#when it is dry as a bone w/ clear skies and she says so and he replies with 'yeah well at this rate we'll be here long after it starts'

[dollypopup]

i hope to god the 'penelope rejects colin's marriage proposal' trope isn't in the season. i hate the idea that he would completely break her boundaries after she says no. i hate the idea of penelope telling him something and him disregarding it when their whole thing is that he listens to her. i hate how this trope is a complete misread of his character. i hate the lack of recognition that colin respects penelope too much to go 'nah, she just needs some convincing'.

and i think the 'well??? are you gonna marry me or not????' scene in the carriage when penelope falls flat on her face from shock straight onto the cobblestones is cute, actually, and i will never be sorry for it

[rai-kishi]

“Betrothed to the Fell Star,” they whisper as if Claude cannot hear them.

“At his own request.”

“Stupid boy.”

“Touched in the head. It’s that Fodlan blood. Runs the wrong way in their veins. Makes them soft in body and mind. Improperly built.”

“Like …”

The Queen.

“Like ?” Claude asks, twirling in his wedding finest, wearing a smile that hedges towards sharp. The attendants blink in surprise but otherwise do not turn away.

It’s the Almyran in them. Their blood too heated. Makes them belligerent and mean.

He presses his lips together, still smiling as he asks them to repeat themselves.

“Only concerned for you, my lord,” one of them says, instead of ‘Prince’.

His title as inconsequential as a dry desert breeze.

He turns back to the mirror, holding his arms wide for an attendant who’d once tried to poison him, his mouth filling with an old bitter taste. He sees the sky reflect in his mirror, rich and full of starlight, hovering deceptively close in the bright gaze of the mirror.

Nearly close enough to touch.

The stars in the Blue Sea Moon go unwished upon because amongst the others like a wolf in a cradle, is the Fell Star. And a wish brought to the Fell Star demanded sacrifice.

She burned no brighter than any other, nearly undetectable among the glittering thousands beside her in the cradle of the night sky.

She was a creature of mimicry, a soul with no real shape, wearing the face of a Goddess and a cloak of her gifts but beyond the veneer, she was hunger itself. A creature born without a heart, struggling to feed the missing gap, carrying an emptiness that rubbed bone-deep. A twisted longing that made her dangerous. Sharpened her teeth and twisted her fingers. Marked her a vessel made to devour.

Born hungry.

Always wanting.

“No,” the Fell Star tells him beneath a heavy curtain of starlight, her jade green eyes and hair still shimmering with the heavenly light of her home.

She dusts herself off, the scales of her arms and legs shining crystalline as she shakes loose the dust of her fall. She doesn’t pay Claude much attention, her gaze on her surroundings instead as she shifts like a wyvern seeking out prey.

“What do you mean ‘No’?!” Claude sputters, spreading his arms wide in front of a beast who could gouge his heart out with the tip of her fingers. He makes a show of looking down his body, frowning at his chest for a moment before loosening the collar of his silks and letting them dip low.

She blinks at him, slow and reptilian, tilting her head like a snake catching prey. The scales of her cheeks and jaw glimmer in the moon as she inhales slowly. Scenting the air.

He steps close as he dares, “I’m a catch!”

The Fell Star’s face … ripples in a show of emotion he does not understand but she says nothing, only looks at him for a long moment. This close he can smell ozone on her hair and see sparks on her skin. Her general form is human but not really, caught somewhere between wyvern dragon and human, borrowing features from two species too far apart to align properly.

Her feet and claws seem too large for her body, meant to exist on a creature several times her size. Her chest is bare, just one dark maw in the very center. As if someone had cracked her ribs apart and torn out her heart. The darkness sputters blue and red streaks as if she were consuming starlight still, black mass twisting towards him as if sensing his gaze.

When he looks up she is towering over him, the rough scale hide of her jaw and throat glimmering like knives above his head.

He feels a little rumble of heat this close to her mouth, spying something glowing and red behind the dense row of jagged teeth.

Claude smiles with painted confidence as he takes off his shirt.

“What,” the Fell Star draws a breath, the sound sibilant over the razor edge of her teeth, “Are you doing.”

“I mean, I might not have the most meat on me,” Claude huffs, stretching out his arms and then letting his fingers rove over his chest as he leans into her arm. Surprisingly, she shifts to accommodate, one large claw coming around to cradle his back in a hold that can only be described as gentle, “But I’m lean. Like venison. Have you had venison? It’s smoother than cattle. Firmer – oh, have you had cattle or do you prefer human?“

“I –“ her face does that thing again. Ripples. She touches clawed hands to her forehead in a surprisingly human gesture, “I thought you were meant to be my bride."

“So you’ve changed your mind,” Claude winks at her as he rocks back on his heels, leaning firmly against her claws, pretending his pulse does not quicken as she closes her hand around him.

“No,” she says with a tone of aggrieved judgment, “Only curious why you would describe yourself as a meal instead of bride.”

“Well, y’know,” Claude gestures at her mighty form, daring to reach out to pat her wing, “The myths are not exactly clear what you do with your brides. Just figured … it’d be a double treat for you.”

Her expression slips enough for him to read the emotion. Panged. Discomforted.

He chuckles and is surprised to find it genuine as he makes himself comfortable in her hold. One claw draws around his waist, holding himself carefully away from the edge of her open chest and he nearly purrs at the gesture.

“I mean it’s not my preference to be eaten,” he pauses, winking at her, “But I am amenable to being devoured.”

The Fell Star makes a noise like a snort and he laughs again at the little plume of warm air hitting his face. It smells like spellwork, an unnatural heat shaped by arcane forces.

The Fell Star mutters something that sounds suspiciously like ‘what on earth’ before she lifts him up and sets him well away from her.

“I have no interest in a bride,” she says, spreading her wings as she looks to the skies again.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Claude calls out, grabbing for her wings, heartbeat a roar in his ears when he sees her pupils contract, understanding the gesture to back off. He lifts his hand away but plants himself firmly beneath her wingspan, ensuring she’d knock him to the ground if she tried to lift off, trusting her to stand still.

“Do you intend to go back?” he asks, “You can’t fool me. We both know you can’t make it back just yet.”

She tilts her head at him and he feels danger prickle at the base of his scalp, reading tension in her arms and shoulders as she lowers herself back, the movement reptilian and cold.

“I did my research,” he says, holding confidence in an iron grip lest his nerves escape him, “With the Savior King and the Flame Emperor. You joined their war and fought by their side for a year.”

He doesn’t let his voice wobble as she steps closer. Her chest glows a pale red as her features edge towards dragon instead of human.

“The star maps show the Fell Star returning the night exactly two months after the King's war was done - long enough to make it a full year after the prince met his trusted advisor in the Goddess Tower. With the Flame Emperor, the Fell Star rose three days after her war ended, a full year after her strategist first appeared. And I say first appeared on earth, not in battle - otherwise, the dates are shorter. There are myths and legends written down by those who knew her personally. Scribbled down in old journals because us humans want to remember a friend. The Emperor met a friend in her very gardens. The King found a guide in the midst of his prayers."

The Fell Star says nothing. Her face smooth as the moon.

"But there are other times when you come and go. There are tales of strategists throughout history. And tales of a wandering mercenary with hair the color of yours, traveling with the winds who always stays much longer than the full year."

He can smell fire again, knows she is rolling embers in her mouth. His heart pounds but he doesn't back down, drawing out pages of old documents from his pockets.

“I found you throughout history. In torn paintings capturing only the back of your head. In journals. In papers that survived the trenches. The Savior King and the Flame Emperor had a strategist with the same handwriting. And a similar subtle ferocity,” Claude points at two blood-stained pages, the sheets differently aged, from different eras, with the same sharp handwriting as if the person who’d written it had been unaccustomed to pen and paper, “You stay longer sometimes but it takes at least a year before you can return. When the Flame Emperor rallied her armies again, you were back in the skies."

He narrows his eyes, guessing, "You never stay past a year in times of warfare. Didn't show up when the Flame Emperor's second war though she called for you. Her strategist was different. More … inept. If you’d been there, I wager she would have survived...”

Green eyes go slitted, narrowed on an old journal with crumbling edges.

He’d caught her off guard. Smeared away at the placidity of her expression to reveal grief and a deep longing sadness that rushed over her features like a tide before sweeping back again.

“You didn’t know,” Claude realizes, “Sorry, I – didn’t realize you …”

“I knew,” the Fell Star says and her wings slowly fold away, “And I felt for her cause. But not enough to fight her wars. I tire of human warfare and your many excuses to shed blood.”

She prods him in the chest with one long tipped claw, the pressure of her push carefully controlled as she rakes up one thin line of blood down the center.

“So, I need no more brides. Or sacrifices. No more payments to fight your battles,” she says, the sound low and impossible for a human, stemming from the very far back of her throat and shuddering in a soft way like a wyvern’s threat response, “You can tell the other humans that.”

“W-wait!” Claude pushes back, grimacing at the bite of her claw into his sternum.

Her eyes narrow. She does not claw into him any further but she also does not relent, holding him at bay.

“Who says I’ve come to enlist you?” Claude asks and her nostrils flare in a small but distinct gesture of displeasure, “I’ve brought no war for you to be involveedd –“

His words wobble as she presses her face into his neck, a shudder racing up his body as his knees buckle. Her scales are cool against him but not cold, the edges of them scratching lightly against the sensitive spot behind his ear as she pulls back in a slow deliberate move. He utters a little gasp as her tongue slips over his throat, dry and rasping over his jawline as her hair tickles his chin.

Claude finds himself clinging to one wing, trying desperately to stay upright when she pulls away again. He can feel his cheeks burning, heartbeat pounding in his ear as he blinks stupidly at her. For once, at a loss for words.

“You smell like Almyran heat and taste like spices not easily found in common markets. The harem you’ve just left clings like a shroud,” the Fell Star recites slowly like a Queen passing judgment, her voice growing low and dangerous. She makes a show of sniffing him again, the tip of her nose grazing his pulse as she inhales, “And I can smell your bloodline like a sweet poison, Prince Khalid.”

“Claude,” he squeaks out, “In Fodlan, it’s Claude.”

He wraps an arm around her neck and she makes a clicking sound in the back of her throat. Ozone and heat lift up in the air, the scent heavy and thick with a threat.

“I am Claude and no one else here,” he says, “No title. No rank. No war behind me. I’ve come with neither soldiers nor attendants. Smell me again. You’ll find all the incense and tea you want. But no warfare.”

The Fell Star's teeth graze the base of his neck, razing sharp clear lines over his pulse point and for one long frightening moment, he thinks he feels her teeth sink into him, through flesh and bone, rupturing blood vessels. Iron floods his tongue as death inches ever closer, the scythe with which he’d been born under slinking under his chin.

With a sound like a sigh, the Fell Star pulls away again and he resists the urge to claw at his own throat to check his skin. He clenches his hands hard as if he can hold the quiver in his fists and refuses to allow himself to sway when she pulls away.

“Speak then,” the Fell Star commands, folding her arms and wings away from him, “Why have you come looking for me?”

“I’m your bride,” he says, spreading his arms wide, “No other reason.”

The Fell Star doesn’t scoff but she turns away with a cold reptilian dismissal in much the same way his wyvern turns down inferior rats during mealtime. Disinterest casting a shadow over her face as her wings fan out once again.

“Are you so accustomed to being humanity’s weapon?” he pries, slotting himself neatly into her wingspan again.

“Yes,” she says in a tone that is meant to be dismissive but carries too many notes of regret to succeed in doing so. Her gaze turns westward, far past the mountain border, expression going distant. In the center of her chest, the blank hole where a heart would be, glows eerily red.

“I’m tired of warfare too,” the truth falls from Claude’s lips too easily. A truth like a pearl, formed by time under duress, “I have no interest in gambling lives. Or betting my own.”

The Fell Star neither looks at him nor replies but he sees her jaw twitch, can tell she is listening.

“In Almyra, there is one throne and one King. His many sons and daughters fight for the right to rule, clawing at the others to trample them down and bolster themselves. Once they seat themselves on that throne, the others are put down,” he tells her, “Royal blood is its own poison. So I gave up the claim in the only way that’d guarantee my life.”

“You ran away.”

“Yes,” he tells her, steeling himself, “I’m not going back. I can’t.  So - no war, no battle. Nowhere you have to adapt as a strategist and leader. Only me and you. Free to go where the wind takes us. I think this benefits us both, don’t you?”

“No battle, huh?” the Fell Star glances behind him, scenting the air. She loosens a breath of fire with such force the air rends around the flames, buckling beneath unnatural strength and steady weight. Tendrils of smoke cling to her mouth, dancing alongside embers as she examines the skies again.

“Not after that,” Claude assures her. Even with his sharpened eyesight, he can only pick out a singular unmarked wyvern fleeing from them, its rider hunched in its saddle, no doubt cradling fresh wounds, “And if they come again –“

He snatches his bow from the ground.

Fires.

The Fell Star makes a little humming sound as they watch the wyvern fall.

“They won’t come again,” Claude says, steel in his voice, “They only followed this time to make sure I wasn’t simply fleeing.”

He faces her, touches a hand to the smoke and embers at her jaw as he looks her in the eye.

“I intend to be freed tonight,” he says quietly.

“Through death if need be?” her jaw unhinges like a serpent, closing over an arm and he shudders, a frisson of fearful exhilaration slithering up his spine.

“I’ve always wagered well,” he tells her, the taste of his own victories like a bitter powder on the back of his tongue. Remembering cousins and siblings dredged up in baths and rivers. Eunuchs and servants who’d placed loyalty in the wrong places vanishing from the harem corners. He points an arrow against her eye, the point glimmering with poison beneath the moonlight, holding it steady as her teeth sink gently into his flesh.

Her eyes go slitted, predatory and dangerous but he holds his arrow steady, unmoving because her teeth hover at the very surface of his skin still.

They stand for a long moment beast and prince.

Goddess and outcast.

Starlight on the edge of collapse.

And then unbelievably, the Fell Star laughs. Not a full laugh. He’s not certain her anatomy allows for that. She laughs like a wyvern, some noise from within her vibrating against his arm, growing stronger until her form is shivering with the feel of it. She releases him, eyes gleaming as she looks at him.

Interest like a flame over his skin and he feels himself respond in kind.

“We have a deal, my friend?” he asks, throat rasping and dry.

Her head tips in the barest nod and then she smiles like a predator, “Friend? I thought you were meant to be my bride.”

Claude grins, leaning into her chest, feeling a weight leave him in one great wave. Almyra and Fodlan slipping off his shoulders, cast away like molted skin. There’s a buzz beneath his skin, the feel like starlight.

He flattens his hand against the back of her head, feeling for a patch of scales at the base of her neck and scratching tentatively until her eyelids shiver and she sighs.

“Sorry, wife,” he purrs, dropping his voice low, feeling weightless with his new freedom. He bats his lashes at her, “Take me to the stars won’t you?”

He feels her rumble again, laughter caught in her body like captured lightning and presses a hand against her mouth as she goes to lick his throat again, “Whoa - careful. I might’ve –“

She doesn’t quite roll her eyes but it’s a near thing. Her tongue twists over his fingers, slender and quick over the fine points of his fingertips, tracking down to the two-step trip of his pulse.

“My dear,” she hums, voice dipping low like a honey-sweet lure, “This bit of poison you’ve smeared on your skin is not enough to deter me. Haven’t you heard the myths?”

The Fell Star consumes,” he purrs, arching into her touch, tilting his head to the stars as he breathes in a new wind, “And I’ve never been so happy to be devoured.”

[angelguk]

royal au!bangtan

i gave this idea away a while ago but the account never did anything with it nor did they post it so imma just leave this here for anyone who wants to use it as prompt/idea starter

this has nothing to do w/ the fae!au btw

endgame was meant to be either jungkook or taehyung but do what you want! :)

it was roughly based off moon lovers: scarlet heart ryeo minus the time travel and ten times the betrayal 

prompt includes: brief plot outline, character outline and first potential chapter (but everything can change pretty easily)

leavin it under here

potential title: affinity meaning a binding by mutual attraction

BANGTAN – TAEHYUNG (Duke), JUNGKOOK (General) NAMJOON (Philosopher/Astronomer) YOONGI (Advisor to King) JIMIN (Duke) HOSEOK (Duke) JIN (Stable Boy)

BRIEF PLOT OUTLINE – Reader is part of a country which is been invaded by the Emperor of the boys Kingdom. (Places need names). During an attack of a village that the reader lives in she is captured. Jungkook was leading that attack and found her hiding in the stables. Reader is the daughter of the leader of that region. Reader is known to have helped her father in many excursions. They capture her and bring her for questioning in the castle. Reader is tortured hoping that information could be taken from her. Reader knows nothing. King orders her execution but Namjoon defies it saying the stars have something in plan for her and they may use her as bait to draw in her father (who fled before the attack or wasn’t there). Yoongi is completely against this. But reader is now sentenced to do stable work / slavery where she meets Jin. They befriend each other quickly – Jin does not know where reader comes from. One day Jungkook needs service on his horse and Reader has to do it. Jungkook causes trouble and his friend, Taehyung (the Duke of some Court/place) is there with him as well as Jimin and Hoseok. Jimin takes the reader’s side while Jungkook and Taehyung are assholes (Only Jungkook knows where she is from).  Later that day a maid is dismissed from work (reason unknown yet) and there’s a bit of chaos as they need servers since the main dukes and general are here celebrating a holiday with the King. Reader is randomly chosen by the Chef and is forced to serve. At dinner Jungkook, Yoongi and Namjoon are shocked. King pays little attention to her. Crown Prince keeps on staring at Reader. That dinner is more of a conference meeting event and the Reader hears everything. Start’s to think on how to destroy the King so she can revive her Kingdom. Leads to Yoongi finding her in the Accords (place where important documents about the King and his kingdom are kept) but Namjoon comes to her rescue. Jungkook is also suspicious of her but Taehyung, Hoseok and Jimin take her side. She begins to build a relationship with those three but she finds one of the King’s men (along with the Second Queen) planning an assassination of the Crown Prince. Reader happens to help prevent the death of the crown prince. Jungkook and Yoongi even more suspicious of her. Reader builds relationship with Namjoon and relationship with Taehyung turns romantic. (Now she is a permanent server no longer a stable girl).  Not sure where it goes from there.

End Game: Unknown (Either Taehyung or Jungkook – so either the boy who’s been by her side forever or the asshole who became her lover after they stopped being enemies)

Relationships

-         Deep friendship w/ Jin

-         One way w/ Jimin (Jimin loves her)

-         Mutual love/hate Jungkook

-         Mutual love Taehyung

-         Friendship w/ Namjoon

-         Friendship turned romantic/ sexual w/Yoongi (MAYBE?)

-         Deep Friendship w/ Hoseok

Names/Places:

·         Ennia READERS Kingdom

·         Ardeland  BANTANS Kingdom

Characters:

-         Reader

-         Bangtan Members

-         Queen Min Soonja (1st Queen)

-         Queen Hae Jisoo (2nd Queen)

-         Consort Ro Soo Ah (1st Consort)

-         Consort Mo Suelgi (3rd Consort)

-         Crown Prince Ryo Minho

-         King Ryo Gyeong Su

-         Prince Young Jae (Son of 2nd Queen)

-         Princess Yoona (Daughter of 2nd Queen)

-         Princess Hyo Rin (Daughter 1st Queen)

 Note: Gardenia is where the Reader was placed for safe keeping while her Father vanished + Jungkook became a General after his father died. 

CHAPTER ONE – NO MAN UNDER THE SKY LIVES TWICE

The air carries the pungent stench of death, within it lies the tired breathe of horses, the echoes of metal meeting metal in furious clashs and the faint glimmer of metallic blood. Dust dances in the air he breathes, coating his lungs in a thick layer of earth and smoke. Catani sits beside him, glistening sliver in the harsh sunlight of the Ennia lands. Her sliver body is caked in scarlet blood, slipping slowly off the sharp tip that’d been driven into the bodies of thousands. Her owner glances down, dark hair soaked in sweat clinging onto his forehead. His face is young but time and fighting has begun to show themselves in the deep chocolate eyes he possesses. His gaze stayed on the sword, ignoring the moving world around. The voices of his men chattering and bickering away as they assembled sticks and logs to create a fire fell on his deaf ears. He didn’t hear the crunch of dry grass as a man cloaked in midnight blue dashed towards his huddled figure. Until the man stood before him, panting heavily as sweat dripped from his sliver beard.

“General Jeon, there has been a message for you. From the capital.” The man says the word capital in a hushed whisper, as if the word alone could get him killed.

“What is it.” The boy doesn’t ask, his tone is a clear and solid command. His gaze doesn’t shift from the bloodied weapon either. Instead fingers painted in blue bruises and ivory scars find themselves twisting idly around a tall piece of grass.

The man tuts, lifting his hands to rip the head wrap from his sweltering skull. Hair the colour of moonlight tumbles from the intricate wrap design, falling like a waterfall down his back. “You’re not even going to look at me huh. Little rapscallion.”

The boy laughs. It’s short and brief and it comes out his throat like a cough instead.

“I didn’t need to look at you,” His fingers rise and point idly to the shoes the man was wearing. Curved pointed tips which reach for the skies. Capital shoes – not army boots. “Nobody else wears those bothersome things, Mordecai.”

The man huffs in reply, flopping down beside the boy. His heavy navy cloak hits the ground with a thud, spreading itself around the man’s frail body.

“Alright then Jungkook. But I wasn’t lying when I said there was a message from the capital.”

“What is it.” There’s a slight twinge of impatience in his voice. Reasonable because his arms and legs ached with pain. Tearing through bodies with a sword as heavy as Catani was wasn’t not as easy as he made it seem.

“His Majesty wants you to go forward into Gardenia tomorrow. It’s one of the last few villages we haven’t conquered yet. His Majesty is certain that the princess is there.”

Jungkook sighs, ripping the leaf of grass from its roots and tossing it into the heavy air, now tainted with smoke and fiery orange hue of the setting sun.

“My men haven’t rested for three days. Last night we had to deal with a rabid Kroni attacking our horses. We’re not at all ready for a new advancement. We need at least a day’s rest Mordecai.”

His eyes are on the elderly man, laced with lassitude and dispiritedness. His whole body sagged underneath the heavy armour, almost like he was caving in. Mordecai looked at the boy, yes he was a boy; more the half the men he controlled were his seniors. But he was a boy nonetheless. A boy who’d seen blood and fire. A boy who’d narrowly escaped death and swiftly handed out ones. He may have had the body of an adolescent man but his mind was as old as his father’s once before he’d passed away.

Jungkook always reminded Mordecai of his father.

The older man turned away, fixing his gaze on the blazing fire that’d been erected before them. The heat from the flames combined with Ennia’s natural furnace the sun (which refused to stop giving heat even after it went down) the world was an incinerator.

“You speak to me as if I was the King. I cannot change orders Jungkook. I can only deliver them.”

“I wish you hadn’t delivered this one then.” He’s up, black boots crunching leaves into dust beneath them. His strides are lengthy. His lean tall stature is covered in a black coat, the golden intricate insignia of a King’s General engraved on the back. Dry wind rips at his clothing, ruffling the brown mane his possess. He looks exactly like his father in Mordecai’s eyes.

“Jungkook-ah,” Mordecai says to no one. “There are many messages I wish I hadn’t delivered.” His sigh is carried by the wind to the ears of the young General. “So many.”

+

You can’t sleep. The night air surrounding you is abuzz with the sounds of glowing dragonflies skittering over the slumbering river beneath your feet. The water is cold to touch, slipping over your nimble fingertips like velveteen. The world is silver and gold; cool moonlight meeting the warmth of the lanterns scattered carelessly around the pathway.

The calm breeze whispers stories in your ears, ruffling the flimsy white nightgown you’d adorned when you’d slipped into the warmth of the blanket back in your room. It hadn’t occurred to you that a jacket would be necessary when the night had called you awake.

The fabric is rough beneath your fingertips, completely unlike the smooth satin dresses that’d your wear in the palace. Here, satin was a thing of treasure. Not one person wore it.

You’re kicking the ground beneath absently, the familiar knot of resent and anger towards your father forming in the pit of your stomach. Why did he have to leave you here? Of all places this tiny village couldn’t have been the best choice. He could have sent his men to collect you when that bastard Ryo attacked. He could have – but he didn’t.

A sigh slips out of your mouth and you spin around, trying in vain to get rid of that feeling that’s been building up in your bones and blood since the attack. The world was a kaleidoscope of grey and black and silver and gold. Glistening rocks surrounded you, shimmering under the glow of the moon. Your shoes skidded across the wet surface beneath, but because of the insane training you’d received from Myrna your balance didn’t falter.

Despite this attempt, the questions that drew you from sleep tumble in your head.

Why did he leave you?

Why didn’t he attack back?

Where did he go?

Is he even alive?

Why Gardenia?

Why?

“Y/N!”

The world is shook from you grasp and you come to a halt, frantically searching the dark trees for the voice which called your name.

“Y/N,  why aren’t you in bed?” The voice come from behind you.

*prompt ends here*

[shamblesramble]

The House of Eidolon

He watched her running down the alleyway from his balcony.

A pretty thing, he thought to himself. But slow. The three figures behind, however, now they kept a fast pace. In all fairness, running down a muddy alleyway in the rain whilst wearing heels and carrying a baby would certainly constitute a handicap, but he knew if he had been running for his life he might’ve disposed of the heels at least.

Possibly the baby too, he mused as he made his way down the stairs, where he grabbed the cloak from his servant and left the house. Their trail was easy enough to follow, even in the rain, and he was in no particular rush. In truth, it did not matter if the girl had been murdered before he arrived - only that the killers didn’t leave immediately. He stifled a yawn. What an awful night for business.

The desperate footprints of the heel-clad woman were already filled with rainwater, and the man decided to quicken his step a little. Presently, he came across one of his associates, sodden and solitary at the corner of two lanes.

“Good evening, Master. The others have them cornered up ahe-”

“Yes, yes, well done, wonderful. What can you tell me about them?” The two began to walk together.

“The woman is a daughter of Valentino Ceresa, one of the heads of the Radice-Nargi Trading Company. Seems she’s been in hiding - was in hiding - ever since her dalliance with a commoner produced a bastard.”

“It’s always a commoner, isn’t it? What was he, a baker?”

“Fisherman.”

“Fisherman? Surprised she was even let down that far into the city. So I assume this is a standard disposal job; find the daughter, kill the child, dispose of the daughter if necessary and so on.”

“It appears that way, yes. Although we aren’t sure who the client is yet.”

“Well I suppose we’ll have to ask the 'assassins' that ourselves. As long as they haven’t done anything stupid before we get there.”

“They are being corralled as we speak.”

“Marvellous.”

The Master soon found himself in a small plaza; private, secluded. Out of sight. The slums stretched so high that the rain was struggling to reach the ground on its own. Several of his men loomed large over the four figures; two of the would-be murderers held their blades ready, whilst the third was using the woman as a shield. The Master’s men watched them coolly, bowstrings taught with a ready volley. The mud had been unavoidable, but he had hoped that his boots would be spared the worst of it. It seemed there was little luck for anyone this night, though hopefully he wouldn’t have to add blood to the mix. As he walked closer, he could now clearly see these assailants were no professionals. They hadn’t even covered their faces, and one of them had decided to use a sword for the job.

A sword! For a simple kill job! Might as well kill her with a fishing rod for all the attention it brings. Wouldn’t that be a delicious irony.

“Thank you for your patience gentleman, my lady. My leg is not as trustworthy as it used to be, and in circumstances like this I’m afraid my slowness becomes all too obvious. My name is Master Zeno, and you four are unaccounted for.”

There was visible confusion among the assailants, their grip slacking momentarily. He retrieved a small, well-thumbed notebook from his jacket pocket, and continued:

“Mirta Razza - strangualtion and disposal on behalf or Sir Alfonse. Angsar Pohl - poison, administered in a public place on behalf of Ingulf the Salter. And finally: Athild, Wife of Walstan - throat cut, and body sunk to the bottom of the Royal harbour. These are all the appointments that we were made aware of today, which were paid for in advance and executed to a satisfactory result before the skies opened and I ruined my good cloak following your messy trail. My question, as you can probably guess-” A fat raindrop landed on the open book, and Master Zeno let out a defeated sigh- “My question is what you four are doing here when we have not received a contract for any daughter of Valentino Ceresa since… three weeks tomorrow?”

Their confusion was now palpable. The woman too. Even the baby had stopped crying. Finally, the boldest of the three men spoke up:

“We don’t want any trouble…”

“Says the man holding a sword and running after a woman and a baby. I really wouldn’t patronise me considering your position. I’ll ask again; who are you, what are you planning to do here?”

“Our boss would kill us if w-”

A swift signal and an arrow ledged itself in his eye. Blood. Wonderful.

“Two of you are left to tell me what I want to know. I strongly suggest that one of you grow a cock in the next five seconds or-”

“We don’t know who it was! Our boss just said to kill the baby! We don’t even know who she is! We don’t even know why!”

Master Zeno snapped the notebook shut and put it away, increasingly annoyed.

“The audacity of you three- two - to waltz into this city and start chasing our citizenry down our back alleys without our express consent is the most stupid, dangerous, and downright disrespectful action I’ve ever witnessed. Do you have any idea what the repercussions for this will be? I’m not even aware of any space in our cells at present, are any of you?” He gestured to his subordinates but received only uncertain murmurs and slight shrugs in reply.

“It doesn’t matter, not like you’ll be alive to witness it anyway. Asha, take one of them to the head office while I talk to our distressed friend?” Another damp thud, and only one man was left standing. His hand trembled so much as Master Zeno’s associates approached that he dropped his sword, and a trail of urine began to blend with the mud and blood as he was escorted away. Master Zeno stepped over one of the bodies and bent down with a small groan to meet the glazed gaze of Ceresa’s daughter. She was sheltering the baby as best she could, but was transfixed on the arrows in the dead men’s eyes.

“Are you able to stand?” he asked. She managed to tear her eyes away from the corpses to look at him, and nodded slowly. “Let’s get you out of here, shall we?”

Master Zeno poured more hot water into her cup, and she hugged it to her chest greedily. The baby slept soundly in a cot as he resumed his place in his chair by the magnificent fireplace. Together they had returned to the Master’s house. The last ruffian had been escorted to the House’s private prison so he may be interrogated, that they may learn his employer. There was nothing more to fear tonight, the woman had been assured. Now she waited for a break in the clouds and a head-start on the day. The fire soothed the chill in their bones, and the damp cloaks dripped onto the rug as they dried. Steam swirled above their drinks, and between the murmuring rain and crackling flames, a conversation of sorts began.

“Terrible business in that alleyway. The last thing I craved tonight was a midnight walk. Now I’m afraid my cloak will never dry out. Though I’m sure a bit of rain was the least of your worries Miss Ceresa.” The girl remained silent, pressing the cup harder into her chest.

“You should be aware that what happened there was not an act of chivalry; those men were operating outside of their jurisdiction, without sufficient authorisation from our House. We will certainly not stand to be out-competed in our own front garden, and it just so happens to be the case that we were able to intercept them before the job could be completed, lucky for you. And your child.”

Her eyes flicked up, with a venom he had learned to ignore over the years.

“Do not doubt my ability to protect my child, Master. I would die first.”

“And die you very nearly did, might I point out. Bravado echoes pleasantly inside a warm hall but I wouldn’t make a habit of it. Certainly, I wouldn’t wish to convey to an assassin that I was willing to die. That would take all the fun out of the chase. Speaking purely from experience, of course.”

“So I was right. You’re a Lurker.”

Master Zeno leant forward a little in his chair, his mild tone slipping slightly at the slur.

“I’m a member of the House of Eidolon, and I expect you to refer to me as Master Zeno or simply Master, is that clear? You would do well not to insult the person responsible for saving your life. Make no mistake Miss Ceresa, I was under no obligation to intervene.”

“Why save me at all, then, if my life is so expendable? If our lives are so easily taken? Who am I to you?”

He relaxed again. “Nobody at all, which is precisely the point. There is no contract on your head that we have been made aware of. Our quarrel is with whomever sent those pantomime bullies after you. It was entirely unprofessional and we will need to organise a reply. As for why I brought you back with me, I find that questioning a near-corpse is far more agreeable than a full-corpse. So, consider whatever information you may be able to share with regards to a possible contractor - anyone who may want to kill either of you - to be your saving grace. Think of it as payment for services rendered; compensation for your continued existence.”

The girl’s icy stare faltered as Master Zeno sipped his scented tea. After several moments, and an exaggerated eye-roll, he added:

“I will remind you that by saying nothing you only lengthen the amount of time the killers have to try again.” She looked down at her cup, then over to her baby in its fresh swaddling. She could feel how damp her hair still was. The fire spat out an ember.

“I will tell you everything I know, but I cannot be sure of who it is exactly. I have been in hiding for no short while.”

“I understand. Whenever you are ready.”

The next morning, Miss Ceresa and the baby were gone. Master Zeno was finishing his breakfast upstairs on the balcony. His servant was brushing the crusted dirt off his boots by the front door when a courier with a missive arrived. It was delivered presently, and even before Master Zeno asked for his letter opener he had half-guessed its contents. He was no less disappointed by it once he read it himself. His servant cleared the breakfast away as he drafted a new letter; direct and succinct in its composition. Satisfied, he finished it with a flourishing signature and a wax stamp, before he handed it over to the waiting courier.

“Make sure this gets to the housemaster in Lopt as soon as possible, their party is already travelling that way.”

With a swift bow the courier was gone, and Master Zeno returned upstairs. The servant had left him a cup of tea, at his direction, and as he held it close he breathed deeply of its sweet scent. He let out a loud sigh.

She really had been far too slow, he thought. Such a shame.

(Image by Prawny on Pixabay)

[timesorceror]

Day 2 (January 8th) - Anders and Cats

Ser Pounce-a-lot, Mr. Wiggums, you name it, Anders and cats.   He loves those furry creatures.

For @justhanderspositive‘s challenge: [HERE].

Anders was scribbling away furiously, writing for a new project Hayden had suggested might help him spread the word about the atrocities being committed by the Templars in the Gallows – “Easy, Justice,” he sighed, pausing his writing before his temper grew too much to write neatly.

“I know you’re impatient, but Hayden will kill us both if we do anything foolish,” he muttered to the silence of the estate library.

Anders was never quite sure why, but he preferred it here, instead of the privacy of Hayden’s other desk in their rooms. It was probably all of the books surrounding him, just the weight of their presence and the smell or ink, paper, and leather. It reminded him of the few good memories the Circle had left him with, studying in the Tower library with Karl.

There was an apologetic pang of regret that lapped at the edges of Anders’ awareness, followed by a soothing pressure along his shoulders that had been aching for some time now, pouring over his writing as he’d been doing since the current storm outside had settled in.

“Oh... that’s –how did– no, I don’t really care... ha...”

There was a rumble of warm laughter as Justice continued to (somehow) stimulate the aching muscles in Anders’ neck and shoulders as he leaned back, sprawled quite comfortably against the desk chair. Their strengthened bond was one of the few things that Hayden had helped the two of them accomplish in all the years they’d known Hayden.

Hayden, the poor dear, had been roped into yet another social function tonight. They’d elected to drag Varric along because they couldn’t very well bring either their possessed apostate or Tevinter fugitive lovers to such a thing, no matter how well they cleaned up. So at least Anders could safely say that Hayden was unlikely to die of boredom tonight if the dwarf was also in attendance.

Fenris was still out at the moment though, and Anders wondered a little at what might be keeping him... then he heard the ever so soft padding of feet as they approached the library doors.

Anders turned to his left to look around the side of the chair just as one of the doors opened, and a slightly damp-looking Fenris poked his head around the side, shifting eyes finally coming to rest on Anders.

“Mage,” he grumbled, the epithet more affection than vitriol at this point, “I... I require your assistance.”

“With what?” Anders asked, despite getting up immediately to follow Fenris towards the kitchens. Fenris’ ears just twitched in the way that they only did when annoyed (mostly at himself, Anders had learned).

“I was on my way here from helping Aveline this afternoon when the skies opened up,” Fenris grumbled, “And I was mostly fine, thanks to that cloak Hayden gifted me... but I... well... ugh. You’ll see.” Anders smiled a little, wondering if the elf was trying to surprise him with a gift. It was a rare occurrence even with their relationship being vastly more improved than it had when they’d first met, but it did happen occasionally. And the signs were all there: the soft flush of his cheeks, the stammering, not meeting Anders’ eyes...

And then they entered the kitchen.

“Oh,” Anders breathed, “oh sweet Maker.”

There, on top of the kitchen table, sat a basket. But the basket wasn’t really the important bit, it was what was inside the basket that had Anders so awestruck.

A rather wet-looking mama cat lay huddled with a litter of about five kittens in the center of a nest of blankets. It was difficult to tell what kind she was, but as Anders gingerly approached, one hand turned upwards with two fingers extended so she could catch his scent, she eventually let him get close enough to brush some of the wet dirt from her forehead to reveal the familiar pattern that he so loved.

“Tabbies! Oh, Fen... look at them, they’re soaking! You poor babies, you...”

Fenris cleared his throat. 

“I don’t know much about drying off cats or keeping them from getting sick... but I saw them in the alley I often use to return here faster and... I couldn’t bring myself to leave them.” He shrugged, reaching out to the mother, who licked his fingers a little and then rubbed her forehead against them.

Anders chuckled.

“Aw, she likes you. Must be why she let you pick up her and her babies to bring them here.” Fenris grumbled a bit as Anders gave him a soft smile, but he didn’t complain. Shortly afterwards, Anders went to fetch some soap, water, and a pan to wash the dirt from the poor things, enlisting Fenris’ help to do so. 

Eventually they were all clean and dry, and the kittens were happily suckling from their mother in a slightly larger basket with warmer, drier blankets.

“I’m really glad you brought them home, Fen,” Anders said as they brought the basket into the bedroom they shared with Hayden, setting it on the rug near the fire. Fenris tugged some pillows off of the bed, and he and Anders settled on the floor, stomachs pressed against the rug as they gently pet the mother and her kittens.

“I hadn’t intended them to be a gift,” Fenris admitted. Anders had thought as much. “But when I realized I didn’t know what to do with them... I thought you might.” Anders nodded. 

“I’m still glad you brought them. These poor little guys don’t even have their eyes open yet... I doubt they would’ve lived very long.” He sighed wistfully and drew his fingers against the mother’s head, smiling at the resulting purr his actions elicited. “And this lovely lady needs some more meat on her bones so she can help feed her babies. Don’t you, Lady Moonpaws?”

Fenris groaned. 

“Mage, if we’re keeping them, you are not allowed to name them.”

Anders laughed, trying and failing to pretend to look affronted. “What? Lady Moonpaws is a very respectable name, isn’t it, little miss?” 

Mama Cat gave him a baleful look and simply meowed at him.

“Look, she agrees with me!”

“She’s just annoyed with you that you’ve stopped petting her and would like you to just get back to it,” Fenris drawled. Anders simply chuckled and winked at him as he resumed petting Lady Moonpaws gently with his fingers.

“Fen’s just jealous that he’s not being pet,” Anders cooed at her, “yes he is.”

“Hmm. We could rectify that later, perhaps.”

“Yes, we – what?”

“The petting. I hear it can also be rather... useful in the bedroom.”

Anders was quiet for a while before he said, very softly, “I, um, well. If you think you might be into that, I think that one store in the Hightown market sells a few things that can help with that. The, ah... plugs might be the hardest thing to find, I think...”

“Not for very long,” Fenris purred, leaning over to nibble at the skin of Anders’ neck just below his ear as he swung one leg in between Anders’ and smoothly placed about half of his body across the mage’s back like a heavy elf blanket.

A heavy elf blanket... who was most definitely aroused.

“Fen!” Anders squeaked. “Not in front of the cats!”

“Why not?” Fenris chuckled, still nuzzling and licking at the mage’s neck. “They’re cats. They don’t mind. And you said so yourself that the kittens can’t even see.”

“W-Well, Lady Moonpaws can... uh, can-can’t we continue this on the bed?” Anders laughed breathily. “It’s really, uh... I’m not as young as I used to be and having sex on the rug is, er... while very arousing, uh... probably not very good for my –oh~!” Fenris had started nibbling on his ear which was doing things to his insides. 

“...fine, fine. We’ll move to the bed,” Fenris whispered, chuckling. Beneath him, Anders shivered, Fenris’ silky voice so close to his ear was like an instant hard-on. Not... that that was a bad thing right now.

As Fenris moved off of him and all but dragged him back to the bed, Lady Moonpaws glanced up at them once with a rather disinterested stare before she gave a soft chirp of satisfaction and closed her eyes to sleep. 

“I told you she didn’t care.” 

“Oh hush. Just shut up and fuck me.”

“With pleasure.”