#they should have allowed her free reign about leaving the camp and not MAKE HER BE A CENTURION

[joanthangroff]

I still think that Lavinia's "promotion" feels more like a punishment than anything else

[ignitification]

Colour Analysis III: (LoV Series II) - Dabi

Yes, no - you don't have any hallucination. It's here. It is. And yes, it took an absurdly long time to, but it's here so mh, yeah - enjoy.

I suddenly remembered that an ask, long ago, asked me about the design pattern evident for Dabi. It's here in case you want to have a look at it.

As I stated there, Dabi is a living contradiction, especially in terms of colour theory.

His colour pattern is a chameleon of sorts: he both represents light and dark at the same time, as if he cannot decide which one to stick with. I think that this duality has all to do with his genealogy. Inheriting his mother constitution and his father's Quirk amplified, Dabi goes through an adaptation process, manifesting especially by the change in his hair's colour (same as Tomura, that is - you can find the link for his analysis at the bottom of the post). The dyeing hair is also part of the process, but this time it comes about with a voluntary part, which brings us to the point that even if not entirely, Dabi's personality is build around a feeling and a character, which he wants to express and contrast at the same time. This is why, as I already specified the most important colour when it comes to Dabi are Blue, Purple and White (with a sprinkle of Red).

I.) Royal Blue

More than any other colour, Blue is what fits Dabi the most. His eyes are blue, his fire is blue and his clothes are blue (different variation, but you get the gist).

Blue usually stands for coolness, loyalty, intelligence and responsibility. But pushing this aside for a minute, blue has a distinct effect on the human body: it lowers the heart rate and the body temperature and has a calming effect. It's a constant colour which represents the tide of waves and the never-ending blue of the sky. In respect to Dabi, it can be seen how this hardly applies - but, at the same time it does. As Dabi inherits Rei's constitution and her resistance to the cold - but his father's 'fiery' personality, his fire manifests as both. It creates a friction, until the burns on his body become an evident purple. This characteristic has a distinct connection to Red (section IV) - however, the leitmotiv is that Dabi's body is used to the effects that blue should have on him, and instead of seeing it realise they are brought down and counter-affected by Red (which is a metaphor for his entire persona).

Blue has the feature of being ever-changing, which, as you'll have understood by now, is one of many contrasts in Dabi's appearance. He indeed goes through an exterior change - but as blue, he remains steady on a path (which is revenge, and will to actually prove to Endeavour that he is not a mistake), making his character consistent with his ideas throughout the arcs and steady.

An overuse of blue is cold and impersonal - indicating the presence of deep dark secrets and having a  connection with feelings of sadness and depression. It creates the pictures of someone hiding in the dark just not to reveal their secrets, and for a long time we see Dabi trying to keep a low profile and then approach with an attitude of uncaring and cold indifference. He has burned his eye glands, which should allow him to express this feelings - but they are expressed, on the contrary, in the strength of his fire, and causes old feeling to settle and burn their way through his persona.

Blue is a susceptible colour and it hurts deeply - because in the first place, people associated with blue tend to feel too deeply. This fits the pattern of Dabi's fire being conditioned by his emotions, and why likely it creates deep wounds on his body: as a remainder that his feelings, expressed through the fire are way too intense and affect Dabi deeply. Deep enough for him to survive an astonishing fire and to hide for years in wait of having the right opportunity, the perfect opportunity to actually redirect this feeling onto the subject which caused them. As the constant colour that it is, indeed, blue (and Dabi) lives in the past.

Light blue is associated with healing, understanding and softness (his eyes), while darker hues are instead expression of power and knowledge (clothes - as a reminder of adulthood).

Finally, back on the literal meaning of blue: blue is a giver in the relationships that matter, but at the same time this colour can be unfaithful and deceiving (and we saw this in his interactions with the League at first and with Hawks, too). It is associated with intelligence and and consciousness (and indeed, the one who sort of had the reigns of the Training Camp was Dabi, and furthermore he is the only one who Ujiko retained mature enough to control a High End). This encompasses his characteristics of being reliable and responsible - and of course, Dabi embodies the whole spectrum.

Also on a final, funnily enough note, blue is usually associated with voice communication and someone who needs order, and strives for perfection as well as tending to be the one to speak in public. It's idealistic and expresses a will to satisfy its higher needs - and by doing that it expresses devotion in these ideals. So if you think about how Dabi's character is focused on reforming society, and giving Stain's will freedom and realisation, Dabi comes full circle - with a devotion which makes him focused on his goals (Stain's will, reformation of society and the Endeavour' downfall) , the commitment to actual plan their perfect realisation, and the ability to achieve it through the right means (The Broadcast).

II.) Pure White

White. Integrity, purity, innocence. Mourning, for some cultures. In particular in Japan, it is used as a colour meaning death, and is used in funerals. Same as for Tomura, Dabi uses both White and Black to somehow mourn himself and his loss (Tenko for his family, Touya for the himself he leaves behind) and especially in his adulthood, the concealing of such a colour through pitch black, is not only an effort to hide his identity but also to express a refusal to be the same person. White represents a new beginning, a blank slate. And if we consider these two to be somehow related (because death is seen as not the end, but instead a new beginning) it is clear how this colour, has a relevance to this character. After Touya's death, and his white hair hidden - he becomes Dabi, who has no time to still appeal to the childish feeling of wanting to impress his father and instead throws himself onto a new chapter of his life, because the past he will always remember, has been burned.

Same as blue, white brings serenity and peace - and at the same time it represents coldness and emptiness. I think this somehow emphasises the change in colour from red to white, and the loss of believing in strength (read: Endeavour) instead leaving an empty space in his heart, filled with emotions which he cannot control. The loss of innocence and the acquisition of the fact that Touya will never be what his father wanted him to, and the acceptance of such a thing - further brings out the meaning of the colour blue. (As already stated before, white, in Dabi's case is of enormous relevance - because it amplifies its relation to blue.)

Finally, white brings forward independence and freedom - and it stands for perfection. And I think it's really ironic how white, is not only the colour he inherited from Rei - a cold stark white - but at the same time, Endeavour has tossed him aside for the same reason, and that is because in his eyes he could not be more 'wrong'. But when his hair settles into his ultimate colour of white, Touya also breaks free from his father's expectation (but does he, really?) to start instead a new chapter as Dabi. Hiding the mistake he thinks he is, an instead embraces the personality that has been thrown onto him.

White is also the symbol of truth - which is tied to the revelation that Dabi is Touya Todoroki, and his dyed black hair becomes white, again (revealing the truth of his persona).

II.I) Pitch Black

Just to be as precise as possible, I'm adding a tiny section on black, which can be summarised in two sentences: black is associated with mystery, sophistication, power and authority. It brings forward the symbol of darkness, rebellion and ultimately it stands as a synonym of death. It's a colour which, when considered in respect to white, stands for the struggle between right and wrong - good and evil. Dabi presents himself as someone mysterious, and he does not reveal his name until far down the line. But he is still a representation of power, in terms of quirk and his position both inside the LoV and the PFL. Furthermore, him covering up his hair colour with black, as already said, has to do with wanting to appear a villain more than it has to do with his identity. He wants to fade into background for a while, and then come from the darkness to sweep everyone away - covering himself in black so it sends a clear message to everyone looking at him: that he is dangerous, and that there is no escape from his evil.

III.) Daunting Purple

Now, this is a controversial section. When I first thought of Dabi, I associated him with blue more than anything else, because after all, even if purple is an ever-present colour, it is just a reminder of how dangerous his quirk is, and how his body does not fare well in the friction of his firepower and his constitution. However, I think it is still important to put things into perspective when it comes to Dabi.

It is not a surprise, that Purple comes about as a combination of Red and Blue. The eternal struggle - which comes forth into the most detrimental way possible, for him. The shade of this colour has different meanings (not surprisingly) but, as far as I am concerned, Dabi's is a 'darker purple' (which is the one we have figured in the pictures) and fulfils its duty to evoke sadness and gloom. This is just a constant reminder of his story, and also the why Dabi is not very big on concealing the scars: because he thinks of them as a fair punishment, and that they remind him constantly of what and when exactly things did go wrong. Purple is also a colour associated with royalty and people with authority. On this meaning, there might a controversial stake, because it would actually give a relevance (or positive connotation) to the colour, however, as already stated before - I think that the scars are not only a reminder for himself, but same as the conscious choice of wearing black, Dabi makes a conscious choice to reveal his burn marks and to stitch his skin with evident metal piercings. He is putting them in evidence for a reason, and I'd guess this is the same reason for why he sticks on wearing dark colours, and to due his hair black: Dabi's objective is to appear as a heartless villain, and usually the image of somehow badly injured and wearing dark clothes, as sad as this might be, projects the image of exactly someone you'd like to avoid on the street.

Purple is also the colour of 'Fall', with its fading light. I found this particularly poetic when it comes to Dabi, as Fall might as well be the eternal representation of his character, and the fact that instead Dabi's fire just grown bigger and bigger, hurting him even more in the process - is the total contrary of fading light. But on the other hand, the light of his own personality, and those emotions he keeps tucked away just tend to be fade, dwindle at every sign of possible emotional connection.

Purple promotes the balance between mind and emotions - between the spiritual and the physical world. The balance between Red (emotions) and Blue (mind), and to which Dabi is not accustomed, yet. Finally, purple - among others - is also a mourning colour (reminder that both White and Black are also mourning colours). And it also inspires mystery, which again the image Dabi likes to project about himself onto others.

IV.) Flourishing Red

Red is Dabi's curse and representation. The contrast to white, and also the exacerbation of Blue. Red is the colour that gets the blood going (or rather, in this case, 'The one that turns up the heat' and which contrasts the calming effects of Blue) and the one who expresses passion and strength (which is why Endeavour's personality colour is Red - it's not a case that Red is associated with violence, anger, blood, obsession of power and strength, danger and fiery passion).

Red is the colour which Touya denies, and that instead comes back to bite him back. Red is energising and full of spirit and passion - and the image of a young Touya, striving to get better and make his father proud comes to mind. It's prideful and full of power - the will of a child, and his enormous Quirk-power struggling to keep it in check. This is why, Red after a while fades to Blue - and burns even more than it used to. Passion felt too deep, the exploitation of power which brings destruction. An all clear sentence to actually see why Dabi ends up with denying the all-too-overwhelming presence of Red and its characteristics, opting instead for a more suited to him Blue, which is also highly contrasting to the pure anger and passion associated to Red. The fact that Touya's hair changes, is an indicator of how he negates his father's influence, but still insists on hanging on those feelings, because he cannot let go of them. A walking oxymoron.

Thank for staying all the way, and for reading.

P.S. The colour analysis featuring Izuku and Shigaraki are respectively linked.

[cinaja]

Before the Wall part 59

Masterlist

----

“We need a healer!” Drakon shouts. He looks around at Sinna, Nephelle, all these people who are standing around in a loose circle. Why are they just standing around like this? Why aren’t they doing anything to help?

“Drakon.” The sand crunches as Sinna approaches and puts a hand on his shoulder.

He ignores her, looking over his shoulder, then back at Miryam. It cannot possibly take this long to get a healer! Doesn’t anyone realize that she needs help, immediately?

“Don’t just stand around like this!” He snaps. “Someone help.”

“Drakon.” Sinna squeezes his shoulder. “It’s too late. There’s nothing you can do anymore.”

No. No. Drakon pushes off her hand, reaching for Miryam, fingers trembling. She isn’t… She can’t be…

There is so much blood all over her clothes, blood in the sand. So much blood…

She must be unconscious. Of course, blood loss will make people pass out. They just need to get a healer. But they need to hurry, or they might be too late. Why isn’t anyone doing anything?

He jumps to his feet, ready to go looking for a healer himself if necessary, but Sinna grabs him by the arm by the arm before he can take the first step.

“Let go,” Drakon snaps at her, but she doesn’t.

He tries to tear his arm out of her grip, but she is stronger than him. Easily, she catches his other arm as well and forces his hands down. He struggles against her hold, but he might as well have been trying to bend a sword.

“It’s too late,” Sinna repeats. Her voice is so gentle – she’s hardly ever that gentle – and that, more than anything else, makes the reality sink in. This time, her words get through to Drakon and he stops struggling. “She’s dead,” Sinna says. Does she realize that each word feels like a knife to the chest? “There’s nothing you can do.”

Drakon’s body seems to have forgotten how to breathe, how to function normally. He sags against Sinna’s hold. If she hadn’t been holding him, he doesn’t think he would have been able to stay upright as his mind keeps raging against the truth it sees as impossible.

He knows the terrible feeling that this isn’t real, this isn’t possible, this can’t be happening. He knows what it’s like to have his heart struggle against being forced to catch on with what his mind already knows: That there is no undoing what happened, no way to turn back time and bring the dead back to life. No way to stop the pain, either.

When his family got killed, Drakon broke down. He spent the days before the funeral locked in his rooms, trying to vanish into nothing at all to escape the pain. It took days for him to leave his room again, or to realize that his parents’ death meant that he would inherit all of their responsibilities.

When Jurian died, he managed to keep going. Pushed the pain away and forced himself to keep functioning. But then, he had Miryam who needed him, Miryam who he wouldn’t leave alone with her pain. Now, though, it is Miryam who is gone and he can’t…

He closes his eyes, trying to reign in the sob that is building in his chest. Miryam wouldn’t want him to break down. Not now, not when there are so many people who need some sort of leadership, people he is now solely responsible for. For them, he needs to keep going.

Miryam being dead still doesn’t feel real. And just for this moment, he will have to pretend that it isn’t real. At least until they are safe and he can allow himself time to mourn in private.

He opens his eyes. Sinna is still holding his arms, looking at him like she is waiting for him to fall apart. This time, when Drakon pushes off her hands, she lets him.

“We…” Cauldron, why does it hurt so much? His eyes drift over to Miryam and linger. “Can someone please…” He doesn’t know how to finish the sentence, what order to give. Truth is, he doesn’t want anyone to touch Miryam, doesn’t want her body to be brought away like she is reduced to nothing more than a lifeless thing.

“I can see to it,” Sinna offers.

Drakon nods and forces himself to look away from Miryam. “We need to get away from the shore,” he says. His voice is trembling but growing steadier with each word. “Hide in the forest, maybe, somewhere where we aren’t so plainly visible. Set up a camp, tend to the wounded. Food. We also need food, and a water source.”

Sinna scans his face, narrowing her eyes slightly. Then, she nods and jumps into motion.

They move the entire group to the forest bordering the shore. Set up a camp there, hidden by the trees and close to a nearby river. The healers start to work on the wounded, everyone else finds some other things to do: Preparing food, setting up tents, building defences. Someone lights a fire. The fire is put out, word is sent out that fires are forbidden, they are trying to stay hidden.

Looking back later, Drakon will not be able to tell what he was doing during those long hours. He walks around the camp, anything he does feeling meaningless. Talks to people, finds empty words of reassurance for them. Ignores anyone who tries to offer condolences until people stop trying to talk to him about Miryam.

It is long past midnight and most of the camp is asleep when he finally starts drifting over to the centre of the camp where Miryam has been laid out. Throughout the day, people kept coming by to pay their respects, but Drakon always kept his distance. Now that he is alone, though, he sits down next to Miryam. Next to Miryam’s body. Corpse, but he cannot bear to think of her as that. The idea that she might be dead is so completely and utterly impossible. Drakon would sooner believe that the sun disappeared from the sky, or that the stars all winked out at once.

When he looks at her, he can almost convince himself that she is just sleeping. As long as he only looks at her face instead of the blood-drenched tunic, that is. (Someone has taken out the broken spear, he notices when he finally does look.)

Miryam isn’t dead. She cannot be. If there was one person, just one person he would have trusted to survive this war… How is it that Miryam is dead, that Jurian is dead, but he survived?

It isn’t fair. If there was anyone who would have deserved to survive this war and live to see the better world they wanted to create, it would have been Miryam.

He could cry now, he thinks. The camp is set out, everything is prepared. Everything is safe. He is alone, no one there to see. Now, he could break down, allow the pain in.

But the world-ending sorrow Drakon was expecting doesn’t come. Instead, he is angry. It is all so unfair, so terribly unnecessary. Miryam shouldn’t have died. Not like this, not now that they have already won.

Sometime in the last hours, Nephelle told him about the message Miryam asked her to deliver. I didn’t mean for this to happen and keep my people safe and remember what you promised.

Drakon does plan to keep her people safe. He will do so until his last breath if necessary. And he remembers what he promised. But Cauldron, he doesn’t want to keep that promise. Not now, not after this. How can he keep what Shey and the others did a secret, how can he help them get away with it when Miryam and hundreds of others died? And what would the point be? It wasn’t just Miryam they were after, but all of them. No matter how much Drakon might play stupid, for Shey, him and the hundreds of thousands of people will only ever be unwanted witnesses.

Besides, Drakon doesn’t want Miryam’s killers to get away with it. He cannot bear the thought. He wants to… well, the one thing he really wants is for Miryam to not be dead. But he cannot undo that.

He’s just about to contemplate what might happen if he told Andromache about what happened when he realizes that that he might be a bit hasty. There are a few things in the world that can never be undone. Death is usually one of them. Usually, but not always.

Resurrections are a tricky matter. Highly dangerous and unpredictable. They are not impossible, though, at least not for people who have access to one of the few magical items (or, in some cases, people) that are capable of bringing back the dead.

Years ago, Ghost once told him that the Sword of Daín might be able to help resurrect the dead, that he would help Drakon do it in exchange for his freedom. Drakon refused, then. He briefly considered the offer for Jurian, but then, he did not know if Jurian would even want to be resurrected.

With Miryam, that is a different matter.

The realization that there might be a way to save her yet is like a spark that ignites a fire. Drakon doesn’t stop to consider that resurrections are risky for everyone involved, that Kiko made him promise to never do anything like this or that he had his reasons for not daring to free Ghost. All he can think is that Miryam doesn’t have to be dead. She could still survive.

It doesn’t need to end like this.

They didn’t get around to putting up wards yet, so there’s nothing stopping Drakon from winnowing out of the camp. Hesitantly, he takes Miryam’s hands (her skin is cold to the touch and this is wrong, so wrong, but he will make it right again) and winnows them both out of the camp. Only when they land on the soft jungle floor on Cretea does he remember that he should probably have told someone that he was leaving. His magic, drained as it is, won’t allow him to go back again now, though, so he will just have to hope that no one will notice his disappearance just yet.

Drakon looks down at Miryam, who landed on the ground next to him, realizing only now that he will have to carry her. He reaches out but hesitates. There is something extremely off about just picking up her lifeless body, and he is reluctant to so much as touch her. He sees little alternative, though, so he tells himself to stop being ridiculous, picks her up and starts walking.

The way to the cave seems to take twice as long as usual. Drakon can’t tell if it’s because the darkness makes walking more difficult,  if he is just tired and slowed further by the weight of Miryam in his arms, or if he isn’t slower at all and just imagining it because he is so desperate to reach his destination. After what seems like hours of walking through the dark forest, he finally reaches the cave.

The door opens easily. Drakon storms through and is already halfway through the tunnel before it has closed again behind him. In front of the cave’s entrance, the mist rises but it doesn’t seem to be able to decide on a form, instead lingering in the doorway.

It seems fitting. What would be left for him to fear now?

“Let me through,” he tells the mist, and it does. Without any resistance, he steps into the cave.

The sword is still there, in the same place as usual, its blade shimmering darkly. Gently, Drakon deposits Miryam on the ground, taking care to put her in a position that seems somewhat comfortable.

“What happened?” A voice asks behind him.

Drakon rises and slowly turns to face Ghost, who appeared a few feet behind him. He seems to have changed his clothing style, apparently favouring blue now.

“I need your help,” Drakon says.

Ghost is still staring at Miryam on the ground, not even looking up at the words. The blue of his clothes darkens, colour fading to grey.

“You once told me you could help me resurrect someone,” Drakon pushes. “I want to take that offer now. If you help me bring her back, I’m letting you out of the cave.”

Slowly, Ghost looks away from Miryam and up to Drakon. “I can’t help you,” he says.

Drakon frowns, trying to ignore the dread in his stomach. “You said you could,” he says. “Please. This isn’t for me, it’s… You know Miryam, you know she deserves better than…” He makes a vague gesture. “Please.”

Ghost’s face remains neutral as usual, but Drakon can still feel the struggle that is raging under the surface. “What about the rules?” He asks, his obvious attempt at lightness failing. “Aren’t there millennia of tradition forbidding you from even touching that sword?”

Drakon shrugs. Tradition is the furthest thing from his mind right now. And maybe it makes him a hypocrite that he refused to consider using the sword for during all these years but is willing to use it now, but he will worry about that later. For now, all that counts is that he finds a way to save Miryam.

“It is dangerous,” Ghost says. “You know that mortals aren’t meant to use the sword.”

“You said if I just used it once, I would survive,” Drakon challenges. “It only starts to destroy you if you use it more often, and I only need it for this one thing. It probably won’t do any damage at all.” Ghost still doesn’t seem convinced, and so he adds, “Please. This is the only way to save her.”

That seems to do the trick. Ghost stares at him for a moment longer, then gives a jerky nod. “Alright, then,” he says. His voice is grave, and on another day, Drakon might have wondered about why he sounds so unhappy when he is about to get freed. Right now, though, he still cannot think about anything but the fact that he will be able to bring Miryam back. “That sword isn’t exactly made for resurrections, but if you do as I say, this should work out.”

Drakon promises to do that, and so they begin. Step one is to simply pick up the sword. It is lighter than a sword this size should be, and strangely cold, but other than that, it doesn’t feel particularly magical. There is no pain, no unpleasant sensation at all, which Drakon takes as a good sign.

“Step one accomplished,” he says jokingly, smiling at Ghost.

Ghost doesn’t smile back, instead averts his eyes. He mutters a few words in the language Miryam uses for her spells and the sword comes alive in Drakon’s hands.

Drakon gasps. A wave of cold shoots through his body and he blinks. When he opens his eyes again, the world is different. He can see colourful strings hanging in the air, wrapping around Ghost and moving away from the sword. For a moment, he simply stands and stares. This must be what the world always looks like for Miryam. It is beautiful, and absolutely fascinating. Kiko would probably give his left hand to be able to see this.

“Before we continue, I want you to cut me loose,” Ghost says. He seems far more curt than usual. “You see the string running from the sword’s pommel to me? The black one?” Drakon nods. “Cut it.”

The string shivers slightly, like it understood what Ghost said. Drakon almost feels bad for it, but he did promise to follow Ghost’s directions. Carefully, he brings the sword around and slashes through the string. The blade cuts through it easily, but on the impact, a jolt goes through Drakon’s body, shooting from his right hand through his entire body. He gasps and nearly drops the sword.

Ghost is silent for a moment, staring at the cut string. When he continues, his voice seems a bit thicker. “I’m going to recite a spell to you now. You need to repeat it word by word, as clearly as possible.”

Drakon nods, resisting the urge to rub his aching hand, and they begin. Casting the spell this way is awkward, mainly because he doesn’t understand the meaning of the words, can barely pronounce them correctly. Reciting a spell without understanding a word of what he is saying is extremely unpleasant, and it’s only made worse by the fact that each word burns his throat. He keeps needing to pause and twice, he has to spit out blood.

The further Drakon gets in the spell, the more the strings around him begin to move. Then, slowly, the black jewel in the sword’s pommel begins to glow. By the time the spell is finally done, the entire sword seems to vibrate in his hands and Drakon is just about ready to collapse.

“Take the sword and hold the pommel over her chest. The jewel needs to be over the heart.” Drakon swings the sword around and Ghost’s entire form begins to flicker with annoyance. “Watch out with the strings!” He snaps. “What if you cut one of them and make the entire mountain collapse?”

Drakon swallows and resists the urge to tell Ghost that he really could have mentioned that risk in advance. He keeps his eyes on the blade, watching out for any strings that might get in the way, as he kneels down next to Miryam. Carefully, he places the still-glowing jewel over her heart.

“There’s one more command you need to give,” Ghost says. “And you ought to focus on what you want the spell to do. The sword is sentient enough that it might take your intention into consideration.”

Drakon nods, staring down at Miryam. I want her to not be dead.

Ghost recites the last sentence for him, and Drakon very carefully and slowly repeats it after him, all the while focusing on his wish that Miryam should not be dead, please, just let her live.

He finishes the last word and silence falls. Drakon stares down at the sword at his hands, at Miryam who is still motionless on the ground. His heart is racing as he waits, with bated breath, for something to happen. It occurs to him that he didn’t ask Ghost what the spell would do, how he would know if it worked.

He is about to turn to Ghost and ask him when a beam of light bursts out of the jewel, energy crackling in the air. Drakon is thrown backwards through the air. He lands hard on his back, pain shooting through his sword arm and making him gasp.

Ghost appears in front of him. Drakon is still gasping for air, waiting for the pain to fade as he knows it should, but it doesn’t. Instead, it gets worse, slowly spreading from his arm into his body.

“The spell is working,” Ghost says.

Drakon wants to reply, but in that moment, a new wave of pain rushes through his body. It’s like he’s being stabbed with hundreds of tiny, burning knives. He lets out a strangled gasp, trying desperately to breathe through the pain, to focus on anything but the feeling of being slowly stabbed to death.

“I’m sorry,” Ghost whispers.

Drakon doesn’t know why he’s apologizing, but in that moment, the knives seem to twist and he begins to thrash, his body desperately trying to escape the pain. This shouldn’t be happening. It was just one spell, he ought to be fine, Ghost said… Ghost said…

He lets out a sob, twisting around on the ground. Vaguely, he realizes that he is probably dying – after all, what else could hurt this much? But he cannot die, he wasn’t supposed to… Miryam will be all alone and he…

His vision is already beginning to turn dark around the edges and the pain is only getting worse. Now seems like a good time to pass out, even if it will probably be over soon afterwards. The cave disappears around him, but even if he can’t make out his surroundings anymore, he is still fully conscious. He is trapped alone in the darkness, alone with the pain, and it hurts and hurts and hurts, until time loses all meaning and the only thing that seems to exist anymore is the unending pain.

----

The first thing that returns is the pain. It’s like someone set her on fire, or flayed all the skin from her bones. Miryam wants to cry, wants to writhe and scream, somehow move in a desperate attempt to escape from the pain that seems to swallow up her entire world, but her body won’t obey.

Everything feels wrong. Someone ripped her out of her body and then pushed her back in and everything is wrong. She doesn’t fit, nothing fits and along the ragged edges where she has been ripped out and shoved back into her body the wrong way, it hurts.

The pain feels like she is being torn apart, or burned alive, but it must actually be mending something because after what feels like eternity, she regains some shred of control over her body. She notices because she can feel it beginning to convulse around her – still not from her doing, more like some strange shell that is moving around her.

She vaguely registers that someone is talking, but she can’t make out the words, and the pain doesn’t allow her to focus on anything else. What is happening to her?  She wants it to stop. Someone just make it stop, please…

It doesn’t stop, but at least the burning eases after a while. And whatever rift there was inside of her must be mending because she slowly regains feeling in her body. What she feels isn’t much more pleasant than the burning, though. It’s like each of her senses has sharpened a hundredfold. She can feel the air touching her skin so acutely it’s almost unbearable. Actually unbearable is the feeling of clothes over her skin. It’s like her skin has been ripped off and someone is now ripping sand over her bare flesh.

“Miryam,” someone says.

The voice is gentle, but it still feels like someone is running a knife through her head. She tries to open her eyes and immediately closes them again, unable to bear the light.

“Miryam, hey, it’s alright,” the person continues.

Miryam whimpers. Stop, please stop talking, she wants to say, but her voice doesn’t obey. Her arms do, though, and so she presses her hands against her ears. The other person still seems to understand and stops talking.

For what seems like another eternity, Miryam simply lies on the ground, curled up into a tight ball. At times, it doesn’t seem like the pain will ever end, but eventually, it eases enough that she can begin to contemplate what brought her into this situation.

Straining to focus, Miryam tries to go back to the last clear memory: Ravenia and her, facing each other alone in a narrow passage, water roaring on either side. The spear Ravenia threw, the pain of it hitting. Nephelle trying to fly her out, her desperately trying to hold on and then –

Then, her mind runs into a wall. No matter how hard she tries, she cannot remember anything beyond that point.

She was so sure she was going to die. But Nephelle must have managed to get her out in time after all, she must have misjudged the extent of her own injuries, some healer must still have been able to fix her.

Her entire body shaking, Miryam tries to push herself up on her arms. She manages to turn herself around and push herself into a sitting position. Then, slowly and carefully, she opens her eyes.

Ghost is kneeling a few inches above the ground in front of her. “Are you feeling better?” He asks.

Miryam just stares at him. What is he doing here? Or rather, if he is here, what is she doing here, given that he can hardly be anywhere other than on Cretea? By all logic, she should be lying on a beach somewhere, Drakon and Nephelle and the others nearby.

“What happened?” She croaks, almost surprised by the sound of her own voice.

Her clothes are still scraping against her skin and she is surprised to find that she isn’t bleeding. Not anymore, at least, because her clothes are entirely drenched in dried blood. So much blood… She does not think she should have been able to lose this much blood and survive. Maybe with a really talented healer…

She reaches up for the hole in her tunic where the spear went through, expecting to find bandages. Instead, there is only bare skin. Even a really talented healer should not have been able to completely patch up a wound like this. And she has little first-hand experience with getting stabbed in the chest, but she doesn’t think it should have hurt the way it did. She might have been imagining stuff, of course, but -

“You died,” Ghost says, shifting around uncomfortably.

“Ah.” Miryam nods numbly. “That makes sense. I lost a lot of blood.”

Ghost manages a somewhat convincing frown. “You are remarkably calm about this.

Miryam nods again. “It’s the shock,” she says.

“Ah,” Ghost says, nodding as well. There seems to be a whole lot of nodding in this conversation. “Should I wait until you are… done? Before telling you the rest?”

“No, you go on.” Miryam squeezes her eyes shut – the light, dim as it is, is still painful – and tries to ignore the painfully sore feeling of her entire body. Even breathing hurts, like the air is suddenly acid.

“Okay,” Ghost says. “So, you died.” Then, he stops speaking.

“You said so already. Why am I here?”

“Well, Drakon…” Ghost hesitates. “He brought you here and used the sword to resurrect you.”

Miryam opens her eyes. “Drakon,” she says, mind finally catching on with the part that makes the least sense out of everything. It shouldn’t be Ghost explaining any of this to her but Drakon. He would never have left her to endure that pain alone, never just disappeared. “Where is he?”

Ghost just stares back at her, form darkening slightly. Then, he slowly points his chin behind Miryam.

Miryam scrambles to her feet. Her lefts fail to support her, though, and she falls over halfway through turning around. She makes a sound somewhere between gasp and sob as she lands on the ground, pushes herself up again and turns around fully.

Before her, Drakon lies sprawled on the ground. His right arm is bent at an odd angle and the skin on his hand and arm looks wrong, charred, like it has been burned. He doesn’t seem to be conscious, but as Miryam is watching, his body begins to twitch and convulse.

Miryam is beginning to shake. Her arms barely manage to support her as she crawls over to him.

Drakon is still thrashing on the ground. It’s clear that he’s in pain. He doesn’t seem to notice Miryam as she approaches, either too caught up in his pain or unconscious.

Tears are stinging in her eyes. Trembling fingers hover over Drakon’s chest, dancing over to his arm. Something looks off about his aura, she can sense it, but she can’t quite put her finger on it. She doesn’t dare to touch him for fear of accidentally making things worse, can’t even get to close because he is still thrashing uncontrollably.

“Drakon,” she whispers, knowing he likely cannot hear her. “Drakon, please.” He doesn’t answer, doesn’t react at all.

She twists around to Ghost. “What happened?” She asks. Her voice is louder than she expected and echoes in the small chamber.

There are far too many strings in that tiny chamber. Around Ghost, around her and Drakon. All of them shivering away from the sword that is lying discarded on the ground. Miryam can sense where it is even without looking, can feel it beckoning. It wasn’t like this before.

Ghost disappears and reappears again, closer to her. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “Using the sword… It’s not made to be used by mortals. Still, once would have been fine, but Drakon… I don’t know if you know, but the rulers of Erithia swear all swear a vow to the mother to never use the sword. A binding vow.”

Miryam doesn’t allow herself to contemplate what that might mean. She can feel herself on the brink of breaking down, but she cannot allow herself to, not now.

“Well, I’ll undo it, then,” she says. She tries to sound firm, but she is shaking, her voice jumps between octaves as she speaks. “What can I do to undo it?”

Ghost slowly shakes his head. “There’s nothing to be done,” he says. “The only people capable of breaking a vow like that are the involved parties.”

“And what will happen if it isn’t broken?” Miryam asks.

Ghost seems distinctly uncomfortable. “That varies from vow to vow,” he says. “In this case, though, I’m afraid the effect is meant to be a punishment for using the sword.” He hesitates. “It will kill him in the way using the sword would have over time. Just more slowly.”

Miryam starts shaking her head. “No,” she whispers. “No, no, that’s not possible.”

She turns back to Drakon, reaching for his hand. He shouldn’t have… What was he thinking throwing his life away over her? And like this…

It’s all wrong. It’s all so terribly, terribly wrong. Why did he do this? He knew that she has a death sentence hanging over her head no matter what. And she can’t… She can’t lose another person she loves, she can’t…

“He can’t die,” she whispers. “Not like this, not for me. Why did he do this?”

She wasn’t talking to anyone in particular, just screaming her desperation out at the universe in general, but Ghost still answers. “He didn’t know,” he says very quietly.

Miryam pauses. Slowly, she turns around to him, pieces clicking into place to form the entire picture of what must have happened while she was dead. “But you did,” she says, very softly.

“I’m sorry,” Ghost says. “I just wanted – “

Miryam doesn’t even hear him. All she can think is that he knew, and he didn’t tell Drakon. Probably lied to him about it. And he… he must also have helped Drakon, explained to him what to do. Alone, he would never have known how to do a resurrection. He knew. He knew and still helped Drakon do it, deliberately damned him to a horrible death.

“You…” Miryam stares at Ghost, slowly shaking her head. She trusted him. Trusted him and he…

She picks up a loose stone lying on the ground before her. With all the force she can muster, she hurls it at Ghost. It flies right through him, sending ripples through his form, revealing something like a knot of strings below for a moment.

“You bastard!” Miryam shouts.

She reaches for another stone, not caring that she knows it can’t hurt him, but her legs give out from under her and she falls to the ground. The impact revibrates through her entire body, driving fresh tears into her eyes. Sobbing, she turns back around to Drakon, who is still thrashing lying on the ground. He makes a noise somewhere between whimper and scream, and Miryam reaches for his uninjured arm and takes his hand as if that will somehow make it better.

This is some terrible nightmare. She might have survived, but the price is that she has to sit here and watch Drakon die slowly and painfully. And the worst part is, she can’t do anything at all. She can’t save him. She can’t even comfort him or make things easier.

“What is going on?” A new voice asks from behind Miryam.

She looks up, not letting go of Drakon’s hands. There is a woman standing – or rather hovering – by the cave’s entrance. She has freckles and startlingly blue eyes, ginger hair done up dramatically with pearls and gemstones woven into it. Her dress is nothing short of dramatic either, glowing lightly in the dark.

“Étaín,” Ghost says, voice unreadable. “I was wondering if you would turn up. After all it has been, what, six millennia, since you locked me up in this cave.”

“More like eight,” the woman – Étaìn, Miryam heard that name somewhere before, but where? – replies. “But I see you’ve finally found a way to get out.” Her eyes flicker over to Miryam’s direction, ignoring her entirely and giving Drakon the briefest glance before returning to Ghost. “Disappointing, I must say,” she says. “But I suppose that’s what I get for trusting mortals to safekeep my possessions.”

Miryam stares at her. Étaín. Of course. Étaín as in The Mother. The Faes’ goddess.

Well, she supposes that’s just about the only thing that stood a chance of making her day even worse.

“No thanks to you,” he replies. His voice is sharp, but there is some other emotion there. Hurt, maybe. “What did you do the last millennia, I wonder? Sulk? How very mature of you.”

Around the two of them, the strings are beginning to move around, seemingly driven into a frenzy by the argument. Their movement is making Miryam dizzy, her head is quickly beginning to hurt.

“And what reason would I have had to return for you?” Étaín snaps back. “You killed me and – “

“Oh, as if you didn’t kill me first!” Ghost interjects.

“ – betrayed me,” Étaín finishes. “You chose these stupid mortals over us, and – “

“Shut up!” Miryam shouts, jumping to her feet. She is shaking. Étaín and Ghost both turn around to face her. “Do you think I care about your stupid argument?”

Étaín wrinkles her nose. “You might have the good sense to stay quiet.” She turns back to Ghost. “What is the mortal doing here, Daín?”

Gaping, Miryam stares back and forth between the two of them. Daín. Ghost is… That doesn't make any sense. Ghost can’t be Daín, he is in this cave because he killed Daín. But now, Étaín – the Mother, Miryam is actually going to lose it – apparently was the one to kill him, and he killed her, and…

It’s just too fucking much.

Étaín and Ghost-or-Daín-or-whoever are already jumping back into their argument again, seemingly having forgotten about Miryam altogether. The strings are still moving and everything hurts and Drakon is thrashing around on the ground, and Miryam just cannot take it.

“- really do not get to complain,” Étaín is saying. “You were the one who betrayed me. You threw everything away and – “

“I said shut up!” Miryam shouts.

Étaín turns around to her. Her entire form seems to grow, glow dimming. “Watch yourself, mortal,” she says, voice turning deeper and echoing. It’s almost like there are two people speaking simultaneously. “Do not forget your place. I am god. You think you get to speak to me?”

“Oh yes, I do,” Miryam snaps. She is so far beyond caring about threats. “You are god? Fine, then let us talk about your stupid world and what it does to my people! Millennia of slavery and suffering and death, and you did nothing. What claim do you have to my worship or my respect? This is our world.”

Étaín’s form darkens further. She turns to Daín. “You told her?” She asks, something like betrayal in her voice.

Miryam, who had meant to say that this world belongs to the humans just as much as anyone else, is mildly confused. As soon as Drakon is no longer dying and she doesn’t have a potential goddess standing in front of her, she will have to think about how Étaín understood her comment and what that might mean.

Daín scowls. “You kill me. You leave me in this cave to metaphorically rot. And despite that, you still expect me to keep your secrets?”

“Oh, as if you – “

“That is enough!” Miryam shouts.

Her voice seems to echo through the strings, making them shiver and shy away. For a moment, the forms of Daín and Étaín flickers and reveal a bundle of strings beneath, curled into a tight ball and far too complicated for Miryam to read. The strings are all cut up in places, though, loose ends hanging out, black and charred at places. Daín looks a bit worse off than Étaín, but not by much.

Huh. That’s another thing she will have to think about. Sometime. Right now, though, she will deal with the fact that the being in front of her is not just potentially a goddess but also happens to be her only shot at saving Drakon.

Miryam turns to Étaín whose form is steady again now. “A binding vow always needs at least two people involved, one swearing and one receiving,” she says, forcing her voice to sound even, “I assume that you are the receiving party in the vow Drakon took.” Étaín doesn’t react. She just stares at Miryam without blinking. Before she can lecture Miryam for daring to speak to her again, she continues, “So release him from his vow. Please.”

Étaín studies her in silence for a moment. Then, she asks, “He’s your husband, isn’t he?” Miryam nods stiffly. Étaín shrugs and gives Daín a sharp look. “Then you ought to be grateful. Husbands are overrated and too often turn out to be nothing but nuisances.”

“One might say the same about goddesses who only turn up after everything is over and refuse to be helpful,” Miryam snaps. Insulting the person who has Drakon’s life in her hands is probably not the smartest strategy, but she isn’t feeling particularly smart right now. “You are going to release him from the vow. Now.”

Étaín cocks her head to the side. “You’ve certainly got nerve, little mortal, and I do not mean that as a compliment. My patience only goes so far.”

Miryam shakes her head. She is far beyond caring about threats. Especially when Étaín still hasn’t followed the threats up with anything, which, together with the frayed, torn strings, leads Miryam to believe she might not be able to.

“If you don’t release him, he is going to die,” she says.

Étaín begins to smile. It is a horrible smile, far too big and wide, making it abundantly clear that she is neither Fae nor human and only mimicking the expression. “Extraordinarily slowly and painfully, I know,” she says. “It’s what I set the spell to do as punishment for any ruler of Erithia who might be stupid or arrogant enough to use it – the pain of being killed by the Sword, drawn out over days and years and centuries. A slow, painfully death. Just what he deserves for daring to use the sword.”

She might have said something else, but Miryam no longer listens. She can’t hear anything over the roaring in her ears. Fear and pain and confusion all merge and turn, within moments, into blinding fury. There are a thousand things Miryam could be furious about – Shey and the other Fae and Ghost-who-is-Daín and maybe even Drakon and the sheer unfairness of it all – but right now and here, all her fury concentrates itself on what is in front of her. And that is Étaín. This person – Miryam refuses to call her a goddess, will never give her that honour – who could have likely ended slavery with one word but didn’t, who allowed for all that suffering to happen, who only turned up at the last moment and now dares to stand here and tell her that Drakon deserves to die, as if he is somehow beholden to her wishes when she never one did anything to help any of them.

Miryam stretches out a hand. There is no command she gives, no thought or intention behind it – she is just acting, maybe on instinct or maybe just pure desperation.

The sword jumps off the floor and into her waiting palm. Without pausing to consider, to think about what she is doing, Miryam brings the blade around, gripping the hilt with both hands. It is cold under her fingers, so cold it stings, and lighter than a sword this size should be.

Around her, the world comes into sharp focus. The strings are clearer than they have ever been before, and she can see the strings that seem to make up Étaín and Daín shimmering below their forms. Strings move away from the sword, as if they are scared of it. One isn’t fast enough, though. It comes into contact, and the blade cuts right through it, leaving the string to fall to the ground, charred and broken. The mountain rumbles. Miryam brings the sword around the entire way until the tip is pointing at Étaín.

A sword that can cut through strings and a being that seems to be made entirely from them. How extremely convenient.

“See, Étaín,” Daín says, “this is why you don’t tell the woman standing next to the one weapon capable of killing you that you hope her husband will die painfully.”

Miryam ignores him, keeping her attention entirely focused on Étaín. “Release him,” she says very softly, “Or you will learn what it feels like to be slowly killed by the sword.”

Étaín looks down at Miryam’s hands on the sword and snorts. “You would be a whole lot more intimidating if you weren’t holding that sword the wrong way. This isn’t a stick, girl.”

Wrong grip or not, it does not take any particular skill with a sword to hit a target that is only inches away from you. Miryam slashes forward, cutting through one of Étaín’s outer strings before she has time to move away. Lighting sparks at her fingertips, the sword sings in her hands.

Étaín shrieks, her mortal form shattering, leaving only the strings below. The noise is inhuman, loud and shrill and wrong. It hurts Miryam’s ears, seems to go through her entire body. Daín might have made a noise as well, might have moved forward, but Miryam doesn’t dare take her eyes away from the being in front of her. Not human, not Fae, but something else altogether. It doesn’t matter. Not when she is clearly injured already and Daín just confirmed that the sword Miryam holds is capable of killing her.

“They call this blade Godmaker,” Miryam says, staring at the bundle of strings that is Étaín. “Godkiller would be more fitting a name, I think.” She steps forward. The strings shy away from her, and if Étaín had a face, Miryam is sure she would look at least a little bit terrified. “If he dies,” Miryam continues, “I am going to kill you. I don’t care how far you run, or how long it takes. I will hunt you to the end of earth if necessary, and I will give you the exact death you have given him.”

Slowly, Étaín’s form rematerializes around the bundle of strings. She is staring at Miryam, unmoving, unblinking.

“Don’t be stupid, Étaín,” Daín says. “You aren’t truly going to let her kill you just to be difficult. Please, just give her what she wants.”

Étaín is silent for another moment. When she finally says something, it is in a language Miryam doesn’t know. It is similar to the language of the strings she herself learned, similar in the sounds and the way it makes the air shiver and feel heavy, but just different enough that Miryam cannot understand what Étaín is doing. She tightens her grip on the sword, watching the strings move around her and wondering, idly, if she will die now.

But nothing happens. And then, Étaín stops speaking and turns to Miryam. For a moment, she merely stares at her, eyes seeming to burn from within. Fury – and maybe, just maybe, a hint of fear.

“You’re done?” Miryam asks. She doesn’t dare to look over at Drakon, instead forces herself to keep her eyes trained on Étaín who inclines her head. “Good.” She lowers her sword slightly. “Then leave. If you ever come near me or anyone I care about again, you will regret it.”

Étaín doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t nod. She simply disappears into thin air.

Only now does Miryam dare to turn around to Drakon. He is still lying on the ground, not thrashing anymore but entirely motionless… Throughout it all, Miryam didn’t consider the option that Étaín might kill Drakon instead of helping him. She considers it now, though.

Sword falling forgotten to the ground, she drops to her knees next to him. “Drakon. Hey, Drakon. Can you hear me?”

Her fingers are shaking so badly that it takes her three tries to take his pulse. When she finally does find it, she nearly sobs with relief.

----

They are sitting together outside of the cave, fingers interlaced. At the horizon, the sky is already beginning to turn a creamy pink. Soon enough, the sun will rise.

It has been hours since they stumbled out of the cave, both of them leaning against each other for support. They’ve barely said a word since.

In theory, there would have been a lot to say. There is the entire matter of Shey and the other Fae in the Alliance to address, the mess that is waiting for them on the Continent. Miryam could have told Drakon about her death on the ocean floor, or about her meeting with his goddess, about Daín. Drakon could have explained what happened between her death and her resurrection. Or they might have talked about pain, compared the feeling of being ripped out of your body and shoved back in with being destroyed bit by bit by a magical sword. Miryam might have said that her entire body still feels sore and painful, or Drakon might have told that his right arm hasn’t stopped hurting.

They do none of it. Right there, in that moment, the Continent and all the trouble waiting there is far away, and words seem to have lost all meaning either way.

The sun is just beginning to climb over the horizon when Drakon finally breaks the silence. “What do we do now?” He asks.

Miryam doesn’t tear her eyes away from the rising sun. “I don’t know,” she says. “First, we should probably go back to the others and then take it one step at the time.”

Drakon nods. Then, he suddenly curses and jumps to his feet.

“What’s wrong?” Miryam asks, getting up as well although a bit more slowly.

“I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving before coming here,” Drakon says, hectically running a hand through his hair. “It’s been hours, they are going to be worried sick by now. Sinna is going to kill me.”

Miryam blinks at him for a moment. Then, she bursts out laughing.

“This isn’t funny,” Drakon mutters, and it probably really isn’t, but he is laughing as well. After everything that just happened, being able to worry about something as mundane as this is surprisingly relieving. It breaks the tension and then, they are hugging, clinging on tightly to each other, laughing and crying at the same time as the realization that this is over, they have survived, slowly begins to set in.

----

A/N: We've got a discord group for discussing this story now, so if anyone wants to join up, the link is here :D

Tags: @croissantcitysucks @aileywrites @femtopulsed

[ffangirlingsince2001]

Nothing Alike: IX

Description: Geralt of Rivia has been tasked with taking out a fellow Witcher who has decided to settle down in a town. She has no intention of leaving and Geralt is forced to take matters into his own hands.

Geralt x Reader

Warnings: (future as well as present) violence, angst, smut, fluff, language

MASTERLIST

The journey to the palace should have only taken three days max. And the Geralt should have been free to go about his business. However, the prince had other ideas up his sleeve.

Upon awaking the morning after the incident, he proclaimed with great elation that Y/N would no longer be allowed to ride on a horse.

“If she’s going to act like a dog, she shall be treated like one,” he had proclaimed with great enthusiasm, as if it had taken him all night to think of it.

It probably had.

So, instead of moving at the reasonable pace of horses, they were subjected to the pace of a stubborn, disgruntled girl who wanted nothing more than to throw a tantrum.

A thick iron collar was padlocked to her neck, and her wrists were shackled together. They had considered her ankles as well, but Geralt had claimed it would take them too long if she couldn’t take large strides (not that she was taking them anyway). The collar and the shackles were connected to one another by a long iron chain that led to the prince’s horse, and to keep her compliant, a crossbow was trained on her at all times.

Geralt was forced to ride directly behind her, a silent reminder as to what they could subject him to if he put a hair out of line. He was forced to watch as she dragged her feet, slowing down until the prince gave the chain a tug, sending her to the ground. For a moment, she was being dragged across the floor, shoulder digging into the soft soil. Then she would struggle to stand, a difficult task when your hands were bound, and the horse never stopped moving. Eventually, she would get it, and for a while she would keep up an appropriate pace, but the indignation always returned and the cycled repeated.

When they camped, she was kept away from the fire’s warmth and given only scraps, a desperate attempt to break her spirit. Every night she was led into the prince’s tent, an offer, a bribe that if she were to take, small ounces of luxury would be granted to her. Every night she was tossed back into the cold.

It was those moments when Geralt didn’t mind the pace, because if they were moving slowly it meant that she hadn’t become another piece of land conquered by royalty.

When they did finally reach the palace, it had been a week and a half, and Y/N had been silent for three days (to the great annoyance of the prince who had screamed for an answer). While they had not harmed her, just as his threat had made them promise, she had still been abused. Her cheeks were shallower than they had been when they began. Hair matted; face covered in dirt, arms covered in cuts and bruises from hitting the ground. They burst through the door, the prince dragging her prize behind him as he entered the throne room.

All eyes turned to them, some interested, some full of hatred, all recognizing the woman who was being led forward like a wild animal. The prince pulled her forward, slamming the blunt edge of his sword into the bend of her knees, laughing as she dropped to the floor. He was going to soak in every moment, now that Geralt could no longer threaten him.

“I have returned,” the prince announced, arms outspread as he basked in the gasps of awe and wonder. The uncatchable beast had been caught, brought to her knees before their wealthy feet. The prince turned around to look at his prize, sprawled across the ground, but there was no such luck. She stared ahead, situated on her knees all while retaining a sense of entitlement. He had never seen someone look so regal while being mocked. “Bow before your king,” he growled, but she didn’t move. The only hint that she had heard him was a small moment where her lip twitched into a smirk. Struggling to maintain his composure, he motioned for a guard to step forward. A sharp sole slammed into her back and her forehead hit the marble forehead. When she sat up, emotion unchanged, a trickle of blood was running between her eyes. “I said, bow,” the prince howled, marching forward to do the job himself, but a booming voice stopped him.

“She is not my subject, therefor there is no need to bow,” the king said, standing from his throne, wrinkled finger pointing at his son. The prince looked ready to argue, to tantrum in front of the entire court, but for the first time since Geralt had met the pathetic boy, he held his tongue. “Do you seek trial?” he asked her, but she remained silent. Geralt willed her to speak, but she said nothing, only stared forward, daring them to execute her now.

“She does,” Geralt called, unable to bear the silence any longer. All eyes turned to him, including an extremely interested king’s. “She would like a trial.” Eyes returned to her and there was a small nod. Instantly, whispers filled the room like a tidal wave. “She will speak in front of the king, but the king only.” Another wave of uproar.”

“And I suppose you?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Then it is settled. Everyone out.” Protests erupted, but they were followed by quick footsteps exiting the room. Within moments all the remained were the king, Geralt, and Y/N. “You may unchain yourself,” the king murmured, almost with amusement, as he settled himself back into his throne.

Within an instant the cuffs fell to the ground and she stood, eyes dark as she studied the man across the room. Her fists were clenched to her side, but she did not advance as Geralt presumed she wanted to.

“Pull out a chair, sit, we have much to discuss.” Geralt was surprised to see she listened, dragging an ornate chair to the center of the room. “You may sit closer.”

“It is for both our safety that I do not,” she responded, voice harsh and rough from the lack of care.

“Both our safety?”

“If I sit any closer, I will want to harm you, and then your guards will be forced to kill me. Do not consider me rude, just realistic.” The king laughed and nodded in agreement, fingers drumming across the arm of his chair. The two stared at each other across the large expanse of the throne room before the king pulled a scroll from a beaded purse that sat beside him.

“Do you know what this is?”

“My crimes against humanity, I assume.”

“That is correct. Now, I will not insult you by assuming you are not capable of these acts, so you shall not insult me by lying about them.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Let’s begin then. I shall read your crime and you will defend them to the best of your ability. The swindling of towns people across the continent, namely within my own kingdom.”

“It was not a swindle; they were simply overconfident.”

“They knew you were a Witcher than?”

“Absolutely.”

“The murder of five Witchers who attempted to capture you under the order of the crown.”

“They had no intention of capturing, only killing. I was merely defending my right to trial.”

“Six counts of horse thievery, including from my own stables.”

“It was my horse, wrongfully stolen from me in an attempt to disable me.”

“The massacre of one hundred men and women.”

“They were taking part in slave trading; I was merely protecting the freedom of the people.”

“Slave trading!”

“Yes, slave trading. I was being held as well, and I have marks to prove it. Torture, branding, had I not killed them both my liberty and the liberty of a few dozen others would have been taken.” The king paused as he pondered her statement before continuing.

“Evading arrest.” She only smirked at him, a smirk that he returned. “The murder of your mother and father.” Geralt could barely hear what was said after the accusation. She had murdered her own blood, that was a crime he was not acquainted with. He strained over the blood rushing through his ears to hear her defense, but it did nothing to console him.

“They sold me out.”

“That is not a defense.”

“It was not meant to be.”

“You cannot take the law into your own hands.”

“You do.”

“I create the law.”

“So do I.” He stared at her before he began to chuckle, the deep sound quickly turning into a rolling laugh that echoed around the room. She didn’t flinch a muscle, merely watched him as he laughed away her statement. When he had finished, noticing that she was not smiling along he quickly righted himself.

“You are full of insolence.”

“That’s what they tell me.”

“I cannot in good conscience allow you to return to the outside world, but I can offer you a deal.” She raised an eyebrow, a silent gesture for him to continue. “We will either execute you, or you will work for me, and uphold my law.” Geralt’s heart sunk again, an offer she would never take. As she had said repeatedly, no one controlled her, and if that meant death over chains, she would take it.

“Then ready the gallows,” she replied coolly, confirming Geralt’s suspicions.

“You are making a mistake.”

“No, the only mistake made here today was the offer you just made me, as it was both a waste of words and air. Send me your dungeons and tie the noose quick because the only day that I will reside beneath you is the day you walk over my grave.” Geralt wanted to scream, to snarl and spit in her face until she accepted the man’s offer but he remained still, silently seething.

The king laughed once more, but it was not full of humor, it was full of hatred. He had not expected to be refused, and yet she had thrown it back in his face without an ounce of regret.

“Guards,” he called and two entered the room, swords already drawn, expecting the worst. “Escort our prisoner to the dungeons, and the inform the executioner there will be an execution tomorrow at sunrise. Call all to see for this will be their greatest victory.” They dragged her from the room, and even without the chains she did not struggle, merely smiled as they dragged her away, already readying herself for the final moments of her reign.

 Taglist: @stuckupstucky​ @aurora-sweet​ @holyhumorliteraturelight​

[prinxlyart]

I will say, I am hungry again and I have a few ask for your Willumity/Vinira headcannons. HOWEVER to be fair to you. This time I will restrain myself and simply ask for you to share any headcanons you want to share as of now!

You can ALWAYS ask for more Willumity.

A L W A Y S

But!! Since you’ve given me free reign to just play in this sandbox, that’s exactly what I’m gonna do

We all agree that Luz is hella ADHD. This girl will talk for HOURS about the shit she likes. If something grabs her attention, she wants to know everything about it. She doesn’t like being told to do things, but she loves being asked to do things. For example: if someone tells her she needs to do a thing her brain will immediately click into the “No” position and will refuse to budge. If someone asks her to do something, her brain clicks to “help? I can help? I can help with a thing for this person? Yes! I’ll help this person with this task because it will make them happy! Yes! I can help!” This is why acts of service resonate so strongly with her.

I don’t know what mental diversity looks like on the Boiling Isles considering how just. Horror-based everything is? But I’m 100% on that autistic Amity train. She has to do things a Certain Way or she’ll teeter on the edge of a meltdown. She refuses to touch/eat certain textures. She usually doesn’t know what the appropriate response/reaction is to a given conversation, especially with her socialite friends, which is why she just remains a cool mask of indifference. She’ll inspect every detail of anything that’s handed to her. She’s incredibly smart, but doesn’t always know how to convey what she knows and understands into words other people can understand. The only people allowed in her personal space are her siblings. Eventually that also stems to Luz and Willow, maybe more as she grows more comfortable with herself? But usually anyone getting in her space is overwhelming and alarming. Defo has a hard time regulating/processing her emotions.

I need to make an entire post dedicated to Augustus Porter because my boy deserves it, but I’ll toss some random things here. He has a signed poster from the head of the Illusionist Coven framed on his bedroom wall. He and his dad have bi-weekly after-dinner standup comedy sessions with each other (Perry has kept a secret journal of all of Gus’s best jokes he’s done over the years that he reads whenever he needs a pick-me-up).

Perry and Eda knew each other in school in passing. Their social circles overlapped but they were never hanging out in the same groups. When Gus is very little (like, maybe 3 or 4?), Perry takes him to the market to just wander around and they find Eda’s Human Collectibles Stand. She and Perry catch up, he introduces her to his son, and Eda (ever the saleswoman) pulls out some shiny human thing that Gus is immediately taken with. In between her and Perry catching up, Gus asks her a million questions about the thing he’s been given and then even more questions about other stuff at her stand. She actually finds it really fun to show off her human shit to someone so enthralled by it. She makes some stuff up here and there just to mess with him, but he’s too young to realize it’s a joke or not true, and takes everything at face value. We all know Eda likes to get a little theatrical with her sales pitches; she does the Salesperson act with everything Gus asks her about. She lets Gus take a couple items home just because he was such a riot and Perry insists he pay for something, but Eda just waves them off and tells him that this is just an investment in a lifelong customer. She had no idea how right she was because Gus defo became obsessed with human culture from that point on. He also picked up on Eda’s super theatrical sales pitches (because he thought it was funny and because he thought that’s just how you’re supposed to show human stuff to people) and began showing off his own “human collectibles museum” to his dad with the same theatrical voice. Perry plays along with this too (as a news anchor he’s got a great announcer voice) and ta-da! That’s how we get the boy we all know and love today. It’s 100% Eda’s fault, but Perry definitely encouraged it because it made his son so happy. That’s also why Gus doesn’t seem especially perturbed at meeting Eda for the first time in ep 3. Or for interjecting his new Human Knowledge in the moment she was patting Luz’s head. He’s used to having conversations with her about human junk whenever she has her stand up. Eda’s secretly relieved that one of Luz’s new friends is actually someone she kinda knows. It’s Perry’s kid, and Perry’s a good guy. His little squirt seems to be growing up to be pretty good too.

Eda scoffs at “nerdy” shit as if she hasn’t owned the Clawthorne Braincell her entire life. “She worked twice as hard” “-that just made me work harder than you!”. Eda’s extremely smart and extremely talented. She likely created the secret room of shortcuts entirely on her own. She probably studied in the school library constantly, but under the guise of causing mischief. And like. She probably did both. She was a potions track kid so she probably knew all the best ways to make stink bombs that she could leave hidden in the shelves. She hated school because she was so limited and stifled; she only wanted to learn magic and was told no at every turn. So when she learned magic on her own, yknow, without the guidance of a teacher, there’s bound to be some major fuck ups. Once she’s fine-tuned her mistakes though, she absolutely turns them into pranks. You say I’m not allowed to study multiple tracks, bumpikins?? Well how’s THIS!!! How’s THAT for focus??? (Half of her pranks were also just her showing off and desperately hoping to prove that she could learn any type of magic and couldn’t be constrained to just the one. Bump recognized this of course, but he had strict guidelines to follow and no Luz Noceda to call him out for it.)

Camila treasures her daughter more than life itself. I personally refuse to headcanon anything to do with her extended family or why she’s a single parent (too many variables and options that could be addressed in the show), but I do know that she loves Luz more than anything. It’s exhausting being a single mom, working as a nurse, and trying to be there for her ADHD daughter when the rest of the world doesn’t seem to want her. It hurts her so much to see her baby, the light of her life, her Luz, be brushed aside and written off as “the weirdo”, or bullied, or even outright hated by some people just because she’s a little different. She’s had to have some words with the school staff for how they treat her on occasion. Did you see that Principal’s death glare in the first ep?? He hates her. Camila’s there not just because she’s Luz’s parent, but also to act as a barrier between the principal and Luz. She would move Heaven and Earth for Luz, but it can be a lot when you’re the only adult around. I truly believe she wanted Luz to go to that camp to learn how to be friends with kids that didn’t already know her or her quirks. Even she sounded unsure of what they would do at that camp, but she had full faith that this would be Luz’s opportunity to make friends with other kids that could teach her to like....more mainstream stuff. So she could learn how to mimic their (hopefully, toned down) behaviors. She just wants her baby to be accepted by others.

This next one’s a doozy so hold on to your butts

Lilith is technically smart. And I mean that in a literal sense - she can read and understand the fundamentals of magic, the concepts and execution of complex spells, recite entire chapters of Boiling Isles history, you name it. Many adults in her youth called her gifted because of it. All she actually did was absorb the information and regurgitate it when asked. She thrived on the praise she received. What made her different from her sister is that she never wanted anything more than to do as she was told. Her biggest goal? Her dream job? Was to just be given orders by the Emperor. I’m sure there’s all sorts of flowery propaganda surrounding that, advertising how incredible it is to be in the Emperor’s Coven, what an honor it is to work alongside the witch that can speak to the Titan. But it’s literally just. Taking orders. And knowing you’re somehow better than everyone else because you’ve been selected to be among the elite. She never strived for anything more; she never wanted to do anything else but enforce the Emperor’s will because that was “the highest honor” a witch could have. As a result (or in conjunction rather) she lacks literally any amount of foresight. There’s only one braincell in the Clawthorne Family and her sister has it because this dumbass doesn’t think about anyone but herself. Instead of talking with Eda about what they should do when they were told there was only one spot left in the Emperor’s Coven, she walked away. Only thinking of how she could secure her victory. She didn’t ask Eda how she felt about the situation, she didn’t let Eda speak her mind about what her own desires were; Eda made it clear enough that she just wanted to be by Lilith’s side, she didn’t care what that meant. She just wanted to be with her big sister. Eda tried to reach out to her to discuss their cirumstances, but Lilith just walked away like the broody, self-centered teenager that she was and resolved to cheat her way to victory. When Eda knew this was her dream. Why would she think Eda would take away her dream???? She could’ve asked Eda to throw the duel? She could’ve asked her to fake the match? Or even fake sick? Or just not even shown up! If she didn’t show up it could’ve counted as a forfeit and Lilith would’ve earned the spot by default! But no, she had to ruin her sister’s entire life in an act of cowardice and dishonor because she’s so full of herself and didn’t read the fine print. She loves her sister, of course she does, but she’s so self-absorbed that she’s never seen Eda for who she actually is and wasted both of their lives as a result. And this is all just analysis of her character and that flashback, this isn’t even headcanons. I think if she has any amount of respect for her sister (she doesn’t), her redemption will have to go far far beyond an apology and taking on half the curse. When I say Lilith is a dumbass, this is specifically what I mean. She doesn’t think about how her actions will affect those around her. She was the Head of the Emperor’s Coven, literally one of the most powerful positions she could possibly be in on the Boiling Isles and still sacrificed Amity’s dignity and years of hard work just so she could be ensured that she could one-up her sister. She did this in front of everyone in attendance of that Witches Duel. She risked Amity’s credibility as a witch, as a Blight, and as a person just to fuel her own ego. It’s no wonder Amity was so upset; the witch she’s been idolizing her whole life didn’t think she had what it took to best a human that couldn’t do magic in a witches duel. That can fuck up your self esteem something fierce. And Lilith hardly seemed to give a shit!!!! She didn’t care that she just trashed Amity’s reputation in front of dozens of spectators!!!! I’m v bitter about Lilith as a character in case you couldn’t tell.

If I had to throw a headcanon in, I’ll toss one in that sterling and I have discussed: Lilith literally doesn’t know how to live her life as an independent adult. Sure, she knows how to like. Make herself some easy dinners? But that’s literally only because she used to make herself and Eda dinners when they were kids. Beyond that, she has no fucking idea. She can do the basic household chores any teenager knows how to do, but she’s lived in the Emperor’s Castle with the rest of the Coven since she joined. It’s kind of like living in a college dorm; food and a room is provided, there’s maybe a laundry service, she’s never had to pay taxes in her life (not that Eda does, but yknow). The only things she buys for herself (if she doesn’t make it herself) is her hair dye and books. When she first moves in to the Owl House, she has no idea how the household chores are done. She’s on House Cleaning Duty Eternally and the first......I’ll say year. Eda will wake her up by banging pots and pans over her head once every month and scream-singing about how it’s House Cleaning Day, pull out her lawn chairs and some lemonade, and she and Luz (and sometimes King) will just sit back and relax and watch the show that is Lilith trying to clean Hooty. Hooty does not like to cooperate with her (partially because Lilith is a special friend and partially because he knows how much joy it brings Eda and Luz to watch her struggle).

Oof I could go on but this is already one hell of a post huh? Sorry (not really) for dragging Lilith so hard; not a joke, tumblr made me split hers up into two bullet points because it couldn’t comprehend my ranting for so long in one bullet point. I do love sharing these with y’all though, they’re so much fun and I’m so glad you guys like my rambling. <3333

[bangtancentricsblog]

jhs/qw: 1

↳ with a war on the horizon, there is only one person who could take the throne when it all came to an end

❒ pairing: jung hoseok x reader

❒ genre: Angst(?) tbh idk

❒ alternative universe: historical, mythology,

❒ rating: PG 15

❒ word count: 3.3k+

warnings/disclosures: rebellions, it’s really more MC x bts than Hoseok but it has the potential to lead to mc x hoseok, greek gods because that is my thing, nothing bad, just some talks of death, nothing graphic i swear

main ml • AO3

The streets are dimly lit, shadows obscuring the tracks that the small group of armed soldiers have left. The air is damp, no doubt the scent of the oncoming rain, but the quiet of the night isn't all that's off putting as one would usually assume when it came to the Kingdom of Dionysia. There are no terrifying screams or wailing moans of the sick and injured, rumors of the rebellion grow louder the longer the royal family does nothing. Though this little band of men know that the rumors are not rumors at all, for they have done much work under the cover of shadows. The group turns a sharp corner leading them to an unmarked door, one that towers over the rest, an information guild, or at least an illegal one according to their sources. They knock their fist against the aged wood, a code to let them know they are friends looking for information or merely a place to rest for the night.

The door swings open slowly an eerie creak accompanies it, on the inside stands a burly man, tough looking but young. His features are pinched as his gaze rakes over the group, even the sole hooded figure among them, especially them for they have hidden their face from his sight. He grunts shooting a look to the side and no sooner is a new man standing before them. His build is different, he’s taller, leaner perhaps, packed with much less muscles but still looks just as strong, not as rugged but strong nonetheless. His gaze is trained on the hooded figure, eyes squinted in the little light provided by the candles. He can make out no features only knows that they are of much smaller build than any of the others in their party.

“The rest of you can come in, but they can’t.” he says with a furrow to his brow.

“They are one of us, we can vouch for them.”

“I don't know them, how can I trust your word.”

“You just can, their identity isn't important right now.”

“Reveal yourself, or leave.” He mutters narrowing his gaze on the hooded figure. The group seem unwilling to leave but it is out of their hands on whether they should reveal the identity of their companion. The man in the door gasps at the sight, beautiful ringlets of hair cascade down their back as the hood comes off, their eyes twinkling in the candlelight. He’s quick to bow his head, in shame or in fear he’s not sure because before him stands the crown princess.

“There’s no need to bow your head, I understand your hesitance, but don’t worry I am not your enemy.”

“I should be punished for my insolence, your highness should not be in a place like this.” He says head still bowed.

“Raise your head, I know you are still wary of my presence but if you will allow it, I shall prove to you that I come only to offer my help.” you smile placing a tentative hand on his shoulder watching as he rises to his full height, he towers over you almost like the titans of old. He says nothing more, instead meeting the gaze of your Major who stands too close for it to be proper.

“C’mon Johnny we have more pressing matters to attend to.” Yoongi says shoulder checking him not unkindly, more playful than anything in the way that men do. He steps aside following the older man further into the building as do the rest of your party. Johnny leads you all to a room in the back, one hidden with a small incantation that both shocks you and soothes you. He must be of elven descent you think following them through the door and finding a room filled with maps of the kingdom Dionysia, it’s split into four sections the North, East, South and West, red chalk has marked areas that have already joined the rebellion. Black chalk circles areas that have yet to be touched that much is obvious at least to you. In the center of it all is the largest map wooden figures sit in many places, most of them are located in the West and South. The East for the most part remains untouched by said wooden figures, a troubling idea for you and the rest of your party as you gather around the table.

“Our men have already taken the western and southern ports, just as you instructed Major Min. The merchants were eager to join our efforts to usurp the king. The North is proving to be the most difficult as the imperialist faction holds more influence in the area surrounding the capital.”

“And the East, what of their ports?” you ask, bringing the attention to you. You can feel the reluctance of the men who stand before you, truly you understand but there is one thing they have yet to understand.

“We have yet to send anyone.” a new man speaks up. His face betrays no emotion, but it’s one you recognize easily. A smirk tilts one side of your lips as you gaze back at him.

“Thank you Lieutenant Kim, it has been a long time has it not?”

“It certainly has, Commander, or would you rather I call you princess?” he says his own lips twitching up in a playful smile, one you relish in just the slightest. The room has gone quiet after your exchange, many of the unknown faces scream shock at the simple revelation. By now you have grown accustomed to such a reaction, for most men would liken you to a fragile bird who should be kept in it’s gilded cage only to be sold to the highest bidder.

“I think it’s about time I formally introduce myself.” you sigh, shooting Taehyung a glare before finally removing your cloak. They are surprised to see that you are not dressed in lace and silk, as one would assume a princess should be, no, you wear the colors of the rebellion. The knight uniform you wear is the same black trousers, and white shirt but the coat which once was black and red has now become white and a soft blue with gold embellishments.

“I am______, first princess of Dionysia, Commander and orchestrator of the rebellion, pleased to make your acquaintance.” you breathe bending at the waist in a bow. Surprisingly the rest of the meeting goes smoothly as you plan your next move.

*

The capital is in mourning some time after you visited the information guild. News of the princesses' untimely death has spread far and wide, the king has made it so that people believe it was the work of the rebellion. An attack on a royal carriage, one that took her life, the tale is well crafted you must say, on both parts. The rebels have played their part well, the king had taken the bait as you had said he would, and you were finally free of his reach, a pawn that no longer sat on his board. Now came the hardest part, the war really was looming on the horizon, your party has grown, and you have all taken refuge in the forest, setting up a camp far away from the capital. Your little group has grown vastly as there are more than 50 knights, healers and even priests helping to aid you in the fight for a new reign.

Currently you are in the main tent, the one used to talk strategy the one only higher ranked knights can enter and a few selected others. There aren’t many in the tent, only yourself, Major Min, Captain Park and a knight you have come to know as Yeonjun. Yeonjun is your shadow and apprentice, he’d once been a mercenary for hire but had joined the rebels when your small group passed through his hometown. His skills are more than ideal, in fact he is naturally gifted so much so you hardly have anything to teach him, yet he insists on learning from you. As it is your efforts in destroying the current ruling monarchy is going smoothly, you aren’t afraid of the imperialist faction, not by a long shot but there is something foreboding about their lack of movement in the last month.

“Yeonjun, take a small squad with you and travel to the capital, we need to know what the nobles are plotting.” you say as you stand over the map, something swirls in the pit of your stomach, something unpleasant. It seems that the time has finally come.

“As you wish, Commander.” he says with a bow exiting the tent, leaving you with Jimin and Yoongi.

“Major Min, I need you to travel to the East, take only the best men. I trust you to standby and await further instructions once you arrive.”

“If I may ask Commancer, what am I looking for?”

“There is someone in the east who you must protect, no matter the cost. Prepare for the ride, come here once you are ready to depart.” He bows leaving you alone with Jimin.

“Captain Park, send word to our men in the south and west, have them slowly cease all shipments of goods to the capital.”

“But Commander what about the commoners, they will starve.” he asks his tone filled with hesitation.

“Make sure all the commoners get their food rations, and carefully evacuate them to the hidden estate that resides in the north-west.”

“I shall do as you say Commander.” he says before turning to leave.

You take a seat after he’s gone, quickly scribbling down the name and location of the person Yoongi will be protecting. The unpleasant feeling from moments ago has yet to subside, it really is unsettling the longer it persists. It settles just the slightest, as Yoongi returns, the stoic look he usually carries is replaced with something softer.

“We are ready to depart, Commander.”

“I can see that, eager are we Major?” you tease playfully.

“Eager to carry out my task and quickly return to your side.” he says, and there’s this soft twinkle in his eyes. You recognize the emotion easily despite not having experienced it yourself, you know that he’s in love with you.

“I pray the goddess grants you safe travels.” your gaze is guarded, as if to keep him out.

“I will return to you safely Commander. I swear it, I will come back to you.” he takes a step forward, he’s standing too close but you don't mind. You cup his cheeks, smiling softly watching the slow blush color his cheeks. He looks almost bashful like this, it’s endearing.

“Save those feelings, for I am not worthy.” you whisper.

“You are.”

“No, keep them safe. Something so precious shouldn’t be wasted on me, one day you will find someone who will feel for you what you think you feel for me but it will be pure.” the words you speak sound cryptic to his ears but he will take them if that is what you wish. If you wish to push his confession away then so be it, but he will not find someone else like you.

“I will await your orders Commander, may the goddess bless you.” he says before leaving the tent. You offer a smile at his back, you know he will meet his one in the east, for the east holds many changes. Jimin announces his entrance, taking note of the way your skin has lost some of its color in the time he has been absent.

“Are you feeling well?” he asks, his concern evident in his tone the longer he stares watching your skin lose more of its color. You offer him a smile, one that doesn’t settle his being, you wave him off saying it’s fatigue and that you’ll be taking your leave. You ask him to call for Seokjin and direct him to your tent, you leave him in the tent alone hoping that he does as you asked.

Seokjin is bursting through your tent, gaze falling to your form easily as you stand near the desk in the back. You don’t look too good, your skin has lost much of its color, he can see the faint sheen of sweat that clings to your hairline. Something is wrong, so terribly wrong but he’s not sure what it could be.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asks, he watches intently as you open your mouth only to spit up blood. Your knees wobble and you're soon hurtling towards the ground, luckily Seokjin is quick to break your fall. His gaze has grown wide watching as you continue to cough up blood, it stains your hands and your shirt. There’s a water bowl sitting on a table beside your bed as he sits you down dunking the cloth that sits beside it in the bowl and cleaning your face and hands. The shirt you wear is ruined, but he supposes he can get you a clean one. He waits till you’ve cleaned up and changed clothes to ask.

“Have you been taking your medicine? Your symptoms shouldn’t be this severe with the medicine i’ve given you.” he says taking your pulse.

“They hinder my abilities.”

“So what? Do you want to die?”

“I need to be able to use my abilities to their full capacity, especially if we expect to win the oncoming war.”

“And we will, we have neighboring kingdoms support. The knights are loyal and will follow you onto the battlefield. There is the small matter of the man you are hiding in the east. So please take your medicine, our efforts will be for naught if you leave us before your time.”

“My dear friend, it seems you have yet to understand. This vessel is deteriorating, and I’m afraid my end will come sooner than we’d like.”

“What do you mean by vessel, is your body not your own?”

“Do you know the story of how our kingdom came to be?” You ask and the way you speak has always confused Seokjin, it’s almost like a riddle, it’s something that has persisted throughout your life. A trait he cannot say he’s fond of.

“Of course, but that is more fairytale than history.” He answers.

“As the story goes, the goddess Hera allowed for the twin prince and princess to reign over this land if and only if they could conquer it together. Prince Ares, god of War and princess Eris, goddess of Strife were surely set up to fail as their mother did not want to part with them. So she watched over them in wonder as slowly but surely they conquered all, winning the wars that had plagued this land for far too long and so when the final war was won she had no choice but to allow them to rule over the kingdom they had forged and fought for themselves. Loyal followers were given titles of nobility, Ares became king and Eris queen regent until Ares finally took a wife. They ruled together for many years following their victory, until Ares finally married, and Eris just vanished, as if she had never been there at all.”

“That is how it has always been, which is why no one thinks it’s history.”

“But it wasn’t, there is more, in the palace there is a book that tells the full tale. Eris, happy for her brother, did not mind the lack of authority she would hold but Ares would not have it, for she had been the most crucial part in forging this great kingdom. So in return for her years of service gifted her a title of nobility on par with that of the king. She became the sole Arch Duchess of Dionysia, with a vast amount of land in the north west that would be her duchy.”

“We don’t have an Arch Dutchy, at least not one that I know of.”

“Not anymore, I removed all traces of the land and title. Eris became Arch Duchess, and while Ares sired an abundance of children, Eris fell in love with an oracle. She gave birth to a single child, one that gained the power of their father. For many years after, Eris' true descendants gained the power of the oracle, a power that was kept secret hidden from that of the Kings that came after Ares. Like Eris, the children of Ares’ line gained his power, a sign of their divine right to rule, another legend no one truly believes, but one that very much still exists.” you sigh heavily, the air wheezes out of your being and it troubles Seokjin. He’s never seen you look so fragile, not for years.

“Unfortunately, my mother couldn't avoid the gaze of the king. She wed him, knowing she possessed the power of the oracle, and the king remained none the wiser. He only thought he’d married himself a beautiful concubine. The power of Ares never manifested in the king, the same goes for the crown prince, neither of them showed any signs of being worthy to hold Ares’ power. The truth is the king isn’t my father.”

“That cannot be.” Jin gasps at the simple way you’ve uttered such a thing. He’d known of the rumors, the whole kingdom knew, idle gossip spread by the noble women. He never believed them, no one had since your mother had only spent her time in her home and in the palace.

“It is, my mother was already with child when she married the king. There was a man she had loved, one she’d left behind to keep her family safe. Unfortunately the king still destroyed her family, virtually erasing it’s once long and noble bloodline. The line of Eris will end with me, but not before I put the true king on the throne.”

“What are you saying?”

“I hold the power of the oracle, and Eris, but none of those are the reason for my deteriorating body. I may not be the daughter of the current royal bloodline, but the king’s brother, a man he would have me call uncle, was my father. The power of Ares did not manifest in the king and the crown prince because I already held that as well.” Your skin has warmed significantly. It's almost too warm, Jin is growing more and more worried the longer you go without being treated.

“We should treat you, we still need you commander.” he says, tightening his grip on your hands.

“I won’t leave you yet, the goddess awaits me once I cross the threshold, but not yet, my time hasn’t come we still need him.” you whisper slumping forward into his hold, the fever you run is too high he’s afraid that they’ll lose you. He’s begun to chant quietly over you in the hopes to help alleviate the pain if only for a bit. The war is yet to be over and he doesn't know what will come if they were to lose you so soon.

*

Yoongi arrived in the east four days after his departure, the village is small, smaller than even his own before he’d become a knight. He sees no sign of anyone matching the description you had given him, and for once he thinks you might’ve been wrong. It would be the first, though he’s not sure what to make of it if you are. Still he sends the other knights to search for this person, he clicks his tongue directing his horse towards the meadow he sees. He thinks of the description written in your pretty penmanship, golden skin kissed by the sun god Helios himself, dark hair gifted to him by Erebus, blessed with beauty by Aphrodite, strength like that of Hercules, he goes by the name of Hoseok.

In the field he came upon a man, one whose description matched that of the one you’d given and yet there was something that you’d left out. Something much more terrifying than anything he had encountered in all his life. For as Yoongi gazed upon the man named Hoseok only one word came to mind, one that had been buried deep in a fairytale but one he knew on a personal level, for he was just like you, this man was a “Demigod.”

tagging @boymeetsweevil because I’ve been teasing her with this since February 🤭 this one is for you bb🤪

[authorialarcanist]

Of Camps and Chakrams

Summary: When Colette's status as the Chosen of Regeneration requires that she stay behind while her class goes on a camping trip, Lloyd sneaks off to keep her company.

Written for Colloyd Week 2021 - Day 1: Childhood Friends.

Gen but kind of shippy.

---

Dusk was falling over Iselia.

The sun’s last orange rays played across the village, dappling the ground with criss-crosses of light and shadow wherever they slipped between the leaves of a tree.

The village was quieter than usual, today. Aside from the faint rustling of the wind, the only sound was an occasional greeting between neighbors on their ways home.

There was a reason for this: Tonight, Professor Sage had taken all of the village’s schoolchildren out to a nearby clearing in Iselia Forest - one far from the Human Ranch, of course - to go on a camping trip.

All of them, that is, except one.

While most of the parents in the village had come to trust in the eager young schoolteacher’s ability to take care of their children - especially after the day she’d dispatched an unlucky wolf that had snuck into the schoolyard with nothing but her staff - the priests of the Church of Martel were rather less lenient when it came to the safety of the Chosen.

Even with Colette standing next to the professor as she made her case, Colette’s eyes pleading silently, they’d refused to budge.

“We’re terribly sorry, but you know that far more than a single night’s outing is at stake here. It is our duty to ensure that the Chosen reaches her sixteenth birthday unharmed. Unfortunately, that means we cannot allow her out of the village until she receives the Oracle.”

And so it was that Colette came to be here, crouched in the yard behind her family’s house, tracing patterns with her finger in the grass and trying not to cry.

She knew why the priests had decided what they had. There were a thousand things that could go wrong out in the woods. There were monsters, falling trees, Desians who might choose to flout the Non-Aggression Treaty if it meant securing an extra generation of free reign. For the Chosen to risk herself, risk salvation of the world, simply for her own whims would be so terribly selfish that she starts to feel guilty for even wishing for it.

And yet…

She’d still wanted to go. She’d wanted it desperately; to roast apples over a campfire with the other children, laughing and playing... To watch the stars through the leafy canopy… To spend a night chatting merrily with her friends, Genis and Lloyd…

Her vision blurred as a splash of wetness dropped to the grass beneath her. No! She was the Chosen of Regeneration. The Chosen wasn’t supposed to cry over stupid, selfish things like a missed camping trip. If she cried, it should only be tears for the world; quiet, graceful tears at the atrocities of the Desians, before she reached the end of her journey and sealed them away once more.

She must not have been a very good Chosen.

“I’m sorry…” On an impulse, Colette apologized to thin air. Or maybe to the world at large; she wasn’t sure.

Suddenly, there were a voice and a crash from behind her. “Sorry for what? Woah!”

“Eep!” Who’s that? With a startled squeak, Colette jumped to her feet and spun around, losing her balance and collapsing from the sudden movement before she could catch a glimpse of the intruder. Once she managed to get her bearings again, she looked again, more slowly this time, and caught a glimpse of brown hair and a red coat lying face-down in the dust in front of the fence surrounding her house. “Lloyd?”

Her friend pushed himself up, grinning at her with dirt-smudged cheeks. “Hey, Colette,” he said, as though falling off of her fence was a perfectly reasonable occurrence.

Colette rushed over to him and crouched to try and help him up. “Lloyd, are you okay? What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be off camping with everyone?”

“Heh!” Lloyd rubbed a finger under his nose, looking pleased with himself. “Don’t worry about that, I had Genis cover for me while I snuck away! The professor won’t have noticed I was gone until it was too late!”

“Ah, I see!” Colette nodded, assured by the explanation. “…Wait, hold on! Isn’t the Professor going to be angry tomorrow?”

“Ah… Well, sure, but…” Lloyd shook his head and spoke like it was the most matter-of-fact thing in the world. “It’s fine! I mean, if the priests aren’t gonna let you go with us, then it’s worth it to keep you company!”

A flush of happiness ran through Colette. Lloyd had really stayed back just for her? …And then it was drowned in a wave of guilt. Lloyd had really stayed back, just for her. “Oh… Lloyd, no! I - I’ll be fine here. You shouldn’t have given up the trip for me! I’m so sorry… This is my fault…”

“Don’t apologize, you dork!” Lloyd flicked her lightly in the forehead, causing her to stagger back a step from the surprise. “I came back here because I wanted to. And anyways, I’ve got a present for you, from Dad! Here!” He shoved his hand out towards Colette’s face, two wide, flat rings dangling around his wrist.

Colette cocked her head to the side and examined the rings. “Huh…? Oh! Lloyd, are these new bracelets? Umm, they look nice! But… aren’t they going to fall off of your arms if you’re not careful…?”

“That’s not it, silly!” Lloyd laughed. “Dad made them! I told him about how the people at the church wouldn’t let you go camping with us. He made these, for you to practice with!”

“Huh? Practice? Umm…” Colette scratched her head. “I don’t get it, could you explain this again?”

“Oh! Sorry!” Lloyd chuckled sheepishly. “He said these are called chakrams! They’re a sort of weapon you can defend yourself with! You can throw them at enemies, so the priests won’t even have to worry about you getting too close to any monsters!” He scratched his head with his free hand. “Or, uh… At least, you could if you had real ones. Dad said he made these ones blunt, so that you can practice without cutting anyone. Oh, but anyways! I figured, maybe if you learn how to use these, they’ll decide it’s safe to let you go out with us next time we go on a trip!”

“Lloyd…” Colette stood frozen for a moment, unsure of how to respond. She finally settled on throwing her arms around her friend. “Thank you so much! Oh, and Dirk, of course! Could you tell him thanks for me?”

“Ah—“ It was Lloyd’s turn to freeze up as Colette hugged him. Huh. His cheeks turned an oddly pretty shade of red. When Colette let go, he shook his head as though clearing it out before he responded. “Yeah! Of course, I’ll tell him!”

Colette glanced around. Nobody seemed to have noticed that Lloyd was here, yet. She knew she should probably send him home before he got caught, but… Well, it was really nice to have company! “Could you show me how to use those chakrams, then?”

“Right! Of course!” Lloyd grinned. “Watch and learn!” He pointed at a particularly sturdy-looking tree in the yard, grabbed one chakram in a clumsy fist… Adjusted his grip until he was holding it more loosely… “Um, Dad said you’re supposed to hold it like… this, I think? So that you don’t cut your palm on the blade 0f a real one…” and with a clumsy sideways motion, he hucked it forward. The ring wobbled slowly through the air, before skidding into the ground several feet away from the target.

Colette giggled.

“L-look, I’ve been teaching myself to fight with swords, okay? Chakrams are kinda new!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Colette shook her head, still grinning. “Umm… I guess I should try now?” She took the other chakram, tried to copy Lloyd’s grip, and tossed it sideways at the tree. Her disc flew more smoothly than Lloyd’s, but it still fell to the ground before it could reach the tree.

“Ehehe…” Lloyd glanced back and forth, not meeting Colette’s eyes.

“…I guess that’s why I have to practice, huh? Come on, let’s try again!” Colette ran ahead to gather the fallen chakrams, the camping trip all but forgotten. She tried a few more times as her friend watched from the side, experimenting with different ways of throwing the rings to try and find what felt natural. “Hmm… Hey, Lloyd?”

“Mhm?”

“You’re teaching yourself to use two swords at once, right?”

“Yeah!” Lloyd pumped his fist in the air. “I mean, double the swords means double the power, right?”

“I see!” Colette had never been accused of doing well in math, but the logic… seemedright…? “Then… I’ll try it like this, too!” She picked up the chakrams, holding one loosely in each hand. She widens her feet, slipping into the stance Lloyd had said felt best to him when he was practicing. “Let’s go… Hyah!” She turned around in a little spin to build momentum, before letting go of the chakram in her right hand and watching it sail gently through the air. This time, it soared a good ways without falling out of the sky. …A little too far, actually. The two children watched silently as the chakram missed the tree by a solid half a foot and kept going, slipping through a slat in the fence and vanishing into the night.

“…” Lloyd scratched his cheek.

“…” Colette’s face fell. “Oh, no! And it was your present, too… I’m sorry…”

“No! No, it’s okay, Colette! You don’t have to apologize, alright?” Lloyd waved his hands rapidly in front of himself.

“…Ah… Okay. I’m sorry.”

“Colette, what did I just tell you? You really need to stop saying sorry all the time!”

Colette chokes back her next sentence before she can apologize a third time. “…Still… I guess I can try and practice with just the one…? But… I don’t want to lose this one, too…”

“Hey, don’t worry!” Lloyd thumped his chest. “I can go track the lost one down and bring it back to you! Ah… Still, it’s probably for the best not to do that too much, huh. I wonder if there’s a way to make it come back to you when you throw it…?”

“Hmm, maybe! You could ask your dad?” Speaking of Dirk… Colette suddenly realized how dark it was. Night had well and truly fallen while she and Lloyd had been playing, and now the stars were visible above them. She called out to her friend, stopping him halfway to the fence. “Wait! Lloyd!”

“Huh? What is it, Colette?”

“Isn’t it late? Can you even get home like this?” Thinking about it… She knew that Iselia Forest was supposed to have monsters roaming it even during the day. How dangerous would it be without an adult around at night? She suddenly pictured Lloyd with a sprained ankle, waving a wooden sword ineffectually as glowing eyes slunk towards him through the darkness. She shivered and rushed over to her friend, grabbing his arm with both hands. “Oh no… What are we going to do…?”

“Ah…” Lloyd didn’t seem to have thought things over, either. He blinked, and grimaced. “Um… It-it’ll be okay! We just have to… uh…” His forehead wrinkled up as he thought, before he finally smacked a fist into his open palm. “I’ve got it! We can have a sleepover!”

“Huh?”

“Our own little camp-out, just the two of us! While I’m off looking for the chakram, you can go in and ask your dad for a blanket - say that you want to try camping out here, since you couldn’t go with the class! We can whip up a makeshift tent with that tree, and sleep in there!”

“Eh? But um… isn’t that lying? I… it’s bad to lie, isn’t it? There’s that vow you talk about, and everything…”

Lloyd flapped his hand dismissively. “Nah, don’t worry! You really did want to go camping, right?”

Colette gave a hesitant nod.

“So it’s not a lie, see? Everything you tell him will be the truth!”

“Ah… I guess that’s true…?”

“Alright, then! Go on in and ask him, Colette! I’ll be back with your chakram!” With an enthusiastic wave, Lloyd darted off and clambered over the fence.

“Um… umm…” Colette stood in place, wringing her hands until he was out of sight. She was still a little worried about what her dad would say…

…But Lloyd was counting on her. And, well… It sounded fun! After all, wasn’t this kind of why she’d wanted to be on the camping trip in the first place?

Steeling her nerves, Colette turned on her heel and ran back into her house.

———

“Honestly… Those kids…” Frank Brunel stood at the window of his house, looking out into the yard where his daughter and her friend thought they were being sneaky. He’d already noticed more noise coming from behind the house than usual, so when Colette had run in suddenly asking for permission to camp out back, he’d been pretty sure he knew what was going on.

Still…

He watched quietly as two small silhouettes point up at the sky, probably pointing out different stars to one another.

While he’d keep watch to make sure the children were safe, he hadn’t had the heart to catch them out. Colette’s energetic friends were good for her, he was sure of it. With the horrible burden they were all placing on his daughter’s shoulders, he knew that she deserved people who’d think of her happiness here and now.

Who were they, him and the other adults of the village, to selfishly ask so much of Colette and then deny her even these small pleasures while she still had time?

No. Perhaps he couldn’t convince the church to let her go with her friends, but at least he could stay silent when her friend came to her. It was the least he could do.

The least she deserved.

Satisfied that the children would be alright unsupervised for a minute, Frank slipped into the kitchen to make himself some coffee before settling down to keep an eye out.

If it meant Colette could play like a normal child for a little bit longer, what was one sleepless night?

[hurricanerin]

I’ll Never Tell Ch. 5: Insecure

Pairing: Loki/OFC

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Smut, non-con, power imbalance, violence, breeding, forced orgasms.

Chapter specific TW: Two geese meet their gruesome end.

Chapter summary: That time by the sea.

Notes: The geothermal pool concept is all @nildesperanddum​ and used with her blessing.  Check out her brilliant Jotun!Loki fic called Reigning in Hel.  It’s one of my all time favorites.

<< Ch. 4 | Ch. 6 >>

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Staring out over the arctic sea, Petra sighed as she waited to be set free.  Ever since their arrival to Utgard she had been cooped up in Loki’s quarters and was going stir crazy.  Today she’d been promised not only freedom from Loki’s rooms, but an outing.  

From the window she watched a giant albatross dive repeatedly, resurfacing each time with a beak full of fish.  The raging waves that crashed against the mountainous cliffs made her shift uncomfortably, despite the distance.  Prior to being dumped on Jötunheim, she’d never seen a the sea.  Svartalfheim had oceans, of course, but she’d never been to the coast.  

Petra jerked out of her thoughts when a raspy voice called from the doorway.

“Lady, are you ready?”

The Jötnar struggled to pronounce ‘P’s’.  ‘Lady’ was easier to say than ‘Petra,’ and most of those in service to Loki defaulted to the easier moniker.  With a wary glance at the tumultuous water, she hauled her cloak around her shoulders.   “Coming!”

Stuffing her bare feet into clunky fur-lined boots, the elf trudged from her personal room in Loki’s chambers towards the hollering voice.

 A flock of Jötnar women from the hunting camp, accompanied by Loki’s lead advisor, Marit, herded Petra from the castle down near the harbor, steering her on foot as they wandered into the city market.  The staggering space was packed with bodies and goods.  Stalls crammed with tools, clothing and animals spattered the rocky seashore, creating thin alleys for customers to walk through.  The group waded into the chaos, the sounds of bartering and interaction prompting Petra to uncomfortably cross her arms.  The livelihood of the market outweighed that of the hunting camp.  The shouts and calls of these giants were spirited compared to the quiet environment of the base where she first encountered the Jötnar.

As they neared the shore and the outskirts of the market, cluttered with fishermen and women tethering their boats and gutting their catch on the docks, Petra wrinkled her nose.

“What’s that stench?”.  

Marit squinted at the elf, sniffing the air.  “Oh, that?  It’s fish and saltwater, Lady.  You’ve never smelled it before?”

Petra made a face, “Never.  It’s awful.”

Marit shrugged a shoulder, “You get used to it.”

The Dökkálfr grimaced with a nod, making a mental note to avoid touching anything that came from the sea.  

The noise faded as they drew near the coastline, the shouts and chatter dissipating into the air and Petra’s muscles unclenched, her arms dropping loosely to her sides as she relaxed.

The women surrounding her stayed occupied.  One traded sea glass for a loaf of bread while Marit haggled with a shop owner over two enormous snow geese.  Purchase made, the advisor shoved the birds at a spluttering Petra as she stalked off to another stall stocked with nets and hooks. She returned a moment later with a box the size of her hand.

“My mate, he fishes,” she explained, holding up the container.

Wrestling with the poultry, Petra managed a nod, trotting to keep up with Marit as she bustled off to the next shop along the shore.

 By the time they made their way back to the inland market, word that the Dark Elf had come out of concealment had spread.  Conversations halted mid-sentence as Petra’s group passed, both speakers rendered speechless by the exotic foreigner.  Her white hair and dark blue-gray skin stuck out against the purer indigo flesh of the giants.

The shift of attention was palpable, leaving Petra feeling horribly vulnerable.  She clutched the geese to her chest as each pair of red eyes locked onto her.  

Recovering from their initial shock, most villagers leaned in to whisper in a frenzy.  Some looked on in curiosity, others glared, but Petra heard a few utterances of the word ‘hore’ which she assumed had the same meaning as it did in the common language.  It appeared as though she had a reputation already.  

As hostility escalated, Petra stepped closer to Marit, who was busy staring down some especially aggressive townspeople.  Petra’s gaze kept flitting to either side of the alleys, afraid of launched rotten food or worse coming her way.  Her companions stayed close, their hands wrapped around the axes and daggers on their belts in warning to those they passed.

The warmth of the birds under her arms was grounding as they walked into the village, her steps as quick as her clumsy boots allowed. Petra jerked when a cool hand grasped her upper arm, sighing in relief to find Marit close to her side.

“We’re almost to town.  Just a little while longer,” she reassured the elf.

Pursing her lips, Petra mumbled something affirming and hustled to keep up with the group.

The other women returned to their respective homes with their purchases as Marit led Petra to her personal dwelling.  Without a word Marit plucked one white goose from the other woman’s arms and snapped it’s neck.

Petra cried out at the woman’s brutality.  She staggered backwards.  “You killed it!”   She held the other honking bird to her chest.

Marit blinked.  “Of course I killed it.  It’s dinner. Give me the other.”

Stunned, the elf took another step back, shaking her head.

Fingers still wrapped around the dead goose’s neck, Marit planted her fists on her hips and exhaled, eyes narrowed.  “Fine.  Jens is not going to like you if his lunch is mostly broth tomorrow.”

With a sigh of defeat, Petra cradled the living bird, idly stroking the feathers of its wing.  She thrust it toward Marit, scowling and clapping her hands over her ears to escape the crunching sound as Marit wrung it’s neck.  Stomach rolling, she let her hands drop to her sides after the bird went limp.

Marit slung each lifeless bird over her shoulder.

“I will pluck them.  I’ll go outside for your sake.  I’m being very hospitable, I’ll have you know.”  

Marit nodded at the dwindling flames illuminating a small fireplace near the center of the house.  “Tend to the fire, then fetch a pot of snow to melt for tonight’s drinking water.  I’ll be back soon.”

The Jötunn brusquely vacated the home, leaving Petra alone and slightly flustered.  

“Norns,” she grumbled, ambling to the fireplace and plopping a few logs on top of the smoldering embers.  Despite not knowing what she was doing, she prodded at the fire with a stoker as she’d seen others do, emitting a contented hum at the heat radiating from the pit.

Fire roaring, Petra stood on her tiptoes to unhook a large pot dangling from a hanging rack.  There were only two to choose from, and she grabbed the larger.  The Jötnar lived simpler than the Dökkálfar.  It was nice, in a way.  Fewer trivial possessions, less desire for elaborate organizational schemes and displays.  There were no servants scurrying about, at least not in town, making beds with obnoxiously ornate frames and clanging pots and pans together as they worked.  Petra wasn’t used to labor like this, if one could consider it that, but found she didn’t mind.  

Spotting a nearby snowbank, she lugged the pot over and scooped handfuls of snow into it until her hands were numb.  Hauling it back inside was a much more physical endeavor, but she managed.  

When Marit returned, Petra averted her gaze, mindful of the featherless creatures swinging from her arms.  Slinging the two birds onto the kitchen table, Marit set about gathering ingredients.  From small potted plants she cut herbs and gathered onions from a basket near the wash basin.  Dropping the vegetables in front of Petra along with a knife, Marit continued shuffling about.

“Chop those,” she called from the fireplace.

Petra stared with wide eyes at the food in front of her. “How do you have fresh vegetables?”

“We grow them.”

Petra frowned, shaking her head.  “I mean how… where did you grow them?  Isn’t the ground frozen?”

Marit scoffed and motioned with her fire poker through the window.  “Of course the ground is frozen.  Dum jente,” she grunted, turning back to the flames.

Still confounded, Petra started cutting the herbs.  “The elements should kill anything that attempted to take root.  You have potted herbs, but no garden in here.  And where did you get soil?”

“There are geothermal pools that heat the earth to appropriate farming temperatures. They’re near the cirque opposite of the way you arrived.  I’ll show you soon.  We’ll need more supplies.”

Petra blinked.  Marit said things so plainly she felt dumb for even asking.  Of course there was arable land.  Of course they farmed.  What else would their animals eat?  How else would they survive?

Marit interrupted Petra’s thoughts by waggling a spoon in her direction.

“Boil the snow, Lady.”

The lines on Petra’s face relaxed as she grew distracted. The elf poked at the melting snow, stirring idly as her mind returned to her experience near the shore.

“Why was everyone so angry at me today?  Everyone in the market?”

Marit didn’t look up from her work at the table, but she did stop fussing with the geese to wipe her hands.  “Because you’re not Jötnar, yet you have value to the king,”  The giant shrugged a shoulder and rubbed her brow with a forearm.  “Loki is a good, but aloof and distant ruler.  They’re envious that a foreigner has his attention.”

“I-I’m not sure I’d say I’m of value to him.  I might hold some mild importance in regards to a strategic plan, but not value.”

Marit glanced up, raising a brow critically.  “Here, that’s the definition of having value.”

Petra muttered under her breath about value being something typically demonstrated through appreciation before moving on.  “The hunting camp wasn’t like this.  People—Well, I’m not sure they liked me, but they tolerated me.”

“I don’t think all Jötnar hate you.  Just the villagers.”

Sagging, Petra grimaced as Marit began cutting the meat into pieces. “Why am I so offensive to those in town but acceptable to the hunters?”

“The people…,” Marit motioned with her knife at the village through the window, “They have known the struggle of hunger and infertility.  But they don’t search for a solution.  They want things the way they’ve always been, Frost Giant mated with Frost Giant.  A pure race.”

The advisor sighed, tilting her head as she collected the bits of goose.  “The hunters, they understand functionality, ingenuity.  Not hunting isn’t an option.  If one method fails, you try another.  It’s that simple.”

“So I’m just another way to behead a bilgesnipe,” Petra muttered.

“Well, yes, I suppose.”

Petra’s gut twisted as Marit reminded her of just how disposable she was.  She was a vessel to these people, and nothing more.

“Fetch the other pot,” Marit ordered, nodding at the other hanging from the ceiling.

It took Petra several tries to unhook it from where it hung, but she lugged it over to Marit who deposited the goose meant to let it sear.

“Vegetables and herbs,” pointed Marit.

Automatically Petra fetched and dumped the chopped pieces in with the meat.

“Now water.”

With an exasperated sigh, Petra spooned several ladles of the clean water into the smaller pot.  

“We’ll eat well tonight.  It’s not always that way, but things are good.  The animals are fat and stores full.”

Well, at least something was going right.

“Help me clean up,” Marit said, tossing a rag at Petra.  She caught it clumsily, barely managing to wrangle it before wiping off the table. Jötnar manners certainly differed from Dökkálfar.  Dinner with Marit and her mate would be interesting.

Later that evening, Petra found Loki lounging in his quarters with a book.  He looked up when she entered, blinked, then his eyes returned to the page.

“Marit said she fed you,” he said.

Still growing accustomed to abrupt Jötnar manner of conversation, Petra was caught mildly off-guard.  “Um, yes.  She did. We made stew.”

When he remained silent, she started towards her portion of Loki’s rooms.  They consisted of a small chamber with a simple bed and dresser.  Before she took three steps, Loki called out.

"I’m not finished.  Come here.”

Dropping the sack filled with a little pouch full of Jötnar coins and a few shells she’d found along the beach, she warily retraced her steps.

“Take off your cloak.”

           She lacked the energy and motivation to argue. Petra tugged her cloak off her shoulders, pausing to hang it on a hook near the doorway.  She could feel Loki’s eyes on her, and waited several beats before turning around.  As she’d predicted, he was staring at her.  

           “You need to eat more.  You’re scrawny,” he mused.  He rested his chin on his fist.  “I wonder if you really are fit to carry my child?”

           Taken aback, Petra raised her chin and widened her stance.  She needed to remain important.  Her life depended on it.  “I can do it.”

           Loki smirked, which only served to irritate her. “Let me see you.”

           “I-What?  I’m standing in front of you.”

           “Take off your clothes.”

           After a split second of hesitation, she complied. His being bossy when it came to sex wasn’t new.  Muttering to herself, Petra quickly shucked off her dress and boots, standing with her back to Loki.  She plodded to the bed with her arms wrapped across her chest, waiting for him to follow. Glancing over her shoulder, her cheeks glowed as she saw him lazily untether his trousers and wrap his fist around his waking cock.  He cleared his throat and she realized she’d been staring.  Embarrassed, she lifted a leg to climb onto the high mattress, eager to put distance between them, when he interrupted her.

           “Stop.”

           “What?”

           “Face me.”

           Her stomach fluttered as she rotated so her side faced Loki.  Crossing one leg over the other, she hugged her chest.  His eyes, usually narrowed in a frown or glare, were relaxed as he studied her.  Petra squirmed as they roamed over her body.  The king had never looked so appraisingly at her.  He’d only spent a moment evaluating her body their first time and she shifted uneasily, looking at the floor.

           “No.  Face me.”

           The sharpness of his voice left no room for argument.  Clutching her chest, Petra swiveled until she was thoroughly in view.  Loki traced his lower lip with his index finger, humming as his eyes studied her dainty feet, moving up her calves and thighs until her crossed legs halted his examination.

           “Stand up straight.”

           She grimaced.

           “This isn’t… Are we not having sex?”

           Loki tapped his lip as his brow arched.  “Stand up straight, Petra.”

           Pursing her lips, she slowly parted her crossed thighs a fraction.

           “Do as I say or I’ll position you myself.”

           Her chest tightened as her blush worsened, spreading from her cheeks down her chest.  Arms flopping to her sides in defeat, she clenched her fists as she stood normally. “Is this what you want?  To assess my body like I’m an animal?”

           The corner of his mouth quirked as he rose and casually stalked forward.  She froze as he neared, gaze flitting to the ground.

           “Look at me.”  His voice was ice.

           Gaze blurred with teary uncertainty, she obeyed. He smiled, a cruel expression that only served to unsettle her further.

“I want to see your shame, skapning.”

           Staring at him while he appraised her was worse than being called out for being half human in front of the Dökkálfar court.  She felt lower than a whore.   At least most whores were purebred.  The sexual aspect of his examination was utterly humiliating.  Was she worthy of carrying his child?  Did he find anything about her remotely arousing? His eyes bored into her, coaxing goosebumps to break out across her skin.

           “What do you want?” she sighed.

           “I told you,” he murmured, the corners of his mouth still turned up.  “To see your shame.”

           Fingers trailing down her neck, Loki stopped over her fluttering pulse.

           “Do you think yourself… pretty?  Your face?  Your body?”

           Her stomach dropped.  She knew she wasn’t attractive by Jötnar standards.  She was too little, too frail.  Her hair and skin were the wrong shades and her height was pathetic.  Throat growing tight, she shook her head, eyes on her feet.

           The king tutted her.  “Look.  At. Me.  I’ll not ask again.”

           Eyes stinging with tears, she glared up at him.

           “Ah, there’s that fire.”  Loki traced her clavicle.  “Never lose that, Petra,” he murmured.

           Fighting the urge to swat his hands away, she remained silent.  Her cheeks continued to burn with shame as his eyes roamed.  She desperately wanted to retreat to her room.  It was enough to know he didn’t find her attractive, but she felt utterly repulsive under his current scrutiny.  She wanted to disappear.

           Inspection complete, Loki pointed to the bed. Without a word, she followed the silent command and crawled onto the mattress, propping herself up on all fours.

           Loki ran his hand along the length of her spine. “As appealing as you look this way, I’m going to have you in another manner.”

           Before she could ask what he meant, he flipped her onto her back.  She yelped, slamming her legs shut and crossing an arm over her heaving chest as they came face to face.

           “This-this isn’t how we do this,” she stuttered.

           “We do this however I want and tonight I want to see your face.  Unless, of course, you’d rather sit in my lap?  We both know how that turned out last time.”

           A shiver crawled up her spine as she relaxed, her thighs spreading a few inches and her arm falling to the bed.  Gravity tilted her face to the side and she stared at the wall.  Loki briefly ignored her passivity in favor of running his fingers over the delicate skin of her inner thighs.

           “I’ve only ever done this with my mate.”

           She started sitting up in alarm.  He was mated?  With another woman?  When a horrified expression crossed her face, he laughed.  “Calm, skapning.  She’s been gone for many years.”

           Her tensed body relaxed with an uncertain sigh. She couldn’t compete with another Jötunn woman for his attentions.  Replaying his words in her head, she frowned.

           “You’ve only done what with your mate?”

           Loki ignored her in lieu of wetting two fingers with his tongue and slipping them inside her.  Petra’s hips arched off the bed and she cried out in surprise.  He grinned down at her, using the broad palm of his free hand to pin her hips to the bed.  Heart pounding, she struggled.  The way he looked at her was terrifying.  He was feeding off her expressions and reactions, which she couldn’t hide as his began thrusting his fingers.  The position was far too vulnerable.  That he could see her face made her wildly uncomfortable.

           “This isn’t what I agreed to!”

           “Relax.  You’ll only be able to think for another minute or so.”

           Sputtering, she angrily smacked the mattress and laid back, staring at the vaulted ceiling.  

           Loki withdrew his fingers and issued a smart slap to her pussy.

           “What part of ‘look at me’ is difficult for you to understand?”

           Face threatening to crumple, she bit down on her cheek and lowered her eyes to meet his.  He stared at her intently, watching every twinge of her brow and twitch of her lips.  It was enough to be exposed like this, but to know he didn’t find her attractive was simply humiliating.  She felt like a disappointing specimen.

           “That’s better.”  

He withdrew his finger and took his cock in his hand, giving it a few pumps.  When she realized he intended to fuck her while on her back, Petra whimpered.  What had she done to warrant this kind of punishment?  She’d had sex like this before, but with meaningless partners that were likely picturing someone else as they fucked her.  Loki was not picturing someone else.  He was looking at her too hard, his gaze patronizing.

“Little skapning,” he sighed.

Glancing down, he ran the head of his length between her folds, stopping at her clit to rub against it.  The slippery precome and the pressure of his cock felt more heavenly than she’d like to admit, so she bit her cheek until it bled to keep from making noise.  She refused to validate him while he demeaned her.  

His voice startled her out of her thoughts.

“You’re just a little lost Dökkálfr without me, aren’t you? I give you purpose.  Carrying my child is an honor.  Do you know how many Jötnar women would quite literally kill to be in your position?”

Forcing herself to go numb in an attempt to survive whatever verbal assault he was conducting, she shook her head.

“Many,” he answered his own question

“Good for you.”

A laugh rumbled in his chest and he shook his head.

“Good for you, rather.”  He eased himself inside, groaning as her tight walls clutched his length.

Petra inhaled sharply, cursing under her breath.  He wasn’t finished belittling her yet.  He had to knock her down even further, forcing pleasure on her.  Her pussy throbbed around him making him hiss as he slid against her walls.  Lazily he began pumping.  

           “The night you arrived, I would’ve turned you away without a second thought,” he grunted.  “I wouldn’t have felt guilt.  But you were stubborn and feisty and I wanted to have you.  So I made you mine.”

           Petra pushed off the bed as best she could, brows raised in surprise.

           “What?”

           “Centuries ago I inhabited Asgard.  Traditional beauty isn’t lost on me.  You may not be a warrior, but you’re certainly a woman.”

           Spluttering, Petra shook her head.  “I thought you found me repulsive—!”

           With a sharp thrust, Loki knocked the air from her lungs.

           “Quiet, skapning.  We’re not having a conversation.  I’m merely enlightening you.”

           Gasping for breath, she grunted as he hit that spot that made her see stars, damning her body for falling victim to him with such ease.  She kept her mouth shut, grinding her teeth in an effort to limit the noises insisting on flowing from her mouth.

           No longer interested in words, Loki began jerking his hips in earnest.  Each time his cock passed through her entrance forced her a step closer to an orgasm. Since his proclamation that she only come with his permission, she’d managed to succeed so far.  But, something about the debasing tone he’d taken with her was causing an unseemly reaction.  He’d been speaking of her as if she were an object.  His object.  As if she belonged to him, which should have upset her, but the idea that she had enough value that he desired her made her cunt pulse.  Though in that moment she very much tried to hate him, the idea sparked heat low in her belly.  

           The prospect of carrying his child did make her feel important.  It was an honor.  He was a powerful man that people feared and revered.  It was impossible not to be attracted to that.  And the fact that he didn’t find her displeasing was slightly overwhelming.  

           A brisk snap of the hips knocked her out of her thoughts, prompting a moan.

“Do you like knowing you please me?  More than another woman has pleased me in centuries?”

It was hard to ignore him with their eyes locked, but she managed.  With a growl, Loki gripped her waist and slammed their hips together.  “Do you?”

Crying out in pleasured pain, she managed a nod.

“Good.”

With that, he pulled back, almost leaving her cunt, before plummeting into her pussy once again.  She screamed as his pubic bone ground harshly against her clit, making her walls flutter.

Her eyes had rolled back and it took a moment for her vision to return and when it did, he was smiling at her again.

“You’re easy to please.  I do appreciate that, you know.”

His thrusts resumed, the sound of skin on skin echoing in his chambers.  The slick of her pussy aided his rapid pumping, which sent them both closer and closer to completion.  Petra began to whimper, biting her tongue in an attempt to distract from the fire blooming in her belly.  Just as she was about to struggle away from him, he spoke.

“Come, skapning.”

With a wail she lost all sense of being for several moments, floating blissfully in pleasured nothingness as her walls contracted around his cock.  With a low growl his hips jackhammered against hers, likely leaving bruises for her to find tomorrow.  He erupted inside her, his come flooding her insides and leaking out as he continued to fuck her.

Both panting, Loki took a moment to gather himself before pulling out.  Without a second look at his bedmate he stretched, his back cracking as he sighed contentedly.  He disappeared to the bathroom for a moment to clean up and don trousers, then strode back to his chair, picked up his book and resumed reading while Petra caught her breath on the bed.  She wasn’t sure what she’d done wrong to make him leave like that.  Shaking her head in disbelief, she ignored the mess between her legs and rolled over and tried to sleep.

@the-kinky-friend​ @monarchofallisurvey​ @averyrogers83​ @smollest-soybean​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @cassiopeya81​ @vintage-lovers-world​ @jeremyrennermakesmesmile​ @imnotrevealingmyname​ @false-octopus​ @tinyfirestudentpurse​

thanks to @writeyourmindaway​ for the divider 💖

[lisinfleur]

T&T - Chapter 15: Interlude

Author’s Notes | A transitory chapter with a small surprise for you guys! I hope you enjoy and sorry for taking so long to update this time! Words | 2793

His blue eyes weren't alone observing as his homelands were being rebuilt slowly - a second pair of blue eyes had now joined them to see what was being done and the remaining sons of Ragnar Lothbrok were reunited home again, putting aside their differences to sit at the same hill and talk.

"You're not looking at the new market," Ubbe said, calling Ivar's attention turned to the bay.

The elder one had arrived a month after the war was over - the messengers had reached Ubbe far away in Iceland and it took him longer to arrive than Hvitserk had taken.

Their meeting wasn't different from what Ivar could predict. He could still remember his men's tension when Ubbe entered the hall with his imposing mantle and the new marks in his face Ivar didn't have the chance to see before, but where he could read perfectly a line of runes over his right eye as the sign of his crowning as one of the three Dane kings - two of them Ivar knew were ruling the settlement he intended to plead allegiance to as soon as Kattegat was rebuilt. - and a second line beside the first, crowning him as king in Iceland as well. His brother had grown, just as himself.

But the conversation between the three remaining sons of Ragnar remained tense at the beginning with Ubbe refusing to stay in the hall, preferring the safety of his camp outside of the town instead. It took around a month or two for him to finally accept they weren't on the verge of war and Ivar had changed.

And maybe Hvitserk was the greater reason why they were able to relate once again - now the middle brother, the prince had grown into a wise king and his words were full of meaning for Ubbe who ended up letting go of the old avenges and listening to his brothers for the sake of the people of Kattegat.

They would never be the same, Ivar knew that. But at least, they weren't in war anymore.

"No," he answered, eyes lost at the sea beyond the new market they had just built after the re-division of the kingdoms.

With their victory and men joined together, they had time to travel through the nearby towns finishing the remaining Rus men and freeing the villages but taking notice of what happened to their countrymen - among them, King Harald, which place of rest they could find in a simple hill, built by hand, stone by stone, by the men that didn't die with him but remained loyal to his memory.

His territories were annexed to the Ragnarssons' domains as an earldom under Kattegat with the promise of rebuilding and support to its people Ivar granted under Ubbe's surprised and approving eyes - the last proof the elder one needed to see that Ivar was indeed a changed man and a better king after all he had seen before.

"He's waiting for his queen," Hvitserk said, giggling as the three of them were looking at the bay from the higher hill where their father used to observe the town before them. The walls weren't so tall anymore, but they were reinforced to protect instead of isolating the town. And the bay had boats and boats coming, not only for the new market recently opened with the new fish and oil routes established with Vestfold and the Irish kingdoms under Ivar's crown but with the earls from all parts of Norway under the Ragnarssons' crowns, coming to plead their allegiance and renew the vows that were lost with the Rus outbreak.

"His eyes are scanning the sea after the boat that will bring her to Kattegat," Hvitserk completed, patting Ivar's shoulder as his little brother smiled, dropping his head with a giggle.

"Guilty," he said, causing Hvitserk to giggle and Ubbe to curve his lips in a silent smile.

"You're bringing her to stay with you?" Ubbe asked, looking at him.

Curious since they had talked about the management of the crowns - including the Dane kings, now Ubbe’s equals - and dividing the lands under their power with a Dane in Iceland, a Dane in England, Hvitserk over the North and Ringerike, Ivar over the Irish kingdom and Ubbe should be the one to stay in Kattegat, as the elder one and the one who was more like a new face to reign over their people without the ghost of the past.

"She comes to stay with me while we rebuilt this place with you and for me to solve the last situations about her life, brother," Ivar ensured, making things clearer for Ubbe. "She still has unfinished matters in Norway I want to ensure will be finished before we can go back to my lands. And I want my son to meet Hvitserk's children. And maybe yours... You didn't tell us about your life too much."

Something Ubbe was keeping secret because mistrusting his brothers was almost a matter of safety for him. But maybe he could give them a second chance. He didn't want to be the one to destroy that new scenario they were building between them now.

"Torvi is with them at home," he spilled it out, catching the other's attention. "We got properly married after I solved Kjetil's situation in Iceland and took the crown to establish the settlement Floki started properly. I don't believe we'll ever find that knock-kneed fool once again, but if we come to find him, I did as he wanted in Iceland just like I did as father wanted in England. And now I may bring Torvi and the children back to sit down and rest my butt in Kattegat."

"Settle down at last," Hvitserk joked, remembering Ubbe's will to settle down and care for his lands.

"Settle down, at last," Ubbe repeated, sighing. "I thought it would never happen. But it will be good to raise my children here and bring my niece back home."

"Asa is still with you, right?" Ivar asked and Ubbe nodded.

"We lost Guthrun in battle. Hali for the bandits before you... Came back," he avoided the heavy words they were trying to leave behind and continued, trying to keep bad memories where they should be - in oblivion. "Asa is the one who lasted from our older brother and she's already grown. But I believe she'll like to come back with us and help her mother with Ragnar and the younger ones."

"Ragnar, uh?" Hvitserk said, smiling at Ubbe.

"I named my firstborn after father," Ubbe confirmed. "And my second after Sigurd. I don't believe Torvi and I shall produce any more children, but if the gods allow me, then be it."

"Oh, I want some more!" Hvitserk said, trying to keep with the good vibe of the conversation. "Like father... A big family!"

"If you're still the rabbit I remember, then it won't be hard to achieve," Ubbe said, for the first time joking with Hvitserk in years, causing the younger one to smile almost nostalgic.

But Ivar's voice sounded before Hvitserk could answer his older brother or speak of how good it was to hear his voice meek like that for them once again.

"She's here," Ivar sentenced, leaving them both to go down the hill, turning the nostalgia in Hvitserk's smile into some level of satisfaction.

"You'll like this one, Ubbe. It won't surprise me if she's the cause of our brother's change," Hvitserk commented as Ivar took a distance of them, rushing to the beach at the sight of Illiana's boat.

"They always change us," Ubbe completed. "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for Torvi's advice. She said I should come and speak to the two of you. That I should give a chance for this war to be finally over."

Ubbe's eyes landed on Hvitserk, a bit of sadness into his blues.

"She said if she wasn't able to hate you after Guthrum... Then I should be able to let my anger go and settle things between us."

It hit Hvitserk's heart like a rusty blade. He knew he would carry that death in his memory until his last day. But at least, now he knew Torvi wasn't keeping the bitterness towards him about that. Then maybe he could let it go and wait for Valhalla to settle his bills with Guthrum himself.

"You chose well," Hvitserk said. "Torvi is a wise woman."

"It seems I was right when I said it to her for the first time although she denied me. She's wise and has been being a good queen by my side. I don't believe it shall be different when she comes back to Kattegat."

"Surely it won't," Hvitserk confirmed. "We should go. It is possible that Ivar is already near the docks with the rush in his heart about Illiana's arrival."

"Let's go, then," Ubbe said. "The two of you are making me curious about this mysterious woman."

Down the hill, Ivar climbed up his chariot, not waiting for his brothers to follow his path to the docks. His heart was racing into his chest.

It was a long time now and those months without Iliana by his side were making him anxious about her arrival.

His chariot arrived before the boat and the men at the docks opened space for one of their kings to come closer as Ivar came down the chariot, walking through the dock.

It was possible to see the boat's deck and Ivar's lips curled in a smile when he could see his precious queen, smiling at the sight of his figure waiting for her on earth.

That small moment between them glowed in Ubbe's eyes: it was easy to see all the love into Ivar's eyes and the happiness of that woman in coming down the boat throwing her arms around his little brother's neck, kissing him as full of passion as he was used to doing to Torvi.

"I told you," Hvitserk's voice sounded as he stopped the horse beside Ubbe's, smiling at the scene. "She changed him."

Ubbe didn't answer. His blues observing with certain tenderness as Ivar's forehead was touching Illiana's, both of them with eyes closed for a long moment, just sharing their warmth, feeling their presence.

Illiana couldn't be happier. Her precious Ivar was there, untouched, unwounded. His hands cupping her face as they touched their lips one more time, tasting the flavor of each other both of them had missed for so long.

"My love," he mumbled.

And she smiled.

"I missed you so bad..."

"And so did I," Ivar answered, caressing her cheeks with his thumbs. "Where is him?" he questioned.

Lifting his eyes to see Atli coming with his little one packed in his arms.

"My king," Atli said, delivering the boy into Ivar's hands, ignoring the frown Ivar had on its face for that expression.

"I told you many times, Atli: you're my friend. You don't need these formalities," Ivar remembered, looking down to the little one he missed so bad as well. "Hey... Sweet Vali... How are you, uh? Missed daddy?"

"Like the sun," Illiana answered. "As soon as you left, he fell in fever. I thought I would lose him, but Atli discovered it was just your absence... He slept packed on your clothes all this time," she said as the baby was patting Ivar's face with both of his little hands, happy his father was again in his reach.

"It's a beautiful family the one you built," Ubbe's voice echoed and Ivar looked back to see Hvitserk and Ubbe were smiling.

Illiana wasn't waiting to see one more of his brothers around, but Ivar smiled at their approaching.

"This is Illiana, my wife and queen. And this is Vali, my firstborn," he introduced.

And Ubbe smiled at the sight of that little child - a dream he thought Ivar would never be able to fulfill. He would remember thanking the gods for that blessing.

"I'm Ubbe, Ivar's older brother. Believe me, queen Illiana, it's a pleasure to meet you today."

And a relief, Ubbe knew. He could feel she was different from anything else in his brother's life just by the way she was looking at his little brother.

"I'm glad to see you're also back into my husband's life," she said, smiling politely at Ubbe, showing she knew the whole story behind them. "Please, save the formalities. I'm no queen for my husband's family." She smiled. "I rather feel the barriers were finally broken and Ivar's kin can finally rest from that endless war."

"You have no idea of how good is to see you again, sister," Hvitserk approached, less formal.

Already used to Illiana's simplicity that made Ubbe smile a little prouder.

His little brother was indeed a new man. And the gods had provided him with a good wife as a way to show him their satisfaction with his new self. He would remember to thank them twice.

"You must be tired of your trip, my love. And we must have a feast to attend tonight with the Earls. Come... Let us give you some rest and give me some time to spoil this little one, uh? Come!" Ivar said, smiling happily.

Atli stayed back to care for the boat's discharge as Ubbe and Hvitserk followed Ivar's chariot in a slower pace towards the hall.

Illiana's heart was resting inside her chest. Things were finally settling down and something good was coming from the sight of Hvitserk's and Ubbe's horses riding beside each other behind Ivar's chariot - the two brothers talking, sometimes giggling at each other, as if they never had made war and tried to kill each other before. New winds were blowing over that family and it was good into her heart.

However, her eyes weren't the only ones over the scene. And Atli saw himself approached by a pair of well-dressed men that came from the docks almost at the same time Ivar's chariot left with the two horses behind it.

"You... You came with them," one of the men said, touching Atli's shoulder, nervously trying to establish a friendly approach with a smile that contrasted his rush and the threatening glare into his and his companion's eyes. "Could you tell me who's the woman with the king?"

Atli stepped back, taking his shoulder out of the man's touch. Some of Ivar's men at the boat coming down, stopping their activities to pay attention to the strange conversation, giving the pair of men certain notion that those men weren't up to give them too much information.

"Who wants to know?" Atli asked, his hand resting over his sword's handle at his belt in a clear warning that their attempt of a friendly approaching had failed miserably.

"Eark Algor and his brother Asir, my friend," the other answered imposingly as the first man sighed, disappointed things were taking that direction.

"Look... We just want to know who's the woman with our king, yes? It is probably that we know her and if she is the woman we think she is, then our king is in real danger," the first one - Asir, as Atli now knew - tried once again the meek tone.

But Atli wasn't leaned to give them any information, especially in such a situation and knowing Illiana and Ivar's past.

"If you want to know the name of my king's companion, you can then go and ask him. If it is of king Ivar's interest that you know who she is and what is she doing by his side, then he shall tell you what you wanna know. From me, all you'll get is my impatience cause you're preventing me and my men from fulfilling our king's orders. Now, if you don't mind..." Atli said, dry, turning his back on the pair of men, causing Algor to step forward intending to pull Atli's cloak and get him back.

But Asir stopped his brother with one hand against his chest when Ivar's men around the boat landed their hands on the swords all at the same time, ready to defend their commander.

"It is better if we don't get ourselves in trouble with the new king yet, Algor! Keep your temper. We speak with him at the feast and if we're right, then, we'll have what is fair. Now let us go, brother," Asir insisted, causing Algor to sigh annoyed, starting to walk back towards their boat.

Asir was sure it was the woman they were looking for. He wouldn't forget Illiana's face so easily.

The bitch had killed his older brother and sister in law and he wouldn't let it pass silently.

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[vannahfanfics]

Happy Birthday, Mina!

Category: Friendship Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Mina Ashido

Hello, all! Here’s a story for @bnhabookclub​’s Celebrating Mina event for the prompt “Happy birthday!” Gotta show the love for our bubbly pink queen for her belated birthday, after all :3 Happy reading~!

Mina whined miserably as she paused on the sidewalk to stare up at the inky night sky. It was actually quite beautiful that night; only a few wispy gray clouds disrupted the glittering expanse of stars, which was clearer than usual. The white light from the full moon illuminated the shadowy areas that the dull yellow lamplight couldn’t reach, filling the world with a silver glow like gleaming fairy dust. On typical nights, Mina would probably find the sky beautiful and calming. Instead, she could only be irritated that she had to look upon it at all. 

“This sucks!” she exclaimed angrily and kicked a discarded soda can. The aluminum can bounced down the sidewalk several times before striking a trash bin with a metallic ring. Sighing, Mina trudged over to pick up the litter and toss it into the receptacle. She then groaned and planked against the light pole beside it, pressing her forehead into the iron-wrought, thin construct. “It’s my birthday…” 

Mina knew it was selfish to complain about the turn of events. By all rights, she should be grateful that she’d landed herself a small, week-long internship opportunity during the summer vacation. But did it have to be the week of my birthday? She complained with another disgruntled groan. She would only turn seventeen once! It was already bad enough that the students lived in the dorms even during vacation since the debacle at the summer camp the previous year, so she didn’t have much opportunity to celebrate with her family. 

“But now I can’t even celebrate with my friends,” she moped aloud. She glanced at her smartphone despite knowing it would depress her further. It was nearly midnight; no one would be awake at this hour. She’d hurried out early that morning to arrive for her internship, so she hadn’t seen any of her classmates that morning. “Oh well,” she sighed deeply and peeled herself away from the light pole. “There’s nothin’ for it. Gotta go home!” she encouraged herself. Heavy-hearted and exhausted, Mina staggered down the empty streets towards home. 

~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m hooooooome,” Mina called hollowly as she shuffled through the dormitory doors. Not that she was talking to anyone in particular. She slipped out of her shoes and set them in the entryway beside the rest of her classmate’s shoes before hefting the suitcase containing her hero costume over her shoulder. The clock on the wall ticked the seconds by; a glance informed Mina that it was moving close to midnight, and her birthday would soon draw to an anticlimactic and melancholy close. Mina’s eyes were lidded as she scratched her cheek. Despite the tiredness plaguing her body, she had no care to go to bed in such a sorry state. She tossed the metal suitcase onto the couch, bouncing a few times before settling on the cushions. 

Her footsteps echoed in the empty halls of the first floor as she proceeded towards the kitchen. Snacks were always effective at chasing away gloomy thoughts. With the oncoming of night, the shadows had crept in to shroud the dormitory in its dark clouds. As she padded through the entryway, she fumbled for the light switch on the wall. She slapped the area uselessly for a few seconds, cursing under her breath, until she finally felt the smooth enamel-like covering under her fingertips. “A-ha!” she smiled triumphantly and flipped the switch. Light blazed in the room, flashing her vision a brilliant white. She flapped her eyelashes repeatedly to allow her eyes to adjust to the sudden illumination. 

That’s when everyone sprang out of their hiding spots. 

“Surprise! Happy birthday!” they chimed in unison. A dozen party poppers exploded, filling the air with confetti and colorful streamers, and balloons flooded in from the other entrances to bounce joyfully across the ceiling. 

“Eeeeeeek!” Mina screamed shrilly, drawing up one leg and shielding her body with crossed arms on reflex. Her eyes rolled around in her sockets, unable to focus on the sea of faces that has sprung up so suddenly. Slowly, her limbs inched down as the realization slowly dawned on her. “Oh… Oh...! You guys-!” she hiccuped as sobs threatened to explode in her chest. Her eyes flooded with tears, and they quickly broke over the barrier of her lashes to stream down her cheeks. “You guys! Thank you so much!” she howled and sprang forward to embrace the closest person, who just happened to be Katsuki. 

“What the-? Oi!” he exclaimed irritatedly, but made no move to pry Mina off as she wrapped her arms around his broad chest and squeezed him within more force than a boa constrictor. “O-Oi, Pinky, I can’t breathe-!” he groaned and staggered back into the kitchen table. Mina just continued to cry loudly with tears and snot pouring down her face. 

“I’m so gratefuuuuuul,” she moaned as she rubbed her face into the fabric of his tank top. Katsuki grimaced and pushed on her head to get her to stop. 

“Oi! Knock it off! You’re getting that shit all over me!” he whined. Mina ignored the continuous rough nudges of his palm into the side of her head, too busy wallowing in gratitude and happiness. Katsuki eventually relented, just resting his palm on the top of her head. “Sheesh… Such a crybaby…” he tutted. 

“Aw, Baku-bro, you’re so sweet,” Denki teased over the blond’s shoulder. Katsuki snarled like a rabid dog, making Denki squeak and scamper away to take solace behind Eijirou’s sturdy frame. “Eiji! Protect me!” The redhead laughed amiably and patted Denki on the head reassuringly. Mina finally managed to reign in her emotions and pulled away from Katsuki, leaving smudges of tears and snot all over Katsuki’s tank top. He looked down at it with a disgusted scowl, and while he was distracted, Hanta scampered over to strap a colorful, conical paper hat onto his head. As the string snapped taut against his chin, Katsuki scowled at the boy, baring his gums. 

“You guys,” Mina repeated, pausing as a few more petulant sniffles slipped out of her. “You guys, I had no idea. I’m so happy,” she sniffed. The elated bubbliness still propagated through her body like champagne flowing through her veins, making it seem like she was floating on air. It was amazing how she coil go from horribly blue to overwhelmingly joyful in a matter of minutes. 

“You didn’t think that we would forget your birthday, did you, Mina?” Momo smiled as she strolled over. Mina shook her head vehemently, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands to finally cease the flow of tears. Momo flashed her a kind smile and brought her in for a firm but comforting hug. “We knew you’d be upset that you upset because your internship would prevent you from celebrating… So we planned this late-night party for you!” Momo gestured to the kitchen table, where a layered birthday cake sat surrounded by a pile of wrapped presents. Mina’s tears threatened to renew when she clapped eyes on the fruits of their friendship and generosity, but she managed to suppress them with a small whine. 

“That’s right!” Izuku smiled broadly and scampered over to fix one of the party hats onto her head. “Happy birthday, Mina!” 

“Hurry, hurry, light the candles!” Tooru cried, coming up behind Mina to all but push her into the chair in front of the cake. “It’s almost midnight! We have to sing to her before it becomes tomorrow!” 

“Tooru, is it really that big of a-” Fumikage started, but quickly snapped his beak shut when the invisible girl whirled around to shoot him an equally invisible glare. 

“Yes! Yes, it is!” Sato scrambled to light the seventeen candles decorating the birthday cake. Once they’d all been ignited with small, flickering orange-yellow flames, the students quickly circled up around Mina and began to sing, rushing the verses a little as the time inched closer to midnight. Mina squirmed in the seat, unable to suppress the big, stupid grin stretching across her face. Being sung “Happy Birthday” always gave one a strange sense of embarrassment and exhilaration. As soon as they finished, Mina leaned forward to blow the candles out. When the last flame sputtered and disappeared, the group of young adults cheered triumphantly. 

Their cheers morphed into startled shrieks as the blaring ring of an air horn blasted through the small space. Twenty-one pairs of owlish eyes whirled to the entryway to see their teacher standing there, holding the air horn and looking quite irritated. He said nothing, his gaze sweeping across the room until it settled upon the birthday cake. 

“What kind of cake is that?” he asked and promptly discarded the air horn. As the class laughed and began tearing into the birthday cake, Mina waited to eat her. Instead, she leaned back in the chair to drink in all the happy and smiling faces around her. After savoring the celebratory atmosphere, she leaned in to shovel the spongey cake into her mouth. 

Totally the best birthday ever!

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @deliathedork​ @simplybakugou​ @wesparklebitch​ @lovelusional​

[socksual-innuendos]

Fallout OC Companion Meme

Ok so I’m redoing this and adding perks and personal quests. General is up top, companion quest is under cut.

Name: Emilia Vazquez

Location: Atomic Wrangler

Emilia can be hired as a companion after completing the side quest “Strangers in the Fight”

(art by @courierspikeee​)

Companion Wheel

I think we should travel together: “Oh, you really want me to come along? No promises I’ll behave.”

Use Melee: “So you want to see an old lady get her ass beat. Haha, so would I.”

Use Ranged: “Don’t worry if I disappear, you don’t have to see me to know I’m still around.” /  “Good idea, the further I am the better I work.”

Open Inventory: “Ayayay! Use your own pockets and don’t bum off me!” / “Ah, the Lord has blessed me with a companion that will carry my shit for me— no? Well, worth a try.”

Stay Close: “Trust me, you do not want me up your ass”

Keep Distance: “Listen, whatever you’re smelling, it wasn’t me”

Stealth: “Aah, my specialty.”

Back Up: “Oh? You want to stand here? Fine.” / “My knee only works in so many directions, mijo/a”

Be Passive: “Your call, but when things get hairy I’m doing best for me.” / “If I hear shots, I will start shooting. Never doubt this.”

Be Aggressive: “Shoot them before they shoot us? That’s the most sound thing I’ve heard from you.” / “Good, they’ll be dead before they even know we’re there.”

Use Stimpack: “You ever need anything stronger, hahaha, you let me know...” // “Aaah...I could use another of those.”

Wait Here: “If that’s what you want. No promises I’ll still be here when you come back.” // “If I bore you, just say so.”

Follow Me: “Oh so now you want me back.”

Send her to the Lucky 38: “Perfecto. I’ve been wanting a shower.”

Send her Home: “Alright, you know where to find me.” (can be found in the atomic wrangler)

Injured: “Aagh, my other knee—!” / “I’m not getting paid enough for this...”

Death: (before personal quest) “I can’t...not yet...” / “Aaah, sorry Camila.” -- (after personal quest) “Always knew I’d die on the job—“ / “Mi renacuajita— mama will see you soon.”

Aggression: aggressive

Confidence: brave/foolhardy

Assistance: helps friends and allies

Perks

Like the other companions, Emilia has a starting perk that is replaced by another depending on how the player completes her personal quest.

Desierto salvajísimo: Weird things happen in the desert and with Emilia by your side they just got weirder! Something was definitely in that peyote...(Compounds on Wild Wasteland perk.)

Should the courier convince Emilia to apologize to her sister, she will gain Thy Brother’s Keeper perk.

Thy Brother’s Keeper: When the player falls below half health, Emilia will prioritize enemies around the player and gain a 25% damage increase.

If the courier convinces Emilia to let go of her sister, she will gain the Gone Rogue perk.

Gone Rogue: Stealth kills now do 25% more damage and enemies lose interest faster while sneaking. 

Drops

El Silbón - Emilia’s sniper rifle. Unscoped shots have a 25% increase to critical chance.

Tattered Journal - A small journal that contains memoirs and recipes. Who is it for?

Froggy Grenades - Smoke bombs painted to look like frogs. Activating them will halve the chance of limbs being crippled and lower time it takes for enemies to lose sight of the user.

Quests and Recruitment

Strangers in the Fight

“You’ve been tipped off about an assassination that is suppose to happen tonight at The Aces. You aren’t sure who the mark is, but you’d gain some reputation and caps if you prevented their death.”

The courier can approach this quest in two ways. Either they hunt down the assassin or figure out who the mark is and warn them. Should the courier try and hunt down the assassin, they will be knocked unconscious backstage and fail the quest. Should they chose to investigate and warn the mark, the mark will thank them and leave The Aces that night. Later, the courier can find the mark dead in an alley the morning after they complete the quest. In either case, the quest will complete and the next time the courier enters the Atomic Wrangler they will find Emilia. Walking close enough to her will trigger an audio clip where she drunkenly berates the courier for causing trouble ‘the other night’. 

Talking to her will give the courier a few options of dealing with her. Without perks, the courier can initiate dialogue that will lead to either recruitment or casual conversation. Recruiting can be done in two ways, either the courier can hire her for 300 caps or pass a speech check of 55. Passing the speech check makes her a permanent companion and allows the courier to access her personal quest, while hiring must be repeated if the courier dismisses her. If her health drops too low while on the road, she will dismiss herself and return to the Wrangler. If the courier has the terrifying presence perk, they can start a bar fight with Emilia in which killing her will not net a large loss in karma.

When she is recruited as a permanent companion her personal quest becomes accessible. To trigger it, the courier must complete quests for the ghoul Camila found in The Aces. The quests can be completed prior to recruiting her, but they must be completed to Camila’s approval. Once Emilia is recruited, a new quest from Camila will be available. Completing it requires Emilia to be in your party and when turning it in Camila will comment how her sister “Can’t seem to stop looming” and needs to let her “find her own way”. She will request that the courier doesn’t bring her around the Tops again, but thank them for their time. Officially, this is the start to Emilia’s personal quest.

 A Tale of Two Sisters

“It seems as though Emilia is experiencing some family troubles. She’s not the type to open up about things, but if you travel with her she may let details slip. Keep her in your party and don’t push things.”

To do Emilia’s quest, the courier must keep her in their party when completing certain quests around the Mojave. Quests do not have a specific order to be completed in, however turning them in before acquiring Emilia as a companion will lock out completing her personal quest.

In Memoriam

“Elaine and her family are survivors from a Legion raid. Lately her eldest son has been closed off and she’s worried it’s because they left his father’s possessions behind while evacuating. Head down south to their old farm and see if you can find anything to bring back.”

Within the Bitter Springs camp a refugee named Elaine can be found. Talking to her reveals that she is worried about her son, who has been closed off since they evacuated their ranch. She says although their family was lucky enough to get away in one piece, she had lost her husband a few years prior. Their son was particularly close to him and he would often ‘talk’ to him after his passing. Since coming to Bitter Springs, those talks have lessened and he’s grown more distant. She suspects that their abrupt move caused some disconnect. Go down to what remains of their ranch and find something of her husband’s to bring back.

Heading southeast of Novac, the courier will eventually find a pillaged farmhouse. Going inside, the courier can pick up either a journal, a pocket knife, or a charred Dinky Dinosaur. Taking any will complete the objective, but each gives a slightly different dialogue when returning to Elaine. She will explain the value behind each item and thank the courier for their help. The quest will complete but to trigger the dialogue with Emilia, the courier must talk to Elaine’s son. He will recognize the courier and thank them, opening more dialogue options to talk about his father. Completing all dialogue paths and then talking to Emilia will allow her to comment on the boy’s outlook of grief. She will chastise how freely he talks about his father to the strangers, saying that loss can’t be fixed by just remembering someone and how it isn’t worth upsetting oneself again. The courier can respond to her in two major ways. They can either agree with her, saying that repressing grief is the only way to reign it in or they can try to convince her that closure sometimes requires vulnerability. 

Take Us Back

“Change is nature. Some accept what life hands them, while others push back.”

Take Us Back can be a quest obtained by talking to a server named Charlie in the Ultra Lux. When talked to, the Courier can chose a dialogue path where she will tell them that she heard the news about Primm and that she is glad the town is now safe. Talking with her more, she will confess that she is worried about a friend who lives in Primm and that she has yet to hear from her since the attack. The Courier can then offer the check up on them, to which Charlie will express surprise that they would be willing to be so charitable with their help. The Courier can say they are either happy to help, or that they weren’t intending on doing this for free. Charlie accepts either option, and the Courier receives the quest Take Us Back.

The quest will take the Courier to Primm where they will meet Atta and her wife. The Courier can tell Atta about Charlie and her concern, to which Atta will say that she intended on sending a letter but that she had missed the last courier that came into town. She will be grateful for Charlie’s concern and that the Courier came to check up on them. Atta will then ask that the Courier take her letter back to Charlie, and will give them a small amount of caps for their trouble. The Courier can then pass a barter check to get more caps from Atta. If the Courier talks to Emi after this exchange, she will sarcastically mention how sweet it is that the Courier is passing notes around in class.

Upon returning to Charlie, she will read Atta’s letter and grow annoyed while reading. The Courier can then inquire as to what is upsetting Charlie. and Charlie will then bitterly remark that Atta always mentions her spouse, how those two are inseparable, and that it is the spouse’s fault that Atta moved to Primm. The Courier can then tell Charlie she needs to reevaluate herself and to pay up which will end the quest, or they can pry further. If asked, Charlie will admit how much things changed since Atta met her spouse, and that she has always been bitter at being second place since. She will then make a comment about how if she could get rid of the spouse, things might go back to how they were. The Courier can ask how serious she is about that comment, and she will mention that if she could find an assassin, she’d be very serious. The Courier then has the option to accept her offer, or lie and pretend to accept her offer. 

If the Courier chooses to lie, they are given the option to tell Atta about the plan. Although she will not believe it at first, the Courier can pass a small speech check that allows them to convince her. She will be shocked, but thank the Courier for warning her. If the Courier takes the job they can kill Atta’s spouse anyway they chose so long as they do not get caught and do not kill Atta. Either choice requires the Courier to return to Charlie and tell her what they have done. Both choices lead to Atta sending Charlie a letter, though what is said will differ.

If the Courier decided to tell Atta, her letter will tell Charlie to never contact her again, and Charlie will become angry at the Courier for lying. Whatever the Courier says, Charlie will remain angry, and tell them to leave. After, if the Courier talks to Emi, she will joke that Charlie had it coming for being so trusting of strangers and that she should have been smarter about interfering with others’ lives. The Courier can either agree, which will end the conversation with Emilia laughing, or they can explain that people have lives outside of others and that should be respected. 

Should the Courier follow through with the assassination, Atta’s letter will tell Charlie about her loss, and that she is considering coming to stay with her a while after funeral preparations are made. Charlie will thank the Courier, saying how glad she is that things will go back to normal after this. The Courier can talk to Emi afterwards, and she will make a comment about how she’s seen similar scenarios in the past, and that they never work. If the Courier asks what she means, she will say that murder can be a tool to fix things, but often its just a wrench being thrown at a broken water pipe. She will then say that she can’t blame Charlie for feeling the way she did, that she too understands what it feels like to have someone slip away, but she will be critical of how Charlie handled the situation saying that its better to prevent change before it happens as once it does things hardly return to how they were.

Friends Like These

“Problems don’t have to be dealt with alone. In times like these, it is nice to have friends.”

This quest requires that the Courier has taken Raul through his personal quest. It doesn’t matter which path Raul took so long as Old School Ghoul is completed. Travelling with Emi for a while after completing either Take Us Back or In Memorium will trigger her to talk to the Courier. She will say that she’s enjoyed their company despite not being fond of companions and will mention how travelling has been her entire life. She will then go to say how things seem to be coming to a slow in her life but that she isn’t quite ready to retire yet, and the thought of such an abrupt change leaves her anxious. Emilia will then joke, asking if the Courier could ever see her living a mellowed life, and the conversation will end. 

Later, with Emilia as a companion, if the Courier talks with Raul a dialogue option mentioning a friend will appear. Choosing this the Courier will tell Raul about Emilia and he will joke about the introduction, asking what brought it up. The Courier can say that they thought those two would get along, and Raul will make a few more jokes. Ending the dialogue here will progress the quest, though a few more options will be present. After, Emi will comment on the introduction, joking that she can find her own hookups. The Courier can then say that if she is worried over retirement, to talk to Raul. She will consider this, and thank the Courier for remembering their conversation. After a time, Emilia will talk to them, again thanking the Courier for introducing her to Raul. 

Completing a Tale of Two Sisters

Once the courier has completed the three quests, Emilia will ask to talk with them. If the courier accepts, she will inquire about them, asking if they’ve ever been responsible for someone before. The courier can say yes, no, or that they don’t remember, and Emilia’s response will depend on what is chosen. Ultimately she will come back to asking the courier what they thought of if they weren’t needed or wanted. The courier can ask if this is about her sister, and Emilia will get defensive, but confirm that is who she’s referring to. The courier can ask for details, and Emilia will tell them how she has been responsible for Camila’s well being for most of her life but recently she has been asserting her independence more and more. Emilia confesses that while she knows her sister will have to survive without her and is glad that she is finding her own way, she herself feels lost. The courier can then pry more, and Emilia will admit to expressing her frustrations through anger at her sister and that this is causing the strain on their relationship. If the courier tells her to apologize, Emilia will get defensive and end the conversation, but if they say that perhaps their relationship is coming to an end, Emilia will sadly acknowledge it and ask to be left alone. Later, regardless of what was picked, Emilia will ask the courier if they meant what they said. The courier can either say yes or change their answer. If the courier confirms that they think she should apologize Emilia will thank them, saying that she will need to think more on what to say to her sister. If the courier reassures her that all relationships eventually see a close and that this might mark the end for theirs, she will reluctantly agree with them and say that she needs some time to come to accept this. 

Depending on what the courier chose, Emilia will gain a new perk. If the courier tells her to apologize, Emilia will gain Thy Brother’s Keeper perk. Later, the courier can talk to Camila in The Aces and she will thank them for their help, saying that she’s ready for both of them to start healing. If the courier tells Emilia to let her sister go, she will gain the Gone Rogue perk. Camila will not be in her usual spot in The Aces after this and if the courier asks Tommy Torini about her, he will mention that she has asked for time off. 

El Silbón

“Legend tells of a lost spirit who wanders the world searching for revenge. His presence is only announced by a whistle.”

Upon killing Camila, the courier receives this quest with no map marker. If the courier had Emilia in party while attacking her sister, she permanently leaves the courier and can no longer be found at The Wrangle. For the rest of the game, the courier is being hunted. Emilia becomes a hostile random encounter that does not make herself known aside from a quiet whistle before she attacks. She will not stop attacking until the courier is either dead or they drop her health below 2/3, in which she will drop a smoke bomb and disappear. Emilia will continue to hunt the courier down until she is dead. Hiring a companion will lower her encounter rate, however if she is aggroed by more than one NPC she will try to escape. Upon killing Emilia, she will have three special items on her possession and two randomized chems. Her special items are her sniper rifle (El Silbón), a Tattered Journal, and Froggy Grenades.

Ending Slides

If Emilia dies (and El Silbón is not activated)

The life that had claimed so many had finally met its end, but for all Emilia’s infamy there was still one who mourned her. Camila grieved for her sister and all the things that were left unsaid between them but, refusing to let loss consume her, continued singing at The Aces. 

If Camila is killed (and Emilia is not killed in El Silbón)

The Wasteland doesn’t discriminate in which lives it takes, and neither did the Courier. Camila, killed within the safety of New Vegas walls, left behind a distraught sister. Unable to handle the loss of her only remaining family, Emilia was overtaken by grief. She squandered what caps she had at the Wrangler and when her debts became too much to repay she was found overdosed in a Freeside alley.

If Emilia is killed in El Silbón

With nothing else to live for, Emilia hunted the Courier down. The murder of her sister was a trespass to be repaid in kind, but the assassin was not invincible. Unable to best the Courier, Emilia fell in battle. For all her anger and pain, she could finally find peace in death.

If Emilia’s personal quest is never completed

Despite all that the sisters had been through, New Vegas had strained their relationship like none before. Camila, though wishing to assert her independence, could not shake the control her sister had on her life. Once their business in the Mojave had been completed, Emilia left the Courier’s company, uprooting her sister once again to wander the Wastes. Although she had once held hope for a future, Camila no longer felt that ambition and remained silently by her sister’s side.

If the Courier sides with Legion and...

Completes Emilia’s quest, telling her to make up with her sister

Seeing that the Mojave was no longer safe, Emilia uprooted her sister one last time. Fleeing north, then east, Emilia’s age caught up to her when the pair reached Indiana. Still determined to keep her sister safe, she pushed on further until they reached the Ohio-West Virginia border where the two were then ambushed by raiders. Overwhelmed by their numbers and worn from her travels, Emilia fell in battle with her sister following suit.

Completes Emilia’s quest, telling her that she and her sister should part ways

Despite the courier’s words that their paths were diverging, Emilia would not let her sister remain in New Vegas when the Legion took the Dam. Uprooting her once more, Emilia led her sister north, then east. Determined to not be controlled by her sibling any longer, Camila fled when the pair reached Minnesota. With her age catching up to her, Emilia was unable to track her sister down. Camila had finally found her freedom.

If the Courier sides with NCR and...

Completes Emilia’s quest, telling her to make up with her sister

Although NCR occupation of Vegas did not sit well with Emilia, it assured that her sister would remain safe. While Camila would go on to be a beloved addition to The Aces, Emilia’s infamy grew with the NCR forcing her off The Strip. Undeterred by her bounty, the assassin would often sneak back into Vegas to enjoy the night life, frequenting The Tops to hear her sister sing. 

Completes Emilia’s quest, telling her that she and her sister should part ways

Although NCR occupation of Vegas did not sit well with Emilia, it assured that her sister would remain safe. Employed at The Aces, Camila was able to support herself and was a welcomed addition to The Tops. Taking the Courier’s words to heart, Emilia slipped out of her sister’s life, allowing her the independence she so desired.

If the Courier sides with House and...

Completes Emilia’s quest, telling her to make up with her sister

With Vegas safe from either NCR or Legion influence, the sisters could focus on resolving things between them. Emi, realizing how much independence meant to her sister, finally eased the grip she had on her life. The two were able to come to an understanding and for the time being the pair could call Vegas home.

Completes Emilia’s quest, telling her that she and her sister should part ways

With NCR and Legion no longer a threat on Vegas, Emilia could finally take the Courier’s words to heart and slip from Camila’s life. Although no longer side by side, the sisters both remained in Vegas. Camila continued singing at the Tops while Emilia continued her work and havoc in Freeside. While Camila grew to be a beloved addition to The Aces, Emi went on to grow infamous, leading her to being incarcerated several times.

If the Courier makes New Vegas independent and...

Completes Emilia’s quest, telling her to make up with her sister

Along side New Vegas, Camila celebrated her own independence. Now free to follow her own path she became a beloved addition to The Aces. Emilia, though still afraid of what the future would hold for them, proudly watched as her sister blossomed. For the two siblings, Vegas could be called a home.

Completes Emilia’s quest, telling her that she and her sister should part ways

With Vegas free to rule itself, Camila continued her career at The Tops.  While happy for her sister, Emilia took the Courier’s words to heart and removed her presence. But, no matter how far she traveled Emilia would find herself back on The Strip, sitting in the crowd at The Aces listening to her sister sing.

[five-miles-over]

Why I Think ‘Gladiator’’s Commodus is a Better Character than Maximus

(Disclaimer: this schpiel is not intended to offend anyone, or any group of people. This is just a personal opinion I have based on the characters of the film, Gladiator. This has nothing to do with the historical Commodus. If you happen to disagree with some of the ideas here or might like to add on, I’m always happy to hear it. I welcome constructive criticism! Also SPOILER ALERT!!!)

So, without further ado...here are some of the reasons why I think Commodus is a better character than Maximus. 

Tag list: @beautifulyoungprospect @captain-el-writes @jokerflecker @cruellytearful @dreamingmaria @cherrymoon75​

(Note: When I talk about being a “strong character”, I don’t necessarily mean physical strength (I think I’ll leave that to your imaginations.) I think of strength as in emotional endurance and resilience combined with inherent good qualities present in both men. In addition, I factored in the ability to ‘win over’ the audience.)

1) Commodus is Self-Motivated

For this, I’d look no further than the scene in the first few moments of Gladiator, where Maximus checks on his camp and finds Commodus practicing with his sword. Aside from a little fanservice, I think this scene gives insight onto one of the ways Commodus acts upon his ambition. We (the audience) don’t see his father standing nearby or telling him to practice, thereby we can assume Commodus creates his own practice sessions. 

And by the looks of his fighting (I’ve only tried fencing for a few weeks so pardon my ignorance), Commodus looks like he is actually interested in perfecting his performance. He genuinely wants to be a good fighter, knowing how important it would be in the future.

Compared to Commodus, Maximus constantly needs other people to stir him into action - be it his wife and son, Proximo, or Lucilla and the senators. Even when he’s put in the gladiatorial area, Maximus initially refuses to fight and has to be goaded. This is possibly the consequence of being surrounded by people all his life - he constantly needs somebody else to be the catalyst for his actions. 

Commodus on the other hand knew he had to rely on none other but himself in order to get his things done. 

2) He knows himself....and he stands up for himself

“You wrote to me once, listing the four chief virtues. Wisdom, Justice, Fortitude and Temperance. As I read the list I knew I had none of them. But I have other virtues, father. Ambition, that can be a virtue when it drives us to excel. Resourcefulness. Courage. Perhaps not on the battlefield but there are many forms of courage. Devotion, to my family, to you. But none of my virtues were on your list.” 

For the record, ambition is a virtue when it drives us to excel. And in my opinion, it is a quality that Maximus lacks. I would rather trust a ruler like Commodus who had a clear vision of everything he wanted from his time on the throne, as opposed to someone simply thrusted the power of the empire with no intent (or possible idea) on how to rule. 

The ability of Commodus to advocate for his own virtues makes him look better than someone like Maximus, who constantly needs someone to remind him of his abilities. While someone could call Maximus ‘humble’ for refusing to brag about himself, it is Commodus’s ability to fight for his rights that enables him to fulfill his lifelong ambition.

And it is only when Maximus decides to stand up instead of letting someone else control his life that he is finally able to get his revenge. By deciding to win the crowd using his ‘mercy’ and ‘defiance of killing’, Maximus is able to get closer to winning over Commodus.

Moreover, Commodus’s ability to fight relentlessly to get what (he believes) he deserves is something desirable in today’s day and age. People like someone who knows what they have to offer, and isn’t afraid to use their talents to get what they want.

3) He appears to have learnt from his father on how not to raise a child

When it comes to being a father-figure, he appears to have learnt some of the things what not to do based on his experience with Marcus Aurelius. For proof of this, watch how he interacts with his nephew, Lucius. He plays with Lucius, reads to him, and encourages him. (”A gladiator? A gladiator fights only for the games. Wouldn’t you rather be a great Roman warrior like Julius Caesar?”) 

He never actively neglects him or berates him, like his father did. Most of all, once he finds out that Lucilla was conspiring against him, he made sure never to speak ill about her in front of Lucius. (Proof: the “busy little bee” monologue) Commodus wanted Lucius to have a mother he could respect, and he also knew when to separate politics from his family life. 

(Also, side note to Lucilla and the conspiring Senators: don’t you all know better than to get an innocent child involved in political schemes that could endanger him? All he had to do was shout, “Maximus, the savior of Rome!” in front of Commodus.)

4) He wasn’t afraid to call out the Senate on their bullsh*t

“I doubt many of the people eat so well as you, Gracchus. Or have so such splendid mistresses as you, Gaius.” 

Let me start with this: I admire sassiness in all its glory. And with Commodus particularly, I like the fact that he used witty retorts as a way to establish his authority in a room. It was the perfect, non-verbal method of saying ‘don’t mess with me’.

The Senate was elected to represent the Roman public, the majority of whom certainly did not fall into the aristocratic class of the Senators. 

Commodus actually had a point when he stated this flaw- throughout the film, the Senate never really did anything to help Rome. All they cared about was gossiping about Commodus’s spending habits and plotting his assassination. Honestly, I would’ve ordered the Senate to be temporarily dismissed until those guys got their act together. The Senators needed to realize that they were elected to represent the people, not their own individual interests. 

5) He shows instances of having excellent knowledge on being an emperor

For this point, I’m going to use the (deleted?) scene in which Commodus has two of his soldiers executed for lying about Maximus’s escape. 

Many viewers use this scene as a way to emphasize how cruel of an emperor Commodus seemed to be. On the contrary, Commodus shows what an emperor is supposed to do. 

To a ruler, lying is one of highest sins ever. Commodus himself explained it quite clearly in the film. “If they lie to me, they don’t respect me. If they don’t respect me, how can they ever love me?” The other point Commodus didn’t mention is, what’s the likelihood they won’t do it again? If a liar is allowed to go free, that makes the Emperor more vulnerable to further betrayal. So, to take no further chances, execution would be the correct punishment. 

On another note, public execution is by far one of the greatest ways of establishing authority by intimidation. It was the one way Commodus could tell the entire kingdom what happens to people who lie to the emperor. 

Most emperors, fictional and historical, would’ve seen this logic and followed suit during their own instances of betrayal.

Another instance is his organization of the gladiatorial games. His willingness to empathize with this particular aspect of the Roman people made him well liked among citizens - the very same citizens he is supposed to rule over as an Emperor.

6) Commodus had no allies throughout his reign...and still lived with his head held high

Being Marcus Aurelius’s only son may have gotten him the throne, but staying on the throne was all Commodus’s effort. 

This guy had no allies throughout the entire film, no ‘personal cheerleader’ to encourage him. In fact he had the total opposite. He’s been criticized and belittled all his life, while Maximus was praised all the time - even as an emperor, Commodus was belittled by every one of the Senators. They never took him seriously or even considered Commodus’s ideas to be good in any way. 

In fact, it would be plausible to say that Commodus was also his own enemy at times - fighting his conflicting urges, trying to create an identity for History to remember him by. (Should he be Commodus the Invincible or Commodus the Merciful?)

Nevertheless, he still keeps his head held high at the end of the day - never once do we see him attempt to give up the throne or drown himself in vices (like women, gambling, etc.) to try to escape from his duty as Emperor. He never lost his determination to be the best Emperor he could be. 

7) Your Hero is Only as Good as Your Villain Is

This is by far one of the most interesting parts about stories involving a Hero’s Journey archetype. Based on the types of things the villain metaphorically “throws” in the hero’s way, audience members get to see the hero’s adaptability and even the depth, or the extent, to which the hero is truly heroic (or not). 

(Side note: this gif is freaking adorable. He looks like a (big) little boy enjoying himself. I once watched this on loop for a solid five minutes.)

In Gladiator, Commodus is someone that many love to hate, but also many love to sympathize. Commodus’s desires to be a successful (and popular!) Emperor and a devoted son are things people see within themselves as well. This complex mixture results in a character that needed something as unforgivable as patricide or incestuous-looking actions in order for the filmmakers to tell the audience, “You are not supposed to be cheering for him. You’re supposed to cheer for the vanilla, goody-two-shoes guy.” 

However, with the amount of things Commodus does to seem relatable or even likable by the audience, Maximus is expected to do more or show more heroism and charisma to be really considered the ‘good guy’ of this story. It’s something that each and every viewer decides for themselves.

8) Commodus is more attractive than Maximus

Now, this is not a comparison between Joaquin Phoenix’s and Russel Crowe’s looks- I think “People” magazine can do a better job of this than me. 

(My ex-friends fawn over Maximus, I’ve found friends that think Commodus is more gorgeous...the feud never ends, folks.)

Commodus is definitely more charismatic, offering plenty more for the attentive audience member to dissect in his personality. His actions and emotions attract viewers into asking questions and even creating their own theories to understand what makes him tick. 

Maximus, on the other hand, offers nothing of that sort. His profile ends at just, “loves his family, wants to do the right thing.” This is the main reason I call his character ‘boring’ - he brings no element of mystery. With him, what you see is pretty much what you get.

So there you have it, everyone. This is why I personally appreciate Commodus as a character more than Maximus.  Sorry I made this super long; I really like analyzing movie characters. I hope you liked reading this and I would love to hear your opinions. Feel free to comment or message me directly.

[artificialqueens]

wild flower, chapter two (shalaska) 2/10 - freyja

A/N: Thank you all so much for the support chapter one got! Thank you so, so much to frey (aka Thorpe) for betaing!! This wouldn’t be where it is without her. I also thought I would share the playlist I made to listen to for inspiration!

Anyway, chapter two: in which Alaska realizes she is a little more than stuck with Sharon.

🌸

“I have acted fearless and independent and I never will regret my course. I would rather be politically buried than be hypocritically immortalized.”

— Davy Crockett

🌸

They ride for what could be minutes or hours in silence, Alaska never taking her eyes off of the horizon even long after the orange blaze surrounding her uncle’s mansion is gone. She barely registers the blessedly cool wind against her face, or how hard she’s gripping the horse’s saddle, deep in thought and very confused.

She’s not scared.

She knows she will be, once she has the time to really comprehend what happened, but for now all she can feel is guilt. Guilt, because her reaction to her uncle’s house burning, after the initial horror, was relief. How could she? Her uncle’s livelihood is gone, her uncle is gone and likely in danger, she’s been kidnapped - likely in order to be tortured for information - and all she can fucking think about is that she doesn’t have to find a husband anymore.

Sharon flicks the reins, and her horse suddenly jerks into a higher speed, forcing Alaska to grab onto Sharon’s waist in fear of falling off and breaking her neck. Sharon cackles at her, and Alaska flushes, embarrassed and suddenly feeling heated. It makes her angry.

Anger feels a hell of a lot better than guilt, and she gives into it without hesitation.

“Fuck you,” she snarls, right into Sharon’s ear.

“Sorry, what was that?” Sharon shouts, voice nearly whipped away by the wind. “‘Thank you?’”

It is entirely plausible, maybe even likely, that Sharon hadn’t heard her. But the presumption - the fucking nerve–

You can’t hear me? Alaska thinks viciously, glaring at the sharp angles of Sharon’s cheekbones. How about now?

She sucks in a deep breath, and she screams straight into Sharon’s ear.

It’s childish, but Alaska has never been afraid of being childish, especially when it gives her such great results.

Sharon jumps, cringing away violently, jerking the reigns and making her horse jerk along with them. For a second, Alaska allows herself to hope that they would slow enough for her to safely jump off of the horse, but Sharon corrects him too quickly for her to even have a second of the time she’d need.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Sharon snaps, her tone a startling contrast to the gentle way she pats the horse’s neck. “What the fuck?”

“Can you hear me now?” Alaska asks, sneering. She relishes in the anger on Sharon’s face, gratified by her ability to take the other woman down a peg, but it fades away too quickly for her liking. Instead, Sharon’s pressed lips turn into a smirk, and she doesn’t even grant Alaska a glance when she says,

“Surprised you didn’t do that back at the house - the lawmen might have heard you in time to help.”

Alaska looks at Sharon incredulously. “Town is three miles from – oh, fuck you!” she grits out, the realization dawning with Sharon’s laughter.

“Don’t you mean thank you?” Sharon shoots back, and Alaska desperately wants to hit her, rage nearly overwhelming her.

“Why - how would I ever thank you?” she snarls. The apathy in Sharon’s expression only makes her blood boil more. She tears her eyes away from the other woman, instead staring stubbornly out at the Rockies. She can feel tears welling up in her eyes, and she curses them. She needs to be strong for this. “You - you kidnapped me, you burned my home, you killed-”

“Your home?” Sharon says sharply.

“Does it matter?” Alaska spits.

“Yes,” Sharon says bluntly. “That wasn’t your fucking home. Don’t accuse me of that. That was the last place you wanted to be - I could see it in your eyes. You were at the stable for a reason.”

Alaska flushes at the reminder of their first meeting, suddenly aware of the way their bodies are pressed together - the way Sharon’s waist feels firm under her arms. She almost pulls away, but her sense of balance forces her to remain attached.

As if reading her mind, Sharon places a hand on Alaska’s wrist, which rests against her ribcage. “Got a good grip?” she says lowly, and Alaska jerks her wrist away, cheeks burning. Sharon laughs, letting go easily, and Alaska replaces her arm with less reluctance than she should have felt.

“I loved it there,” Alaska says petulantly. Sharon ignores her point, hand returning to the reins.

“I saw something else in your eyes as well,” Sharon continues softly, and her tone sparks an uncomfortable squirming in Alaska’s belly, the places she’s touching Sharon too warm. “You want something more.”

“Don’t presume to know what I want,” Alaska says, voice shakier than she would like it to be. She feels seen - exposed.

“You want more than a man, but a man is all a woman’s good for in society,” Sharon says, and a new bitterness colors her normally gleeful laugh. Alaska frowns at it.

“A man is what I need,” Alaska tells her, trying to work her anger back up and failing. She’s falling into Sharon’s intrigue again, fascinated by the mystery of her.

“Not out here,” Sharon says, and her voice is softer than Alaska’s ever heard it. It startles her; frightens her, even.

“I’m not like you,” she says quickly. She resents how close they are.

“Oh,” Sharon says idly. Alaska can just see the edge of her brow quirked up from the angle she’s at. “You’re wrong. I’d say stop lying to me, but I think you’d have to stop lying to yourself first.”

Alaska lapses into silence, unsure of how to respond. She feels raw and vulnerable in a way she didn’t expect to feel in the presence of a bandit.

Sharon doesn’t scare her the way Alaska thinks she should, and she hates her for it.

They spend the rest of the ride in silence.

🌼

Alaska uses the silence to plan her escape, and by the time they start slowing down, sliding off of Sharon’s horse - “Cerrone”, she’d heard Sharon call him - and running immediately upon arrival is out of the question.

They’re over four hours away from Coady, at least half an hour more from the house, and she has no idea where she is. They hadn’t passed any signs, or at least Alaska hadn’t seen them in the dark, and they’ve been weaving through thick pine trees for longer than Alaska could keep track.

She suspects Sharon had avoided roads, or at least stuck to those less traveled, and the fact that she has no real way of knowing is terrifying.

She’d end up lost in the woods if she took off on foot, and probably dead because of it.

The only other option would be escaping on horseback, and that takes a little more forethought than leaping off of Cerrone and running as fast as she can. She needs the time to figure it out, but she doesn’t know if she’ll get it.

Stories of the tortures people go through when kidnapped by bandits crowd her thoughts, the tales concerning women even worse, and she’s just beginning to work herself up back into a panic when Sharon speaks suddenly, snapping Alaska out of her spiral.

“Welcome,” she says, voice warmer than Alaska expects it to be, “to Silverbar Overlook.”

They round a curve in the dirt path to reveal a small camp of about six tents and wagons, a decent fire lit up in the center of it. Women fill the space with talk and hoots of loud laughter, and Alaska can’t help but stare at them as Sharon pulls Cerrone to a stop by some crooked posts. Where are the men?

Sharon swings down with ease, taking Cerrone’s reins and tying him to one of the posts. She smirks at Alaska as she does so, making no attempt to prevent her from running right then and there. Alaska hates that she doesn’t need to.

“Like it?” Sharon says, dusting off her hands. Alaska sneers at her, fear and fury a fire in her stomach.

“No,” she says shortly.

Sharon seems unaffected. “Time makes the heart grow fonder,” she says, holding out a hand for Alaska to take, “and you’ll certainly be spending a lot of it right here.”

Alaska resists the urge to slap the hand away, remembering just in time that Sharon has a gun and the quickest draw she’s ever seen. Instead, she ignores it in favor of sliding down herself, relieved when she lands solidly on both feet.

Sharon grabs her arm none too gently as soon as she’s on the ground, even her arrogance not so hubristic to leave Alaska with both arms free. Even so, she gives Alaska an appreciative glance.

Alaska flushes under her gaze, keeping her eyes stubbornly ahead.

“Went to the stables often?” Sharon questions, and Alaska presses her lips together at the insinuation.

“Fuck off,” she says sharply, and Sharon laughs.

“Jinkx Monsoon!” she calls, not bothering to respond to Alaska. An old affection colors her tone, and a red-headed woman by the fire stands up, grinning.

“Fresh meat?” she asks, approaching them. She’s pale, with sad eyes and a crooked smile. Her hair is down, tangled like Alaska’s gets if she leaves it down for more than two seconds, and she sports loose pants that bunch up where they meet her boots.

“Not quite,” Sharon says, jerking Alaska a little to emphasize her point. “More of a hostage.”

Jinkx frowns, clearly taken aback. “Hostage?” she asks, examining Alaska closely, squinting in the dim light cast over them from the fire. Alaska glares back, meeting her gaze as defiantly as she can muster. Jinkx raises an eyebrow in response. “She’s in with Solomon? She’s in a brand new dress.”

“I am not with him,” Alaska snaps, disturbed at the very idea. “I hate him.”

“Enough to give us the information you have?” Sharon leads, and Alaska presses her lips together.

As much as she hates Solomon, she hates Sharon that much more.

Both of Jinkx’s eyebrows are up, now. “Want me to tie her to the post?” she asks, and Alaska’s stomach drops somewhere around her ankles. Jinkx jerks her head back to a post at the edge of the clearing, where a pile of ropes and a poker in a bucket of water sit. Alaska freezes up at the sight.

“No,” Sharon says, but her eyes don’t leave the post for another moment longer.

“So she is a new recruit,” Jinkx says, and the suggestion sparks the fear in Alaska’s chest into anger.

“I’d rather be tied to the post than a new recruit,” she spits out, and Sharon’s grip tightens around her bicep. She stills, heart pounding.

“No,” Sharon clarifies, ignoring Alaska. Her silent warning is frightening enough, and Alaska has no desire to see how it might escalate. “I don’t tie civilians to the post.”

“She needs to sleep somewhere,” Jinkx says. “And I’m pretty sure you don’t want her unguarded.”

There’s a brief pause. “She’ll have to sleep in a tent,” Sharon says, and Alaska just barely keeps a protest from escaping her lips. Jinkx voices one, anyway.

“In a tent?” Jinkx asks incredulously. “Where people sleep? Where they’re most vulnerable?”

Sharon snaps her fingers, seemingly ignoring Jinkx. “Detox and Roxxxy,” she says.

Jinkx gives her a skeptical look.

“Alaska isn’t a threat,” Sharon says, and Alaska nearly jumps at the sound of her name. She hates the false intimacy that the use creates, and she never wants to hear it said again. Her skin crawls at the idea of Sharon knowing enough about her to use her Christian name. “Detox could break her in half if she wanted to.”

Alaska very much does not want to sleep in Detox and Roxxxy’s tent.

“Why not the post?” Jinkx asks again. She looks worried, and it’s clearly getting on Sharon’s nerves.

“Because I created this camp, and I said so,” she says, an edge creeping in on her tone.

Jinkx is unmoved.

“Jinkxie,” Sharon says, and Alaska glances at her for an expression, unable to read her tone. She seems urgent, pleading, maybe, but it’s hard to decipher.

No matter the expression, however, a silent exchange clearly occurs between the two, and Jinkx’s expression softens. She looks at Alaska, who sneers.

“I’ll take her to their tent,” Jinkx says after a moment. She looks back at Sharon. “Willam wants to see you. Something about a letter?”

“Shit,” Sharon swears, and she lets go of Alaska’s arm. Alaska nearly takes off immediately, but she stops herself, eyes catching on the gun slung at Jinkx’s hip and thoughts returning to Sharon’s own. She’d have to be patient, even though she’s never been good at it.

“I completely forgot about that,” Sharon continues, although it sounds like it’s more to herself than the other two. She looks somewhere to their right, and Alaska follows her gaze, spotting a young blonde woman in a low cut dress giving Sharon the finger, leaning against the post of one of the tents. Sharon looks back at Alaska, lips pressed together, and Alaska quirks an eyebrow.

“See something you like?” Alaska says, and Sharon’s eyebrows raise. She pointedly glances at Alaska’s arm, where she had been holding her.

“I do,” she says, and Alaska flushes. She grits her teeth, frustrated with the way Sharon can render her speechless. Sharon’s smug smirk isn’t helping matters.

“Alright, take her to Detox and Roxxxy. Make sure they know what’s going on,” a thoughtful look at Alaska, “and make sure they know they need to be on watch.”

Alaska tries and fails not to be flattered that she warrants a watch, even though it makes her plans for escape that much more difficult.

“Got it,” Jinkx says, and with a nod - Sharon leaves, heading towards who must be Willam with a sheepish grin on her face. The expression would be endearing, if she hadn’t just kidnapped Alaska after destroying her uncle’s life.

“So,” Jinkx says, smiling startlingly sweetly at Alaska. Alaska doesn’t quite know what to do with the sudden change of pace. “What do you think of the camp?”

Alaska gives her a deadpan stare. “It’s dirty,” she drawls, feeling more confident with Sharon’s absence. She feels above this woman, with her short stature and sweet smile, and it’s easy to let that leak into her tone. “Small.”

Jinkx’s smile shrinks, fading into something that screams ‘unimpressed’. “You’d think a wealthy woman would have better manners,” she says, and Alaska blushes a little.

“Ladies don’t initiate,” she says, willing the blush to go down. “They reciprocate.”

Jinkx is quiet for a moment, expression sympathetic. “Jesus. I’m glad I’m away from that.”

Alaska falls silent, something like shame turning over in her gut. She’s thought the same thing before, but only in her fantasies, and not for a long time. The reminder of her own lack of freedom, compared to these women’s abundance of it, is startling - it’s something that she hasn’t thought about in years. The disparity is embarrassing, and for a moment, Alaska wonders what right she has to feel superior to these women. What is money when compared to freedom?

She tries to scrape the idea away from her mind, reminding herself that the law is powerful, that it isn’t freedom when you’re being chased, but the thought sticks like glue.

“Come on,” Jinkx says after a few moments, frowning at Alaska. “It’s just over here.”

Alaska follows her quietly, still a little shaken, and Jinkx looks back at her with a strange expression on her face. “Alright,” she says. “Maybe Sharon has a reason for treating you special.”

“You mean she doesn’t do this often?” Alaska asks. Jinkx laughs, a soft sound that fits strangely on someone deemed a criminal. They come to a stop in front of a tent, but Alaska hardly notices, she’s so wrapped up in the conversation.

“Let’s just say, she must like you. Sharon’s had no trouble tying people to that post, even in the middle of winter.”

“No,” Alaska says, rejecting the idea with a vehemence that surprises even her. “She’s trying to entice the information out of me, and it isn’t going to work.”

“The day Sharon Needles chooses enticement over violence is the day pigs fly,” a new voice says, and Alaska immediately tenses up, phantom aches blossoming along her arms where they’d been held back.

Detox emerges from her tent, an amused quirk to her mouth, and the blonde woman who’d slid in through the window during the ambush comes out after her. This must be Roxxxy, but Alaska is far more concerned with Detox.

“Guess you’d better get your binoculars ready,” Jinkx says dryly. “Because they’ll be taking to the skies any second now.”

Detox looks at her, confused. “What?”

Jinkx lets out an exasperated breath, placing a hand on Alaska’s back in a reassuring manner. It doesn’t work, and Alaska shrugs it off as quickly as she can. “She’s sleeping in your tent tonight. Please don’t ask me why.”

Detox looks even more bewildered, but she doesn’t protest, which Alaska supposes is a good thing. Or maybe not - maybe she could have ended up in someone else’s tent if Detox had thrown a fit, someone with warmer eyes. That, or someone much worse.

Most things, Alaska is realizing, are going to be a game of roulette. She’s just going to have to roll with the punches, because gambling has never been her strong suit, and now is certainly not the time to be practicing.

“Alright,” Detox says slowly, and Jinkx relaxes into a smile.

“Thank you,” she says, eyes darting to Roxxxy, “for not being difficult.”

The expression on Roxxxy’s face suggests she spoke too soon.

“Why not the post?” she asks, clearly annoyed.

“I don’t know,” Jinkx says, and Alaska can hear the suppressed frustration and exhaustion in her voice. “Sharon doesn’t like to share, and despite popular belief, I can’t actually read her mind.”

“Try,” Roxxxy shoots back. “You know her better than anyone else here.” She makes no attempt to hide the bitterness underlying the words. Detox shoots her a look, but Roxxxy appears not to notice.

Alaska finds herself wanting Jinkx to come back just as quickly, to put up a fight, but the slump of Jinkx’s shoulders tells her that she’d rather avoid it. “Maybe she wants to try enticement and see if it works better.”

“Sharon’s never needed to cajole anything out of anyone.”

“Jesus,” Alaska blurts out, frustrated and defensive. “Maybe she just isn’t up for beating the shit out of anyone today. It must be exhausting work.”

All three women stare at her, and she shrinks down, suddenly afraid. Years in society have taught her to only speak when spoken to, and while she’s always chafed under that rule, the potential consequence for breaking it has never been quite so high. She shouldn’t be snapping at bandits like this - especially in the company of three, all with loaded pistols.

Detox’s delayed scream of a laugh makes her jump three feet into the air.

“Jesus Christ!” she says, and the other two women crack smiles as well. “She’s got nerve for a hostage!”

“A hostage sleeping like she’s one of us,” Roxxxy corrects, a tinge of the argument still there, despite the smile on her face.

“She’s sleeping here,” Jinkx says. She’s looking at Alaska thoughtfully, something twinkling in her eyes, and Alaska relaxes despite it. She’s still in the clear, somehow. “But just so you know, Ms. Needles usually waits a few days before really going in on ‘em.”

“She’s patient,” Detox agrees. It’s lighthearted, but Alaska still spares a glance at the post, eyes lingering on the poker stick. Clearly, Sharon’s patience runs out. She doesn’t know if the fact that she’s patient at all is really that comforting.

“I’m tired and I’m going to bed,” Jinkx says. “Sharon wants you two to take turns watching her.” Detox nods. Jinkx turns to leave, giving Alaska a reassuring smile. “Have fun,” she says, ominous, and she starts off towards Sharon and Willam, who can be seen just inside of the tent Willam had been waiting in.

Alaska is sorry to watch her leave, not quite understanding the comfort she’d provided until she was gone.

“I think you should lie between us,” Detox says, glancing at Roxxxy, who only looks slightly less sullen from her argument with Jinkx. “Makes watching you easier.”

Alaska nods, heart sinking at the idea. She feels like all of her confidence left with Jinkx, and her plan to escape feels impossible to execute. With each of them taking watch, and having to sneak out from between them, it seems improbable that she can leave the tent without detection. And if she was caught - she knows how strong Detox is, and Roxxxy certainly hasn’t proved herself to be friendly.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Roxxxy says, ducking into the tent. Detox motions for Alaska to follow, and she does, after a moment of hesitation. “I’m not tired yet.”

As Alaska lays down, she steels herself. She has to make an attempt, all of the risks be damned. She owes it to her uncle.

She owes it to herself.

🌸

Roxxxy falls asleep two hours after they all lie down, and it’s like the universe is telling Alaska to get the hell out of there.

It’s been a struggle not to do the same herself - it has to be around three in the morning by now, give or take a few, and she is exhausted.

She takes a moment to just stare at the roof of the tent, feeling all of the aches and pains of the night throb. Her first meeting with Sharon feels like it was weeks ago, not hours, and Cassidy’s visit to her uncle even further away. She almost doesn’t want to get up, heart and head heavy with exhaustion.

But she has to.

She understands fully well that this is, truly, her only shot at getting out of this unscathed. By some miracle, Sharon had been foolish enough to leave her loose, taking her lack of physical strength as a sign of weakness, as a sign that she wouldn’t run. But Alaska has always been wily, and she can snake her way out of most things.

Most things were usually balls and formal dinners with suitors, but she’s pretty sure she can get out of being the hostage of bandits just as easily.

Again: she has to.

Detox is snoring, so Alaska’s watching Roxxxy’s face for any signs of wakefulness as she slowly gets into a crouch, listening for a change in Detox’s breathing. She’s careful not to knock aside Detox’s pistol, which lies in her loosened grip.

She has no doubts that Detox would be glad to shoot her the moment an excuse was given, and the thought only pumps more adrenaline into her veins. She’s shaky with nerves, and she takes a moment to breathe in and out, eyes on the tent flap not three feet away. She can do this.

Alaska steps daintily over Roxxxy, holding her breath. She freezes once she’s over her, cringing at the light sound her boot makes when it lands.

She waits.

She lets out a long breath after ten seconds pass with no movement, and she takes the last step forward, carefully curling her fingers around the canvas of the tent flap. She lifts it painfully slowly, hardly daring to breathe, and the moment there’s enough room, she shoots out of the tent, exhaling harshly as soon as she’s out.

For a moment, she feels a sort of giddy relief. She made it. She snuck past the guards. For a moment, she fancies herself able to escape from federal prison, but one thought of being in a chain gang brings her back down to Earth.

It’s not like she’ll ever be in a position to escape from federal prison, anyway.

She looks around, looking for the horses and at every single tent, watching for activity. The fire is now just a few glowing embers, so she relies on the Moon to tell her. She doesn’t see anyone, and she allows herself a moment to admonish herself for jumping out of the tent without looking, before she starts towards the horses, which are hitched near the mouth of the path into the camp.

Maybe she’ll even ride away on Cerrone, and take something from Sharon in her escape. Convinced of this plan, her heart starts beating with anticipation, and she’s about halfway to the first of the horses when a voice makes her heart stop in her chest, and the rest of her freezes along with it.

“Going somewhere?”

“Yes,” Alaska says, and without thinking, she starts to run towards the horses, all thoughts of Cerrone flying off the table and the first horse she can grab her only destination.

She barely makes it two steps before Sharon jerks her back by the bustle of her dress, and Alaska realizes just how strong the other woman is. It would be frightening, except she’s more used to Sharon than she has any right to be in this amount of time, and she has just heard a ripping sound.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Alaska hisses, jerking away from Sharon and turning to face her. She backs up a few steps, drinking in Sharon’s surprise. “This dress is pink satin. Do you understand what that means?”

There’s a beat of silence, before Sharon lets out a disbelieving laugh. “I had to stop you somehow,” she says. “The information you have is a little more valuable to me than pink satin.”

“Well, now that you’ve ripped it, sure,” Alaska sniffs, fingering the fabric. “It was my favorite, too.”

“It’s a dress,” Sharon says, exasperated, and something in Alaska snaps.

“It’s the only thing I have left!” she cries out, clenching her hands in her skirt, arms stiff at her sides. She feels a strange sense of loss over the dress, even though the skirt is still functional and, in all likelihood - easily mendable. It feels like Sharon’s just ruined the last thing tying her to her home, her life, and it’s maddening.

“Fine,” Sharon says, voice now quiet. “Fine. But the information is still more important.”

“Two more of these dresses and I guarantee they’d be worth more than Solomon’s entire operation,” Alaska shoots back. “You could have had more if you hadn’t burned the rest.”

“It’s more personal than money,” Sharon says, and Alaska frowns.

“What’s the point of ‘personal’ if there’s no money in it?”

Sharon laughs again. “You are so goddamn suited for this!” she says, and Alaska feels her chest warm at the praise before she shuts it down, confused at the feeling.

“I’m not,” she snaps. “I’m meant for a life worth living.”

“What?” Sharon says dryly. “Like marrying a man you feel nothing for and spending the rest of your life kept somewhere you don’t want to be? You want to die having accomplished nothing other than a couple of kids?”

It’s like she’s been stripped naked, all of her thoughts and feelings seen by someone she doesn’t trust, and it makes anger well up inside her like a balloon. “Don’t act like you know what my life is like,” Alaska snarls. “Don’t act like–”

“Alaska,” Sharon says, and Alaska deflates.

“Of course I don’t want that,” she admits, and it’s simultaneously a relief and an effort. Baring herself to a criminal is hard, but letting her feelings out into the open is so incredibly freeing. It’s addictive, and she finds herself sharing more, nearly tripping over her words in her haste to get them out. “I’ve never wanted that. But it’s necessary. My father - he needs me. His newspaper is struggling. We need money.”

“And marriage is the only way to get it,” Sharon finishes, and Alaska stares at her, fighting back the lump of tears that has lodged itself in her throat.

“He needs me to do this,” Alaska says, Sharon’s sympathy giving her hope of release, but Sharon’s expression hardens.

“He can get himself out of his own mess.”

“I’m his daughter.”

“Being a daughter has nothing to do with it,” Sharon sneers, and Alaska stiffens defensively.

“Being a daughter has plenty to do with it,” she snaps. “I have duties I need to uphold. I don’t have a choice.”

“Don’t you see?” Sharon says, eyes earnest. It’s attractive, and despite herself, Alaska finds herself listening rapturously to the passion in her voice. “You don’t need to do anything. This is a choice.” She spreads her arms at the camp, at herself. “Be here, with us. We don’t - society hates us. Society favors white men, and the rest of us are just there to make life better for them. We can be who we want out here. You don’t have to marry a man you don’t want to. You don’t have to be with a man at all.”

Alaska hesitates, allowing herself a second to imagine a world without responsibilities, without rules or eyes that watch her every move. It’s a dream.

It doesn’t exist.

Sharon is lying. To make it seem like an easy option isn’t fair - to be ‘free’ comes with a cost, and Alaska isn’t willing to pay it. Not when it involves taking money, taking lives.

“Fuck you,” Alaska says venomously, and she spits on the ground. “You’re full of shit, and you’ll get what’s coming to you.”

Clearly, this is the wrong thing to say.

“I’m sure I will,” Sharon says coldly, expression suddenly closed off. The reaction knocks Alaska off balance - she had expected another smart comment, somewhere on the edge of playfulness, but Sharon had clearly taken Alaska’s words to heart. Alaska knows she should be glad that her words have finally had an effect, but all she can feel is guilt. It’s not something she wants to be feeling, but her emotions have never bothered to listen to her.

“I’m sure I will,” Sharon says again, drawing herself up to her full height. She’s still shorter than Alaska by a good few inches, but she still manages to look intimidating, with her long black coat and mean expression. “But I think you should take a turn first.”

“What?” Alaska asks, and then suddenly Sharon has both of her arms twisted behind her back in an iron grip, frog marching her clear to the other side of camp. Alaska stumbles with the forcefulness of it, startled into silence up until she catches sight of the post, a coil of rope waiting innocuously beside it.

“Fuck,” she says, trying and failing to struggle out of Sharon’s grip as they reach their destination. Sharon slams her against the pole, pulling her arms to the other side of it, but Alaska can’t help but notice that it’s not nearly as violent as she’s sure Sharon is capable of. “Sharon–”

“You want to be the unwilling hostage?” Sharon asks, tone heated. “Here you go. Now you can tell everyone how evil we were, and you won’t even have to lie about it.” She finishes tying Alaska’s hands with the rope, tightening it aggressively. She rounds the post to look Alaska in the face, lips pressed tightly together. Alaska glares back.

“Thanks,” she drawls, giving her wrists an experimental tug. “I won’t even have to fake the rope burns.”

Sharon’s expression falters, looking vaguely concerned, before the wall goes up again. Alaska wants to poke at it, intrigued, but Sharon suddenly leans forward, resting her hand against the post just above Alaska’s shoulder. It puts their faces far too close together, and Alaska’s heart starts beating a little faster.

Sharon doesn’t hesitate to look Alaska straight in the eyes, and Alaska glares back, refusing to back down.

“Give me the information, and I’ll let you go,” Sharon says, and Alaska keeps her mouth stubbornly shut, staring definitely into Sharon’s eyes. She does not think about how blue they look in the moonlight.

Sharon presses her lips together in annoyance. “Have a nice night,” she says coolly, turning to walk away and disappearing into the tent nearest the post.

Alaska sinks down into a sitting position, all of the tension in her body leaving along with Sharon. She gives the ropes one more tug before sighing, defeated. At least it’s a pleasant night, she thinks, staring up at the stars.

She feels her face crumple, exhaustion and fear catching up to her all at once, and she lets out a sob before stopping herself from crying any more, concerned that Sharon might hear her. She has to toughen up if she wants to get through this. Crying isn’t going to help her.

She needs a plan. She can’t outsmart Sharon, and that means she can’t escape. She’s going to have to give them the information she has at some point, before things escalate more than they have. Sharon has proven herself to be somewhat volatile, and capable of treating Alaska as less than a civilian, despite her previous reluctance. Alaska doesn’t want to push her into treating her as an enemy.

The thing is, if she gives away her information, she gives away her only protection. She doesn’t trust the welcoming hand Sharon had extended her before - she doesn’t even know if it’s still extended. The situation feels hopeless.

She’s going to have to think of something, though.

The thought is an exhausting one, and she decides that she’ll think of it in the morning, after a few hours of rest. She doubts anything she comes up with in this state will be viable, anyway.

She wills herself into an uneasy, much needed sleep, the pole hard against her back, and the mud soaking into her skirts. She tries not to mind - the dress is already ruined. It’s better than sleeping next to Detox and Roxxxy, at any rate.

She never thought she’d long for her uncle’s mansion, but there’s a first time for everything.

[puppyexpressions]

Camping With Canines

Looking to take your dog on a vacation? A camping trip is a great option. Many pups enjoy spending time with their pack out in the great outdoors.

But just like some humans love it, and some humans hate it, you should take your time and consider whether or not it truly is a good fit for your dog. And when camping with canines, you also need to make sure you take the time to prepare and pack properly to ensure your trip is fun and safe.

Should you take your dog camping?

It may sound like a good idea to you… but what would your dog say if you could ask her? Be honest with yourself about your dog’s temperament and habits before heading out.

Does your dog become stressed-out easily?

Does your dog have trouble responding to commands when there are distractions?

Does your dog bark incessantly?

Does your dog resist being tethered on a leash?

Does your dog have medical issues that may need immediate attention?

Does your dog frequently run away or wander?

Does your dog display aggressive tendencies around other dogs or animals?

If you answered yes to any of these questions, then your dog may be uncomfortable or unsafe on the trip.

Preparing to take your dog camping

Before you head out, there are a few things that you should do.

Get vaccines up to date Visit or contact your veterinarian to ensure your dog is up-to-date on all vaccinations — or if any additional ones are recommended for the area you will be camping in.

Apply flea or tick medication You’ll likely encounter these pests while camping with dogs, so take steps to protect your dog. Remember, they’re not just nuisances; they can also cause serious issues such as Lyme disease. Be sure to start treatments as long as possible before setting off on your trip.

Microchip your dog Even if your dog is very obedient, there’s a chance that you may become separated, and collars can easily come off if they become tangled on a branch or other object. Take the extra step, and get him a microchip.

Make sure it’s dog-friendly Not all campsites allow dogs, and even those that do often have specific rules. Save yourself a lot of disappointment and hassle by verifying in advance.

Start with a day trip If it’s your first time out, keep it short, so you can learn how your dog will cope.

Let a friend or family member know you’re going As well as where you’re going and when you expect to return. That way, if they don’t hear from you at that time, they can send help.

What to pack for your dog’s camping trip

Don’t forget to bring these important items along!

Collar, ID tags, and a short leash for walking

A stake and a longer leash for tethering

A crate

Food, water, and dishes

Treats

Poop bags

Bedding

Dog jacket and booties (if needed for the weather)

Towel

Dog brush and tick comb

Safety light or illuminated leash/collar for night time

Canine first aid kit (Here is checklist for your dog’s first aid kit)

Medications (if your dog is on any)

Contact information for the nearest vet and emergency pet clinic

While you and your dog are camping

Once you reach the campgrounds, make sure you keep your dog’s needs in mind.

Provide access to clean water — at all times Hydration is important, so make sure his bowl is full and within reach.

Supervise your dog Going off-leash may be an option at some camping sites, but that doesn’t mean you should allow your dog free reign. Your dog can encounter any number of dangerous creatures or go chasing after prey if you don’t keep a watchful eye. Consider using a crate or tethering your dog when you are unable to pay as much attention.

Provide a warm place to sleep The best place for your dog to sleep is in the tent with you. You’ll be aware if temperatures drop at night, and it will also keep her safe from nocturnal creatures, such as raccoons, skunks, and bears.

Watch for signs of heat stroke or over-exhaustion All this outdoor exercise is great, but make sure it’s not too much for your dog. If he needs it, take a break.

If you must leave your dog, crate her Leaving your dog on a leash can be dangerous if she encounters a wild animal or breaks free. Generally, a crate will keep her safer from the elements and critters if you must be away for a period of time.

Always pick up after your dog! Leaving dog poop out — even in the wild — is disrespectful to other campers and also potentially harmful to the environment.

Check your dog for… Ticks, scratches, cuts, burs, and thorns. Don’t forget to look at the bottom of his feet and inside his nose and ears.

[invaderdoom78]

It was almost 6 o’clock on Halloween night and Crowley had just pulled up in front of A. Z. Fell and Co. bookshop with a young Warlock Dowling in the passenger seat, as both of his parents were too busy to take him trick-or-treating, so Nanny and Brother Francis agreed to take him out for them, along with keeping him with them over the weekend. Stepping into the bookshop Warlock immediately ran upstairs so he could change into his Pharaoh costume and since it had been a few decades since either of them had dressed up for Samhain the angel and demon had decided that they would also join in on the festivities and dress up as well; Crowley wearing a bit more elaborate and flashy version of his nanny Ashtoreth outfit while Aziraphale had decided to also pull out one of his old outfits, one that he knew was the demon’s favorite. It was the aristocratic garb that had nearly gotten his head chopped off back during the reign of terror. “The others should be arriving any minute now” Aziraphale said, adjusting his frilly sleeve cuffs, looking at a nearby clock “are you two ready yet?” “Almost, angle” Crowley said, as he knelt in front of Warlock, putting the finishing touches on his eye makeup “there!” “How do I look, nanny?” Warlock asked, opening his eyes “Perfect” Crowley said when there was a knock on the door “I’ll get it” Aziraphale said, walking to the front door of his shop Opening the door Aziraphale was greeted by the Them, Anathema, and Newt standing on his front stoop. Adam was standing at the front of the group dressed up as a pirate, to his right was Pepper dressed as a witch, to the left was Wensleydale as a robot, and at the back was Brian as an alien as Dog sat obediently at the antichrists feet wearing a snake costume. Bringing up the rear of the group of children were Newt and Anathema, having been the ones to give the children a ride after they’d spent weeks convincing their parents to let them go trick-or-treating in London instead of Tadfield on the condition that either Anathema and Newt or Mr. Cowley and Mr. Fell accompanied them. “Goddamnit!” Anathema exclaimed, annoyed when she saw Crowley dressed in his costume “first you hit me with your car and now you look better than I ever have” “Well” Newt said, after he felt the children's eyes on him, waiting for him to say something “I mean she’s not wrong” “We’ll come pick them up tomorrow morning” Anathema said, side eyeing her boyfriend “We can go out and get a nice breakfast before you go back” Aziraphale suggested, allowing the children to run inside his shop “Sounds great” Anathema said, as she and Newt walked back to Dick Trupin “Nice costume, Warlock” Adam said as he and the rest of the them absorbed the dark haired child into their ranks “Thanks” Warlock said “I like your guy’s costumes too” “Come along children” Crowley said “gab your bags. We’re heading out” Stepping out of the shop Aziraphale left a bowl of candy on the front stoop and gave it a small miracle to keep it filled with candy until the night was over so if any children happened to come to his door they wouldn’t be leaving empty handed. “Wait” Brian said, stopping everyone as they were about to cross the street “we have to hold hands when we cross” “Why?” Pepper asked with a look of confusion on her face “Because my mum’ll be upset if she finds out we didn’t” Brian said, grabbing Wensleydales hand Before any of the other children had a moment to react Warlock grabbed a hold of both Crowley and Aziraphales hands as he stood between the two celestial beings, leaving Adam to take the angles free hand, Pepper his, and Brian hers; none of them letting go until they got safely to the other side of the street. The longer they were out the more the demon noticed that there were always a handful of people were staring at him, probably trying to figure out if he was or wasn’t wearing a costume since he wasn’t using his Nanny Ashtoreth voice, but no one ever approached them; so he decided to have a bit of fun with them playing up his nanny persona a bit with the kids while keeping an arm wrapped securely around his angel’s waist. Despite the many curious looks everything went smoothly with all of the kids wanting to hit as many houses as they could before they had to go back to the flat. It wasn’t until they got to Madam Tracy’s house did they hit a bit of a snag, and by snag I mean that once the older woman saw all of the children on her doorstep dressed in their costumes she was insistent that everyone step inside so she could get pictures of them (I mean how could you not picture her as a grandma type) only letting them leave once she had gotten more than enough pictures as Shadwell sat on the couch watching them, probably wondering what was going on. Of course she made up for the ten or so odd minutes of trick-or-treating time she’d used up by dividing an un-open bag of candy she had, dividing it equally amongst the children, while Crowley used the opportunity to swipe one of the candy apples she had sitting in a bowl on the coffee table. “Here, angle” Crowley said, holding up the apple once the children had run to the front door of the next house “Did you steal that?” Aziraphale asked, eyeing down the apple “She saw me take it” Crowley shrugged, both of them knowing that Madam Tracy would have done something if she had a problem with what the demon had done “come on, angle” “Oh, alright” Aziraphale said, taking the apple, happily taking a bit out of it “this is quite scrumptious. Tracy did a wonderful job” he rested his free hand in the crook of Crowley’s bent arm Once the children’s bags were almost full the angel began ushering them back towards his bookshop, where the Bentley was parked, so he could take them back to the demon’s flat. All of them piling inside, the bench seats miraculously stretching and growing to fit all five children. The first thing the Them and Warlock did when they stepped inside the flat was run into the kitchen, all of them taking a seat at the island, laying out their candy so they could all get a good look at the piles of candy searching for anything worth trading. At some point during the trading process Adam and Warlock had snuck away from the group and into the bathroom so they could do something stupid, turning off all of the lights, save for a single t-light candle, granted it was an electric one but it would work just as well. “You ready?” Adam asked, looking at Warlock “Yeah” Warlock said, nodding his head “Bloody Mary” Adam started “Bloody Mary” Warlock said, he and Adam leaning closer and closer to the mirror “Bloody Ma…” “You tryna bring spooks into my house?” Crowley yelled, bursting through the bathroom door, causing both boys to scream at the top of their lungs as they tripped over each other in their attempt to scramble out of the small-ish room. Adam having run back to his friends while Warlock ran over to Aziraphale, clinging to him as the angle gently rubbed his back, in an attempt to soothe him, while giving the demon a very annoyed look. “Oh, don’t give me that look, angle” Crowley said, sauntering over to Aziraphale “they were trying to invite in a demon” “It couldn’t have been much worse than the one that’s already here” Aziraphale said, walking back into the living room with his godson In an attempt to lighten the mood a bit Aziraphale miricaled up a small fire, his magic making sure that not only would it not spread, but also so that it wouldn’t burn anyone if they were to accidentally touch it, for the children to roast marshmallows over and tell spooky stories around. The fire didn’t last long as not even an hour later it was out and the children were rearranging the furniture so they could use it and some blankets to make an indoor tent so they could camp out in the living room and watch scary movies until they passed out. “Well that was a fun night” Crowley said, taking out his earrings “It was quite nice pulling out one of my old outfits” Aziraphale said, carefully taking off his jacket and setting it on its holder “and Warlock seems to have become good friends with Adam” “Do you need help, angle?” Crowley asked, slipping out of his heels as he walked over to Aziraphale “Thank you, dear” Aziraphale said, allowing Crowley to undo the buttons on his waist coat and undershirt “do you need assistance as well?” “Nope” Crowley said, snapping his fingers so he was left in nothing but his underwear Sighing at the serpents decision of not wanting to put on a pair of sleep pants the angle got to work removing the lower half of his outfit, allowing Crowley to once again assist him in the removal of his shoes and stockings, but unlike the demon Aziraphale slipped into a tartan nightgown once he was down to his skivvies. Miricalling up a face wipe, Aziraphale walked up to Crowley and used it to gently wipe the makeup off of the demons face before placing a quick kiss on the end of his nose. “Should we check in on them later?” Aziraphale asked as he slipped underneath the bed covers “Nah” Crowley said, getting in next to the angle “we can hear them if something happens as long as we keep the door open. Good night, dove” he leaned over to give Aziraphale a quick peck on the lips “Good night, dear boy” Aziraphale said, grabbing his night time book as Crowley closed his eyes and the faint noise from the T.V. filtered into the room

[dormienschas]

A New Legend Begins Chapter 4

A/N: I don’t have anything to say about this chapter really, except that it’s a bit of a long chapter. So enjoy it!!!

First || Previous ||

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Word Count: 3,230

Chapter Title: The Lowly Farmer Teaches Relaxation

           The next village over was a day walk away and the group was not allowed to go back to Izuku’s house. Now, they have Hunters searching for the prince and will do anything to get him to come back with them, even if they must fight. Izuku sighed and leaned against a tree trunk as they traveled deeper into the woods. “We have to leave.”

           “Really? But they’re just looking for Todoroki. Shouldn’t we just let them take him?” Tenya looked over at said prince and looked down at his feet. “Sorry. I just don’t think this is a good idea.”

           “But Iida, Todoroki is technically in charge of the Knights-in-training.” Ochako smirked behind her hand as Tenya looked at her like she ripped a bandage from his arm like last week. “This could actually get up into the ranks a lot faster by protecting the prince himself.” Ochako felt guilty for lying but to get Tenya to move along with them was a priority. She knew Todoroki had another reason for running away but she won’t question his motives for right now.

           Todoroki seemed to catch on. “That is true. It’s one of the final tests that knights must take. I could count this on your test as part of your completed training.” Todoroki grabbed Hero’s reigns and looked expectantly towards the blue haired trainee.

           Tenya cleared his throat and placed his hands on his hips and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Well, if that’s the case, I should consider this a practice run for whenever the actual exam comes up.” Tenya grabbed the reigns of the other horse and looked at Izuku and Ochako. “If you two are coming along, let’s go. We can’t stay near the tree line long before they realize we ran into the woods.”

           “We should be careful though. These woods are known to have thieves residing in these parts.” Izuku followed the others down the unused path of Kaminis Woods. Also known as the Woods of Thieves. Izuku looked back at the tree line at his home. “Uraraka, you have your never-ending bag, right?”

           “Oh yeah! All our extra clothes are in here if that’s what you’re about to ask. I think I have extra clothes for you too Todoroki.” She opened her bag and moved it around to look deeper into the depths and nodded her head. “I also have some food and water.”

           “Is that bag enchanted?” Todoroki looked at the foreign bag and back up to the girl in question.

           “Yup! It’s practically a room in a bag kind of enchantment. This was a more advanced spell that I learned while training with my mother.” Ochako was proud of her bag and Izuku would be damned if anyone took her pride and joy away.

           “Well, we should go forward then. We can’t take the original route since the road is in the open and that’s risking us getting caught. So, through the woods it is.” Izuku looked ahead into the woods, bits of sunshine spilling through the cracks of the leaves and branches from the canopy of trees above and as he looked farther ahead up the broken path, the woods seemed to swallow the path, making the path appear to be dark. He gripped the handle of his sword as they started to make their trek through the dangerous woods.

           Back in the village, Denki, Kyoka, Momo, and Fumikage teamed back up just outside of the village gates towards the next village. “Damn it! We let them get away.” Denki sheath his sword back before taking his hat off to dust it off.

           “Now, now. We know that they are heading into the next village. That would be Todoroki’s next plan. He knows that him and his new friends couldn’t stay here with us.” Fumikage pulled his hood down and followed Momo and Kyoka out of the gates.

           “He knows us too well to know how to avoid us at all cost. We have a tough job ahead of us.” Kyoka smirked at Momo.

           “She’s right. We must think of this as a game. We’re the trappers while they’re the mouse. We’ll just have to play the game right for him to hit all the right traps.” Momo continued down the path and looked ahead towards a place that everybody knows exist but never speaks about. “Besides, we have even more of a dangerous matter to worry about. We need to get the prince quickly before they realize he’s out in the open now.” The faces of her friends darkened with worry and seriousness as they agreed and followed Momo towards the next village.

           Denki looked back at the treetops where they last saw the prince go off to. “But, didn’t they go into the woods?”

           Momo chuckled a little. “They did indeed. But this is the direct path to Dago Spring Village.” Momo hoped onto the back on Kyoka’s broom while Denki climbed back onto Fumikage’s shadow. “We will be there waiting for them.”

           Toshinori sat at the usual stump and thought about the events that took place earlier today. Izuku broke his wrist and popped his shoulders out of place because One for All was leaked too much into his body and therefore, could not contain the full amount of power. He signed as he thought about Todoroki quickly having to leave due to the Hunters coming after him. He knew that he took the others with him. “Midoriya, train harder and protect the prince. There are greater dangers out there waiting for you.”

           Toshinori went back into the house and saw Inko sniffling over the pot of stew. He sighed and went up to her to place a hand on her lower back. “They’ll be okay.”

           Inko looked up to him with tears in her eyes and Toshinori smiled at her to reassure her. She sniffed again and wiped her tears and worry away. “Right.” She finished stirring the pot and placed the tin item in the middle of the table. “Ready to eat?” The two ate the delicious stew as they waited for Midoriya and his friends to return safely.

           “How much further must we go Iida?” Ochako whined and dragged her feet behind her as the sun started to set and bringing the woods into darkness. He new staff glowed at the top as their means of light.

           “According to the map you gave, there should be a small clearing about three kilometers ahead.” Tenya then quickly turned around to face the girl. “And why are you whining? You could fly you know?”

           “I don’t feel like suing up my mana just for flying. Flying takes up a lot more mana than you think it does.” Ochako puffed her cheeks out in a pout.

           “Walking is a lot quieter too. Jiro can hear sounds that are almost a mile away. She could easily make out the horses.” Todoroki was making this trip look a lot easier than what it really is and Ochako pouted even more.

           Izuku’s eye gleamed at the magical information. “That’s amazing!” He quickly pulled out his little journal and started to take the note of the useful fact before stuffing it back into his small bag.

           Todoroki looked over at Ochako. “Does he always do that?”

           Ochako giggled a little. “Yeah. Note taking on magical abilities is a normal thing he does. You’ll get used to it.”

           “We’re at the clearing now. Let’s set up camp and sleep for the night. We should be at Dago Spring Village by noon tomorrow.” Tenya rolled the map up and help Ochako pull out the tents and other essentials needed for the night. Tenya wiped at his brow as Izuku finished hammering the last peg into Ochako’s tent. “We should build a fire and eat. What’s for dinner Uraraka.”

           Todoroki leaned over to Izuku. “Is he always like that?”

           Izuku looked over at Iida who was always so precise. “You’ll get used to it.”

           Todoroki stood up and made his way over to the wood pile. “You need a fire, right?” Todoroki leaned down and held his left hand out to show a flame appearing in his palm and he held it over the wood and a blaze started to bloom.

           “Ah! I heard about your magic.” Izuku was quick to sit beside Todoroki. “You can use both fire and ice, but ice can only manifest on your right side while your fire can manifest on your left right?”

           Todoroki quirked an eyebrow at the freckled boy. “That’s right.” The heterochromia prince watched him whip out his small journal and started to write down notes on Todoroki’s magic. “You must like magic.”

           Izuku looked up at the other after shutting the journal. “Yeah. I’d like to know everything about it and help those who are struggling with their magic. I actually help Uraraka learn to fly by telling her that she needed to think of herself and her broom as having zero gravity and then to control how much the gravity pulls her down.”

           “It was quite helpful and within two days, I was able to fly! Izuku is great at figuring out how magic user’s mana works and can figure out ways to help control it.” Ochako beamed at the curly haired boy and smiled.

           Izuku blushed at the compliment and laughed it off. “Now, I just have to figure out One for All.” He held his hand out and clenched his fingers into a fist before releasing the pressure.

           “I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon.” Todoroki looked up into the starry sky before cleaning his plate of food. “We should sleep now. That way we can leave early.” The others agreed and climbed into their designated tents to sleep for the night.

           Izuku cracked his eyes open when he felt a nudge on his side. He went to rub his eyes of sleep but found that he couldn’t move his limbs. He shot his eyes open, being more awake now, and saw that he was in bindings with everyone else. “What the?”

           “You’re awake now Midoriya?” Todoroki gently moved his head towards the other to not bump his head into Tenya’s.

           Izuku looked around and found a few people scrounging around their tents and bags. Izuku searched for his sword but saw that the group of thieves piled their weapons on the other side of their camp away from them. “Stop moving so much Iida!” Ochako complained beside him and whined a little.

           “S-sorry Uraraka!” Tenya started to wiggle around a little less behind Izuku. “They’re just a bit tight.”

           “Midoriya.” Todoroki whispered his name and Izuku knew something was up. “I have a plan. I can freeze the bindings and we can break free. But the bindings let them know when we’re about to slip out. It’s a kind of item bond spell they have. We’ll have to be quick.”

           Midoriya thought about it for a few seconds and agreed. “We need to stay still guys. Todoroki can get us out. Pretend to give up trying to escape.” They all stopped moving and glared at the thieves as they started to look over at them.

           “Oh? Look here boss! This girly is giving up on trying to get out of my binding spell.” The guy with wrappings around his arms cackled as he held Ochako’s chin to make her look at him.

           A woman that was on a broom flew over and glared down at Ochako and the others. “Hm. Giving up already children?” She chuckled darkly. “How cute. I wonder what a bunch of children are doing out here in Kaminis Woods all on their own.” The woman hopped off her broom and waved her hand for the broom to crackle into her ring. She walked around the group, her scarves flowed behind her and whipped around with the gentle night breeze. She stopped in front of Todoroki and leaned down to get a good look at him and he couldn’t help but lean back into the others. “You seem like you have a good head on your shoulders.” She grabbed a loose strand of Todoroki’s white part of his hair and twisted it. “Wow! You’re a heterochromia!” She beamed and smirked at the prince as she straightened back up, letting the white strands slip out of her fingers. “I like this one. We should take him with us.”

           Izuku’s blood was boiling and he growled out, “You will not touch my friends.” Izuku suddenly felt the icy touch of Todoroki’s ice gripping onto the bindings. He poked Ochako’s hip to let her know that they are ready to break out and Ochako passed the message on.

           The woman beamed at the freckled boy and Izuku couldn’t help the shiver that slivered down his spine. “Seems like we have a fighter over here boys.” She leaned over him with a sinister look. “I’d like to see you try and stop me boy.”

           Izuku took the chance to was brute strength to break the iced over bindings and pushed the woman away and ran through the two other guys who tried to grab him and jumped over the small flame of their fire and grabbed his sword and his friends’ weapons. He gave out the weapons as his friends rushed over and was ready to put up a fight. “I would put the stuff you found back and leave us the hell alone!”

           The woman growled before backing up a bit with a slight look of horror. “That-that was ice! The only other human being alive that can wield ice is the prince himself!” The woman backed up again as she realized who she was dealing with. “Your highness!? Put everything back boys! We need to get out of here.” She summoned her broom again as everybody quickly moved around to place their belongings back out of their carts and bags. The woman clicked her lips. “Damn. The demons are not going to be happy about this.” She and the others took off into the darkness of the woods and Izuku lowered his sheathed sword.

           Ochako let go of the heavy breath she was holding and fell to her knees. “That was so scary!” Iida tended to her to cheer her up for her courage of being ready to fight while Todoroki looked stoic.

           Izuku sighed and latched the sword onto his belt. He looked up at the sky to see it starting to turn into a lighter shade of blue. “The sun is starting to rise. Should we pack up and continue on?” Tenya and Ochako quite their small bantering and looked up at the sky before agreeing.

           After who knows how long, the woods were starting to become sparser and soon Izuku saw the tree line ahead of them along with Dago Spring Village. Ochako whined and leaned on Izuku’s side and Izuku was pretty sure his heart was going to explode but kept the organ from jumping out into his hands to give to the girl. “We’re finally here,” she groaned out.

           “We should be safer here. The village is a vacation spot, bound to be a lot of people. Todoroki, you should wear your hood to keep people from recognizing you. We should also check into the inn and get some rest!”

Tenya Iida…the one who is always precise and on time for everything, Izuku thought as he watched his blue haired friend help Todoroki unpack the dark cloak and take down other bags to carry.

Todoroki pulled the hood on and they set out into the vacation village. As usual, the village was packed with villagers from other villages from afar, getting away from stress and enjoying the hot springs up in the mountain on the other side of the large village. “I’ve never been here before.”

           The whole group stopped in their tracks and looked back at the heterochromia prince like he was growing wings. “You’re kidding? You’ve never been to Dago Springs Village?” Ochako quirked a brow.

Todoroki shook his head a no. “I’ve always been training and never had time to travel. Dad always kept me in the Capitol.”

           Izuku beamed. “I guess we’ll have to teach you some relaxation tips here in Dago Springs Village! Let’s check inn at Tsuyu’s Inn over there and eat first before heading to the hot springs. The little green inn was adorable and the inn keeper herself, who called her Asui Tsuyu, preferably Tsuyu, was just as nice as the frog themed inn! “You’re in luck! I have two rooms available on the second floor at the end of the hallway, ribbit.” She was charming and they gathered the keys and entered their desired room, Ochako having her own room with the boys staying in the other.

           “What are these for?” Todoroki held up the robes and sandals and the other two boys chuckled at the clueless prince.

           “You change into those when head into the hot springs. They’re really comfortable to wear before and after the bath,” Izuku explained as he grabbed his own set and went into the room’s bathroom to change into, the robe was a little bigger than him, but they were still comfortable and Izuku is not one to complain for such a trivial matter.

           They met Ochako outside of the inn and chatted about each other’s usual daily activities. “Yeah! One time, I accidentally changed Iida’s hair color to a pale pink. He had to have pink hair for a whole week before the spell worn off.” Ochako was giggling to herself as said victim blushed at the embarrassing story of his lifetime.

           Soon, they reached the top of the small mountain and took in the sight before them. The whole space was decked out like a festival. Paper lanterns were strung above them and people were snacking and chattering among themselves as soft music from the band at the back played. A tall wooden building stood before them that separated the women from men and the group went about their own sides.

           The water relaxed Izuku’s shoulders and wrists and he was thankful that Ochako was able to heal them enough to just be bruised. He sighed as the other two laid back against the wall. Izuku peaked open an eye to glance at Todoroki to make sure he was doing fine and smiled at the bliss look the prince held. “It’s nice right?” Todoroki nodded his head in agreement and lowered himself further into the water.

           They all gathered back outside and grabbed a snack and watched the sky slowly turn into a soft orange. Izuku stretched and yawned. “I think we should head back now. We’ve all had a rough day.”

           “Yeah. I agree. I need to recharge my mana. I feel so exhausted now.” She took the last bite of her Dango at threw the skewer into the trash bin.

           “I agree. We all need to recharge and get together tomorrow to figure out how we are going to get out of this situation.” Tenya stood up and placed his hands on his hips in a proud stance. The others couldn’t agree more. They were indeed in a situation that required deep thinking and they were going to need energy for a way to get the Hunters off their backs.