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artificialqueens · 5 years

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Needles Family Values, Ch. 2 - pureCAMP & Citrus

Summary: They’re creepy and they’re kooky, mysterious and spooky, they’re altogether ooky, the Needles family! Missing sisters, lying psychiatrists, passionate sex and the imminent threats of fraud and death… just another day in the Needles household. Welcome to the Addams Family AU you never knew you needed.

pureCAMP’s a/n: happy halloween here’s our needles family (do do do do), plz revive shalaska in the old frankenstein way for the seasonal spirit, and if u saw michelle do tish on strictly did you, too, die a death at how good she was!! plz enjoy

Citrus’s a/n: happy halloween, here’s some porn x

“The authorities found her washed up on the Florida coast, following a harrowing experience out at sea,” the petite brunette explained to a stunned Needles family and guests in the parlor. “They performed tests on her, medical exams, a complete psychological evaluation. Finally, they confirmed it: she’s your dear, long-lost sister. They transferred her to me at Human Services, and I’ve brought her back to you after so many years.”

Alaska buried her face in Sharon’s shoulder for a moment, trying to hold back her tears of joy.

“That’s preposterous,” Roxxxy criticized. Detox nodded in agreement. “Isn’t that the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard?”

“It certainly is,” Alaska said, standing up and crossing the room to take a look at Katya. “And now you’re home.”

“Katya Needles…” Sharon mused. “Home at long last.”

“At least for a week,” Katya agreed, somewhat nervously. Alaska looked horrified.

“A week? You’re finally home, what are you talking about?”

Katya managed to shrug despite Alaska’s strong hand on her shoulder. “I have, uh, lots of things brewing. In the, er… Bermuda Triangle.”

Sharon made a soft sound, leaning back against the sofa. “Oh, Alaska, the Bermuda Triangle…”

Alaska’s eyes glimmered. “Devil’s Island,” she replied, moving to join her wife on the couch.

“The Black Hole of Calcutta,” Sharon teased in a low voice, fingers dancing along her wife’s arm. She gasped when Alaska took her hand and kissed her palm, staring straight into her soul with those beautiful dark eyes that promised even darker deeds.

“Excuse us,” she said, eyes still glued to her wife. Sharon’s lips formed a small smile.

“Second honeymoon,” she explained, the twinkle in her eyes providing the details that her lips didn’t. Clearing her throat, she turned her attention to the brunette woman once more. “Doctor… O’Hara, was it? Dr. O’Hara, will you be staying with us as well?”

“I’m afraid I’m much too busy,” Phi Phi said hastily, “But I’ll be back to check on Katya’s adjustment.”

“No one escapes the Bermuda Triangle,” Violet deadpanned from her position on the floor, cross-legged. “No one normal, anyway.”

Alaska smiled at her from the couch. “My darling, you’re forgetting that Katya is a Needles,” she supplied.

“And she has endured things which others could not,” Dr. O’Hara agreed.

“Now, if you’ll excuse us…” Sharon left the rest of her sentence unsaid, implying that all guests would be seeing themselves out, and Alaska swept her up bridal-style to carry her to their bedroom.

Almost the moment that the bedroom door had shut and locked itself, Alaska’s lips were laying claim to Sharon’s neck and the area of her chest left exposed by her dress. The brunette sighed as she backed them up onto the bed, hands tangling in her wife’s hair.

“You’re overjoyed, mon cher…”

“Yes,” Alaska breathed, moving Sharon’s hair aside to give herself better access to her wife’s neck. Somehow, the marks she left never remained the morning after, but she loved to leave them all the same. Once she’d marked up Sharon’s neck to her satisfaction, she pushed her wife’s dress down over her shoulders and past her hips, sliding it down her legs before Sharon suddenly flipped their positions. Now that she was on top, she was able to make quick work of Alaska’s sinfully well-fitted suit, leaving her in a similar state of undress in mere moments.

“Darling…” she whispered, nails scratching lightly down her wife’s hip, “After such joyous news, what could I possibly do in order to bring you more pleasure? How can I ever compare to what Dr. O’Hara has done for us, mon amour?”

Alaska took in a shuddering breath, restless after such an agonizing hour of being away from her wife’s embrace, and the ghost of a whine escaped her lips when Sharon’s nails raked down her thighs, much harder this time. “Cara mia, words are not enough to tell you of the bliss that you make me feel,” she answered. Her hands moved from her sides to rest against Sharon’s abdomen, just below where her corset ended, and her eyes shone as she stroked the soft skin with care. “My sister back home… A baby on the way… Tonight could not be any more perfect.”

Sharon raised an eyebrow, her crimson lips curving into a smirk. “Not at all?” she teased, her hand moving to squeeze Alaska’s crotch through her underwear. “There’s nothing I can do for you?” The other woman moaned freely, biting down on her lip.

“I suppose there are a few ways that this night could be better,” she acquiesced, the sentence all but a groan as Sharon pulled her underwear off and began lightly stroking her length. “You treat me as though I’m fragile, Shar,” she teased.

Sharon’s grip tightened as she smiled. “We both know that you’re anything but,” she replied, twisting her hand around Alaska’s aching cock and making her wife shudder. As she slid further down the bed to position herself between her wife’s legs, she peppered uncharacteristically light kisses over her thighs, interspersed with sharp, painful bites. “Tonight is yours, mon amour,” Sharon promised. “Tonight, the servant becomes the queen, the worshiper becomes the goddess, the desperate becomes the coveted.”

“Cara mia…”

Alaska’s back arched like a drawn bow, her body taught and tense as Sharon’s mouth enveloped her, teeth grazing painfully along her length before swallowing her down. For a woman who spoke so little, Sharon’s mouth was not without its talents, and she managed to reduce her wife to a squirming mess in mere minutes. When she pulled her mouth away, lipstick slightly smudged, Alaska let out a whine.

“Shar, don’t tease,” she begged as her wife’s manicured fingertips danced along her erection. Sharon guided Alaska’s hands to her back in a silent command to begin unlacing her corset, and Alaska complied all too happily. Though the expensive garment was not without its beauty, it locked Sharon’s body away from Alaska, teasing her, taunting her. It was a cage for her beloved, a cage that kept her from Alaska’s touch. She was endlessly glad when the corset was loose enough to be undone and tossed to the floor, forgotten.

Now that Sharon’s alabaster skin was all but revealed to Alaska, she could hardly keep her hands away. She ran them all over her wife’s near-naked body, relishing in the sensation of Sharon’s cold skin against her own heat. Flipping them again, Sharon found herself beneath her wife once more, and Alaska’s lips and tongue made a hot, wet trail along her chest down to her hips. She stopped to take each of Sharon’s nipples into her mouth in turn, sucking on the delicate flesh and pulling a well-deserved moan from her wife, before continuing down to her stomach.

Sharon wasn’t showing just yet, but Alaska knew that in due time her wife’s belly would grow heavy and swollen with child as their unborn infant formed inside her like a parasite. The thought alone was enough to make her moan aloud, and Sharon couldn’t help but smile as Alaska made great pains to kiss and caress every inch of her stomach and abdomen.

“Tonight is about you,” she reminded her wife gently, reaching down to caress her cheek. Alaska flushed, eyes even darker than usual with desire, and she nodded.

“Your satisfaction is my pleasure,” she murmured against Sharon’s cold skin, her lips providing searing heat that set Sharon’s nerves alight. “Your pleasure, Sharon, is more than I could ever hope to receive, in this life or the next.”

Before Sharon could even attempt to switch their positions once again, Alaska was drawing the black silk panties down her wife’s legs and discarding them, spreading her milky thighs apart with strong yet tender hands. The black-haired seductress let out a cry as her centre was introduced to Alaska’s mouth, so wet and soft and almost painfully hot against Sharon’s icy core. It was nothing short of bliss, and Sharon’s hands tangled in her wife’s messy black hair as she lost herself in sensation, in pleasure, in Alaska.

“Oh, mon coeur,” she sighed, her hips bucking up against her wife’s mouth, and Alaska paused to look up at her with a deep look of lust in her eyes.

“That’s French,” she all but moaned, licking a final stripe up Sharon’s slit before repositioning herself to line up with her entrance, hands on her beautifully round hips.

“Wait, darling,” Sharon bade her wife, and though patience had never been Alaska’s strong suit, she stopped just shy of pushing into Sharon. Caressing her wife’s cheek, she cocked her head to one side.

“Is something wrong, cara mia?”

Sharon shook her head slowly. “Nothing,” she promised. “However… I had hoped to be on top tonight, mon cher.”

Alaska’s expression betrayed her, and she nodded eagerly at her waiting wife. “Yes, Sharon, yes,” she breathed, moving to lay on her back. She palmed her length impatiently as Sharon repositioned herself, hovering above her wife, her pale thighs on either side of Alaska’s legs, her black hair cascading down her back like a river. “Cara mia, you’re devastating.”

Sharon allowed herself a small smile, gripping her wife’s cock and lining them up, teasing her by running Alaska’s tip between her slick seam. In a single, impressive move, she sank down onto Alaska with a cry, her senses torn between pleasure and pain as Alaska’s impressive length filled her completely. This was always her favourite moment, the one she secretly pined for; Alaska was overwhelmed by sensation, and Sharon was completely and utterly hers. Only in such moments did Sharon truly feel like a goddess, straddling her wife’s muscular thighs as she took her cock to the hilt, burning and aching, every nerve on fire.

“Mon amour, you will be the death of me,” Sharon moaned, low and deep, and her words cut Alaska far deeper and more pleasurably than any knife they owned. “Please, Alaska, take what is yours.”

At the utterance of her name, Alaska began to thrust up into Sharon, who was beginning to ride her, setting a brutal– and entirely welcome– pace. Sharon’s hands flew to massage Alaska’s breasts as her wife gripped her hips, holding her steady as she was claimed, and her delicate moans filled the air as Alaska fucked her harder, deeper still.

Sharon was hers, entirely and completely, her other half and her perfect match. She was more beautiful than life itself, more tantalizing than death, dearer to Alaska than anyone else in the world. As Sharon’s pace slowed above her, their rough, passionate sex turned into soft, sweet lovemaking. Sharon rolled her hips against Alaska’s in slow circles, hands splayed out on her chest, head thrown back in ecstasy as her wife met her motions in equal measure.

“Mon cher…” Sharon sighed, long and drawn-out, a whisper of absolute pleasure and completion. “Alaska…” Alaska groaned as they reached the peak of their pleasure together, becoming a singular being with a shared heart, a shared body, a shared soul. Back arched, crimson lips issuing forth a moan, Sharon was as radiant as a goddess of the moon, and Alaska was her sun goddess, hot and passionate as she spilled into her wife, their edges bleeding together. They were one.

Sharon collapsed on her wife’s chest, utterly spent, and Alaska held her close as their breathing gradually slowed. They were passionate lovers, but gentleness always prevailed when they had been satisfied, falling into one another’s arms. Alaska held Sharon close, stroking her dark tresses as her other hand danced over her wife’s soft, pale skin.

“My dark angel,” Sharon purred, nails lightly scraping down Alaska’s bare chest, “Dare I suggest we go again?”

By all accounts, Katya’s night had been hellish from start to finish. Left to wander around the estate, she found herself entrapped in a labyrinth of horror, beginning with land that she was certain was haunted and ranging all the way to disembodied hands, carnivorous plants and ghastly weapons. Around every corner there seemed to be a new danger, something else to jeopardize her stay with the strange family. Every little oddity was teeming with dark family history, and Katya knew her cover would be blown if she failed to at least fake recognition.

With some help from the tall, ungainly butler that identified himself as Max and said nothing more, she discovered the room that supposedly belonged to her counterpart. It was grim and disturbing, so she didn’t propose to stay long.

As she began to unpack the supplies she’d brought along with her, she suddenly sensed that she wasn’t alone. Turning with a jolt, she came face-to-face with Sharon, who had somehow managed to enter the room in complete silence.

“Unpacking? Let me help you.”

Katya tried not to let her panic show as she said, “It’s all right, I can do it,” but the dark-haired woman was already peering into her suitcase. She took items out one-by-one and Katya snatched them from her hands, trying not to panic. Was her cover already blown?

“Crowbar… Dynamite… “ She picked up a small corked bottle, inspecting the label, then turned to her sister-in-law. “Cyanide.” She smiled softly. “Katya, as if we’d run out.”

Once Sharon had bid her goodnight and left the room, Katya let out a relieved sigh. These people were even more dangerous than she’d thought, so she’d have to work quickly and get out of the house to avoid sustaining any injuries. Opening the door of the bedroom, she looked out into the hall and was confronted by the little girl standing nearly motionless in her doorway. Slamming the door shut, she cursed under her breath. She’d have to wait until the nosy brat went to sleep before she could accomplish anything.

Turning her attention to the dust-covered desk, a few things caught her eye; the first was a photograph of two young, dark-haired girls being held in cages. They wore matching grins as they posed in front of a sign for a summer camp. The second was a photograph in a burnished silver frame, showing the two sisters with a friend between them, who was identified as Sasha in a scrawled note next to it. She was starkly different to the two of them, with her bird’s nest of white hair piled on the top of her head and bushy brows, but was equally as weird and thus fitted in perfectly. Katya barely noticed the NG tube on Sasha’s face, too distracted by the real Katya’s loving gaze at her.

When she heard the sound of a door slamming across the hall, sherelaxed. She could sleep a little more peacefully if she knew that none of the Needleses were awake and creeping about. Collapsing on the overly plush bed, she sank deep into the mattress and tried to relax. Out of nowhere, a disembodied human hand crawled up onto the bed, giving Katya a little wave. She screamed.

“That was cruel, Shar,” Alaska groaned, brushing a lock of dark hair away from her face, “You know that I cannot possibly resist you.” Sharon was draped over her body, wearing only a gown of midnight-black chiffon, content in her wife’s embrace.

“You would blame me for your own… shortcomings?” Sharon teased. Alaska chuckled, pulling her wife closer and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“As I said. You know I can’t last long when you pull such tricks on me… That unexpected Greek technique, oh, Shar… You are devilish.” She was about to say more when a long, shrill scream echoed from deep within the house. A joyous smile spread across Alaska’s face. “That sound… It can mean only one thing…” she breathed. Sharon let the ghost of a smile cross her lips as she rested her head on Alaska’s chest, hearing her love’s heart beat.

“Katya’s home.”

The next morning, they gathered for their first meal as a family in twenty-five years. Alaska was overjoyed to have her sister back, and sat down at the table with a smile.

“Home cooking!” Jinkx proclaimed, setting food on the table. “There’s nothing like it in the world!”

Katya regarded her plate with barely-concealed surprise, noting that the tentacles were still moving. “What’s this?”

“Mama’s specialite de la maison,” Sharon replied, enjoying the way that Alaska shifted in her seat.

“Oh, Shar… You know how I feel about French…”

Sharon took her hand, squeezing it as a small smile painted her lips. “Je sais.”

“How did you sleep, Katya?” Alaska asked, turning her attention to Katya as if a spell had been broken.

“Like the dead,” Katya answered a little nervously.

“Really? Who knew the Bermuda Triangle could change a woman so much? We used to have to chain you to the bed!” Sharon raised an eyebrow, silent.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Violet said solemnly, casting a suspicious eye on her aunt.

Jinkx scooped more food onto Katya’s plate, “food” that looked even more unusual than the first dish. “Start with the eyes,” she directed.

“Darling, where is your brother?” Sharon asked Violet.

“Outside,” the girl shrugged, her voice monotone. Just then, her brother entered the dining room, carrying a stop sign double his height. There was a car horn blasting, and then the sound of a crash. Gio’s parents applauded his mischief, and Sharon pulled out a chair for him at the breakfast table.

The food that Jinkx had prepared tasted much better than it looked, and Katya managed to stomach it and keep her ruse up for all of breakfast. The moment her plate was clear, Alaska had turned to her, eyes gleaming with excitement. She took Katya down a series of complicated passages, all of them booby-trapped, until they reached a gondola docked in a dark black lake. They continued downward, Alaska steering a gondola through the black waters, the sound of her voice echoing in the vast stone room as she sang along to an aria playing through the gondola’s gramophone.

When they reached a place to dock the boat, Katya’s eyes landed on a large door with a combination lock. It had to be the vault, there was nothing else it could be; she was excited to smuggle out some riches and leave this house and all the weirdos in it.

“Five turns to the right, then seven to the left, and then…” Alaska waited for her sister to answer, and Katya nervously blurted out the first number that came into her head. It clearly wasn’t the right one, because Alaska looked disappointed and sighed. “No, no, two. Five, seven, two, Katya, the cabins from summer camp!” She regarded her sister with confusion, wondering just how much the Bermuda Triangle had changed her. The lock clicked open and Katya followed Alaska inside, expecting the same kind of gold that Detox had shown her, so she was disappointed when the door swung open to reveal a lounge.

Trying to conceal her disappointment, Katya examined the room as discreetly as she could while Alaska rooted through an old box of god-knows-what. She approached a wall of bottles, looking at their strangle labels; some were things she had never heard of, while others were common spirits. Picking one up to read its label closer, she startled when the shelf spun around in the wall. Turning her back on the bottles, her eyes fell upon the true vault, full to bursting with more wealth than she could have possibly imagined in one place. She put the bottle back quickly, not wanting Alaska to notice her absence, but the idiot was still looking through boxes for something.

“Katya, look!” she exclaimed, beaming, as she held up a photograph. It depicted herself and Sharon, wearing black from head to toe, standing in front of a coffin surrounded by flowers. “Our wedding day. She was so beautiful…”

“She was,” Katya agreed, trying to remember whether Alaska had mentioned Katya’s presence at the wedding. To her annoyance, Alaska didn’t elaborate any further. Thankfully, with Katya’s lack of questions, they simply moved on.

They went through old videos and pictures for hours, drinking and talking and laughing, and the strangest feeling was beginning to dawn on Katya. She was playing the part of the long-lost sister, of course, but somehow she felt as though these memories were hers, and as though she’d known Alaska her entire life. She’d never felt as close to her real sister, Phi Phi, as she did to Alaska right now, and that was a scary revelation.

Still, much of what she was shown seemed to be horrifying. They flicked through some truly gruesome images - Katya found herself wanting to hurl at a particularly nasty one of the two sisters no older than maybe six or seven, grinning as they held up a stiff cat between them. Another showed Alaska in bitter, distressed tears whilst Katya attempted to strangle her, smiling widely whilst doing so. A third had Katya with an expression of sheer disgust as her sister ran her tongue down the centre of her face.

It was, in all honesty, terrifying. It didn’t seem like the two sisters had a good relationship at all, and yet somehow Katya felt like she understood it perfectly. To anyone else it would seem vile and unnatural, but it seemed clear to her that they were happy and good friends, if nothing else. She had to remind herself that these people were cruel and evil, and that this Katya - whoever she really was - was a deranged human being.

Alaska pressed the remote onto another image, gasping in delight as it filled the screen. Once again, Katya recoiled in sudden shock. Her sister wore a sharp suit, pinstriped, with a devilish smile on her face, but the real shock of the picture, however, was the corpse between them. Bespoke as the coffin was, Katya hadn’t expected the damn thing to be open, revealing a foul rotted body still complete with teeth and hair. Alaska happily posed above it as if it were simply a sleeping friend.

“Ah,” Alaska smiled sadly. “I remember this fateful night.”

Katya swallowed, panicking. Fateful? Fuck, what had been so special about it?

“Your first funeral!” She tried, her enthusiastic smile attempting to make up for the uncertainty in her voice.

Alaska frowned, bemused. “My first- Katya, come on! Our first funeral was years ago, surely you know that! We were ecstatic that they never knew it was us!” She grinned. “Dearest grandpa. It��s how he would’ve wanted to go.”

Great, Katya thought to herself, I’m in a house of murderers who think that I’m also a murderer. Just great.

“I won’t accept that you don’t remember this night, even if you weren’t here with us. Surely this is the one thing you could never forget.”

The picture from earlier flashed in Katya’s mind. For a moment, it was as if she could remember it - the sensation of Sasha’s hair tickling her arms, a warm fondness for the girl blossoming in her chest. As soon as it had arrived, however, it disappeared, replaced with a fleeting anger and then confusion. Still, she took a chance.

“Sasha.”

Alaska sighed. “Sasha. Our dear, dear friend.”

She reached forward suddenly, taking Katya’s hand in hers as though to comfort her. “Please, my sister, let me explain everything to you. I never knew… God, when Sharon told me… You loved her, didn’t you? You loved Sasha and it’s no wonder you thought I was some heartless player, messing her around. I promise you that isn’t the truth, Katya. I wanted to spoil her and make her last moments with us memorable, and then whenever I wasn’t with her I was with my beloved… the way that must’ve looked to you, as though I was using them both for my own gain… I can’t stand it. The real truth, Katya, is that Sasha introduced Sharon and I, and gave our relationship her blessing. I merely took her to see things she might never see, I never pursued any kind of relationship with her…”

Her gaze was filled with sorrow. “I beg you, please forgive me. This misunderstanding… it has been eating at me ever since you left us. That it was all my fault, all because you loved a girl and believed I was using her. Had I known… I couldn’t be more sorry, Katya. If I could dig her up and reunite the two of you right now, I would. You deserve to love one another the way Sharon and I do.”

As she spoke, she flicked away from the corpse to what appeared to be Alaska’s wedding. Both of them were still dressed in the black garments seen in the earlier photographs, locked in a passionate embrace amongst all the graves behind them. At first, Katya wondered who in the hell would get married right after a funeral, but it seemed fitting for such an odd family. If what she could deduce was correct, they had only dated for a short while anyway before tying the knot in a graveyard, so she supposed that the strangeness of it all made sense.

Katya stared at the photo. Murderers though they may be, a strange collective of oddities that seemed to dabble in more than just weirdness - whatever love was shared between these two, it was all-encompassing.

Shaking her head, Alaska pressed forward to yet another romantic shot of the two - with Sasha’s rotting body between them, of course. “We were devastated at your disappearance, Katya. You always talked so excitedly of the experiments you wanted to perform on my future children. You weren’t even here for little Violet’s birth…”

Trying her best not to look too repulsed, Katya looked away as Alaska started flicking through pictures that depicted parts of Sharon she had no desire to see. The last, however, of a squalling baby fiddling with a rickety mobile of knives and grenades with loose pins, settled her fraught nerves. Of course, part of her tried to argue for the safety of the baby, but she seemed quite content with her toys, and Alaska and Sharon were cooing happily in the background. It didn’t seem all that bad, to be honest. Not at all like Phi Phi had warned her.

“It truly is family that makes us rich, is it not?” Alaska reminisced.

Katya nodded along with her. “You’re right. And… I forgive you. Water under the bridge.”

She offered a huge grin to Alaska, hoping that she would believe the act and wholly accept her as the long lost sister. To her complete relief, her eyes lit up and then glistened with sudden unshed tears.

“This has haunted our family for so long, and now, at last, it is done,” she whispered reverently. “You must allow me to prove myself. Sharon is one of us now, and I will show you just how I have never loved another woman. Come with me; come and meet our beautiful children properly. They are a putrid stain on this world and we could not be prouder of them.”

“Alaska, are you certain?”

“Sharon, my darling, darkness of my life, I am absolutely positive that that woman is not my sister.”

#rpdr fanfiction #shalaska #needles family values #citrus #purecamp #lesbian au #sharon needles #alaska thunderfuck #violet chachki #jinkx monsoon #phi phi o'hara #katya zamolodchikova #roxxxy andrews #max malanaphy #aquaria #vanessa vanjie mateo #addams family au #detox icunt

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artisticestheticreads · 5 years

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SoulMates

A/N: I have no clue where this came from but I am so glad I wrote this. Inspired by NOLA culture and by my family on my ‘baba’ side. If y’all are into supernatural, romance and what not then I hope you enjoy this fic with our favorite Disney Prince and OC, Estelle DeVille.

WARNING: Tearjerkers, supernatural, ookie dookie spooky tings and little fluffy moments.

SONG INSPIRATION: Basin Street Blues by Louis Armstrong & His Hot Five

It was a cool New Orleans evening as the sun was setting and when a woman sat in her space. Her family was known as one of the most loyal readers to go to. Rumor has it, that the DeVille Bloodline were able to tell the future; dreams made, love and death were what they can tell. The woman and her family had cocoa brown skin even though the Creole stereotype was that they should have fair skin and straight hair. Her place wasn’t like her grandmother’s at all. The walls were a cream shade, with red sheer curtains falling from the ceiling. Gold accents like vases and chest rested in random places. Her black tinted glass table was home to a glass orb where she can see one’s future. There were plants such as ferns, cactus, sunflowers, and roses around the parlor. Her grandmother’s old record player placed a Louis Armstrong record; it brought her back to her childhood.

The young lady looked at the mural of her ancestors as her fingers played with the royal family jewel around her neck being held up by a gold chain. Her arms were covered with a long galaxy wrapped around each forearm and the middle of her back had the zodiac sign, Libra, on her back. She had a charm bracelet wrapped around her left wrist that dangled with a cross and she had on huge gold hoops with studs up and down her small ears. She wore a white tank top, distressed jeans and a headwrap made of fine Louisana fabric.

She heard the door open with a slight ding and her a male’s first. “Hi, I’m..”

“Erik Stevens, also known as Killmonger, Navy Vet, 6′0 and a half, no tattoos, dreaded hair and a smile that can kill. But your family knows you by N’Jadaka Udaku, son of Prince N’Jobu. You were born in Oakland, CA but your blood on your father side is from Wakanda, the wealthiest part of the whole world.” She finally turned and he saw her chestnut eyes, small nose, and full lips, Her brows were shaped to perfection and her baby hairs were also styled nicely. “Damn, you are good. You must know-”

“Everything. Unfortunately, I do. It’s a blessing and a curse. I am Estelle Marie DeVille and I will tell you all you need to know. Please, have a seat.” She watched him as he strolled over with a wandering eye. He wore a navy blue sweater, jeans, and combat boots. She stood in her place as she continued to watch him. “Would you rather me call you, Prince, Prince N’Jadaka, or just Erik.” He looked up to her and said: “either one is fine.” She nodded before taking her seat and shut the blinds; the lit candles around made the ambiance. “So, let’s see. I have a feeling you want to try and contact your father in something called ‘the Ancestral Plane’. Correct?” He folded his hands on the table with a small nod. “I wanna see if he can give me some pointers or if he has any words for me.” She smiled as she said “I know. Now, we can call him if you like but I must warn you, you might feel a chill or two as we do this. The first step is to summon him is for us to touch fingertips” as she closed her eyes.

“So, just the tip,” he said and she cracked a smile. “I forgot to mention how humorous you are. Now, touch your fingertips with mine and shut ya eyes, Prine N’Jadaka.” She held her fingertips with her palm facing down and he placed his upwards once he shut her eyes. That’s when she felt it, an oddly suspicious electric shock went through her whole body then a warm feeling settled in her stomach. She peeked at the prince and noticed his eyes were still closed so she settled in her seat. “Ok, Prince, we both must keep your eyes shut no matter how many voices you hear around. Understood?”

“Got it.”

“Okay, good. Now, I must call him.” She cleared her voice and recited the words. “Esprit, montrez-vous, révélez, esprit, venez à moi pour que je sache que vous êtes réel! Spirit show yourself, spirit reveal, spirit come to me so I know you are real!” She repeated this three more times then all of a sudden he heard many of voices. Voices of people he had murdered in his Navy Days, T’Chaka and Zuru all sung around him. He felt chills all over and Estelle can sense it as well. “Prince N’Jadaka, take three deep breaths, in and out. Once you do this and be calm, those voices and unwanted chills will go away. You will be able to see your father and feel warm around.” He adjusted his shoulders and took the breaths to calm down.

“Good, now. Let’s summon him instead. Prince N'Jobu, montrez-vous, esprit révélé, esprit venez-moi donc je sais que vous êtes réel! Prince N'Jobu show yourself, spirit reveal, spirit come to me so I know you are real”, she stated and when she did the Prince felt nothing but warmth around him. “Baba, is that you?” There was a faint voice in the distance but then it got closer with footsteps and the feeling of a hand onto his shoulder. “My son, you are looking good since the last time I saw you.” N’Jadaka felt his heart stop when he heard his father voice clearer than anything. “My son, why have you summoned me”, N’Jobu asked and N’Jadaka felt his soul sadden. “Baba, I am not sure if I can handle the grief much longer. The people I have ended, all to try and destroy our blood. I am still amazed that T’Challa and the others have forgiven me.”

“N’Jadaka, we are not perfect. We all make our mistakes, trust me. You were forgiven by the family because they are not one to judge. I hope you don’t mind but I brought someone along.” N’Jadaka felt a presence on the other side of him and lips to his cheek. His nostrils detected a smell he noticed from his childhood. It smelt like freshly trimmed roses and clean laundry with a hit of cinnamon. He felt a tear fall before he asked “ma?”

He felt a hand on his right shoulder and another on his left cheek bringing him closer to his right side. “Hi, my baby boy.” He broke down crying, still with his fingertips on Estelle’s. “Hey, ma.”

“Awe, baby. Don’t cry, okay? You too damn handsome to cry”, she said as she wiped his tears. “Baby Boy, I am very proud of your growth and you are a blessing to me and your baba. I knew you were gonna be special when iI held you for the very first time. I want you to know that things happen for a reason, baby. Just trust the process, okay? And I promise that you will continue to be strong. You got the royal blood in you and even better you have my blood and my heart with you at all times.” N’Jadaka nodded and asked, “baba, what does ma look like now?” N’Jobu got closer to his ear and said “let’s see. She still has that caramel complexion, that amazing smiles, those dimples that made me fall for her and her hair is longer now. She is a true vision. She looks kinda like that young lady over there. Can she hear us?”

“Hmmm, not sure. Let me see. Young lady, can you hear us”, his mother asked but received nothing back. N’Jobu looked to N’Jadaka and to his wife next. “My Son, I am sorry but we have to leave now. Just remember that we will always be here. N’Jadaka. And we will be watching and guiding you through everything.” His mother looked into her son’s face and realized all the time she had missed out. She caressed her son’s cheek and kissed the other. “I am so sorry I wasn’t there, baby.”

“I forgive you, ma. I always will”, he said with a nod but eyes still shut tight. “We love you, my prince”, she said as her hand left his cheek and shoulder and fell into N’Jobu’s. “My son, keep this woman around. I get a nice feeling from her. A very nice one.”

“Me too”, his mother said as they walked away hand in hand. “We love you, our prince”, was the last thing he heard before Estelle cleared her throat. “Prince N’Jadaka, are you okay”, she asked. He nodded and felt her fingertips leave his. “You can open your eyes now but slowly.” He did so and when he did, her eyes were on his face. “Would you like a cup of tea before we finish up”, she asked. “Yeah, thank you”, he said wiping his face as she got up to her eating area. She began to brew a cup of jasmine tea and sat back down. “So, you couldn’t hear them? Like at all”, he asked watching her pull out her golden chest. “Well, I could have but I can tune spirits out easily. I wanted to give you three a little alone time.”

She began shuffling the deck of cards as he watched and her train of thought went to the feeling she had early and why was it still there to begin with. She never had that shock before when she read touched someone. “So, N’Jadaka, how was it?” He looked around then finally at her. “To be honest, miss DeVille. I thought this was all a joke but I don’t think you can fake smells and feelings like that.” She looked up to him with a smirk. “Nah, this isn’t some New Jersey Medium or whatever that broad’s name is.” They laughed and heard the tea kettle. “How do you like your tea, Prince N’Jadaka”, she asked walking to the kettle. “Three cubes of sugar and honey is fine.”

“Ah, just like me”, she made the tea and him his cup. “Thank you. So, what are the cards for”, he asked before sipping. “Well, we can tell what your future has in store just be four simple cards. It’s actually interesting to see what the cards can tell.” She sipped from her tea and held the cards in her hand, getting ready to draw them. She pulled the first card and placed it in the table for him to see. “Well, look at that. Strength. The strength here means inner strength of character. Not surprising at all.” She looked up N’Jadaka as he smiled and the warmth in her belly got stronger.

When she pulled the second card, there was “the Temperance card. This signifies calm, balance, tranquility, and avoiding extremes. Temperance is cautious, keeping one foot on dry land. Something we all need in this world.” She pulled the other to see “The Moon, a mixed bag at best. This card represents intuition, but also subconscious fears and dark impulses. The Moon is associated with the eerie, mysterious elements of our unconscious minds, including recovered memories and nightmares.” This brought a look to N’Jadaka’s face but when she pulled the final card, she looked over at him and felt like this was a sign; she placed the card down.

“The final card is... the Lovers card represents love, of course, and of the most rarified kind. The lovers share the deep emotional, physical, and spiritual connection you could expect from the kind of couple who calls themselves ‘lovers’. The two lovers stand among symbols of fertility and intimacy. Now, lemme further”, she thought to herself silently to try and figure all of what it meant. “Estelle, are you okay”, N’Jadaka asked her with a furrowed brow and she felt the shock again but this time he touched her hand.

She took her hand from his touch and said “okay, now. Your sign is an Aquarius, compatible with Gemini, Aries, Sagitarrius and”

“Libras”, he said which shocked her. He leaned back with his tea in hand and said “Libras and Aquarius have a strong connection when the first meet. They will naturally attract to each other, whether as friends or more. A relationship between Libra and Aquarius always brings positive results. They match both on an emotional and a mental level. You can, say they are something like Soulmates.” He sipped his tea as she sat there stunned. As the signs were there, but she couldn’t fall for it. She put on her poker face as she got situated. “Very good, now the final step. I will say what your future has in store.”

She leaned forehead and said, “okay, I need you to hold your hands on the orb and I will place mine on top of yours.” He placed his hands on the side and his eyes fell on her. She was very hesitated to do so but she had to shake off her nerves. Once she placed her hand on his with her eyes closed and a straight face, the heat was stronger than ever. Her eyes flew open to the orb and what she saw confused her more than anything. She saw herself...why was she seeing herself? She wasn’t supposed to see her own future. Right when she was about to let go, she saw herself kissing a man. He was tall, muscular built with...dreads. She was him leaning down wrapping her legs around his waist sharing a smile and then an intimate kiss.

N’Jadaka watched her eyes as the watched the ball. The ball was just the same but when he looked into her eyes, it was the most incredibly beautiful thing he had seen. The orb mirrored a glowing purple with swirls of pink and blue with sparkles all over. Kind of like a galaxy. He watched her with a smirk on his lips.

Meanwhile, Estelle saw herself in a wedding gown, a mermaid fit and the groom in a navy blue suit with his hair braided back. The scene looked as if it was futuristic but still modern in a way and they were surrounded by the royal family and the Dora Milaje like she has seen on TV. Another was the couple in bed, nude and her eyes shut; head resting on the man’s chest. His face finally appeared and it was the prince himself. He kissed her forehead as she slept. Then it fasts forward to them, old and gray. Dancing and being happy. She looked up at him and he looked to her, finally sharing a loving kiss and hug.

Once the vision was gone, the orb went back to its natural state. Her eyes looked up to him with his eyes still on hers. Her lips were parted and still couldn’t believe what she had seen. Her hands still rested on his as he asked: “Estelle, what did you see?” She slowly took her hand away from his and shook her head. “Maybe, I can tell you over dinner. If you don’t mind. I, uh, I know this really nice restaurant just up the street.”

“I would like that”, he smiled to her and she did the same. Once they blew all the candles, she slipped on her maroon cardigan and locked up as he stood to wait for her. They began walking and talking with his arm finally wrapping around her shoulders; she had her left arm wrapped around his waist as they laughed. Estelle looked back at her store then to the Prince thinking, “maybe, we are destined to be, huh” with a smile.

I hope you all enjoy and please let me know what yall think.

𝒯𝒜𝒢𝒢𝐸𝒟 𝐿𝒪𝒱𝐸𝒮

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#erik killmonger #erik killmonger x oc #Erik killmonger x Reader #Erik Stevens #N'Jadaka Udaka #n'jadaka x reader #n'jadaka x oc #nola #bp fandom #love #black panther #spooky #witchcraft #michael b jordan #soulmates fic #artisticestheticreads

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vertebralheights · 5 years

Text

REALLY LONG CHARACTER SURVEY. RULES. repost , don’t reblog ! good luck !

TAGGED. Redoing this from uhhh last year almost. TAGGING. Yeet

BASICS.

FULL NAME: MV Boli Dingbat

NICKNAME: Bo

AGE: It’s really hard to gauge but lets just call it mid-twenties, but she’s been alive for much much longer.

BIRTHDAY: It honestly has changed like. 100 times? Currently it’s February 18th.

ETHNIC GROUP: Skeleton monster.

NATIONALITY: Undergroundian

LANGUAGE(S): English, Dingbats.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Demisexual

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Demiromantic

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Technically this is verse dependent but her main verse squeeze is an absolute meme.

CLASS: Prodigiously lower-class.

HOMETOWN / AREA: She doesn’t remember what it was called. She lived near the Capital, Maybe in Hotland? She doesn’t remember much before Vertebral Heights.

CURRENT HOME: Vertebral Heights, a city with a dwindling skeleton population.

PROFESSION: Unemployed with no benefits!

PHYSICAL.

HAIR: That would be weird.

EYES: White most of the time, sometimes they’re ooky spooky green/teal.

NOSE: Set nose to NO.

FACE: Bean-shaped.

LIPS: No thanks.

COMPLEXION: Bo has kinda yellower, slightly off color bones from lack of light and access to bone polish.

BLEMISHES: She has a sternal foramen, a genetic abnormality.

SCARS: None

Tattoos: How?

HEIGHT: 5'5″

WEIGHT: Like. 12 Pounds?

BUILD: She’s very slim. If her bones had flesh on them there wouldn’t be that much of a change in physique.

FEATURES: No flesh.

ALLERGIES: Hard to have allergies without lungs, blood, or organs.

USUAL HAIRSTYLE: ???

USUAL FACE LOOK: A relaxed and placid smile, eyes wide but also very tired looking.

USUAL CLOTHING: She has one pair of dark jeans that she wears and a variety of t shirts, most of which are black or have funny sayings on them. She usually wears a green flannel shirt tied around her waist. She never wears shoes, and always wears a black stocking-hat beanie.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR(S): Losing her friends/family and being completely alone.

ASPIRATION(S) : Learning how to use her magic and her other skills to the best ability that she can to protect people and solve problems.

POSITIVE TRAITS: Clever, friendly, creative, intelligent, compassionate.

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Depressed, mildly nihilistic, no regard for personal care or safety, anti-authoritarian (not really a BAD trait but it hasn’t gotten her anywhere)

ZODIAC: Aquarius!

TEMPERAMENT: Generally, she’s very good natured and friendly.

SOUL TYPE(S): Monster Soul, her ‘trait’ is Idiosyncrasy.

ANIMALS: If she were an animal she’s probably be something rat a possum or a rat.

VICE HABIT(S): She does them botha lot less, but she used to drink to excess and smoke a lot. But since taking in Lark and becoming happier with her life, she’s cut down on those habits a lot. She still drinks on occasion (to have fun more than to drown her sorrows) and she still smokes when she’s really stressed/overworked.

FAITH: It comes and goes.

GHOSTS?: They’re lovely.

AFTERLIFE?: It happens for some people.

REINCARNATION?: Yes, she knows it can be done.

ALIENS?: God, she hopes so.

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: Anarchist???????

ECONOMIC PREFERENCE: Money would be cool.

SOCIOPOLITICAL POSITION: Pro environment and pro-monster rights. Anti-Capitalist.

EDUCATION LEVEL: Uhhh the 4th Grade??? She stopped after her parents vanished. Had a lot of advanced education from her parents as supplement to her education.

FAMILY.

FATHER: Dr. Zapfino Dingbat ✝️

MOTHER: Dr. Lucida Dingbat ✝️

SIBLINGS: Cooper Dingbat ✝️

EXTENDED FAMILY: She has an adopted child, Lark, who she’s had for about two years.

NAME MEANING(S): It’s a font, chosen from a big book of 5000 fonts based on what an old skeleton said she should be named. I dunno, the lore is fuzzy.

HISTORICAL CONNECTION?: Her parents were a part of an initiative during the war that took human bodies and turned them into monster warriors via skeleton resurrection. It was semi-successful.

FAVORITES.

BOOK: Bo doesn’t have a favorite, but she does have a pretty sizable collection of do-it-yourself books on a variety of subjects, as well as a few music books, and a very well-read book on plumbing.

MOVIE: Can’t recall ever seeing one? Lmao she’s only ever had radios.

5 SONGS: Thrift Shop, Planetary Go, Seashore, Love Like You, and Polka Covers or literally any song ever made.

DEITY: Johannes Gutenberg, creator of fonts and typeface. But that’s mostly a joke.

HOLIDAY: All holidays are just variation of the prime holiday... H A L L O W E E N.

MONTH: They all seem to be the same for her.

SEASON: Fall or Winter, probably.

PLACE: Cities and Caves.

WEATHER: Overcast and on the cool side.

SOUND: The accordion, harmonica (most instruments, really) the sound of certain people’s laughter, the sound of a dry erase marker on a white board.

SCENT(S): Brass, pine trees, hospital antispetic, food cooking, weirdly, trash.

TASTE(S): Soy sauce, vegetable broth, white rice.

FEEL(S): Cool metal, small clicking buttons, flannel,

ANIMAL(S): Rats, Possums, Mice, Raccoons, Badgers, pretty much anything that’s kinda... Scrappy.

NUMBER: 11. I wrote 11 last year and I still don’t know why. Why 11.

COLORS: Green!

EXTRA.

TALENTS: Figuring out and playing instruments, reverse engineering machinery, rock climbing, singing, somehow turning all food she cooks into fried rice.

BAD AT: Cooking anything that isn’t fried rice, public speaking/singing, believing in herself.

HOBBIES: Tinkering with instruments and appliances, learning new shit, pestering her loved ones, exploring caves.

TROPES: Satisfied Street Rat, Always Save The Boy, Family of Choice, Undead Barefooter, Wrench Wench

AESTHETIC TAGS: #cities, #green, #neon, #abandoned

GPOY QUOTES: My only crime is that I was down to clown.

FC INFO.

MAIN FC(S): None, I just draw her.

ALT FC(S): Seriously, I just draw her.

OLDER FC(S): Seriously-

YOUNGER FC(S): sTOP

VOICE CLAIM(S): I’ve been at war with what she sounds like for what feels like eons. I’m currently on a kick with Sara Gilbert, but I think Bo would be way less monotone than Sara. I dunno, I usually just think of my own voice with a slightly different accent and inflection.

GENDERBENT FC(S):

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1: if you could write your character your way in their own movie, what would it be called, what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about?: It’s an absurd comedy. Stephen Chow is directing it. There are ridiculous fight scenes and cult-classic humor. It has absurd montages and weirdly placed rock ballad musical numbers. It’s honestly not very good.

Q2: what would their soundtrack / score sound like?: Bo’s sountrack is all 8-bit chiptune music, kazoo covers, polka remixes, and hard rock.

Q3: why did you start writing this character?: I started in 2015, took a big break, picked her up again in 2018, took a smaller break, picked her up again here in the tail end of 2019.

Q4: what first attracted you to this character?: I loved Undertale and Skeletons. Wanted to make a skelesona, loved to rp, decided to mix the two, got rid of the ‘sona’ part and here we are.

Q5: describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse: I wrote this last year and it’s still true, She can be a little inconsistent depending on who I’m writing with. She changes a lot, writing partner/muse to muse. Also I don’t ever want to make her as depressed as I’ve written her in the past.

Q6: what do you have in common with your muse?: Too many things honestly, Bo started as a self inset. We’re pretty different now, but we dress the same. The biggest one is one I’m trying to dial back on, which is the mental illness.

Q8: what characters does your muse have interesting interactions with?: I’ve branched out even LESS that the last time I filled this out. Currently it’s just. Tumblr user bonepranks.

Q9: what gives you inspiration to write your muse?: Listening to fight-y music, watching Undertale comic dubs, talking about her to people.

Q10: how long did this take you to complete?: Eh, not that long. Most of this was filled out already.

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smolpocketmonstercoffee · 7 years

Text

HoA 06

H E A R T _ O F _ A R S O N

Ulfric has faced many years since the Great War but there is a face that has hung in silence in his mind since then. All those years later, finding that face again would draw new memories to be made in the wake of the war he waged against the claws of the Empire. And the matter of other claws that would sink into the very flesh of Skyrim itself brought its own problems, along with a mysterious stranger. The path of the future was not certain. But the fresh return of that face in his mind brought questions. Ones he felt needed to be answered.

START, PREVIOUS, NEXT

TW: N/A

The two weeks that followed after first hearing that song on Loriel’s lips went by fast, Ulfric often found himself caught up in either paperwork or complaints and Galmar had spoken to his brother about controlling his behavior around the Dark Elves, least he make Windhelm look shameful to any important visitors who witnessed. There was so much going on that Ulfric was grateful when he heard about a patrol heading towards the border to check on its status that he went with just so he could get out of the Palace of the Kings.

That patrol was glad to have him with them, some of them glad to have Ulfric there to deal with the political talk with the captain of the Morrowind Side of the border, and when they made for their return, Yrasald was already talking about knocking back a few bottles of mead and flirting with the new pretty little woman at Candlehearth Hall.

As they came into view of the bridge though, Ulfric recognized the hue of gold at the wall of the bridge, overlooking the docks, and he wondered why it was that one of the three Altmers of the city was out in the cold. It wasn’t likely to be the crotchety old Alchemist, and chances were slim that it was the sly speaking merchant of the market since the market was open and would be for the next nine hours.

Which meant it was likely to be Loriel himself.

Ulfric said nothing until the group reached the start of the bridge and he looked to Yrasald.

“Go give the report to Galmar,” he requested to the man who gave an absent nod before the Jarl took to the stairs to ascend to the top of the bridge’s sheltering wall.

And there Ulfric found Loriel, lounging with chin on folded arms against the wall, watching the Northern Maiden as it set out for Solstheim over the waters. Peacefully, the wheat colored hair wafted in the wind.

He looked like his mind was somewhere far, far away.

For a moment, all Ulfric did was watch.

What was going on inside that golden head of his?

Finally, when a gust of wind blowing in off the sea made Loriel close his eyes and shiver, Ulfric stepped to come beside the elf and leaned against the wall.

“It’s cold out, bard. Shouldn’t you be inside?”

“It’s always cold out in Windhelm, Jarl.”

Ulfric wanted to argue that it wasn’t always but then again, his blood as a Nord protected him from the chill. All Loriel’s Altmer blood did for him was give him better magic usage.

The elf sighed and he stood up properly, leaning against the wall of the bridge the same way as Ulfric, the skin of his nose, fingertips, and ears a rosy red. The growing stubble Loriel was sporting that morning was fine blond, the stuff around his mouth significantly paler than the rest.

“Sometimes I want to go back. To Solstheim, I mean,” Loriel said very softly.

“Why haven’t you?”

There was silence as the wind whistled between the two of them.

“Because it never really felt like home.”

“Not like the Summerset Isles.”

“Not like Skyrim.”

Ulfric found himself surprised from the correction, the soft smile on Loriel’s face as he gazed down to the docks telling the Jarl that he wasn’t lying either.

His shoulders rose slightly with a deep breath that he let out through his lips before he went on, telling Ulfric, “Skyrim always has had this… incredibly constant feel to me. The paths that I first walked along thirty four years ago haven’t changed, neither have the caves and ruins I once explored, the cities I once visited. Everything here is just so… untouchable. It’s beautiful.”

If anyone had told Ulfric thirty years ago that there was an Altmer who spoke of Skyrim with love, he would have thought the person was trying to pull his leg. But seeing the look on his face, the sound of his voice as he expressed his admiration of the country he loved made Ulfric feel a bit fond. The way Ulfric imagined a father would feel hearing praise about his own child.

Skyrim was his.

And to the fugitive of the Summerset Isle, it was a place he called home.

Ulfric wanted to ask the bard about his thoughts on the war, but instead, he asked about Solstheim. His city was the only port to it, but Ulfric had only once left Skyrim and it had been for the war, a thing that did not touch the island north of Morrowind.

The elf smiled, closing his eyes as he pictured the place. “Solstheim is… diverse. The island can be divided into quarters almost. Almost,” he repeated with a laugh, his smile turning fond.

“I think you would have liked the Felsaad Coast. It has the most Nord-based culture, and it feels the most like the northern half of Eastmarch. Hospitable for us less-hearty folk and snowier the further north you go. Thirsk Mead Hall and the Skaal village are in that region. The people of Thirsk are very… I don’t know. Headstrong? That’s probably the nicest word I can come up with from the one time I dealt with them. The Skaal villagers are very peaceful though. Very one with nature. In the Skaal village, everyone has their own responsibilities and nothing ever goes to waste. They’re very efficient in a way that almost makes me a bit jealous.”

Ulfric couldn’t help but chuckle a little. The way he went on to describe the Skaal people made him very curious. He almost wanted to meet them.

And as Loriel continued to talk about the southern half of the island, a place covered in ash blown in from the Red Mountain, Ulfric finally felt like he was looking at Loriel and really seeing him for the first time. More than just some remnescent reminder of the Thalmor Aid. More than just a fugitive of the Summerset Isles. More than just a bard.

Him.

He was seeing him.

The Altmer told him about the Ash-Spawn infestation that seemed to be caused by the volcanic ore called Heart Stone, and about the old and slightly unhinged Dunmer mage that lived out to the eastern corner of the island in his giant mushroom tower. He spoke about Raven Rock and about the First and Second Councilors, about the local alchemist who he took an apprenticeship under while waiting out the war. He told the amusing tale behind the name of the local tavern that he had taken up singing at in the afternoons to pass the time and they both laughed together.

Loriel told Ulfric about the investigation he helped with that uncovered an assassination plot on the First Councilor and how his help had earned him not only a permanent citizenship in Raven Rock but also a house.

The first thing he really ever came to own for himself since the day he had left the Isles.

But it wasn’t enough.

Solstheim didn’t feel like home.

So he returned to a place he could call home.

Skyrim.

But Ulfric had to wonder though, with all this talk of Solstheim.

About Stalhrim.

About Arson.

About the Dragonborn.

“You said you spent ten years in Solstheim. Did you ever come across an ore called Stalhrim?” he asked, trying to touch on the topic without making the jump seem terribly random.

And Loriel blinked, drawn out of his mirthful tale of remembrance.

“Stalhrim?” he repeated.

“Yes. It’s also called-”

“Enchanted ice.”

The elf was frowning now.

“Yeah, I’ve ran across that stuff before. Tried to pick at it too. Have you ever seen a pickaxe break on ore? ‘cause I have,” and he sighed in exasperation.

And then Ulfric watched Loriel cup his hands over his mouth and blow on them before cupping his hands over his ears.

“Finally cold?”

“Don’t even get me started, you damn hot-blooded Nord,” Loriel said with an accusing look that broke into a smile bordering on the edge of laughter, his nose almost as red as his angry blush and so were his fingertips from the cold wind that failed to be warmed by the warmth of the noontide sun.

“Why don’t you walk with me? You’re enjoyable to talk with.”

Loriel let out a huff through his nose. “Sounds fair. Good conversation seems to be hard to find around here unless you’re either a merchant or a bard. Or a Jarl,” he added, his voice almost teasing with a playful rise of his brows.

Ulfric fought a smirk.

Without any further excuses, the two of them stepped into the city side by side, Ulfric easily aware now that Loriel wasn’t standing so far away or leaning against something that he came up to the bridge of the Altmer’s nose.

“So why did you ask about the Stalhrim?”

“The Dragonborn mentioned trying to make armor out of the ore. I was curious as to if you might have met him while you were in Solstheim.”

Loriel rose a brow at the Jarl.

“Everyone wants to know who that guy is, all ooky-spooky and whatnot looking.”

“Ooky-spooky?” Ulfric repeated as they approached the Palace of the Kings.

“No one knows who the hell he is, he shows up at places and up and disappears at random. I’ve heard too many drunk couriers talk about how difficult it is to find the guy just to give him messages. Half the time I wonder if he’s even real or if everyone is under the same Sanguine intoxication-spell,” Loriel expressed, his hand gestures exasperated and confused and his face growing redder and not from the cold.

Finally, Loriel huffed and rubbed his forehead, shaking his head as he composed himself.

“I kind of don’t blame him for hiding who he is though,” he said, “I mean, what if he has a family? Loved ones? Divines only know how many people who would want a man of that sort of power under their thumb and would do anything to get him to do what they wanted. On top of the fact that he’s supposed to kill pretty much every dragon he comes across and save the world?”

The way Loriel explained it made Ulfric’s responsibilities feel very small in comparison.

He remembered when he was a child and how daunting the idea of becoming Jarl was to him. He was supposed to become responsible for an entire Hold. Then when he was selected by the Greybeards to become one of them, it felt like he was trading one intimidating responsibility for another. Both of them made joining the war feel easy.

To Arson, hiding his identity was probably the only way he could hope to live a normal life again after the whole Dragonborn business was done.

If it ever was done.

If he survived to see an after to that mess that was made his responsibility by the Divines.

Ulfric thought back to the way Arson declined to join the war. The way he told him to stop trying to kill the people who were once their brothers and sisters in arms and focus on the real problem, the Thalmor.

Maybe Arson was right.

Maybe Ulfric needed to find another way. To not only save Skyrim, but also to save her people from more heartache.

And he frowned deeply.

The entire thing was starting to give him a headache as he reached out for the door.

Loriel’s long arms beat him to it, fingers splayed over the wood as he pushed it open and when he paused to looked up to the elf, the Mer gave a quirky red-nosed, red-eared smile.

“Royalty before common-folk, go on.”

His voice was playful.

Teasing.

And Ulfric shook his head, his brow furrowing despite the smile that crept to his lips.

And the Jarl stepped into the main hall.

Loriel let out a low, impressed whistle as he crossed his arms over his chest, or perhaps that was just the elf tucking his hands into his armpits to warm them.

“Never been in the Palace before?”

“I didn’t think it was my place. The only common-folk looking people I’ve ever seen enter are that Free-Winter fellow and a few people that I know are servants here. Everyone else is either you or part of your war-lot.”

“The people of Windhelm are always welcome in the Palace of the Kings. A Jarl’s responsibility is to his people and if there is a problem, it can be brought to me, although on moments when I am not avalible, my steward who is responsible for more common affairs will tend to the matters unless he feels that he was approached with a problem outside of his control. In which case, he will bring it to my attention,” Ulfric explained, the smell of the noon-meal being cooked wafting up from the kitchens and the sound Loriel’s stomach made gave him a little more incentive to lead the elf to some place where the cold could be staved off and see if perhaps they could snag an early plate.

“Some of the people say you go off adventuring.”

“I occasionally join patrols to tend to problematic matters throughout Eastmarch. Occasionally these matters are political based, sometimes they are matters of safety. What kind of leader would I be if I did not make an active effort to look after the people who look up to me? To sit on my throne and do nothing but revel in the riches of my status while my people suffer like those Imperial Jarls.”

“I never thought about it like that. I take it most Jarls aren’t so adventurous though?” the Altmer asked curiously as Ulfric pushed open the door of the kitchen where Sifnar and the Palace’s master hunter were talking over the slow-spit that held meat being cooked for the evening meal for the palace. The Jarl always ate the richest with the best quality, best choice of everything, while everyone else ate in rank with the servants typically getting the equivalent of scraps in Ulfric’s view. But even then, the servants of the palace ate better than most.

Upon seeing the Jarl’s presence down in the kitchen, as well as his guest, the cook lifted two fingers with a questioning look, not wanting to disturb his Jarl’s conversation and Ulfric nodded, the Altmer’s brows raising in curiosity and surprise at the quality of service.

There were many a day where he could praise the staff of the castle for their efficiency. They knew their jobs well, and many of them had been in the employment of the palace for years.

“The Jarl of Dawnstar was among the best of my sort when it came to adventure before his age caught up with him, and the previous Jarl of Falkreath as well.”

With Sifnar and the Huntsman fulfilling their duties, Ulfric came to stand by the fire and Loriel knelt, extending his hands out to the warmth, his golden skin glowing in the light. Occasionally, he would lift his hands to his pointed ears and cup over the ends.

“Sounds dangerous. You could die while you’re out there,” Loriel commented, looking up to him as his toasty fingers pinched along the edges of those ears.

“I could,” Ulfric agreed, “but I would rather die doing what I feel is a service to my people than sit in silence.”

There was silence for a few breaths before he heard that one statement.

“You really are like your father.”

And it startled Ulfric.

Loriel was still looking up to him with those amber eyes, calm and patient.

Loriel knew his father?

“I met him once,” Loriel explained, turning his eyes back to the fire and extended his hands out. “Just once. The very first day I came to Skyrim. I had been passing through the boarder along with a merchant’s caravan when I saw him along with a handful of his guards, out dispatching a nest of trolls that had taken over Refugees’ Rest. At first I thought he might have been a commander of the guard or something like that. I had made a point in my life before then to always avoid encounters with people of high standing, least I be memorable to them and the Thalmor catch up with me. I stayed away from palaces and castles and keeps and longhouses and when I couldn’t avoid being near one, I kept my head down. But he was really the first person of importance to the country that I encountered who… sought out his duty to his people so actively.”

There was a quirk of a smile on Loriel’s lips as he remembered.

“I remember how he greeted the head of the caravan like one would an old friend, and he shook the hand of everyone in the company, chatted with people he recognized, and welcomed people he didn’t to Skyrim. The way he spoke to everyone regardless of race with such incredible kindness was…” and he took a breath, trying to find the right word and he shook his head when he couldn’t before he looked up to Ulfric, smiling. “Your father was my very first impression of Skyrim, Ulfric.”

And it sounded like a very good first impression.

It was at that time the two of them received their early plates of lunch and Loriel’s cold appendages had returned to their original coloring, so Ulfric motioned for Loriel to follow.

He enjoyed their conversation enough to not want the continuing of it to be interrupted so he did not lead Loriel to the tables but rather towards the war room where Galmar and Yrsarald were standing at the war table.

Yrsarald looked up, “I was starting to wonder if the elf threw you off the bridge.”

“I didn’t feel it was necessary.”

The sound of Loriel’s voice made Yrsarald and Galmar both start and when the elf stepped into the room after Ulfric, Galmar’s expression tightened, as did his hand on the edge of the table. Ulfric narrowed his eyes at his housecarl.

“Loriel Elsinlock, this is my housecarl, Galmar Stone-Fist, and this is my leading military commander, Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced,” Ulfric introduced.

“I’ve been acquainted with your brother on multiple occasions, housecarl,” Loriel noted, his voice polite.

“So I’ve heard. Just don’t break anything important.”

“I’ll make an effort but no promises.”

Galmar gruffly huffed but said nothing else further. It seemed Galmar had taken Ulfric’s words to heart that if he couldn’t be tactful, keep it short.

Ulfric then brought the elf up to the Northern wing and despite his own age in comparison to the Altmer’s physical one, he could hear Loriel puffing behind him as he climbed the last flight of stairs. Ulfric had years of practice going up and down those steps in comparison.

When they reached Ulfric’s own room, Loriel paused, his expression startled almost.

He wondered what thought flashed through the elf’s mind as he pulled up another chair to his desk and moved papers out of the way so they could sit together. Then, he sat down.

“I thought this would be a better place to be than watching Galmar glaring at you while we talked. He is… a bit protective of me.”

“Not exactly the first word I’d choose, but I’ll take your word for it.”

Ulfric knew exactly what word Loriel was thinking too.

“He still has his lingering feelings from the Great War.”

“What about you? Any lingering feelings?”

Ulfric rose his eyes to Loriel as the elf took the chair beside him. There were some. But none of them seemed to really be directed towards that specific Altmer.

“Lingering sensations I suppose. Lingering memories. Of what happened.”

Loriel shook his head.

“Bad topic to pick. I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t his fault and Ulfric said so.

The elf shrugged and took his first bite of food, closing his eyes with a soft, happy sigh.

“It’s been a long time since I ate food that tasted this good.”

Ulfric was curious but he didn’t press, only saying, “If your services as a bard are for hire, I might be able to have it arranged for you to help entertain when I have important company. Food included.”

A humorous brow rose at the suggestion.

“This meal alone is almost bribe enough for me to accept.”

And they both chuckled.

As they ate, they talked, or rather Loriel felt that it was Ulfric’s turn to do the talking since he had already spilled quite a bit about himself as it was, and Ulfric was content to oblige.

He told Loriel a bit about his duties as a Jarl, most of which was public knowledge, and a few of them were lesser known facts, however he did not expose all of his tasks to the bard. He explained what it was like in his years in High Hrothgar before he decided to join the Great War. He admitted that the first handful of years that he was Jarl were not his best, likely from not having much guidance from his father before he lost him.

And then he brought up the state of the city, about in the recent months how they had experienced murders that had eventually been stopped by realization that the owner of the local museum had been trying to bring his sister back from the dead, about a storm that had blown in off the sea that had done quite a bit of damage to the city. And then, Loriel interrupted him.

“And what of the Grey Quarter? Any progress on that?”

Still concerned about the Dunmer. Ulfric sighed and he rifled through his papers before finding the letters on the topic.

“Because of the war effort, most of our spare gold is going towards that, however I have spoken to craftsmen in the local area about being able to make fixes to the outside of the Grey Quarter. I will also make an offer to the Argonians to allow them into the city for work. Should they accept, their first job would be to get the exterior of the Grey Quarter cleaned up,” he explained, allowing him to read the letters that had come from the craftsmen who had agreed to lend their labors to the city for half the price and would receive the rest of it once all the work was done.

Loriel seemed incredibly satisfied about the progress that had been made on his request.

After a while, Loriel asked if he minded him looking around and Ulfric gave him permission, and they spoke in absence as Loriel walked about the room, the plates already stacked to be taken by the maids later, and for a while, Ulfric only watched the elf before he went to organize his papers again. There was a new letter from the Jarl of Dawnstar that he would need to read after Loriel left.

“Ulfric? Why do you have an Altmer engagement band?”

What?

The Jarl looked over his shoulder to see Loriel standing at one of his display cases, leaned over it to peer through the glass.

“What are you talking about?”

“You have an Altmer engagement ring in this case.”

In his confusion, Ulfric approached to see what Loriel was referring to.

The ring in question was an old thing of twisted metal, gold and corroded copper spun tightly together. It was worn and battered and neglected and a deep groove ran over a thin edge.

“I found it when I was just a lad,” Ulfric recalled thoughtfully. “At the riverside, near the mill to the east of the city.”

Now that he was looking at the ring, he remembered that day even more clearly.

He had been very young, a boy of only six, when his father took him to his favorite spot to go fishing for what ended up being the last time before he became the student of the Greybeards. The wind had been cold but the sun had been warm on that last day before the frost came.

His father and he were sitting together at the stones, those big hands holding his small hands, one of his small hands on the knife and the other on the fish as Hoag taught him how to clean and gut. And as young Ulfric laughed about how gross the guts were, like most little boys did, his father noticed something curious.

He pointed at one of the organs and told him to take that one and separate it from the rest. Cut it open.

Ulfric didn’t understand why until he did as he was told.

At first, Ulfric didn’t notice it among the rest of whatever the salmon had eaten, until he had shifted some of the stuff around. Then he saw what his father had seen through the wall of the stomach.

The solid shape of that ring, green wrapped with yellow. It was a spun band of copper and gold, Hoag told him.

Ulfric thought it was oddly pretty for something that had been sitting in a fish’s guts and said so.

His statement made his father laugh.

Ulfric kept the ring, and when they got home, before they went to enjoy the evening’s supper of salmon the young Jarl-to-be had helped his father catch, the boy had tucked it away in a box full of collected junk items and miscellaneous things he had found.

And when Ulfric returned from the war, all those years after, that ring had been one of the few treasures he had found as a boy that he had decided to keep as a man.

The ring had reminded him of better times, back when he was blissfully unaware of the world, and his father was making memories with him.

He didn’t tell the story to Loriel though.

“You are sure this is a wedding ring?”

“An engagement band, and yes I’m sure. Altmer and Bosmer cultures make our engagements of love known to the public with rings. This one is of Altmer make,” he explained, looking to the Jarl. “A second and much plainer band is worn together with this after the ceremony.”

Ulfric was enlightened vaguely. Because of the Thalmor, he had never really cared much to know Altmer culture, but knowing that one of his pretty childhood treasures was a benign if not happy memento of their kind, it made him more willing to absently tuck away that knowledge rather than forget.

“Why a second ring?” he found himself asking.

“Because if the Altmer is widowed and does not wish to remarry, they remove their engagement band only. A sign of the strength of their devotion to their love.”

Ulfric lifted his eyes to Loriel, a soft smile on the bard’s lips as he explained his culture. Eyes still on that ring.

“Your culture is different than ours,” Ulfric admitted and shook his head, finding himself smiling a little with a laugh.

“We are, but Mara looks upon both of our kinds. Nords notice and ask based on interest all because the presence of an amulet shows that person is available. Altmer… because we live much longer lives, we take more time with developing our relationships, and when one feels that they truly wish to marry that person, they will ask. The set of bands are custom made for the pair upon the announcement of the engagement.”

The entire affair of Altmer engagements sounded especially personal in comparison to Nords.

Ulfric had witnessed a few attempts of courtship in his life. Some had ended in marriage, while many poor sods were left in disappointment when their interest was not returned.

“It sounds nice.”

Loriel looked to him and simply smiled, something soft and fond.

“I did not think I would stumble across a reminder of something good from the Isle. Thank you.”

That smile left a feeling in his chest that lingered until well after Loriel had left for the evening to go sing at the New Gnisis Cornerclub, and Ulfric pondered over that feeling for a long time without any luck of finding any answers.

#Heart of Arson #HoA #Ulfric Stormcloak #Loriel Elsinlock

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