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morimakesfanart · 3 years

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Sindria's Prophet #08

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** TW/suicide of family member implied (it is marked ahead with ((text)) so you know what to skip) ~POV shift Mori~ In my old life I had spent 4 or so years as a historical reenactor for the mid 1700's through early 1800's on my weekends. My group mainly acted as pirates/privateers and sang sea shanties. We had done performances on different ships, but every time we were invited onto a period ship I couldn't make it, so I was geeking out when I saw the ship we'd be taking to Sindria. I prayed it didn't show on my face. Sure it was exciting for an other world's nerd like me to get to see a ship like this in use, but to everyone else it was a normal ship. The ship had two masts -both square rigged with a fore and aft sail at the back for better steering. Considering the reputation for the waters around Sindria I expected a bigger three mast ship for strength, but who was I to judge?

With only two masts, this ship probably only needed a crew of about nine people to allow for different shifts. It didn't look like it had room for many passengers. No doubt, Sinbad didn't expect to be bringing four extra people back with him. I was in full on research mode by the time I got on the ship, and I tired my best to not stand out or get in the way. Getting to look up at the rigging from on the deck was an experience. After everyone was settled I'd definitely make a point to look around more. I might even take one of the scrolls out and try drawing the deck of the ship since I never got around to drawing that gorgeous room in the hotel. I considered myself lucky that no one tried to talk to me until the rooms were being divided out -I had been hyperfixating so I might not have even noticed if they did.

Studying the ship could only boost me for so long. About 15 minutes before we left the port I could no longer ignore that my head was throbbing from exhaustion. This headache was undeniably becoming a migraine if it wasn't one already. I decided that sleep was the next thing on my agenda. Luckily, I made that decision around the same time the rooms were being divided out. I had figured I'd end up in the same room as Alibaba, Aladdin and Morgiana, but Alibaba was put in the same room as Ja'far and Masrur. Everyone put their bags down, and headed back on deck except me. I sat on my bed with my head in my hands as I started to let myself fully calm down. In the quiet it hit me just how much I had been using working on the scrolls as a way to avoid thinking about my guilt and lost home. I'd have to find time when no one else was in the room to work through these feelings. There was no way I could keep it bottled up until we reached Sindria. "Excuse me, Miss Mori?" Aladdin had re-entered the room and closed the door. We might not have been formally introduced but he was told who I was. "What is it?" I lifted my head to look at him, and tried to keep my expression positive. I felt the waves rising. A Magi was talking to a Prophet in private; something was bound to happen. The walls of the ship creaked, and I heard steps and the floor boards creak in the hallway. The wave got a little bigger. Silence hung in the air as the boy just stood there. Instead of trying to guess what he wanted I waited. His hands tightened around his staff. Aladdin looked nervous as he confronted me. "I know you say you've read Fate, but I don't think Fate is something written in stone. It's something that everyone makes together. It can always change." The hallway floor creaked behind the Magi again. The wave was getting bigger. Someone was definitely listening in, and there was only one King that was a chronic eavesdropper.

"I agree," I said bluntly. I wanted Sinbad to hear my answer. Ten years ago, he came to the conclusion that Fate was something already written as a way to cope with his guilt and trauma, and he thought he was 'the chosen one' for being able to read ahead through the waves, but he was wrong on both accounts. "You do?” Aladdin was surprised. It must sound weird coming from someone who read Fate. "I've read more than one Fate for this world, so I know there is no one true path." The manga, anime and OVAs were a little different after all. "And if Fate couldn't be changed then I couldn't be here." I turned so I was sitting facing him. "You see, I wasn't in any of the Fate I read. I wasn't even in this world until five days ago." The magi took a few steps towards me with wide eyes. Aladdin had felt very alone for not being from this world -now he would know he wasn't the only one. It wasn't a reveal that caused problems on its own when Aladdin explained in the original so I didn't see an issue in letting Sinbad overhear about me either- I had already implied as much the previous day. I felt the need to elaborated. "Everything I do changes the Fate I read because I wasn't here. For example, only one of the Fates I read showed the conversation where you all found out about the Kou Fleet. Remember how I yelled at Alibaba? If I didn't convince him to leave then King Sinbad would have knocked him out, and Alibaba would be kept asleep with medicine for this whole trip. Since I was there this time, I was able to change that." "Oh!" He brightened up a bit. "I much prefer things this way." "I agree. Like this it will be much easier for him to heal." I looked down at my intertwined hands. "I have no idea how this will change the Fate I read though." Aladdin hummed a question mark, but he didn't say or ask anything directly. I answered the obvious question to my words, "I can't read a Fate that I'm a part of, so now that I'm here I can't read how my actions are changing Fate. Eventually, the Fate I did read will become useless, and I have no idea if I'm changing it for the better." It was only as I said it that I remembered that Sinbad was listening. I had basically just told him that my usefulness as his Prophet would have a definite expiration date. All I had wanted was to let Aladdin know that he might not be able to rely on me for everything. I definitely wasn't thinking clearly. Aladdin cut into my thoughts. "Is that why the Rukh are so active around you? Because you weren't originally a part of the Flow of Fate?" "Probably." I didn't know what else to say. I knew I had to be making distinctive waves in the Rukh just by being here, let alone with all of my changes. "Miss Mori, where are you from?" I hummed in amusement at that. "I'm from much farther away than you or your parents-if you can believe it." I was from the same world as the person who wrote the original Fate of this world. There was no way I could tell anyone that. He was shocked again. It was written all over his face that he was questioning if I was really from a dimension farther away than Alma Torran. Aladdin gripped the flute that he always wore. "Then... Are you the person he didn't recognize?" "He?" Which 'he' -oh. I lowered my voice. "Ugo?" I put one finger over my lips and looked at the door. Sinbad has to remain ignorant about the Sacred Palace; he's too self-absorbed. Aladdin looked confused at my change in volume. He followed my gaze to the door and back then nodded. He didn't look all that surprised that I knew about Ugo. I kept my voice low. "Aladdin, let's talk more about this some other time. The walls have ears on such a small ship. And I'm exhausted." "Okay. Rest well, Miss Mori." Aladdin spoke at normal volume. I heard a scramble in the hallway, the magi left, and I put my glasses in the top of my bag for safe keeping. I could hear Aladdin through the wall. "Oh! Mr. Sinbad, Mr. Ja'far, did you want to check on Miss Mori too?” "Uh, yes. How is she doing?” Was King Sinbad's response. I could hear the nerves he was trying to

cover up. "Real smooth there, Sin." I mumbled as I finally drifted into unconsciousness. --- I was a young man of 20 some years. I had started a family. We didn't have enough money for food. I ended up taking a risky job because I knew it would pay better. ... No. I'm a six year old girl? I don't remember if I had parents, but I remember going to visit this old dog every day. ... If life was hard, and I had nothing to loose then there was no reason not to bet everything I had on one last round. How could I return to my family without money? The last time I saw my son he was three. Would he even remember me? ... Ya know, when you grow up with someone and everyone else can see your chemistry you'd think it would be obvious that we'd marry when we grew up, but she met someone else. ... I knew things were bad, but I never even considered that my neighbor was stealing from me when I was at work. Bastard stabbed me with my own kitchen knife when I caught him. --- I wasn't myself in my dreams. Every time I woke I had to ground myself and remember where and when I was. Rereading the scrolls I had made helped. Just how many Rukh had merged with me, and why? I had no connections to any of those spirits while they were alive. Was it just because ghosts like me? I wrote down every dream I had; their lives might have been over, but they were a part of me now. I was too exhausted to go on deck, and I could feel that there were still more lives inside of me that I had to get aquatinted with. When I wasn't sleeping, I was working on scrolls again since I at least had enough energy to write and draw. My breathing was getting difficult, and I was struggling with temperature regulation. I wasn't okay enough to tell if it was my body struggling with the changes in my magoi, like when Sinbad took in all the Rukh after the Fall of First Sindria, or if I was just sick. After making sure I could still use magoi manipulation I decided that it was probably the later. I mainly left that room for food, and I waited until almost everyone was done before going. I avoided talking to others too. If I was sick I needed to minimize my contact with others. Alibaba seemed to be in a similar state to me. We both found that staying near each other when around the others made them less likely to approach us with the depressing cloud that hung over us.

Those that did see me could obviously tell I was unwell. From their words it seemed like they were assuming I was just mourning -they were only half wrong. It gave me an easy excuse to leave, so I never corrected them. I did feel bad for worrying everyone. The whole situation sucked. I wanted to cry. I had been in lock down back home because of Covid-19 for 8 months as an at risk person (it's still Oct 2020 in this story). I was literally in a fantasy anime world now. I wasn't given a better immune system, but my boobs didn't need a bra anymore??? WTF?? If the current arbiter of Fate was me writing fanfiction, then they had a lot of explaining to do. ... Who was I kidding? I knew why I would write something like this. I wanted to see more stories about people like me -someone with my disabilities and life experiences- get to be someone "valued" even if they couldn't be on the front lines. My migraine wouldn't go away, and it wasn't the only part of me in pain. I think I got palpitations a few times -breathing was even worse during those episodes. If I hadn't had health problems growing up I probably would have been panicking. I knew it was stupid to not tell anyone what was going on with me. But would anyone even be able help me on a ship? Telling them would just make them worry more than they already were. Aladdin and Morgiana could tell something more was wrong with me; I couldn't fully hide from them while sleeping in the same room. They must have let the others know since they gave me some pain killers at some point. It tasted awful. I'm honestly not sure how affective it was, but it did knock me out. ((Skip to the next paragraph to avoid the trigger)) At least I was left alone most of the time. I had no choice but to sit with my thoughts about Balbadd. I grew up mourning. The blood on my hands might not be the same as losing most of my loved ones back home, but it was damn similar to when I was in high school thinking "if only one of us had answered the phone that day." The Balbadd revolt would have been much worse if I wasn't there. And even if I had said something sooner there was little that could be done to actually stop Al Thamen when they had their hands so deep in that country. Even with Sinbad there to sway Fate, Al Thamen would still find a way to spill blood. Even if I told Alibaba days in advance and he tried to talk to Cassim about it, Cassim wanted nothing to do with Sinbad, so any help that came from him would be refused. Cassim was twisted around Issnan's fingers and out for blood. I did the best I could. My actions did save some people. I'd have to take solace in that. --- I woke up to something wrapped around me, almost like I was tied down. I couldn't move my legs. I gave up trying to untangle my skirt and covers from me, and just pulled the skirt out from under the cloth belt -kicking the whole mass off like a cocoon. I had put my underwear on underneath and I still had the tunic on so I wasn't left totally uncovered. Star light shown in from the window. I had slept through another day. I couldn't remember my dream. Maybe I had finally returned to having my own dreams. The other beds in the room were occupied. My head was still swimming. I felt trapped. I needed something. I heard the waves outside, and felt the waves of Fate washing over me. Their sounds called to me. Back home I had used the sounds of waves to meditate and stim regularly. I had been hearing them all this time, but I wanted to see them. I didn't bother to slip on my flip-flops as I made my way to the door, didn't even think about grabbing my glasses until I was already on deck. It had been so dark below that I couldn't see anyway, and didn't realize I wasn't wearing them. The wave of Fate I had been following lead me farther into the space. When I hit it's end, the adrenaline that had got me that far died out. The night air hit my legs and I shivered. It was colder than it was at night in Balbadd. I thought we were heading south. Did I still have a fever? The cold reminded me that I really should have put on

my shorts or something before coming out here. The tunic just barely covered me. My vision was going grey scale. This was bad. Really bad. I recognized this feeling. I was about to pass out from not being able to breathe right. I used to have fainting spells as a kid because of my weak raspatory system and needed to carry smelling salts for a few years. The last time it happened was about five years ago -I had been really sick. My head was throbbing; my heart was pounding. Guess I was sicker than I thought. I needed to focus on breathing and getting to the ground. I stumbled to the bowsprit (the pole that sticks out the front of the ship) as support. I needed to get to the ground safely before I collapsed. I'd gotten a concussion once because I didn't get down before the black out hit. A wave crashed into me from behind. If I hadn't been putting all my weight on that wooden shaft I would have been pushed over even though it wasn't a physical wave. What in the world was behind me that would cause such a wave? I removed one arm to look back as my knees started to give out. There was definitely someone there. Their color balance didn't match anything I could remember, but they were really familiar. Without my glasses I couldn't really tell anything -especially since everything was becoming different shades of black. And I already had bad night vision. The light was fading. Shapes were getting harder to discern. Even though I was breathing deeper I hadn't managed to counter the fainting spell. I was going down. I definitely fell, but it didn't feel like I fell for long enough to hit the ground. The feeling across my back was really familiar. Someone had caught me.

Sometimes I was able to stay conscious when I fainted. It was kinda like ending up in sleep paralysis but with a -20 to all sensory inputs. Seemed like this was one of those times. I couldn't hear what they were saying or see them. It was like my head was deep under water. There was a pressure on my forehead. Were they checking my temperature? When someone faints you're supposed to lay them on the ground and position them so they can breath easier. This person didn't take first aid classes or forgot or something because I was being lifted upwards instead of laid down. It was really warm and comfy though. I liked this feeling. What was it? Safe? Was that it? I hadn't felt actually safe in a long time. I certainly didn't feel safe in that house back home even after everything was over. Maybe it was the feeling of warmth and safety. Maybe it was the way the waves were moving. Maybe it was the numbness that comes with blacking out. But whatever it was had stopped the pain. With the pain gone I calmed the rest of the way. I felt my spine straighten out onto a soft surface. The warmth faded even though something was now covering my legs. I was in a bed. The cold was back without a source of warmth to leech from. I definitely had a fever if I was this cold. Damnit. I grew up with all sorts of chronic health conditions and have always gotten sick easily. Even though I was now in an anime world, I was still me. Was I going to die in this world from some common illness that was already cured back home? We might not have had a lot of money back home but I was lucky enough to get a job with usable health insurance that let me work from home during a pandemic. I could at least get medicine every time I got a normal illness. I was finally able to afford to get and keep an inhaler. Not that any of that was of use to me now. My motor functions were returning. I rolled to the side and curled into the fetal position. I had lost everything. No home. No friends or family. Who would want to look after a stranger with nothing to give back? I was doing what I could to seem worthy of the main cast, but how long would that last? The story would reach its end in five years. What would I do after that? What was the point of all of the savings I had managed to make back home if I was going to be Isekaied? I had been the main bread winner and now my family couldn't even use my savings because I hadn't left a body behind as proof that I had died. All of the thoughts and feelings I was still running from were flooding through me. I couldn't even distract myself with writing scrolls or anything. This was probably for the best. Pushing things away for much longer would be unhealthy. And if I couldn't let myself feel miserable when I was sick and alone, then when could I? I let the tears fall. I hadn't been a loud crier since I was a kid, so I was caught off guard when I could hear my own sobs. I didn't have it in me to hide any more. The bed I was on creaked but I hadn't moved. There was a new weight on the mattress.

I wasn't alone.

The concept that someone was checking on me hurt harder. I didn't grow up in a healthy environment, so now feel immense guilt when someone shows me genuine kindness. But I am also aware and recovered enough to know I deserve kindness, so the guilt always paired with an equal amount or more of relief. I felt a hand stroke my hair. They wanted to comfort me. And I wanted comfort. The waves washing over me encouraged me seek out more. I used what little strength I had to pull myself against them. Having undeniable proof that I wasn't alone and that someone cares was overwhelming. The relief made me cry harder. I'd have to thank them later. But for the time being I'd pour out as much emotion as they'd let me.

#sindria's prophet #magi prophet fanfic #king sinbad #magi sinbad #sinbad magi #sinbad x oc #sinbadxoc

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moonlit-void-to-the-far-unknown · 6 years

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I answered a lot of shit cause i was bored. enjoy or don’t i don’t fucking care

1: Name: Cheynne.

2: Age: 21

3: 3 Fears: Dying alone, never finding actual love, everyone dying but me because of something I could have stopped.

4: 3 things I love: Music, Good movies, Good acting and good accents in movies.

5: 4 turns on: Good smile, Nice eyes, If you look like you could kill me, nice hair

6: 4 turns off: Being a dick, Entitlement, if you act as if I owe you something, not telling me I upset you or did something wrong and then being an actual dick when telling me whats wrong.

7: My best friend: IRL? Myself. Online I have many.

8: Sexual orientation: Asexual panromantic

9: My best first date: Didn’t have one

10: How tall am i: 5’2. 5’3 if I stand up all the way.

11: What do I miss: When I felt true emotions.

12: What time were you born: 3:02pm

13: Favorite color: Black. Because it is the absence of all colors and I just like it,

14: Do I have a crush: On people I know? No. On actors yes. Many.

15: Favorite quote: “never more quoth the raven” and or “all we see or seem is but a dream with in a dream”

16: Favorite place: My bed.

17: Favorite food: Pizza or Chicken

18: Do I use sarcasm: no…none….

19: What am I listening to right now: Barns Courtney “hellfire”

20: First thing I notice in new person: Eyes or How they speak, like volume and tone.

21: Shoe size: 8.5 or a 9 depending

22: Eye color: Greenish hazel

23: Hair color: Natural is like a dark brown

24: Favorite style of clothing: Comfortable, leggings and my hoodie

25: Ever done a prank call?: Not that I can recall

27: Meaning behind my URL: I liked how it sounded in my head

28: Favorite movie: Currently…jeez…uh either CA:CW or CA:WS

29: Favorite song: Gasoline by Halsey

30: Favorite band: Don’t have one currently

31: How I feel right now: Dead inside…like normal

32: Someone I love: Love is very hard for me cause of things

33: My current relationship status: Single

34: My relationship with my parents: ummmmmmmmm Emotionally destroying. My father(s) can fuck off. And my mom is just a whole can of worms

35: Favorite holiday: Halloween

36: Tattoos and piercing I have: I have 2 tattoos one on my back and one on my wrist. I had my labret and my nose at one point.

37: Tattoos and piercing I want: *shrugs* idk man

38: The reason I joined Tumblr: Cause I hated myself. Idk actually it was in like 2012 so

39: Do I and my last ex hate each other?: We don’t speak so

40: Do I ever get “good morning” or “good night ” texts?: Hahahaha you act like I have IRL friends and family who actually care. no

41: Have I ever kissed the last person you texted?: My mother..yes

42: When did I last hold hands?: 2-3 years ago

43: How long does it take me to get ready in the morning?: less then 5 minutes

44: Have I shaved your legs in the past three days?: yep

45: Where am I right now?: My house. On my bed

46: If I were drunk & can’t stand, who’s taking care of me?: Myself.

47: Do I like my music loud or at a reasonable level?: depends on what I am doing or where I am.

48: Do I live with my Mom and Dad?: Fuck no. thank god

49: Am I excited for anything?: Um Avengers: IW, Season 3 of Animal Kingdom, and Joe coles newest movie.

50: Do I have someone of the opposite sex I can tell everything to?: No

51: How often do I wear a fake smile?: every time I leave the house.

52: When was the last time I hugged someone?: Last Friday, One of my bosses left the store I work at.

53: What if the last person I kissed was kissing someone else right in front of me?: Ew. I don’t like having to see my mom kiss her boyfriend.

54: Is there anyone I trust even though I should not?: Yes and No

55: What is something I disliked about today?: Waking up to some shitty shit.

56: If I could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be?: Finn and Joe Cole o I could tell them they are actually so amazing at every role they do. Sebastian Stan. And Bill Skarsgard

57: What do I think about most?: Fanfic ideas

58: What’s my strangest talent?: I can do a weird thing with my middle fingers.

59: Do I have any strange phobias?: Holes in things. But only sometimes

60: Do I prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it?: Behind

61: What was the last lie I told?: Idk honestly

62: Do I prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online?: Online

63: Do I believe in ghosts? How about aliens?: Yes, and Yes

64: Do I believe in magic?: I mean if I didn’t my witch sisters would be a little peeved at me.

65: Do I believe in luck?: Yes

66: What’s the weather like right now?: grey and rainy

67: What was the last book I’ve read?: smoke gets in your eyes: tales from the crematory.

68: Do I like the smell of gasoline?: yes

69: Do I have any nicknames?: yes

70: What was the worst injury I’ve ever had?: I worked in a deli and my hand slipped one night and I needed 6 stitches. My finger is forever warped from it

71: Do I spend money or save it?: both

72: Can I touch my nose with a tongue?: nope

73: Is there anything pink in 10 feet from me?: yep sissors

74: Favorite animal?: Sloth,

75: What was I doing last night at 12 AM?: watching “redlight” Cillian Murphy in that movie. Hes amazing

76: What do I think is Satan’s last name is?: Well he is just a fallen angel right, god cast him down and all archangels have no last name so.

77: What’s a song that always makes me happy when I hear it?: You are my sunshine.

78: How can you win my heart?: Understand my past is very fucked up and in such has caused me to become a very unemotional and uncaring person at times.

79: What would I want to be written on my tombstone?: Finally

80: What is my favorite word?: Cunt

81: My top 5 blogs on tumblr: @roman-ova @imaginesoverreality @animalkingdom-anonymous @bookofreid and so many more so

82: If the whole world were listening to me right now, what would I say?: Fuck off

83: Do I have any relatives in jail?: Yes

84: I accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow me with the super-power of my choice! What is that power?: Teleportation.

85: What would be a question I’d be afraid to tell the truth on?: How people really feel about me.

86: What is my current desktop picture?: A gif of Pietro from AOU

87: Had sex?: Nope

88: Bought condoms?: nope

89: Gotten pregnant?: nope

90: Failed a class?: many

91: Kissed a boy?: yes

92: Kissed a girl?: a few

93: Have I ever kissed somebody in the rain?: nope

94: Had job?: yep a few

95: Left the house without my wallet?: yes

96: Bullied someone on the internet?: when I was young and very dumb

97: Had sex in public?: Nope

98: Played on a sports team?: Only in PE and I wanted to die

99: Smoked weed?: Nope

100: Did drugs?: Nope

101: Smoked cigarettes?: yes

102: Drank alcohol?: yes

103: Am I a vegetarian/vegan?: Nope

104: Been overweight?: Still am bitch, hypothyroidism is a whore

105: Been underweight?: nope

106: Been to a wedding?: Yes.

107: Been on the computer for 5 hours straight?: every day

108: Watched TV for 5 hours straight?: yeah

109: Been outside my home country?: yep

110: Gotten my heart broken?: yep

111: Been to a professional sports game?: yes, hockey, basketball, and baseball

112: Broken a bone?: nope,

113: Cut myself?: I self harmed for 9 years so

114: Been to prom?: yep

115: Been in airplane?: yes

116: Fly by helicopter?: Nope.

117: What concerts have I been to?: Warped tour 2011, blood on the dance floor like twice.

118: Had a crush on someone of the same sex?: Bitch….every day

119: Learned another language?: Yes German 1 and 2 in high school

120: Wore make up?: yep

121: Lost my virginity before I was 18?: nope still am bitch

122: Had oral sex?: nope

123: Dyed my hair?: yes. All the time

124: Voted in a presidential election?: yep in the…2016..

125: Rode in an ambulance?: over 12 times

126: Had a surgery?: yes 2.

127: Met someone famous?: Yeah one of the guys from La ink and a few authors

128: Stalked someone on a social network?: yeah…who hasnt

129: Peed outside?: yes

130: Been fishing?: yes

131: Helped with charity?: yeah

132: Been rejected by a crush?: every time

133: Broken a mirror?: yes

134: What do I want for birthday?: My family to actually give a shit about me.

#ask #things #idk #i'ma #go watch #peaky blinders #or #animal kingdom #and write #some #j cody x reader #its gonna be rough needy smut

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ghost-chance · 6 years

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A New Lease on Life - 5: You Can't Set a Broken Soul

Trigger Warnings: The usual, bad coping methods, minor bullying including self-bullying

Suggested Listening: Avril Lavigne "Nobody's Home"

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5: You Can't Set a Broken Soul

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February 8, 2016

"Why'd you have to leave, Amber?" Aaron muttered into a mostly empty glass of cheap beer. "Why'd you go out on your own like that? You were safe in the shelter…"

Amber stared in dismay from the dark corner of the skeazy bar. Aaron would never have been caught dead in a place like this, much less drunk on cheap alcohol. He HATED the stuff, hated the memories it always brought forth—memories of the friends and family he lost to the can and bottle. Though truth hurt, Amber knew without a doubt he was drinking over her—her senseless, needless death had driven her best friend to drinking.

"Aaron…" she whispered, inching toward the bar. "Aaron, I'm sorry…" As though she hadn't even spoken, the barkeeper laughed derisively behind his newspaper.

"Dis's ruh-DICK-yulus,"- the portly man drawled thickly. "Dis ahticle says ova half da people who died in da twista was ig-NOR-in da sirens—any dumb bee-itch who'd go out in weh-da like dat dee-zerves—"- Without warning, Aaron's heavy glass stein crashed onto the counter, shattering from the impact.

"SHUDDUP!"- he slurred angrily, clumsily launching himself over the counter at the barkeeper. "You di'n't- know'er—you got no right to judge'er!"-

As the two grappled and traded blows, the ceiling violently tore away. Amber turned fearfully to the gaping rafters, her heart racing. Clouds gathered in the barren skies forming menacing grey thunderheads. Blue and green lightning cracked from cloud to cloud racing the rolling thunder.

Her lungs tight from fear, her ears aching from the plummeting air pressure, Amber fell to the ground, scrambling into the nearest corner and staring up in horror. Though torrents of rain fell, though the power flickered and failed, though wind tore through the bar like a vengeful ghost, the patrons never budged, staring blankly through their drinks as though the world weren't coming to an end. She was alone—alone with the demon that killed her and haunted her dreams.

Sirens wailed in the distance; a familiar sputtering roar deafened her. Grey-green clouds split in a merciless, mocking grin. As the world fell away around her, Amber screamed unheard pleas to the merciless winds, certain she'd breathed her last.

Amber shot up in bed with a panicked shriek; as her racing heart calmed and the phantom ache in her skull faded, the blanks filled themselves in around her. Old, stained brick walls, vaulted concrete ceiling with exposed ducts, pipes, and wiring, the distant rumble of a passing subway train, slow whirring and beeping from the ridiculously advanced machinery around her…she was safe.

"Not again," she rasped, pulling the patched quilt around her as she waited for the shaking to stop. "Damn night terrors…gettin' fuckin' old."

She glanced wearily over at the clock. It was four am…she'd gotten five full hours of sleep. In her previous life, she was useless without nine to ten hours a night; now she was lucky to get three. The hourly trains triggered nightmares and kept her awake fighting a constant barrage of graphic memories and chills that had no basis in temperature. Five hours of uninterrupted sleep? 'It's like Christmas,' she thought sarcastically, picturing a decent night's sleep packaged up in a box with a big red bow.

Without further ado, she disentangled herself from the sheet and quilt, rummaged under the cot for her folded clothes and basket of toiletries, and padded out of the room barefoot. After a quick stop in the bathroom, she set up the coffee maker on autopilot, staring blankly through the scratched wooden table as the percolating machine hissed, dripped, and belched. After downing a cup of sweetened, creamed tar-juice, she set up a second cup with only sugar.

Stopping only to deliver it to the still slumbering genius, she hit the showers, choosing the farthest stall from the door as usual. That one had a working lock. The room's fixtures had obviously been salvaged from somewhere, but fixing the warped, vandalized locks apparently wasn't very high on Donatello's list of priorities. Maybe because the lair once had only male residents and most men weren't all that concerned about being seen in the buff by other men? She cringed, wrenching the elastics from her tangled hair; she still wasn't sure if Mikey had barged in on her on purpose, but she wasn't willing to risk a recurrence.

The moment the water started up, she started humming loudly to block out the sound. She'd once loved the sound of water—had once slept deepest when rain was falling—but that was before her fear of severe storms became a fear of even the lightest rainstorm, and long before she was killed and given another life. Now the sound of rain terrified her and the dripping showerhead sent chills down her spine. As she lathered up her hair, she thought back to better times, better days, and a soft voice that once lulled her to sleep with songs of their youth.

The roar of water rattling the overhead pipes ripped Donatello from his hard-earned sleep. As his eyes blearily cranked open, he again cursed his decision to leave the ceilings in the lair unfinished; even a suspended ceiling could muffle the noise a little. Scratching his neck, he hoisted himself up in his bed and fumbled for his glasses. As his eyes focused, the blurry splotch by his alarm clock solidified into a mug of steaming coffee. The coffee was prepared far too sweet, as usual, and he nearly sprayed it all over the clock's display once he realized what it read.

"Four-thirty in the morning?" he groaned, digging his knuckles into his aching eyes. "You've gotta be kidding me...this can't go on." As his bedroom was the closest to the lab, he was always woken several times nightly. Every time Amber cried out in her sleep, every time she thrashed around and fought the demons haunting her dreams, every time she woke up screaming herself hoarse, he was woken by the noise. Every time her nightmares deprived him of sleep, he spent the rest of the night struggling with his own thoughts and feelings. Sorrow at her condition—guilt about being unable to save Kimber's life—resentment over lost sleep and interrupted work—disgust at himself for resenting Amber when she clearly wasn't responsible…the list went on and on.

With every day that passed, he became ever more certain that Amber wasn't as well as she tried convincing herself. Every time the subway rumbled overhead she fell into another panic attack, and sometimes even a flashback. Several times daily she'd turn up missing without any word of where she was going, and more often than not he'd find her tucked beside the running washing machine or wedged into the foot-well of his desk, shaking violently and smothering tears in her knees. She was getting worse every day…and for the first time in his life, Donatello was faced with a problem he knew was beyond his skill.

Amber wasn't a broken machine—she was a broken woman. He couldn't fix her.

"It was down in La-wheezy-yan—AH!- Jus' about a mile from Texarkana," an off-key voice echoed from the bathroom. Donatello sank into his usual seat at the battered table, staring through his coffee cup. "OW! In them ol' cotton fields back home–DAMMIT!" The water had long since shut off; every now and then, the song was interrupted by a cry of pain or curse, signifying that Amber had moved on to impatiently wrenching the tangles from her hair. She still wasn't used to Kimber's body, especially the second set of posts in her ears and the ring on the left one, and routinely snagged them in the bristles. Between oaths and verses, Donnie dozed off at the table, nodding into his empty cup.

"Ah, shoot." The sudden phrase startled him awake, and in the blink of an eye, he was crouched before his chair brandishing his empty coffee cup as a weapon. Amber stood in the doorway to the kitchen cringing in embarrassment. "I woke ya up again, didn't I?" She brought the coffee carafe over to refill his cup as he slouched back into his seat.

"Yeah," he answered honestly, trying to stretch the crick out of his neck. "No big deal, though…not like you do it on purpose." She shook her head with a wry smile and made her way to the kitchen sink. As she passed by, he realized something was different…he stared in surprise. Instead of just keeping her hair in a high, messy bun, she'd separated it into twin tails at her nape and braided them tightly. She'd discovered the other day that even though her hair still smelled fruity, the red was starting to fade. Apparently she was so excited to be returning to her natural color that she changed things up a little. With her hair still so red, though…He winced. Breakfast was going to be a disaster.

"So," he attempted, striving for a casual tone and failing. "What's with the change?" She ducked around the open cabinet door to meet his eyes.

"You noticed?" she smiled brightly as she mixed up a huge bowl of pancake batter. "I got sick'a fighting my hair all day so I went back to basics—before I got here, I usually wore my hair like this. I'm lazy like that." She dug a package of wilting blueberries from the fridge, picking out the stems as she tossed the berries into the bowl. "After all the change an' drama, it's a real comfort havin' my braids back."

"It's…" He scrambled for words between the worries. "…cute. Maybe you should wait until the dye fades, though. I just know—"

"S'up, Angelcakes?" Mikey called out from the doorway. "What's for—Whoa!" Donatello cringed, retreating to the coffeemaker; he knew this was going to happen. "Blueberry pancakes?! Sweet!"

"Wait, what?" Donnie muttered dubiously.

"Yup!" Amber grinned, mixing in a little extra sugar as Mikey dug out a pair of battered skillets and spatulas. "They were about dead anyway, so I figured why not? It'll be a nice treat." As Michelangelo fried pancakes and Amber scrambled eggs, Donatello watched silently, hoping that his worries really were unfounded.

About halfway through the bowl of batter and eggs, Leonardo and Splinter sat at their places, conversing over morning tea. Right as the stove burners were switched off, Raphael lumbered through the door to the coffeemaker. Halfway there, he pulled a double-take, gaping at Amber's braids in disbelief and derision. He said nothing, retreating to his seat with a steaming mug of coffee. When Amber bustled to the table to dole out breakfast, he struck.

"So," he asked snidely. "Where's da meat, Wendy?"

"Hey, now," Leo began, but Mikey cut him off.

"Don't be such a jerk, Raphie," the youngest scolded, playing with the end of a punch red braid. Amber's comforted smile warped into a deadpan glower a moment later when she felt both braids lifted up at either side of her head. "Too many freckles! She looks more like Pippi Longstocking!"

"Hardy, har, har," she grumbled, setting the two platters down a little more roughly than necessary. While Raph and Mikey bantered over which was a more accurate resemblance, she retreated to the living room with yet another cup of coffee. Donatello was used to Raph and Mikey's antics—he'd been the butt of their jokes more times than he'd like to admit—but this time, he was pissed. He loaded her untouched plate and his own with pancakes and eggs and dug for flatware in the drawer.

"She's been nothing but helpful since she arrived," he reminded the two troublemakers coldly. "She cooks, she cleans, she picks up after your ungrateful asses, and right when she starts to relax, you tease her!" He shot them both a glare as he left. Sometimes they absolutely disgusted him, Raph especially. He found Amber on the cot in the lab, lying on her back with her head dangling over the side and brushing through her long loosened hair. Though he'd only seen them once, he already missed the braided tails; why eluded him at the moment. "Hey."

"Hey yerself," she shot back with a grin, wrestling her hair into a high ponytail. As she sat up and fastened the coiled mass into a sloppy bun, he pulled up his rolling stool and held out her plate.

"You forgot this—dig in." Moss green eyes scrutinized him seriously. He avoided her eyes, passing the plate and flatware. "Don't mind them. They're just—"

"It's okay, Donnie." Confused, he finally met her eyes; she didn't really seem upset anymore. "If unflatterin' comparisons and immature folks were all it took to ruin my day, I'd'a- died a hermit. This body? It ain't me—I was short, fat, clumsy, partly crippled, an' I started goin' grey before I hit drinkin' age. I've been called much worse'n- any'a that. It's no big deal." She halfheartedly scraped a chunk of egg around on her plate while Donatello let the description sink in. "B'sides, Aaron used to say much worse…an' he's—was my best friend. I'm used to gettin' shite from people, and I'm more than willin' to give it back." She shot an up-to-no-good grin up at him. "I'll get'em-…but not 'til they've let their guard down. Meantime, let'em squirm."

"If you're sure, Amber," he relented, then paused for a bite of his own pancakes. "Forgive me for asking, but…before twenty-one?" She chuckled.

"Yeah. Lots'a early grey in my family. My uncle Bart went shock white while he was in high school; findin' my first silver at nineteen was lucky, considerin'." She took another sip of coffee before adding, "It always hit the redheads worst. I wasn't a redhead, but there was enough red in my hair to turn me into a brown skunk." He couldn't help but grin at the mental image.

"It didn't embarrass you?"

"Course it did," she answered honestly. "For a while, I kept my hair cut above the neck an' never went anywhere without a hat or hair-scarf—couldn't afford dyein' it all the time. Course, then everyone jus' assumed I was goin' bald and started pullin' me aside to talk about the cancer I was supposedly dyin' of. I finally had it when my roommate Mercy dragged me to a cancer survivors group shpeal; flipped'er off, flashed my stripes, an' walked home. Apparently the granny-hair spoke for itself." She finally gave up on pushing her food around and passed the plate back to him. "Guess I'm not really hungry; help yourself. I better get to work, right?"

"Amber," he scolded, latching onto her arm and anchoring her in her seat. "You have to eat—you skipped breakfast and lunch yesterday, and the day before you only ate an apple! You're not getting adequate caloric intake like this—at this rate you'll—"

"I'm not starvin' myself," she argued. Against her will, a memory played through her mind's eye: City Hall's basement, Aaron crouched before her with a bowl of soup, coaxing her to eat even though her stomach felt full of concrete. She fought to keep control but that memory had a dozen more on its heels; together, they swarmed her. "I'm just not hungry! Trus' me, I spent my whole life hungry when I shouldn't be—"

"You should be hungry! If you keep this up you're going to—"

"I don't need a nanny, Donnie!" she burst out vehemently. "I'm a grown woman, not some anorexic tweenager.- If I ain't hungry, I ain't hungry, an' no amount'a shovin' food at me's gonna make me hungry!"- Without another word, she stormed out intent on silencing her memories with manual labor.

"I just don't know what to do, April," Donatello muttered into his palms as she watched him with worry. Beyond the lab's closed blast door, Amber was hard at work in the dojo, waxing the floorboards to mirror brightness on her hands and knees…for the fifth time in as many days. "She hardly eats anything and guzzles coffee like it's water," he ranted harshly. "She barely sleeps, wakes up screaming, then spends the whole day and most of the night cleaning everything in the lair in the least effective ways possible—she intentionally wears herself out every day, then crashes in the early hours, too sore to do anything! She's having panic attacks more and more often and she's been spacing out for hours at time—the other night we found her wandering the sewers barefoot talking to someone who doesn't even exist in this reality!"

He fell silent, choking up. She and Mikey had been washing dishes when someone dropped a glass, and the sound had somehow flipped some hidden switch in her brain. She walked barefoot right through the shards like a zombie and somehow found her way out the front door, muttering the whole way about hungover friends and neurotic dogs. When they finally found her—after following what felt like a mile of bloody footprints—the sight of her adamantly arguing about music with 'Aaron' silenced the long lecture he'd planned. "She's going to kill herself at this rate, April," he confessed weakly, dropping his hands to dangle helplessly between his knees. "…and there's nothing I can do to stop it."

"Donnie," the older woman murmured leaning forward for a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder. "You're a brilliant guy and a talented engineer, but you can't just 'fix' people—if someone's broken, you can't reconnect some wires, tighten a lug nut or two, slap on some duct tape and expect them to work again…and if those injuries aren't physical…" She trailed off, avoiding his eyes. "…Broken bones heal quickly once you immobilize them, but there's no way to set a broken soul. It's not your fault."

"You're waxing poetic on me, April," he teased halfheartedly. "I'm not Mikey; you don't have to play down the gritty details." Finally, she met his eyes, her own serious.

"She needs to see a doctor, Donnie…a psychiatrist. I think Amber has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder…and it's only going to get worse."

Just outside the shuttered door, Amber silently slid down the wall and landed in a boneless heap. She wasn't supposed to have heard that conversation, she was sure of it, and she wouldn't have heard it if she'd not come to apologize for taking Donatello's head off earlier. Now her overreaction and subsequent attempt at apology had exposed her to a secret discussion and triggered a plethora of fears. Even as she fought to rationalize away the knowledge, stubbornly scolded herself that PTSD wasn't caused by something as minor as a natural disaster, she knew it would explain so many things.

She'd never been in a war zone, had never seen battle, and had never seen her comrades fall one by one—she was a janitor, not a soldier!—so how could she have developed something even seasoned warriors weren't guaranteed stricken with? She'd insisted her whole life that she wasn't weak, that she could handle ANYTHING given enough time to work through it…yet she was completely broken by something as stupid and meaningless as a storm.

'Am I…' she though disjointedly, tears pricking her eyes behind her glasses. 'No…I am…I really am weak after all.' Without a word she stood, dusted herself off, and wandered out the front door, stopping only to grab a battered flashlight from the kitchen counter. A walk wouldn't fix her intolerable weakness and it wouldn't fix her, but maybe it would at least give her time to think. A line of music echoed down a storm drain from a passing car, reminding her of a time when she didn't feel so lost. 'Where were they going without ever knowing the way?'

Tolkien was right: not all who wander are lost, but she knew she wasn't among them.

Words (Midwestern Twang unless otherwise noted)

- Adding 'er to the end of a word - Means 'her' - Adding 'e, 'is, or 'im to the end of a word - Means he, his, or him. - Adding 'em or 'eir to the end of a word - Means them or their - B'sides - Besides - Di'n't / Din't - Didn't - I'd'a - 'I would have' - Know'er / Judge'er - Know her / Judge her - La-wheezy-anna - This is an awkward pronunciation of "Louisiana" sometimes heard in the Midwest. In the South - or other areas NEAR Louisiana - people generally pronounce it "Loozianna" or "Loo-ee-zee-anna." IRL, I pronounce it "La-wheezy-anna" because it's how I was taught, and it always drives Cold up the wall because he grew up friends with a family FROM Louisianna. At first, it was just a habit; NOW I keep that habit just to annoy my hubby. ;P - Shuddup / Shaddap - Shut up, the first being a common mispronunciation and the second being more of a Southern/Midwestern slang pronunciation. - Tweenager - Slang term for someone just old enough to be a pain, but too young to be considered a teenager; generally such persons are older adolescents. - Worse'n - 'Worse than' - "Dis's ruh-DICK-yulus" - 'This is ridiculous.' A highly twisted version of the Southern Drawl, perhaps from Arkansas. An odd way of defining the difference between the Midwestern Twang and Southern Drawl would be this: 'In the Midwest, we say as much as possible with as few syllables as we can, while in the South, people say as little as possible with as many syllables as they can.' The South tends to stretch words out and add extra syllables to words, while the Midwest tends to crop off syllables and mash words together, and both tend to warp pronunciations of common words. - "Dis ahticle says ova half da people who died in da twista was ig-NOR-in da sirens—any dumb bee-itch who'd go out in weh-da like dat dee-zerves—" - 'This article says over half the people who died in the twister was ignoring the sirens - any dumb bitch who'd go out in weather like that deserves [to die].’ Twisted southern drawl. Unfortunately, there was a LOT of this after the tornado I went through - people would openly blame those who were killed for being careless or for not seeking the 'right' shelter, never considering that they didn't know all the facts OR that the dead person's loved ones might be hearing their ranting. - "If I ain't hungry, I ain't hungry, an' no amount'a shovin' food at me's gonna make me hungry!" - 'If I'm not hungry, I'm not hungry, and no amount of shoving food at me is going to make me hungry!"

A quick rant: Developing PTSD does NOT mean you're weak, broken, worthless, damaged, or any other horrible things we often convince ourselves it means. PTSD is just your brain's way of recovering and adapting, and it's actually a healthy response to trauma. It's not exclusively a 'warrior's illness'—anyone can develop it regardless of whether or not they've been deployed. While it can be hard to accept that you 'got it from' a car accident, witnessing extreme violence, or in Amber's case, weathering a hell of a storm, what caused it has little to do with personal strength or weakness. If you start showing signs of PTSD, TALK TO YOUR DOCTOR. Don't put it off, don't talk yourself out of it, and for Pete's sake, don't do what I did—don't spend months staring out the window, ruminating on why you lived when so many others died, and hoping to waste away into nothing—the longer you wait to seek help, the longer it takes for you to heal, and healing IS possible.

Putting away my soapbox now. Also, the song Amber sings is called "Cotton Fields"—it's a Southern folk song, and if sung in a slow, bluesy manner, it can put kids out like a light

Up Next: Cohabitation Chaos

#TMNT #Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles #Ninja Turtles #Donatello #Raphael #Leonardo #Michelangelo #Donnie/OC #Leo/OC #Mikey/OC #Romantic Drama #Non-Sue OCs #A New Lease on Life #ANLoL #Here be plot twists

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sable-longclaw-blog · 7 years

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To Those I Have Loved: Finale

[[NSFW for language. This is the finale. This is it kids. Of the series anyhow. I hope you have enjoyed it! Thank you @macelongclaw for writing this stuff with me. Your stories added to mine were just.. AMAZING. Still though, stay tuned. There is a part 2 to the finale to come around Sunday or Monday!]]

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I was born in blood, bathed in the life of crimson and washed in sanguine before I could even take my first breath. That was what I was promised, and I spent my life spilling it upon cold steel and stone floors, purging the world of those more wicked than I. After all.. it takes a monster to kill another one. One way or the other, I always figured it was the way that I would also die. No stone did I leave unturned in my work, not a trace left behind. I excelled in the art of death and wore its burdens like a badge of honor, and donned the mask of a killer proudly as one would wear the crest of their house. Such was my doctrine and what I followed. I never had faith in the Light, or any Gods that rest above me in a world I can't see. My faith rested within myself, to always pull through the worst of situations and keep myself level when others would falter and crumble. I took whole and unabashed pride in the way I made each cut, surgical and precise. They were many, but they never suffered and I always took down their names, so that their lives, no matter how badly lived, would not be taken without some sort of remembrance. I think that is the only humanity I had left in me, to make sure those candles weren't snuffed out and left to collect dust on a forgotten shelf in a broken down vestige.

In this small life I have learned that I am not a monster, not entirely. I have learned love and I have felt the wrenching cuts that made whole valleys in my heart and left a wasteland of broken dreams and promises in their wake. The dead trees and dried up rivers that rest there make up the memories and tears I have lost to never gain again. But most of all it has left me warm like the sun upon the face of a child in a field of flowers. It left me being something better than I was the day before, shaping me and molding me into this unrecognizable face that held true life within the golden hue of seeing suns. I found family and what it all meant. Loyalty, too. And I found him. Mace. There were not parts of me that he didn't touch, even the ones I kept locked away and promised never to let out of their cages made from years of abuse, neglect, their locks wrought from self hatred. I have betrayed those I swore I never would, my fealty shaken at the hands of greed and misplaced fatherly duty. In his grave he lay now, he who sired this golden eyed girl he lay in shreds upon fields of endless grain. He lay in his grave at my hands, soaked in the blood of his words and mind never to break his baby girl he left behind to cheat, lie, and steal.

To those I have wronged, I can never wash my hands enough of the blood I pulled from your bones and the life of you that I destroyed. To your families, there will never be enough shame in this world to show my regret for what I have taken from you. But know this. I had to. My life was always more important than yours and did I not, know that silently it was you that threatened me in the shadows though not by your own mouth. And know that I am saved because of you and through you I found what this life meant. Without your blood on my hands and the battles I held in my head as I held you down, I would have never wanted something more. For that I am forever in debted to you.

No longer am I bound by honor and duty to serve the shadows that enveloped me and held me tightly like a sinful lover. No longer am I bound to a life of lies and deciet ten miles wider than the sun. But most importantly I am no longer bound to myself. I no longer have to suffer to the blade I held at my own throat and the knives I jabbed in my own back with every single one I jabbed into yours. Into all of you. Mace and the rest of the Ludlow crew. No longer am I bound to hide from you for now you will know who I am, and what I stood for. But know that after I met you, all I did was for you. Lady Ludlow I lived to serve you and every breath I took and action I made was done in effort to keep right by you and loyal to your kind heart, kindness that was so ill deserved by me. Know now that as I stare at this light at the end of my tunnel that I am free and these chains hold me no longer. I only hope you find it in your hearts to forgive how I have so wholly wronged you all. Know that my freedom came at the price of your grief. Mace, I have loved you for what has felt like ages, and now that what I was is at its end... please forgive me and please love me still. And when you sing the epitaph of that woman who died that loved you so much, do not sing in misery and wet not your face with the tears, for you have not lost me, only she who could no longer live as she did.

I thought all this time I would die bloody and reckless, but instead the death was a sweet release, peace found within its merciful grip.

Two Weeks after Argus

A whole ocean roared before her, bare feet resting upon the docks of Booty Bay allowing the gentle salt spray breeze to brush and caress against her darkened skin. Sable just smiled, the most genuine smile she could ever smile, completely alone for the moment. Still, a part of her mourned for what she left behind on Argus. Who she was, and what made her up died that day. She mourned because at the moment Mace was left to believe she was dead and buried six feet under within the Stormwind Cemetary. She was still recovering from her wounds, but she was strong, and had made sure she’d be well enough for travel in a day or two’s time.

"Soon, baby...." was all she whispered before turning and heading to the room rented under the name of the man she had come to know as Timwei Alecksyn... Agent Seven. A hand to her arm stopped her though, causing her to turn to face the man she now called brother and probably her best friend at the moment. His dark brown eyes met her own, and he simply nodded his head, his expression grim but solid.

"It is done, little shadow. They mourn your death fully, and -the others- believe you dead. Though I have left special instructions with your employer in a letta. She is the only one who know you live. I believe you when you say she knows how to keep her mouth shut." he chuckled out softly, patting her arm before looking over his shoulder at the setting sun. "Soon, when it all blows ova, you can go home. The Uncrowned will have forgotten you and your debt to them is paid in their minds in your blood. Your freedom is just upon the horizon, Sable. And if they do catch wind that you live, they will not make a mess of your blood. It will not be worth it to them after some time has passed. They do not work as you were lead to believe under your fatha." He turned back to her then and offered her a warm smile. "I must leave you now, for a time. I fear my wife is threatenin' to have my head if I do not come home and mind the children for a bit. My absence was not welcome in the home, though, like your Mace.. she knew it must be done. Until I see you next, little one."

She couldn't help but smile at him and nod her head. "Thank you, Timwei.. I owe you for this. Any fuckin' time you need me for -whatever-, you let me know. Ain't never had a fuckin' friend like you, don't know if I ever wil l have another one. And don't fuckin' worry.. I'm good at layin' low. The beaches will do me good to get my head cleared. I'm not sure if I'm ready to face him yet anyhow.. He's going to fuckin' hate me.. but what else is new." She laughed softly after her words were done, shaking her head. "Was a bad thing we had to do... but.. for the right reasons." she huffed out, looking back up at Timwei, keeping her smile on her lips.

She had no idea that Tim was going to see her husband, and no idea what was coming the following day.

(( @macelongclaw @elizebella @lumenwolf @longclawofgilneas @ludlowvineyards @aldreusreinhold @sarahskyfall @jungnaysoftmaw @araethius @guardian-swiftspirit @pyroreaper-blog @the-little-chef -- All of you Ludlows for mentions! ))

#Finale #The end of Her #To those I have Loved #Sad Savage Sable #RP #WraRP #Wyrmrest Accord #Timwei

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ffxiv-zathorinsilverwood · 8 years

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Wouldn’t happen

“ZATHY! HEY ZATH ARE YA THERE!!”

The loud voice of the miqo’te blew through the linkpearl that sat on the desk Zathorin was working at. A low sigh of annoyance left the man’s throat as he picked the linkpearl up to his horn. “What is it, Lea?” Zathorin placed the clove cigarette he was spoking in the ashtray, listening to the young girl speak.

“I made me some new fightin’ gear an’ I wanted to try it out with ya! Mind if I come ova’ and spar with ya a little bit?”

Zathorin rose a brow, sitting forward in his chair. “You want to spar with me? Are you serious?” Truthfully Zathorin could tell Lea was serious. But was it really a good idea? The two had ‘sparred’ in the past and Leasiria lost..horribly.

“Duh! I’m serious! I wanna try my new magitek fightin’ gloves and boots. Ya aren’t scared are ya?”

Zathorin rolled his eyes and stood up from his seat. “Fine. We’ll spar on the beach of Costa Del Sol.” the linkpearl went completely silent as the line was cut, indicating that Lea agreed.

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

Zathorin was at the beaches first, prepping himself with fighting gloves of his own and sparring gear. He wasn’t going to take this too seriously, but he knew Leasiria was one hell of a Magitek armor maker. After stretching his arms for less than a minute, Leasiria finally showed up.

“Hey, sorry I’m late! Got a little lost on the way here.” Already Leasiria was wearing her new gear. It certainly was Magitek, one could see the glow flowing through the sets of boots and gloves. She had a prideful smile on her lips, showing off some fangs. “Whatcha think? Pretty snazzy, eh?”

Zathorin looked the armor over from where he stood, it wasn’t that much different from other models she had made in the past. But obviously there was something different about them or else she wouldn’t bother to ask to fight him.”Let’s just get this over with.” Was all Zathorin said before assuming his own stance.

Leasiria giggled before flexing her hands tight and smashing her fists together. She then assumed her own fighting stance and the two stood there, watching one another. Both stood still, Leasiria with a grin on her face, Zathorin with his usual stoic expression. Before Zathorin could think, Leasiria seemed to vanish from sight. His eyes widened before looking up, seeing Leasiria in the air, swinging her leg to the side for a hard side kick.

Her leg connected with a block from Zathorin, his forearm taking the hit. The speed and strength of the single kick shocked Zathorin. He wasn’t expected such strength from her at all. Leasiria back flipped away from Zathorin, only to dash towards him, now Zathorin was attacked with a flurry of quick punches from both of Lea’s hands. Thankfully, the man was able to dodge all of the punches thrown at him.

“What’s the matter Zathy, havin’ trouble keepin’ up with my speed now?” She giggled before swinging her right fist back and landed an extremely heavy hit to the side of Zathorin’s face. The hit caused Zathorin to stumble back with a small groan, but he regained himself quickly and swung back at Leasiria with a semi heavy punch. Leasiria caught the punch in her left hand, the two at a stand still now as Zathorin tried to force his fist further, but Leasiria held strong, smirking at Zath. The gauntlet was giving her strength truly, she never would have been able to hold Zathorin at bay like this.

“Impressive. It seems you’ve outdone yourself with these new pieces of gear. Your strength and speed have increased ten fold. I’ll also assume that it isn’t all the armor you’ve constructed, that you’ve done some sort of training as well. At least I’d hope so.” Zathorin said as he pulled his fist away from Lea’s grip. The miqo’te smiled happily with a small giggle. “I guess ya could say I’ve done some trainin’! How do ya think I got all the ceruleum? Stole it from the Empire!”

Zathorin studied Leasiria for a long moment with narrowed eyes, seeing her improvement just in her form. The fact Leasiria was improving was a drive now for Zathorin to get better.

“Are ya ready for round two?” Leasiria asked as she assumed her fighting stance with a grin. Zathorin parted his feet, hands open in front of his face. He kept a sharp eye on Leasiria this time, finally watching as she dashed towards him with great speed. For a moment, he thought Lea was going to attempt to throw more punches at him, but he was wrong. The Miqo’te leg swiped Zathorin, causing him to fall to one side. But Zathorin caught himself with his left hand, pivoting himself to swing his right leg and kick the now standing Leasiria in the stomach. It wasn’t a kick that he would have used on someone that he was attempting to kill, but one to let Leasiria know who had more strength in this fight. The force of the kick sent Leasiria stumbling backwards, allowing Zathorin enough time to dash towards her with his own speed.

A heavy fist was thrown at Leasiria, hitting her in the side of the face, then an uppercut, throwing her in the air slightly, followed by numerous punches to her stomach. Each hit was like a heavy rock slamming into her stomach. She picked this fight, and Zathorin was letting her realize it was a mistake. The Auri knew Leasiria could take these hits. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have accepted the challenge in the first place. Each hit to her stomach knocked her farther and farther backwards. Once Zathorin was finished with his own flurry of punches, he finished with a heavy roundhouse kick, throwing the woman to the ground in the sand. Zathorin stood straight up, looking down at Leasiria.

“Perhaps you’ll learn to pick your battles more wisely. Your creations need to be tested on someone other than me. This is the fifth time this has happened and the result is the same as previous times.”

Leasiria picked her upper half off of the sand, grunting as she felt her abdomen rip with a bit of pain. A small trail of blood dripped from the side of her lips. Zathorins words were right..but was she done? She slowly stood to her feet with her back to Zathorin, she looked down at her magitek gauntlets, tightening her hands into fists over and over. “I guess you’re right.” She said with a little bit of disappointment in her voice, her ears folding back. She then turned slightly towards Zath, but held a very mischievous grin. All of a sudden, a puff of smoke appeared where she stood and she was gone. Zathorin’s eyes widened slightly, forgetting she knew how to use tricks like the shinobi do. He quickly assumed his fighting stance but was too late. Leasiria had landed a solid knee to Zathorin’s stomach, causing him to cough up a small amount of spit.

The kick to his stomach was a lot harder than Zath was anticipating. It caused him to drop to a knee, an arm over his stomach. He looked up at Leasiria with anger in his expression. “What are you trying to do, hurt me beyond what is needed?” But what Zathorin saw next, truly shocked him. Leasiria stood before him, her hand open palm towards him. The gauntlet she wore was glowing brightly. In her palm, a small orb of shadowy light began to form, and she aimed it inches away from his face. He looked up at Leasiria, she held a sneer, her eyes now glowing a dark voidish purple. “Die, Au Ri.” She said, but her voice was almost as if she was possessed. The laugh that left her throat, it twisted into something inhuman. Voidsent like wings emerged from the back of the Miqo’te, horns formed from her head. The orb of shadowy light that was formed in Lea’s palm was released and hit Zathorin directly in the face...causing him to yell out from the blast...

--------

Zathorin jolted up, a cold sweat dripping down his face. He looked around in the darkness of where he was, which was in bed. He looked to his right, seeing the small woman lying fast asleep. A dream. A dream turned nightmare. Slowly Zathorin slipped out of bed and walked over to the sink, splashing his face with cool water. He walked outside of the Baroness Mansion after slipping on some simple pants and pulled one of his favorite cigarettes. After lighting it and taking a long drag, Zathorin sat down on a bench on the lawn. The sky was clear, the moon full and overhead.

“I need to stop reading this Voidsent stuff...”

#Zathorin Silverwood #Leasiria Shadehallow

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