistake again. ❞ ❝ shut up. i’ve heard enough of your bullshit. draw your weapon, let’s get this over with. ❞ ❝ exaggerating for effect, right? ❞ ❝ well, well...when cornered, you can bite. ❞ ❝ you cannot win...even if you kill me. ❞ ❝ you know i’m good at accomplishing the impossible. ❞ ❝ it’s nothing, really. you’d have done the same for me. ❞ ❝ you are not ready. you do not control your powers. ❞ ❝ you’re a tool in their hands, even if you don’t see it. ❞ ❝ i’d do anything for you, i would. you know that well. ❞ ❝ this is a land where the fantastic is normal, and the impossible occurs daily... ❞ ❝ know when a legend becomes a prophecy? when it gain believers. ❞ ❝ i thought you’d become a stranger to me. that i’d look at you and not feel a thing. but it’s not like that at all. nothing’s changed. ❞ ❝ to be honest, i just wanted to go on a walk with you. ❞ ❝ what i really want is to be with you, to...to be together and... ❞ ❝ this is not the kind of offer one refuses. ❞ ❝ despair devours you like maggots devour a corpse. ❞ ❝ before long every soul will kneel before you. ❞ ❝ i run into dilemmas all the time. situations where it's hard to judge, hard to know what's right, make a decision. this is not one of them. you disgust me. and deserve to die. ❞ ❝ you know me. i’m rare to praise, but when i do, it’s sincere. ❞ ❝ i'm not a thug for hire. ❞ ❝ i like being on adventures, sleeping under the stars, waking up with dew on my face. ❞ ❝ the dream's within reach now. i’m not about to let it go. ❞ ❝ unlike you, killing gives me no pleasure. ❞ ❝ can't speak for the world you inhabit, but in mine, nothing is ever black and white. ❞ ❝ you cannot possibly imagine how much i detest this place. ❞ ❝ stones you’ve got. but i didn’t think you’d have the stomach for a massacre. ❞ ❝ the dead man --- looked like a monster attacked him recently. ❞ ❝ finish all your business before you die. bid loved ones farewell. write your will. apologize to those you’ve wronged. otherwise, you’ll never truly leave this world. ❞ ❝ i've had nothing but nightmares lately. pretty horrible. ❞ ❝ i was wandering through the forest, breathing deep the air, and then i heard a strange sound, unsettling. ❞ ❝ had a few nice dreams. for example, in one we sat around a fire, drinking good wine, and all around people danced and laughed. ❞ ❝ they’re all dead! mountains of corpses. yet here i stand alone. all alone. ❞ ❝ this isn’t a game. men have died. ❞ ❝ if you wanna listen, listen, if not --- i'd rather you spared me your wit and throw me out now. ❞ ❝ you fed me, cared for me, had my wounds looked after. we're even now. ❞ ❝ you’ll return, you shall. our fates are bound. ❞ ❝ i’ve nothing left. not a fucking thing. ❞ ❝ i don’t question your abilities. i simply don’t trust you. ❞ ❝ what foolish things men sometimes do. ❞ ❝ dare harm me, and against you will rise all the powers of nature. ❞ ❝ did you destroy the evil powers? have you brought peace to my domain? ❞ ❝ well, perhaps i shall tell you about it one day. one day, but not today.. ❞ ❝ times like these, you never know what tomorrow will bring. ❞ ❝ you worry too much. what will be, will be. ❞ ❝ have you gone completely mad? we must leave here at once! ❞ ❝ time eats away at memories, distorts them. sometimes we only remember the good... sometimes only the bad. ❞ ❝ you don’t need magic to strip men of their humanity. i’ve seen plenty of examples. ❞ ❝ if i’m to choose between one evil and another, i’d rather not choose at all. ❞ ❝ see what i’ve got on my back? wolves fear it. kings do, too. ❞ ❝ i missed those awkward compliments of yours. ❞ ❝ sometimes i think it’s all too lovely to be true…that something’s bound to happen, another war or some other horror. ❞ ❝ took you a while. did you run into trouble? ❞ ❝ i just travel a lot. and i don't always happen upon such good and civil company. ❞ ❝ what can you know about saving the world, silly? ❞ ❝ done my share of fighting. wouldn't carry a sword if i didn't know to use it. ❞ ❝ all right, perhaps i wasn’t completely honest. ❞ ❝ ever thought this day would come? me and you...peace and quiet...bees buzzing, birds chirping. ❞ ❝ i detect a shadow of impatience in your face. ❞ ❝ took me a long time to find you. wasn't an easy road to travel. ❞ ❝ wipe that frown off your face, or i might think you don’t like me anymore. ❞ ❝ always believed attack was the best defense. ❞ ❝ once it’s all over, if we survive ... i wish to leave, go far away. and i’d like you to come with me. ❞ ❝ naturally, you suspect me of the worst. i don’t deserve that. ❞ ❝ we can fight another time, in another place, where the walls have no ears. ❞ ❝ once i was free...i shall be free once more. ❞ ❝ believe me...a tavern, mulled wine, our boots drying by the fire --- i’d like nothing better. ❞ ❝ prove it. kiss me. ❞ ❝ the prophecies do not lie...you cannot survive this struggle. ❞ ❝ i know you better than you think. ❞ ❝ you know me. nothing i like more than breaking rules. ❞ ❝ what’s happened? it’s so quiet, all of a sudden. ❞ ❝ thank you, for coming with me. ❞ ❝ i cannot do everything for you. use your head. ❞ ❝ i'm angry and tired. had to kill a lot of people along the way. ❞ ❝ we’ve come a long way, and i’d be damned if we’ve come to fail. ❞ ❝ i sense your pain. i see your fear. ❞ ❝ how’s this for an answer: kiss my ass. ❞ ❝ how many have you already killed? how many more might you still? ❞ ❝ i'm quite alive and extraordinarily well. better than i've ever been in this rotten life of mine. ❞ ❝ i like it when you smile. come here. everything will be all right. ❞ ❝ ugh. don’t fall in love with me. ❞ ❝ i don’t like you. in fact, i feel like slapping you. ❞ ❝ i'm too old to play the blushing bride...unless you ask nicely. ❞ ❝ that bit of my life --- forgotten it already. ❞ ❝ the world doesn’t need a hero. it needs a professional. ❞ ❝ next time you wonder why i’m so bitter...well, there's your answer. ❞ ❝ nothing wrong with having a drink in good company. ❞ ❝ i want you behind those rocks. and keep your mouth shut. ❞ ❝ nice of you to worry...but i've made my decision, and i won't change it. ❞ ❝ this is my story, not yours. you must let me finish telling it. ❞ ❝ after all that toil, i believe we deserve a bit of a rest. ❞ ❝ i was afraid you were dead. ❞ ❝ we’ve all some stain on our conscience. ❞ ❝ leaving the castle walls means certain death. ❞ ❝ right good jest. had us a laugh. now fuck off. ❞ ❝ i’ve heard about you. you bring trouble, or thus far have, always. ❞ ❝ ah, you’ve struck a raw nerve. memories of a time long past to which i’d rather not return now. ❞ ❝ we meet again. and it seems you need my help. again. ❞ ❝ got a relative i can talk to? someone - how do i say this - a smidgen less irritating? ❞ ❝ miss the target, you owe me fifty push-ups. hit it, you owe me twenty. ❞ ❝ oh. serious talk coming. ❞ ❝ i feel like one more lie'd be the last bitter drop in a chalice full of sorrow. ❞ ❝ romantic? thought we came here as friends. ❞ ❝ you’re hiding something. and that’s one thing i can’t stand. ❞ ❝ tell me, how do you do it? always manage to pull yourself together, focus, no matter what’s happening? ❞ ❝ i go wherever i please, whenever i please. ❞ ❝ uh oh. i know that look. ❞ ❝ sounds tempting. so tempting i don’t think i can refuse. ❞ ❝ so, what do you say to a moonlight ride on horseback...and dinner? ❞ ❝ perhaps...perhaps you’d stay just a bit longer? ❞ ❝ how are you feeling? sleep well? ❞ ❝ such a gloomy subject to broach... simply shouldn’t have. ❞

❝ such a gloomy subject to broach...i simply shouldn’t have --- not during our romantic dinner. ❞ ❝ got it. a bit of blackmail --- just your style. ❞ ❝ it’s the crack of dawn. where do you wanna go? ❞ ❝ shut up before you wake someone. last thing we need is a crowd. ❞ ❝ watch what you say. the trees have ears. ❞ ❝ no bow at hand, no spear. my sword was all i had. ❞ ❝ never expected you’d take such an interest in my private life. ❞ ❝ i’m special. always was the rare beauty. ❞ ❝ damn. been ages since we last saw each other. ❞ ❝ some charming orchards nearby. in bloom, even, so you almost can't smell the corpses. ❞ ❝ you know me. nothing i like more than breaking rules. ❞ ❝ man spends his whole life learning. ❞ ❝ if only i was as skilled with my words as i am with my blade. ❞ ❝ i wished to know what was going on in that head of yours. i thought perhaps i could help. ❞ ❝ i can tell something’s bothering you. ❞ ❝ dangerous times. each thinks five times before sticking their neck out. and i can’t blame them. ❞ ❝ now i care not in the slightest how you think or feel. ❞ ❝ i no longer know if i still hate you. ❞ ❝ i see how you look at me, and i see you wither. ❞ ❝ one last bit of advice --- find a new tavern. everyone here knows you. ❞ ❝ you won. no point bothering with ‘what ifs’. ❞ ❝ it’s time i took fate into my own hands. lived life anew...and truly, this time. ❞ ❝ ahh, 'cause you thought you'd killed me that time. surprise, sur-fucking-prise. ❞ ❝ who...who’s that? gods, i’m hallucinating. ❞ ❝ it’s no exaggeration to say i’ve never met a warrior like you in my life. you’re lithe as an eel and strong as a bear. ❞ ❝ i’ve a heart again, yet all it feels is grief, sadness and defeat. my life is a ruin. ❞ ❝ sought only to protect myself. in doing so, i put you in harm’s way. forgive me. ❞ ❝ there’s a charming grove nearby where kisses taste sweeter than anywhere else in the world. ❞ ❝ you’ve handled tougher situations. you’ll figure this one out. ❞ ❝ who you are and why you’ve come matter little. for you’ll not leave this place alive. ❞ ❝ i’m not panicking. just trying to be realistic. ❞ ❝ hahahahaha...i can’t believe you fell for that! ❞ ❝ i was actually going to recite an anthem praising your glory, but if you’re not in the mood... ❞ ❝ lying didn’t always come so easily to you. ❞ ❝ everyone wants to rule. i can do that better than any monarch. ❞ ❝ tell me what you want already, and make it quick. ❞ ❝ what a mess we made of it all...if i’d only known then how it would end... ❞ ❝ seems a faded dream now, but there were a time where i was happy. ❞ ❝ why’d you leave me? you claimed you loved me. ❞ ❝ never liked boats. not one bit. ❞ ❝ you must be mad. i’ve no intention to make things easier for you. ❞ ❝ i don’t wish to look at your face any longer than i must. ❞ ❝ please, no. i can’t stand spells. ❞ ❝ we agreed not to keep any secrets from one another. we promised. ❞ ❝ that i like! a man who boldly dares, damn the risks! ❞ ❝ i thought you bowed before no man. ❞ ❝ smile a bit wider. ...you were meant to smile, not bare your teeth. ❞ ❝ is that blood? have you hurt yourself? ❞ ❝ no reason to trouble the guards. i’ll go willingly. ❞ ❝ look at me. promise you’ll stay out of it. ❞ ❝ the minute we’re in trouble, you make me responsible for getting us out. ❞ ❝ they say they don’t fear the wrath of the gods. and you, do you fear it? ❞ ❝ i’ll let that pass. i know grief eats at your heart. ❞ ❝ we all lie sometimes. but lying to yourself is running away, whereas there’s really nowhere to run. ❞ ❝ don’t need your sympathy, just your help. ❞ ❝ your loss -- it must hurt, bad. but there wasn't anything we could do. ❞ ❝ i wish to leave, go far away. and i’d like you to come with me. ❞ ❝ i trust you have an explanation for this. a very good one. ❞ ❝ lot of bitterness in you. ❞ ❝ i assure you, you’re excellent at covering your tracks --- though not terribly subtle. but i’m even better at uncovering them. ❞ ❝ glad to see you happy...but i don’t think what we did was right. ❞ ❝ i look at you, and...and feel like i am exactly where i am supposed to be. at long last. ❞ ❝ i’m no coward. i'll not run this time. ❞ ❝ yes, i know you’ve trained with swords. but you’re still shit with them. ❞ ❝ how many innocents have you cut down? ❞ ❝ problem is, you’re not ordinary. you were born to greatness. ❞ ❝ not too late to surrender. ❞ ❝ men turn honest when they feel a blade at their throat. ❞ ❝ i'm not gonna drink. why dull my senses when i’m in such pleasant company? ❞ ❝ it’s bound to come in handy, and each time it does, you’ll think of me. ❞ ❝ lie still or you will bleed to death. ❞ ❝ your life is yours, exclusively. you choose who you are. ❞ ❝ for a minute there, was almost sure you’d leave me to die. ❞ ❝ there is never a second opportunity to make a first impression. ❞ ❝ it’s all because of that secretiveness of yours. ❞ ❝ plead the gods spare us, for without their favor we shall most certainly perish. ❞ ❝ i must say -- seen a lot, but nothing like this, never. ❞ �� you don’t look like you can get home on your own. i’ll walk you. ❞ ❝ all’s in the past, never to be restored. ❞ ❝ you know full well i never hold a grudge. i forgive you. ❞ ❝ the good gods sent you to me. ❞ ❝ and the guilt, the responsibility of all this, lies with me. ❞ ❝ you’ve only been here five minutes, and you’ve already managed to offend me twice. ❞ ❝ you will certainly fetch me a higher bounty alive. ❞ ❝ what's wrong with my beard? always thought it added to my dignity. ❞ ❝ if i’m to die today, i wish to look smashing for the occasion. ❞ ❝ i was stupid. stupidity costs a lot. ❞ ❝ even your humblest requests seem like threats. ❞ ❝ your motives do not interest me. only results. ❞ ❝ and you laughed, oh, how sweetly, how brightly you laughed! ❞ ❝ you don’t know how it is. to see someone you love die. because of you, for you. ❞ ❝ to have a scapegoat --- that’s the key. ❞ ❝ no need to fear me. ❞ ❝ sorry, but -- your life story? just not interested. ❞ ❝ with you...it was love at first sight. ❞ ❝ gotta understand. you don’t betray people like me. ❞ ❝ i struggled long to find a place where i’d feel safe, needed. until i finally arrived here. ❞ ❝ just don’t faint on me. ❞ ❝ could never be there for you everyday. but i’m happy to see you always. and today, i’m all yours. ❞ ❝ what others think...your image...that’s all you care about. ❞ ❝ in these foul times one must be wary, even of their friends. ❞ ❝ come on, don’t get angry - it’s not good for you.. ❞ ❝ so, apart from the sword play, you know potions and all that? ❞ ❝ i actually envy your sense of wonder --- common in children, and morons. ❞ ❝ a lot of misfortune for a small village. ❞ ❝ who are you? do you seek to hurt me as well? ❞ ❝ the hand that feeds can also strike its wayward wards. ❞ ❝ shh. eat now. we’ll speak once you’ve rested. ❞ ❝ brother has turned against brother, the land is soaked in blood. evil reigns stronger than ever before. ❞ ❝ good looking and clever. where’ve you been hiding? ❞ ❝ doesn’t bother you, having monsters for neighbours? ❞ ❝ stay here --- no matter what happens. ❞ ❝ i never told you this, but i’ve always felt it: i love you. ❞ ❝ listen to me this once -- don't take matters into your own hands. ❞ ❝ love these moments. the air before a battle -- nothing smells as sweet. ❞ ❝ they tried to get in through the main gate. i’m afraid they could succeed next time. ❞ ❝ too many claim you’re evil. ❞ ❝ why are you so eager to help strangers? sit your ass down or there’ll be misfortune. ❞ ❝ you'd never have managed without me, would you? come, now, admit it. ❞ ❝ for those who remain, death should never take precedence over life. ❞ ❝ thanks for coming. thanks for risking your life for me. ❞ ❝ don’t force me to speak of it. no more, please. ❞ ❝ when doubt plagues your mind, follow your instincts. should they steer you wrong and land you in muck, you'll land at peace with yourself. and that's most important. ❞ ❝ just know that i know you're here. one misstep, one error...you'll make a mistake, it's inevitable...i'll be the first to learn it. ❞ ❝ i do not know you. i’ve done you no harm. ❞ ❝ try not to panic...just doesn’t suit you. ❞ ❝ we’ve come a long way, and i’ll be damned if we’ve come to fail. ❞ ❝ had i known what would happen here, i'd never have come. ❞ ❝ i can say i’ve seen it all now. ❞ ❝ these scars have long yearned for your tender caress. ❞ ❝ i don’t fall victim to curses. i cast them. ❞ ❝ come outside. we can hold hands and stare at the sky. ❞ ❝ we’ll work well together --- i can see that already. ❞ ❝ from the first moment i set eyes upon you that fateful evening, my heart has only beaten for you. ❞ ❝ i trust you as much as you trust me --- not at all. ❞ ❝ you’ve gone all red in the face just for talking about it. ❞ ❝ wake up. it’s just a dream. wake up! ❞ ❝ i still don’t believe everything that happened. ❞ ❝ i never miss twice. ❞ ❝ bit too old to believe in bedtime stories, aren’t you? ❞ ❝ you humans have...unusual tastes. ❞ ❝ didn’t think it worthwhile to tell me, warn me of your plans? ❞ ❝ i think you will not attack one unarmed. ❞ ❝ the deeper i get into this, the more i gotta wonder...why’re you even helping me? ❞ ❝ to live in peace, we first must kill. ❞ ❝ at times fate muddles our path, and life turns toilsome, hard to bear. ❞ ❝ i fight for whoever’s paying the best. or whoever’s easier to rob. ❞ ❝ do not let my beauty distract your aim. ❞ ❝ i’ve seen what is to come, i know destruction approaches. ❞ ❝ the war awoke an ancient power. an evil one that feeds on bloodshed. ❞ ❝ guess you’re no stranger to fury, either. ❞ ❝ think i’m gonna fall for that? no chance, you’re wrong. ❞ ❝ gotta admit --- you do pretty well with a sword. ❞ ❝ you dare tell me to calm down?! you?! ❞ ❝ let's say i go about my business, and when there's coin to be earned, i don't readily turn it down. ❞ ❝ i wish to know the truth...be it sweet, be it painful, i wish to know. ❞ ❝ men, the polite ones at least, would call me a monster. ❞ ❝ even i grow ill at the sight of you. ❞ ❝ i’m going on a walk. or is that not allowed either? because i could break my leg? ❞ ❝ plan’s crazier than it is sane...but there’s an irrestistible charm to it. ❞ ❝ unbelievable! you said something romantic! you! ❞ ❝ we may not survive this. in fact, our chances are slim. ❞ ❝ if anything should happen to you... ❞ ❝ there’s not been a dark cloud yet that didn’t have a silver lining. ❞ ❝ those are some fresh lookin’ scars you’ve got there. ❞ ❝ no. no more about the battle. just hold me. and say something nice. ❞ ❝ stay. this is the only home we’ve ever had. ❞ ❝ you’re so charming when you try to be funny. ❞ ❝ not proud of it...yet i considered all the options and found none better. ❞ ❝ i look far different from when you last saw me. ❞ ❝ i admire your optimism. wish i shared it. ❞ ❝ and...try not to draw any attention to yourself. ❞ ❝ nightmares haunt our nights and days. folk sleepwalk from their homes, never to return. ❞ ❝ forgive me. it couldn’t be avoided. i truly am sorry. ❞ ❝ well i’ve departed, escaped, been forced to flee so many times…yet i always returned. you ought to be used to it by now. ❞ ❝ the human mind is as wild and unexplored a place as any land far beyond the sea. ❞ ❝ you think you’ve won. you are wrong. i can’t die. ❞ ❝ you’re something more. something more. ❞ ❝ barely nicked me, i’ll be fine. ❞ ❝ it’s just that i felt...stifled, in your shadow. i’d have suffocated had i stayed. ❞ ❝ come, don’t just stand there. i want a hug. ❞ ❝ it’s lovely here! i could stay forever. ❞ ❝ do what you will, but leave me out of this. ❞ ❝ we should end this discussion -- before i say something i'll regret. ❞ ❝ you all right? you’re as pale as death. ❞ ❝ let’s get back to the hut. i’ll protect you along the way. ❞ ❝ not to keen on talking about it, are you? ❞ ❝ it’s better to die than to live in the knowledge that you’ve done something that needs forgiveness. ❞ ❝ i was afraid you were dead. ❞ ❝ at times one must use reason, rather than blades. ❞ ❝ need some peace. gotta prepare. ❞ ❝ i suspected it might not be the best idea, but i was desperate, had no choice. ❞ ❝ so tell me how it happened. step by step. ❞ ❝ it was a bit of a lark, a jest. i meant to bring it all back, i swear. ❞ ❝ if i wanted to kill you, you'd be long dead by now. ❞ ❝ that is precisely one of the reasons why i abhor your world. your senseless brutality. ❞ ❝ i won’t let them take you, you know that? ❞ ❝ magic...childish hocus-pocus. it’s just not interesting. what i find fascinating are true tales of true human lives. ❞ ❝ save your praise for others. i couldn’t give a shit. ❞ ❝ well, well, i am impressed. doubted you still had it in you, frankly. ❞ ❝ i like you. don’t make me hurt you. ❞ ❝ you know very little can hurt you being immortal, so you take wild risks, chase extreme sensations. there comes a point you’ve done it all, and all seems boring and monotonous. ❞ ❝ with you i finally feel...harmony. a calm. feel like things are the way they're supposed to be. ❞ ❝ i'm afraid the dishwater’s as good as it gets in this establishment. ❞ ❝ sorry to take so long, but i had to deal with the guards. ❞ ❝ i’d never miss a chance to spend a pleasant evening with you. ❞ ❝ you know too much. yet one more reason why you must die. ❞ ❝ or perhaps you seek to trick me. ❞ ❝ if you acknowledge any gods...start praying, now. ❞ ❝ it’s very simple. you either deceived me...or not. ❞ ❝ i am known neither for my sense of humor nor for my patience. ❞ ❝ naturally, it would be easier with your help, but...you irritate me. ❞ ❝ love questions like that. am i holding up? what, my dick? ❞ ❝ we never hunt in these woods. not even if it means the whole village starves. ❞ ❝ we’re only ever the ones to know the truth about ourselves. ❞ ❝ you’re insolent because you believe i cannot afford to hurt you. and you’re right. ❞ ❝ i detest graveyards, especially wandering them alone. ❞ ❝ you know too much. you impede me too often. and i find your arrogance an annoyance. ❞ ❝ i know it’s wartime, but try not to be a hero, all right? ❞ ❝ i don’t know that i’ll make for engaging company. in truth, i rarely talk to men. ❞ ❝ you know...had a dream about you recently. ❞ ❝ i thought i could at least count on you to treat me seriously. ❞ ❝ don’t ask questions you know the answers to. it makes you look stupid. ❞ ❝ you’re nosy. starting to piss me off, you know? ❞ ❝ what did i do to deserve this? have i given you cause to doubt my intentions? ❞ ❝ don’t fret about me. i always get by somehow, right? ❞ ❝ i wanted to go with you --- that was my idea. ❞ ❝ i shan’t stray a step from your side. ❞ ❝ if that’s what it takes to save the world, it’s better to let that world die. ❞ ❝ what’s that supposed to mean? that a threat? ❞ ❝ i’m offering a great and true adventure, an experience like no other, the fate of only the chosen few. ❞ ❝ that’s like choosing between pestilence and the plague. ❞ ❝ what’s it matter? i only ever thought of you. ❞ ❝ did you know you’ve gained twenty-seven new scars since we’ve last saw each other? ❞ ❝ i need to know the details if you want me to get my hands dirty. ❞ ❝ don’t know you. go away. ❞ ❝ ever vigilant, even in your sleep. quite vampire-like, in fact. ❞ ❝ gotten used to people treating me like a freak, an outcast. ❞ ❝ we share a cause, then. just like the old days. ❞ ❝ ever considered becoming a burglar? skill like that’d come in awful handy. ❞ ❝ there’s never been a frown that couldn’t be turned upside down. ❞ ❝ honesty's an attribute of the truly brave --- and thus the privilege of the very few. ❞ ❝ you do not have a monopoly in altruism, my friend. ❞ ❝ great love demands great sacrifices. ❞ ❝ i believe it wise at times to share one’s secrets, unburden oneself to those one can trust. ❞ ❝ it would be nice from time to time if you could sit back and enjoy life, instead of going around solving everyone’s problems. ❞ ❝ we shall dance until the break of dawn! ❞ ❝ a man could lose his head for a lass like you. ❞ ❝ don’t have to come if you don’t want. wait here. ❞ ❝ never seen this side of you. ❞ ❝ i’m to kiss the ground you walk on, is that it? but you just did your duty. ❞ ❝ the day you give me a smile...that moment, that’s what i’m waiting for. ❞ ❝ i need a soul intelligent and clever, an individual who fears no dare. someone like you. ❞ ❝ if i was you i’d catch some shut-eye, not go on flapping my tongue. ❞ ❝ the plan is simple...which does not mean it will be easy to execute. ❞ ❝ sometimes you really get on my nerves, you know. ❞ ❝ you shall not turn on me, use what i say against me? you shall not tell anyone? ❞ ❝ gave you a chance. should’ve taken it. ❞ ❝ always better to do a bit more and even gain nothing by it, than to do too little and face regret. ❞ ❝ it’s lovely out here. the birds singing, the bees buzzing...blissful, really. ❞ ❝ what a lovely dress. the color suits you exquisitely. ❞ ❝ pretty fantastic tale. hard as hell to believe. ❞ ❝ it’s time you discovered my romantic side. ❞ ❝ you gotta understand the whole world doesn’t revolve around you. ❞ ❝ can you not see i am out of my mind with worry? ❞ ❝ every rose has its thorn, and there are no happy endings. ❞ ❝ pretty quick to reject help. why is that? ❞ ❝ don’t need to like each other. just gotta do our jobs. ❞ ❝ frankly, if i can do something for you, i'll do it, willingly. ❞ ❝ you were hired you kill me, were you not? ❞ ❝ what’s it like, going toe to toe with a monster? knowing you’ve only two options --- to kill or be killed? ❞ ❝ this place --- there’s evil here. death hangs in the air. ❞ ❝ intellect counts as much as strength. ❞ ❝ i run back inside, hasp the doors, and then i hear it --- someone whispering my name. ❞ ❝ you know i like you. unlike the rest of this lot, you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. ❞ ❝ if you love somebody, set them free. ❞ ❝ if you hate me so deeply, why don’t you tell me to my face? ❞ ❝ i’m afraid you’d not realize which way the wind was blowing if you pissed straight into it. ❞ ❝ that was courageous. i'd never expect it from you. ❞ ❝ i am not easily impressed, but i must admit you have succeeded, my dear. ❞ ❝ kill me if you must. i’ve nothing to live for anyway. ❞ ❝ aren’t you an extraordinary beauty. ❞ ❝ never suspected you believed such things. ❞ ❝ wait...you want to go with me? out of the question. ❞ ❝ used to it. not the first time i’ve been hunted. ❞ ❝ enough of this hesitation, this fretting, these feelings of guilt! ❞ ❝ strange working with you. strange, but great. ❞ ❝ give me a moment. i must don something more appropiate and concealing. ❞ ❝ killing comes as naturally to me as blowing my nose. ❞ ❝ ...... another tale of a life compromised and ultimately claimed by greed and ambition. ❞ ❝ in the future, though, remember this --- i can look after myself ❞ ❝ you'd really worry about me if i went on alone? ❞ ❝ you have many merits. you merely hide them from the world very diligently. ❞ ❝ is it true virtue always trumps villainy? ❞ ❝ watch my movements. i’m spry as a cat and sly as a fox. ❞ ❝ ah, if only this could last forever. ❞ ❝ few i can rely on like i can on you. kinda hoping you think the same of me. ❞ ❝ you are angry at the whole world. you feel inferior, feel pain, though you mask this with confidence, arrogance, even. ❞ ❝ there exist worries for which there quite simply is no other medicine. ❞ ❝ your bones look thin, your breathing’s wheezy. afraid one punch might kill you. ❞ ❝ to love is to build a house of cards, or play a game of chess, but one word or ill-thought move and you must start it all afresh. ❞ ❝ i’m doing what i ever wanted to do, being who i wanted to be. i believe that’s one definition of happiness. ❞ ❝ you’ve not an ounce of refinement in you, have you? ❞ ❝ pain rules the body, but fear is born in the heart. ❞ ❝ either i get burned, or i’ll burn all else down. no other options. ❞ ❝ should you decide your sword is the sole solution, i shall not stand in your way. ❞ ❝ c’mon, come closer. ❞ ❝ would you prefer i treated you like the lying manipulater you are? ❞ ❝ i regret nothing. one lives but once. ❞ ❝ i just hope this tale has a happy ending. for me, for you. for everyone. ❞ ❝ just gonna go our seperate ways? no parting words? ❞ ❝ you still stand to be quite useful to me. ❞ ❝ i suppose you wanted to frighten me...alas, you didn’t in the least. after all, i’m a monster too, am i not? ❞ ❝ i trust no one. learned that long ago. ❞ ❝ it cannot be! you actually have a sense of humor. ❞ ❝ didn’t ask for a lecture on probability. need a simple answer --- yes or no. ❞ ❝ another word, and i shall spill even more blood. yours. ❞ ❝ you feel resentment, i understand, but we shall work through all the unfortunate matters of the past. ❞ ❝ stop playing dumb. i know everything...your plan. ❞ ❝ honestly can’t see what all those dames see in you --- you’re a stick in the mud. ❞ ❝ not showy, lovely location...perfect for romantic getaways. ❞ ❝ i hope you’re not upset i came like this, without warning... ❞ ❝ i’m still a long way from mastering anything. but i am trying. ❞ ❝ now i know how you do it. just annoy your opponents to death. ❞ ❝ word on the street is there’s a hefty bounty on your head. ❞ ❝ for a few days now i’ve been having dizzy spells. ❞ ❝ i’ve always had a way with ostensibly dangerous types. ❞ ❝ wound doesn’t look good. patch that up quick if i were you, before it starts festering. ❞ ❝ always seemed to me you were a very complicated creature, by nature. not one to resort to such simple methods like drinking your worries away. ❞ ❝ may i be honest? yes, i’m nervous. i really would prefer to just run off. ❞ ❝ father always said a wise man learns from others’ mistakes, so here i am, learning from his. ❞ ❝ ever since that horrid night...everything has changed. ❞ ❝ what’s wrong? afraid? gut feeling queasy? ❞ ❝ used to bother me, all your secrets...now i know if you have something to tell me, you’ll tell me. ❞ ❝ i so don’t feel like going anywhere. sit here a while longer? ❞ ❝ there’s something i’d like to know...how can you be so damned calm? ❞ ❝ my knees quake like a carnival rattle. ❞ ❝ honestly didn’t think this’d work. doubted anything would happen. ❞

#roleplay starters #roleplay meme #long post for ts /

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little-mad · 3 years

Text

Downsides of Thievery Pt. 1

~ Next Part ~

“Maybe stealing from an interdimensional diplomat wasn’t my greatest idea,” Gavin thought to himself from his current position in a jail cell.

He’d been hesitant about the job right away. Stealing from humans was one thing, but stealing from alteons was on a whole new level. However, the payment the client had offered Gavin had been too tantalizing to refuse. Who knew it was bad to be greedy?

“Shit,” he grumbled under his breath. How was he supposed to know the diplomat would have some weird magical artifact thing that could detect and identify trespassers? That was just unfair. Gavin was a good thief, so good that he’d managed to make a career out of it. If he had been caught due to his own ineptitude maybe he wouldn’t be so peeved. But this was just a matter of not having enough information. Thus making it unfair.

Prison was something every criminal feared, but it was also something every criminal prepared for in some sense. If Gavin was headed for prison, he might not be so worried. Sure it would suck, but at least he felt sure his undeniable charms would make him friends in no time. But Gavin wasn’t headed for prison--no, he was being extradited to the alteon dimension.

Gavin shivered at the thought. Despite having stolen from one, he had never actually seen an alteon in person. Pictures and videos could only do so much, at least that’s what people said. Apparently the true gravity of an alteon’s massive size couldn’t be understood until you saw one in real life.

Not only would Gavin quite literally be put in the hands of an alteon, but he would also be getting taken to a completely different dimension that only a few very important humans had ever visited before. Maybe he should’ve felt special.

Were the circumstances different, Gavin might’ve even felt excited for the adventure. His work had taken him all over the world, it would be thrilling to get to see a whole new one. However, he had a feeling he wouldn’t exactly be getting the grand tour.

It was at that moment that Gavin began to hear footsteps approaching his cell. A few moments later, two business-suit clad federal agents appeared. Gavin scrambled to his feet and took several unconscious steps towards the back wall. The key jangling in one of the agents’ hands told him exactly what time it was.

“Your ride is here,” the female agent announced, a slight smirk playing at the corner of her lips.

Gavin scowled.

The key carrying agent swiftly unlocked the door and beckoned for Gavin to exit the cell. “Come on, we don’t have all day,” he stated impatiently.

“Aren’t you going to cuff me or something?” Gavin questioned, taking note of the fact that neither agent had brought handcuffs with them.

The woman’s smirk grew but she remained silent. “The alteon won’t need cuffs to restrain you,” the man responded.

Gavin instantly felt the pit of fear in his stomach grow. Horrible images of himself trapped in gigantic hands were invading his mind. Being given over to the alteons meant that his civil rights would be essentially irrelevant. Unless alteons had laws protecting humans, which he doubted, then they could do pretty much whatever they wanted with him. Gavin swallowed hard.

“A-actually, I’m okay staying here…” he stammered. God, he hated how pathetic he sounded. Gavin’s line of work required a lot of guts, and while a healthy dose of caution was always good, he had never considered himself to be cowardly in any sense of the word. But now...well now he felt like the biggest fraidy cat in the whole world.

The male agent gave Gavin what almost seemed like a sympathetic look. “Sorry, but that’s not an option,” he said, once again making a beckoning motion with his hand.

“Dad was right. I should’ve become a doctor,” Gavin thought miserably to himself as he very reluctantly exited his cell.

The trip up from the cell block to the roof of the building pretty much felt like a march to death. Federal employees stared unabashedly at the man practically being sacrificed to giants. Some wore looks of pity, while others had smug expressions on their faces, as if to say “serves him right.” Were Gavin in a better mood he probably would have scowled at the nosy jerks, or at least stuck his tongue out at them. But as things were, he was in no mood.

Rael sighed as he shifted his feet impatiently. It didn’t elude him that every human in the vicinity stiffened at his movement. He refrained from rolling his eyes. It was irritating how the humans constantly acted so skittish all the time, as if he would suddenly go on some sort of rampage.

“Why did they have to give me this assignment?” Rael mentally groaned.

Unlike many of the members of the Imperial Guard, he hadn’t joined with some idiotic fantasy of glorious duels and honorable battlescars. Rael joined because he knew it was the easiest way to elevate his station. Plus standing guard at the palace was easy work that he was perfectly content with. That’s why he had been less than pleased when he'd been informed he would have to venture to the human dimension to retrieve some human criminal.

Prior to today, Rael had only seen a human once, it had been from a distance and only for a second as they were being escorted into the palace. Therefore, he’d had no personal reason to dislike humans. It was just that from everything he had heard about them, they sounded so...annoying. And so far, his experiences with them today had proven that to be fairly accurate.

Rael suppressed a sigh as he glanced around. Thankfully the building he’d been told to go to was at the edge of a human city, meaning he wouldn’t have to put up with civilians gawking at him. The federal agents gathered on the roof in front of him were bad enough.

The stories about how giant being in the human realm would make you feel rang true. Rael felt positively colossal next to people who looked to be barely taller than his fingers. Not to mention the building he was standing beside, which appeared to be three stories, reached no higher than his knees. “Humans are lucky our imperialistic urges died a century ago,” Rael thought. Taking over the human realm would no doubt be a piece of cake, even with their supposed technological advancements.

“Sir!” Rael’s attention was caught by the shout of one of the humans standing on the roof below. He looked down to see the speaker was the woman who appeared to be in charge. “We apologize for the wait, the prisoner is being brought up now,” she announced. It was almost amusing, the way they had to yell for their tiny voices to even be perceived by him.

“Good,” Rael responded simply, electing not to mention the fact that the prisoner should’ve been ready and waiting for him when he arrived.

After a few minutes, Rael caught sight of the door on the roof entrance swing open. Three humans stepped out. The two dressed similarly to all the other federal agents practically had to drag the third one out. It was difficult for Rael to see from so far away, but the odd one out appeared to be a young man. He had light skin, a crop of messy brown hair, and appeared to be quite slim.

Rael raised a single eyebrow. “This is the prisoner?” he questioned as he eyed the man. He didn’t look like much, which was applicable to pretty much all humans, but Rael found it hard to believe that this one could’ve successfully stolen from an alteon.

“Yes, sir!” replied the woman in charge. “His name is Gavin Stone, he’s believed to be associated with many high profile robberies,” she explained.

Rael spared the human called “Gavin Stone” one last look before giving a shrug and reaching for the miniature iron cage attached to his belt.

The cage, which had been especially made for this occasion, was quite simple in its construction. The thing didn’t even have a lock because the latch to open the door was too big for a human’s miniscule hands to manage. It would do perfectly for keeping the criminal contained throughout the duration of the trip back to the palace.

The moment Gavin had laid eyes on the alteon, his body had practically separated from his mind. Physically, he was moving forward with the guidance of his two escorts, but his mind was still struggling to process the impossibly large person looming above him.

If the alteon’s size wasn’t strange enough, the guy looked like he’d stepped right out of a Renaissance Fair or something. His skin was a soft brown color, and he had long black hair that was tied into a loose ponytail behind him. His eyes were a striking teal color that stood out against his angular features. As for his clothing, he looked to be wearing what appeared to be some kind of light leather armor over top of a forest green tunic. Oh yeah, and then there was the fact that he had pointy elf ears.

Gavin had known the alteon dimension was almost medieval in nature, and he’d known the alteons had pointy ears, but it was still so damn bizarre to see in person.

As Gavin was in the middle of gaping, the giant began to move. He flinched at the action, and he noticed everyone else on the rooftop tense up as well. Clearly nobody was comfortable around this--this thing! “How can they hand me over to that?!”

It wasn’t until he had been practically shoved to the edge of the roof that Gavin’s brain caught up with what his body had been doing. Frantically he looked around him. All of the agents, including his former escorts, had backed away from the edge of the building closest to the alteon. This left Gavin stranded, with a giant man a mere few feet away.

With a hard gulp, Gavin tilted his head back to look up at the creature who was about to snatch him away. Those teal eyes were glancing down at him, and in his hand was a cage the perfect size for holding a stupid human who really should’ve just become a damn doctor.

#so yeah...i've got some new ocs #get ready for some juicy fearplay in this sucker #g/t #giant/tiny #g/t writing #g/t story #g/t community #my writing #oc: Gavin Stone #oc: Rael #g/t fearplay

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suitetarts · 3 years

Text

pockets full of stone

A mer-may collab with @miranhas-art 💙 See below the cut for another gorgeous Mari illustration! ... and my fic

Din Djarin nearly dies (again) and meets someone from the stories he heard as a child. He didn’t expect them to be so sassy, though.

Rating: General Word Count: 2.8k Warning: Description of drowning, thoughts of death, vomiting (water) AO3 Link

A push, grunt, then a large splash into the lake’s dark and chilled waters.

This was the last time Din was going to talk business on a pier without his jetpack. He knew the bounty was desperate, and for Maker’s sake, the Quarren had thrown his body weight around earlier on the Crest trying to piss Din off by scaring the kid. He should have known better.

Din pulls himself back to the present and away from any blame. He could worry about that later. Or never, and he supposes he’ll find that out soon. His whole body feels incredibly heavy, much more than what he has grown used to over the years. Where metal meets man, he is dragged down; the weight of his padding and armor applying an inescapable pressure as the moonlight fades to black above him. He tries pulling at the water with his arms while kicking with his legs, grasping for anything, but still he feels himself sinking deeper.

Wait, the… Who would take care of the baby if Din can’t....

His breaths are coming fast as he tries and fails to calm himself. Keeping his body upright means that the water still hasn’t crept into his helmet, which is something he can work with. But only for a short few moments. Din realizes he’s probably going to run out of breathable air before he reaches the bottom of this icy lake, much less walk out of it, as he continues to sink.

Din’s mind begins to fog as he figures he might be able to save himself if he loses some of the beskar. He doesn’t have the luxury to dwell on this, as close to his heart and soul the beskar may be. The armor will be at the bottom of the lake whether he succeeds or fails, so he gets going. His normally nimble fingers are cold and difficult, and they fail to find purchase on the slippery latches of his pauldrons. The cape wrapped around his chestplate in such a way to make it nearly impossible to remove without being able to look down and see it. His head lolls forward, allowing water to rush into his helmet and the dwindling air pocket. Din’s mouth and nose are full of water, his throat contracts, his chest stutters, his lungs burn. He can’t focus on the latches to his armor or removing his belts, all he can feel is the cold depths rushing all around and within.

Fuck.

The Mandalorian reflects for a moment. He’s done his best, but his best wasn’t good enough. This is it. He’s flirted with this for years, and it's finally here. Is it honorable? Probably not. Is it what he deserves? Most likely. What’s his legacy? A lifetime spent trying to be worthy of being saved, only to waste it. Figures.

Before Din lost consciousness, two glowing blue lights rushed towards him, but he was too far gone to care. He was finally warm.

Death is a funny thing. No one really knows what happens in the instant before it actually happens. Everyone says they know, but obviously they don’t. There’s no certainty in death, just like in life. What happens to someone when they cross the veil, from one world to the next? If it's anything like traveling at lightspeed, Din knew that like the back of his hand. A shudder felt through the hull, a pause, and then that’s it. Silence and flashes of stars, except perhaps these would fade to black before long. What would he see in those stars? A story?

If Din was to see a story before he died, he knew plenty of them. He had once been fond of the stories that came from strangers. He would beg his father to take him to the cantina, to let him sit in the dirty booths and eavesdrop on the travelers talking about their recent journeys to Coruscant or to any number of exotic planets in the outer rim. The idea of being totally free to do whatever Din wanted in the whole entire galaxy was so thrilling, especially compared to his reality of being tied down to his father’s shop in the bazaar forever. What kind of story would that make for, compared to what was out there in the stars? There were dashing pilots, gunners and soldiers, merchants, bounty hunters, peacekeepers, missionaries. Stories of war in far off places, of mysterious species unlike anything he’d ever dreamed, of personal loss, of unexpected love. Whenever he asked to go -- before, that is -- his mother would give his father a look, one that was always angled so that Din couldn’t see, and then his father would relent and take the young boy out for the afternoon. But eventually, both of them would shush him when he asked. They stayed inside, ‘it’s not a good day’ his mother said, and kept the store closed. There were whispers of war, a real war. The whispers were exciting to Din at first, they reminded him of the stories. The heroes were going to swoop in to stop the bad guys and put everything back to normal. But then the whispers grew into screams, explosions, shooting. Where were the heroes? All the thrilling things he had heard in the cantina, but terrifying and happening to him with no one here to--

Stop. Din’s dead, and yet he continues to torture himself. If he gets one last laugh, it should be at himself.

Din didn’t want a story, or to relive his life. What about something he never got to do? He had always hoped that he could live in a fantasy, if only for a moment, where he could have a simple life. A moisture farmer on some backwater planet, or a working class mechanic for a Mid Rim starport. Although that was never a life he would actually want for himself, a simple life was always a nice thought for a different Din. One who wasn’t so…. damaged.

So here he is, a man on the brink of death. Is he seeing his life flash painfully before him again, is he living in a dream, is he nowhere at all?

A kiss. He’s being kissed.

Now, Din had never kissed anyone on the lips in life. He knew the steps, the basic mechanics, but he imagined that it was a much different experience to be kissing an actual active participant and not just the skin on the back of his own hand. There was a certain give and take that he was looking forward to -- a dance, a battle of will fought with plush lips and soft tongues. Even beyond the direct battlefield, there was the periphery of where one’s hands would be, knees intertwined, legs weak and swaying. His arm wrapped around their waist and his fingers brushing tenderly over their cheek, while they pull him in by the shoulders until they melt together.

He would have much rather died in a kiss like that.

In this brief moment of purgatory, however, he can settle for this one chaste kiss. This ‘kiss’ he is having now, if it’s to be called that, is… Hmm. It isn’t what Din imagined. Everything is dark, and it's not anything like a dance. This person seems to be gasping into him with their mouth wide open, like a fish out of water. Whoever he’s kissing has clearly never done this before either, otherwise why in Maker’s name would anyone want to kiss again? He strains his arms to reach forward at whatever is capturing his lips, but he can’t find his strength. He had never known that kissing would need to be so rushed, or involve so much blowing of air? He --

Oh.

Din grunts around a cough, finding himself on his back and in quite a bit of pain. His insides feel like they are saturated and about to burst. He rolls over onto his hands and knees on the muddy banks of the far side of the lake so that he can proceed to throw up an obscene amount of water, which only makes the burning in his lungs more and more painful with each heave.

A sigh of relief, a soft voice breaking through the silt caked in his ears which seems to speak only above a whisper. “I-I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Din freezes. The discomfort and pained heat in his chest is nothing compared to the inferno under the bare skin of his face. He continues to stare at the ground, but shifts his eyes up so that he is looking in the direction of his savior.

A human, scantily-clad with only a dark cloth wrapped around their chest and some sort of leather skirt, sits in front of him on the rocks, their legs still partially submerged in the murky lake water. They thumb at their wet lips as they smile at him, and he feels a blush creep from his face all the way down his chest. Those glistening, smiling lips had been on his lips.

His lips.

His face.

The Creed.

Despite a sensible voice in Din’s head trying to remind him that they had saved his life, despite the weakness that pervaded every inch of his body, a flare of anger rises in him. He is dar’manda now, because of them.

He pulls himself up into a seated position on the lakeside and puffs out his chest, only to find the pain evaporating his anger. “What did you do….” he asks himself.

Their smile fades as their brows furrow. “I think that’s pretty obvious. I saved your life.”

“I didn’t mean-- My life?” Din sighs around a laugh. He’s done this before, hasn’t he? Why’s this different from the cantina? Because this person isn’t made of metal? He knew going along with anything less than what the Creed requires of him would become a slippery slope. The tears come easily and he does nothing to stop them. “No, my life is over.”

They set one of their hands on the rock beside them, leaning their weight onto it and towards him. They open their mouth around a smirk, then pause. They start again, but with a blank sincere expression. “Why’s that?”

It’s probably the adrenaline from nearly dying and being unmasked again, but for a moment Din considers grabbing their arm and pulling them in for a real kiss. What does it matter now? His body shows no signs of his thoughts, not a single twitch of muscle, but his face must be betraying him as he watches their eyes train in on his as they purse their lips and smile with their dark, shimmering eyes. Whatever blush he still had on his face grew a shade darker.

“You’re a bold one.” They say around a smile, their long fingers twisting through their hair.

Din squeezes his eyes shut and turns away from them, towards the dark sky full of stars. His voice cracks as he gives weight to the words running through his mind, to the feeling of emptiness inside. “I’m dar’manda.”

They snort, and Din can’t help but whip his head at them.

“Can’t be that big of a deal if I’ve never heard of it.”

Din expected them to not know, but not for them to be so arrogant about it. He had an explanation ready, but since he was caught off guard and doesn’t want to get lost in the weeds with this person, he summarizes the summary as, “It means I’m done. I can’t wear the armor anymore.”

“Because I saved you?”

“Because you’ve seen me,” Din explains, finding the familiar words of his Creed. “No living thing can see me without the helmet. That’s… that’s the one rule. And I broke it.”

“But I’m the one who broke it.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

They blow a raspberry and wave at the air with their free hand. “You humans really can be so dramatic.”

Din pauses, squinting up at the twinkling stars as he absorbs their words. Well. Now he’s curious. He brings his gaze back down at his savior. It's dark and he’d just drowned, but he didn’t see anything… off.

“You seem human to me,” he says as he turns over and sits back on his haunches.

“You seem duller than I hoped.” They bite their lips around a smile as they laugh softly. They pull their legs out of the water; the skirt seems to shine iridescent in the moonlight, like facets of a precious gemstone. Their feet were…. Hm. Their skirt, their legs, are covered in leather? No, scales….

Din finds his mouth gaping as he stares at a tail, the fin slapping wetly against the rocks in step with the drum of their fingers against their thighs -- singular, thigh?

As he struggles to think of a good first question, they purse their lips in thought. “Let me go get your hat,” they say before quickly slipping back into the lake.

“W-wait, it’s not a...,” Din calls out stupidly, launching himself slowly and awkwardly from his haunches and reaching out in the empty air where they once were.

This can’t be real. Mystical, intelligent beings with the head and upper body of a human, but the fins and tail of a fish. He was more than familiar with the stories, but such creatures were just children’s tales. Although, what was fiction now that he is taking care of a fifty year old infant with telekinetic powers? The galaxy was a big place, he supposed.

The mer-person seems to come back just as fast as they’d left, setting Din’s helmet on the shore at his feet before pulling themselves back up to sit their colorfully-scaled behind on the rocks.

Din reaches down and fumbles for a moment with the beskar, checking the inside before placing it back on his head. The pads are damp and uncomfortable, but not any more uncomfortable than feeling so exposed. “Thank you.”

“It's no problem, hat boy,” they prod as they casually clean their fingernails. Din bristles.

“It’s not a hat.”

“And I’m not alive,” they say seriously, looking at Din’s eyes through the visor somehow. The jovial tone fades to a comfortable yet tense silence. He tilts his head, waiting for them to continue their thought.

“Why get yourself all worked up? No one would believe you if you told them about me anyway.”

“I would know,” Din states softly. The tension dissipates but the two stay motionless. Din contemplates and shrugs minutely in defeat. He would know, yes, but he already knows. This isn’t the first time he’s failed when his Creed has been tested. Yet, who would argue whether droids or mer-people are ‘living beings’? The line is blurry, so it's up to Din to decide when the line is crossed. Considering his responsibility to his foundling’s care, he pushes the thoughts of being dar’manda far from his focus, into hiding in the recess.

Ripples from the lake, bouncing moonlight off of its surface, catches his attention. Save for a brief fading view of two blue lights in the dark water, nothing. They are gone, and Din is alone. His wet lungs wheeze as he reaches down, patting along the areas where they had been, searching for any remnants of their existence. An imprint, a misplaced item, a loose scale. Not a trace.

After a moment, Din pulls himself to his feet and trudges up through the pocket of trees surrounding the lake to a small path leading back to the pier. It had only been ten minutes or so since he had been pushed into the lake, but the bounty and his client were gone. Din assumed they both left giddily, since the bounty could think he was dead and the client didn’t have to pay the back half of his premium. Wasn’t the first time, after all.

The Razor Crest’s security lights flickered to life as her prodigal son returned, the side bay ramp welcoming him inside with a flick of the wrist. As Din walked up the ramp, he was faced with an empty carbonite rack -- and more accurately, what amounted to an empty coffer. He wondered if he still had some of the murky lake water swimming through his brain because he couldn’t bring himself to care.

The beskar helmet quickly pivoted away from the carbonite chamber as he heard a grumble and the shuffling of blankets. The baby stirred from their shared cot, chirping and cooing to be held. Din crossed the hold with long, swift strides and obliged, removing his damp and filthy gloves to thumb over the baby’s warm cheeks.

Din sucked in a breath to speak, but paused. No one would believe you if you told them about me anyway. He would always know, but… He had nothing to hide from his sweet little foundling.

Din sat on the floor below the cot, leaning against the wall as he cradled the sleepy babe in the crook of his legs. The lake water dripped off of him slowly, glinting in the safe yellow glow of home as Din told a story.

#the mandalorian #mando #din djarin #original gender-neutral character #mermay #mando mermay #the mandalorian fanfic #mando fanfic #fic and art collab #gen fic #no romance or smut #pov din djarin #din centric #mando may

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whatifxwereyou · 3 years

Text

The Oncoming Storm Part 17: Blackout

Liu Kang x Reader and Kung Lao x Reader (gonna do both, two paths!)

Oh no, you made things complicated. Lol. I'm having more fun writing Kung Lao than should be allowed. Hopefully you guys enjoy! And yes, I know this is tropey but I also don't care LOL, it's a fun trope.

Part 16 Part 18 Chapter Index

The hotel was surprisingly crowded. You weren’t sure what you’d expected but you hadn’t expected it to be bustling with tourists. There was a festival happening, you should have expected this. A bit outdated, the hotel was still clean and inviting. A welcome reprieve from the stone walls of Raiden’s Temple. You’d arrived early and still had to wait in line. Raiden had ‘transported’ you there which had been a wild experience in and of itself. You’d walked into a bolt of lightning and had come out in a quiet alley unseen.

It had been so long since you’d walked amongst the average civilian that it felt straight up bizarre to be walking along the streets of the modest city, especially in your hanfu. It was all you’d had, after all. No one looked at you twice other than to greet you politely. Most of the other folks staying at the hotel for the festival were couples on a romantic getaway which had made it instantly weird to be waiting in line with Kung Lao to check into your respective rooms.

Thankfully, the line moved quickly and once you’d checked in, you dropped off the few belongings you’d brought with you. The room was tiny with a single bed, a desk taking up nearly the rest of the room. Atop the desk was a television and beneath that was an old, ancient mini fridge. It would do well enough. This was the most technology you’d seen in weeks. Afterwards, you’d found Kung Lao and told him that you would meet him in an hour. You’d made note of a clothing store down the road and wanted to see if there was anything worth buying.

He, of course, decided to join you. No one trusted you alone anymore. He didn’t say it like that, but you knew that Raiden had told both him and Liu to keep an eye on you. You felt like a ticking time bomb.

Once at the shop you were disappointed to find that it sold mostly yukatas and kimonos. You supposed it was better than the flowy hanfu. At least you could pick out something that would be your own rather than something that had been handed to you.

Boy, you missed the internet.

You picked out a few pieces that you could work with a bit easier. Most of the hanfu were dresses or long flowy robes. Here you’d been able to find a few women’s kimonos that had hakama pants as an option. You had never been so excited to see pants in your life. You didn’t need the whole kimono, just the pants. Some constricted around the ankles while others were left open. You grabbed both and were extremely pleased.

“Sometimes, you’re a very simple woman.” Kung Lao had patted you on the back when you’d showed him the pants in excitement. You had to agree. In that moment you were very simple. Pants had brought you joy. You’d wandered away from him after that to find a few tops, belts, and jackets. Thankfully, you’d had your wallet on you when this had all begun so you had some money on you. In Raiden’s Temple, money hadn’t been necessary, so you were happy to spend it on the few things you did need.

They weren’t jeans and a t-shirt or even cute dresses, but it felt like a step in the right direction toward feeling like yourself again. You hadn’t realized how much it had bothered you until then.

Kung Lao had purchased just enough for the day in flattering red and black. That seemed to be his aesthetic though you could picture him in blues too for some reason. Then you made your way back to the hotel and to your rooms on the top floor. You had gotten rooms next to each other. You went to get changed and were happy with what you saw even in the half mirror on the desk. You stood on the bed to get a better look. Black hakama pants and a grayish-lavender and black top with a white sash tied around your middle. You then pulled your hair back in a ponytail and admired yourself in the mirror. Even though your hair was a mess you looked much more like yourself.

Your white roots had grown out a couple of inches now. It didn’t look bad, but it definitely didn’t look like it was on purpose either.

Oh well! You jumped off the bed and then left the room to find Kung Lao waiting for you, leaned against the wall next to your door. He had one foot propped against the wall, arms folded across his chest, hat obscuring his face as it often did. The clothing he’d bought wasn’t too terribly different from what he usually wore with the notable exception that he had sleeves which was truly a shame. He tilted his head up just enough to greet you before stepping away from the wall. You hadn’t left him waiting that long and yet he acted as though he’d been there for ages.

You noticed the jade ring from his usual outfit was woven into his outfit with the sash around his waist laced through it. It was kind of sweet that he always seemed to have it on him.

“Is that significant in some way? Special?” You asked, gesturing to the ring. He looked down at the ring in surprise and then nodded down the hall. You walked slowly through the hotel toward the stairwell.

“It’s a relic from my ancestor, the Great Kung Lao.”

“Oh, wow. About that, though… I’ve heard people mention him, but I had never heard the name before you. I know that he’s of some importance which has made you important…”

“I am incredibly important, thank you.”

“Yes, very. Keep talking.”

“He was the first champion of Mortal Kombat who had come from the Shaolin Order of Light. He defeated Shang Tsung and won the tournament.” Kung Lao seemed as though he had told this story a hundred times but was still proud to tell it. It was oddly sweet. “He was champion of Earthrealm for fifty years before the tournament was corrupted and he was killed. Even so, he is held in great reverence. He was a remarkable warrior.”

“Is that why you have a dragon mark?”

“Yes, that is why I have the mark. It’s also why I was sent away so young. I’d already been training long before I’d met you. When I left it was because it was time for me to go live at the temple.”

You stopped walking before the stairs and he stopped just in front of you and turned to face you. “Then why were you so bad when we would pretend to fight?”

“I held back. I wanted you to have fun too. Besides, it felt nice to be normal back then.” He laughed and you caught up to him and started down the stairs. “I was thinking that we should come up with a story as to why we’re here.”

“Should we?”

“Obviously. We need a reason to be here.”

“Other than the reason we actually have?”

“And when a bunch of strangers ask you why we’re here, are you going to tell them the real reason we’re here?”

“Point taken.”

“We need a cover.”

“Do we really though? I don’t remember ever having to justify my actions that intensely to strangers before. We can just be visiting.” You jumped down the last two stairs to the landing between flights. Pants felt great. Kung Lao seemed to either be overthinking your trip or grasping at straws to get to some end point. Or he was going to cause trouble. You would never forget the look that both Raiden and Liu had given him on their way out.

“I’ve been asked three times what brings me to Mount Osore during the festival. I came up with a lie on the spot but I’m no terribly proud of it or anything.”

“And what is this lie you came up with?”

“I said I was here on a date. Everyone else seems to be here on a date, so it was the first thing that jumped to mind.”

You rolled your eyes at him and he laughed in surprise, waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs. You caught up to him. “Really, Kung Lao?”

“What? It’s the first thing I could think of! The people asking me were on a date and so I stuttered that I was too.”

“Kung Lao, no.”

“Come on, Y/N.”

“Can’t we just say we’re visiting and that it’s no one’s business?” You walked into the lobby and he hurried in front of you and took your hands, clasping them between his. You sighed. “Would you…” The lobby was very crowded.

“I hate you so much right now.”

“Would you,” he continued, talking over you, “do me the honor of going on a cute little pretend date with me so that we can sneak into an ancient Buddhist Temple built within the caldera of a volcano so that we can uncover an ancient and possibly cursed artifact together?” You stared at him in disbelief, but it was taking every ounce of your energy not to burst into laughter. He was such a dork. “I will get down on my knees and ask you again if you don’t answer me.” He got down on his knees and you broke. Laughing, you pulled your hands free, grabbed his arms and tugged.

“Oh my god, get up, Kung Lao.”

“It’s a great cover, Y/N.”

“It is an exactly okay cover. But fine. I haven’t done something terribly embarrassing in a while, so I guess I’m overdue for this.” You agreed at least. He was right. It was a good cover considering this whole place was filled with couples. Besides, if it got Kung Lao to drop the subject then you would be happy to agree. The whole display had made your cheeks burn.

“Embarrassing, huh? Come on, Y/N. It’s not such a bad thing, is it? Could be worse looking guys to end up with, right?” He walked at your side again, making a teasing kissy face and leaning close to you. You leaned away with an awkward and nervous laugh.

“If you keep doing things like that then you are going to get smacked.”

“Worth it.” He held the door open for you and together you left the hotel. Outside a bus waited to take tourists to the shrine for the festival. People were already loading onto it. Kung Lao offered you his hand and you looked to him skeptically. He grabbed your hand anyway and then you walked onto the bus. “You’re going to have to get better at pretending.” You found seats near the back of the bus and even as you sat, he didn’t let go of your hand. You felt incredibly silly. Yet, it also made your heart flutter. As much as you had given him a hard time, you also happened to think it was an incredibly sweet and kind of wholesome idea.

Funny enough, you had thought of this moment before but in a much different context. Maybe in a life where your childhood together hadn’t ended so traumatically. Where you’d stayed close friends and he’d have asked you out when you were old enough. In a way, you felt like a silly schoolgirl, something you hadn’t felt in years.

If he hadn’t died then this was exactly where you would have wound up. Somehow that made you feel much less silly and you finally relaxed. Kung Lao pointed out several interesting things on the side of the road through the window and you listened to him chatter on until the bus was pulling up to the shrine. You waited for the others to get off the bus and then you walked ahead of Kung Lao and stepped off it.

The shrine was huge and it took your breath away.

So much so that it made you dizzy.

A river flowed before you then beneath a red bridge. To the left of the bridge there was a white beach lining the bluest and most artificial-looking water that you had ever seen in your life. Rocks were piled alongside the shore in strange formations. Beyond the bridge there was a stone path that led to the shrine in the distance, and it was lined with old lanterns. You walked to the edge of the stone path where the bus had dropped you off to try and get a better look at the water.

That was a teal color you had never seen before in nature. In your mind’s eye, you recalled your vision and it made your stomach drop. You took a step further and were suddenly grasped around the waist and pulled away from the edge of the stone. Then Kung Lao looped his arm in yours. “You looking to take a dip?”

You hadn’t realized that you had almost walked right into the river. You hadn’t been thinking. The water had bewitched you, it seemed. You needed to get a closer look at it but now that you’d been turned away from it, the feeling had gone. From there you could smell the acidity in the humid air. That was likely why it was so blue. “Pay more attention, okay?”

You weren’t sure what to say to him. It was surreal being there. This place was exactly the same as it had been in your vision but also years, possibly centuries had passed since then. The shrine buildings themselves were much larger than they had been then. They were even a different color. Your head was spinning as you tried to take in everything at once. It was an overload. You grabbed Kung Lao’s arm to try and ground yourself. You felt as though you were floating and the wind would take you away.

Kung Lao led you onto the bridge and at its apex you sat and watched the water trickle beneath it. He helped you lean your elbows against the railing and then placed a supportive hand on your back.

“It’s okay. Take a second.” He seemed to realize that you were having a difficult time. How could you explain that you were struggling to wrap your mind around being in a place where you’d had such a vivid and violent vision? You were grateful for him. Your heart was racing and you watched the water flowing beneath the bridge, over the rocks. Your stomach had dropped. It felt as though you were intimately familiar with this place, as though you had spent years there, but you had never once seen it before. At the same time, everything felt completely new. Your brain was waging war with itself. “You okay?”

“Yeah, this is just… surreal.” You were finally able to collect your thoughts enough to talk.

“You went a bit gray. Figured you needed a minute.”

“I appreciate it.”

“So, where do we go?”

“There’s a well inside one of those buildings.” You nodded to your right where the shrine was at the end of the stone path.

“Vague, but okay.” He peered to the right and then pointed. “It’s off limits.” From there you could see a series of ropes that blocked off the building from visitors. “Great.”

“It’s crowded enough here. I’m sure we can sneak in just fine.”

“Of course.” He leaned next to you on his forearms, hands clasped together. “This place is a little spooky.”

“It is. I read a brochure from the hotel lobby. The monks here believe that it’s the gateway to hell. The river beneath us is supposed to represent the Sanzu.” You pointed below you. It was a little spooky, you supposed, but it was also incredibly beautiful.

“I read about that. I also read that there are holy water bathhouses and volcanic cauldrons with crazy colored water.”

“Yeah, and a lake of blood.”

“I hate that, Y/N.” He stuck his tongue out at the idea. You laughed. He was too funny. He had this way of making you feel at least even about the big and often uncomfortable things sometimes. Other times he drove your anxiety through the roof. Thankfully, this wasn’t one of those moments. “What do you say that we get to sneaking in and find this thing so that we can have a bit of fun for the rest of the day, huh?”

“That sounds nice.”

He took your hand once again and you walked over the bridge and along the stone path. The lanterns were decorated for the festival along with the rest of the shrine. Monks walked about, greeting visitors and answering questions while explaining various attractions. Most visitors, and there were many, were straying from the temple in favor of the white sands or the volcanic cauldrons. You and Kung Lao walked until you reached the ropes before the shrine. You stood there for a time in the shade, waiting for your moment to sneak in unseen.

“Coast is clear,” you whispered and turned to keep watch while Kung Lao snuck into the shrine. Once inside, you waited for your opportunity and followed him. Inside, the building was ancient but to you it seemed oddly brand new. It wasn’t the same shrine that you remembered from your vision. Much had changed since that wicked man had been there.

No one was waiting for you inside the small entryway or in the room beyond. That seemed like the central room, with space for prayer and a dip in the center for dining. The floor was lined with tatami mats and the ceiling was high, windows on the second floor spattering sunlight throughout the room. Halls branched off in each direction and you suddenly felt overwhelmed with choice. It had seemed so much simpler in your vision.

“Lead the way but be cautious. We’re not alone.” Kung Lao spoke in a hushed tone, staying close to you but alert.

“Yeah.” You started through the room and down the closest hallway, checking to see if it was empty first. Kung Lao took your hand and you urged him along with you. Your stomach was in knots and his hand there continued to keep you grounded. Several times you encountered monks going about their business and you had to duck into other rooms or sneak back around corners. You somehow managed to remain unseen, having to huddle together in strange spaces and hide in enclosed areas. It would have been fun had it not been so damn frustrating.

None of it made sense! As you turned down another hall, you sighed in frustration. You’d wound up there twice already. Your gut kept sending you there and back to the central room but there was no indication that it was the same place that the vision had taken place in. Kung Lao suddenly pulled you back into the side room and held you against the wall near the door. There were footsteps in the hall, and you held your breath until they had passed. You made to go back into the hall, but Kung Lao pinned you in place.

“You’re leading us in circles.”

“I know. It’s hard to explain. It’s like someone’s moving everything around while we’re walking. It doesn’t make any sense. I think I’m going one way and then we’re back to where we started.” It was making you sick to your stomach, as a matter of fact.

“You can do this. Just focus.”

“Kung Lao, you have no idea what’s going on in my head right now. I am focusing.”

“You’re right I don’t. So, tell me.”

“I’m not sure that I have the words to explain that the room we’re looking for should be right around the corner but then it isn’t.” It really was disorienting to expect to be in one place and end up in another. “It shouldn’t have been this far back but also this place is ten times bigger than it had been in my vision.”

“I need you to try still.”

You were mixed up. It was like someone was moving rooms in your head and before you knew it, you had once again led him back into the central room which made both you and Kung Lao groan in annoyance.

“Oh good. We’re back. I was worried.”

“It should be right here, but everything looks so different!”

“It’s okay, Y/N. We’ll figure it out.”

“It’s not okay, Kung Lao. It should be right here. I wish I could just show you.” The frustration was radiating off you, you were sure. “I can’t-”

“Is someone there?” A voice from somewhere down the hall called and footsteps approached from a distance.

“Fu…” Kung Lao whispered and then grabbed you and searched for somewhere to hide. The closest hall was too far. You were caught. “Don’t panic.” He urged you to the wall with surprising care and you made a sound of surprise. What did he mean don’t panic? You were instantly panicking. Don’t panic? What was wrong with him? He leaned against you and tilted your chin up and his head toward you like he was going to kiss you, obscuring you both with his hat. “Act natural, Y/N.” His lips brushed against your cheek, just next to your lips. “I swear, you’re terrible at this.” You were stiff as a board, so he had every right to scold you, but also he was pretending to kiss you so what the hell were you supposed to do with that? What was natural in this case?

You gave him a swift but soft punch in the gut and he laughed against your cheek in return. That made you feel a bit better. He lifted his head just enough and you peered toward the door nearby, waiting for the monk that would inevitably kick you out. You could have had time to hide at this rate. Kung Lao’s lips were pressed against your cheek and they were soft even if it was just in a mock kiss close enough to your lips to look like you were sneaking a private moment.

You peered around the corner, thinking maybe you were in the clear. Kung Lao did the same and when you turned back to tell him that maybe the monk had decided to turn away, you found him extremely close to you. Intimately so. His dark eyes were serious and that always scared you for whatever reason. He tilted your chin toward him and all other thoughts slipped out of your brain.

What were you doing there? Where were you anyway? And why? Did it matter?

Not right now it didn’t.

His hand was on your chin, thumb brushing just below your lip, urging your lips to part just enough. You dared not breathe to break the tension of the moment. The sneaking and searching were gone completely from your thoughts. All that was left was the boy that you’d so admired in your youth grown into a handsome man with his hand against the wall at your side, the other inextricably lost below your lower lip.

His eyes were searching you, but you dared not look back into them for fear of what you might find, for fear of what it might reveal to you. His breath warmed your lips before they were on yours, parting them like a blossom in a soft and singular tender movement. A far superior kiss than the one he’d pretended to give you for the sake of saving your skin.

His lips were sweet. Not like sugar or candy, but sweet like the lingering taste of honey at the bottom of a cup of tea. It was a feeling of sweetness rather than a flavor. The moment was still and soft, his lips treasuring yours as though they were something sacred and special. They pulled back just enough from yours that you could feel your lips resisting to part as if they had minds of their own. His eyes were searching you still for answers and in wonder, but you didn’t dare meet them. Yet, you could feel his gaze and beneath your fingertips, that had betrayed you and now rested on his chest, you could feel his heart beating almost as hard as yours.

His breath graced your lips again, but you dared not breathe. You wanted to say something, even just a whisper of his name, but no words would come and you sat there, lips parted in waiting, avoiding his eyes, hand clutching the cloth at his chest, unsure of where you even were or why. This was Kung Lao.

Your Kung Lao.

A soft sigh escaped his lips as they were on yours again, but the softness was gone, though there was something about them that was still sweet even so. The force of his kiss pressed you against the wall, leaving you no escape- not that you wanted to escape. This was a moment that the ten-year-old inside your head had both longed for and not understood. You would have been a fool not to return his kiss, to taste and experience his lips the way that he was with yours and so you did. You kissed him and it was like a storm inside you beyond your control, building with electricity with every moment that passed.

There was a tender moment of acceptance where it felt as though time stood still. The soft moment faded quickly to frenzied desperation. There was no space left between you. Kung Lao was pressed against you, body warm and strong, hat nearly pushed back off of his head as he favored kisses over his possessions. Your hands moved up his chest, to the sides of his neck, fingertips then tangling in the short, messy tendrils of his hair at the base of his hairline. Your heart was doing flips, brain completely turned off to anything that had happened before this, even if somewhere in the distant reaches of your mind you could hear your instincts telling you that you had to stop. Whatever muting effect had been triggered in your brain had seemed to impact Kung Lao as well.

In one swift motion, fluid and strong, his hands were at your thighs and he had lifted you and pressed you against the wall, urging your legs to wrap around him. Your arms slipped naturally around his shoulders, pulling him closer between hot and increasingly sloppy kisses.

“Excuse me?”

Ah, yes. The monk. That was right.

You stopped kissing him.

Kung Lao’s lips finally pulled from yours and you could feel that your own were left slightly swollen from the desperation and passion of those precious few moments. When had you gotten so tangled up in each other? His chest was rising and falling against yours quickly and even though he’d pulled back his lips lingered close to yours as if to consider defying the monk further.

“My apologies.” The monk sounded embarrassed and bowed multiple times. “This area is closed to the public for the festival.”

You finally managed to regain your thoughts and untangled yourself from Kung Lao. You placed your feet on the ground and cleared your throat though your face was likely as red as his robes. He released you from his grip though he made no effort to step away. You swallowed the lump in the back of your throat and forced your brain to work.

“Is it?” You sounded surprised and were grateful that you had. You hadn’t expected to be a very good actor after all that, but you had been surprised to be interrupted and also confused as to where your mind had gone. It was more feigning innocence than lying. The monk nodded and looked as though he sincerely felt bad for interrupting you. “I’m sorry. We had no idea.”

“It’s no worries. I will happily escort you back to the festivities. Follow me.”

“Sorry about that.” Kung Lao, who you had never seen at a loss for words, seemed to finally regain himself. Just like that, he was back to the goof he’d been when you’d first arrived. “We were just sneaking off to have a private moment. Didn’t realize it was off limits.”

“It happens all the time. You’d be surprised.” The monk led you back through the central room and into the entryway. You elbowed Kung Lao as you followed the monk and he laughed beneath his breath. Once outside the monk bowed to you and then left you alone. You leaned your head back and stared into the sunny blue sky with a sigh. You needed a new plan. That one had gone off the rails in a way you hadn’t expected.

#kung lao #mk kung lao #kung lao x reader #liu kang x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #kiss #romance #fluff #mortal kombat 2021 #mortal kombat movie #kung lao x you #kung lao/reader #kung lao/you #max huang #ludi lin #angst

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gwynrielendgame · 3 years

Text

Gwyncien part 5 (last part)

Thank you to all who supported this short little story! It really kept me motivated. This is the last part. I’m gonna be honest this part is not as edited at the other parts but I finished it and wanted to get it out to all of you so thank you!

Warning: the smallest amount possible of smut at the end.

Gwyn's body jolted as they hit the ground. Lucien let out an annoyed huff while straightening out his jacket. The wards around the House of Wind truly made winnowing in unfavorable. As soon as she stabled herself though, she felt a rush of happiness.

Home.

It was her only thought. She missed this place- the smell, the comfort, the people. She started to buzz with excitement at the thought of Nesta and Emerie.

"You made sure someone brought Emerie here?" Gwyn double checked with Lucien. He simply nodded while giving her a sad smile. The moment was bitter sweet. She was happy to be reunited with her sisters, but she would miss her newest friend. She threw her arms around him in a tight hug. He returned it just as fiercely.

"Thank you for all that you did for me. It means more than I could ever express." She buried her head in his hair and took a deep breath. He smelled of roasted chestnuts and a summers day. She would miss it.

"I know a way you could make it up to me." He said as he pulled away. Gwyn looked at him expectantly.

"Promise me I will see you again soon." A soft smile graced Gwyn's face.

"I promise." She wanted to show her sisters the Band of Exiles castle anyways. They would love it. Lucien smiled broadly before dropping a kiss on her forehead next to her invoking stone.

She finally decided to wear it as all the priestesses do. Lucien took her to Sangravah to see Catrin's grave. She had been so sad and angry that she almost destroyed the stone right then and there. She did not deserve the stone while her sister's body lay cold in a grave. But then Lucien took her to meet the priestesses and children that had rebuilt the temple. The children that Gwyn had saved. They all remembered her and flattered her in compliments and hugs. The called her their hero and said that they were petitioning to make that dreadful anniversary known as Berdara day. In honor of the twins who sacrificed so much to protect those children. Gwyn cried for a week straight after that. Once her emotions leveled out though, she began to wear the stone. The children had been a distant memory that she forgot about while grieving for her sister. Seeing them, happy and healthy, reminded her that the sacrifice was not in vein. She may have failed Catrin but she did not fail those children. It was one more thing that made her grateful for Lucien.

Gwyn took one last look at Lucien before he winnowed away. She turned back towards the door, took a deep breath, and headed straight for the personal library. She was so excited she thought she might throw up. She wished she had kept her composure to walk the entire way there, but as she came closer and closer to the library, her feet began moving faster and faster until she was practically running. The moment she burst through the doors she scanned the room for the two females. She found them sitting side by side, each with a book in their hands. It made Gwyn smile broadly. They both whipped their heads up at the same time- startled. Nesta reacted first, practically throwing herself at Gwyn. Emerie was close behind, and then they were crushing Gwyn in a hug.

"Gwyn!" Nesta cried. Emerie just squeezed her tighter.

Home.

Gwyn felt completely at ease now that she was reunited with her sisters. She had missed them so unbearably that she almost forced Lucien to bring her back several different times. She was afraid that if she came back, she would not have left again. After a very lengthy hug, the girls pulled apart. Nesta was subtly trying to wipe tears away which only served in making Gwyn start to cry herself.

"We missed you." Emerie said softly while running her hand over Gwyn's hair. It was such a comforting gesture that Gwyn forced another hug from the Illyrian female.

"I missed you two more than anything." Gwyn pulled back from Emerie so that she could grab both of their hands. She pulled them over to the couch and forced them to sit down next to her.

"You better explain why you ran off with Lucien and you better do it right now because I am angry with you so I want a good explanation before I start yelling." Nesta warned with a hardened expression. Gwyn squeezed her hand and gave her a small smile.

"Lucien helped me with some things." Gwyn did not even know how to start explaining everything that had happened. She knew Lucien did not want her telling anyone of their ancestry, but Emerie and Nesta did not count. At least in Gwyn's mind they didn't.

"Things we could not help you with?" Emerie asked. Gwyn could hear the touch of hurt in her voice and suddenly felt very guilty. She never imagined they would blame themselves. She should have known better though, especially with Nesta.

"You cannot repeat what I am about to tell you to anyone." She gave them both a pointed look but it got a snort from Nesta.

"Who would I possibly tell other than Cassian?" She rolled her eyes with a slight laugh. Gwyn continued to give her a serious look.

"You cannot tell Cassian or Mor either. They will feel obligated to tell Rhys. This information is dangerous for me and I need to know before I tell you that it will stay between us three." She squeezed both their hands again. Nesta and Emerie shared a look before giving her a concerned one.

"We promise. We would never do anything to endanger you, Gwyn." Emerie insisted as Nesta nodded in agreement. Gwyn took a deep breath before explaining.

"Lucien's my grandfather. After the autumn court high lord killed Lucien's lover, him and a brother hid my mother at Sangravah." Emerie's eyes widened comically while Nesta took this in with a straight face.

"Holy shit. That makes you the only living heir to the day court." Emerie muttered. Gwyn's brows furrowed in confusion.

"The day court?" Nesta inquired on the same topic that Gwyn was confused about. The winged female gave them a sheepish look.

"Shit. I wasn't supposed to say anything." She gave a deep sigh. "Mor told me that Helion is Lucien's real father and that would make Lucien the only known offspring of Helion." Gwyn wasn't sure how she felt about that.

"Does this mean you'll get a real Pegasus?" Nesta pondered. It made Gwyn smile thinking of the tiny Pegasus the house conjured for them.

"I would demand weekends with it if so." Emerie added while leaning back on the side of the couch to fully face the other two females.

"Well anyways, Lucien helped me with some things regarding Sangravah." Gwyn directed the conversation back on topic. She did not want to think about being the future heir to some random court. "I did not ask for your help because I did not want to be dependent on you two. I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it on my own. Trust me, it had nothing to do with not wanting your help. There were so many times I almost forced Lucien to bring me back." Nesta looked at the priestess and a smile finally graced her face.

"You are wearing your invoking stone." Gwyn blushed and looked down at her hands. Nesta was one of the only people she had confided in about why she never wore it and she had only done that because she knew that Nesta would understand.

"I am."

"Are you happy?" Nesta asked wearily. The blunt female was not a fan of Lucien's for some reason.

"I am now that I am home. I have so much to tell you, but I might still need to process some of it before then." Gwyn warned. She may not be ready to give them all the answers that they needed or wanted. Gwyn put both her arms around both the females shoulders, tugging them in closer to her.

"You know just by the way, you could have given Az a heads up about your departure. I had to convince him that Papa Lucien did not kidnap you for nefarious revenge plans." Nesta responded after awhile of comfortable silence. Gwyn cringed while Emerie cackled over Lucien's new nickname.

"I figured his shadows told him." She shrugged. It's not her fault if he was being a bad spy master. He should have known Lucien did not kidnap her. Nesta gave a small smirk while nestling her head into the crook of Gwyn's neck. Emerie mimicked the gestured and suddenly all three of them were cuddling on the couch. It made the priestess feel safe.

"Mor said he finally confronted her about their situation." Nesta's eyebrows shot up into her hairline. Gwyn was just as surprised. The Shadowsinger practically ran screaming from emotions.

"How did that go?" The red headed female asked incredulously. She also had no idea why he would chose now when he was finally with Elain to have that conversation.

"Good? I did not get a lot of details but Mor seemed happy." They all sat in another comfortable silence again. There was so much to say on both sides. Gwyn was sure she had missed out on a lot, but they all knew they just wanted to enjoy each other's presence for a bit.

"Hey Nes-" Cassian stopped mid-sentence when he saw the priestess as he strode into the library. A huge smile broke out on his face. "Gwyn!"

"Hey Cas." She gave a small wave as all three girls sat upright on the couch. They all moved over some so Cassian could sit next to Nesta. It was a tight squeeze especially with his wings but they made it work.

"Shit, I have missed you, Berdara. Training is not the same without you. Please tell me you have kept up with it." He berated her like the good trainer he was.

Gwyn gave a short laugh. If only he knew what she had been doing to keep up with her training. She knew he would approve though. She truly had missed Cassian. Nesta and his bickering was a high quality form of entertainment for both Gwyn and Emerie. She also missed his quite encouragement and lame jokes, she would never admit to the latter, though.

"I have missed you as well." He gave Nesta a peck on the cheek which caused a smile to bloom on her face. They were sickeningly adorable.

"Are you coming tonight?" He asked.

"What's tonight?" He obviously did not know that Gwyn just arrived back. They had no time to discuss anything other than her trip.

"Oh I forgot to mention. Remember Balthazar? The guy that helped Emerie and I in the blood rite? Well Feyre and Rhys are throwing him a party in windhaven for not killing us." Nesta rolled her eyes. Clearly, she did not feel that was worth celebrating

"Seems kind of like the bare minimum." Emerie muttered the same thing that Nesta must be thinking. "No need to throw a party for letting us live." Emerie mimicked Nesta with an eye roll of her own.

"Sounds fun.” Gwyn could not stop the sarcasm that flooded her voice. “But I will go anyways.” She relented.

"Really?" Cassian was clearly surprised as he looked at her with raised eyebrows. Gwyn watched as he subtly set his hand on Nesta’s shoulder and rubbed his thumb back and forth. Part of Gwyn felt jealous. She wanted to experience that type of intimacy with someone- with Az. She let out a sigh.

"Yeah. I have had a very enlightening five months. I think I am ready to brave windhaven in a showy dress while everyone schmoozes the high lord and lady." Emerie and Nesta both cheered at that while Cassian gave her his biggest smile. It made her laugh.

"Azriel is at the River house. Want me to take you there?" Cassian suddenly changed the topic. Gwyn narrowed her eyes at him. She most definitely did not want to see the Shadowsinger right now. Besides, she still had so much to discuss with her sisters.

"I can only take so many reunions at once. Perhaps his could wait."

Gwyn had never felt this confident. Her normal anxieties were still there, but it was not nearly as overwhelming as it once had been. She felt a little guilty for crashing Balthazar's "thank you for not killing my sister in the blood rite" party, however, she knew the male would not care much. She glanced at herself one last time in the mirror- only to feel that a stranger was looking back at her. For the first time in front of her friends, she wore her invoking stone atop her head. The color matched her dress very well. It was quite a scandalous dress by her standards even if Nesta had said it had nothing on a few of Feyre's court of nightmare dresses. The neckline went up relatively high while the back dipped down low enough to barely reach her tailbone. It left her entire back exposed. There were very few scars there which made her much more comfortable than some of the dresses with low cut necklines. The waistline came in tight enough for Gwyn to struggle to breathe. Luckily, the skirt was flowy with a slit in the side that showed off one of her legs as well as her dagger which was sheathed to her thigh. It was very unlike Gwyn. She would not wear it again, but once for a grand entrance seemed like as good of a time as ever. Lucien bought the dress for her before realizing how scandalous it really was. He saw the color and was reminded of her eyes which she apparently got from Jesminda. She tried it on once for him which resulted in him stumbling over his words in a very un-Lucien manner. He told her he would return it at once and then begged for forgiveness. It was a bit of an overreaction that had her giggling for a decent amount of time. She told him she would keep it and wear it when she was ready. She knew she would be ready when she could walk out of the door without changing. She allowed herself five more minutes of staring before heading upstairs to the House of Wind. Cassian, Nesta, Emerie, and Mor would all be waiting for her up there. She did not quite expect the reaction she received. All four of them stared at her, wide-eyed, for longer than socially acceptable. Gwyn almost asked if she should change, but then Nesta and Emerie were gushing over the dress, Mor was demanding to know where she got it from, and Cassian gave her a shy compliment. The anxiety released her chest as everyone went back to discussing their original conversation.

It appeared the high lord and lady did not spare a single expense for this party. Food and alcohol was everywhere, music played loudly, and everyone was dancing. The dances were different than the ones Gwyn was used to, but Emerie showed her a few of the steps. She had gotten so good at one of them that a crowd formed around the three sisters as they held hands and danced around in a circle, adding in different kicks and twirls on beat. Gwyn had laughed more tonight than she had since Catrin’s death. Perhaps everything was finally falling into place for Gwyn to live her life unafraid. Exhaustion pulled Gwyn from the dance floor and back onto the dais where the high lord and lady stood- deep in discussion. Gwyn did not interrupt them, instead opting to stand by herself for a moment in order to catch her breathe. She chugged her cup of water that was much harder to find than it should have been. She was not alone long before a male approached her.

She recognized the red-haired fae. She was trying to remember how she knew him, but it just barely kept slipping her mind. Based on his looks, he was from the autumn court which made Gwyn wonder why he was even here in the first place. To Rhysand and Feyre's surprise, the male asked to dance with her. Before she could accept or decline though, her high lord interrupted.

"No." Gwyn's eyebrows raised to her hairline. He did not speak for her. Now or ever.

"Rhys," Feyre began, shifting her eyes from her mate to the quickly angering priestess. "I do believe Gwyn has a voice of her own." The couple shared a look before turning to her. The red haired male looked as annoyed as Gwyn felt.

"Gwyneth, I apologize for speaking on your behalf, but he is not to be trusted. He is dangerous." He continued to dig himself further into a hole. Gwyn was the last person to openly trust a strange male, but she could handle her own. Especially against him.

"And here I thought we were allies." The strange male rolled his eyes with his sarcastic comment. All three of them ignored him.

"Do you see me warning you away from every female in this room?" It was a rhetorical question, but her point was made. "How would you like me to throw Amarantha in your face every chance I got under the guise of protection? If I want your opinion on a dancing partner, I will ask." She was a blunt person, but she was not typically so harsh. The overwhelming pity that Rhysand sent her way brought the ugliness out of her in a way that many others have not been able to do. She could see the guilt on his face. She also saw the flinch when she uttered Amarantha's name and she wished more than anything that she could take it back. Just because he reminded her of Sangravah every chance he got did not mean she had to stoop to his level.

"I apologize. Obviously, you may dance with whomever you chose." He bowed his head to her and flourished an arm towards the waiting male. Feyre was too busy watching Rhysand to add anything more. Gwyn supposed they were having an internal conversation. She stepped down from the dais to follow the male onto the dancing floor. She did not want to dance with him in particular. Truly, she only wanted to dance with Azriel who had yet to make an appearance, but she was curious. That nagging feeling at the back of her mind said that she knew him. He grabbed one of her hands to hold and placed his other at her hip. The placement at her hip was odd. Typically, that was reserved for more intimate dances between couples, but that was not why he did it. Her back was completely exposed due to the dress. He must have figured this would be better for her. She narrowed her eyes at him. He must know Lucien and therefore who she is to him.

"Eris Vanserra." He finally announced as they began their dance. "Pleasure to officially meet you." Gwyn met his stare. It was surprisingly soft. Lucien's brother she realized. This could be good or bad depending on which brother he is she contemplated. She had only heard wicked things about all his brothers except when Lucien was discussing her mother. He mentioned a brother helped him hide her mother.

"We have met before." She said it as a statement of fact, but in truth it was a question. He gave her a wicked grin before twirling her.

"We have."

"Where?" He twirled her once more before glancing over his shoulder at Rhysand. He must be listening in.

"Sangravah." Was all he said. It was all she needed to remember. He came to the services Sangravah held on Sunday's. It was not every Sunday, but enough of them to recognize him. He sat in a pew in the back and watched. He never participated. Catrin complained one time that she felt he was watching her. Gwyn had brushed it off as mere paranoia- she knew better now though. She wanted to respond with a million different questions; however, she was expected to be vague with prying ears around.

"Why?" Was all she could muster. If Lucien was not willing to risk a visit, then why was he? She was searching his eyes for any clues only to discover a hint of sadness that was quickly covered up.

"To remind myself that it was worth it." The music stopped as the dance came to an end, so he moved his mouth to her ear to continue. It would have seemed an intimate moment to anyone watching. Truly, it was only an uncle speaking a secret to his great niece. "That all I had become to save her was worth it."

Before she could respond she felt a sharp tug on her mate bond, a whisper of a shadow on her wrist, and then Azriel launched himself at Eris.

"For fucks sake." Cassian could be heard muttering as a brawl ensued between the pair. Gwyn couldn't help but agree. Punches were thrown back and forth, but once truth teller had been drawn, Gwyn did the only thing she could think of. She lightly scraped her nails on the back of Azriel's wings. Almost immediately he wrenched himself away from Eris to give her a startled look- his wings tucking in tight. Luckily, Cassian chose that time to insert himself into the fight and hold Eris back.

"Do not do that again." Azriel gave her an intimidating look, but she did not balk from him. Not now.

"Do not give me that attitude, Shadowsinger." She returned his stare with such intensity that he finally looked away.

She turned to Eris who now looked much worse than her mate. He was wiping blood from his nose with the end of his sleeve. She quickly wrapped her arms around his neck and gave a tight squeeze. He barely had time to return the hug before she pulled away. Everyone was clearly shocked, but it mattered little to Gwyn. This dangerous and cruel male had gone against his abusive father to save her mother. He had risked his future as high lord by visiting her and Catrin. It was not all that long ago that Gwyn thought she had no family. Then she met Nesta and Emerie and now she had a grandfather who loved her despite knowing little of her and a great uncle who cared for her enough to risk all he had tried to achieve. It made her feel a little less alone in this world.

"Thank you." Was all she uttered before turning back to her mate who had the audacity to be glaring daggers at Eris. She narrowed her eyes at him before grabbing him by his hand and tugging him all the way to the exit. She could see him about to speak so she stopped him.

"No. No speaking. Show me to a private room so I can scream at you for a solid five minutes and then I shall allow you to speak." She was fuming mad at the arrogance of this male. He was in a completely committed relationship with another female and he had the audacity to attack her dance partner. He took her down a long hallway, his shadows twirling around him in chaos. His wings were tense even as his face gave off an air of cool indifference. He took a sharp turn and then they were in an empty bedroom.

"I have been back for a total of six hours and before I can even utter a word to you, you have gone and fought Eris Vanserra of all people? Really Azriel I am starting to get whiplash from you. One second you are proclaiming your love for Elain Archeron and the next you are attempting murder on my dance partner. What would you like from me? Because I was hoping we could start off with a pleasant conversation but I suppose that is too much to ask for?" She was glaring him down which was not something anyone else had ever done. While he was beautiful, his icy cruelty laid right beneath the surface. It was enough for everyone to walk on eggshells around him. Even some of his closest friends. Gwyn had never done that though and she would not start now. He looked down at his feet as his shadows went still. Perhaps they also realized they were in trouble.

"You are wearing your invoking stone." He peeked at the stone that lay across her forehead before glancing out the window. She huffed in frustration.

"This is the first you have seen of me in five months and that's all you have to say?" Her glare turned more incredulous.

"You never wore it before." He paused to glance up at her before continuing. "You look beautiful." Gwyn groaned in frustration. This male would be the death of her. She sat at the edge of the bed in the middle of the room. After a moments pause, he followed suit and sat next to her with a small gap in between them. It was silent for another moment.

"I am sorry Gwyneth. My shadows refuse to tell me anything about you and I assumed the worse when I saw Eris whispering into your ear. The mate bond has become harder to control the longer you have been gone as well." She could agree with that. Her own mate bond had become more and more incessant the longer she had been gone. It was like a buzzing in her mind that would not stop. She wondered how Elain managed.

"Lucien, and I suppose now Eris, are important to me Azriel. I cannot explain why quite yet, but it is important to me that you try to be polite specifically with Lucien. Okay?" It was probably more information than she should give. She wanted to be clear with him. He gave her a curious look. He wanted to ask more that was for sure.

"Okay." He whispered. They both looked down at their hands. His were laid loosely on his thighs while hers were clasped tightly together in her lap. "Elain and I decided it would be best if we stopped..." he trailed off at the end, braving a glimpse at her. She was surprised by this. Perhaps Elain's visit to the Band of Exile's was not to reject Lucien. Almost two weeks ago, Gwyn had bumped into Elain in the castle. Their conversation was awkward and brief, but Gwyn thought for sure that the beautiful female had come to reject the mating bond with Lucien.

"Why?" Was all Gwyn could muster. She suddenly felt so tired.

"After our kiss," he started. His hands ran up and down his thighs and she realized he was nervous. She grabbed one of his hands with her own and squeezed. "Nothing had ever lived up to that. I had been chasing what Elain represented that I forgot what I was missing out on. I don't want Elain now and maybe I never truly did. I know I don't deserve it, but I would like a chance to be with you Gwyn. We can go as slow as you like." His sudden proclamation was hurting her head. It was like sensory overload.

"What makes me different from Elain?" She didn't want him to make this decision solely because they were mated. She wanted this to be different. She squeezed his hand tighter.

"You see me for who I am and you aren't phased. You have never hesitated before grabbing my hands. You didn't even so much as blink at my shadows the first time you saw them. You understand why I hold myself to such high standards and you aren't scared of me." He looked directly into her eyes to make sure she understood that every word was true. He wanted her to see him be vulnerable. His stare was so intense that she had to look away before responding.

"I missed you." She gave him a small smile. "But I have been missing you for much longer than I have been gone. I miss my friend. You were so much more to me than just my mate when it snapped into place and I feel like we lost that along the way. This has nothing to do with what you deserve, Azriel. I want you to know that. But right now I would really love my friend back. We can see where the future leads us later." It was not the speech she planned to give him when she thought he was still with Elain, but it was true. They both still had so much to deal with even now. She wanted to deal with it with her friend by her side though. His shoulders slumped slightly which had the mate bond clenching tightly in her chest. After a moment though, his head lifted and he gave her a brilliant smile. One she had never seen from him before and she realized she would do just about anything to see it again.

"I would love to be your friend, Gwyneth Berdara." He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer to him. She let out a content sigh as she put her arms around his neck. Her head rest on his shoulder as his head lay atop hers. His shadows were moving languidly as though they were also happy.

"Can I ask a favor of you though?" He mumbled against her hair. She nodded slightly.

"Can I ask that you not touch my wings in public again?" His tone was almost pleading. She quickly looked up at him putting a couple inches between them.

"Oh gods! I'm sorry. Did it hurt? Nesta mentioned that they were sensitive once and I figured it would be the easiest way to stop you from killing Eris." She didn't mean to be too rough, but she also wasn't familiar with Illyrian wings. He gave her a sheepish look. A slight blush gracing his cheeks.

"Um, that's not what she meant by sensitive." He glanced at her before laying his head on top of hers again to avoid eye contact. "It's just not something that one does with Illyrian wings in public." There was heavy insinuation in his voice, but Gwyn could not figure out why. What could she possibly be missing?

"Well we aren't in public now? Could I do it now?" If he wouldn't outright tell her, perhaps she could threaten it out of him. She brought her hand up to his wing only for him to quickly grab it and push her away. She started to laugh as his face grew even redder. "Az, just tell me. Are you ticklish?" It was just too easy to tease him. He held both of her wrists between his hands to keep her at bay.

"Gwyn, I am begging you, which I never do if I must add, please do not touch them unless you would like to act out a scene from one of your romance novels." He truly was begging. She smiled until his words finally caught up to her. Now it was her that was blushing like crazy. Nesta was going to get an earful for being woefully stubborn with details.

"Sorry!" Was all she could splutter out like a fool. She quickly shoved her hands in her lap. Azriel began laughing very loudly as realization of what she almost did hit her. Oh, how the tables have turned she thought. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and tugged her closer, dropping a kiss on her head.

"I truly have missed you, Gwyn. Tell me everything."

Sometime in the future

Gwyn felt a tickle on her bare back. She tried to ignore it and go back to sleep by burying her head further into her pillow. Another tickle brushed against her. She swatted at her back which was more difficult than she wanted to admit considering she was laying on her stomach. One last tickle had her groaning as she finally popped her eyes open. She immediately gave the Shadowsinger a glare.

"I was trying to sleep." She mumbled, her voice still sleep laced. He gave her a charming smile back.

"Keep sleeping. I was just rubbing your back for you." He had the look of innocence perfected, but Gwyn new better.

It was hard to stay mad at him when he looked like that though. She moved closer to him while he laid on his side. She wrapped her arms and legs around him until she pushed him onto his back with her on top. An ornery grin graced his face as she nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck. He began to run his hands up and down her bare thighs. It made her shutter. The warmth from his chest stopped her bare chest from being chilled by the temperature of the room. She loved waking up this way with her mate. She quickly discovered that neither of them slept too often- nightmares always finding them in their sleep. They stayed up most nights playing chess or singing or training or...doing other things. Gwyn was always curious about the scenes she read from Nesta and Emerie's romance books. Azriel was certainly willing to demonstrate for her. After one particular, evening session Gwyn profusely apologized for touching Azriel's wings in public all that time ago. It made her embarrass to know exactly how close she had been to bringing Azriel to his knees in front of all those people. She thought she might never live it down if it had happened.

"What are you thinking about?" Azriel asked while playing with Gwyn's hair. His shadows were wrapping all around her in a way that made her feel safe especially when they were being this intimate.

"You." She immediately answered with a grin while dropping a quick kiss on to his chin.

"I would hope so." He gave her one last devilish smile before leaning up to kiss her. Right as she began to grind though, Az pulled away.

"Sorry, Carynthian. That is not why I woke you." He teased. Gwyn rolled her eyes at the nickname. He loved to call her that simply to remind her of all she had accomplished. She felt he was bragging about her just a little too much.

"Well then why did you wake me?" She lifted a singular eyebrow but he only laughed her off. He sat up with her still in his lap and started to carry her towards their bathroom.

"Nyx's party will be starting soon." He set her down on the counter before getting the bath water ready. Gwyn lifted one of her legs, so that her foot could rest on the counter as well. If he was going to tease her, well then two could play at that game. Even during times like these, both of their competitive streaks came out. It was always a game to see who could get who to cave first. The look Az gave her when he turned around told her that she won this round. Before dropping to his knees in front of her though, he grabbed her face and pressed a harsh kiss to her lips.

"I love you, Gwyneth Berdara." And then she was screaming her love for Azriel, over and over again.

They were both late to the party. Neither of them cared.

The end

#gwyncien #gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #azriel #lucien vanserra #acotar #acosf #nesta archeron #emerie #cassian #eris vanserra #rhysand #feyre archeron

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