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zazzander · 2 years

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Octavian in a Command

(combining all my previous posts about this - because there's like three)

Looking for more? Here's my master list of Octavian analysis.

Octavian is not a great warrior.

It's implied lacks talent as a fighter. He certainly doesn't have the super strength, speed, and stamina that a regular demigod has. This means that in a one-on-one fight, Octavian is a base disadvantage. His only magical ability seems to be his divinations (i.e. auguries) and possibly storms. But his powers don't present in a way that's useful in a random encounter. Nor a 1-on-1 duel.

But that ignores Octavian's value as a commander.

We see several examples of the legion (in part or in full) placing their trust in his command. Even when he isn't "officially" supposed to be in charge.

In Son of Neptune, he seems to be a commander in:

the wargames (leading the First and Second Cohorts)

in the final battle (once more leading the First and Second Cohorts)

In Mark of Athena,

he heads the pursuit forces (leading what seems to be the entire legion)

In Blood of Olympus,

he is the general of both the legion & his hired auxiliaries

With this in mind, I'm going to discuss how discredited Octavian's efforts on the battlefield are. Octavian, like all members of the legion, has been trained how to fight. He's got seven years of experience. Not only that, but during to training he managed to prove his skill enough to gain the rank of centurion. Specially, 'most senior centurion' (the equivalent of a primus pilus, or third-in-command).

“Octavian has a lot of friends, most of them bought. The rest of the campers are afraid of him.”

“Afraid of that skinny little guy?”

“Don’t underestimate him.”

While most people focus on the first part of Hazel’s line ‘most of the bought’, I want to discuss the second half. The rest of the campers are afraid of him. She even drives home this idea with Don’t underestimate him, specifically regarding his physical stature. That isn't the scary part about him.

Remember this is the same character who doesn’t believe Octavian can see into the future. And while we might assume that this fear comes from Octavian being a skilled talker, especially based on this comment,

“You’re a warrior. Octavian is a talker. Put him in front of the senate and suddenly he becomes the powerful one.”

in Son of Neptune (page 179) and Reyna’s agreement.

However, there are multiple occasions where Octavian is at a loss for words, proof that he’s not particularly amazing at controlling a conversation. He has supporters in the senate, for sure. And part of that comes from money.

But I don’t think people fear him because of that.

After all, both Percy and Annabeth both manage to outmanoeuvre Octavian in conversation. And get laughed out of the Romans around them.

“I’m glad you asked.” Percy stood, taking the question as an opening.

Octavian stammered, “I wasn’t –”

“– a part of the quest,” Percy said. “Yes, I know. And you’re wise to led me explain, since I was.”

Some of the senators snickered. – Son of Neptune 508

_ _ _

Her words had the intended effect. The Roman officers laughed nervously. Some sized up Ella, then looked at Octavian and snorted. – Mark of Athena 28

So the question is – what are they afraid of?

Let’s discuss the possibility that Octavian might actually be a good strategist.

“Hazel tried to avoid eye contact, but she caught Octavian at the head of the First Cohort smirking at her, looking smug in his plumed centurion helmet with a dozen medals pinned to his chest.” - Son of Neptune, page 85

The medals, to me, are actual evidence that Octavian is more than just a “schemer” and a “talker”.

While Octavian might have gotten into the First due to his family’s influence and the position of augur due to his innate talents, the rank of centurion and the medals he wears are not so easily acquired. Short of a god coming down and insisting they be bestowed (i.e. Mars) its implied that such medals come with merit.

Remember, Octavian fought in the Titan War same as the demigods of Camp Half Blood, same as Jason and Reyna. Those medals were, in a way, proof that he was an active participant in the struggle.

I also want to quickly mention an interesting snippet, also from Hazel:

She hadn’t grown up with Nico, hadn’t even known him very long. But she knew Nico was more dangerous than Reyna, or Octavian, or maybe even Jason. Then she’d met Percy.

My point here is basically that Octavian is included in this list at all. He’s not as strong as Nico, Jason, or Percy – I would never argue that. But the fact that Hazel thinks of Reyna and Octavian as being peers in some way. For Hazel, at least, Octavian seems to be a proper threat (and if you go by the order of names, Octavian is more of a threat than Reyna).

This might be because he’s got dirt on her, but that in itself makes him dangerous. Because he knows things. And he knows how to use the things he knows to his advantage.

The Battle at the End of Son of Neptune

At the base of the aqueduct, the First and Second Cohorts were trying to encircle Polybotes, but they were taking a pounding. The remaining Earthborn threw barrage after barrage of stone and mud. Karpoi grain spirits - those horrible little piranha Cupids - were rushing through the tall grass abducting campers at random, pulling them away from the line. The giant himself kept shaking basilisks out of his hair. Every time one landed, the Romans panicked and ran. Judging from their corroded shields and smoking plumes on their helmets, they’d already learned about the basilisks’ poison and fire.

Reyna soared above the giant, diving in with her javelin whenever he turned his attention to the ground troops.

So this is arguably really bad leadership on Reyna’s part. She’s the legion's sole commander, yet she’s up in the air as a solo fighter. Meanwhile, her legion had been shattered. The Third, Fourth and Fifth Cohorts, prior to Percy’s return, had been surrounded and had no hope of rescue. That would have cost them a lot of lives (if not for Thanatos turning the other cheek).

But I want to address something else notable about the description. It is curiously lacking Octavian. But we know that he is among these two Cohorts:

When the lightning stopped, the First and Second Cohorts were facing one surprised-looking giant and several hundred smoking piles of ash. The enemy’s centre line had been charred to oblivion.

The look on Octavian’s face was priceless. The centurion stared at Percy with shock, then outrage. Then, when his own troops started to cheer, he had no choice except to join their shouting: “Rome! Rome!”

But the POV purposefully chooses not to mention Octavian actually fighting. Octavian is circumspectly missing. However, it can be assumed that Octavian is leading this group – as he lead them earlier in the book.

So he’s managed to convince the Second Cohort to follow his command, despite not having direct authority over them. But the other Cohorts clearly didn’t accept that – after, he isn’t the praetor.

But if he had been, Reyna would have been free to fight Polybotes in the air while Octavian commanded the ground troops. The legion would be a united force under one leader. Such a strategy would be incredibly useful.

I also want to point out that the Cohorts under Octavian’s control, while clearly struggling, are on the offensive.

At the base of the aqueduct, the First and Second Cohorts were trying to encircle Polybotes, but they were taking a pounding.

Meanwhile the other Cohorts are barely about to defend.

The legion itself was taking the brunt of the attack, but their formation was breaking. Each cohort was an island in a sea of enemies.

[…] Cyclopes was hammering away at the campers of the Fifth Cohort, who were trying to keep their shields locked just to stay alive.

[…] They slammed into a herd of wild centaurs that were attacking the Third Cohort. When the campers of the Third saw the eagle, they shouted insanely and fought with renewed effort.

As we can see, outside of Octavian’s troops – the other cohorts are about to break when Percy arrives.

Octavian’s Association with Artillery

I have a little theory that the First Cohort are primarily the specialists of the legion. Of course, there are exceptions if the legionary has a parent like Vulcan (for example). But as a general rule, I think this stands. It makes sense why Octavian joined the First, his speciality is being the augur.

But there’s more to my theory than just that.

I think the First Cohort have the artillerists of the legion.

We see in Blood of Olympus the implication that Octavian’s most loyal followers = the crews of artillerists. The people manning the siege weapons. We know that Octavian’s most loyal followers are members of the First. The Second and Third do have some loyalty to Octavian, but not in the same way.

Even in the dark, their Imperial hold plating glinted. Their massive throwing arms bent back like ship masts listing in a storm. Crews of artillerists scurried around the machines, loading the slings, checking the torsion of the ropes. - Blood of Olympus

“Even if we get the entire Fourth and Fifth Cohorts to follow us, the other cohorts will try to stop us. And those siege weapons are manned by Octavian’s most loyal followers.” - Blood of Olympus

We can also see that, seemingly, any member of the First has a strong foundational grounding in the onagers mechanisms. They can be trusted to ensure the onagers are operational.

[Octavian] pointed to the nearest legionnaires. “You, you, you and you. Check all the onagers. Make sure they’re operational. I want them fired simultaneous as soon as possible. Go!” - Blood of Olympus 425

We can also assume that Octavian has the skill to design the imperial gold onagers.

“On August first, your Greek friends at Camp Half-Blood will find out what a powerful enemy Octavian is. I’ve seen the designs of his machines… Even I’m impressed.”

While it can be debated one way or the other, I think the evidence lines up with Octavian actually having designed the onagers himself.

Also, in Mark of Athena, we know that Octavian’s allies were not at the peace meeting in the forum (after all, none of them came to his aid or defence). So it makes sense that when things go south, Octavian’s loyalists were ready to go.

Armed legionnaires were hurrying towards the forum. Two artillery crews had set up catapults just outside the Pomerian Line and were preparing to fire at the Argo II. (MOA 42)

More Examples of Octavian in Command

To continuing on from Son of Neptune, we see Octavian in command again. This time, seemingly, leading the entire legion. While Reyna is around, she isn’t in command. She has once more opted for a solo mission (this is, unfortunately, a bad habit of hers).

Roman demigods had formed ranks and were advancing towards the Argo II, but a miniature storm had gathered over their heads. Though the day was clear all around them, thunder rumbled, and lightning flash above the Romans. Rain and wind pushed them back.

Annabeth didn’t stop to think about it.

[…] “Rushing off?” Reyna asked.

The praetor stood ten feet away in full battle armour, holding a golden javelin. Her two greyhounds growled at her side.

Annabeth scanned the area. They were more or less alone. Most of the combat had moved towards the docks.

-Mark of Athena 248

She ran for the ship. The winds that battered the Romans didn’t seem to affect her. Annabeth sprinted through their lines. Octavian yelled, “Stop her!”

A spear flew past her ear. The Argo II was already pulling away from the dock.

- Mark of Athena 252

From these two quotes, we can see that Octavian is very much in command here. And while the attempt ultimately fails, it does demonstrate his ability to launch and organise such a mission. He’s not a centurion for nothing.

And more than that, he doesn't have the authority to lead such a mission. Technically - that's only Reyna. But Octavian 1. doesn't seem to care, and 2. manages to convince basically everybody to follow him regardless.

The Romans in Manhattan

Octavian continues to be in charge of the legion (as Reyna doesn’t approve of their actions) after this encounter.

She saw a loft apartment filled with Roman demigods. A dozen of them stood around a dining table as Octavian talked and pointed to a big map. Reyna paced next to the windows, gazing down at Central Park.

“That’s not good,” Jason muttered. “They’ve already set up a forward base in Manhattan.”

“And that map shows Long Island,” Percy said.

“They’re scouting the territory,” Jason guessed. “Discussing invasion routes.” - Page 475, Mark of Athena

I don’t have a whole lot to say about this snippet, however, I want to note them for the sake of thoroughness.

Now the thing about this map of Long Island is that a mortal map is not going to be that useful when invading Camp Half-Blood. I know that Octavian might have gotten something from Nero, but I also wonder how he could explain that? The location Octavian could wave off with the fact that his family is rich. The map would be harder to explain, considering the legion weren’t supposed to know about the Greek demigods.

So I think the Romans, under Octavian’s direction, have scouted the place out. What’s more, Octavian is leading the discussion. Octavian acts with confidence and knowledge, without question of his task. It’s a very short scene so that’s really all we can glean from it.

(Side note: Octavian has managed to get 200+ people across the US pretty quickly. And while they have monsters + eagles to aid them, it’s still a challenge. There’s more to leading an army than battle. Logistics are equally as important, if not more so.)

Octavian Takes Over

Once she was gone, Octavian turned to the centurions.

“Gather all the senior officers. I want a meeting as soon as Reyna has left on her fool’s quest. There will be a few changes in the legion’s plans.” - 257, House of Hades

This is at the end of a longer scene, not relevant for this post. But once more, we have Octavian ready with a plan. For all the comments about him being a “talker” and a “schemer” he’s out here ready to win a war. And that takes more than just blackmail and wit. It takes strategy and skill.

He does beat back Camp Half Blood well enough, after all.

Plans within Plans

The scene shifted again. Leo saw Octavian - that no-good blond scarecrow of an augur. He stood in a gas-station parking lot, surrounded by black SUVs and Roman demigods. He held up a long pole wrapped in canvas. When he uncovered it, a golden eagle glimmered at the top. - page 391, House of Hades

So… what happened to this plan? That’s my question. Because Octavian doesn’t use really use the eagle – but he seems have some kind of intent with what he’s doing here.

“I’ve been seeing some bad stuff in the knife. The Roman legion is almost within striking distance of Camp Half-Blood. They’re gathering reinforcements: spirits, eagles, wolves.”

Additionally, he doesn’t have any wolves or spirits with him in the final battle. Like? Where did they go? It’s an eternal mystery. Of course, it could be an oversight on Riordan’s part, but I like to think that Octavian just has plans within plans.

Maybe he was preparing to turn his army on the emperors, maybe he had some other plans. I do think it’s notable that Octavian seems to over-recruit for the war against the Greeks. Both in his spreading, calling of allies, and admissions into the legion. We also know that he was aware of the Triumvirate at this time, so while his actions might have seemed unreasonable on the outside, it possible he was trying to prepare the legion for the bigger fight against the emperors.

Blood of Olympus: Octavian's Enemies

To his right, reports and maps were strewn across a low table. To his left, a marble altar heaped with fruit and gold offerings, no doubt for the gods.

I just really like this bit because it is literally a symbol of Octavian’s two main skills: strategy and foreseeing. Unfortunately for Octavian one of them isn’t working - but the other is. If you need more proof about Octavian being a skilled commander, I have other posts.

The entire Twelfth Legion was camped in the northernmost field. They’d dug in with their usual military precision - ten-foot-deep trenches and spiked earthen walls around the perimeter, a watchtower on each corner armed with ballistae. Inside, tents were arranged in neat rows of white and red. The standards of all five cohorts curled in the wind. […] He was intentionally provoking the Greeks, hoping for battle.

So we see that Octavian wants to win the fight without going against Reyna’s orders. As long as he doesn’t attack the camp, he can fight the Greeks all he wants. I would even say that he probably gave them a couple “opportunities” to compel them to attack. Of course, they didn’t. So kudos to the Greeks.

“It’s good news, my friend,” Octavian assured him. “We need the extra manpower.”

“Murderers. Thieves. Traitors.”

“Loyal demigods,” Octavian said, “who owe their position to me.”

I want to address this idea of needing extra manpower. Because its established early on that the Roman legion is stronger than CHB. They have like twice the numbers. Yet Octavian says they need more. Why? Potentially its because he wants to ensure their victory.

But we know Octavian has been building up their strength even before Reyna left, before she gave orders to gather allies, with the wolves and spirits.

Unforunately, we don't get answers as to what is happening with the wolves.

Reyna shook her head. “Wolves are not front-line fighters. I don’t think she would help Octavian. Her wolves might be patrolling Camp Jupiter, defending it in the legion’s absence, but I just don’t know…”

Reyna seems to have forgotten or is unaware that the wolves were working with Octavian in the previous book.

Still, Octavian continues this trend of bulstering their strength.

Nico followed her gaze. “I thought the Romans didn’t have a navy.”

“We didn’t,” she said. “Apparently Octavian has been busier than I realised.”

Why a navy? To keep the Greeks from sailing away? Except the Romans have the eagles, they would be able to block any escape via the air. Especially when you consider how distrustful these Romans are of the water and sailing.

And then we have

“If you want me as your prisoner, fine. I’ll go willingly and face Octavian’s stupid trial.”

“A fine offer.” […] “You really don’t know what Octavian has planned, do you? He’s been busy pulling in favours, spending the legion’s money.”

Reyna clenched her fists. “Octavian has no right-”

“He has the right of power,” Bryce said. “You forfeited your authority when you ran off to the ancient lands. On August first, your Greek friends at Camp Half-Blood will find out what a powerful enemy Octavian is. I’ve seen the designs of his machines… Even I’m impressed.”

Here's another hint of how intense Octavian's spree has been. He's been actively building up the legion, on all fronts. From their auxilia, to their navy, to their legionaries. One has to wonder why. None of the POV character know, but Octavian is aware of the Triumvirate. He's potentially aware of the Triumvirate's plans to make their move against the gods soon. And so he's preparing the legion for that far more intense battle. That's just a theory, but it seems to line up for me.

Of course, a huge army will be useful in the current battle against the Greeks and Gaia.

Octavian’s Final Plan

“Don’t worry, old friend. Our siege teams have the Greek camp surrounded. Our eagles have complete air superiority. The Greeks aren’t going anywhere until we’re ready to strike. In eleven days, all my forces will be in place. My little surprises will be prepared. One August first, the Feast of Spes, the Greek camp will fall.”

So, obviously the plan to drawn out the Greeks hasn’t worked. So Octavian has moved on to his other plans.

No Roman Will Die

“Artemis knows a lot about missile weapons. She told us Octavian has order some… surprises for Camp Half-Blood. He’s used most of the legion’s treasure to purchase Cyclopes-built onagers.” […] “If Artemis is right, six of these machines will be rolling into Long Island tomorrow night. That’s what Octavian has been waiting for. At dawn on August first, he’ll have enough firepower to completely destroy Camp Half-Blood without a single Roman casualty. He thinks that’ll make him a hero.”

[and]

“You can’t blame the officers for falling in line. Octavian has a plan to win, and it’s a good plan. At dawn those onagers will destroy the Greek camp without a single loss of Roman life. The gods should be healed.”

One defining part of Octavian's plan is that he will not let an Roman die. He is willing to delay his attack just to enact his onager plan, despite knowing he's on a time crunch.

The Parley

She caught a glimpse of a silver wake in the moonlight, half a mile to the west. A black motorboat was speeding towards them with no running lights. Reyna hoped it was a mortal vessel. Then it got closer, and Reyna’s hand tightened on the hilt of her sword. Glinting on the boat’s prow was a laurel wreath design with the letters SPQR.

“The legion has sent a welcome committee.”

The entire concept of the parley is interesting to me. Because to an extent, it's one final offer of teamwork. If Reyna comes back, it would resolve the fractures within the legions. Even on the eve of August 1st, Octavian is willing to consider a non-violent approach with Reyna. He doesn’t go himself, likely because he’s worried she’ll kill him.

“Reyna! I’ve got orders to arrest you and confiscate that statue. I’m coming aboard with two other centurions. I’d prefer to do this without bloodshed.”

[…]

Michael’s backup centurions were Leila from the Fourth Cohort and Dakota from the Fifth. Strange choices… Leila, daughter of Ceres, wasn’t known for her aggressiveness. She was usually quite level headed. And Dakota… Reyna couldn’t believe the son of Bacchus, the most good-natured of officers, would side with Octavian.

These people are not a war party. They aren’t really an arresting force either, despite their orders. If Octavian intended violence, he would not have sent the three of them. Even Reyna thinks it’s weird for him to choose these three. Plus, why just the three of them? Romans don’t usually act in small groups and certainly not three centurions at once.

So the only explanation is the Octavian wanted to show Reyna that they weren't enemies. That they could still work together. The choice to divide the legion would be up to her.

The Plan Goes South

Of course, this parlay was a mistake.

Because it allowed for Mike to be knocked out and for Dakota & Leila to betray him. Next, Dakota and Leila ignite a fight between them and monsters, distracting half the legion - and likely causing many injuries and deaths.

Anyone who argues that Octavian brought the monsters in for the fight - only for them to turn against them, please note this. It was Nico, Dakota and Leila who attacked the monsters first. Such a tactic, arguably, only hurt the legion.

Nico does, later, consider trying to assassinate Octavian which is a plan I agree with. It would mean the least amount of deaths (page 415). In fact, Nico doesn’t do this because Will shows up.

Anyway, we all know what happens after this point.

#octavian analysis #heroes of olympus #this is a long one

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ampleappleamble · 3 years

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There was 'too strange to be true,' and then there was 'too strange not to be true.'

The former was usually easy enough to determine, at least for a woman of Sagani's age and experience: she'd be a piss-poor mother, hunter, and leader were she to give credence to every tall tale a guilty child or unscrupulous trader told her. But sometimes a situation was just unusual enough, skirted that line between plausibility and absurdity just so, that Sagani found herself well and truly baffled. Like now, with these kith.

They'd seemed like a regular bunch of adventurers at first glance, although a motley one. They'd been chatting amiably amongst themselves when they'd noticed her, and if she hadn't heard them talking about a carved bear-- and if Itumaak hadn't nudged her hip and whined, pointed eagerly at the strangers with his whole body-- she probably would have ignored them entirely and let them disappear down the road, over the horizon.

Leaving her alone. Again. And still at square one.

So she had cast her line, and had been completely knocked off guard at the response she'd gotten. She had been expecting the folk man-- the big blonde with the country drawl-- to do what Dyrwoodan men tended to do, and bloviate at her until he lost interest and herded his mismatched crew off to their next thrilling adventure. But instead, he had crouched down to regard Itumaak with childlike delight while, to Sagani's mild surprise, the redheaded orlan had stepped forward and taken the conversational lead.

What with all the bigotry against orlans she'd heard tell of since arriving in the Dyrwood (and the handful of incidents she'd witnessed firsthand), Sagani hadn't anticipated the leader of this little pack to be one-- and a woman at that, although her foreign accent cleared up some of the confusion. Listening to her bold, clear, confident voice, Sagani had been unable to stop herself cocking an eyebrow and cracking a bemused smile at this strange little encounter.

And it had only gotten stranger the more they'd conversed. While answering the orlan's questions about her hunt for Persoq, Sagani had noticed the giant aumaua behind her scribbling frantically on a sheet of vellum, his excited eyes darting between the orlan and herself. She'd also noticed the folk man ignoring the conversation entirely to focus on trying to get Itumaak's attention, as well as the elf standing alone in the back who may or may not have been talking to himself behind his grimoire. And here she'd been, expecting more slack-jawed farmhands. Gods, these people were odd.

Yes, Sagani, they're a bunch of freaks. Not like you, a middle-aged female long game hunter from an isolated village on an island in the arctic who's searching for a dead man with her snowy white fox.

Maybe that was what made her put Persoq's bear in the other woman's hands, that guilt at thinking her and her companions odd when Sagani had such an unusual story herself. And at least these people were actually friendly, for once. She still hadn't decided whether they were necessarily trustworthy or not, but she could fairly confidently tell that they weren't about to pull some kind of shit. Body language was too relaxed, atmosphere was all wrong for violence or trickery. Hel, this girl wasn't even asking for coin. So why not let her have a go at it?

And now, watching the little woman sway on her feet and stare like a sleepwalker, Sagani was starting to wonder if she had made the right decision after all. She wasn't normally an easy woman to rattle, but something about the orlan had changed, something behind her eyes, and it lent her an eerie, uncanny quality that made Sagani's skin crawl.

"What's going on?" she blurted, hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. "What's happening to her?" Itumaak finally snapped at the annoying folk man, curling his lip and snarling, and the big blonde backed off as the fox leaned into Sagani's side.

"Oh, uh, yeah," the man stammered, "prolly shoulda warned you about that. She gets like that when she's doin' her Watchin', or whatch' call it." He dug his thumb into an itchy spot between his eyebrows, side-eyed Itumaak. "...Your fox bite?"

"Yes," she muttered, eyes still fixed on the orlan woman, on Persoq's bear.

"Can I pet him anyway?" The man's blue-green eyes shone with sincerity.

"Worry not, madam! She'll come out of it soon enough," the aumaua interjected, tucking his writing tools away in his satchel before peering intently at the adra carving in the orlan's hands. "At least, she seemed to come out of it rather quickly when she spoke to the spirits in Caed Nua. This might be an entirely different experience, as far as I'm aware." He chuckled and gently waved his gigantic hand in the redhead's face, and she stared through him, completely unresponsive. "Fascinating, isn't it? I wonder what she sees..."

Sagani glanced up at the huge man, careful to keep the orlan and Persoq's bear in her peripheral vision. "You're telling me you all came from Caed Nua? That old keep west of here? I was told that place was nothing but a wraith-infested death trap." She felt her heart drop, just a little. Yeah. I thought these folks might be too strange to be true.

"Sure's Hel was," the folk man grumbled, his tone suggesting he knew from experience. "'Course, that was before we showed up."

The little huntress narrowed her eyes at him. "Care to explain exactly what you mean by that?"

The shy elf finally spoke up, cringing with embarrassment as he drew near. "Er-- begging your pardon, madam; what my cohort meant to say is-- Well, come to think of it, actually, perhaps introductions are in order--"

"Cliffs," the orlan gasped, and Sagani's focus was back on her in an instant, Itumaak yipping softly with surprise. To her credit, everyone else jumped too, startled by the little woman's sudden return to consciousness. But still, she couldn't afford surprises like that, especially when it came to Persoq's bear. Never again. Beast's Hooves, woman, never take your eye off your quarry...!

The orlan shook her head and blinked, finally seeming to come out of her reverie. "By the sea, I think," she continued, trembling slightly as she placed the adra carving back into Sagani's waiting hands. "Pretty high up, but that salty spray still reached my face."

Sagani's gaze flicked rapidly between the green-purple lump in her hands and the woman in front of her. "...What? I-- what just-- what did you do?" That was nothing like the last "Watcher" she'd dealt with, and she knew he was full of shit. But it didn't necessarily mean this girl was on the level, either...

"I... watched, I suppose. Well, not just watching. It was more like... being inside someone else's head, feeling what they feel as well as seeing what they see." The redhead rubbed her eyes, smiled wearily at Sagani. Reminded her of her oldest child after a prematurely terminated nap. "In this case, I was inside Persoq's head, or his reincarnation's, anyway. Damned disorienting, I have to admit. And it tends to make me look a bit foolish at times."

"Right. I'll bet." Too strange not to be true? ...Maybe. Maybe not. The ranger stuffed the carving back into her pack, not quite ready to admit defeat yet. "Y'know, after my story about that charlatan Watcher, I'd have thought a 'real' Watcher like you would have more to say about the experience than that."

"A woman after my own heart!" The aumaua butted in again, looming up behind the little orlan like a sunrise. "I'd love to hear more myself. She only ever gives us the barest hints of what she sees, what the spirits tell her! ...Although," he added sheepishly, "I understand sometimes the scenes that play out before her are... not exactly easy to talk about."

"Yes, Caed Nua and the Endless Paths are not exactly places with happy pasts, Kana," the elf reminded the aumaua gently but firmly before turning to Sagani. "I know we must seem... an unusual bunch, madam, and you've no reason whatsoever to trust us. And we were each just as skeptical when we met her, and just as shocked as you the first time we saw her peer into the aether. But she has proven multiple times over to each of us that, ultimately, she is telling the truth: she is a Watcher."

Gods, they're persistent! If they're liars, at least it seems they've got their story straight. "You realize I don't even have any coin to offer you for... for whatever that was." She knew how dangerous this could turn out to be, but she could feel herself wanting to believe them, wanting her long, difficult search to finally yield a solid lead...

The little woman shrugged, unconcerned, and turned to the road in front of Sagani, shouldering her pack once more. "Didn't ask for any coin," she stated simply. "Although, if you've a tent, we'd trade you for it. Someone ruined ours."

The folk man tore his attention away from Itumaak's fluffy, rapidly swishing tail to regard the orlan with indignation. "Hey, c'mon, Axa, I said it was an accident--"

And as if on cue, he was silenced by a crack of thunder. All of a sudden, the humidity and the smell of ozone was overpowering, and the gathered kith all turned their faces to the heavens.

The first drop of rain hit Itumaak on the nose, and he sneezed.

"Welp," the big blonde sighed, "Sun was settin' anyway. Guess I'll get started on a lean-to for us." He trudged off into the nearby brush, and as the others followed behind him, the aumaua and the elf gave Sagani polite, awkward little smiles. The orlan woman-- Axa, as Sagani knew her now-- watched them go and then turned to her, raised her eyebrows in an unspoken question. The rain was starting to come down in earnest now.

Oh, come on already--

"I... There's... a little rock outcropping about 15 minutes' hike southeast. Should fit five and a fire 'neath it." Sagani reached down and scratched Itumaak behind the ears, and he pressed himself into her strong, steady hand. His reassurance comforted her, and she smiled. "And a fox, of course."

Axa smiled back at the dwarf, her cohorts turning back toward the two women. "Well! I never thought I'd say that that sounds more appealing than my current projected sleeping arrangements, but here we are. You'll lead the way, I trust?"

Just remember, Sagani: if you wake up tomorrow and Persoq's bear is gone again, you'll have no one to blame but yourself.

The huntress shook her head and chuckled. "Sure will. Follow me."

---

#pillars of eternity #poe anthem infinitum #chapter 9 is coming s l o w l y #but surely!

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kewltie · 4 years

Text

"Isn't he, like, thirty-something years old?" Eri says, voice pitched high in a scandalized tone. "That's half of his foot in the grave already! Why is he even dating a college student if this isn't some midlife crisis?!"

Izuku groans out loud. "Eri-chan, please have mercy." For someone who is describe as the takane no hana of their campus, Eri’s tongue can cut deeper than the sharp edge of a blade.

She shoots him a knowing glare. "He just wants a pretty young thing on his arms to compensate for his wrinkle old balls so don't you fall for it, Izuku-kun!"

Truly, the sharpest tongue.

Izuku's face gets so hot that he thinks he's going to combust at any moment from the embarrassment of this entire exchange. "T-that's not—" he starts, gearing up for a defense, but Eri's eyes suddenly widen in front of him and her jaw drops in shock as a hand covers Izuku's mouth to silence his next words.

"Care to repeat that to my face, shitty brat," a familiar voice growls behind him.

Even without looking back, Izuku knows just by the cadence of his voice. The way it dips low and get throaty when he’s annoyed; the curt infliction of his vowels as he drags his consonant around. Izuku knows him by heartbeat. Intimately and surely as the ground under his feet.

His lips brush against a callus palm as he covers the hand over his mouth with his own. Fingers sweeping against the coarse skin that had seen it fair share of battles; losses and victories were tied up in these extraordinary hands. It's the source of his power and strength. Even knowing the danger that can be these familiar hands can impose, Izuku never feels safer than when he is within its cradle. Izuku drags the hand down from his mouth, but doesn't let it go from his grip. Instead, he wraps his fingers around it and holds tight.

It squeezes back.

Izuku’s entire body lets out a small tremor before he can get his voice to work. “K-Katsuki-san,” he murmurs. “What are you doing here?"

The chair besides him scrapes across the floor and Katsuki drops down in the empty seat. "I'm picking you up for lunch," he grunts out.

Eri, who had grown up under strict tutelage of her yakuza grandfather, is no wilting flower. "Hey, wrinkle old man balls," she states flatly, narrowing her eyes at him in contempt. "Aren't you supposed to patrolling and not hang around a college campus, harassing its students?"

Katsuki grits his teeth. "I'm visiting my boyfriend, brat," he retorts sharply. "And I just got out of a twelve hours shift saving annoying people like your ungrateful and mouthy's ass who is reminding me clearly I took up the fucking wrong profession because you're all shit." Izuku casts a furtive glance at Katsuki and sees that he is out of his uniform. Dressed in a casual black dresshirt that is, uh, Izuku breath hitches as he notices the upper two most buttons are left open to reveal tantalizing defined collarbones underneath. He desperately wants to run a careful hand over them, to feel Katsuki's skin pressed against his palm and to know the weight of touching the current number one hero in Japan, who had remained untouchable to the mass, but he’s here right now beside Izuku, holding his hands like it’s not blowing his mind.

Izuku wants to climb inside of him, burrow deep, and not let go. His eyes widen suddenly and he muffles a squeak, hoping nobody notice his strange behavior as he flexes the free hand on his lap while the other hand twitches under Katsuki's grip under the table. His cheeks redden at such strange and lewd thoughts that plague him, but the two in front of him hadn't notice at all.

They're still locked in a heated contention and looks about to leap out of their respective seat and duke out right here, right now. The crowd be damn.

Unimpressed, Eri huffs and crosses her arm imperiously. "I don't trust you or your intention with Izuku-sempai.”

Katsuki leans back into his seat and raises a brow as casual as you please. "Not that I give a rat's ass about your opinion, but thanks for the info." He turns to Izuku. "What you feel like eating?"

Eri, for the first time in a while is completely disarmed by Katsuki’s provocation, sputters, "Hey, you can't just take him away like that! I was here first and we're not done talking!"

"Yea?" Katsuki muses, brushing his thumb against Izuku's knuckles in deliberate circles that sends spark up Izuku's spine. "So you don't want grab lunch with me, Deku?"

Izuku quickly looks away, chest heaving and breath short as though his lungs don’t quite work. "I—" he flushes, "y-yes, I would very much like to eat lunch with you," he finally squeaks out. He can already feel Eri's outrage, realizing at that moment she got horribly outplayed by Katsuki. Eri makes a wounded noise. “Izuku-sempai! How could you?! You said we were going to hang out today,” she cries out. If it wasn’t for the fact that he knows her like the back of his own hand, he would be scrambling over to her side to grovel for being a horrible friend right then. Izuku winces. "What if I'll buy you dinner and help you with that term paper in our Hero Theory class to make up for it?" he offers.

Her eyes snap to him. "Two dinners, a term paper, and also you're not allow to cancel our plan for next Friday," she counters. "And no stupid boyfriend third wheeling us."

Izuku quickly nods his head. If she had wanted his spleen too he would have readily agree to it, because Eri is unrightfully too good for him. All his friends are really. He's lucky he got them to keep him from falling on his face everytime he does something remotely stupid. Always too caught up with chasing after a good story that he ignored all the danger around him, he'd put himself in harm ways enough times to give Eri greying hair and to be rescued by a grumpy hero who found his fumbling criminal investigation annoying if not a little endearing.

Izuku never could figure out how he of all people managed to snare the Ground Zero, when the first time they'd met Izuku was hanging off a ledge sixty feet off the ground and Katsuki was about to drop him flat onto the concrete slab because he thought Izuku was a part of the League of Villains and the reason why sixteen young girls were missing.

It was beyond a memorable first meeting for them both, and fortunately it wasn't to be their last either.

Katsuki snorts, scooting his chair back. "You're schoolmates," he grumbles, and there's a note of derision in his voice. "You see him even when you don't want to see him." With their joint hands, he tugs Izuku upward and out of his seat with him.

"At least Izuku doesn't have to schedule an appointment with the front office just to see me," she rebukes, eyes flashing. "I mean, wow, must be so hard for you to make time for your own boyfriend."

Katsuki freezes, his hand tightening around Izuku's own. He can feel heat emanating from Katsuki's palm, pressing up against his bare skin danger close but Izuku doesn't break their hold.

"Eri!" Izuku scolds, frowning and Eri has grace to look chastised for a second.

He turns back to Katsuki and gives a comforting squeeze. "I understand," he is quick to assure him. "Your work is much more important." Izuku gets it, because Katsuki is out there putting bad guys in jail and saving people's lives. It's crucial work that keeps this city on track even if these days he can only seem to catch glimpses of Katsuki in the news because he’d slow down on hounding the streets for new lead of criminal activities and updating his crime blog.

Izuku may pretend like he's doing some kind good work out there but he doesn't forget. His investigations can only get him so far when he has no quirk or strength to back it up. The one actually doing the heavy lifting out there are heroes like Katsuki, who’d personally fight all of Izuku's demons and keep Izuku alive and breathing so he can hunt the next big bad menacing the city.

Izuku is no hero. He isn't out there saving people from rampaging villains or protect the country from being run amok by the League. His world is much smaller. He just wants keep Eri from people trying to abuse her quirk or save a kid from being another Kouta out there.

"It's not," Katsuki asserts, pulling Izuku in till he's nearly stumbling into his side. He scowls down at Izuku. "Stop fucking putting yourself down, shitty nerd."

"You're giving him mixed signals here," Eri says dryly. "You can't say something nice and then call him names. You're not very good for Izuku's self esteem, Zero-san."

Even the way she'd tacked on that honorific at the end, it was layered with doubt. Eri is always polite and respectful up until the point she isn't and even then she keeps her guard up. Maybe it’s because of her yakuza backgound and how people had used her for her quirk in the past, but she didn't have a lot of friends to begin with and those whom she do consider friends, she's extremely protective of. Izuku is lucky she's even consider he’s worthy enough remain by her side.

Katsuki's eyes flash to her in a hard glare as Eri meets it dead on unrepentantly. "Shut the fuck up," he hisses, carding his free hand through his hair in frustration. Eri's words seem to have hit its mark.

"Eri," Izuku pleads, turning to her with desperation, "don't."

Eri sighs and waves them off. "Fine, fine, I won't harassed you anymore," she says with an easy shrug. "You may take Izuku-sempai and go, but do bring him back in one piece or I'll have to call upon my grandfather." It's not an idle provocation. They all know who her grandfather is. Katsuki, who always buttheads with Eri, may find her grating at times but never scary. Not of her quirk or her grandfather. Not then, and certainly not now either. It's an admirable quality of Katsuki that Eri had admitted to liking one night in the hush of his dorm room. He bares his teeth at her, sharp edges and full of bites. "Oh, don't bother, I'll be happy to meet your dear old man later when he's behind bars with the rest of his yakuza cohorts," he says, cut for cut. Vicious barb for vicious barb. He's merciless.

Eri stands up abruptly. "Hey, you—!" But the rest of her sentence is cut off when Katsuki drags Izuku away.

"Don't worry, I'm only half fucking with you, brat," he throws over his shoulder, voice alight in laughter as Eri makes a muffled scream of frustration.

"That's mean," Izuku murmurs, bumping Katsuki's shoulder meaningfully.

"And she isn't?" he counters, raising his brow at Izuku. "I'm not going to be nice to her just because you adopted her like a damn stray. If she wants to pick a fight with me that badly, I'm going to give it my all."

"She's just protective, you know," Izuku says, strolling hand in hand with Katsuki through the quad area of the campus. Trying not to pay attention to several people stopping midtrack and nearly breaking their neck as they realize who's walking beside him. Katsuki makes a grunt of acknowledgment. "Good. She should be if she got a trouble magnet like you as friend."

Izuku's feet skid to a halt, pulling Katsuki to a stop with him. Katsuki turns to him with a befuddled expression. "You like her!" he accuses, absolutely delighted.

Katsuki's face flash in horror. "No!" he yells, flustered. "Fuck no! I don't like that little witch."

"It's okay, I'll keep your secret," Izuku teases.

Katskuki scowls as he leans closer in. "Shut your dirty mouth or I'll do it," he says, and kisses Izuku to that effect before he can say anything about it.

Izuku’s knees doesn’t buckle under the careful attention Katsuki’s mouth gave him; his tongue teases and prods at Izuku until Izuku is completely compliant in his hands. How unfair, he think, face flushed and lips throbbing from the bruises of Katsuki’s kiss as Katsuki draws back with a smirk on his face.

Izuku clears his throat and looks away for a second as he regains his bearings. “D-do you need me for something?” he asks. Surely, Katsuki isn’t here on his campus just to take him out to eat right? “Is there a case you want me to look into?”

Katsuki frowns, brows pinching as annoyance flickers pass his face. “No. I want to grab lunch with you because I fucking miss you,” he grumbles a surly as always, but his words punch leaves him breathless.

“Oh,” he says, eyes rounded with surprise.

He thinks of all the time Katsuki seems larger than life, this great and famed hero who save the world again and again, this unattainable man is more like a figment of Izuku’s dreams than anything, so how could he ever be with someone so boring and ordinary like Izuku? But, when Katsuki say something like this and Izuku hopes, oh, how hope burns with him, because slowly but surely, Katsuki would come to love him just as much as Izuku does one day. One day that will come.

#bakudeku #fic snippet #pro hero x college student au

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softschofield · 4 years

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i’m so perpetually frustrated with the audience members who criticise 1917 for having “no backstory or development for the characters”

like, yes, it’s subtle. because they’re friends and friends don’t talk to each other like “oh, yes, remember all these details of my life i’m conveniently and clearly reiterating for an omniscient third party?” but fuck dude, if you pay attention and know basic facts about war or do your goddam research, there is SO MUCH DETAIL TO THEIR BACKSTORIES

like, just from one TINY DETAIL, you get so much: schofield’s wounded stripe on the left sleeve of his uniform. to get a wounded stripe in world war 1, you had to be officially listed in dispatches as being a CASUALTY, not just having been in a field hospital, meaning the wound was BAD. but, wait, what kind of wound could be so well-hidden and subtle? it could be a gunshot wound or trenchfoot, but there were also two categories that could earn a soldier the wounded stripe: gas, or shellshock. it’s therefore entirely possible that he was suffering from trauma rather than a physical wound before he met blake. given that 60,000 rounds of field artillery and 45,000 rounds of heavy artillery were fired in the first DAY of fighting, and one german described the experience of the shelling as “the earth shook, the sky seemed like a boiling cauldron [...] the ability to think logically, and the feeling of gravity, both seemed to have been removed”, shellshock is a very plausible diagnosis.

so, we know he fought in the somme, and we know which battle he fought, meaning he had been at the front for at the very LEAST 7 months. SEVEN MONTHS. that is a LONG time to be in the trenches, and it is a STAGGERING amount of time to have withstood the horror and still come out of it soft, gentle, and compassionate - think on THAT when y’all say schofield is a flat character. think about what kind of a person could kill and see people killed and live in the constant, crushing, claustrophobic terror and boredom and nothing of the trenches for most likely LONGER than that and stay kind and quiet. NEED i say any the fuck more, NEXT

just from that, we then know that blake did NOT fight in the somme, meaning he arrived at the front some time after november 1916. and, judging by his excited and fearful reaction to the front line trench before a predicted push, there’s the distinct possibility he had never seen a battle, meaning his arrival can be placed after the 18th of december 1916 and that he was still deeply innocent.

if he arrived in december and the film begins on the 6th of april, that ALSO means that they had known each other at the most for just over 3 months, very possibly less, and that they had formed a very close bond in that time.

which brings me to my next point: where are their other friends? all the other soldiers are shown to have close-knit groups, so where are theirs? why is it only them? why are they even friends in the first place? why is blake, a new recruit who had only just arrived, already the same rank as a veteran who had been there for very possibly up to or more than a year? why is a veteran hanging around with a chattery, bushy-tailed, never-seen-battle replacement? why isn’t he hanging out with his own cohort of soldiers who has been there the same amount of time as him and could much more easily relate to his trauma and exhaustion? WHY is a middle-class-sounding guy even hanging around with a lower-class farmboy in the first place?

the most plausible answer? all of schofield’s friends he went through training with are dead - probably in the somme - and he’s purposefully isolated himself to grieve with his survivor’s guilt. he was most likely wounded, lonely, and agonisingly depressed for months until a cheerful replacement arrived at the front and befriended him. and THAT’S where schofield’s fanatic devotion to him comes from, and THAT’S what “he saved my life” means, more than in the literal sense - he was lost, and broken, and numb, and blake saved him.

furthermore, because boy have i got more, blake’s backstory, in case someone out there has seen this film and still wants to hit me with that fucking “we know nothing about these characters”: we know he has an older brother, we know he has a female dog called myrtle, we know they live with their mum in a farm in the countryside with a cherry orchard, and we know his father isn’t in the picture and that he most likely hasn’t been for a long, long time, judging by blake’s lack of bitterness and daddy issues, his closeness with his mother, and the fact he isn’t in blake’s family photo. we know, from interviews, that he enlisted as soon as he came of age because his brother was an officer and he idolised him, and we know he was barely this side of 18.

another thing? the story about wilko. blake knows stories about men schofield has almost certainly known for far longer - but he didn’t interact and wasn’t told, and blake did, and he was more familiar with all of them and had stories to tell that schofield would have known if he’d been sitting in the same circle when the gossip was told. how’s THAT for subtle characterisation, chumps.

and if you just think about it, there’s so much depth to blake’s overly trusting nature - because he’s still naive, he’s still innocent, he’s still young. schofield tucks the things most special or necessary away in his inside pocket, where’s it most safe, because he’s learned lessons the hard way; blake puts them carelessly in his trouser pockets where they could fall out. schofield keeps his rifle with him even as he’s going to fetch water for the german pilot; blake discards his rifle and leaves himself vulnerable. if you just LOOK, it’s all there!

FURTHERMORE, we know schofield is in his early 20s and older than blake. we know he has a much more refined accent, and we know from interviews that he’s from cookham, berkshire. we know he has two daughters and a wife (or a sister and nieces, it’s open to interpretation, go to town), we know he suffers from shellshock, we know he most likely couldn’t face going home on his last leave and instead stayed in france and gave his medal away to a french captain, we know the subject of home is deeply triggering for him, we know he refuses to talk about his daughters, we know that his family haunts him as much as he longs for it, and we know that he didn’t receive any mail from his wife - interesting, considering blake received a letter just telling him his dog was having puppies.

and don’t even get me started on the “lack of character development”. watch me scream here about that.

also, some more backstory because now i’m on a fucking roll: lance corporals were typically the second-in-commands or heads of sections, of which there were 4 within each platoon, each comprising 12 soldiers, it's likely blake and schofield were in command of different sections in the same platoon. where does that come into play? well, scho seemed to slip very easily into a position of authority when the convoy got stuck in the mud, didn’t he? MOVING ON.

more? i have more. another little tidbit: lieutenant leslie asks schofield and blake if they are his relief, and then asks when the fuck they’re getting there when they say they aren’t. he and his men are exhausted and it was said by another soldier that “they had been blown to hell a few nights ago” - they’ve clearly been at the front a long time, which, again, is interesting, considering front line soldiers were typically rotated back into reserve after 8 days. clearly, it’s been a lot longer than that, meaning order and routine have completely broken down and a new type of despair, hopelessness, and mess has taken root. there, more backstory again.

“oh, it’s just a shitty saving private ryan” “oh, it’s definitely no all quiet on the western front”. FIRST OF ALL, it fucking IS all quiet on the western front, have you literally even read it? baumer goes to such lengths to hardly ever use the word enemy because he doesn’t view the soldiers in the other trenches as bad, just as other innocents swept up in a war that no one should be fighting. he spends a whole chapter sobbing over the only man he’s ever killed in close combat. it’s a hundred times slower than 1917 and it hasn’t even GOT a plot. what the FUCK are you talking about?

oh, and it’s just saving private ryan? show me WHERE. a bunch of soldiers have to go into enemy territory to rescue a soldier because all his brothers have been killed in action and his family wants him home. two soldiers are sent into enemy territory with a letter to stop an attack. i am LITERALLY struggling to think of any more similarities than that and even THOSE are fucking reaching.

also, it’s literally a different war. who are you and why are you saying these things to me i am BEGGING you to please use your fucking head for just a few seconds and actually THINK

“it was so convenient that the river just happened to take him to the devons” ??? “the river. it goes there” did you just entirely miss everything lauri told him? the river quite literally flows exactly past where he is supposed to go, that’s the entire POINT, that’s WHY he jumped into it, because he KNEW it would take him there, oh my GOD

“if the convoy was going exactly where he needed to go, why didn’t erinmore tell him to meet it?” i know it might be a shocking concept, but even a general may not have known exactly the route a convoy of trucks was going to take, especially in the confused wasteland the germans had left behind in their retreat. in fact, he might not have known about the convoy at all if they were coming from a different sector of the front - WHICH, guess what, THEY WERE. captain smith mentioned they crossed no man’s land just outside bapaume, which was much further south, in the old somme battlefields. scho and blake’s trench was somewhere near boyelles, 11km north of bapaume.

“it’s unbelievable that scho would just sit quietly and relax in the convoy truck, and then get out to give orders and take command, after what he’d just been through - and, plus, he would have gotten to écoust quicker if he’d just walked” there’s this thing called trauma. shock. dissociating. compartmentalisation. just shutting down in the face of too much grief when you don’t have the time nor capacity to let yourself feel it, acknowledge it, register it. in the script, scho is said to “almost disappear into the noise of the men.” and, honestly, the emotional illusion of regaining a scrap of control over a situation he was utterly out of control of would have been enough to prompt him to get out and give orders - but as it is that wasn’t the only thing driving him: he was desperate, and an NCO, and he needed to go. AND “he would have gotten there quicker if he’d walked”?? ???????? first of all, he didn’t know that? second of all, scho said it would take them nine hours AT THE MOST to get there and, given the fact they weren’t attacking until dawn and it was most likely morning when he and blake set off, he wasn’t in a TERRIBLE rush. THIRD of all, it was a direct order from a captain. FOURTH OF ALL, do you really think he felt like walking all that way when a truck was RIGHT THERE?

“there are too many coincidences” films are built on coincidences. they are conveniently put with a character who will end up being their soulmate at the end of it all. they conveniently uncover information that would take people in real life months to find. coincidences drive stories - one of the greatest tools of screenwriting? “don’t write what would happen, write what could happen.” what could happen is that scho finds a teenage girl and an orphaned baby sheltering in a ruined town - in a war. what could happen is that a convoy of trucks heading north towards the battle of arras logically uses the road running alongside a farmhouse. what could happen is that scho jumps into a river that he knows runs east. i just don’t understand what you’re trying to say

“oooohh for soldiers on a life-or-death mission to save one of their brothers, they sure do take their time to sight-see” they’ve seen absolutely fucking nothing but the walls of a trench and the reserve camp for months. also, it’s pretty much just common sense to clear out a building before you turn your back on it and keep walking. also, they had 8 hours, scho ended up getting there in under two hours, and blake is allowed to feel more than one emotion at a time and to be excited about exploring new places, ESPECIALLY when it’s almost certain that neither he nor schofield had ever even been out of england. war or not, the french countryside was still beautiful and blake is allowed to appreciate that. next question

“how was there a milk pail full of milk if there was no one around to milk the cow” german soldiers were stationed in the farmhouse before they got the order to move out. “they’re not long gone.” they left an hour before hand, someone probably milked the cow before they knew they were leaving. you don’t have to read the script to have a functioning braincell

“unbelievable that they weren’t killed by the tripwire explosion” it detonated in the tunnels, not in the bunker. they wanted to collapse the escape routes first and foremost. please, i am begging you, use your head

“why did they pull an enemy out of the plane” basic human decency. i cannot believe i have to explain this concept. soldiers in the first world war were especially conscious of the humanity of the men in the other trench. you say blake had no character and then get mad when he’s shown to be so kind and selfless that he’ll burn himself rescuing a german. i don’t know what you want from me, get out of my kitchen

“schofield was an idiot for stopping to interact with lauri and the baby” he was concussed. he knew there was somewhere he had to be but he didn’t remember what or where until he heard the church bells. also, for people who criticise the “lack of character development and backstory”, ya hate to see character building moments. it clearly wasn’t the first time he’s recited that poem to a baby. make the connection dipshits

“the germans shot like fucking stormtroopers, how did they not hit him?” point one: one of them was blind drunk. when muller is ranting while scho is strangling baumer, he says that maybe they should head back and that maybe they won’t realise they’ve been missing. the implication? either they’ve gone AWOL, or they’re stragglers from the retreat back to the new line. either way, at least one, and very possibly all of them are off their fucking faces, considering the one by the burning church tripped over his own goddamn feet chasing scho. point two: not in a thousand years would they have expected a lone english soldier to just pop up out of nowhere in ecoust. it was so unexpected that you really can’t blame them for being flustered and confused.

“how the FUCK did the letter survive the river in one piece?” he put it in his tin. there’s literally an entire 30 seconds of the convoy scene just devoted to showing scho tucking it in there. i don’t understand how i have to say this

“it’s too gruesome” aside from the hand in the corpse and the dead horses, where? where? also, it’s the first world war. i can’t believe what i’m hearing. who are you people

“it’s not exciting enough, it’s slow, it’s dull” IT’S SUPPOSED TO SHOW THE CONSEQUENCES AND AFTERMATH OF WAR INSTED OF THE SHALLOW EXCITEMENT OF IT YOU DUNCE

in conclusion, suck my ASS anyone who says they didn’t have backstory or development or that there are ~raging plot holes~. FUCK

anyone who doesn’t want the actual soft and only good person in the world William Schofield to live a happy life in peace just isn’t valid and that’s all i’ll ever say on the matter you fucking degenerate scum rotten tomato reviewers

#in which i just fucking lose my mind and go fucking apeshit #1917 #will schofield #william schofield #1917 movie #mine #also my mum pointed out that they both have scenes where they try to haul the other up and say 'we have to go we have to stand up'#and the other says 'just let me stand / just let me lie here'#fuck #there's SO MUCH THAT I'M STILL ONLY JUST SEEING AFTER 5 WATCHES

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r-redex · 3 years

Text

For the anon that requested a WereLion!Leo fic! I wasn’t super clear on the whole concept, but after some clarification from another anon, I whipped something up that I hope is accurate to what you wanted. Thank you for the suggestion, I never write Fantasy AUs and it seemed like a good fit, and was really fun ^^

Fantasy/Medieval AU, Briefly mentioned period-typical homophobia

Finding out that his boyfriend could turn into a giant cat probably should’ve fazed Vincent a lot more than it did. It probably said a lot about his life with how little it affected him, but he decided not to think about that too hard.

Strangely enough, it actually put some things into context. The more he thought about it the more he realized that Leo did have some pretty catlike tendencies that he hadn’t noticed until now. His affinity for napping in the sunny patches of his garden; the litheness and agile way he moved, sometimes startling Vincent by appearing by his side without making a sound; how Vincent would wake up on the mornings after he slept over with Leo’s head tucked under his chin, and watch him practically preen when Vincent ran his fingers through his hair and down his back.

It was Leo who’d seemed more surprised. When he’d told him that night, sitting on his rickety stairs with mugs of cider, he’d said it as if it were a death sentence. Vincent had paused for a few moments as he absorbed the information, then nodded and replied with a nonchalant, “Okay.”

Leo had looked at him as though he’d grown a second head.

“‘Okay?’ What do you mean, ‘okay?’”

Vincent had raised an eyebrow. “Did you want a different reaction?”

“No, no--I’m glad you’re so, uh...cool with it?” Leo was stammering, fingers tapping restlessly on his mug. “I just figured, you know, we’re getting kinda serious--I mean, I guess I shouldn’t assume, I don’t know where exactly you are, but--”

He’d relaxed markedly when Vincent leaned in to shut him up with a kiss, which was a win in Vincent’s book.

Despite the revelation (and the lengthy conversation that had followed about trust and boundaries), it wasn’t until weeks later that when Vincent first witnessed the change himself.

He’d been away for a few days, almost a week, lending his services to a convoy that’d been passing through the city. One of their men had been wounded in an attack the day before, and though he was on the mend, he was still in no shape to fight if the need arose. Vincent had offered to fill in his place, escorting some important dignitary to the next city over, secretly grateful to get away from the humdrum of the city guard. The trip had gone smoothly, but by the time he returned, he was entirely worn out. It made sense that he would be out of practice, but the thought sat heavy in his stomach all the way back home.

He had just handed his horse off to the tired-looking stablehand, already thinking about his warm bed back home, when a muffled crash from outside snapped him to attention. He glanced back at the stablehand, but they were already leading the horse back into the stables and didn’t seem to have heard. Curious, and maybe still jumpy from his trip, he made a split-second decision and followed the noise.

Slowly, as quietly as he could, Vincent crept around the side of the stables where he’d heard the noise. There was another crash, louder this time, followed by a low muttering that he couldn’t quite make out. Suddenly, three figures appeared from behind the stable, and he quickly pressed himself against the wall to avoid being seen. He couldn’t make out who they were, but two of them seemed to be pushing the third along, talking in low tones as they hurried past the stables and down the dirt path leading into the forest. Heart in his throat, Vincent waited for a moment before following at a safe distance, hand on his sword.

He lost sight of the trio a few times around the winding trees, but they were speaking more clearly now in the supposed privacy of the forest. He recognized their voices but couldn’t put faces to them, and could only make out snippets of their conversation as they travelled further into the trees.

They stopped suddenly, forcing Vincent to quickly dart behind a thick oak to keep his cover. He couldn’t see what was happening from this angle, but he heard a distinct thump and a muffled yelp, followed by a barked order to “keep him there.”

After a few moments of rustling, the man who’d given the order grunted.

“Alright, let him talk. I’d like to hear what he’s got to say for himself.”

The other person chuckled. There was a brief pause, then:

“You assholes better untie me right fucking now, or else!”

Vincent’s heart dropped into his boots, eyes widening. Leo’s voice was full of rage, and he grunted as he supposedly thrashed against the tree.

“Cut that out,” the first man snapped, and Leo fell silent.

“Now,” the man said in a cold, calm tone that made Vincent’s skin crawl, “would you care to elaborate? We ‘better untie you right fucking now, or else’...?”

Silence. The man laughed, and whoever was with him joined in.

“That’s what I thought. Not so tough now without your bodyguard, are you?”

Leo made a dangerous noise that sounded startlingly like a growl. It took Vincent a moment before he realized with a start that they were referring to him.

As if confirming his statement, the man spoke again. “You’re like his little lapdog, aren’t you? You think that because you’re all cozy with a guard, we’d just forget about your debt?”

“Harvey,” Leo growled, his voice gritty and low.

Harvey cut him off before he could continue.

“You’ve certainly been elusive without him around. What’s changed, Leo? I don’t remember you being such a coward.”

The other man snickered, but Leo said nothing.

There were a few beats of silence before Harvey spoke again.

“Ray,” he said, addressing his cohort, “do a quick patrol around the area. I’m going to have a little chat with Leo.”

“Got it.”

The sound of footsteps reminded Vincent that he was in a very, very vulnerable position right now. His hand tensed on his sword as he readied for a fight, but luckily, Ray seemed to have chosen to check the far side of the clearing first. He breathed a silent sigh of relief, but kept his ears peeled.

“Let’s cut the shit, Leo,” Harvey said, breaking Vincent’s train of thought. His voice was much quieter, but there was a tone to it that Vincent really didn’t like. “You and I both know that you could get out of this right now, if you wanted to. I’m the only one who knows. No one would believe me if I told them your little secret, would they?”

Leo stayed silent again, but Harvey wasn’t done.

“But that isn’t the secret you want to keep under wraps, now is it?”

There was a sharp inhale, like Leo had sucked a breath through his teeth. Vincent could hear the grin in Harvey’s voice when he spoke.

“You’ve got no self preservation, we both know that much. But what would happen if that other damning little secret came out? It wouldn’t just hurt you, Leo.”

“Harvey,” Leo warned. His voice was different, but Vincent couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was.

“I wonder how the people would react? How the guards would react?”

Harvey’s voice lowered to a hiss, but Vincent heard it loud and clear. “I wonder what the Crown would do if they found out that their golden-boy soldier was fucking a man?”

The thrashing sounds started up again, louder and more violent than last time. When Leo spoke again, his voice definitely had a deeper, rougher quality that made Vincent’s hair stand on end.

“You wouldn’t dare--”

“You underestimate me.” Harvey sounded like he was smirking. “I won’t hesitate to inform the Crown’s court about your little friend. He’ll be ruined, cast out, maybe even killed; and you’ll have only yourself to blame.”

Several things happened at once. Vincent glanced to his left just in time to lock eyes with a startled-looking man, already holding his sword at the ready. Ray opened his mouth to call out to Harvey. There was a great snapping and creaking and, just as the shout left Ray’s throat, it was swallowed by a great, thunderous roar.

Vincent and Ray both stumbled back in shock at the sound that seemed to shake the trees around them. Vincent recovered first, regaining his footing a split second before Ray, and launched himself forward just as he was beginning to turn. He drew his sword mid-step and skillfully knocked the other one away, sending it flying into the brush and leaving his own blade hovering at Ray’s neck.

He couldn’t look away in fear of the man escaping, but out of the corner of his eye, he could see a large shape lumbering into the moonlight in the centre of the clearing. Harvey sounded panicked, leagues away from his previous cocky tone.

“W-wait--Leo, back up--”

Making a split-second decision, Vincent grabbed the front of Ray’s shirt and hauled him forward into the clearing. He shoved him down towards where Harvey was on the ground, trying to crawl backwards away from…

Despite the situation, Vincent’s breath caught in awe.

Instead of Leo, a large lion was stalking towards the men cowering on the ground. Sleek tawny fur shone in the patches of moonlight, the light reflecting off snarling teeth.

Managing to shake himself out of his shock, Vincent turned to the men and drew himself up to his full height.

“If I were you,” he said coldly, “I would get my ass out of here. If you speak a word to anyone of what has happened tonight, it is not the lion you will have to be worried about.”

His words were punctuated by a growl from the lion. With gaping mouths and eyes full of terror, Harvey and Ray pulled themselves up and turned, stumbling over each other as they fled the forest.

Vincent let out a long breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, the lion--Leo--was staring up at him. His eyes were so similar it was almost startling, but the emotion was clear. Vincent smiled warmly.

“That’s one way to welcome me home,” he teased.

And, though he knew it was impossible, he swore that the lion rolled his eyes.

#alternate universe #vincent/leo #fanfic #oneshot

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angstymarshmallow · 5 years

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part seven - “give me a sign.” (cal lowell x mc)

[a little note: I’ve been wracking my brain on this for two weeks now and I think...I think this is where I want it to be. It’s a bit different than what I imagined originally for a crossover and is loosely based off that particular bloodbound chapter. I mean like why are action sequences so hard and there will be a secondary piece of more crossover time in the next part! Can you believe this is still going on? And we’re not even at the end yet. If you read it - than you! If you leave a comment, bless you!.]

[words counted: 7600]

[summary: While MC (Wren) heads to New York in hopes of finding Cal, Cal tries to come to terms with what he wants vs. what he can’t have. Trapped in Kavinsky’s makeshift prison, he can only count on himself. Little does he know, Wren and the most unlikely allies are here to break him out of this hellhole].

[part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six]

The trip to New York was short, but it’s been one anxious moment after another during the several hours she’s been locked in her seat – peering at the clouds from her window as late afternoon gradually became night. For someone like Wren whose spent most of her life being unperturbed by nearly everything, it says a lot. There isn’t a great deal of things capable of making her anxious.

Still, her anxiety is half the problem and the other half is completely fixated on Cal. He’s all alone out there.

She tries to picture his boyish smile, the light flush in his cheeks when she teases him or the warmth in his laughter – but the images quickly fizzle out at the thought of anyone hurting him. I swear to god if that asshole harms one fucking hair on his head –

She would do anything to have him safely in her arms again.

Wren inhales deeply, sagging against her seat as the plane comes to an almost complete stop. It won’t be long now. She’s supposed to be meeting with Nik’s contacts as soon as she’s out of here.

Keep it together. Just keep it together.

She tries to push him out of her thoughts, but he funnels through. She can’t stop thinking about him, and her mind will end up thinking the worst at the rate things are going. Checking the time on her watch, she sighs and relents to resting her head against her seat. She peers at the plane’s ceiling.

Focus on something else.

She wracks her brain, absently tapping the screen of her phone.

Adrian Raines. Kamilah Sayeed. Jax Matsuo. Lily Spencer. Harlow Daniels.

She mulls over their names as the pilot exchanges his farewell across the intercom.

Only half of them vaguely rings a bell, but the latter are a mystery as far as she’s concerned. Who were they beyond what the media reports?

They’re supposed to meet, and yet she has no idea what meeting with them will entail. Vampires of all the things. In the flesh. Fangs and all. There’s a quiet kind of exhilaration at the knowledge that they’re real, that she’s really meeting a bunch of bloodsuckers. Hell, even a year later – the supernatural world still continues to catch her off guard.

It’s only a shame that they haven’t exactly been forthright about anything else. None of the people she’s meeting tonight have expunged any information as to what they need from Kavinsky, but she’s assumed as much that they must have bene looking for something specific. He was after all – a glorified artist that collected the highest quality of merchandises.

But people aren’t merchandise.

Scowling, Wren wrenches her seatbelt free. The thought infuriates her.

She steps in front of an elderly woman without thinking and flinches before making enough for her to pass. Muttering a stiff apology, she follows the rest of the crowd out of the airplane shaft.

A swift vibration emanating from her pocket has her glancing down in time to catch a glimpse of Danny’s name floating across the top screen of her phone. She quickly swipes it free, thinking the worst until she’s able to read his entire message.

There were some wolves poking around earlier. They smelled weird but Pete sent them packing before we realized they’re apart of Shaw’s pack. He’s kinda in bad shape but Nick, Theo and Sabine are fine. Just wanted to check in that you got to NY okay.

A pause before another message pops up.

Not that I care or anything.

Wren hides a smile behind her smirk. The little shit does care about her.

She’d be lying if she said the idea doesn’t lift her spirits – even a little at the thought, but she knows better than to make a big deal out of it. At least not right now. She can always tease them later when their lives aren’t in danger anymore.

Ah hell, who’s she kidding? Their lives will always be in some level of danger.

Tapping her fingers lightly against the screen, Wren tries to think of a response.

Heard you loud and clear kid. I got here fine and I’m about to meet with Nik’s associates.

She waits a beat before adding.

Then we’ll find Cal and we’ll be back before you even know it.

He doesn’t say thank you in so many words but she can tell he’s grateful for her reassurance. Before Wren is able to pocket her phone safely into her jacket, another text dings and flits across her screen.

Good. Stay safe.

You too kid.

Taking a deep breath in hopes of settling her nerves, Wren manages a sharp nod at the security that ushers her through. If she has anything to say about it – they’ll be back home in no time.

The place they’ve agreed to meet her seems a little far off the normal radar. Well, normal radar being – not dark, dingy and creepy. Although, she’s been to her fair share of sketchy places, she’d feel much better if they were meeting in Time’s Square instead of backstreets leading into abandoned alleyways.

At least she has a switchblade with her.

Still, the side streets and corners with flickering lights all but scream serial killer.

This is where psychos kidnap or knock out the few people dumb enough to travel out on their own. But Wren isn’t just some random idiot taking a shortcut home – she’s here for a reason. And she’s hellbent on finding Cal, no matter how long it takes. No matter what it costs.

Besides, Nik’s one of the few people she trusts and a favor is a favor after all.

However, Wren still finds her anxiety getting the best of her. Her thoughts are ridiculously stuck on things out of her control as she toys with the brunt edges of her blade between her fingers. After a few minutes, she checks the time on her phone.

They’re late.

It isn’t until the sound of light footsteps coming from the long-winding alleyway does some of her anxiety finally began to chip away. She glances up and notices shadows casting sinewy figures across the cobblestone pavement in time. They belong to five people. The closer they grow, the more she’s able to discern their appearance and what she sees – has her whistling in soft appreciation under her breath.

They’re seriously good-looking – not that she thinks she’s ever seen an unattractive vampire before, but her eyes can’t help but be drawn to each of them, as if against her own will. It’s almost close to indescribable when it comes to how enthralling they appear at this distance.

The first is a well-dressed gentleman with an almost bronze look to his skin as his intense-looking obsidian eyes meet her stare. He’s taller than the rest of his cohorts. She feels trapped by his gaze somehow and she sucks in a breath when her lungs fight for one. Seconds pass before his gaze travels south – to the rest of her. When he finally breaks eye contact, she manages to scope out the rest of him with something akin to a relieved sigh.

He’s in a grey suit that’s way too fancy for this part of New York. His dark and thick hair has been sleeked back as a stiff grin settles and draws her attention to the sharpness of his cheekbones.

The woman a few paces beside him wears her own expensive-looking suit as well. Although hers’ is several shades of dark purple – not quite the colour of licorice but not quite anything else either, she possesses such an air of authority that Wren fights with the sudden urge to sink her gaze to the floor. The woman drags a tanned and flawlessly manicured hand through her long and almost oakwood-coloured hair. Something in her penetrating stare causes gooseflesh to break-out across Wren’s skin.

The third person stands a little off to the side and heaves a mean-looking crossbow across her back. Unlike the other two, she doesn’t radiate an ounce of unfriendliness. She seems to be the exact opposite down from the laid-back way she’s dressed. Her dark eyes and skin are a stunning comparison to her lavender-style braids. She sticks out from the people in suits – but in the best way possible. She tosses a few of her braids across her shoulder before waving at her.

The remaining two stand a little closer together from the rest. Wren can’t help but think there’s something more between them than just simple business partners as she diverts to their attention. In fact, the taller of the two seems to almost glare suspiciously at her as he places a protective arm around the secondary person.

He’s the one that deserves Wren’s own glare in response. He’s wearing a dark crimson jacket that isn’t even his colour and tight-fitting jeans that seem a little outdated compared to the rest of his companions. But it’s his protective arm loosely tucked to the woman’s side that’s convinced her there’s definitely something more. Her eyes follow the length of his shoulders and she nearly does a double-take.

Is that…is that a katana?

His jet-black hair nearly obscures his dark eyes, but Wren is still preoccupied at staring in awe at the sword that’s strapped across his back. What I wouldn’t give for one of those.

It isn’t until the much smaller and wiry framed woman nestled beside him steps forward that she finally breaks eye contact.

Her bangs are even longer than her counterpart, but she wears it with in such a fashionable style that Wren is barely able to tell the difference in length. She’s dressed just as impeccable as her partners, but unlike the rest of them – there isn’t as much of an otherworldly-ness to her. She doesn’t have the same likeness that makes them a vampire. Still, something about her remains vaguely familiar despite Wren being unable to put her finger on it.

Apprehension makes the air around them shudder and Wren shifts uncomfortably on her feet from the sudden awareness of the terse atmosphere.

If their intentions aren’t as sincere as she hopes, she’d severely outmatched and a complete dumbass for meeting them alone. Even with her half-working fae powers at best, nothing can prepare her for taking on a bunch of vampires on. They’re ridiculously stronger than any average human, and as much as she’s fae – the rest of her is still human.

Steeling quiet resolve, Wren forces a smile at the sign of their approach. They’re a few feet away now and she has to convey complete confidence. You’re in control Wren, you’re in control. Not some meek-minded weak person. Although she’s looking for information, she can’t give them the idea she’s desperate. “I heard you’re the people that I’m looking for.” She inclines her head.

“Maybe, that really depends on you.” The guy with the crimson jacket grunts, his hand on his weapon.

The woman that’s been beside him this entire time, shoots him a sudden look. Then she straightens herself upright, the ruffles of her blouse crinkling at the motion. “I take it you’re Wren Howell, right?”

“Yup. And you’re…Nik’s associates.” Wren makes a gesture at them.

They’ve gradually grown closer and she can make out a gleam in one of their eyes.

“That’s correct. He mentioned you were looking for information.” The particularly fancy grey suit has folded his arms. His eyes are carefully neutral, which Wren suspects is something he does quite often when he’s assessing someone.

“Actually, I’m not just looking for information. I’m looking for someone. Cal. Cal Lowell.” She says his name a-matter-of-factly. “And I heard you may know how I can find him.” She takes a deep breath in an effort to keep her voice even. Although, she’s desperate to find him, she refuses to break down in front of a bunch of strangers. “I know you’re all meeting Landgon Kavinsky.” Her gaze steadily flits across to every one of them, pausing to emphasize the depth of her words. “And I know Cal’s last whereabouts were through him.” She hesitates before adding, “a couple night ago if I’m being completely honest. They had a meeting,” she continues steadily, the blade between her fingers moving more rapidly. “And no one’s seen or heard him since.”

The man in the crimson jacket whistles. “You sure don’t like to waste any time, do you? I kinda like that.”

“Me too.” The lavendair-haired woman chirps, flashing Wren a wide smile.

“Lily, we’re here to discuss something important – not flirt with our new guest.” Another one of the women chimes in; the shortest of all three with a bemused expression flitting across her face.

Lily pouts and Wren wrestles against the abrupt urge to smile. “I don’t see a point in beating around the bush. Time isn’t something I have a lot of, and I don’t want to spend precious seconds here when I could be looking for him out there.” She jerks her chin behind them.

For a few seconds, no one spoke.

Something in Wren’s chest tightens. “Look,” her voice cracks a little and she winces at the sound. “You can obviously tell that I care about the guy. I’m not going anywhere until you tell me something.” The switchblade within her grip moves a little faster – from finger to finger, “my gut is telling me that he’s in danger and I need to find him.” Her gut feelings have rarely – if ever been wrong before.

Grey-suit folds his arms while his brows arches to seemingly contemplate her words. Scrutinizing his expression, he breaks the quiet tenseness in the air first. “Harlow, you didn’t mention any of this.” He cuts his attention to the shortest of the two women in front of Wren.

The woman – Harlow, pinches her expression together as her lips thin into a faint frown. Cautiously, she peers back at him. “Sorry Adrian, I didn’t realize it was this serious. Nik wasn’t keen on so many details other than a name and Mr. Kavinsky’s usual meeting places.” She bites her low lip.

“So, you do know Kavinsky then?” Wren interrupts impatiently.

The other woman – tallest of all three who has yet to speak, suddenly bristles. Every length of her seems to stiffen. Her eyes narrow into slits as she speaks up, abruptly interjecting before Harlow is able to assemble any sense of an answer. “We may or may not, although that doesn’t explain why we should divulge such delicate information.” There’s an emphasis on her words and Wren detects a hint of a slight slur – fairly unlike any accent she has ever heard before.

“Kamilah!” Harlow’s face goes a little pale but Adrian seems to consider the other woman’s words carefully – he strokes his chin.

Kamilah snorts and crosses her arms. “You certainly can’t blame me. After all, we’ve only just met and I’m merely stating the obvious.”

Wren tenses. She gets it, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it. If circumstances were reserved, she wouldn’t be necessarily jumping at the opportunity to help. But she’s the one that needs their assistance – so she bites her tongue and shifts on her feet.

“She has every reason to be cautious. How do we know we can trust you?” Adrian tilts his chin, eyes glimmering from ashen black into twinges of deep red against the dark backdrop of the dim city lights.

“And how do we know we can’t?” Lily cuts in.

“This is no small favour.” Adrian meets Lily’s sudden frown until she drops her stare. “This isn’t just some stranger without a single pull in the city. We ‘re talking about – Mr. Lavinsky and he’s the kind of man no one should cross lightly.”

“I’m not asking for you to cross him,” Wren fights to keep her tone steady, but it’s hard. Every second she wastes standing here talking is another second Cal remains missing. “I’m asking for you to let me come along – let me find him on my own.”

“Like hell we will!” Kamilah snarls, baring her teeth.

The other vampire, whom Wren presumes to be Jax seem to echo her sentiment with a derisive snort, and his hand that’s rested on his weapon has turned white as he shoots Wren a glare. Although, both Harlow and Adrian seem to hesitate – glancing at their companions uneasily, it’s Kamilah who keeps pursing it. “This is not up for discussion. Absolutely not. You would jeopardize everything we’re trying to accomplish.”

“– you said you wanted information where he was – not that you wanted to come with us.” Jax adds, frowning.

Wren takes a deep breath, “okay fair. But you don’t get it. It’s for him. For Cal.” It’s always been for him. “I shouldn’t have let him go alone in the first place. I should’ve –” Her voice trembles a little, “dammit! He just shouldn’t have gone alone!” Her free hand clenches into a tight fist and suddenly she’s left with fighting the urge to hit something. “I should be there because when you love someone – there isn’t anything you wouldn’t do for them. So that’s why I’m here,” she spreads her arms out wide. “Standing and barely capable of holding it together at the thought of him being out there – alone.” She jerks her chin, “because that asshole locked him up.”

“You don’t know that.” Adrian’s brow furrows. “Mr. Kavinsky has never been the sort to add living people into his collections. That blurs all kinds of lines –”

“I’m not here to argue with you.” Wren interjects, jutting her chin out stubbornly. “I’m only here on a hunch and I don’t need the details of what you’re all doing here.” Okay, she’d love to know but that’s besides the point.

“Nik sent me, and like he said – you owe him one. These were his terms.” She makes a point of staring directly at Adrian and feels some satisfaction in noting a slight grimace in his appearance. She’ll definitely have to thank Nik later. If there is a later anyway. “And you don’t strike me as the type of person to go behind their word.”

“No.” Adrian sighs, and runs a hand through his hair. “I am usually a man of my word.” He turns his attention to Kamilah and Jax, “we need to take her with us.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Kamilah says curtly, shaking her head. “She could jeopardize everything.”

“Or she could help us.” Jax adds, his brow creasing in thought.

“Are we all on team Wren now?” Lily asks, bumping Jax’s arm.

Kamilah arches an eyebrow. “…..what makes you think we can even trust her?”

“…Uh, hello?” Wren waves a hand wildly in front of them, breaking shifting all their attention back on her. She gestures down at herself. “I’m still here. I didn’t just fade out of existence.”

“We can’t.” Adrian answers evenly, glancing objectively back at Kamilah. “Not with absolute certainty.”

“Hey!” Wren presses her fingers to her lips and whistle. “Listen, you can trust me enough because Nik sent me here.” Wren grumbles hotly, drawling out his name to emphasize her point.

If Adrian’s heard her, he makes a note of blatantly ignoring her outburst. The bastard.

Sure enough, within seconds Adrian lowers his voice until Wren can barely make out his words or what anyone else is saying.

Huffing a breath, Wren settles for balefully watching them instead. She taps her feet impatiently. Every now and then, they glance in her general direction and she opens her mouth to speak before they glance away and her mouth snaps back shut.

Ugh, I don’t have time for this. Clearing her throat, Wren glares at them. “As interesting as this has been, if you aren’t going to help me then we’re wasting each other’s time and I’ve got someone to save.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Harlow breaks the tenseness in the air first, her smile – alarmingly cool for someone that’s been mostly quiet this entire time. Her steady voice seems to put the others at ease too as she gestures between them. “We’re on board with taking you with us. We know exactly where Cal was taken.”

“You don’t know that for sure.” Kamilah intercedes, pursing her lips.

“I do,” Harlow suddenly retrieves a phone and points at the screen. “Because he suddenly decided to change our meeting spot and something tells me it’s where Cal is.”

Wren swallows back her sudden excitement. “Great.” She’s close – so close in finding him, so close in seeing him again. She takes a few steps towards them as Harlow taps across her phone’s screen. “When do we leave? Tomorrow night?” She’s hoping it won’t take anymore time. She’s itching for a fight.

“No. It’s happening tonight.”

Blood.

The smell of it is heavy and pungent in the air. It’s not just his blood either. There’s a mix of all sorts in here – supernatural creatures that has no business being locked up and tucked away from the rest of the world. And no matter what Cal does – there’s no escaping from it.

His eyes snap open with a gasp until he realizes he’s still cuffed and in chains, as the rest of details from the last several days come rushing back to him. Again.

Although he knows it’s futile, he wrestles against the metallic material across his wrists until his struggles turn into shaking, and the stupid thing administers another jolt of shock into his system. Another painful fucking reminder that he’s trapped.

The wolf in him whelps and practically seethes but the rest of Cal settles for gritting his teeth to prevent himself from yelping out loud. Fuck, he won’t ever give them that satisfaction. He wets his cracked dry lips as he sniffs the foul atmosphere; trying desperately to pick up any hints as to a way out of here but when nothing sticks out to him – he settles for slamming his fists against the glass – hoping feebly that his wolf strength won’t fail him now.

But it does fail him. He’s hungry, practically ravenous for something and his footing slips as he staggers against the surface.

He hears the sound of barely contained and muffled laughter. He growls. The least these assholes can do is feed him regularly but he supposes Kavinsky knows enough of werewolf physiology that feeding him more than a little does wonders for his strength. If he even has a little more, he’d be able to do something more than howl and shove his shoulders and fists fruitlessly against it.

Slamming his fist again, Cal manages another hard punch before slumping down the floor. He hugs his knees and leans his head back until it’s able to rest across the glass’ seemingly impenetrable surface. It’s no use. There’s no way he’s getting out of here.

Cal has spent the last few days trying to scratch, break, punch his way through the thick walls of his prison. But nothing’s changed. There’s no dent in the wall. No cracks in the glass because they know he’s not strong enough to do anything more. He’s not going to escape – Kavinsky built all these in a way that makes the idea laughable at best but still, Cal hopes.

His hope carries him to sleep. It deludes him into thinking he’ll wake up the next day in the comfort of his home – surrounded by people who love him. Donny and his petulant frowns whenever he’d scold him. Wren’s smirk or the mischievous glint she gets in her eyes whenever they’ve been left alone. I miss them. And the absence of their presence has left him cold all over.

He wedges his eyes close, tries to fight a panic attack with simple breathing. The wolf in him isn’t satisfied though, he snarls and tries to take control. But the cuffs around his wrist quickly remind him there’s no hope of him getting out.

Fuck – if he could only get these things off.

When Cal’s eyes flutter open, and he heaves a sigh. He’s never getting out of here. They narrow into slits a second later when the light above his head suddenly flickers then dies out. He stands a little straighter, the hairs on the back of his neck sticking as something in his gut implores that something is strong. Ignoring the abrupt panic seizing his chest, Cal presses his hands across the glass while he waits anxiously for something to happen.

The lights make a soft humming noise as they flicker back on.

What the hell was that? His ears perk at the abrupt and nearly muffled sounds of footsteps, followed by the rapid shouting voices. He can’t make them out yet – they’re still too far away. But he does gather through keenly listening that there’s some kind of a commotion going on. And by the sounds of it, it’s definitely something Kavinsky hadn’t expect.

Good, that bastard deserves everything that’s coming to him.

If only Cal wasn’t stuck in here and while all the action out there made him itch to try sifting again. If only he didn’t have these stupid cuffs on. If only he could do something more than stare miserably at the door, hanging onto every sound –

The cuffs around his wrist suddenly go slack and Cal blinks down at them in surprise. Something tells him not to wait – he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. He’d rather count his blessings than take them for granted and he clenches his hands into fists – squeezing tightly before pushing them several inches apart from each other.

Snap.

He breaks free and what’s left of the metal is littered across his feet.

Stretching out his wrists for a moment, Cal grins. They’re still raw from how long his skin has been chafing but at least they’re free now. At least he’s free. Whatever’s out there – that’s where his concern should be. But instead of focusing on the qualms of what’s behind the door – his other half is practically straining against his rational side to be free.

He doesn’t waste any more time. With a howl, Cal sheds his human form and embraces the wolf with eager and wild abandon. Hunching over slightly; it takes seconds for the familiar rush of adrenaline to envelop his senses – to wrap him in an overwhelming sense of joy at finally being able to shift again. His pulse turns erratic while his bones crack and reforms themselves into place. Russet-coloured fur rapidly replaces where skin and he launches himself at the window – a streak of dark brown that shatters the glass barrier on contact.

The pieces fall at his feet.

Cal pauses long enough to howl and deeply inhale the heavy atmosphere.

There’s a change in the air and it spells something bad. Or good. He can’t decide. He doesn’t have complete focus like this, his instinct has almost completely taken over. The fact that his body is shaking in excitement but remains unmoving is a miracle of itself. His nose twitches as he inhales again, deeper this time – and there is a lot to find familiar.

There’s the unpleasant stuff that’s not easy miss – the dried blood of torture, the smell of unwashed people left alone for far too long. And the heavy odor of security’s body spray. But not all of it makes sense – some of what he’s able to smell is ridiculously strange. Another whiff of it allows Cal to realize the scent of blood isn’t merely the kind of creatures locked away – there’s fighting going on and the sickly odd smell happens to be bloodsuckers. His fur stands at ends with the rest of his body.

But there’s one - one familiar scent in the entire universe that he never thought he’d be able to enjoy again. Especially not after ending things.

No fucking way. It can’t be her.

But he knows her scent. He knows it so damn well because he’s spent a lot of time committing her to memory. He’s spent so much time running his tongue across her skin, nibbling her most sensitive spots, burying his lips by the crook of her shoulders, by her inner thighs – there’s no way he can ever forget her and suddenly he can’t wait to get out of here.

With another low growl, Cal hastily bounds to the door. There’s no sense in trying the lock, he simply paws at it – claws crunching the metal, until he’s able to administer one hard shove.t

The door bursts wide open.

It looks like he’s made it just in time.

Their plan worked.

Wren wants to laugh in disbelief but she’s too preoccupied with fighting against the wave of security to stay alive. She can’t give anything more than a momentary we-did-it yell inside her mind before there’s another asshole to clock in the head.

She ducks under the arm of her current assailant and deftly switches the hand of her switchblade. She wipes alongside the length of his beefy arm. The man cries out in pain and Wren takes the opportunity in stride, knocking him flat on his ass by shoving the brunt of her palm towards his chin.

Another guard manages to land a solid punch to her jaw and Wren fights against the sudden stab of pain. Gritting her teeth, she spins away as he titters forward to push on the offensive. She utters a harsh battle cry and feints right, landing a front kick to the chest before his entire body goes flying.

A third guard slams into her, knocking her to the floor. Her back arches in pain and she hisses as the man tries to press his palms into her neck. Choking, Wren head-butts him, almost seeing stars but it isn’t enough to throw him off.

Suddenly he cries out and stops moving. Shoving him off her, Wren kicks him for good effort as she spots two arrows lodged firmly into his chest. Surprised, she glances up in time to notice Lily’s thumbs up before she spins away to strike another security guard.

From across the room, the crimson jacket vampire tosses his katana with breakneck speed towards another guard that seemed to be seconds away from grabbing Harlow’s arm. It lands almost directly in the base of his skull and Harlow yells a word of thanks before gripping the hilt of the sharp weapon and yanking it out.

A hair length away Kamilah has already dealt with a handful of security, dancing in and out of their reach as the set of her elegantly tipped daggers follow the motion. Her eyes are terrifyingly beautiful; dark red – glimmering in delight as another guard falls to her feet. She throws a wink over her shoulder when she spots Wren watching.

“Duck!”

Acting on instinct, Wren listens to the commanding voice and watches in awe as Adrian practically sails across her head. He’s launched himself at two enemies, burying his fangs into their neck as they scream in pain.

Holy shit, they’re amazing.

The group in front of her aren’t just business associates. They aren’t just friends either. They’re well-oiled machine, stepping into place to defend and attack on each other’s behalf. If one doesn’t make a killing blow – another person is suddenly there to aid them, and Wren does everything she can to keep pace with their efficiency.

A sudden howl fills the air in the middle of all this chaos. Her heart skips a beat at the sound. There’s only one wolf that sounds like that. Powerful. Magnetic. It’s not like she could ever forget his voice – wolf or human.

Without thinking she raises her chin – just in time to spot all eight hundred pounds of lycan bustling from out of the hall and sending the rest of people scattering in his wake. Screams fill the air and there almost isn’t place Wren looks without a splatter of blood.

His bright amber eyes meet hers for a moment, softening before hardening again at guards still left alive. A howl rumbles and escapes his throat.

Wren watches a little mystified at the immeasurable speed he’s able to strike – muscles that bunch together and ripple beneath his fur with every movement. His razor-sharp claws slice through thin air as though he knows exactly where they’ll be before they even know it. The sounds of complete agony fill the re room and become loud enough to drone out the erratic pacing of Wren’s own heartbeat.

The screaming quickly turns into silence.

Wren wipes the worst of the blood off of her face.

The adrenaline is still flooding her veins at an incredible rate and it doesn’t take her long to cross the space between left them – her heart hammering wildly in her chest again, every step of the way. It’s him. It’s really him.

She can scarcely believe it. But he is – right here.

He bounds loftily towards her – fur practically trembling from anxiety.

She can’t hear what he’s thinking but radiates worry, fear. “I’m here. I’m really here Cal.” She wants to reassure him but her voice chokes on the words. “And you’re okay, god I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Are those tears?

Something wet has touched her cheeks but she doesn’t care, he’s here.

Cal drops to his hind legs and his large forearms cocoon her to his chest.

The heat is a blissful, welcoming feeling, like the furnace he always is – it takes no time for her to feel his heat all the way down to her toes.

He lets out a deep hum as she buries her fingers into his mane.

Seconds pass before the fur she’s been stroking turns to soft skin. His skin is slicked with sweat and he’s almost too hot for her fingers to wince in return, but to Wren it’s still the greatest feeling in the world. He’s back where he belongs – he’s home.

Wren squeezes her eyes shut and buries her lips into the crook of his neck as he effortlessly lifts her off her feet. The sudden motion makes her fumble and nearly lose her footing, but the rest of her body reacts almost steadfast – clinging onto him tightly as an abrupt and startled laugh leaves her throat.

Usually, she hates when he does that – hates it more when she cries, especially in front of him – let alone the audience she’s all but forgotten in her haste to get to him. She hates what she’s doing now even more, trembling at his touch and muttering non-stop through ardent words of how much she’s missed him – missed them.

But she does it all the same, because the words keep leaving her lips without her thinking – without her censoring any of it. She’s shaking so much with relief that when he lifts her higher, all she has is an eyeful of his breathtaking smile – and it’s as if she’s staring into richly intense sunshine.

Warm-eyes, like the colour of soil flecked with black and gold don’t waver from her stare. They’re just an enthralled. Then he bumps his forehead affectionately against hers’, pressing his sweaty brow and whispering softly under his breath. “I love you too.”

What?

Her heart leaps. A hysterical laugh bubbles from her throat.

Is that the only take-away he’s gotten from what she’s said?

Then she says it again, only because he’s smiling at her and she wants to keep commit it to memory. “I love you – you idiot.” She repeats it a third time and then again, cupping one of his cheeks as her own cheeks suddenly grow hot – flushed by the sincerity behind her words.

“Does that mean we’re no longer broken up?” His eyes search hers’ uncertaintly.

She manages a shaky laugh. “I think Nik wants his couch back, and I can’t even manage a whole week without you let alone a whole lifetime.” She doesn’t care if they have an audience, she can’t stand the idea of not touching him any longer – of not sinking into him the way she’s thought of ever since he left.

Greedy fingers quickly tangle in his hair. It’s matted and sweaty but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because it’s still Cal. Her Cal. Her mate.

She has all of him in front of her and the last she wants to do turn away from something so fruitless. She yanks him closer, impatient to have more than just him looking at her with clear adoration clouding his eyes – she needs to feel him, to really feel him. She has to show him how much she really loves him.

The kiss is hot and demanding.

God, she’d forgotten how much she melts under his lips. They’re rough and coarse – but they’re everything. She’s on cloud nine, swimming with happiness and relief all melded into one. Fuck, how had she managed to let him go? To let this go?

She grips him tighter as his fingers drift into a downward trail across her hips and then her thighs. He hooks his hands there as she wraps her legs scantily around him, hiking the length of her pants when his fingers dig into the garment.

He moans low in his throat.

It’s a sound that makes heat coil in her belly and painfully aware how long it’s been since she’s had him, naked and panting in their bedroom – since she’s seen the face he makes when he comes inside her. At this angle she can feel every bit of how much he’s missed her too.

God. He is real. And she’s never letting him go again. He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s stuck with her – for good this time.

The sudden clear of someone’s throat behind them has grounded Wren back into reality. She blinks and then reluctantly pulls away. Before he sets her on her feet again, she watches in mild satisfaction at how quickly his eyes darken once they linger on her face.

Taking off her jacket, Wren hastily ties it around his lean hips as all eyes remain rooted in their direction.

Before she can step away, Cal snakes a hand loosely around her waist and keeps her tucked at safely at his side. “I think I’m missing something here.” He doesn’t relax completely. He tilts his chin and sniffs the air. “Bloodsuckers.”

“Good, bloodsuckers –” Wren elbows him. “If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t have found you.”

Kamilah wipes her daggers clean and raises one critical eyebrow. “The least you can do is say thanks, pup.”

Cal’s stiffens.

“I think what Kamilah means to say is,” Harlow holds up her hands, smiling hesitantly at Cal’s decisively protective stance. “We wanted to help.” Jax appears by her side as she speaks, rubbing blood absently off her arm. “The idea of anyone suffering in some place like this is sickening and wrong.” Her face twists. “It seems that our information on Mr. Kavinsky wasn’t all what it’s cracked up to be anyway.”

“You didn’t find what you were looking for?” Wren asks, dragging her eyes away from Cal. If only for a moment. The least she should do is properly thank them.

A look passes between all four of them. Ah. They definitely aren’t going to share that kind of information with her – which makes her want to know even more. What exactly are they hiding?

“While I think introductions are in order,” Adrian lips curve in slight amusement, breaking Wren out of her wayward thoughts. “I believe we should probably head out of here. We did let go all those other people too. They’re probably destroying the place as we speak.”

“Wait, what?” Cal’s mouth hangs open for a moment before just as swiftly snapping shut.

As if to emphasize his point, the entire ground floor begins shaking.

“Yeah, you’ve missed a lot.” Wren pats his arm.

Lily’s the only one that’s still staring as if struck in awe. “You’re a werewolf?” She pauses to think, “well – I mean I saw you. But I still can’t really believe it.” She smiles, “I have so many questions.”

“Before you ask – no werewolves do not go into heat.” Cal’s tone is almost deadpanned.

“And it’s definitely not the time Lil.” Although, Harlow laughs as she says it.

“God, I know so many fanfic authors that’d be disappointed.”

“Who are you again?” His brow furrows.

“I’ll fill you in on the way.” Wren mutters, grabbing his arm. Although she hesitates, and drops her gaze down the length of his body – almost drawing in a shaky breath at how visibly stunning he is.

Gaah. A part of her wants nothing more than to pry that jacket off him, but the rest of her realizes she’ll have to wait. Although, she has a peculiar feeling that it’ll be worth it – it still takes a tremendous amount of effort not to jump him right then and there. “I uh -,” a spot of color touches her cheeks as she glances away. “I brought some clothes with me.” Then she clears her throat, turning back to smirk at him. “But feel free to walk around naked on my account.” She gestures to him, “I certainly won’t stop you.”

His confident smile falters and he bashfully glances down at his feet before chuckling. “I’ll take my chances with the clothes this time.” He shifts his attention briefly towards the rest of their little group. Already, they’ve started dispersing after checking the security feeds. “Thank you,” he says earnestly.

“You should be thanking her” Jax jerks his chin towards Wren. “She wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Cal bends slightly to bump his forehead affectionately against hers’. “Thank you.”

“Never scare me like that again.” She says the words seriously but her stomach still flips at his heart-felt gesture. “And you can thank me properly when we’re all safely outside.”

He breaks out into a grin. “Deal.”

Giving his hand a light squeeze, Wren returns the smile before fixing Adrian with raised eyebrows and a very important question. “Now how the hell are we supposed to get out –”

“I’ve already got us covered.” Lily interjects, tucking several braids behind her ear. She’s been tapping through something on her phone for the last several seconds before glancing up with a confident smile. “Just follow me.”

By the time they’ve left, the building is almost in ruins. From the outside, it looks nearly the same – a few missing pieces of brick and cracked windows, but these are the only telltale signs of destruction. However, on the inside – most of Kavinsky’s collections have either been stolen, broken or severely disfigured.

It’s a pity he isn’t among what’s left behind. Even if he was still alive – Kavinsky has multiple targets on his back.

Cal doesn’t think he’ll re-surface anytime soon, but he’d have liked giving that asshole a piece of his mind.

The rest of his mind has more important matters to contend with – he’s alive and he vows never to take that for granted ever again. He can scarcely believe it himself, after the last couple days he’s had – trapped in the prison of a madman.

But he’s not there anymore – or is he? How is being in the company of strangers any better? He doesn’t know them and they’ve offered him a place for the night, a place for both of them.

For a moment, Cal was beginning to think escaping was some sort of fever dream. How else can he explain the absence of cuffs on his wrists? The uneasy happiness filling his chest? Did he ever leave? Or was he so lost in his delusion that he’d concoct this whole reality?

The last time he’s seen her, she wasn’t nestled by his side the way she is now – she was throwing accusations at him. How can he believe his own eyes, or listen to his heart after everything he’s been through?

Cal feels soft fingers cupping his chin, forcing his gaze from the window and unto the softest expression of pure love he’s ever seen from her face.

It’s like she can tell his thoughts are spiraling and having her touch helps to ground him back into reality. His eyes flutter close of their own accord as she leans into him.

“You’re okay.” She says the words gently, “we’re okay.”

He listens to the sound of her voice, allowing its gentleness to creep back into his heart. She’s right. He isn’t back here, he’s with her – with the only person he’s ever loved. Fuck, it feels so good to have her here.

“Wren,” his voice cracks and she’s looking up at him again. There’s a lot he wants to say, a lot that they haven’t said. Where do they go from here?

He’s still the alpha.

She loves him but he’s still the alpha.

As far as he’s concerned nothing’s really changed.

In any other reality – maybe things could have been different. Maybe he could shirk from his responsibilities and ride into the sunset with her; build a life together - separate from all this chaos in NOLA. But he thinks about Donny and his last year in school. He thinks about those kids from Shaw’s pack and all the other people counting on him.

“We can talk later.” She promises.

He swallows past the sudden lump in his throat and forces a smile of gratitude. This isn’t the time or place for that kind of conversation, but staring deeply into those deeply warm eyes – Cal wants to put her first.

And that, perhaps is the most dangerous and scariest knowledge of it all.

#cal x mc #cal x mc fanfic #cal lowell fanfiction #cal lowell #playchoices #nightbound #nightbound fanfiction #choices stories you play #cal x wren #cal lowell x wren howell #playchoices fanfiction #choices fanfiction #long post #we're seven parts in #and i figured out a title name lol #maybe i should run it by you guys #an angstymarshmallow writes

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discordandglory-blog · 7 years

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New Rome Superslam || Cat and Jax

Jax and Cat bring a bit of wrestling fun to the festival.

Cat wasn’t exactly the festival type. She’d take a good glass of wine or even a cocktail, but it’d be in a bar, not in the middle of the field of Mars, a battlefield by all normal accounts. Regardless it was required by social etiquette, appearances were everything in New Rome. Turning to her younger brother, she smiled. “Let’s get a drink.” The festival wasn’t all bad after all. There were plenty of good parts to it. Especially the pop up bar that she had been going to since before she was 21. Strolling through the afternoon sun, Cat lead the way to a small bar and ordered herself a beer. Turning to Jax, Cat smirked and sipped her drink. “That new probatio, Anderson, he isn’t pulling his weight. We need to do something about it.”

Generally Jax could only be found at celebrations if there was a chance of networking with the other attendants. Such was the nature of the Karavadra gatherings that were held, but he seriously doubted they would be much to gain by standing amongst a bunch of inebriated demigods. Still— Cat was here, and he wasn’t going to miss a chance of getting others to think nicely of him. Soon enough he was standing at a bar alongside his sister, and signalling to the person working it that he’d take the same beer as Cat. “I don’t understand why Sanderson sponsored him in the first place. It only takes one look at the kid to know he’s probably more work than is worth it.” He took a sip of the beer he’d been handed. “But I guess he’s our problem now. So what tried and trued Karavadra method are we gonna subject him to?”

Cat sipped her beer once more. She would have to try a different bar next, hopefully one that could make a good Gin and Tonic. Not that it was difficult to make a good Gin and Tonic but this bar didn’t look like it served anything that you wouldn’t find at a frat party. “Sanderson and Anderson are obviously related,” she looked out at the sea of demigods, it was a miracle this many of them could be in the same place at once, “Aside from their names being wildly similar, there’s also the fact that Sanderson is one of our most promising legionnaires, but he coddles Anderson.” She bit her lip. “Let’s start by moving his barracks, and we will buddy him up with Chang, she should straighten him out a bit.” Chang was on track to become a centurion soon and this would be a good test of how capable she was. If she failed then so would Anderson, but he was expendable to say the least.

Cat was one of the few people in camp that Jax actually trusted to do her job and have good ideas. For whatever reason, it seemed to him that the Karavadra’s had a monopoly on producing capable people. After taking a good swig of his beer, he looked once more to his sister. “Well there’s one benefit to you turning into an old wrinkly woman, Cat— apparently it’s also made you wiser.” She wasn’t even that much older than him, but it was too amusing to pass up a chance to tease her. “But, I agree. But perhaps we should also give Sanderson latrine duty for a week to make sure he realizes that playing favorites isn’t the way to go.” Just then a roar came from the crowd that was frequenting the stage nearest them. It was a signal of the band having finally appeared, and Jax gave an internal sigh. So it began. “Does this mean we have to go over there?”

Laughing gently Cat shook her head with a smile. “Please, I look younger than you do. I’m just not an idiot, I don’t understand how so many people struggle with it, it’s not difficult not to do stupid things.” Shrugging gently she turned to face the stage. “I believe you may be right,” she considered Sanderson. Technically he was as strong a legionnaire as any, yet he put too much stock in extended family. A mistake that they had learned not to make. “We must make it clear to Sanderson that covering up others mistakes is not going to be tolerated.” He should have known better than to put his name down for someone who wasn’t going to cut the mustard. As she watched a group of demigods take the stage of the Gods, she had to admit that she didn’t entirely hate their music. “Well we are here to have a good time,” she smiled, “I don’t understand why everyone finds you so charming, you’ve got the social skills of a two year old…” she laughed before joining the crowd going towards the music. I hate being short.

Jax’s own smirk, uncannily similar to Cat’s, sneaked across his features. “Younger? Is that what you call those crow’s feet but your eyes?” He said as he pointed to the mentioned area. “Not everyone can be as gifted as us,” he said with his usual air of superiority, though there was a hint of joking to it. “But yes, Sanderson would do good to learn that coddling the weak helps no one.” As Jax moved closer to the stage, making sure Cat was in tow, he had to admit the band wasn’t bad, it was simply that people tended to act like idiots at concerts. And putting up with idiots was by far one of his least favorite pastimes. “You should be thankful I’m this grumpy around you. I only need to charm people I want something from.” Another sly grin made it’s way across his lips. “Then again...I can’t imagine you having anything I’d want.” As they got closer, the music began to blare louder, and Jax could feel the thump of the beat beginning to pound against his chest.

Raising an eyebrow gently, Cat shook her head at her foolish younger brother. He understood so little about the world that they lived in, or at least, he once had. Sadly however he was starting to become more and more like their father as the years past. “Yes well if I had a co-centurion who wasn’t entirely incompetent then maybe I wouldn’t look so terrible, but when you’ve been doing two centurions work for seven plus years it starts to get to you.” She shook her head as they weaved their way in and out of people in the crowd. “Latrine duty will make that clear to him, hopefully he won’t make the same mistake twice, I’d hate to have to continue punishing him.” She bit her lip gently as she did her best to watch. “I can’t see,” she was aware she was explaining the obvious, “put me on your shoulders Jax then we will both be able to see.”

Cat was one of the very few that could garner genuine reactions from Jax. He didn’t see any reason to hide behind the mask he generally wore around others, which he supposed was how it should be. So he wasted no time in rolling his eyes her way. “I’m glad you understand how difficult it’s been carrying your dead weight this entire time. I accept your apology. Though it was far overdue.” He shouldn’t have been surprised by Cat’s request, but she couldn’t honestly believe he’d indulged her when she’d just insulted him. Pettiness was alive and well amongst the Karavadra siblings. “See, I would...But I’m just not sure that I’m a good enough co-centurion to lift you up there. If only you had a better one.” A teasing glint entered his eye. “And you didn’t even say please. What would father have to say about your manners?”

Laughing gently, Cat struggled to see over the shoulder of a rather large person in front of her. However there were benefits to being Catherine Karavadra. “I still don’t understand how you can enjoy make believe, it has been years since I’ve been a child, I thought that you would’ve left that behind a long time ago. Although I suppose that we can’t all be as mature and educated as me. It is a burden that I bear for the whole family, considering that Theo is less mature than you are and that is really saying something.” The truth was that Cat hadn’t expected Jax to say yes, in fact she had really only thought that he would’ve said no. Which was fine. She wasn’t one of the most recognisable people in the city for no reason. Turning around she noticed a legionnaire from the second cohort who she knew. Tapping him on the shoulder they had a quick conversation in hushed whispers before he grabbed her by the waist and easily hoisted her onto his shoulders. “You’re right, it would be too much effort for you to lift me up and I’ll have to start making enquiries as to someone who could carry your weight more effectively, maybe this handsome young man?” she laughed as the music hit a high note and everyone cheered. Maybe this wasn’t so awful.

Jax subdued the other eye roll that was beginning to surface at Cat’s remarks, and instead mimed towards her as if he couldn’t hear her over the music of the band. “Sorry, sis! No idea what you’re saying!” he yelled over the music. It was juvenile, but Cat always managed to bring out the worst in him when it came to maturity. Besides, it was hard to act like anything older than someone of childhood age when she had been there for the whole of his. But before he knew it Cat was one some random legionnaire’s shoulders, and Jax was left to looking up at her with a disapproving expression. Her words of finding someone stronger were obviously ridiculous, but there was a portion of him that was more concerned as to who exactly this young man was, and why he had so readily taken Jax’s sister upon his shoulders. Just because people tended to think of him as an asshole didn’t mean he wasn’t protective of his siblings. “Get down from there, dimwit! This guy doesn't look strong enough to hold a feather for more than a few minutes let alone you.” It was more meant to be a jab at the young man than Cat.

Laughing gently Cat whooped loudly. It was now her turn to pretend that she couldn’t hear Jax. Miming back at him, she pointed at her ears and shook her head. “I can’t hear you from all the way up here!” she shouted as they band segwayed into their next song, almost seamlessly. It was amazing really, she was almost glad that she had come. She liked to know that Jax really did care, despite the fact that he was so clearly their father’s favourite, and not to mention the fact that he had so blatantly ignored her, Cat had never been able to find it within himself to hate him for it. It wasn’t his fault and it was hardly as if he had any control over their father. She wasn’t about to get down and Jax should know better than to try and tell her what to do. That had never worked well. Yet it was cute that he actually cared.

Cat’s excited antics brought the smallest grin to Jax’s lips, and for a moment his own head began to bob to the music. Thought he hated admitting his sister was right, the band was rather good. Just as he was truly beginning to enjoy himself, it seemed that the young man who he had previously insulted before and had CAt on his shoulders had decided to taken Jax’s comment in an ill fashion. Jax hadn’t even been looking in the direction of the legionnaire, so the punch that came towards the son of Discordia was unnoticed until it had made solid contact with his shoulder. More than anything, Jax was shocked. There weren’t many in the Legion who would have the gall to punch a Centurion, let alone himself. But as Jax glared towards the offending man, it became apparent that the legionnaire was drunk beyond reason, most likely providing the reason for his lack in judgement. “That was quite possibly the biggest mistake you’ve ever made in you entire life.”

Cat had to admit that she wasn’t expecting whoever was holding her up to punch Jax. It took her aback. She wished that at that moment she was in a superhero movie where physics, momentum and weight counted for nothing. If she could then she would’ve taken this hulking mass of muscle down, however, she knew that she didn’t have the mass to flip him, instead she flipped down anyway, however she kept her hands out. She knew that it wouldn’t take Jax long to work out exactly what she was doing, though Theo has never taken his training all that seriously, Jax and Cat were all but religious and they had been training together since they were children. Combo moves weren’t orthodox, but neither was Jax or Cat.

It only took a single look from Cat to know what she wanted of him. Such was a perk of having trained together since Jax was born. With a slight grin he took his hands in her own, pulling her around to give her the momentum she would need to finish the man whose shoulders she was on. Honestly, there was nothing more fun that pulling off one of their outrageously extraneous fighting moves, albeit effective ones. As Cat flipped from the man’s shoulders and Jax pulled down, the man was indeed, flipped and brought to the ground. In a moment the people around them started glancing their way, and Jax was suddenly remembering that perhaps taking down people in the middle of a concert wasn’t the way to make friends. Tugging on Cat’s hand that was still in his, he tried to make his way back through the gathering crowd. “Great. Now they’re all going to think we’re assholes or something.” Though he was still secretly buzzing with amusement from the move they had pulled off.

Cat couldn’t help but giggle as the man’s body crunched into the ground. For his sake, she hoped that he didn’t remember this, because it may well be the most embarrassed he’d ever be. Smirking gently, she slipped through the crowd, using her size to slip through places that Jax couldn’t before dragging him through after her, he was big enough that people moved out of his way if she pulled hard enough, and she was surprisingly strong for her size. “That was worth it though,” she replied with a smirk as the band played their final song and took their bows. “I didn’t think that going to the festival would be this much fun. But I’ve got to be honest, I had a lot of fun.” She had thought about taking up a gladiatorial position before, but she’d decided that it wasn’t worth it. Now she was rethinking that. Jax was a very good partner to have watching her back.

There was nothing like hearing the laugh that came from Cat as they completed their entirely over the top moves. It was something that had been a core sound of his childhood and every day after— a pillar of nostalgia. As Jax followed her back through the crowd, he smiled reluctantly, finally cracking. There were few who could get him to do it, but his siblings were a couple of them. “Alright, it was entirely worth it.” He himself couldn’t deny they worked seamlessly together. Of course it was similar with Theo, but there was something more cohesive with Cat, as they’d been the ones who took their training most seriously. “Fine, it was more fun than I thought it would be. But maybe we just try not to get me punched next time.”

It wasn’t that the other man’s pain was necessarily funny, it was just that Cat couldn’t believe that they’d actually been extra enough to do that. It had been entirely unnecessary, they could’ve simply reprimanded him. But as Cat looked back through the crowd, she couldn’t help but notice Jax’s bright smile. A sight that she didn’t get to see often enough. Making her way back towards their barracks, she watched as the fortress that was Camp Jupiter came into view. “I was pleasantly surprised by this year,” she admitted, “last year definitely wasn’t half as good as this.” She smirked. “I didn’t get punched, you did, I just had to help clean up your mess.” Not that she minded. No one got to punch her little brother.

#new rome superslam #f&gchatzy #chatzy para #p: jax #f&gwriting

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lubdubsworld · 7 years

Text

Mine till midnight ~ (abo au)

I got a request for a wolf au or abo au....

I have never read a bts/Oc abo dynamics fic..

... I mean i only have like vague idea....

So i decided to go for a non traditional universe.

About this Universe :

This is a non-traditional A/b/o dynamics sort of thing.

80% of the population are betas.

19% are Alphas and only 1% are omegas.

Alphas and betas can be men or women .

over the decades , omegas have died out because Alphas do not prefer them. And an omega is often seen as a liability.

Omegas are mostly women ( male omegas have a very low life expectancy )

Alpha Traits :

General Traits :

Intelligence ( Alphas are always super smart )

Leadership Qualities.

Proactive ( they will make the decisions)

High Sex Drive.

Very distinct musk scent which only an Alpha or an Omega can smell. For an Alpha the scent of another Alpha can be very disturbing.

Traits in the presence of an Omega they have imprinted on.

Aggression. ( When they sense their omega being threatened )

Possesiveness. ( Doesn’t happen till they’re hit by omega pheromones )

Violent. ( Again, only when they think their omega is in danger)

Alphas hate omegas for one reason : they affect their mental capacity and for an Alpha it’s a hindrance. When an Alpha presents ( at the age of 14/15 ) his parents or legal guardian pick out a beta bride for him. They’re allowed to get close ( non-sexually ) so the Alpha can get used to her . They are allowed to get married when they turn 21.

Beta Traits :

Betas are just normal in every way. They do not have any scents. Alpha pheromones do not affect them in any way.

Omega Traits

General Traits :

Very stubborn. ( An omega will always want to fight to get her way )

Physically very beautiful ( lithe body, silky hair and really huge ass eyes )

manipulative as a defense mechanism .

Sex is something they need once a month , just to balance tout the hormones that get dumped into their blood stream when they’re fertile ( equivalent of a beta female’s ‘ time of the month’.)

Can mask their scent by using suppressants (which are extremely dangerous and not approved )

Traits in the presence of an Alpha they are imprinted by:

Submissive . ( they can’t put up a fight)

Physically malleable ( consent is non-existent. )

Increased libido ( they get really horny but not in a fun way. It’s a physically debilittating and painful experience)

Omegas also hate Alphas because of the control and Alpha can exert on them. An omega’s scent can trigger a lot of negative emotions in Alphas so an unmated omega will have to take suppressants till she either mates with an alpha or dies ( omega females generally do not live past 40 years of age because suppressants can have a lot of side effects that damge organs and stuff).

Imprinting:

Only an Alpha can imprint on an omega. This is not voluntary. If an unclaimed Omega and an unmated Alpha are in close proximity imprinting may happen without either of them having a say on it.

Mating :

Once and Alpha and an omega mate, they lose their scent permanently. Only they can smell each other and the omega no longer needs suppressants to mask her scent.

iF YOU GUYS KNOW ME... THIS WILL PROBABALY BE ONE HELL OF A RIDE.. PHEW... aRE YOU IN?? First story will be up soon...

Starting with my bias.

Min Yoon Ki. * drum roll*

what do you guys think? please comment on this post... ;0)

Love all of you.... muah...

#bts abo #bts alternative universe #bts fanfics #bts oc #bts scenarios #kim namjoon #min yoongi #jung hoseok

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farareusis · 7 years

Text

The therapist sat across the table from Aisha, a legal pad in front of her, one hand holding a pen and the other a glowing cigarette. Aisha glanced up at the ceiling, squinting in the harsh light. No smoke detector. Unusual.

“So,” the therapist began with a smile, tapping the legal pad with her pen. “How have you been this week, Miss Daring?”

“Mm.”

The therapist waited for elaboration, but when none was forthcoming, she smiled again. It looked somehow out of place on her. “Any highs or lows you want to talk about?” she prodded. “Good days? Bad days? Things you’d like a second opinion on?”

Once again, Aisha declined to answer. The really odd thing, now that Aisha noticed, was that the room didn’t seem to have any doors or windows. How had she gotten in? And, more importantly, how would she get out?

Almost before the thought had entered her mind, the left wall revealed a door, as if it had always been there. The therapist didn’t look at it, but her dark eyes narrowed and grew colder. “Miss Daring,” she tried once more.

“Who are you?” Aisha interrupted. “Where are we?”

The therapist let out a light sigh. “My dear woman,” she said, her voice growing thick with sugary condescension. “I would have thought you, of all people, would recognise me.”

Aisha tried to focus on the woman’s face. Her skin was dark, her nose wide and straight, her long hair thinly dreaded. She looked extraordinarily familiar, painfully so, but the last tumbler of recognition refused to fall into place. Then, before her eyes, everything Aisha saw began to peel like charring paper. The woman’s professional pencil skirt and cardigan burned away to reveal an elaborate formal gown of black and gold. The table between them crumbled to nothing. The blank walls of the room vanished, replaced with a flat, white void that cast no shadows, leaving Aisha with a vertiginous feeling of two-dimensionality.

“Better?” asked the woman, lounging as if supported by an invisible lawn chair.

Aisha stared at her, brow furrowed.

The woman took a drag from her cigarette. “Not much of a conversationalist, are you?” she said. The smoke blew towards Aisha, a cloud of menthol and cherry flavor. It reminded her more of Ben than Piper. “Well, that’s alright. I’m quite used to entertaining myself at the expense of others.” She tapped ash into the air, and it disappeared. “Although I’m sure you know all about that.”

Aisha felt the barb like a physical sting in her gut. “Who are you?” she repeated.

“You and I are already quite well acquainted,” said the woman, her smile becoming an insincere pout. “I knew your friends wouldn’t get it until later, but I thought for sure you would see. I’m almost a little hurt.”

It wasn’t anyone she’d worked with. Aisha had a very good memory for the faces of her contacts and clients, anyone who could be a future problem. Unless it was someone from her childhood - perhaps a relative? Aisha’s scalp prickled, growing warm. This woman could be her mother and Aisha still wouldn’t trust herself to have the slightest clue.

The woman let out a sudden, lilting laugh, touching her hand to her mouth. “Oh, you should have seen your face!” she said. “I’d recreate it for you, but it wouldn’t be as good without twenty-nine years of stoicism behind it.”

“I don’t… understand,” Aisha mumbled. She couldn’t seem to get her bearings, in the conversation or in the surroundings. The stranger didn’t seem to intend her harm, or if she did, it was in a way too obscure for Aisha to predict.

“No, we’ve established that already,” said the woman, flowing to her feet. She crossed the distance between them without seeming to have moved at all. Aisha was well used to others towering over her, but this was different.

“Now, what I’ve done with your cohorts is,” she continued, “I created a hypothetical scenario perfectly tailored to their heart of hearts and watched as their irrational subconscious did the rest.” She straightened one of Aisha’s dreadlocks over her forehead with an almost motherly touch. “But that won’t work with you, will it? You’re much too… self-aware.”

Aisha opened her mouth to respond, but all that came to mind was another I don’t understand. She closed her mouth again.

“And so, here’s what we’ll do, my dear,” the woman went on, clapping once. “We’ll simply go on a little trip, you and I. Back through our shared history. How does that sound?”

“Shared history,” Aisha repeated.

“Yes,” she said. “Do try to keep up, darling — you’ll remember me soon enough.” She took Aisha’s face in her hands, and before Aisha could react, everything shifted.

Her pet rat crawled slowly over the treadmill of her circling hands. Stacks of books stood around her in the dusty debris, all closed save for the one she kept just to the side of her crossed legs. It was little more than a folder of loose papers torn from a handful of different volumes, a distillation of the only information she felt she could trust, and she still couldn’t be sure it would work.

The rat ran over her palm, and she took it by the throat, her thumb pinching its jaw so it couldn’t turn its teeth on her. It felt so large in her young fingers. Her father’s pocketknife clicked open in her other hand. Oh, she thought. I understand, now.

The rat’s blood cooled quickly as it ran over her hand and onto the decrepit barn floor with a dull splash. She watched as if it were happening to someone else. Slowly, she knelt on the cement. Pressed her knuckles to the small pool of blood, rat’s body still in hand.

The blood shot out in a series of ever-entangling designs like a thicket of brambles, darkening as it went until it seemed to suck the light from the air around her. The temperature began to fall. Her rapid breath clouded in an almost constant stream. She hadn’t known, back then, what was coming. Not really.

Night-black smoke erupted from the spell, enveloping her in a cylinder of darkness. She choked, sharp ozone heavy in her lungs, her blood thundering in her ears. No, she hadn’t known what she was doing. What she would do. But if she had… would it have made any difference?

Another sudden shift put her heart in her mouth. Her hair was rough and matted against her neck and shoulders, threaded with old braids and half-formed dreadlocks. It was cold, the dead of winter, but it didn’t bother Aisha. She was perched on a streetlight like a cat on a fencepost, staring down at the road. Her entire body felt hollow, the sensation of months without food or sleep still horribly familiar - it was almost comforting, in a twisted sort of way. Like bones popping back out of place after adjustment.

No, she thought. A man stumbled down the sidewalk below. No. No. No. Not again. Not again.

The man was tall and corpse-thin, middle-aged, and smelled like wood alcohol. Aisha knew long before he got within a hundred feet of her. She’d told Piper once that it was impossible to remember everyone she’d killed, and it had been mostly honest - but only as far as the ones whose faces she’d never seen.

She dismounted. A hundred and seventy pounds dropped on him from two dozen feet above had the man as good as dead even before his head hit the cement with a sickening thunk. Just to make sure, Aisha turned him over with her foot, touched her fingers lightly to the side of his neck. The skin opened up in a perfectly straight, laser-thin line to the other side, and blood seeped out to join the already considerable puddle under his skull.

Aisha sensed an alien satisfaction from the darkness around her. She, herself, felt absolutely nothing.

Another shift set her head spinning. She held a large pair of shears in one hand and a three-foot-long clump of black hair in the other, blood still drying on both it and the hand that held it. Red streaked the filthy sink in front of her - she’d tried to wash it off, to no avail. The lights of the bathroom were bright around her, casting stark shadows that made her double take at every creak. The smell of gasoline and mildew permeated the air.

With hands that shivered so much she could barely operate the shears, she chopped up the hair into tiny pieces and flushed it down the toilet. No more, she thought. No more.

She sat down on the toilet seat. Without them, she’d have to start living like a normal person again. Eating, sleeping, talking. She’d have to work, and learn, and meet people — she tried to remember the last time she’d actually spoken to a human being. Months. Years, probably. She wasn’t sure she even remembered how to do it. She did remember enough to know that, if she tried, everyone would be able to tell that something was very wrong with her. Humans were supposed to be good at that sort of thing.

Her breath came out in an unsteady sigh. Her stomach suddenly seized up with four years’ worth of suppressed hunger, and when she managed to come back to her senses, she knew the exhaustion couldn’t be far behind. She needed to get out of the bathroom, find somewhere safe to spend the night, decide on a plan of action. She couldn’t go back home. She’d missed most of middle and high school, and she had no resources. She’d have to find a life outside of the system, at least until she was old enough to—

The tears came came so unexpectedly, she didn’t have any breath to spare for them, and her body forced out a hoarse wheeze before sucking in air for a bout of soul-wracking sobs. She hadn’t cried for longer even than she hadn’t eaten, and the depth of her sudden suffering terrified her.

“I can’t,” she gasped, her voice an atrophied croak. She muttered it again and again until the letters scrambled and lost their meaning.

She couldn’t face life like this. A shambling, blood-clotted teenager with a sixth grade education and the social skills of a praying mantis. No money. No family. No future.

The lights flickered, and she startled, looking around so fast her neck protested. Nothing. They still hadn’t found her. The only thing moving in the room was her reflection, and—

She froze.

The girl in the mirror smirked, waving her fingers.

Aisha’s knife was in her hand before her eyes were fully open, bedsheets pulled off and feet halfway off the mattress. She stared into the moonlit shadows, her breath coming in ragged heaves, until she convinced herself that it had only been a dream. One more vivid than anything she had ever experienced before, even in her worst flashbacks — but only a dream. She was twenty-nine. She’d been a real person for over a decade. That was her real life.

She dissolved into the darkness and reappeared in the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water. It would all seem, if not silly, at least less material in the morning.

The knife shot back out as she saw something in the kitchen window. The dark glass reflected the room back to itself, a ghost of a face hovering near the edge. One she’d recognised only in the last moment before waking, and couldn’t understand why it had taken so long.

The nightmare woman was herself.

Of course.

#aisha daring #queen of nightmares #the trio is complete #my prose #farareushrieks

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ampleappleamble · 3 years

Text

CHAPTER NINE OF ANTHEM INFINITUM IS FINALLY FINISHED AND UPLOADED

Chapter Nine: Mother, Daughter, Sister, Queen <- AO3 LINK

Defiance Bay is a city that could use a woman's touch.

Full chapter under the cut~

—

There was ‘too strange to be true,’ and then there was 'too strange not to be true.’

The former was usually easy enough to determine, at least for a woman of Sagani’s age and experience: she’d be a piss-poor mother, hunter, and leader were she to give credence to every tall tale a guilty child or unscrupulous trader told her. But sometimes a situation was just unusual enough, skirted that line between plausibility and absurdity just so, that Sagani found herself well and truly baffled. Like now, with these kith.

They’d seemed like a regular bunch of adventurers at first glance, although a motley one. They’d been chatting amiably amongst themselves when they’d noticed her, and if she hadn’t heard them talking about a carved bear– and if Itumaak hadn’t nudged her hip and whined, pointed eagerly at the strangers with his whole body– she probably would have ignored them entirely and let them disappear down the road, over the horizon.

Leaving her alone. Again. And still at square one.

So she had cast her line, and had been completely knocked off guard at the response she’d gotten. She had been expecting the folk man– the big blonde with the country drawl– to do what Dyrwoodan men tended to do and bloviate at her until he lost interest and herded his mismatched crew off to their next thrilling adventure. But instead, he had crouched down to regard Itumaak with childlike delight while, to Sagani’s mild surprise, the redheaded orlan had stepped forward and taken the conversational lead.

What with all the bigotry against orlans she’d heard tell of since arriving in the Dyrwood (and the handful of incidents she’d witnessed firsthand), Sagani hadn’t anticipated the leader of this little pack to be one– and a woman at that, although her foreign accent cleared up some of the confusion. Listening to her bold, clear, confident voice, Sagani had been unable to stop herself cocking an eyebrow and cracking a bemused smile at this strange little encounter.

And it had only gotten stranger the more they’d conversed. While answering the orlan’s questions about her hunt for Persoq, Sagani had noticed the giant aumaua behind her scribbling frantically on a sheet of vellum, his excited eyes darting between the orlan and herself. She’d also noticed the folk man ignoring the conversation entirely to focus on trying to get Itumaak’s attention, as well as the elf standing alone in the back who may or may not have been talking to himself behind his grimoire.

And then the orlan claimed to be a Watcher. Sagani’d had to fight to keep from rolling her eyes upon hearing that one again. And here she’d been, expecting more slack-jawed farmhands. Gods, these people were odd.

Yes, Sagani, they’re a bunch of freaks. Not like you, a middle-aged female long game hunter from an isolated village on an island in the arctic who’s searching for a dead man with her snowy white fox.

Maybe that was what had made her put Persoq’s bear in the other woman’s hands, that guilt at thinking her and her companions odd when Sagani had such an unusual story herself. And at least these people were actually friendly, for once. She still hadn’t decided whether they were necessarily trustworthy or not– the orlan was probably about as real a Watcher as that last “Watcher” she’d met– but she could at least fairly confidently tell that they weren’t about to pull some kind of shit. Body language was too relaxed, atmosphere was all wrong for violence or trickery. Hel, this girl wasn’t even asking for coin. So why not let her have a go at it?

And now, watching the little woman sway on her feet and stare like a sleepwalker, Sagani was starting to wonder if she had made the right decision after all. She wasn’t normally an easy woman to rattle, but something about the orlan had changed, something behind her eyes, and it lent her an eerie, uncanny quality that made Sagani’s skin crawl.

“What’s going on?” she blurted, hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. “What’s happening to her?” Itumaak finally snapped at the annoying folk man, curling his lip and snarling, and the big blonde backed off as the fox leaned into Sagani’s side.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” the man stammered, “prolly shoulda warned you about that. She gets like that when she’s doin’ her watchin’, or… whatch’ call it.” He dug his thumb into an itchy spot between his eyebrows, side-eyed Itumaak. “…Your fox bite?”

“Yes,” she muttered, eyes still fixed on the orlan woman, on Persoq’s bear.

“Can I pet him anyway?” The man’s blue-green eyes shone with sincerity.

“Worry not, madam! She’ll come out of it soon enough,” the aumaua interjected, tucking his writing tools away in his satchel before peering intently at the adra carving in the orlan’s hands. “At least, she seemed to come out of it rather quickly when she spoke to the spirits in Caed Nua. This might be an entirely different experience, as far as I’m aware.” He chuckled and gently waved his gigantic hand in the redhead’s face, and she stared through him, completely unresponsive. “Fascinating, isn’t it? I wonder what she sees…”

Sagani glanced up at the huge man, careful to keep the orlan and Persoq’s bear in her peripheral vision. “You’re telling me you all came from Caed Nua? That old keep west of here? I was told that place was nothing but a wraith-infested death trap.” She felt her heart drop, just a little. Yup, that’s what I thought. Too strange to be true.

“Sure’s Hel was,” the folk man grumbled, his tone suggesting he knew from experience. “'Course, that was before we showed up.”

The little huntress narrowed her eyes at him. “Care to explain exactly what you mean by that?”

The shy elf finally spoke up, cringing with embarrassment as he drew closer to the front of the little group. “Er– begging your pardon, madam; what my cohort meant to say is– Well, come to think of it, actually, perhaps introductions are in order–”

“Cliffs,” the orlan gasped, and Sagani’s focus was back on her in an instant, Itumaak yipping softly with surprise. To her credit, everyone else jumped too, startled by the little woman’s sudden return to consciousness. But still, she couldn’t afford surprises like that, especially when it came to Persoq’s bear. Never again. Beast’s Hooves, woman, never take your eye off your quarry…!

The orlan shook her head and blinked, finally seeming to come out of her reverie. “By the sea, I think,” she continued, trembling slightly as she placed the adra carving back into Sagani’s waiting hands. “Pretty high up, but we still got a snootful of that salty ocean spray.”

Sagani’s gaze flicked rapidly between the green-purple lump in her hands and the woman in front of her. “…What? I– what just– what did you do?” That was nothing like the last “Watcher” she’d dealt with, and she knew he was full of shit. But it didn’t necessarily mean this girl was on the level, either.

“…Watched, I suppose. Well, it’s not just watching. It was more like… being inside someone else’s head, feeling what they feel as well as seeing what they see.” The redhead rubbed her eyes, smiled wearily at Sagani. Reminded her of her youngest waking from a nap too early. “In this case, I was inside Persoq’s head, or his reincarnation’s, anyway. Damned disorienting, I have to admit. And it tends to make me look a bit foolish at times.”

“Right. I’ll bet.” Too strange not to be true? …Maybe. Maybe not. The ranger stuffed the carving back into her pack, not quite ready to admit defeat yet. “Y'know, after my story about that charlatan Watcher, I’d have thought a 'real’ Watcher like you would have more to say about the experience than that.”

“A woman after my own heart!” The aumaua butted in again, looming up behind the little orlan like a sunrise. “I’d love to hear more myself. She only ever gives us the barest hints of what she sees, what the spirits tell her! …Although,” he added sheepishly, “I understand sometimes the scenes that play out before her are… not exactly easy to talk about.”

“Yes, Caed Nua and the Endless Paths are not exactly locales with happy pasts, Kana,” the elf chided gently before turning to Sagani. “I know we must seem… an unusual bunch, madam, and you’ve no reason whatsoever to trust us. We were each just as skeptical when we initially met her, and just as shocked as you the first time we saw her peer into the aether. But she has proven multiple times over to each of us that, ultimately, this is no act: she is a Watcher, truly.” He pursed his lips, fidgeted, wrung his hands together– but his face was open and honest.

Gods, they’re persistent! If they’re liars, at least it seems they’ve all got their story straight. “You realize I don’t even have any coin to offer you for… for whatever that was.” She knew how dangerous this could turn out to be, what a stupid mistake it might be to trust these strangers, but she could feel herself wanting to believe them, needing her long, difficult search to finally yield a solid lead…

The little woman shrugged, unconcerned, and turned to the road in front of Sagani, shouldering her pack once more. “Didn’t ask for any coin,” she stated simply. “Knowledge seeks freedom, we say in Ixamitl, and the freer I can make it, the better.” A cheeky grin popped up on her face. “…Although, if you’ve a tent, we’d trade you for it. Someone ruined ours.”

The folk man tore his attention away from Itumaak’s fluffy, rapidly swishing tail to regard the orlan with indignation. “Hey, c'mon, Axa, I said it was an accident–”

And as if on cue, he was silenced by a crack of thunder. All of a sudden, the humidity and the smell of ozone were overpowering, and the gathered kith all turned their faces to the heavens.

The first drop of rain hit Itumaak on the nose, and he sneezed.

“Welp.” The big blonde sighed dejectedly. “Sun was settin’ anyway. Guess I’ll get started on a lean-to for us.” He trudged off into the nearby brush, and as they followed behind him, the aumaua and the elf gave Sagani polite, awkward waves. The orlan woman– Axa, as Sagani knew her now– watched them go and then turned back to the huntress, raised her eyebrows in an unspoken question. The rain was starting to come down in earnest now.

Oh, come on already–

“I… There’s… uh, a little rock outcropping about 15 minutes’ hike southeast. Should fit five and a fire 'neath it. And a fox, of course.” Sagani reached down and scratched Itumaak behind the ears, and he pressed his head into her strong, steady hand. His reassurance comforted her, and she smiled.

Axa smiled back at the dwarf, her cohorts turning back toward the two women. “Well! I never thought I’d say that that sounds more appealing than my current projected sleeping arrangements, but here we are. You’ll lead the way, I trust?”

Just remember, Sagani: if you wake up tomorrow and Persoq’s bear is gone again, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.

The huntress nodded and chuckled. “Sure will. Follow me.”

—

Honestly, it wasn’t as if Axa didn’t know how farfetched her whole story sounded, especially after listening to herself recount it aloud to a stranger. She was also self-aware enough to recognize that she and her companions probably came off as... eccentric, at best. So in the end, she couldn’t really blame the dwarf for being wary of her and her party– anyone would be– even though they had told her nothing but the truth.

It would certainly be a lot easier to convince the huntress of her sincerity, though, if the truth could stop being so gods damned bizarre as of late.

Axa couldn't help but feel like the more of her story she told, the more a liar she made herself look, and the older woman's guarded body language and skeptical expression weren't very encouraging in that regard. She was a mother, she'd told Axa at the camp that evening– five times over, although only three of her children lived yet– and Axa could tell she was a seasoned veteran of the child-rearing arts. She'd borne that accusatory, incredulous glare from her own mother ten thousand times, and it hadn't made any difference to her whether Axa was telling the truth or not either.

–Serpent's Wings, I don't want to hear it anymore! He's not some poor stray tom you rescued from the gutter! He's not even a proper priest, Axa; he's a strange, sick con man who was lucky enough to find a softhearted, foolish girl to–

She winced at the memory. Yes, thanks, Mama. Helpful as always.

Then there were all the things she wasn't telling anyone about yet, let alone this woman she'd just met. She wasn't concealing anything especially damning, just perfectly mundane, boring, everyday intensely painful and private experiences and memories, including some that might explain a few things about her current circumstances. But as usual, every time she was presented with an opportunity to open up about herself, Axa just... clammed up instead. The Ordhjóma thing, for instance, had come up again in an otherwise pleasant dinnertime chat about the southern lights over Nasitaaq when Axa had absent-mindedly mentioned the time she had seen them in the White that Wends, and then she'd had those questions to deflect. She knew there was nothing inherently shady about it, but even so, just the act of politely declining to elaborate on her time in the Land or to speak any Ordhjóma for her curious audience made her feel nervous and guilty, as though she were withholding evidence instead of simply keeping a private matter private. Mercifully, everyone seemed to let it go easily enough, but Axa couldn't shake the feeling that Sagani in particular held it against her.

And if it wasn't what she said or didn't say making her appear suspect, it was the series of ludicrous coincidences that now passed for her everyday life. According to the Lady of Caed Nua's trusted local guide (the smoke-addled fool who'd nearly gotten his fingers bitten off by Sagani's fox), the cliffs from her vision of Persoq just so happened to be a few hours west of Defiance Bay. How convenient, then, that she and her crew were headed that way anyway, and how generous of them to offer Sagani a place in their traveling party. It was all the truth, of course, and intended in the spirit of benevolence– but all the same, it sounded like such an obvious contrivance that Axa had almost not wanted to say anything at all, to save them both the embarrassment.

But when the dwarf had accepted, had shrugged and sighed and told her to "lead the way," Axa had had to actively stop herself from shooting back, "Are you sure?" Even though it was perfectly understandable, Sagani's obvious reticence to trust her (especially while she was actively electing to travel with her anyway) still stung, and it frustrated Axa that she couldn't quite figure out how to not let it make things awkward during their long hike to the city. Each of the menfolk had approached her on his own at one time or another and inquired discreetly after her health and mood, each noting how unusually untalkative she was, and each time she found herself too stubborn to admit why. They were damn near crossing the bridge into the city proper by the time the orlan was finally tired of torturing herself about it, and she impulsively squeezed her left eye shut, hoping for some insight–

–Sometimes, with some kith, there just ain't nothin' for it but to just keep on livin' your truth, Lil' Blossom. Just let 'em be, and you just go on bein' true t' yourself. They'll come 'round, with time... or they don't, 'n you cut 'em loose. Th' true o' heart will follow. Either way you're better off than y'were before, worryin' yourself sick about what some blowhards think–

Wael had answered the spontaneous prayer with a promptness that had startled her almost as much as the answer itself. She hadn't thought about her father in some time, but it seemed the Lord of Mysteries had reached down into her mind and plucked out exactly the right memory for the situation. It was something Papa'd told her back when she was a little girl, tormented by peers far crueler than the kith she was keeping company with now, and she had come to him for advice not on revenge, but on how to get them to like her. At the time, Axa had balked at essentially being told that sometimes there was nothing one could do about another's unfair opinions of them. But in time, she came to see the wisdom in his words, and she found that the less she tried to shape herself to please others and the more she focused on cultivating her own identity and interests, the truer the friends she kept and made.

Not that she'd ever had a very broad circle of friends. She was more like her mother than her father in that way.

She lifted her head, cast her gaze over the small group of oddballs and misfits trailing merrily along behind her, and a sudden, fierce sense of camaraderie rushed through the little woman. She felt tears well up in her eyes, and she quickly brushed them away with the back of her furry hand.

Good advice, Papa. Thanks. ...and thank You, Eyeless One.

"Hey. ...You feelin' alright?" This time, it was Sagani herself who drew up next to the orlan, concern plain on her motherly face. Itumaak's nose brushed Axa's fingertips on her other side, the fox giving her a cursory sniff before returning to his mistress. "You've been pretty quiet these last few hours. Nervous, now that we've made it to the big city?" She nodded her head in the direction of the city gates, no more than a stone's throw away now.

Axa wondered, looking at Sagani's kind smile and knitted brow, how she ever could have thought the older woman had borne her any ill will. "Not really, no. I grew up in the second-largest city in the Plains, so tall buildings and busy streets don't faze me much. I've just been... lost in thought, I guess." She smiled back briefly before tilting her head just so, to obscure her face with her burgundy curls. Just in case.

"You're not still hung up on that Magranite priest we met on the road, are you?" Kana closed the distance between himself and the two women in a few broad steps, sensing that the tension in the group was dissipating now, positively famished for a good chat. "In truth, I still am, a bit. I certainly hope we don't meet any more of his sort beyond these gates!"

"Still feel like we kinda overdid it there," Edér piped up, picking at the bandaging on his fox-bitten fingers. "Sure, he was a weird, rude prick, but did we really have to set his beard on fire after kickin' his ass?" Despite his words, the farmer still smiled fondly at the memory as though reminiscing on some old childhood mischief, chuckling as he spoke.

"He called Axa a vicious, unrepeatable slur, Edér," Aloth huffed, clutching his grimoire close to his chest as the group passed over the long bridge into town. "Honestly, he's lucky he got away with his head still on his shoulders, never mind his beard."

Axa's gaze shot to Sagani, eyes wide and innocent even as she fought back a feisty grin. And in response, the huntress laughed, clapping Axa gently on the shoulder. "Now that sounds like a good story. Maybe tell me over a drink once we get settled in at the inn."

'Be true to yourself, and the true of heart will follow you.' Good advice, indeed, Axa thought, smiling back at the dwarf as the party approached the gates of Defiance Bay.

—

As soon as their party had crossed the threshold of the city proper, they'd turned to a local rabblerouser for directions, inquiring about points of interest and general information about the city. He'd filled them in while still trying to hold court with the group of refugees and protesters crowded around him, adding in his own fiery criticisms of animancy and the local constabulary (along with his endorsement of the local vigilante militia), and as soon as the opportunity to escape had presented itself the little band of adventurers had beelined for the nearest tavern, a busy little neighborhood eatery and inn called the Goose and Fox.

Bit strange, that name. Sounds kind of predatory for a house of respite. Sagani glanced down at her own fox, and then chuckled to herself, shaking her head. ...Alright, maybe I'm looking a little too hard into this.

She noticed Axa looking at her quizzically, so she leaned over and murmured: "Here, stop me if you've heard this one: An orlan, a dwarf, a folk, an elf, an aumaua, and an arctic fox walk into a bar..."

"The bartender looks at them and says, 'What is this, some kind of joke?'" Axa quipped back, not missing a beat. It was a punchline from a different bit, catching Sagani off guard, and both women laughed loudly enough to draw attention. In particular, that of a sour-faced elf with a rag draped over his shoulder who frowned and pointed at Itumaak, shaking his finger at the beast as he scurried out from behind the bar.

"Hey, hey, c'mon now, ladies, no loose animals in the dining area– Is that a dog, or...? Either way, tie it up outside, please. This isn't the Salty Mast." He spat the last few words from his mouth like a foul-tasting venom and turned to resume his duties, only to find himself nose-to-chest with Edér.

"He's an arctic fox, actually," the large man drawled softly, his tone hovering between casual and threatening. "And he goes where we go. 'Sides, he's clean, and he don't make no trouble. Not 'nless there's trouble with us. Which there ain't. Right?" He smiled amicably, looming over the sweaty little man as Axa stepped forward to intercede and the rest of her crew discreetly slid into a corner table.

The blonde and the redhead returned shortly, followed by a husky orlan barmaid loaded down with stew and brew for the party of five, plus a little something for Itumaak. They talked while they ate: planning, mostly, about what to do with the rest of the evening and the days to come. The Hall of Revealed Mysteries, temple to Wael and the largest library in the Dyrwood, was a high-priority destination, as was the Ducal Palace in First Fires, for the war records Edér was after. According to the talkative fellow by the gates, First Fires was also where Axa could find the temple of Woedica, and hopefully some clues regarding the enigmatic Leaden Key. And, of course, eventually they'd have to head for the western gates to escort Sagani to the cliffs where she might meet Persoq.

Even though your initial offer wasn't an escort to the cliffs. Only to the city. Sagani smirked as she considered the implications and nursed her tankard. You that eager to prove you're really a Watcher? Or are you just hoping to keep me on a little longer as a hireling you don't have to pay? She watched them eat and talk and drink and laugh, and when the orlan caught her staring, she smiled and offered the huntress a toke from her pipe.

...Frost's sake, Sagani, she thought as she politely waved the proffered whiteleaf away, maybe she's just nice.

Soon enough, she was pleasantly buzzed and half-listening to Aloth and Kana argue about whether to visit the asylum in Brackenbury when she noticed that Axa's attention had drifted as well– to the folk woman at the table nearest the back wall, the one who kept her face out of the lamplight and stared grimly into her ale.

Sagani nudged Axa, indicated the woman with a nod of her head. "You know her?"

"No." The redhead rose from her seat, wiping her mouth and knitting her brow. "But I know that look." She spared a glance at the lads– Edér, his eyes shut, blissfully gnawing on a hunk of beef the size of his hand; Kana and Aloth still wrapped up in the discourse on animancers in the Dyrwood– before striding purposefully towards the solitary woman, Sagani close behind.

It took some coaxing, but they got her talking. She told them her name was Kaenra, and that her fiancé had recently struck up a close friendship with svef, had started bringing strange, unsavory people around to the house to use. That he'd become distant, and then violent, and that now all she wanted from him was for him to take his grandmother's ring back and fuck off out of her life. Sagani watched as Axa listened, watched as she bristled with righteous rage, her eyes lingering on the woman's fresh bruise as she squeezed the ring tightly in her fist.

"I'll make sure he gets it," she vowed.

And so it came to pass that Sagani found herself spending her first evening as a tourist in Defiance Bay firing off arrows in a stranger's kitchen and siccing Itumaak on the drug-addled thugs in the study. Judging from the reactions of the rest of her retinue, apparently this sort of thing wasn't exactly out of the ordinary for Axa: the girl had a thirst for justice, it seemed, and she damn well meant to slake it.

Before long, they were all standing above the cowering, bloodied homeowner, a man called Purnisc who struggled to explain himself to Axa's satisfaction. Turns out he had been dealing svef, too, and when his supplier had found out that he'd been pocketing more than his fair share of the profits–

"–they sent the kneebreakers downstairs," Sagani finished for him, "and the wizard to replace you. Literally." She shook her head in wonder. It really was just like one of her Vailian crime novels.

"Replacement wasn't much of an improvement on the original." The little redhead was steaming mad, and she made no move to hide it as she leaned over the battered man, finger in his face. "You silly bastard, you really thought you could steal from a professional criminal, and lie to your woman about it, and you're just so gods damned clever that no one could ever possibly be the wiser?"

The man's blacked, swollen eyes went as wide as they were able. "You... you've talked to my Kaenra? Is she alright? Sh-she doesn't know I was selling, does she? Oh, gods, please don't tell her. I'm so sorry for putting her through all this. Please don't–"

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Axa's cry came shrill and piercing, her typical rich, smooth voice consumed in the fire of her outrage. "Kaenra sent us here to return your ring because of your lies, you crooked little shit-for-brains! She loves and respects you! And you'd have us lie to her again?"

The pathetic man had withered under the orlan's verbal assault, and Axa seemed to have made her mind up about him as the group marched solemnly back to the Goose and Fox. But after returning to Kaenra, after telling her what Purnisc had done, the little woman once again defied all reasonable expectations.

"He's just an idiot, not a monster," Axa assured the other woman, "and he still loves you. And although he did a damned foolish thing, he never meant to hurt you. You just need to decide for yourself whether he's worth a second chance." Her violet eyes shone with tears as she spoke, Purnisc's ring on the table next to the women's clasped hands.

When Kaenra smiled and said she’d think about it, that was when Sagani suspected that even if it turned out she wasn’t a Watcher, this girl might really be something special after all.

—

Axa could feel them watching her as they settled into their room at the Goose and Fox that night, could feel them wanting to know. Not only so they could understand why she had done what she had with Purnisc and Kaenra, but also so they could (no doubt) uncover and examine all the painful, humiliating life experiences behind her every decision, all her successes and failures, and then judge her accordingly. Like kith will, she thought, of course. That’s normal and healthy to think.

Genuine concern mingled with morbid curiosity, hung palpably over the group like a scythe posed to reap as everyone sat and waited for Axa to break the oppressive silence. So she drained her goblet, emptied her pipe, got out her whiteleaf, and with a grim sense of determination, she told them about it.

About the career she'd built back in Ixamitl, where she had lucked into a scholarship to a prestigious lore college, bestowed on her by a generous politician acquainted with her father. Because she'd always loved to learn and hear stories about kith from around the world, she had chosen to put her good fortune to good use and study to become a naturalist, concerning herself with the cultures and languages and histories that constituted the kith population of Eora.

While most of her colleagues had decided to specialize in Vailian– a popular choice for the political or business-oriented crowd– Axa fancied herself an intellectual, and so she had challenged herself with mastering Ordhjóma: the exotic, mysterious language of the Glamfellen, separated for 10,000 years from their tropical Sceltrfolc cousins in the far-flung, frozen south, in The White that Wends. She had thrown herself into her studies, blowing through massive tomes and ancient scrolls like a hurricane, outperforming her peers with ease. Within four years, Axa had risen like a Dawnstar to the top of her class.

And then the field work had begun.

"It's one thing to read about a people, learn their language from books and study up on their culture," Axa explained, stuffing her pipe slowly, taking her time. "It's quite another to visit their homeland, speak with them, live among them. I was barely seventeen, I'd never even been out of the city..."

Kana winced, painful recognition in his black eyes. "Culture shock can be particularly difficult for younger scholars. We have certain expectations after all our years of academic study, and to find out that the genuine article doesn't quite match up to the image in one’s head can feel disorienting and disappointing. There's not only the shock, there's anger at the natives, and then the guilt over said anger..."

Axa accepted Aloth's proffered light while Kana trailed off– it always delighted her, using arcane flame for something so trivial as a smoke– and sighed. "That's what was really odd about it. I experienced some culture shock, but ultimately the problem wasn't me. It was them. I know it sounds like I'm just being bitter, but... honestly, for whatever reason, the whole village really was actively freezing me out."

"Nice," Edér chuckled, grinning at the unintentional pun until Aloth's glare chastised him back into solemnity.

"No one wanted to talk to me," Axa continued. "Oh, I tried, incessantly, but they just... kept turning away, or answering with nonsense or... or riddles. My colleagues had little difficulty integrating, but I felt like my presence was just barely tolerated by the villagers. I tried asking the other lore students about it, but they either feigned ignorance really well or they honestly couldn't tell what these Glamfellen had against me."

"Some sort of... racial prejudice, perhaps?" Aloth looked as uncomfortable as he sounded, but at least the topic was broached. Axa shrugged.

"I don't think so, but I honestly have no idea. The other three scholars with me weren't orlans, but they weren't Glamfellen either. And no one ever specifically said anything about my being an orlan."

Sagani nodded. "In my experience, while most Glamfellen tend to be as standoffish as any elf– no offense, Aloth– they don't usually have specific prejudices like that."

"Right? Ordinarily, unity and hospitality are taken very seriously in the frozen south; to support one another is indispensable to survival. Nevertheless, I couldn't figure out what I was doing wrong by them, and it was driving me out of my gods damned mind. I was supposed to be studying local accents, dialects, and colloquialisms, but that's somewhat difficult when nobody will actually speak with you. So, I ended up spending a lot of time eavesdropping on people, mostly outside, by myself."

Sagani shook her head, drawing her whetstone across her hunting knife. "Bad idea to go it alone out there in the White. All kinds of dangers hiding in the snow."

The orlan huffed a sharp, sardonic laugh. "You're telling me. That's how I met Vaargys."

As soon as his name was out of her mouth, Axa could feel her entire demeanor transform, and the atmosphere in the room with her. It was the first time she'd said his name since she'd left home, and even though she knew they'd already been listening, her audience really seemed to be listening now. She felt her face get warm and her eyes sting from the impending tears, so she turned to the window, trying hard to focus on the streets outside and not at her own reflection in the glass.

Come on, girl. You’ve run far enough. It's time you faced this.

"I spotted him from afar one day at dusk: a dark, distant, shaggy figure out there among the rocks, shambling around just beyond the village's borders. It took me a few minutes to even realize he was kith. My colleagues noticed me watching him eventually, warned me away from him: the 'wild man' the locals called the 'Cursed Vagabond,' the 'Exiled Priest.' And he was out there all alone, struggling to survive because nobody wanted him around, and no one would say why..."

"You had a lot in common," Aloth murmured gravely. It wasn't difficult to see where this story was going. And he couldn't help but think it sounded similar, thematically, to one he knew quite well.

"Kith will paint a face on a rock with their own blood if it means they can have someone to talk to," Sagani sighed sadly, sympathy heavy in her chest. She could see where this was going too, and she dug her fingers into the thick fur on the back of Itumaak's neck for comfort. He grunted in appreciation.

"I introduced myself, like you do. He was... cautious, but receptive. It helped that I'd brought gifts." Axa smiled with fond recollection, despite herself. "We got to know one another, and over time we became fond of each other. We started sharing meals and stories about ourselves, our lives. He told me he was a priest of Wael, self-taught, and exiled from his clan for venerating the Eyeless Face instead of the Beast of Winter... He let me get close to him, cut his hair, tend to his wounds..." The tears spilled over at last, and she paused for a moment, hid her face.

"And you fell in love," Sagani finished for her. Classic. Tale as old as time.

Axa smiled again even as she brushed her tears away, dragging her little fist across her golden cheeks. "And I fell hard. I was his first real friend, gave him his first kiss. And very soon, I became his first lover." The men blushed and looked at the floor. Axa and Sagani paid them no heed.

"I was fascinated by him, and he adored me. We made our own little world together there in the caves, in the snow. And we lived there, separate from everyone and everything else. Until I had to return to Ixamitl, of course. But I had a plan: Before I could talk myself out of it, I asked him to marry me– the very night before I was to return to the Eastern Reach. ...Gods, I had known him for only five months."

"And... wait, how old were you?" Edér spoke up for the first time since Axa had started her story, confusion clear on his face.

"I– Seventeen, almost eighteen by the time I went back home," she clarified, miffed at the interruption. "I'm twenty-two, now."

The blond man held his hands out in front of him, squinting at his fingers, baffled. "And... and how old were you when you left home? Hey, how old was he?"

Kana sighed and leaned over, patting him on the shoulder with one huge hand and confiscating the man's pipe with the other. "Erh– Never mind that now, my friend. Please, Axa, continue." He smiled that big, toothy smile at the little woman, and she blinked very slowly.

"...I brought him home to meet my family and colleagues, to assist me in my studies since all I'd really brought back from the Land was him, and ultimately, hopefully, to become my husband. In the interest of brevity– albeit somewhat belated– here’s how all that turned out: my family and colleagues hated and distrusted him, and after I had defended him so fiercely I'd alienated myself from my peers, I found out that about three-quarters of everything he'd ever told me about his home and his language was complete horseshit and all of our work together was complete bunkum. So! I burned it all in a big bonfire behind our house before telling him to leave and never come back."

She had ticked her misfortunes off on her fingers as she’d described them, her hands trembling, and then gesticulated fiercely before letting her fists fall to the small tabletop before her. "And then... I left, too. And now, here I am."

...Gods, that was easy. Much easier than I thought it'd be. Why was it so–

She rambled on before she could lose her nerve. "So. That's why I... wanted to do that for Kaenra. My fiancé lied to me and fucked up my life, too, and I can't just ignore that kind of shit when I see it anymore." She sighed, turning to the window again with her pipe still burning away in her hand. "Vaargys is the reason I had to leave my home and everything I've ever known, because his lies ruined my career and my academic standing and my reputation. How could I just stand by and watch it happen to someone else?"

"Yet, you advised Kaenra to forgive Purnisc?" Aloth twisted his fingers together in his lap, staring at them rather than looking at Axa as he spoke. "After... all he'd done?"

Sagani glanced at him, narrowing her eyes as he reached up to smooth his hair– and wipe away a stray bead of sweat in the process. Is it my imagination, or is he...?

Axa kept her gaze fixed on the street below. "Yeah, that sort of surprised me too, to be honest." She spotted a stray soul, its violet wisps of essence drifting slowly amongst the city goers, and she squeezed her eyes shut, felt them burn behind her eyelids. "I suppose... I just got the feeling that it wasn't too late for them, that what they had for each other wasn't so broken it couldn't be repaired. Vaargys and me... not so. There was no coming back from what he'd done, and we both knew it."

"Whatever became of him? Of Vaargys?" Kana leaned forward eagerly, his eyes shining with compassion. For once, he actually wasn't taking notes on the conversation, and Sagani noticed that, too.

Axa opened her eyes, and saw the lost soul on the street no more. She shuddered. "After I confronted him, Vaargys simply... left. Vanished into the horizon, just as abruptly as he'd first appeared to me. And then, I got to clean up after him– after us– all alone. I wasn't up to the task; wasn't really up to the task of anything but hiding in bed and regretting my life decisions up to that point. I could really only scrape together the wherewithal every now and then to go out and sell off or give away all the ridiculous trinkets and baubles we'd accumulated together. A few of the things I tried to get rid of turned out to be stolen, of course– big surprise, Axa, he's a thief and a liar– which did my already brutalized image no favors. Nor my purse, when I was obliged to pay out of my pocket for his chicanery."

"Villain," Kana spat, shaking his head slowly. "Scoundrel! ...Oh, how dastardly, to sow discord between the woman he loves and her neighbors and colleagues, then to abscond, completely free of reproach!" His sorrowful frown was as huge and expressive as his smiles always were, almost theatrically so.

Sagani just barely looked over in time to spot Aloth surreptitiously roll his eyes, and she couldn't suppress her grin. I thought so. Ondra's Lure, they're pretty obvious now that I think of it...

The elf cleared his throat and took the reins. "Shall we assume, then, that your family and friends were unable or unwilling to aid you in your time of need?"

Axa scoffed. "My little brother was sympathetic, but ultimately powerless to help me. He's stuck too far under our mother's thumb. He's a Godlike, and it's made things... difficult, for both of them. He feels obligated to her. As for our mother, she blamed me for my own misfortunes, for 'shacking up' with a man like Vaargys in the first place. So... that sort of says it all about our relationship. My father hasn't been in the picture since I was 13, and any non-academic friends I hadn't already traded for school, I ended up trading for Vaargys. I'd made him my whole world, and he–" She stopped herself, puffed on her pipe. "I don't... really make new friends easily. Never have."

Kana laughed good-naturedly. "With all due respect, present company seems to indicate quite the contrary."

"Ha! Since becoming a Watcher with her own castle who offers to help everyone she meets solve all their problems, I do seem to be quite popular, yes," the orlan agreed with a wry smirk. "...I jest, of course. In any case, the friends I do make, I tend to keep. And cherish." She smiled at Kana earnestly, and now he averted his eyes and went ruddy in the face.

Sagani and Aloth surprised one another, simultaneously faking coughing fits to cover their derisive snorts. Kana went even redder, but still managed a sheepish smile as Axa quickly redirected back to the topic at hand.

"In any case, it was my mother who gave me the idea to relocate to the Dyrwood. She brought back the notice advertising the caravan from the marketplace, threw it at me as I lay in my little nest of quilts and despair, and told me I had better either try and do something to rebuild my life or I may as well just return my soul to the Wheel to start a new one, save it some time and trouble."

"So... in response to your fiancé sabotaging your career and your reputation in your own home community, your own mother told you to... choose between self-exile and suicide?" Aloth spoke very quietly, very carefully. When Axa nodded and shrugged, puffing nonchalantly on her pipe, he couldn't quite come up with anything to say to that.

"As harsh as it sounds," she pressed on as she rose and crossed the room to stand before the hearth, "I agreed with her. I still do. Mama grew up a slave and only finally earned her freedom by running away, so maybe she's biased, but... I was never going to be able to move on like that, lying around like I was dead already, surrounded by bad memories. I had to do something, get up and get out. And she dropped a nice, pre-packaged escape plan in my lap, just like that. Nicest thing she'd done for me in a good long while. ...So. That's what lead me to the Dyrwood."

"And then it lead you to the bîaŵac, the Engwithan ruins, the machine," Kana murmured, rubbing his chin and studying the little woman. "Perchance, did you ever pray to Wael that you might live an interesting life? Because if so, you've had your wish granted many times over!"

"It's funny," Axa sighed as she bent and tapped her pipe against the bricks of the fireplace, "you'd think I'd hold a grudge against Wael, allowing Their priest to make a fool of me like that. But in the end, I had to admit that although he betrayed my trust and wrecked my life, Vaargys hadn't actually ever violated any of Wael's tenets. ...Made me rethink the gods, a bit. Maybe he was a true servant of Wael after all, sent to guide me here for some reason. And I do still pray to Wael for guidance, on occasion."

The aumaua sat up in his chair, beaming. "Ah! Shall we go to the Hall of Revealed Mysteries tomorrow after all, then? We can ask the scriveners' opinion!"

"Gods! I spill my guts to you, and you're still thinking about going to the library?" Axa shook her head and chuckled. "You're a mystery, Kana."

"Wait, so... you were gonna marry the pale elf?" Edér mumbled into his pillow, half asleep and trying to kick his boots off. "But you're an orlan. Would that... how would that work?"

The little woman threw the sheets back on her bed, using a little more force than she'd meant to. "Another mystery, Edér," she snapped, rolling her eyes. "Mysteries abound."

The other two men winced as Sagani laid a gentle, steady hand on the orlan's shoulder. "Hey. ...Hel of a day for all of us. Let's call it a night, yeah?"

"Let's, yes." Axa turned and smiled wearily, placing her little hand over the huntress'. "Thank you. All of you. Truly. Tomorrow... tomorrow should be easier, I think."

—

The next morning, Axa woke facedown on the floor halfway between her bed and the door to the room.

The rest of the day proceeded along the same lines.

They made for First Fires first, to visit the Ducal Palace and discern the fate of Edér's brother from the military records, as well as square away some lingering paperwork dealing with Caed Nua. Naturally, they came away from the Palace with no answers for Edér, more paperwork to do with Caed Nua, and a new, even longer list of tasks and priorities.

"You Watchers do that every time you roll into a new town?" Sagani stretched and yawned and Itumaak did the same, both of them glad to finally be back outside. "Introduce yourself, get involved in local politics, promise the townsfolk you'll visit the caves from their visions for 'em?"

"Sure she does," Edér grinned over the dwarf's shoulder. "How d'y'think we met her?"

Axa sighed, rubbing her bleary eyes. "That seems to be my routine since moving to the Dyrwood, anyway. No better way to earn a bit of coin and endear oneself to the locals than to offer a helping hand. The better to 'establish myself in the city,' too, I suppose– apparently a necessity if one just wants to access one little simple gods damned war record." She looked up at Edér with sympathy.

"Perhaps we might start realizing that goal by familiarizing ourselves with the local constabulary?" Aloth waved a slender finger in the direction of the squat, imposing keep that housed the Crucible Knights. "If what the... representative from the Dozens we met yesterday eve says is true, it sounds like they're well in need of the assistance and more than capable of affording your fee."

"Oh, they're more 'n capable of plenty," Edér grumbled as the party approached the stone arch and started up the stairs to Crucible Keep, "but it don't mean they'll actually do what they say they will. The Dozens, they got the opposite problem: they like t' say they done shit they haven't."

"As long as they pay us and help us get you your war records, they can talk all they like and I'll do the doing." Axa flashed her feisty, confident smile at the first Knight she spotted in the great hall–

–and within twenty minutes, she was storming back down the steep stairs, red-faced and fuming, her companions trailing nervously behind her.

"'Orlans aren't suited for the work,' he says!" she spat, flinging her hands about, teeth bared in anger. "We're 'too hostile,' he says! And then Clyver just... throws some bullshit fetch-it job at me and dismisses me like I'm a child!"

"Now, Axa, please, just– just try and calm down..." As soon as Kana said it, Sagani winced in sympathy for the stupid man. Oof... Wrong approach there, lad.

And she was right. Axa whipped around so fast that the huge man stumbled backward in surprise, nearly tripping over his own feet. She reached up to jab a finger into his solar plexus while her eyes, narrowed into slits like thin violet blades, cut into him. "Never tell me how to feel, Kana, never again. Or by the Beast, I'll show you fucking hostile."

She whirled back to fore, marching away with her fists clenched at her sides, leaving Kana to stare after her and press his palm to the divot she'd poked in his belly. He watched as Sagani and Aloth followed close behind her, before he turned to Edér, eyes wide with bewilderment.

The blond chewed his pipe stem, giving the ochre-hued lad a look of pity. "First time pissin' off a woman? Or... just an orlan woman?"

"Hardly," Kana chuckled, "on either count. Why, it's not even my first time pissing off that particular orlan woman!" He shook his head, slowly ambling after the little woman, taking his time to catch up. "Although that barrel of powder was already well primed to explode, and not without reason. I suppose I just had no idea how serious the anti-orlan sentiment really was around here. Evidently, even the justiciars will make brazen, odious assumptions about a perfectly amicable visitor like Axa based on nothing more than bigoted superstition! And with the four of us standing right there alongside her, no less!"

"Well, I mean, yeah, but... I wasn't gonna say anything." Edér looked away, scratching at the back of his neck, and Kana turned to rebuke the man before realizing, with no small amount of shame, that he hadn't said anything to the justiciar to defend Axa either. He fell uncharacteristically silent pondering this, and Edér thumped him affectionately between the shoulders, passing the other man his pipe in the spirit of brotherhood. For whatever reason, it made Kana feel worse.

It didn't take the two men very long to catch up to the others. They had come to a dead stop not too far away, the three of them standing just beyond the threshold of a nearby building– or, what was once a building. The burnt out, crumbling ruins of Defiant Bay's temple to Woedica appeared to Edér and Kana to be rather unremarkable, considering its purpose and patron. Weeds poked up through the broken stone, insects and small vermin skittered amongst the scattered bricks.

And there Axa stood near the center of the ruin, still as a statue, staring into thin air. The clouds shifted with the wind, and a thin, feeble sunbeam dragged itself slowly across the district, catching her in the light for just a moment, but she made no sign of noticing.

Kana sidled up timidly behind Aloth, peering at the little woman over the elf's head. "Is... is she quite alright? I didn't upset her that badly, did I?" He looked to Sagani, hoping to see an encouraging face, but found the huntress entirely fixated on the orlan woman instead.

"Don't worry, Kana, it's nothing to do with you." Sagani's voice was quiet and clipped, and her face wore concern and shock in equal measure. "She's just... talking to a ghost."

"Oh– why, so she is!" Kana still stood behind Aloth– reminding himself of hiding behind his mother as a child after he'd angered one of his sisters– but he leaned forward all the same to better observe her. Sure enough, the signs were all there: her blank eyes, her unsteady stance, her lack of response to stimuli.

"Told ya, she just does that sometimes," Edér quipped, returning some of the dirty looks they were starting to draw from passersby. "We let her. She seems t’ like it."

Aloth leaned away from the giant chanter looming over his shoulder. "The shock starts to wear off after you've seen her do it a few times," he assured Sagani politely.

And as if on cue, Axa suddenly shuddered and blinked, coming out of her trance dazed and slightly paler than before. Her voice was shaky, but she kept it under control. "...The temple proper is underground. We can reach it through the catacombs, on the south side of Copperlane. That's... where we'll meet her. The Queen that Was." She turned to her comrades and found Sagani in front of her, the older woman's face a shifting landscape of wonder, fear, pity.

"You really are a Watcher, aren't you?" The way she said it, Axa knew Sagani believed it, now.

She smiled weakly. "I am, yes. For better or for worse."

—

Kana Rua breathed deeply of the sea air as the band of adventurers wandered through Ondra's Gift, and a powerful, heart-wrenching homesickness hit him like a punch to the gut. The smell of the ocean was the smell of home to him, and he'd been landlocked so frequently as of late on his journey across the Eastern Reach that he'd started to find it hard to recall the exact details of its tangy, briney aroma. Although the winds from the bay that swept across him now didn't smell quite like the ones he'd enjoyed back home in Tâkowa– rather fishy smelling, this particular shore– they were still a fond reminder of his coastal home, a kindness from Ondra Herself to him, here in Her namesake district in this faraway land.

Chest and mind alike full of the heady fragrance of the waves, he smiled down at Axa, and the little woman smiled back, giving his elbow a gentle squeeze. She had apologized to Kana for her earlier outburst as soon as she'd had time to process her conversation with the ghostly Woedican worshipper, and he had responded with a lengthy apology of his own for his cowardly silence during her earlier confrontation with the bigot at Crucible Keep. Before long, they were laughing and jesting as though nothing had ever happened. Neither of them could stay angry with a friend for very long, it seemed, and both were amenable to a sincere admission of guilt and a genuine attempt to make amends.

And he couldn't deny that the more time he spent in conversation with her, the more he found himself blushing and grinning stupidly, stumbling over his words. Though it felt... coarse to dwell on it, he couldn't help but wonder if there might be something between the two of them. We suffer misunderstandings here and there, but ultimately, she seems rather fond of me. And I have to admit, she's a stunning little beauty... She's strong, principled, fantastically clever... And her charm–

"Smells like a kraken took a shit out here and died," Axa groused, her lip curling back in revulsion as she tried to peer around the other pedestrians crowding the street. "Gods, I detest the sea. ...We must be lost. Isn't there supposed to be an inn around here somewhere?"

Kana cringed as his amorous daydreams quickly deflated. "Ah... there is, yes, the... Salty Mast," he replied reluctantly. "But, erh, you might not wish to give custom to–"

The crash of a heavy wooden door being flung against masonry shattered any sense of tranquility left in the muggy afternoon. Everyone on the street, Axa and crew included, quickly turned to the source of the clamor: a tall, slim woman in silver armor and purple silks, evidently doing her damndest to tear the door to the Vailian Trading Company office off of its hinges on her way out of the building. She appeared to be Ocean Folk at first glance, but when she whipped her head of thick, dark hair around, her feathers–

Her feathers, cerulean and emerald and azure, caught the late afternoon sunlight, fluffed up and fluttered in the breeze. Axa could hear the others around her gasping, whispering, but she–

–a gift, honeycomb, a gift from the Sky-Mother Herself! Oh, Axa, look at him, look at your beautiful little brother and she'd looked and seen feathers, feathers and blood and wet, pink flesh–

–had seen an Avian Godlike before.

"Gods damn that son of a cur!" Her voice was smooth and melodious despite her fury and fervor, and as Axa approached she found herself met by a pair of sharp, golden eyes that rivaled her own in intensity.

The feathered woman sneered, gesturing to the building she'd exited seconds before. "Ado. Looking for work? You could try your hand at running a down-on-its-luck Vailian Trading Company. There'll be a good position opening up soon enough, provided you don't mind mopping up your predecessor's blood before assuming his duties." Her Vailian accent was strong and rich, and she glared at the badly abused door, arms crossed over her chest, careful not to obscure the five suns on her breastplate.

Axa looked at the door herself just in time to see a frantic little fellow inside scramble to shut it as best he could. She turned back to the woman before her, whose scowl cut ever deeper into her striking features. "Uh. W‐well–" It took the little woman longer than usual to find her voice– "Enough coin, and you'd be surprised how well damn near anything'll clean up."

The scowl eased up, for a moment. "True enough. Verzano's just lucky he's not getting his payments in steel these days. Or not yet, anyway." The armored lady cast her piercing gaze at the orlan one last time– pinkish-white membranes sliding up out of the corners of her eyes– before striding purposefully up the road Axa and her companions had just come down.

No one spoke until the brilliant woman had vanished into the crowd, and then it seemed like everyone had something to say all at once. Axa had to lean in close for Sagani to hear her over the din. "I know we made a promise to take you to those cliffs," the redhead told her, "and I do intend to honor that promise. But do you think you'd mind if we made a brief diversion?"

Sagani saw Axa's violet eyes lingering on the ruined front door of the VTC branch office, and the little huntress grinned, Itumaak perking up at her side. "Don't mind a bit, Watcher. Never could resist a good mystery."

—

#pillars of eternity #poe anthem infinitum #watcher axa #this only took *checks notes* ...five months to write #thank you for reading!

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