#and only with his crest can you enter her grove

[manhandlememando]

Gravity Ch. 4

din djarin x f!reader

TW: mentions of an SA, violence, mentions of nightmares, descriptions of injuries and minor gore, jealousy, PINING, Razor Crest be out here, written in third person (she/her)

word count: 2,884

(series is ongoing)

The planet of Sorgan was gorgeous, Din didn’t do it justice in his descriptions. The lush forest felt so comforting compared to the harsh sands and cold temperatures of most planets they landed on. In order to remain unseen he landed the Razor Crest deeper in the forest amongst a thick grove of trees, explaining that they would have to walk into the village as to not draw too much attention to it. It was for their safety, but also for the safety of the people that live there. As they crossed the tree-line into the farmland, she could see the small hollows of water in the ground where they kept the krill during harvest. She admired the sturdy handiwork of the huts that had been formed to create a small village, a peaceful village. Din walked ahead of her, looking to greet someone and alert the villagers of their presence. As he came into view, with his beskar catching the dying light of a sunset, he raised his arms in a welcome. Some villagers started to move towards him, large smiles adorning their faces as they moved to greet their guests. She kept her distance to several paces behind him, not knowing these people she felt uncomfortable in their presence, and even more uncomfortable asking for their aid.

“You’re back!” A woman shrieks in joy, running up to Din to encircle his neck with her arms and bring him into an embrace she had thought was only reserved for her. The woman was stunning, long dark hair flowing down her back with features that were soft and knowing, she was slender with a firm jaw and deep, brown eyes. After a moment, she pulls away from Din to grab either side of his helmet, resting her forehead to the curve of the helm. A greeting that she had known only to be used by Mandalorians, the sight set a fire rippling under her skin at the thought of this unknown woman being able to do that with him. Opening her chocolate brown eyes again, the woman steps back from him and tilts her head just slightly at the other woman standing a couple of steps behind him.

“Omera, I have some requests,” Din began, he introduced them with an exchange of names and curt smiles, then Din and Omera turned towards one another and began talking once more about what exactly it was they were doing there.

After some explanation Omera looks to her shifting back and forth on her feet still several paces behind Din, “I can help you get acquainted and show you your living space,” Omera offers, a polite smile ticking up the sides of her lips. She nods, still feeling nervous to proceed so she looks to Din for his reaction.

“Will we be staying in my old quarters?” He asks, turning back from her to face Omera.

“I had her set up in a separate cottage -,” Omera begins, but Din cuts her off quickly.

“That won’t be necessary, please have someone bring an extra cot to my quarters. She’ll be staying with me,” he states, and she looks to the ground blushing lightly, and trying oh-so-hard to get rid of it.

“Okay, I can show you to your hut then,” Omera responds sounding a little deflated, and at this she looks up from the ground with her brows furrowed. Why did she sound almost disappointed? She thought, her stomach sinking slowly as she saw Omera’s expression looking back into Dins visor. The look Omera gave him was confirmation of her thought, and a small ball of jealousy began to build in her. Don’t be childish, she scolded herself shaking her head.

As Din traveled back to the Razor Crest with some men from the village on a small speeder to collect more things, she had settled into the small cot that is placed in Din’s hut. Omera entered with a child in-tow, by the looks of it the child was a small version of Omera herself.

“This is my daughter, Willa,” Omera places her hands on the child’s shoulders and guides her out from behind her dress. The girl smiled shyly, looking around as if she was trying to find someone who wasn’t in the room.

“Where is he?” Willa asks softly, she furrows her brow in question, not knowing what the child is speaking of.

“The Mandalorian left with some of the men from your village to gather more of our supplies from our ship,” she explained, squatting to be face-level with the girl.

“No, where is he?” She said, making it known she wasn’t talking about Din.

“The Child, she’s speaking of the little green child that the Mandalorian had with him the last time he visited. My daughter, and the rest of the children for that matter, were quite taken with him,” Omera offers some explanation.

With a solemn look she responds to the girl’s questions, explaining he had been returned to his own kind, and that he was where he needed to be. Her soft features hardened and she frowned.

“It’s for his own good,” she looks into the girl’s eyes. “I miss him too,” she said as she offered a sympathetic smile. The girl nods in understanding and turns to leave. Her mother quickly reminds her of her manners and the girls turns on her heal to offer a goodbye which she accepts and Willa exits through the large front door. Omera then looks to her side at something that has caught her attention outside of the hut. She can hear the speeder coming to a stop and grunts and shuffling as the men exit the vehicle. Din’s boots find the hardwood of the stairs up to the cabin, supplies in-tow. As he enters the dwelling he looks to her immediately, boots coming down hard against the floorboards as he made his way to her.

“Are you comfortable, do you have everything you need?” Din’s voice has a hint of concern threaded through it, he cocks his helmet to the side in question. With this Omera then exits, mumbling about food needing preparation. It was clear to her that something had happened between the two, and that same small ball of jealousy returned to her. Omera was gorgeous, she knew that, and probably much better suited for Din. She already had a child, and a home that was safe and loving. Omera could provide for him more than she ever could imagine, the woman wasn’t damaged in the way the she is. Because that’s how she felt, like damaged goods. The bruises on her arms may have healed to the point of non-existence due to the bacta spray treatments, but they were permanently ingrained now just below the surface.

“I’m fine,” she says, insecurity taking hold of her and causing her to shrink away from Din. He frowned, not knowing why there was a sudden change in her demeanor.

“Okay… I think they may be getting food together. Would you like me to bring you some?” He offers, turning away from her and towards his cot, beginning to unpack some of his belongings.

“Thank you, I’d appreciate it,” she responds, walking out the door to retrieve more of her things from the speeder.

—————————

The night was quiet here, but all the moons and stars in the sky paled to the fact that Din had her in his arms. She had offered him a space in her bed one night on the Razor Crest after another nightmare, and he accepted it. He made sure to be fully clothed in his flight suite (sans armor), because the bare skin of his arms touching hers drove him almost mad. He felt as though he may burn to the touch and not be able to control that burn from spreading to other places. He wanted to leave his hands ungloved though, the feel of her hands in his held him to the bed, the ground, the world.

He only had a T-shirt on now along with a pair of boxers and shorts. Feeling more and more comfortable unraveling the layers of clothes in front of her with each passing day. Their bodies morphed into one another and he had gotten used to the feeling of her falling asleep with him. Her legs entangled with his, arms falling into place in the grooves of her form. He found the curve of his helm always pressing gently into the crown of her head. Din kept thinking of what the small space between her shoulder and neck would feel like against his lips, and he wonders how anyone could perform such a heinous act on such a sacred surface.

He could see the night sky through the open window of the hut on the opposite wall from his cot. There were no lights in the village, all of the torches sentenced to a watery death, leaving the stars in the night sky to splatter themselves across the dark canvas of space. He fell asleep feeling the most content he’d felt in a while.

—————————

Din had to leave earlier the next morning, slipping his arm from beneath her head, cradling it in his hand as she shifted but didn’t wake. He had to go to the other side of the planet for work and he knew that by leaving her here she was safe. Din wasn’t planning on taking so long, he wasn’t planning on returning so late; too late.

—————————

The days dragged without him, she entertained herself with learning how to prepare krill and helping with menial tasks throughout the village. She played with the children, chasing them between the krill pools, giggling alongside them. The nights were the hardest, waking herself with cries which she immediately muffles with a fist. Missing the weight of him behind her, encasing her in warmth which spread to her bones. It almost made her stomach turn how quickly she fell for him; how quickly he controlled her gravity. Falling into him in order to feel grounded in any way. His touch soothed every nerve in her body that told her this was going to be a hard landing, the nerves that ate away at her ribs. Leaving an ache in its path that only he had a salve for, his hands spreading across her torso, his palm calming against her bare stomach. It had been several days, he said it would be at most three days, but it had been four. Din had taken more time on hunts than expected in the past, but she had an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. It wrapped itself around the base of her spine and settled in.

Waking to the sounds of screams that were not her own she lifted herself to peer out the window. She saw destruction, fire had spread between the bases of a couple of huts, villagers desperately trying to quell them with the water from the pools. The heavy fabric covering the entrance of the dwelling moved to reveal an incredibly large man, as he moved into the light of the open window she recognized him immediately.

“No,” she responds in denial of his presence, like he’s not standing only several feet from her. With her voice trembling, backing away she grabs the blaster she had set by her cot before going to sleep.

“So you do remember me,” he says with a sly smile, “thought that hit to the head would have wiped that pretty little brain clean.” He sneers, speaking of the way she had been attacked. This man she recognizes as the man who accompanied Alec in the cantina the night of her assault. His broad frame towering over hers as he slowly stalks towards her. She’s aiming the blaster directly at his head, but she just can’t do it. He uses her hesitation to his advantage and lunges for her, grabbing her and holding her to his chest with a blaster to her temple, as hers fell lamely to the ground. She whimpers and writhes in protest and all she receives is the blaster barrel carving a ring into her head.

“No!” She screams in defiance, trying to pry herself away from him as he drags her out of the hut. The warrior shouting to the other raiders that she had been captured. The others beginning to flee the village they had just pillaged and burned. Continuing to struggle she’s screaming, tears streaming down her face as panic closes her throat. She’s gasping for breath as he heads toward the tree line, no doubt back to their ship.

“Did he truly think we wouldn’t find you? That we wouldn’t avenge their deaths?!” The man yelled, moving her roughly to stand in front of him as he wrapped one large hand around her jaw and forced her to look at him. Who was he speaking of? ‘Their deaths’? She didn’t understand the multiple people he was referring too as she knew she only killed one.

“That Mandalorian isn’t here now is he? He’s the one who deserves the brunt of this, but luckily for me I found you instead,” he has the same devilish smile across his face, the same expression Alec held before he attacked her. The panic overtook her and she doesn’t remember what happens next; doesn’t know how she ends up with him under her knee choking on his own blood. With two blaster shots to the chest he had fallen, and she climbed on top of him and began to hit him repeatedly. He was already dead and yet all she saw before her was Alec’s face as fear enveloped her and twisted her in its grasp.

Suddenly she was encircled in a familiar warmth, her terrified screams quieting to whimpers as she fell back into his chest as he tugged them both off of the dead man. The orange gloves wove in between her bloodied fingers, breathing heavily the reality of the situation set in. She saw the carnage she had left behind, how the man’s face resembled something off of a butchers counter. He called out her name then, knowing she was thousands of miles away in her head.

————————

He had just arrived back at the ship with the bounty unconscious and ready to be set in carbonite when he saw the smoke. The fire set in the village sent a soft glow into the atmosphere, and then he heard it: the terrified screams of men, women, and children alike. He ran faster than he thought was possible, his muscles straining under the pressure of the movement. By the time he reached the tree line he couldn’t breathe, huffing in air through his helmet he felt he may fall faint. The commotion around him caused him to come back into focus again, releasing his blaster from the confines of its holster he began to disperse of the enemies fleeing the village. Just as her shrieking cry fell onto his ears a splintering pain erupted in his side, not even a centimeter from the edge of his chest plate, a blaster shot had landed. He turned quickly and shot in the direction of his assailant, and with the confirming sound of a body hitting cold ground, he made his way to her. The adrenaline was intense, lacing itself into his veins, making it impossible for him to feel the full affects of the shot. When his eyes fell upon her form everything else dissipated into the smoke surrounding them. A body lay beneath her, unmoving, and he knew that she wasn’t within hers at this moment either. Din ran to her and took her into his arms, immediately feeling her melt into him, her breath hitching as she resurfaced into reality.

She turned in his grasp to face his helmet, the dying light of the flames reflecting off of his visor. As she turned though he loosened his grip, and as soon as he did he fell completely backwards. Limp.

A stroke of pure horror running through her as her eyes fell to the bloodied, large gash in his side. It was deeper than a graze, but didn’t completely go through him, a chunk of his side missing and blood beginning to pour from the wound as his body relaxed into the ground.

“Okay… okay hey, Din. Come on, just look at me. Look at me,” she’s shaking as she puts her hands to his wound, the dried blood on them becoming fresh again as the warm liquid seeped through her fingers.

“Help!” She screamed at the top of her lungs. Several people appearing out of the smoke, Omera amongst them, taking in the scene before them. The Mandalorian in all his glory dying right in front of them.

“Get the speeder, get medicine, bandages, whatever you can find!” Omera calls to the others as she rushes to his side. Another man accompanies Omera, he kneels down beside her holding Dins limp frame in her hands as Omera begins to peel the layers of clothing back from the wound.

“No, no I can’t leave him,” she protests as the man slowly tries to unclasp her from Din’s side. Omera was saying her name, trying to explain how he needed to be taken care of, how he needed to be treated immediately if he were to survive. All of which fell onto deaf ears.

“Din, wake up, please!” She yelled, clutching his collar, holding the curve of his helm to look at her face.

But Din wasn’t even conscious, his soul desperately trying to cling to its physical form as she is physically removed from his side. Thrashing against the man’s chest as he takes her away from the one being in the whole galaxy that made her feel like she had ground to stand on. That made her feel at home.

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian angst #din djarin angst #din djarin x f!reader #star wars fanfiction #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #star wars #din djarin fanfiction

[june-girl-86]

Chapter 53

Ahsoka's healing

Pairing: Din Djarin x OC Female!

ReaderRating: Mature/Explicit (+18)

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence / Love / Action&Adventure / Blood&Violence / Drama & Romance / Slow Burn / Fluff&Smut

The night was lit up by the glow of the fire. Blood-red glowed the dark sky, no starlight to give hope. On the ground it ate away, so powerful, hateful. A figure tried to run away from it, leaping over rocks whose surface was boiling hot; fallen trees, the roots dead; stumbling through streams that had bubbled a short time ago and were now dried up by the heat. Her lungs burned, the smoke trying to suffocate her. She tried to run even faster despite everything, but the roller of fire kept coming closer, swallowing everything and taking her too.

Ahsoka's eyes snapped open, she was shaking all over and gasping for air, which she was not denied. Irritated, she looked around, realised where she was and stared at her hands, looking for injuries, but it had only been a dream, once again. She felt that trepidation and jumped out of her bed, she had to get out, get some fresh air. Ahsoka glanced at the sleeping Morai in her bed of straw. The Convor lady was feeling a little better, but her feathers were still pale. Ahsoka kept the curtains closed so as not to wake Morai and quietly left her room and the building. It was early morning, the sun was just rising, the birds were chirping happily, but Ahsoka barely noticed. The cheerfulness could not infect her. The images in her head depressed her too much.

"Up so early?"

Startled, Ahsoka jumped to the side as Luke stepped out from between bushes. In his hand was a basket of picked berries. The Togruta lowered her head dejectedly and Luke touched her on the back. He led her to a stone circle, took a seat and waited until Ahsoka sat down too.

"Tell me about your dreams!"

Ahsoka looked at him in surprise.

"I hear your pleas when dreams plague you!"

His counterpart shook his head and he held the basket out to her. She took one of the dark berries and ate it. The sweetish taste did her good and she tasted a few more. Then she sighed.

"I see fire eating the inside of a mountain, destroying it. I see it burning the trees, even the souls have no chance. The wind spreads the blood and as soon as it touches the ground the flames overpower it. The sky is devastated and no life is possible!"

Ahsoka noticed the dismayed look on Luke's face.

"You must find a way to take up the fire, to kindle your extinguished flame so that your spirit can be brightened!"

The Togruta raised her arms and lowered them in resignation.

"How?"

Luke rose to his feet.

"Take your time!"

With those words, he left her and Ahsoka gazed after the young man thoughtfully.

Take your time... Ahsoka decided to use it and not just sit around doing nothing. She wasn't as powerless as she had been a few days ago and packed her bag of provisions. Morai squealed and Ahsoka crouched down. She held out her arm to Morai and the convor lady umped on it. She made herself comfortable on Ahsoka's shoulder and left the shared quarters with her.

The Togruta walked past the bamboo grove, left the pond on her left and headed down an unknown path. Morai was curious to see where it would lead, the convor lady nestled against Ahsoka's cheek, feeling no connection other than skin-to-skin contact, and once again sadness befell her. Morai hoped that they would soon find each other again and that Ahsoka would regain her inner contentment. She had witnessed every nightmare, every escape from her quarters and had seen Ahsoka's despair. Now, however, the Jedi seemed a little more relaxed, as if going for a walk would do her good. Morai let her gaze wander, watching as they walked across the grass, crested a hill and entered the forest that followed. The trees let in the sunlight, but the temperature dropped a little.

Morai shivered, she saw that Ahsoka was getting goosebumps too. And yet they kept walking until Ahsoka stopped. The sun's rays broke through the branches, dust danced up and down in them. Small swarms of mosquitoes buzzed on the spot and threads of loose spider webs moved gracefully upwards with each breath of air, only to slowly float back down. Ashoka breathed deeply, inhaling the smell of the forest. Morai sniffed, smelling the different aromas. Wildflowers had squeezed through the moss, the red and yellow blossoms wide open, giving off their scent. Butterflies had taken up residence on some of them, pausing like the walker and her companion. They stood still for a while, then Ahsoka went on.

The forest cleared, but before they got to the edge, sheltered by bushes, Ahsoka stopped. Morai looked ahead, then at her. Her gaze seemed focused, she was listening. Morai followed suit and sure enough, she heard a rustling and soft sounds that sounded like someone smacking their lips. Slowly Ahsoka started moving again, but ducked the closer she got to the thicket. There she crouched down, pushed aside a few branches and was able to pinpoint the source of the sounds. In a meadow, the tall grass lush green, a group of kybucks moved about with their young. While the adults ate, the young ones jumped back and forth and played with each other. Morai noticed a change in Ahsoka, her expression alternating between amazement, happiness and sadness, in the end the smile won. Ahsoka swallowed as she watched the animals and she felt warm. She remembered a time when she was still at home and she felt that love again. Her mother had often taken her for walks, shown her the nature of her home. She could remember when she had just walked off by herself without telling her parents. She had strayed into a meadow where she met a lone Kybuck cub.

Both of them had hesitated, the young one whimpering, trying to find his parents. Ahsoka had walked slowly towards him, he had approached her too and then looked at her in wonder as he heard her words in his mind. The boy lowered his head and Ahsoka stroked it reassuringly until they heard several sounds. On one side a humming, on the other voices. The Kybuck boy had run in the direction of his, Ahsoka had watched him for a while longer, then she answered her mother's calls. She didn't scold, though, she just pulled her daughter into her arms and was glad to have her with her, knowing that Ahsoka wouldn't be with them much longer.

A few days later, Luke watched as Ahsoka set off again in the direction of the forest. She had told him about her sighting and Luke sensed that the animals had triggered something positive in the Togruta. 

Ahsoka took a different path this time, penetrating other areas of the forest. A small stream meandered through, dragonflies hovering above with their translucent wings. Morai on her shoulder watching her friend's every step. Watched her take care not to step on the blue mushrooms on which the morning dew still sparkled. And then they arrived back at the clearing, the Kybucks had gathered there again as well. As they did, Ahsoka noticed something. She pointed out Morai, the pregnant Kybuck grazing at the edge of the clearing, the cover of the thicket behind her. She had a much lighter coat than the others.

When she looked up, she was staring in Ahsoka's direction and she had the feeling that she was being seen by her. Only slowly did the Kybuck lower her head and retreat into the bushes. They stayed for a while, then the two of them made their way back. Morai carefully picked the red berries she had collected from Ashoka's hand and slowly became full. The Togruta suddenly stopped and pointed to a fallen tree. Many mushrooms had accumulated on its trunk, orange, with white spots. Ahsoka frowned for a moment, crouched down in front of it. She smelled them, ran her thumb along the surface, then nodded with a smile before she began to collect them. She noticed Morai's questioning look: "On Shili, these grew too and were delicious!"

When Luke returned from his meditation, Grogu, who had been with him, was no longer present. He did not find him in the building, so he went outside to search. A delicious scent wafted to him and he followed the trail. Smiling, he stopped after a while. Grogu sat next to Morai, both tilting their heads curiously, watching Ahsoka cook. A pot hung over a campfire, the smell emanating from it. A homemade fishing rod lay nearby. The Togruta nodded to Luke and offered to eat with them. He noticed the plates she had brought.

"There's fish in a mushroom herb sauce!" explained Ahsoka and that this meal reminded her of her childhood. She poured some into a bowl for Morai to taste. Grogu she also put down a plate, handed the boy a spoon. Luke took a seat next to Ahsoka and started eating with her. It tasted delicious and he could understand Grogu asking for seconds several times. Luke let his gaze slide over Ahsoka, who smiled as she watched Morai regain her strength with the food as well. Perhaps, Luke thought, Ahsoka was also smiling because of the first two splashes of green that had found their way back into Morai's feathers.

Time passed, the nights got better, Ahsoka woke up less and less from nightmares and as they walked through the forest, she heard a very soft whisper. Nature was speaking to her. She also slowly sensed Morai's thoughts again. 

No matter which way they took, they always came back to the clearing with the Kybucks. This time, too, they were on their way there. But something was different about this day. The clouds had not let the sun through and a fresh wind made the treetops sway back and forth. It was quieter in the forest, hardly a bird to be heard, let alone seen. The whisper of the trees mingled with the rush of the wind. Morai heard the sound first, listened several times and became uneasy on Ashoka's shoulder. She paused and looked questioningly at the convordame, but before she could react, Ahsoka heard it too. The painful moan echoed to them and Ahsoka felt the fear emanating from it. She started to run, it wasn't far and she could see the pregnant Kybuck lying among the bushes. Her sounds of pain increased. But before Ahsoka simply dashed into the clearing, she drew her vibrating blade and made her way through the bushes. The Kybuck saw her and began bleating loudly, but her strength quickly waned. Her light fur was bloody and she had a deep bite wound on her right side. As Ahsoka approached her, she noticed the black body of a wolf-like animal. This one was no longer moving, as you could see it had taken many kicks, had died from its injuries. The Kybuck had fought for her life and won the first fight. But now her strength was failing. Again she wailed, but quieter now. Ahsoka knelt in front of her, touched her to her stomach and closed her eyes. She hadn't really expected anything, and yet there was this feeling that ran through her body. The excited pounding of the little creature's heart and its plea to survive. As if she had burned her hands, she let go of the Kybuck. Ahsoka swallowed, then looked at the Morai.

"Can you make it to Luke?"

Morai cooed several times and pushed off from the shoulder to float into the forest.

Ahsoka quietly entered the hut where Morai had been some time ago when Luke had nursed her. Now the injured Kybuck lay sleeping on the straw. Ahsoka slowly crouched down, touched the sleeping woman on her shoulder joint and she opened her eyes a little. You could see the exhaustion in them. Ahsoka knelt in front of her, removed the bandage and checked the wound. It finally looked better. The Togruta opened a tin, inside was an ointment which she spread generously on the wound. She had made this herself after discovering the coral-shaped, golden-yellow flowers of the witch hazel in the forest. In addition to the Bacta that Luke had on hand, it helped heal the wound.

She also kept instilling the injured woman with a tea made from the golden root to help her regain her strength. All of her energy was going to her unborn child to keep it alive. Ahsoka felt it even now as she placed her hands on the Kybuck's belly. In the last few days, the calls of the herd had also been heard, searching for her, but the Kybuck had been too weak to respond. Ahsoka hoped she would be able to return soon. 

More days had passed, each one progress in healing, not just from the Kybuck. Luke sensed Ahsoka coming back, she wasn't really aware of it herself yet.

Ahsoka awoke in the middle of the night, but no nightmare had startled her. A feeling of warmth had come over her, touching her skin, soft and gentle. A whisper came through the open window, she heard the happiness within. She left the building without putting on her shoes, walked barefoot to the hut and could see the open gate from afar. When she got there, she spotted Luke inside. He pointed to the straw, stained with a little blood and slime, otherwise the room was empty. The Togruta turned away, ran off, into the forest. She was aware of the whispering that led her through the dark forest. Ran faster, ignoring when she stepped on sharp little stones, scratched herself on thorns and tripped over roots. And then she reached the clearing, the moonlight shining on it. The Kybucks had taken their old and new member protectively into their midst. She could feel the joy, the love that the herd felt. The many pairs of eyes stared at Ahsoka, watching as she tried to steady her breathing. Ahsoka stared back, finding the small creature standing behind its mother, still a little wobbly on its feet. The mother bowed her head, bleating several times. Her conspecifics joined her before turning and disappearing into the thicket together. Gratitude accompanied Ahsoka back.

A few stars could be seen through the cloudy night sky. It was quiet at the pond, only the crackling of wood could be heard. The campfire was reflected on the smooth surface of the water. Ahsoka sat in front of the fire, not far from her Morai, whose green feathers shone in the firelight. She watched her friend, who had not moved for hours. She sensed a restlessness, but didn't know if it was hers or Ahsoka's. Morai cooed softly. The Togruta opened her eyes, staring into the flames. Fire... The last few nights she had dreamed of fire again, of anguished screams, the voice of Anakin. After so long, she felt things she had repressed. The battle at the Neti, the ambush of Bo-Katan... But there was another fire in her past. Her eyes fixed on the flame as it fought the others, clinging along the wood to get enough oxygen and subdue her sisters. The flame whispered, whispered, it sounded like it was saying her name. The red of the flame reminded her of her fight, against the Inquisitor. She had felt safe on Thabeska, but the temptation of reward and the fear of the Empire had betrayed her. She had had no anger, probably would have acted the same. The Inquisitor's appearance was terrible, his viciousness too. And this had been his fault, because his arrogance was damaging him. She thought of the moment after she had defeated him, the relief of the crystals in his lightsabers.

Ahsoka had not only freed the farmers from evil, but the crystals as well. She had given them back their purity. A breeze brushed across her skin, she heard that whisper again. Her arms began to tingle, something was moving in the grass somewhere. Before Ahsoka had opened her eyes, she had already jumped up. Grogu backed away, startled, as the lightsabers were pointed at him. He grumbled, had he hungrily made his way to the lake, hoping to find a frog.

"I thought Luke showed you how to approach without being noticed!" smiled Ahsoka, hearing an excited coo. She looked to Morai who was jumping around the fire agitated and approaching her. Ahsoka blinked. The whisper of flames had joined, with a familiar hum. Her gaze drifted down to her hands, there she held, as if naturally, her two lightsabers. Her fingers tightly gripped the hilts. As if she were seeing the white blades for the first time... The light gave her hope and a tear ran down her cheek.

@rain-on-kamino

#the burden of responsibility #din djarin fanfic #din djarin x female oc #din djarin x original character #din djarin x oc #din djarin #grogu #luke skywalker #ahsoka tano fanfiction #star wars ahsoka #ahsoka tano #ahsoka tano fanfic #ahsoka #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian #star wars fanfiction #morai

[pcrdita]

[cis male he/him] Welcome to Aurora Bay, [JUDE BORDELON]! I couldn’t help but notice you look an awful lot like [CHARLIE HUNNAM]. You must be the [THIRTY EIGHT] year old [PIT STOP GARAGE OWNER]. Word is you’re [DETERMINED] but can also be a bit [UNSOCIABLE] and your favorite song is [OWNER OF A LONELY HEART BY YES]. I also heard you’ll be staying in [OCEAN CREST APARTMENTS].

Tw: murder, drugs, alcoholism.

GENERAL DETAILS.

BIRTH NAME: jude bordelon AGE: thirty eight DATE OF BIRTH: 22nd of january 1986  PLACE OF BIRTH: elm grove, louisiana, usa ETHNICITY:  anglo-saxon & cajun GENDER:  cis male PRONOUNS: him/his ORIENTATION: heterosexual / heteroromantic RELIGION: atheist OCCUPATION: mechanic and owner of pitstop

PERSONALITY.

POSITIVE TRAITS: determined & pensive NEGATIVE TRAITS: unsociable & gruff MYERS BRIGGS: ISTJ

THE RUNDOWN.

Jude was born in Louisiana in 1985, in a town so small and insignificant to the world around it. But what was significant was the bayou’s that surrounded it due to it’s crawfish population that kept the locals in job. Catch crawfish and go to Church, there wasn’t much else for Jude to do as a kid. Well, anything that wouldn’t get him in trouble with his alcoholic father, who at the same time ran tight-ship protestant household. The man was full of contradictions, but you wouldn’t tell him that. Jude & his mother worked hard to stay on his good side, but his big brother was not so willing to conform. Donny left the home when he turned 18, and kept in touch with the family for a few years after that, but the letters and calls would eventually become scattered.

Jude spent most of his time out of the house once he was a teenager. His father when in the depths of his addiction would refere to him as Judas, and started blaming the families financial issues on him. Not only would this leave Jude to dislike his own name, but begin to wonder himself if he was a curse in this world. But his mother would always remind him that wasn’t true. Jude would always say he’d never met a human more kind, more pure than his mother. However one night after coming home from partying with some friends out on a boat out on the water, he would learn from police that the one good thing in his had been taken away from him by the hands of father. Jude would be freshly 18 at the time, and alone in his family home after his fathers arrest. He couldn’t stay any longer, and stole his old mans motorcycle and left the town he once called home, now even more unbearable to be in. Jude would spend most of his years living and partying just out of Baton Rouge. Under ground rock bars, countless women, and a lot of drugs. It wouldn’t be till Jude was 30 when he would land his dream job, taking ownership of a mechanics. There was a catch, he had to move to california. Very much a world away from the underground environment he lived in. But coming to Aurora Bay wouldn’t only provide him with his dream job, but his dream girl. However it would prove to be a more complicated than just that... ...Enter Astrid Hansley.

They met at the Reef Bar, and Jude only had plans to bed her before they got to talking. A night of drug infused passion lead to another, and another, and another. Under the spell of whatever he was taking, and Astrid herself, Jude had become addicted. Absolutely engrossed in one another, each night it seemed uncertain where one ended and the other began. Astrid was his everything, she ran through his veins and consumed his thoughts. But of course, the high would always lead to a comedown. And the words of his father, judas, would ring through his ears. When sober, the cracks in their relationship would form. Unruly, and highly emotional, they’d fight until they could forget their issues and get back into that hazed headspace again. 

It wouldn’t be long till Jude had brought her to live in his rundown apartment. But it didn’t really matter, the mattress on the floor was heaven on earth on when she was there. But of course, when there is heaven that implies the presence of hell lingering not far behind. Jude hadn’t planned to propose when he did, as most of his major decisions lately were made when he wasn’t in the most lucid state of mind. But Astrid said yes, despite their euphoria that would follow the fall would be even harder. Finally, they would start to acknowledge the destructiveness of their love, and Astrid would leave for New York. Jude stayed behind, and when she returned he tried his best to steer clear. Angry, heart broken, and still very much in love with a woman he knew he couldn’t survive being with, Jude worked hard to become clean from drugs. Nowerdays, Jude still runs the shop. He enjoys a good drink, but hasn’t touched any other narcotics. His partying days are very much behind him, and often keeps to himself. Focusing all his attention on work, and riding his bike, Jude had begun to feel a sense of calm in his life for the first time in a long time.

CONNECTIONS.

current connections.

Antoinita Thompson: Mother figure Cassius Banks: Gym buddy & Ex-employee Cherisa "Cherry" Koch: Gym flirtation Clint Bennet: Blast from the past & Friend Clementine Lewis: Friend Emira Dursun: Ex-casual flirtation Jameson Cassidy: Employee & Son Figure Josephine Madani: Gym friend Luciana Alvarez: Situationship/Dating Ramsey Rivera: Friend William Meyers: Best Friend

wanted connections.  ( wip )

///: ///

#aurorabay.intro #Im so glad i wrote this out last night #my brains fried rn #pls take this and come love us

[ichor-and-blood]

Where the Sparrow Flies

Summary: A new story begins. Or well, we’re caught up in the middle of it as the Mother’s Dove has a tendency to wonder off. It’s okay though, it’s only a new era of your imprisonment.

TW: religious setting, cult, domestic abuse, SFW but 18+, If I missed anything let me know

Note: Hello! I’m a huge nerd for this genre. I’m not certain how this will do, but I thought I’d try my hand outside of fics and do my own thing. (Not that I’m not still obsessed over fanfics.)

Above the lush groves of cottonwood and aspens, that have already begun to turn from the verdant green to the golds and oranges of Autumn, the sparrow flies. It looks down upon the unharvested fields littering the countryside. Up and up through the woods and farmland the little bird flutters. The land turns from fertile soil to craggy rock as the sheer mountains that protect the valley come into view of the dear sparrow. Its little wings beat and it breaks the tree line as a screeching hawk dives. Clutching the sparrow in the blink of an eye, the hawk is of no consequence to those driving the silver van. The hawk crests the ridge, finally gaining your attention as you sit in the van. Wedged between two armed men, she has no fear on her face. No anger. Just a dull, melancholic boredom settled on her features. The ramblings of the bearded man in the front passenger seat have long been spoken on deaf ears as she watches the hawk soar. 

“Honestly, I cannot comprehend why you do this. Why you…” He stops himself from speaking glancing at the other men in the car. “Why you keep running off. You have everything, half the valley would gladly take your place.” The your attention snaps away from the hawk to the bearded man. Gray streaks his beard and at his temples. Wrinkles make cavernous lines on his handsome face. Not an old man, stress has aged him beyond his years. He is dressed like the three other men in the car, dark tactical gear with flashes of silver. However, upon his chest a patch featuring a silver raven denotes his station.

“Can we please save the lecture, Amos? You know the Mother is going to go all hellfire and brimstone on me once we return.” Her lips are pursed into a thin line as she nibbles on the inside of her cheek. She no longer holds Amos’ gaze, as the puttering of the vehicle's engine fills the cabin.

Knowing stares follow the vehicle as they pass farm after farm. The workers stop their work to watch the van, a vehicle unmistakable to them. Not like their beat up pickups. It was practically a tour of the valley, but not enough to shame you. Once the vehicle stops her head is high despite the crowd that has gathered. Exiting the van, A large white church with a steeple stands before her, as do the fifty or so members of the parish. They part for you and Amos entering the building. The inside is grand, the nave can hold about a hundred people and the wall behind the stage is a stained glass window that features the Mother on her knees before the Granter, a being of smoke and feathers. A hand carved lectern is centered on the main aisle. Amon brings her down to the stage where the Mother stands waiting. A broad smile on her face and piercing eyes that burn holes into you. She has donned her robes for this particular chewing out. The black material shines in the light of the church, adding to her sharp beauty.  

“Thank you for returning my Dove, brother Amon. You may attend to your other duties.” The Mother dismisses the man, her gaze never leaving you, whose head is high and is staring back at the Mother. Amon bids her farewell before hurrying out of the church. “Now for you.” Her eyes break from you as she paces the stage, standing a few feet above you. A sharp slap reverberated in the echoing halls of the perish. The Mother had knelt down with such speed and fury that she had nearly knocked you off your feet. While you regain your balance, she began to pace the stage. “It was a shock to hear that you remembered to call Amon once you were done with your little romp around the valley. Have you finally accepted your place within His flock?” She glances at you. The Mother is talking more at you than to you. “No, that’s not it. So, why do you stray?” You roll your eyes.

“I have yet to answer that question, what makes you think I will now?” The Mother’s smile falters, her voice slowly raises in response.

“Hope. Hope that you will accept your place. Hope that you will obey. Hope that you will accept this parish’s love. His love.” She raises her hand to the stained glass behind her, then to her chest. Her voice barely a whisper. “My love. You have scorned me.” She is crouched now, a gentle hand strokes your face as she smiles with tears in her eyes. This is not the Matron Mother of the Granter’s flock, the steely eyed fraud that controls Lilith’s Bend. The woman has shed her outer layer, a sight only you and the Granter have seen. Now, before you is Cecily Dawn the daughter of a preacher who ran off at fifteen and over the next thirty years has carved out her place in the world. It is a sight that melts your heart, ever so slightly. After all, that is the woman you fell in love with, the woman you married. 

#WTPF #tw #abuse #religion #cult #writing #thriller #horror #reader #xreader #no beta we die like men #tw: abuse #tw: religious themes #tw: religion #tw: cult #sfw

[kiljoytrout]

Oath of the Cherry Orchard

Based off this illustration by Emily Amiao as well as some details from her animatic The Other Side (check it out on her yt emilyamiao)

Summary: The rebels have won. Now all that's left for Yun on his long list of plans is for him and Elias to sign the sacred oath of the cherry orchard and formally end the war. But when mysterious characters cause familiar screams and snow bleeds red under the cherry trees, it's up to Yun to make some difficult decisions

Word Count: 3.3K

The cherry trees had been dusted in the fine sugar snow of late winter, but now they were covered in the sweet red syrup of fresh blood.

Pointing a gun at the head of his father, who in turn was ready to blow the brains out of the last prince of the Everstied royal family, Yun couldn’t figure out where everything had gone wrong. The subterfuge, the turmoil, he had thought it was all over. The crumbling remains of the Anwei Democratic Party and the prevailing rebels had come to the sacred cherry orchard, the place where Anwei was first woven together, in order to make an oath of peace, to stop the bloodshed that had torn the nation at its seams. Yun had known the possibility of treachery, expected it even, but not even his meticulous planning and preparation prepared him for what had occurred.

Elias had always been slightly apprehensive about the oath.

“ You’re certain the orchard is secure?”, he had asked earlier, for what was likely the hundredth time since the ceasefire.

“ For the last time, it is!”, groaned Yun, tossing a hair ribbon to Elias before taking a glance back at his uniformed self in the mirror.

It was indeed, for Yun had thought of absolutely everything: sniper in the peach grove, weapons check at the old Capitol entrance, dubious area patrol dismissed. Yun was an expert in pointing out the fatal chinks in his opponent’s armor, the weak spot that guaranteed victory, and there was nothing of the sort in his own. Or so he had thought.

When they had arrived at the cherry orchard, the diplomats from the ADP weren’t there yet. Elias raised his eyebrows at this, but Yun shrugged it off. Unlike Elias, he wasn’t used to people being at his beck and call; at any rate the delay gave him time to strategize terms for the closing treaty, which traditionally occurred after the ceremonial peace oath. Elias started squinting at the distance, shaking his head slightly to himself, before looking again at absolutely nothing. After about thirty seconds of this, Yun started to get irritated.

“Cool it, Elias. The trains from the old Capitol are practically snails with windows, it's no wonder they’re late.”

“ There they are, coming through the peach grove”, Elias responded, pointing to where Yun could now barely see the shadowy bulks of three figures walking through the garden towards them.

The two of them with thuggish bodyguard builds were lugging the sacred scrolls needed for the oath towards them. The man in the middle was taller, with an imposing stature that clearly defined him as the person who people would bow down to and the person who expected it. Yet, he had a cold crookedness to his features that was strikingly familiar. Elias blinked, rubbing his eyes before voicing what Yun had already figured out.

“ That’s-”

“Yes”

Yun knew that he couldn’t harm him, that the old Capitol had been purged of weapons and that the sniper were waiting at the only other entrance in the garden to institute peace by any means necessary. But even if every rifle in Anwei was at his disposal, he didn’t think he’d ever feel completely safe from him, the man who now faced them, sacred scrolls in hand.

“Son”

“ Father”

Both spat the words with so much venom that a string of obscenities would have been a more welcoming greeting. After a few seconds of tense staring (which took Elias jamming his riding boot into Yun’s shoddy shoe to dispel), his father sighed and looked up at the cherry trees, sweet red drops sprinkled with snow.

“Now that your insurrectionists are done tearing up the country it's about time to institute some peace.”

Yun snorted. Only his father could make the rebel’s historic takeover sound like a victory for the ADP.

“ How was your trip?”, asked Elias, his tone dripping with the polite contempt required by his princely position.

“ Rather taxing, but I’m sure it was necessary”

“I take it you didn’t appreciate the weapon screenings?”

The two guards knit their eyebrows in confusion at this, but Yun’s father took it in stride.

“ Seemed rather out of place for a diplomatic meeting, but then again my son has always liked his smoke and mirrors. Shall we get on to business?” he said.

“Sure.” 

Yun stepped forward, shaking snow off the shoulders of his navy jacket. He extended his frostbitten hand, not trembling a bit in the bitter cold because it was all finally over; his struggles with his father, the arduous battles to take back Anwei, they were all as hollow as cherry trees in the dead of winter. His father’s sneer twisted itself into a satisfied smile as he reached out his hand-

“Yun.”

Yun glanced sideways, but Elias wasn’t there anymore. Instead he was moving closer to the ADP guards, fingers fluttering at the edge of his now empty sword sheath like they always did when he was about to fight.

“Yes?”

Gaze never breaking away from the ADP, Elias continued “ What direction is the old Capitol entrance to the orchard?”

“ East”

“And where did our friends here just enter the orchard from?”

“From the Peach Grove in the -”

Yun stopped short.

“West.”

They had been tricked. No wonder the guards had looked so confused about the screenings, somehow they had bypassed them entirely. But what about the snipers in the Peach Grove and the Pear Garden? Wouldn’t they have sent a message that the ADP was sneaking in another way? Then Yun saw the barely discernible muzzle of a blackmarket gun poking out from between the holy scrolls, and he knew what had happened. For a single moment, nobody spoke, instead flaying each other's eyes, for any remaining sense of humanity, dignity, and civil peace to stop what was inevitable.

The guard on the left reached for the scroll. Whether it was to grab the gun or to pass the oath, Yun would never know, because Elias reached into his elaborate hairdo, whipped out three silver bladed throwing stars, each with the ornate gold accents of the Eversteid crest, and sent the first one ripping straight through the guard’s throat. Any other time Yun would have balked at the failure of his no-weapons plan on two levels, but sudden death appeared to be the ultimate catalyst to snapping out of it.

The resulting scuffle happened so fast that Yun could barely keep track of what he was doing let alone everyone else. The second guard had stooped to the ground in a futile effort to revive his cohort while Yun’s father rushed Elias, who was now swinging five throwing stars at an arm's length. Just when Yun absorbed what had happened, the second guard, thirsty for vengeance of any kind, picked up the gun that had spilled out of the scrolls and aimed it right at him. Yun dove out of the way, just as the first bullet whistled over his head, with a silencer so quiet, he could have missed the sound of gunfire in the falling snow. He scurried over to where a second gun had fallen from the scrolls, feeling it's cold metallic barrel freeze his fingertips, before hastily emerging from the underbrush to confront the second guard.

But the second guard and Yun’s father were several feet away, next to the struggling form of Elias, who the guard had tackled to the ground. His long lavender hair was fanned out behind him, and his treasure trove of throwing stars had been tossed into the snow.

“That one certainly gave us some trouble”, said Yun’s father as he plucked a late cherry off of a tree, the red juice running down his chin as he bit it.

“ That’s for sure. What about the other one?” the second guard replied, binding Elias’s hands with rope, as the latter yelled obscenities muffled by the heel of the guard’s boot.

“My good for nothing son is probably hiding like a coward in one of the other orchards. We’ll find him soon enough”

“Those traitors better pay for what they did to Kierek”, the second guard said, nodding towards the corpse of the first guard, Eversteid throwing star still in his throat.

“ We can take care of this one soon, and my son will be captured and sentenced once we reinstitute order”

“The orders were to kill them bo-”

“I said he will be captured. Do you understand?”

The second guard nodded, noting the violent gleam in his boss’s eyes.

“ But this one has no other use. The royals are too pigheaded to ever give up any information and we don’t have the time for a public execution.” said Yun’s father, spitting out the cherry pit.

“Dispose of him,”

The guard raised the gun to Elias’s head; Yun burst from the bushes and sprinted as fast as he could. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears, his stomach in his chest, he was going so fast that the snow fall had become an endless tunnel of white, with Elias at its center. The guard had no chance. Yun plowed through him like a meteor, driving him straight into the snow bank and knocking the gun out of his hands. Yun turned around to free Elias, but standing in his way was the crooked man who had made his life a series of slanting scowls and stolen smiles.

“Don’t you dare”,

his father snarled, the third gun cocked at his side, and his foot on a gasping Elias, who he had given a brutal kick in the ribs.

“Let him go!”

Yun had meant to sound intimidating but in the icy cold his voice thinned out to little more than a squeak, prompting a smirk from his father.

“Such big talk from a greasy little nobody. Just stand around waving that toy some more and we can wait until Roklin comes out of the snowbank and captures you.“

His father was where Yun got his ability to spot weak spots. And Yun’s father had always known exactly where his son’s were.

“We both know you’re really not going to do anything. Even when you were little you were always loudmouth with no spine, crying for mommy, so why don’t you-”

While Yun’s weak spots may have been the same as when he was younger, his temper was twice as short. He rushed his father, blood pounding in his ears, but stumbled on a stray root before faceplanting right back onto the snowy ground. He heard the crack before he felt the pain pumping through his broken nose. The brackish tears came instantly as did his father’s wolfish laughter, hoarsely echoing dead wood.

Amidst the relentless pounding in his head and nose, Yun’s foot kicked aside the stray root that had caused his bloody humiliation. A rather metallic stray root. Yun jolted up, reeling as he snatched Roklin’s half buried pistol from the snow and pointed it straight at his father.

“You wouldn’t have the guts,” scoffed his father, aiming his own firearm at the temple of a wheezing Elias.

Click. Yun cocked the gun.

A moment of silence. The cold wind whipped Yun’s bloody, tearstained face; snowflakes melted in his loose, dark hair; his earring, a miniature rebel flag, waved back and forth in the bitter breeze. He couldn’t be that boy, could he? The one holding a gun to his father? The one who had to make a shot that would haunt him for the rest of his days? No. In that moment Yun was nothing but a cherry tree: frosted with snow, watered with blood, and staunchly rooted in a history that would never be chopped down.

“I wish I didn’t have to do this”

Right as he pulled the trigger, a steel wall slammed into him. Smothered under the heavy armor of the second guard, who had managed to pull himself up from the snowbank, Yun extricated himself just in time to hear the dull thud of a bullet meeting flesh. But the low canine howl that Yun had steeled himself for never came. Instead, a sharp, shocked cry, that could only come from one person.

When he was five, Yun and his friends were running around in the grass, when one of them fell and cut their knee on a jagged rock. The world seemed to separate into colors at that moment : the treacherous gray of the rock, an eggshell pale face of shock, and of course, the crimson that had stained the grass below their feet. The injured child was quickly escorted back home by their guardian, where their sobs were staunched with a piece of candy. But Yun couldn’t stop crying. He had felt no physical pain, his skin was intact, his blood was unspilt, but he had seen all of that and more in his friend’s eyes, the fire, the horror, of being at one moment whole and the next moment not, that Yun had felt it more acutely then if the wound were his own. If that was bad, then seeing Elias, prostrate on the snowy ground of the cherry orchard, a red sea flowing out of the gorey hole in his shin, was a thousand times worse.

Spooked, his father lunged aside, just in time to collide with the second guard, who charged past him through the orchard with seemingly endless adrenaline, his icy obligation to his commander melting away to wet fear.

“ Elias!” screamed Yun, running over to him, ripping off his own uniform jacket and wrapping it around Elias’s leg in a desperate attempt to staunch the gushing blood that poured forth like the pulsing rivers of Anwei. Elias’s face had the same shock as the boy from Yun’s childhood, but so much paler, and with every second he resembled more and more a sculpture made from the snow he was dying on. “Hold on hold on hold on” Yun hiccuped, tying the makeshift tourniquet as tight as he could. Tears blurred his vision, but in the periphery he saw a crooked man gathering the torn scrolls of peace from the ground.

The sight made Yun forget all about Elias and he dropped the tourniquet, concentrating all of his drained energy into raising his blood splattered pistol at the back of his fleeing father. Before he could pull the trigger, his target turned around, but instead of booking it out of the orchard, raised his arms in a scorching surrender.

C’mon just do it, just do it, just do it, Yun thought, Prove him wrong just this once. But his steely self commands froze at his finger, which remained entrenched at the top of the trigger, refusing to push down. Amidst his rancid rage, exhausted adrenaline, and salty tears, he knew one glimmering truth. If Yun pulled that trigger, the last remains of his energy would be spent, and he would collapse into the snow next to a wounded Elias. They would die, they would disappear under the earth, and they would be cherry trees half dead in winter, embracing branches, bleeding fruit, screaming snow.

But Yun always had a plan, and even when he didn’t, the end goal was always the same.

Elias.

Yun would never give him up, even as acid burned through his veins when he pried his frostbitten fingers from the bloody pistol and dropped it into the snowbank, even when his father slinked off through the peach garden with an unreadable expression on his crooked, familiar face, even when he realized how far away the orchard gates were and how he had ordered the night patrol to stay away for his goddamn security measures; no matter how beautiful it was, the cherry orchard would never take Elias as long as Yun could still trick his paper form into the softest pulse of life.

Slippery warm blood, bone breaking cold, rotten raw heart; that was all he could remember for weeks afterward. Mia, Elias’s little sister, and her girlfriend Celine visited him at the hospital everyday, trying to coax him into revealing how a simple peace oath led to all of this. They told him that he was a hero, that he had half-carried, half-dragged Elias past the orchard gates, that a little girl had found them collapsed near her swing set, more dead than alive. But the only question he ever wanted an answer to was always met with avoided glances, shaking heads, and uncertain words. Lost a lot of blood, infected wound, critical condition.

But after a lot of begging, bribing, and borderline blackmailing, Yun was finally allowed a brief visit. The doctor took him down an endless fluorescent corridor, stopping in front of a room with a rusty sign reading Post Operation.

“Only ten minutes!” chirped the nurse as she opened the creaking door, and bolted away, green tea pipe in hand for a smoke break.

Yun crashed into the room, but stopped short when he saw Elias, wrapped in a thin blanket on a too small cot, where he could see a single sock-covered foot hanging off the end. The patient, on seeing him, gave a slight smile, and tried to raise himself up to sitting position.

“Let me” said Yun, walking over to the bed, fluffing and stacking the pillows for a head rest as he observed the tinctures and bandages littering the dinky nightstand.

Among them was a pamphlet emblazoned in cheerful yellow with: Adjusting to Your Amputation. Yun snapped his head back towards Elias, who averted his gaze towards the end of the bed. Without asking for permission, Yun yanked the blanket off the cot, exposing next to a bandaged and blistered leg, a stitched up stump connected to a polished wooden crutch.

“ They’re putting a more refined one in next week. I’ll need to use a wheelchair at first, but after some time I can adjust to a cane.”

The guilt took a second to set in, but when it did, Yun wanted to submerge himself in the oiliest, blackest sea and never come out.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,”

“Why are you crying? I’m the one with the botched leg,” said Elias, the amused tilt to his statement falling flat when he saw Yun’s crushed expression.

“Oh my god, this is my fault, I can’t believe I shot you, I should have aimed better, I should have shot him faster, oh my god, oh my-”

“Hey, HEY!”, said Elias, grabbing Yun’s flailing hands with the reflexes of an ace swordsman.

“Look at me. Look at me. You got me out of there. It’s like I used to tell my sister whenever she messed up at something: whatever mistakes made back there are dead, but you aren’t. It's going to be an uphill battle from here and I need you supporting me, not blaming yourself.”

Yun nodded.

“Okay?”

“Okay”

“Now come over here and tell me about the new siege on the Old Capitol. But first close the door. If that horrid nurse comes back here stinking of burnt tea again, I’m breaking out my sword, prosthetic or not.”

At this, Yun’s tears finally dried into loud snickering; Elias chimed in with some decidedly non-aristocratic chuckles. This continued until the nurse in question barged back into the room, smoke curling from her nostrils as she demanded they keep it down. Yun and Elias practically roared with laughter; a loving crack of relief as deadwood came back to life.

#emilyamiaOC #fantasy #romance #my writing #purple prose #cherry orchard #not my art #not going to lie I thought this was the best thing I ever wrote but reading it now is kinda cringe

[intergalacticwanderer]

The concept from this post of Molly haunting the M9 but disappearing when the Tomb Takers resurrect Lucien is something that I just. Keep thinking about.

First realizing something is up when Molly accidentally possesses Beau during the assault on the Sour Nest. Everyone being very confused after the fight as to why Beau is so agitated and shouting at nothing. Finally put two and two together that Molly is THERE but can only be seen or heard after possessing someone and there’s a bunch of sudden body hopping and even more shouting. Caduceus being very apprehensive and warning everyone else about the potential dangers but settles for being watchful when they insist it’s okay.

Molly hovering anxiously around Yasha while waiting for her to wake up, but not being able to explain the situation to her before visiting the grave and her still leaving the group in grief. Heavy conversations at the grave about what things are like for Molly now and that honestly, he really doesn’t like being a ghost, but not seeing a way out of it besides being destroyed because he doesn’t even know WHY he’s a ghost. Making an informal goal to fix things for Molly somehow, and Caduceus calmly and comfortingly offering to help him find a way to move on if he’d prefer to do that instead. A coat is still left behind as a promise.

Yasha meeting them again after they travel to the coast and the emotional moment where they’re finally able to explain what’s going on. The whirlwind of the next few weeks and months as they all travel together, Molly spending short stints riding along with someone else so he can at least FEEL something for a little while. Acting as a scout and look out for danger for the rest of the group, but everyone else being careful to not say too much about him around others.

(Standing on the deck of their ship, looking at the night sky splashed with stars and waves crashing around them and Molly longing, aching for the chance to feel the sea breeze in person. Wanting to chase the horizon and new experiences, bound to nothing and no one except for what he chooses.)

Being forced to watch, helpless, as Yasha is taken by Obann. A turning point as Molly insists on staying behind with Yasha, staying with her even as she’s controlled, he knows what being possessed looks like, that’s NOT her. It’s dangerous, yes, but less dangerous to him, he can stay with her, do his best to keep watch, she’s worth the risk. Truly splitting up for the first time since he started haunting them, barely seeing each other, connecting for a few frantic moments during a tense chase through the woods at night before Molly is gone again, following Yasha and Obann as they teleport away. Not realizing as they enter the Folding Halls of Halas that that was the last time they’d see him.

A hard fought but victorious battle at the Chantry of the Dawn. Yasha returned to them, only to be followed by that horrible moment of, wait, I thought he was with YOU, what do you mean he’s not with you? But Molly is no where to be found. By anyone. The realization that he might truly be gone for good, and no one was even there to see it happen.

Delayed grief hits home and it hits HARD. They lean on each other, be there for each other, and try to keep themselves occupied with the next tasks in front of them. A dinner with a possible new friend. Tricking a hag. Visiting the Menagerie. A betrayal, returning Nott to Veth, a party, a tough conversation with hope for the future, ending a war. Finally making their way to Traveler Con and Rumblecusp, memories slipping away under a strange influence (there was a coat), stopping that strange influence once and for all and receiving a vision more important that any of them could realize.

Going home and looking for information while deciding what to do next. Eventually coming to the decision to visit a grave for answers. Wondering if this might finally be the chance to give their friend what he’d been looking for, a chance to live, to feel again, but also guilt that they couldn’t do it sooner, worry that it might already be too late. They start digging for the body.

A body that’s not there.

A body that’s not there because he’s already alive again.

There’s elation and shock but also confusion and wariness. Why was the coat left behind? Why had no effort been made to contact them, to contact Yasha? What is going on?

Finding out what's going on several days later with the abrupt murder of Vess DeRogna and everything being thrown into chaos. Giving chase to figure out the answers to all the new questions, and upon finally catching up to this mystery, the person with the face of their friend? No memories, no recognition. Not Mollymauk. Lucien.

Being told that Mollymauk had just been a fragment of a larger whole, an insignificant speck that didn't matter (but he mattered to them) and has been reabsorbed. Putting two and two together with the timing of Lucien's resurrection and Molly's disappearance. Grappling with the implications of what this might mean, what does this mean for their friend? Not knowing the answer but pushing forward anyway, knowing that Lucien has to be stopped, and hoping somehow, someway, they might get their friend back, but not seeing how.

Traveling together is unexpected and even more confusing. Seeing echoes, reflections of their friend in Lucien, seeing the roots of where he came from but simultaneously seeing the ways he is NOT him (let her have her?!) and not knowing what to do with it. Having the choice made for them in the night, chasing after and fleeing away for their lives. Finding safe haven with a guiding star.

Taking only a moment to breathe before rushing ahead. Nearly tripping and falling when Caleb’s past comes calling but (barely) managing to get up again, returning and making their way into Aeor with Essek at their side. Felling three of the Tomb Takers and then the chase is on, racing against the clock and Lucien before catching up with him and Cree at a gate. Noticing something strange in how Lucien reacts to certain words, keeping it in mind as they jump after him into the astral sea.

Dealing with the figurative and literal nightmare that is Cognouza, stopping Cree, plane shifting a threshold crest, saving Yussa. Witnessing a coup by Lucien, who, for some reason, still tells them to run. Leaves them alive (why did I leave you alive?). A battle for the fate of the world.

Fighting back, talking back, and something inside him listens. Hears them as they reach out. Hammer, hammer, hammering away with both weapons and words in the hardest fight of their lives. Some even losing their lives, until, finally, they triumph, Cognouza Incarnate slain. Two lost lives restored... and one more left to try. To give another chance.

It fails.

They mourn, heartbroken. Figuring that if nothing else, he's no longer trapped. Wishing that they could have done more. Hoping that he will be able to rest. Caduceus sending up a prayer.

It succeeds.

Elation, shock, reunions, tears. Single words that speak volumes. Showering with love, they did it, they kept their promise, they did it! Returning to the Blooming Grove hand in hand, all nine of them at last.

Checking in with their restored friend that night and the next day. Coming back to himself and yet not. Memories are gone but he's not blank either, knowing he's with friends but not knowing how he knows. A mind that can't remember but a heart that does, feelings instead of names. A new name and a new start.

Danger follows them, briefly, but it is smacked down, dealt with. Humbled and brought low and given the amount of respect it deserves, which is to say, none. They exhale, exhausted but accomplished. Taking time for much needed rest.

Noticing things about him during the rest. Hugs that linger, clinging a little too tight. Hours spent lying in the grass, hands running through the blades over and over while watching the clouds. Visits to flower after flower, touching petals and breathing deep. Almost crying over a new food, a new taste before eating himself sick. Leaning in at any music, any song, attention lost towards anything else. Closing his eyes and listening to the sounds of nature in the evening, just being. Existing. Living.

Later traveling to Nicodranas. Him watching the ocean, transfixed. Walking to the shore, closing his eyes and breathing in as the sea breeze blows through his hair. Starting to cry without even knowing why. (His mind can't recall the memory, not yet, but his heart does, aching at the clarity. An ache that can hopefully be soothed, now that that longing has been fulfilled.)

Not even questioning it when he joins the crew of the Nein Heroez. Parting ways, but also knowing that they will ALL be seeing each other again soon (too much love amongst them for anything else), starting the next journey. Getting a second chance.

Living life. Being happy. And knowing that he will never have to be alone again.

#Critical Role #cr spoilers #Mollymauk Tealeaf #Mollymauk #this ended up as a weird cross of an outline and a fic #partially inspired by Tal's comment that Molly would have been miserable as the lingering soul class #my writing

[narrans]

The Poisoned Fey | Chapter 1 | The Poisoner’s Apprentice

It was dark; not yet dawn, but there was no better time to rise on a northern fall morning. Rothrem was completely still on these mornings. No birds or creatures of the Hhatu Strip disturbed the air as it chilled before winter. Never were there insects saturating the air with their swarming forms. The mammals were either preparing their seasonal migration or hibernation, not that they were too much of an issue in the first place. It was mornings like this that Tal’el woke especially early to begin his work.

Tal’el turned over under his sheets, inhaling deeply as he stretched and clung the warmth around him. He reached out to the candle at his bedside table and grabbed the wick. Even in his dazed state of early consciousness, he was able to focus his mind enough to produce a small flame in the palm of his hand and lite the tip of the candle.

The light in his room slowly grew from dark to dim, and continued to glow brighter as the flame danced on the wick. The room itself was simple in its design and decoration, needing only enough room for his bed and a bedside table. There were a few shelves along the wall for his books and a curtain covering a small closet where he changed and stored his clothes.

The rest of his home echoed the simplicity of his bedroom. There was a table and two chairs, an area for cooking, a washroom, and numerous bookshelves lining every wall. There was only one place not completely concealed with books, and that was a place with a cushioned inset bench next to a window. The wooden floor revealed the spirals of the interior tree

Tal’el sat up and threw his sheets off of him. Rarely did he dedicate an exorbitant amount of time on his appearance. He knew that he was required, by station, to dress appropriately and did so accordingly. Still, he did so willingly. He pulled on a pair of thick brown leather pants and a simple white shirt along with his working vest and a coat. He fitted these things over his faintly tinted green, dragonfly like wings before running his fingers through his dark brown hair tipped in white in the back and slinging his pack over his shoulder.

He unlocked his door and opened it, the early morning air immediately saturating his senses. The poisoner’s apprentice inhaled deeply, his wing tips fluttering in anticipation. Successfully clinging to the bark of the tree and locking the door behind him, Tal’el pushed off of the tree and went into a free fall for several seconds. His heart leapt into his throat and the breath caught in his lungs. It was exhilarating.

The wind whipped through his hair and across his wings before he sprung into action. Wings beating furiously, Tal’el barely grazed the tall grass clumps at the base of the oak tree as he curved sharply and flew barely a foot above the ground. He passed by the grove and the gathering places. The trees of the community rustled, their dying leaves chattering like teeth with the chilling breeze. In no time, Tal’el reached his final destination, a very large black oak tree. He turned his attention upward, his wings naturally propelling him up to the top of the tree.

Years ago, before Tal’el’s mentor was even an apprentice himself, a decision was made to keep the poisoner’s place near the tops of the tree. Though it seemed counter to logic, the decision was backed by many. There was an instance when many powerful land tremors shook loose several potions and poisons from the shelves and storage places. They shattered and leaked into the roots of the tree, killing it within minutes. The tree uprooted and many in the Sprite community were injured and a few were killed because of this incident. After many discussions, placing the poisoner’s place at the top of the trees gave time to evacuate the tree should another incident occur. The place was also reinforced with spells of protection. No such incident occurred again, but the poisoner’s place remained at the tree’s top.

Tal’el arrived, fluttering near the entrance before landing and folding his wings against his back. Wafting heat greeted him as did the smell of dried or drying herbs and minerals and stones. There were a few quartz like crystals at the entrance which, upon contact with Tal’el’s hand, illuminated the workspace.

The space itself was rather large, the entire interior of the tree’s diameter in fact. There were several brewing tables along the edges of the walls filled with beakers and bottles. There were also a two mixing benches in the center of the room with scales for weighing and measuring. There were also mortars and pestles of varying sizes hanging aloft on hooks by wash basins. Also along the ceiling and other free spaces between the drying herbs and stacked stones were dozens of journals and books bound by sturdy leaves and fine, thin leathers.

To Tal’el, the sight was a pleasant one. He remembered his first day working with his mentor, and nothing had really changed within this space nearly thirteen years later. The moment of nostalgia was brief as the senior apprentice placed his belongings in their rightful place in a small cupboard at the back of the room and slid his leather apron over his head. Tal’el also retrieved a set of protective goggles made of precisely forged glass before retrieving his own journal and beginning his work.

Hours of undisturbed work filled his mind. There was a rhythm to his work. Selecting the correct herbs. Grinding, chopping, squeezing them for each concoction. There was a list of various requests and orders from the Boarder Guards, the ones who protected the Sprite villages such as Rothrem against exterior forces and intruders. Boarder Guards from many villages sent word to the Poison Master of Rothrem since there were so few true Poison Masters in the area. Simple potions such as venom and anti-venom to coat the tips of arrows and spears. Poisons to make predators ill. Any number of things to help keep the Sprite villages safe from intruders.

It wasn’t until the two suns, Targarius and Una, were cresting over the horizon that there was additional sound in the poisoner’s place. Without turning, it was clear who it was – the Poison Master himself, Drake Woodsand.

The elder Sprite, Drake Woodsand, had deep set crevasses in his brow and cheeks, giving him a kind of wise look if he didn’t have a semi-permanent scowl creasing his features. His silvery hair, which was slicked back, still possessed flecks of red at the tips near the base of his skull. His shoulders were often drawn forward as he worked, and this generally persisted as he walked or flew about Rothrem. His dragonfly like wings were a misty grey like a fog filled morning and glowed similarly as he landed and tucked them against his back.

He said nothing as he entered and grunted in partial acknowledgment of Tal’el and his work. Drake set he things into a separate cupboard, placed the apron over his head, and perched a pair of spectacles onto his nose as he began stripping some flowers and separating the interior stems, scraping the insides and placing the viscous material into jars. The sounds of the knife pressed into the flesh of the plant and scraping against the rim of the jar combined to the natural noise of the bubbling and mixing.

They worked in silence until well past midday until a messenger arrived with a sealed note. Naturally, Drake took the note from the girl and sent her away with a brisk but polite nod. She smiled, returned the nod, which was exponentially friendlier than his, and fluttered away with her bag of messages. Tal’el, who hadn’t looked up from his beakers of anti-venom, finally reached a pausing point and set down his tools and removed his goggles. His bright green eyes picked up on his mentor’s behaviors over the years, and this was no exception.

“Can you believe this?” Drake grumbled after taring open the seal and skimming the note, his gravely voice blending with his tenor timbre. Tal’el stretched, arching his back and flaring his wings before standing and walking toward Drake. The apprentice knew he would need to see for himself if he wanted the straight-forward answer.

“What is it?” Tal’el asked habitually as he extended his hand just in time for Drake to slap the note into his outstretched hand.

“As if we didn’t have enough to do around here,” grumbled Drake, who slipped into an overexaggerated impression of whomever wrote the note. “‘Excuse me, but would you be so kind as to lend us twenty vials of your most potent anti-venom.’ Really! I mean, what are they doing with the vials we send? Are they getting hurt on purpose? Provoking snakes and the sort just to earn the queen’s fool pendant? I just want to go out there and see how they are pouring through anti-venom like this. You know, maybe if they used their wings and stayed off of the ground, they wouldn’t need the anti-venom. ‘Oh. How fascinating. I didn’t think of that.’”

Tal’el felt a smirk curl onto his face, his head shaking from side to side at Drake’s continued grumbling as his eyes traced over the scrolling Sylvan letters. Indeed, it was another request for anti-venom from not one, not two, but three villages. It was a massive request which was not to be taken lightly. Instantly, Tal’el’s mind worked at lightening speed and his pondering mind began asking questions.

“It’s the cold season,” Tal’el muttered to himself. There’s no way the villages should be using this much anti-venom unless they’re stockpiling. The venomous creatures should be preparing to hibernate and sleep the winter away. New recruits? Creating a tolerance to the venom and requiring vials as a precaution? Or have they noticed something and are hesitant to say anything. “It is a hefty request, but nothing we can’t handle. I’ve been working on harvesting the insides of our Eclipta Pros for some time. Keeping them dried for too long…”

“Naturally dries them out and they’re at peak potency now,” finished Drake, his heterochromatic eyes flaring with energy. “Don’t quote me while I’m standing right here boy. I’m old, not dead.” Tal’el nodded an apology. The elder Fey, despite working with Tal’el for just over ten years, had earned every right in calling him boy; and Tal’el knew better than to quote his mentor. Still, his jest seemed to be taken in good favor as Drake shuffled to the nearest bench to retrieve his tools. Tal’el wordlessly set himself to the task of retrieving the sealed jars of scraped and boiled Eclipta Pros. He organized the jars by age and size near his workstation while Drake continued to mumble and prepare scrapings from other elements and flowers.

The began to work at simmering other herbs and plant elements to combine with the scrapings and boiled Eclipta Pros in beakers and containers suspended over open flame. The smell, herbal yet neutral, carried through the air for the hours they worked.

It wasn’t until much later in the day, just at the very end when the two suns were preparing to set, when the sound of another pair of fluttering wings grew louder. The impact of two light set feet stepped over the threshold. Tal’el took that moment to glance over his shoulder to see his longtime friend Vin Hollardrel.

The slightly gaunt Sprite, with his coal black eyes, crossed into the Potion Master’s space and bowed politely. He presented himself well and formally, but the smile on his lips and gleam in his eyes told another story entirely. He adorned the armor of a guardsman, which consisted of brown and green leathers and folded leaves reinforced by enchantment. His jet-black hair was cut close to his scalp on either side of his head and slightly longer on the top, which was slightly informal given he was in the Guard.

“Vin, pleasure to see you my friend. How went the day?” asked Tal’el as he poured the remaining contents of the simmering jar he held into another set of vials to complete his work.

“Hasn’t begun yet. I only just woke up, but that’s what happens when you’re assigned to evening patrols,” Vin shrugged while peering through some of the bubbling potions. His coal black eyes were distorted as he blinked at his friend several times. Drake rolled his eyes before retrieving his belongings.

“I am leaving. I will most likely be in tomorrow early to check the vials.” With a curt nod of his head, Drake walked to the ledge and flew away. Tal’el continued to organize and bundle the unused herbs before prompting his friend.

“Evening? This wouldn’t be a consequence of some action you took, would it?” Tal’el knew his friend long enough to understand this was exactly the case; however, coming forth and asking about the circumstances or event directly would be rude. Besides, this allowed Vin to elaborate and spin off into one of his embellished stories as Tal’el tidied up the remaining herbs, and Vin did just that.

The dark-haired Guard began an energetic reenactment of the events that transpired beginning with why he had acquired the infraction to the conversations leading to his inevitable punishment. In Vin’s defense, he was covering for a fellow Guard, but he should have known to tell his superior since they were relying on Vin’s presence to run drills and patrols. Regardless of circumstance, Vin’s story was a way to pass the time as Tal’el successfully packaged the last of the supplies.

Now, at the end of the evening, the two departed from the poisoner’s place at the top of the tree, each going their separate ways. Tal’el watched his friend vanish among the trees. There were a handful of times he wished he had chosen a similar lifestyle, but they were fleeting. The life he currently led tested his mental limits rather than his physical ones. He possessed freedom to experiment and create as necessary while also keeping to a predictable schedule.

There was the expected that came with this position, but also the unexpected. As Tal’el entered his home and placed his belongings in their provided place, the unexpected letter requesting significant amounts of anti-venom peaked his curious mind. Why did they require such a substantial amount? And three different villages simultaneously? He was still unable to answer the question and hadn’t had a chance to compose a letter to inquire why.

Tal’el spent the remainder of his night taking notes on inventory, listing potential necessities, and contemplating theories as to why he was so perplexed about the anti-venom situation. By the end of the evening, he had curled back into his bed, eyes drooping. His bright green eyes stared unfocused at the flickering flame before he brought his hand up by his face and concentrated while closing his hand into a fist. The flame, without so much as a sound, snuffed out and left the Poison Master’s apprentice in the dark abyss of sleep.

Previous

Continue | Coming Soon

#d&d #sprites #dnd #fairy #fairies #fey #d&d story #dnd homebrew #dnd character #d&d campaign #homebrew #sprite #pixie #tiny #tiny human #giant world #commission #oc #original character #poison #Narrans #critical role #rpg #tal'el #critters #critrole #fly #wings #fairy wings

[mylesxdelian]

#aesthetic #musing

[elisende]

Predators (1/2)

Characters: Halsin/FOC Rating: M Words: 2655 Long before becoming the first druid of the Emerald Grove, Halsin is a hotheaded, aimless youth struggling to control his anger and alienation. When a mysterious druid saves him from a great bear, he sees a path to another life. Even the High Forest was a lonely place for a wood elf with no kinfolk to speak of--none still living. Most of his kind had left for Evermeet or for the teeming cities of the east. Neither appealed to Halsin.

He roamed the great forest that was his birthright, scavenging what scraps could be found on the edges of the human settlements that encroached, year by year, like some choking vine.

And he grew from adolescent to adult over the twenty winters of his wandering, broadening across the shoulders, shooting up to a height that others seemed to find incredible. The humans around the villages he haunted took to calling him the Tailhleach, “the tall walker,” in their strange tongue. They feared him as some sort of half-man, half-beast, a spirit protector of the forest. The myth was a useful one: it meant he went mostly undisturbed, except when the occasional foolhardy youth took it upon himself to hunt down the beast. But Halsin had his own ways of staying the sword arms and bows of overeager hunters.

These conquests, too, became part of his legend.

Now fully grown, he had become, in a word, complacent. There was nothing in the forest, man or beast, that could challenge him. So he thought, with all the arrogance of the young.

Halsin’s appetites often led him from one part of the forest to the other in search of delicacies: truffles, chestnut honey, blackberries. Today he was foraging for mushrooms: the orange rilled ones so good they could be eaten raw, as soon as they were dusted off. The mushrooms preferred this part of the wood, the wet brambly hillside that was often choked in fog.

Nothing seemed amiss as he scanned the forest floor for their distinctive convex caps.

He was deaf to the crackling of dead leaves, the faint but audible snap of a twig, the rustle of disturbed undergrowth and even the snort of the curious bear as it approached his crouching back.

It was only when the beast’s breath disturbed the hair on Halsin’s head that he whirled around, startling the great bear. For one moment that felt like a century, they stared, nose to nose and eye to eye: elf and bear, locked in the fatal glance of prey and hunter.

Then the bear roared, its fear exploding to rage like dry tinder under lightning’s forked tongue. Halsin was so close that he could see the ridges on the bear’s bright canine teeth, taste its meaty breath. A young bear, he thought stupidly. He began backing away, all the while watching the beast.

The great bear stood on its hind feet and flattened its ears. It made as though to charge but it was only a feint, a test of Halsin’s resolve. He stopped. Anger building alongside his terror, he bellowed at it, swung the slim oaken branch he always carried with him.

But the bear wouldn’t be intimidated. It had no inkling of his fearsome reputation. His rage was only fuel for its own.

It swiped, claws scraping Halsin’s flesh from his hairline down to his left eyebrow. His vision went red and by instinct he swung his club. He only hit the bear by luck, the same luck that had saved his left eye.

It backed away and lowered its head, ears flattened. This would be a true charge and he stood little chance of surviving it, given the bear’s size.

He stood, waiting, in a defensive crouch, holding out his makeshift club, blood pouring down his face. But just as the bear started to charge, a warning growl sounded from the chestnut grove beyond.

Almost comically, the bear quirked its head. The growls continued and the bear moaned in reply, as though in conversation with it.

The rage melted from the beast’s eyes and it pawed the air as an elven woman appeared in the gloom. She lowed at the bear once more and the bear, incredibly, seemed almost to chuckle.

“What are you--”

“He says you’re after his mushrooms again. Whenever you come here, you leave nothing for the others who reside in this wood. He thinks it's rather rude,” the elf said. As she came closer, he saw the crest of Silvanus on her broach. A druid, then.

He laughed incredulously, wiping the blood from his face. “I’m rude? That bear--”

“His name is Sage.”

Halsin paused, collecting his thoughts. The druid was very lovely, as a moonrise over a pine forest is lovely, or a bird of prey on the wing, or the river’s rush after first thaw. Hers was a stark, unadorned beauty. “That bear-- alright, Sage--was about to kill me,” he finally said, failing to keep his voice level. He was still trembling with his fear and anger. The two never could be parted, for him; they were like smoke and flame.

“His kind have been killed for far less,” she said. Her tone was neutral but he could see a warning glint in her amber eyes.

“Who are you?” he asked, his curiosity overtaking his consternation. “There is no Circle for twenty leagues.”

“No indeed,” the druid said. He could tell she did not enjoy speaking of herself; her words took a rote quality. “I’m posted here for a task that has taken me some years, and will take more still to complete.” She tilted her head, looking inquiringly at him. “Like Sage, I’ve also noticed that you claim more than your share from this wood.”

“You’ve been watching me.”

“You are hard to avoid. You trample through the wood like it's your bedchamber.”

He colored ever so slightly when she said the word bedchamber. The bear, Sage, groaned as if in agreement. The druid walked over and patted him on the head, whispering something in his rounded ears. Halsin felt absurdly jealous at the intimacy, even as his wounds began to throb.

As was often the case, he found himself speaking before he knew precisely what he was going to say. He knew only that he was drawn to the druid. “I can help you with your task, whatever it is, if you teach me in exchange. I would like to learn the ways of the druids.”

She didn’t laugh outright, at least. The druid seemed even to consider it. But then, finally, she said: “No, I haven’t the inclination for such an arrangement. I live alone by choice as much as by necessity.”

And without so much as a fare thee well, she vanished back into the wood. Sparing a quick backwards glance at the now mellow bear sniffing the orange mushrooms, Halsin followed.

*

He trekked for more than half the day until evening fell. The druid doubled back three times and almost lost him half a dozen more but every time he’d managed to find her trail and catch up with her.

Perhaps, he reflected later, she wanted to be found.

He was not so foolhardy as to barge into the tiny hut where the druid lived; he had little doubt the elf could magick him into a fine paste and butter her toast with him, if she so desired. He rested on a fallen log on the patch of green and looked around the darkening glade as he waited for her to emerge.

It was virtually untouched, despite her habitation. In contrast to the human villagers who seemed intent on clearing every tree within the radius of their settlements, the druid’s hut seemed to have emerged spontaneously from the ground, disturbing none of the surrounding environs.

A brook murmured nearby and made sweet music with the evening song of the crepuscular birds. His mind wandered back to the druid and he resumed the game he’d been playing all afternoon as he trailed her, trying to guess her name. She looked to be a high elf of some maturity--perhaps five or even six centuries, old enough for the first lines to appear at the corners of her lovely, fierce eyes. What was she doing here, after all?

It had been long since he’d met such an interesting person--since he’d met anyone he cared to know. The irony that she didn’t wish to know him was bitter, stinging. He dabbed gingerly at the gashes on his brow. They throbbed still but had stopped bleeding, at least.

Smoke rose from her hut and Halsin’s belly cramped with hunger. He had not eaten all day and was out of the deer jerky he usually kept in his hip pouch. And, too, there was hunger of another sort, equally desperate for satisfaction.

Her door finally opened to him, a rectangle of golden light in the gathering dark.

He felt every inch of his six and a half feet when he entered the hut; he was eye level with the rafters and had to crouch to move around the single room. Without comment, the druid pulled a chair from the table--there was only one chair--and extended her arm in invitation.

Halsin sat, inhaling the exquisite scent of the rabbit stew bubbling on the hearth. She did not offer to bind his wounds but bent over him to take a cursory look to ensure there was nothing amiss.

He held his breath as she touched his face with her cool fingers, probing the furrows the Sage’s claws had left in his flesh. He gasped, and not just from the pain. How long had it been since he’d felt a woman’s touch, even an indifferent one? “Those will scar,” she said simply, then moved back to the hearth.

“Tell me,” he said, watching intently as she ladled the stew into an earthenware bowl. “What is your name?”

The druid glanced up from the hearth. Her amber gaze was intense; he felt his blood heating just from that look. He wanted her so badly that even the distant possibility his desire might be fulfilled quickened his pulse.

“Dalia,” she said. He could never have guessed it.

“‘The edge of dawn,’” he translated from the high elven. A poetic name but one that seemed to suit her. “Pretty. I’m called Halsin.”

She smiled at that. It was not a common name, he imagined, among her folk.

“‘Hazelnut,’” she said, meeting his eyes again as she passed him the bowl. Their fingers brushed and his intake of breath was audible.

“Just ‘hazel,’ in our tongue,” he said, still watching her. She was as captivating as a hawk at prey, even serving soup from a cookpot. He noticed a fading tattoo running along her hairline. Too ornate for druid work. He longed to trace it with his finger. “Where are your people?”

“My Circle resides at the Dancing Falls, on the edge of the Dessarin.” She settled on the hearth to eat her soup. She had a slim figure, neat and athletic and not tall, imposing though she was in presence.

His curiosity warred with his hunger and since he had already been marked as rude, he split the difference and spoke over a mouthful of the glorious stew: rich and silky, it was, tasting of herbs and wild onions and savory meat. It burned his mouth but he did not care. “I meant, your people. Your kith and kin.”

“The druids are my kin now. The creatures and trees of this wood my kith.” She blew carefully on her stew before taking a bite.

Halsin considered this and found the idea not unappealing. The last two decades had been lonely ones and he found himself now relishing even the most adversarial contacts with people. “What do you druids do? Besides live in nature?”

Dalia snorted. “‘Besides live in nature,’ as though it’s some rare sport.”

“Well, isn’t it? Not many choose such a life.”

“You did.”

He stopped eating and looked down at his bowl of half-finished stew, uncertain of how much to reveal. He wanted to tell all, unburden all the secrets of his heart for the sake of sharing them. But even his corroded social skills warned him against that approach. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel sorry for him. “This life chose me,” he said vehemently, anger rising unbidden. “Not the other way around. My people are dead and gone.”

Dalia’s curved eyebrow registered her skepticism and he felt another flash of annoyance. How dare she imagine she knew his heart better than he?

“You might have traveled to a city, or made a life in one of the villages here. No doubt they would be happy to have your shield and many maidens happy to take you to their beds.”

Halsin choked on his stew and from the corner of his eye caught her faint smile, the glimmer in her keen eyes. She was teasing him for the callow youth that he knew he was, damn her.

When he regained some dignity after his fit of coughing subsided, he said, “You presume, druid. I’m not interested in maidens.” She did not squirm under his stare but merely returned his challenging gaze with her own. He wanted desperately to know what was going on behind those golden eyes. Almost as much as he wanted to throw her onto the straw pallet in the corner and divest her of her robes, to explore her lean body with eyes, hands, and tongue.

“Teach me,” he demanded. He leaned forward in the creaky chair, using his imposing size to loom over her. Like the bear, she wasn’t the least bit intimidated.

“You are impetuous and full of anger. And truly, no better than the humans you scorn; for though you live in nature you do not cherish its harmony, only what you can plunder from it."

He opened his mouth to respond in fury--what he would say, he did not know, but certainly something regrettable--but the druid held up her hand, cutting him off with the force of that gesture.

"If you want to become a druid, you will first need to master your own feelings. But nature, much as we druids endeavor to heal it, also has the power to heal us in turn.” She heaved a sigh, as though already regretting her next words. “I can teach you. Perhaps it was meant to be so.”

Halsin’s anger melted into relief so deep the corners of his eyes pricked with tears. His voice was rough when he replied with a terse “Thank you.” Even he had not realized how much he wanted this--needed it. Halsin’s eyes finally rose again to meet Dalia’s. “I swear that your trust in me will not be misplaced.”

She nodded briskly as though they’d concluded a trade. “Well and good. About the other thing….”

“The other thing?” he said densely.

“Of maidens and bedchambers.” She rolled her eyes and he felt a blush creep up his neck.

“Oh. Yes. What about them?” he asked warily.

“I’m not so foolish as to offer my heart to a wood elf but we both have… needs.” Her face was still composed but behind her stiff words he could sense her vulnerability. She, too, was lonely. The idea of her dwelling here alone in the hut for years on end filled him with tenderness in equal measure to his desire for her.

His chair scraped away from the table and he narrowly avoided a collision with the rafter as he sat down beside her to take her face in his hands.

She had an angular jaw to match her aquiline features. Her eyes had little softness in them, even now. She told him what to do next. As their bodies joined by the fire he experienced pleasures he didn’t know existed. Compared to his crude, perfunctory couplings in the wood, they were divine, revelations written in flesh and sighs.

After, they lay together in silence as the fire dwindled and his heart threatened to over-brim with happiness. Rare happiness from the promise of things to come.

#halsin #fanfiction #fanfic #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 Halsin #halsin/ofc

[brax-was-here]

Scarlet Briar: The Redemption of Ceara Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Wherever the Adventure Takes Me

Written by: Braxxus

Sometimes we need help putting the pieces back together

     Days passed. The morning air was cool, an overcast sky blocked the sun as a light fog hovered over the lake near Amaranda’s small home. She sat at a low table, her journal in front of her. She hadn’t been able to eat or sleep since arriving back from the soundless village. Even seeking comfort from the Pale Tree did little to ease her mind.

     “You came back to us.” She thought. “You endured everything, and you came back. And now…” her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps outside. A male sylvari in traditional sylvari clothing appeared in the doorway.

     “Amaranda?” he asked.

     “Yes?” she got to her feet. He held out a folded parchment to her. Opening it she read it out loud.

     “Amaranda, she is awake now. If you wish to visit, you may do so when you are ready. Mender Seoras.” She looked up at the visitor, her eyes wide. “Take me there! Now!” she exclaimed.

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     Seoras stood at a shelf mixing an herbal tea when he heard a knock at the door. Turning, he saw Amaranda standing in the doorway. He motioned for her to step in.

     “She’s awake.” He said softly. “But she is suffering from severe headaches. They do seem to be slowly fading, but please try to be as quiet as possible.” She nodded and followed him into the room where Ceara was still laying on the bed. A sheet pulled up to her chest and a damp cloth laid across her eyes, her right arm in a brace. Ceara turned her head slightly in Amaranda’s direction.

     “It’s me.” Amaranda spoke softly.

     “Amee.” Ceara replied quietly, her voice dry and hoarse. Amaranda grabbed her hand gently.

     “I’m so glad you’re ok. Everyone is waiting to hear any news.”

     “I’m sorry to keep them waiting.” Ceara replied, a slight bit of snark in her voice. Amaranda smiled lightly.

     “Mother is waiting to see you again.”

     Ceara let out a small sigh. “Mother…It seems I’ll be seeing her soon enough.”

     “What do you mean?”

     “When I’m able, the wardens will come and retrieve me to have an audience with her.”

     “Well, that’s excellent news!” Amaranda said excitedly. Seoras turned to her, a distraught look on his face. Amaranda looked at him as he motioned for her to keep her voice down.

     “I’m sorry.” She mouthed to him. He turned back to mixing the tea.

     “Is it?” Ceara asked.

     “Well, yes, I think so.” Amaranda replied happily.

     Ceara took a deep breath. Mender Seoras stood next to Amaranda and removed the cloth from Ceara’s eyes. She opened them slightly, looking at Amaranda. They glowed softly.  Amaranda smiled at her as Seoras knelt beside the bed, holding the cup of tea.

     “Please don’t knock this out of my hand this time.” He said to Ceara.

     “I won’t as long as you aren’t trying to poison me.” She replied, slowly sitting up, wincing at the pain in her shoulder. He handed her the cup, which she drank from slowly. She grimaced at the taste. “Again, who taught you to make tea?”

     Seoras chuckled a bit. “You know good medicine never tastes good.” Ceara winced as she brought her hand to her forehead.

     “Are you ok?” Amaranda asked softly.

     “I’ll be ok.” Ceara responded, grimacing slightly from the pain. She handed the cup to her, who placed it on the table next to the bed. Ceara slowly laid back down, Seoras placing a fresh cloth over her eyes.

     “Is there anything you need?” Amaranda asked. A few moments passed as Ceara didn’t say anything. Amaranda stood. “Well, I’ll leave you to rest.”

     “Amee…”Ceara spoke.

     “Yes?” Amaranda turned to her sister.

     There was a long pause before Ceara spoke again. “Thank you, sister.” Amaranda smiled as she turned to leave.

     “Well, I think that’s the most heartfelt thing I’ve ever heard you say.” Seoras remarked.

     “Stuff it, Mender.” Ceara retorted. Seoras laughed as he followed Amaranda outside.

     “I think she’ll be ok in a few days. I know the mother tree is anxious to see her again.”

     “Twice you have seemingly done the impossible, Mender.” Amaranda spoke. “For over a year she was lost to us. In the thrall of the jungle dragon, not knowing if what she was doing was herself or if it was the dragon controlling her. You saved her… twice. Given her a new life. I barely knew her before. She was always so aloof, rude to everyone. Never wanting to be around anyone. I never paid her any mind, just went about my own life. But now…” she paused a moment and looked towards the home. “Now I feel that I’ve found a sister I never knew I had. All the things she did. And yet, you somehow saw past all that. You somehow found good in her heart. For that I thank you. For everything you have done.”

     “I believe in the good of everyone, Amaranda. Sometimes, for some it just takes a little while longer to find it.”  

     Days later, Ceara stood looking out of the window in the mender’s home, once again watching the soundless sylvari going about their daily routine. She gently touched the foliage on her head, the missing stalk was slowly growing back. She hoped it wouldn’t turn into a rose like she had when she was younger. She heard Seoras enter the room.

     “Are you just going to brood all day?” he asked.

     “They’ll be here soon.” She said, a tone of disdain in her voice.

     “I know. You should get ready.”

     “I am ready.” She looked at him somewhat perturbed. She was dressed in simple human clothing. “Tell me, Mender. After all I have done. All the…lives I took, all the destruction I wrought…you saved my life. Why?”

     Seoras sat down at the small table where he kept his journal. “I believe all life is valuable, Ceara. Even yours.” He paused a moment. “Everything you have been through, everything you did, was the cause of the jungle dragon. I know deep down, under that tough exterior, you have good in your heart. You just need to let it show.”

     Ceara stared at the window ledge in silence, dwelling on the menders words. “When I was…unconscious…I was in the Mists.” She closed her eyes and breathed deep. “I saw…” she paused.  “I saw Ventari again.”

     “Again?” Seoras asked. Somewhat surprised.

     “Yes. I saw him once before when I was tossed into the mists. Then again while I lay here.”

     “What did he say?”

     “He said…” Ceara paused, looking out the window, noticing Warden Failynne and her entourage approaching. “They’re here.” She sighed deeply. “Let’s get this over with.” She exited the mender’s home into the afternoon sun. Failynne approached her.

     “Hands up in front of you.” Ceara sighed and raised her hands. Failynne put shackles on her.

     “So now this is when you put shackles on me to haul me off to jail.”

     “It’s only to make it look official. You’re lucky I’m not putting these on you for real.”

     “Do you have to put them on so tight?

     “Yep, to make it look official.” Failynne then turned to Seoras. “Thank you, Mender.” Seoras nodded slightly.

     “I’ll be back to get my things soon.” Ceara said, as one of the wardens shoved her forward.

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     The group entered the Grove through an Asura gate near the path to Caledon Forest. They walked briskly to the upper commons area where a pod awaited to take them to the Omphalos Chamber. Almost everyone stopped to take notice of Ceara being marched through the Grove in shackles and chains. She just stared ahead of her, paying no heed to the glares and whispers as she passed by. She stopped just before entering the pod. She didn’t know what to expect. She hadn’t seen her mother since she left the Grove years ago. The Pale Tree was never really in her thoughts. One of the wardens nudged her into the pod. She breathed deep as the pod rose to the Omphalos Chamber. Exiting the pod, she stopped again, looking at Ventari’s tablet, remembering what had happened in the Mists.

     The Pale Tree watched as the pod crested over the edge of the chamber. She clasped her hands together in front of her chest in anticipation of seeing a daughter who was lost to her a long time ago. She smiled warmly as she watched Ceara exit the pod, stopping to look at Ventari’s tablet. The wardens guarding the Pale Tree slowly put their hands on their weapons. Ceara turned towards her mother as Failynne pulled on the shackles. As she approached, she saw various other Sylvari in the chamber. She only recognized a few of them. Amaranda, the firstborns Aife and Niamh as well. Ceara glanced slightly at her mother before looking away at the ground. The wardens bowed before the Pale Tree.

     “Mother, I have brought Ceara as you have asked.” Failynne spoke.

     “Warden, I believe the shackles are not necessary.” The Pale Tree replied, her voice calm and peaceful. Failynne stood and removed the cuffs from Ceara arms. She then stepped behind Ceara and stood ready, her two warden proteges at her side. Ceara continued to look at the ground in silence.

     “I would suggest you step forward.” Failynne whispered over Ceara’s shoulder. Moments passed before Ceara took one small step forward.

     “My daughter…” the Pale tree started. “You have endured so much pain and suffering at the hands of the dragon. The beast tried to ravage your mind, and you fought back with every fiber of your being.” She stepped forward “The strength and bravery you showed, to stand against such a threat.” She gently put her hands on Ceara’s shoulders.  “I’m so proud of you.”

     There was a long silence. Ceara slowly turned her face away from the Pale Tree, looking at the ground beside her. “I didn’t stand against it…I couldn’t…” she finally said. “I ignored the warnings.”

     “Ambition can blind one to the truth, sometimes.” The Pale Tree stated, removing her hands from Ceara’s shoulders. “You’re ambition to learn all you can drove you forward. You sought the mystery of the unknown, to learn about it.”

     “And what I found almost destroyed me…”

     “But it didn’t. Whether you realize it or not, you stood strong in the face of such adversity. You didn’t back down, but instead you used your strengths against it.”

     “But it took control of me. It made me…” Ceara closed her eyes, trying to block out the memories of what happened. She remembered the twisted images of the Pale Tree from Ventari’s vision.

     “What have I done?...” she asked quietly, a tear forming in her eye.

     “Tyria will heal with time. And as it heals, so too will you. And the wounds will become but a faded memory.”

     “Some wounds never heal. Like a broken puppet that can’t be fixed.”

     “Ceara…you are free from the beast. Free to live your life again as you please.”

     “But Tyria will never forget…or forgive.”

     “With time the people of Tyria will move on. We learn from the past with the hopes to build a better life for the world. Your knowledge of the world around you would be a great boon for Tyria.”

     Ceara looked at the Pale Tree. “But how, Mother? No one will trust me. Everyone will rather see me dead!”

     “No, my daughter-“

     “The things I did. All the ruin. All the chaos. I should have died in Lion’s Arch that day! Instead, I’m here…” Ceara paused a moment staring at the Pale Tree as tears streamed down her face. “Is this what I was meant to be? Is this my punishment!?”

     “Ceara, it wasn’t you that did those things.”

     “It may not have been me. But it used me. I was there. I gave in to it. Allowed it to take control and terrorize the world. And now…now because of it…” Ceara paused as her voice choked…”I….I’m broken!”

     Ceara dropped to her knees sobbing. The Pale Tree knelt in front of her, putting her arms around her. Ceara fell into the Pale Trees shoulder, slowly bringing her arms around to embrace the Pale Tree.

     “No, my daughter. You’re not broken. You just lost your way for a little while.”

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     The next day, Ceara sat in one of the small homes in the bottom of the Grove. It was one of the houses mostly used by Sylvari saplings until they are ready to venture out into the world. Amaranda walked in, holding some fruit. She paused a moment to look at her sister.

     “What?” Ceara asked.

     “Thank you for visiting mother. It put her a little at ease to know you’re ok.”

     “I’m not ok. I was a sobbing mess in front of her. Ventari broke me.”  

     “He did no such thing!” Amaranda protested. “If anything, he set you on a much better path. And you’re not broken. You might be a little strange, but you’re not broken.” Amaranda said to her.

     “Strange? This is coming from the one who spends all her time alone writing journals with a bunch of skritt.”

     “It’s quite peaceful, thank you.”

     “Mmhmm”

     “Mother told me a story…” Amaranda started, as she set the fruit on a small table. “About you, when you were a sapling.”

     “What did she say?” Ceara asked cautiously.

     “She told me a story about how furious you would get when she forbade you from capturing an Asura and experimenting on it as revenge for what they did to Canach and the others.”

     “They would have deserved it.” Ceara stated, staring out of the doorway.

     “She also asked me to look after you.”

     “Look after me? For what?”

     Amaranda paused for a moment, looking at Ceara. “You’re hurting. From what happened to you. From what that thing made you do. I can feel it.”

     “I’m be fine.”

     “No. you aren’t.”

     Ceara started a rebuttal, but stopped herself, a feeling of emptiness in her chest. She sighed lightly, looking to the floor.

     “I can tell.” Amaranda spoke softly. “Come with me to my home in Brisbane. You can stay there. It’s secluded. Peaceful. Relaxing. A home so you to heal.”

     “Home…” Ceara muttered. She thought back to that day on the Breachmaker. “Come home, my child.” She spoke softly to herself.

     “What?” Amaranda asked slightly confused.

     Ceara stared at the fruit on the table. “After all this time. All the things that happened…” She looked at Amaranda.

     “She still loves you. She never stopped loving you.”

     Ceara sat in silence for few moments, seemingly lost in thought

     “Anyway…” she finally spoke. “I’ll see you in Brisbane when I’m finished with what I need to do.” She stood and stretched.

     “What? Where are you going?”

     “I’m heading back to the menders village to retrieve my belongings.” Ceara started heading for the door. “And I have some other business to take care of.”

     “Fine.” Amaranda said in a huff. “But when you’re finished, you better come home.” Ceara looked over her shoulder at Amaranda about to say something.

     “Don’t you even start! There is no arguing about it!” Amaranda cut her off, raising her finger to her sister. “And if you don’t, I will hunt you down to the end of Tyria and bring you home myself.”

     “Oh really?” Ceara laughed. She waved slightly to Amaranda as she stepped out into the grove.

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     Seoras was helping a sylvari who had been attacked on the beach while catching food when Ceara walked into his home.

     “You could have knocked first.” Seoras said, tending to his ward.

     “Well, I’ve been here so much, I figure it was like home already.” She replied, a slight ting of snark in her voice. Going over to the trunk that held her armor, she started pulling the pieces out, laying them on the bed, before undressing.

     “I’ll have to rebuild the power supply.” She muttered as she looked over the various pieces. She started assembling the suit, stopping to look at the hole in the bodice.

     “I still need to fix that.” She struggled putting it on.  “Thorns.” She cursed under her breath.

     “You need to let that arm heal.” Seoras said, finishing with his current ward.

     “Feh.” She spat. Seoras was about to protest to her about putting her armor back on, but he resigned himself to helping her, knowing she wasn’t going to listen to him anyway.  

     “I can’t believe you’re putting this back on.” he said in a concerned tone.

     “Well, I certainly can’t carry it around. Besides, I have to see some people who may not be so nice.”

     “What do you mean?”

     “Well, I have to go see some people about a ship.”

     “A ship?”

     “Yep!” she started out the door.

     “And then let me guess…” he sighed.’Wherever the adventure takes you’?”

     “My you’ve gotten so smart, Mender!” she joked as she ran off into the afternoon sun.

 FIN

#Guild Wars 2 #GW2 #Scarlet Briar #Sylvari #GW2 fanfiction #AU Ceara #Bring Back Ceara #tyrias-library

[emospritelet]

Key to the Cell - chapter 10

I’m aware that it’s been like eight months. I was blocked, but I just started thinking of this fic again yesterday, so *throws new chapter at you*

If you need to read it from the beginning (like I did) the first chapter is here, but last chapter, Belle was about to go into Rumple’s library to retrieve his dagger from the Blue Fairy’s enchantment

[AO3]

x

Belle eyed the library doorway in front of her, fingers twitching on the strap of the leather satchel over her shoulder, her other hand clutching the crystal wand.

“Remember,” said Rumplestiltskin. “Ask the wand to tell you what it sees. Use it to channel your light magic, to aid you in any spells you might cast. Have a care, though. Untrained as you are, you might want to limit your use of it. Wouldn’t want you getting hurt.”

“How will I know if I’m using too much?” she asked, and he tutted.

“Difficult to tell until afterwards,” he said. “Using magic - filling yourself with it - it can be a powerful and alluring thing. Addictive. Careful that in trying to help me, you don’t lose yourself, my Lady.”

Belle glanced down at the wand, anxiety prickling at her.

“I don’t suppose I have enough skill to worry about it at this point,” she said. “But I’ll bear in mind what you say, Rumplestiltskin.”

“And don’t be fooled by soft colours and tinkling music,” he added. “I’ve encountered fairy barriers before, and dealt with their portals and artefacts. They may seem harmless, but pretty can kill just as easily as twisted and dark. Fairies are tricksome creatures at the best of times, and the Chief Gnat is the worst of them.”

Belle glanced over her shoulder, giving him a wry look.

“I’ve never set much store by appearances.”

He smiled slightly at that, his eyes crinkling.

“Good luck, my Lady,” he said sincerely. “Please come back safely.”

Belle turned back to the doorway, and the dagger that hung in the air at the other side of the room. Perhaps it’ll be simple. Perhaps the Blue Fairy only wanted to keep him out of here with her spell against dark magic. I could step through and take the dagger and get back out within seconds.

Taking a deep breath, she squared her jaw and took a step forward, through the doorway. There was a tingle in her skin as she passed through, and she realised that she was holding her breath. She let it out as she entered the library, and squeaked as she was plunged into darkness. It was thick, stifling, total. It was as though she had gone blind.

“Rumplestiltskin!”

“I’m here,” he said, his voice soothing. “What is it? Tell me what you see?”

“Nothing!” Her voice was high and fearful. “Just - just darkness!”

“Then perhaps you need some light. Good thing you carry so much with you, hmm?”

Of course. Light magic. Stop panicking, Belle, and think! According to the book, creating light is one of the first things a fairy learns to do, so it can’t be impossible. She took several deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart, and lifted the crystal wand in front of her. Trying to think of a pleasant memory was difficult when fear was making her heart thump, but she concentrated, allowing the pictures to form in her mind. 

“Give me light,” she said aloud, and the darkness winked out as though it had never been. She felt her body sag with relief.

“Good,” said Rumplestiltskin, his voice a low purr. “You have proven that you don’t seek to control me, and that you wield light magic. I think you can walk a little further.”

Licking her lips nervously, Belle took another step forward, and her foot sank into thick, soft grass. Glancing around, she could see that the library had disappeared, and she was standing on a green path that meandered between slopes covered in flowers. The scent of them was in the air, sweet and heady, and a gentle sun shone from a clear blue sky.

“Lady Belle?”

Rumplestiltskin’s voice made her jump, and she turned on the spot. The doorway had disappeared, the landscape beyond the path rolling, flower-strewn fields.

“I can’t see you,” she said. “I’m alright, though.” 

“I can no longer see you, either,” he said, sounding vexed. “It’s as though you’ve stepped through something. A wide circle, rippling in the air. Blasted fairies and their blasted portals!”

“Well, at least we can still hear one another,” she said, and he grunted something.

“What do you see?”

Belle looked around herself again. The horizon seemed indistinct, shifting and blurring, and she frowned, trying to focus on it

“I - I’m in a meadow, I suppose. Grassy banks covered in flowers, and a winding green path.”

There was an amused snort.

“I suppose the interior of the Dark Castle was too much to bear for Her Royal Intolerance,” he remarked. “She wanted to bring a little of the fairy realm with her.  Can you still see the dagger?”

Belle looked around, shaking her head.

“No. I think it was in front of me, in the direction of the path.”

“Perhaps, but best to be sure. A little magic, I think. Use the wand.”

Belle nodded, and held up the wand. Closing her eyes, she focused on happy memories. The gentle warmth of light magic was familiar by now, and made her smile.

“Show me the safest path to the dagger,” she said, and opened her eyes.

A gleaming trail wound across the meadow, following the grassy path for the most part before veering sharply to the right. Belle frowned curiously at what it was avoiding. A clump of flowers in pale shades of blue and lilac. She began walking the path, stopping at the point that the trail turned right. The flowers seemed to sway in a light breeze, but she could feel no air against her skin. The movement was soothing, hypnotic, the heady scent drifting into her nose. Belle stifled a yawn.

“What is it?” Rumplestiltskin’s voice was a little sharper than usual.

“The wand has drawn a trail for me, which follows the path that I’m on before turning to the right,” she said. “It takes me away from a large clump of flowers. They smell - lovely.”

She yawned again, watching the flowers bob and weave. It was as though they were encouraging her to step closer, to bend her head and inhale deeply, and she wondered at her body’s reluctance to move.

“Follow the trail, my Lady,” said Rumplestiltskin, his tone urgent. “Now!”

It seemed to take an age to pry her feet from the ground, taking first one step, and then another. Hesitantly she walked along the glittering trail, and as the scent of the flowers faded, she almost stumbled and fell. Drowsiness disappeared, and she quickened her pace, glancing back over her shoulder to where the flowers danced and swayed in the breeze that wasn’t there.

“What were they?” she asked anxiously.

“A trap, I should think,” he said sourly. “Stick to the trail. Your wording of the spell was quite specific - that is the safest path. Do not leave it.”

Belle nodded, eyes following the trail. It appeared to crest a hill, and she mounted it cautiously, eyes sweeping left to right. The trail ran down to a small copse, a circle of squat trees with smooth, even trunks and tightly-packed foliage. She could see no evidence that the trail came out the other side, and she glanced around nervously.

“What do you see?”

Again, Rumplestiltskin’s voice made her start, but she was relieved to hear him.

“The trail runs down into a grove,” she said. “Short trees with very smooth trunks. I don’t recognise them.”

“Very small, dense leaves?” he asked. “Blue, bell-shaped flowers?”

“I - yes. Yes, I can see blue flowers on the trees, but not the shape of them.”

“Sounds like faewood trees,” he said. “The pollen is a less potent version of fairy dust, and the nectar is an elixir, used by the gnats to revive themselves. Common in the fairy realms. Like travellers’ resting posts.”

“Oh. Will they do me any harm?”

“Not you.” He sounded amused. “I think you’re safe to go down there, my Lady. It appears the Blue Fairy made the entrance to this portal so she wouldn’t have to set foot in my castle a minute longer than necessary. Complete with food and fairy dust, should she need reviving after a hard day of interference. Keep an eye out for traps, though.”

Belle nodded to herself, and channelled magic into the wand.

“Show me anything that may harm me,” she said aloud.

The wand twitched in her hand, and instinctively she turned it over, holding it flat on her palm. It jerked, swinging around to point at a patch of grass to her left. It was smooth and even and perfectly circular, the grass a very deep green. The glittering trail skittered away from it, looping around, and Belle followed it, glancing back over her shoulder at the curious grass patch. Whatever it was, she intended to avoid it. The wand lay quiet in her palm, and so she headed down towards the copse, eyes casting right and left.

Up close, the trees seemed taller and somehow heavier, and she drew to a halt, peering at the darkness beyond the trunks. The trail led between two of the trees, and she squared her shoulders.

“I’m almost in the copse,” she said. “I can’t see anything through the trees, but the trail ends inside. The dagger must be there.”

“Indeed,” said Rumplestiltskin, his voice echoing a little. “Take care, my Lady.”

“It looks quite dark under the trees,” she said. “Perhaps I need a little more light.”

She set down the satchel, unearthing her book on fairies and turning the pages hurriedly. First they learn to summon light, and then to contain it. She found the chapter she remembered looking at, an image of a fairy standing on tiptoes, lifting a wand high and looking at a ball of light hanging in the air in front of her. Belle pursed her lips, reading the page, but there was nothing on how to cast the spell.

“If I wanted to create light and carry it with me, what should I do?” she asked aloud.

“Well, ordinarily I’d say take a lantern.” Rumplestiltskin’s voice was snide, and she rolled her eyes.

“Hilarious. Given that all I have is this wand, what’s your advice?”

“Summon the magic,” he said. “As you’ve been doing most adroitly. Push that power into a ball, and imagine it floating in front of you, lighting your way. You can even tether it to yourself, if that makes it easier.”

Belle wrinkled her nose.

“I’m not sure I can do something that complex yet,” she admitted.

“Never admit weakness in front of the magic,” he chided. “It can hear you. Remember that—all talk of prices aside—it is you that must control it, not the other way around.”

“Is that the same for dark as well as light magic?” she asked. “Or does it again depend on the wielder?”

“I thought we were saving the discussion on magical theory for your return?” His tone was one of mild amusement.

“I know, it’s just - it’s interesting, that’s all. I imagine there are many books in your library I should like to read.”

“Return my dagger to me, and you may read as many as you please.”

“Right.” 

Belle concentrated on the wand, feeling the tingle of magic. It seemed easier each time she did it. Easier and more pleasant, as though her body was filled with warmth and light. She imagined that his warning of addiction was one to heed. She held her breath, focusing on the feeling, trying to push the light into one small, compact whole. Her eyes widened as she saw a stream of light flow out of the wand and form a small, glowing ball of white light, tinged with pale blue. It hovered in the air, the edges pulsing a little.

“I did it!” she said delightedly, and the light flicked up into the trees ahead of her, lighting a path in the darkness.

“Good.” Rumplestiltskin sounded satisfied. “I was right. An excellent apprentice.”

Beaming to herself, Belle shoved the book back in her satchel and threw the strap over her shoulder.

“I’m going into the copse,” she said.

“Tell me what you see,” he said, as she walked beneath the branches of the trees at the outer edge. “If, as you say, the trail ends within, then the dagger must—”

His voice cut off, and Belle stopped, glancing around herself, her heart thumping. She had just stepped past the first of the trees, and could hear nothing but a faint rustling in the branches.

“Rumplestiltskin!” she called. “Rumplestiltskin!”

He didn’t reply, and nor did he appear before her. Belle thought quickly, then took several steps back.

“—should be simple enough,” he went on, and she wanted to heave a sigh of relief.

“I lost you,” she said. “In amongst the trees I can no longer hear you.”

“Ah.” He sounded regretful. “A fairy grove in truth, then. I cannot enter.”

Belle swallowed.

“Then I’m alone?”

“And extremely capable,” he said soothingly. “I have faith in you, my Lady. It’s an - interesting - if unfamiliar, feeling.”

She inhaled deeply, raising her chin.

“Then I had better get on with it, hadn’t I?” she said briskly. “Restoring the Dark One’s faith in humanity has to be an achievement of note, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Well, let’s not get carried away,” he said dryly. “Perhaps I merely have faith in you.”

It was said lightly, but the words made her smile.

“I’ll come back,” she promised. “I swear it.”

“I know.”

She turned back, stepping forward. Silence descended as she walked in amongst the trees, the ball of light shining on the path ahead of her. Holding the wand on her palm again, she whispered to it to point out anything that could harm her, but it indicated nothing other than a tree root. Perhaps the Blue Fairy feels safe here, she thought. If the Dark One can’t enter, perhaps no one with evil intent can, either.

The grove was certainly peaceful, a feeling of calm amongst the heavy trunks of the trees. She could see the blue, bell-shaped flowers that Rumplestiltskin had mentioned, scattered in clumps amongst the tiny, spear-shaped leaves, but she left them alone, focusing on the winding trail ahead. It rounded the trunk of a large tree, and Belle walked into a small clearing. Her mouth fell open as she looked around, the clearing filled with glowing spheres of light in a myriad of colours, hanging in the air all around the centre. At the heart of the clearing sat a stone well, its rim carved in looping fairy script. Belle frowned, reading it over. She had studied the fairy language, but it had been some time since she had translated anything, and it was a dialect she didn't recognise. There was a wooden cover set into the well, and she almost lifted it up before drawing back a hand and stepping backwards. Not so hasty, Belle.

Frowning to herself, she moved back from the centre of the clearing, looking around. The trail ended at the side of the well, so she presumed that the dagger was inside. The words around the rim were making her nervous, though, and she was reluctant to open the well without knowing what she faced. She decided to take a moment to think on her next steps, and turned her attention to the glowing spheres in the air around her. They were large enough to fit the palm of a hand, and made of what appeared to be polished crystal. At first Belle thought they were solid, but bending to peer at one showed strands of colour and soft lights inside, dancing and swirling. She reached out to touch one, her curiosity overwhelming. 

Pretty can kill just as easily as twisted and dark. Rumplestiltskin’s voice sounded in her head, a timely memory of his words, and she straightened up, snatching her hand back and shuddering a little. The spheres looked familiar, though, reminding her of something she had read. She slipped the satchel from her shoulder, opening it up and pulling out the book on fairy magic. Leafing through it, she slapped a hand against the page as she found what she was looking for.

“‘Orbs of Avalon have been traded for centuries by the pirates of Smugglers’ Cove’,” she read. “‘The Orbs are used to trap and transport fairies, and change hands for hefty prices. Families not assigned a fairy godmother of their own often purchase an Orb and the fairy it contains, to ensure the health and well-being of their child. The methods used by the pirates to trap such powerful magical beings are alas unknown. It is presumed that strong dark magic is involved, and there are rumours that the Dark One himself creates the Orbs’.”

Belle frowned in puzzlement, looking from the book up at the Orbs and back down again.

“But that doesn’t make sense,” she said aloud. “If these are used to trap fairies, why are they here, in a fairy grove? A fairy grove in the Dark Castle, no less, where the Dark One can't enter?”

She read a little further on in the chapter, and leafed through to the index of the book to see if she could find anything else on the Orbs or on the fairy script at the well, but there was nothing. Chewing her lip in vexation, she closed the book, shoving it in her satchel again, and clutched the wand in her hand. Hesitating only slightly, she held it up, feeling the power of light magic flow down her arm and into the wand as she pointed it at the nearest Orb, which glowed a warm and pleasant pink.

“Probably going to regret this,” she muttered, and took a deep breath. “Shatter!”

The Orb exploded.

Belle squeaked, ducking and covering her head with her arms as shards of crystal flew everywhere, and then something hit her with a thump, bearing her to the soft grass and knocking the breath from her. She struggled, arms tangling with someone else’s, and then all of a sudden the weight was lifted off her, and she blinked up into the soft light from the floating Orbs. A distressed young woman in a pink dress with shining brown hair and an agonised expression on her face was gazing down at her and wringing her hands.

“Oh!” she gasped, blinking rapidly. “Oh, my goodness! I’m so, so sorry, did I hurt you? Gosh, I’m so clumsy!”

#fic: key to the cell #rumbelle fic #rumbelle #dark castle rumbelle #my fic

[ansgar-martinsson]

The Best Intentions - Part 33

“Mmmm,” Ansgar’s moan echoed in the chamber of his throat, long and languid – a canticle of desire, of gratitude, of relief. He couldn’t help himself. He pushed off the car’s bonnet and whirled, grasping her head between his two large hands. He curled his fingers like claws into her hair, and he consumed her, lips and mind and body and soul, like the hell-beast he was.

Birdsong and wind made music in the air around him. The late afternoon sun waned off in the western distance, and the breeze carried the pastoral scents of fresh cut grass and linnea.

But Ansgar Martinsson knew none of it.

He knew nothing but the woman. Nothing but Joline. Nothing but the wet heat of her lips, the slide of her tongue, the rose perfumed scent-flavor of her, the delicious give and take and push and pull of her body against his, the way she bent like a reed in his arms, molding herself to him, the way her arms caged him, blocked out all sound from his ears, the way her fingers clutched like those of a drowning sailor’s in his hair.

The way she moaned when he touched her skin, the way she cried out and sang hymns of praise into his mouth when he worshipped her, when he gave her his offering, when he sang his own Laus et Jubilato to her.

And there, in all of creation, in the outdoors, in the seclusion of the deserted, heavy grove of summer trees, he made love to her.

He lifted her, tucking his arms beneath her back and her knees, and he carried her to her place, the spot she’d pointed out–  the shadowy glen between a massive oak and a thatch of reedy, white birch. The spot was clean, green and without stones or patches of dirt. Just a blanket of thick, manicured grass, and he laid her gently upon it.

He laid her upon it, and he gazed down at her, his eyes nearly in tears from the heat, from the pressure of desire within them. She returned his stare, her own eyes glossy and glassy and heady, her mouth slack and loose, her dark hair fanned out like a halo around her head.

His body lowered to hers, covered her, hid her from the eyes of Heaven and the rest of the world. He brushed his fingers with a delicate, reverent touch over her forehead, her closed eyelids, down her nose, over her lips, and he lingered there. Lingered at her lips, tracing the reddening, maddening line of them once, twice, three times before replacing his fingers with his mouth - open and hungry and needy.

Tongue and fingers explored her simultaneously, one from above, one from beneath, and Ansgar gasped in her mouth. Gasped with the surprise, with the knowledge, with the sensation of a significant lack of fabric beneath her skirt.

He gasped and she chuckled, smirking beneath his lips.

“You absolute fiend,” Ansgar growled, caressing his nose over her cheek. “You seductress. You’ve been without your knickers like this all day, haven’t you.”

“Look what you could have missed out on, big man,” she teased, wrapping her arms up and over his head. “Remember this for the next time.”

“Oh,” Ansgar huffed. “I will always remember this, believe me, darling. Always.”

And with that, he pushed her skirt up, up, up over her hips, exposing her manicured sex to him. “Christ, you’re wanton,” he whispered. “Look at you, lying there with your legs spread, your blouse askew, your hair a mess, on the grass.”

“On a hillside. In Uppsala,” she grinned. “What’s the difference?”

“Someone may see us,” Ansgar sang. “See you all… naked. Exposed… like you are.”

She ran fingers up her thigh, toying with the crest of hair at the apex between her legs. “You mean, someone may see me do this?” She plunged two fingers in between, curling them into her own sex. She let her head fall back, her eyes rolling up as she brought her wet fingertips out to swirl at the top of her desire.

Ansgar groaned as she pumped herself more and more. His eyes remained fixated upon her theft, her invasion of his territory, her self-stolen-ministrations. His jaw was slack and heavy, eyes narrowed and intent, breaths coming heavier… and heavier… and heavier. His cock twitched, pounding its heartbeat against his cotton shorts like a strait-jacketed madman in a padded cell.

Shorts which he, with quick yet fumbling fingers opened and shoved down his legs. With a possessive growl, he lurched forward, grabbing roughly at her sinful fingers. “No! That’s mine! You don’t touch that,” he gnarled. “Mine.”

She laughed. “Then come get it.”

He threw her hand to the side and with a swift arch of his body, he shoved his hips deep – and he entered her. “Aaaaah… fuuuuuuck.” He entered her and he reveled in the heat and the throbbing pressure and softness around his flesh. He let forth with a violent, eye-clenching, teeth-baring roar and held himself there, panting, his full length slid into her. He threw his head back, muscles arched like a strung bow. His arms were taut, straining, and locked, and his legs quivered beneath him.

“Mmmmmm….” she hummed, her hands snaking around to clutch at his bared bottom. “Yes. That’s… yes!”

“Ah, God! Joline!” he grit through clenched teeth. He hissed, and slowly pulled himself back, rolling his hips on a steamed breath like the piston of a steady engine, each long stroke accompanied by a feral moan.

“Ansgar,” she said breathily, crawling her hands up his body, pressing against his chest, covering his heart, willing it to beat its rhythms for her. “Ansgar, look at me. Please.”

And he did. He looked down, opened his eyes, and glared wide-eyed, fully intent upon her. “Joline. God help me, I –” he began, the ability to speak all but stolen from him. “I… I… am… I am… Oh, Christ!”

Joline. God help me but I am… falling in love with you.

Joline asked, implored, begged for him to look at her, and what she saw when he did, what she felt in his wide, nearly black and rounded eyes tore her apart. Ruined her. Destroyed her. The first time they were in bed together she’d asked for him to do just that, and he’d made good on it. She hadn’t meant for it in this way, nor had he intended in this way. But what she saw, what she felt, tender, affectionate, consideration and generously passionate intimacy… and hers!

Rosie had been wrong. It was personal, this attraction between Ansgar and Joline, but her affections for him had grown beyond tolerance, beyond that of a professional co-worker, beyond that of her shallow sexual attraction to him, beyond that of her appreciation of his willingness to help her in her time of need, beyond that of their sexual compatibility. She didn’t like him; that wasn’t strong enough. The emotion, the weakness, the phantom ache that kept creeping back wasn’t like. It was far deeper, something wholly personal and entirely hers.

In all her protestations and denials and barriers, she’d fallen for him. She’d fought but she’d lost long before their eyes locked as they made love in her favorite place, the plush carpet of green lawn beside a pond in Uppsala. She didn’t care if someone else saw them, her only concern was pleasing him, pleasuring him, loving him.

Joline would think about the consequences later, whether she was only a rebound, or a bit of fun while he healed, or a good lay for a few nights until he moved on.

Her hands curled under his arms and splayed over his shoulders, pressing him down into her. She needed him closer, more immediate, more intimate. He spread himself out over the top of her, her body sandwiched between his massive weight and the soil of their motherland. He cupped the sides of her head like a pillow. The only movement came from their hips, that primitive, carnal dance of lovers. She rocked her hips and tipped her sex to accept his languid strokes into her. His undulating center pressed into her core in time with his accelerating pulse.

“Ans…gar…I…I…” Her speech broken by the placement of his cock into her. Her brain simply couldn’t form the words she wanted to say, those words to express what she felt. Then being with him, in this way, wasn’t about her. Not only about her. “Yessss…yesss…ah…God…”

Rapture dug into her before Joline was prepared for it to come and claim her. Her body betrayed her and she surrendered to the pleasure she experienced with him. It was unlike anything she felt before, physically or emotionally. She cried out her ecstasy, her entire body seizing and releasing. Her arms and legs clenched around him as the source of her euphoric crisis and in her need to share it with him.

Ansgar saw the clench of her sex around him on her face before he felt it. Her beautiful face had gone slack and a veil of… of… something undefinable cleared from her eyes in that insanely gorgeous moment. He, like her, felt the betrayal in his body… the icy heat in his lower back, the maddening clutch in his balls, and the raging pressure in his cock to give Joline what she wanted. And give it, he did with a final grunt and violent press forward. He growled into the cushion of her breasts, mewling like the defeated lion cat he was. She purred possessively underneath him, stroking his spine, her claws withdrawn from the high.

“Minx,” he mumbled into the folds of her skin and the cotton material of her blouse that had stayed on in their need and urgency to be together. “Vixen.”

Airiy, she laughed, her body too sexed and mushed to commit to it. “How many more can you come up with?”

He paused, his mind wiped almost entirely clear of anything but the calm in his body, that syrupy numbing buzz. “Mine.”

Her fingers on his back moved into his hair and combed through his mussed up curls. “Entirely.” More than you’ll ever know, Ansgar Martinsson. More than you’ll ever know.

Gingerly he lifted his head to gaze down into her eyes. “You planned that, having your wicked way with me.”

“Hoped,” she corrected. “Hoped, and left ample opportunity. Who knew it would take you that long to touch me like that? You got close a number of times on the drive here.”

“I was distracted, by your bare legs, your mouth-watering cleavage, and your sucking me off in the carpark.”

One side of her mouth quirked up into a silly lopsided grin. “All foreplay, Casanova. All for you to get your fingers on me and notice that I’d gone without knickers - for you.”

“Temptress… Jezebel… my siren.” He uttered between fluttering kisses across her lips.

She giggled. “You’ve found your words again. I think that means that our journey to Uppsala was a successful one.”

Ansgar gently withdrew from her body and dropped upon the grass beside her, moving into a seated position. He offered a hand to help her sit up too. As he tucked himself back into his shorts and tugged his shirt back into place, he broached the subject, “Are you okay, Joline?”

She combed her fingers through her hair, straightening the strands, and pulling a piece of summer fluff from it. Ansgar too pulled a few blades of grass from her mane. “About this? What… fucking in the grass?” Her heart skipped a beat and shriveled for having said it. What they’d done had been so much more than that, but brave face. She assumed she’d passed the point of no return alone. She couldn’t impose on him; she offered her body, he couldn’t know that she’d given him more than that.

“I was referring to today, as a whole. Are you okay? Aside from our row, your brother and the unfortunate rumor mill, are you all right? You… your…“ he searched for the best description without hurting her. "You were distracted by… something…”

"You noticed that, did you?” She sighed as he helped her to her feet. She shimmied her skirt down to an acceptable level, and straightened her blouse, wondering if she had any grass stains on her back. “A brush with my sister-in-law is all. She can be… a bit much. She’s so dedicated to her family, and it works for her, and it’s great.“ She glanced off in the distance to a golfer lining up and wiggling to the eleventh hole. "She has trouble defining anyone else, any female who doesn’t devote herself to a husband and kids. I always feel like I’ve committed ultimate sin in divorcing. That was a right choice for me, but she can’t understand that.” Frustratingly, she shook her head. “I feel like a failure in her eyes for the choices I’ve made.”

#the best intentions

[cartoonfangirl1218]

Winner’s Curse: Ch 1

Note: Thanks as usual to @edream93

“BRIIIIIIIIING!”

The teaming mob of students raced out of class, eager to soak in the precious few hours of free time and relaxation they had before mandatory curfew.

Ever since the events at Cotillion, Auradon Prep had been taking extra measures to keep the students safe and prevent another villain invasion.

Those extra measures included students having to be ID whenever entering the premises. Several assemblies of FG lecturing that “If you see something suspicious, report it.”

In Jordan’s opinion, all of these measures were incredible stupid and weren’t going to stop a villain from invading.

It was like they didn’t know villains operated on their own rules. A VK would probably get a fake card or just sneak in when the guard was on a break.

Please, she had been sneaking in and out when the guard was off duty so she wouldn’t have to attend chemistry class since freshman year and no one had ever caught her.

So not only were these extra precautions asinine, but they were sucking the fun out of everything. They had curfew at 10 pm!

“No sense. They have no sense. When several villains have magic, all magic must be banned. When two villains invade Auradon, we have to get punished.” Jordan mumbled to herself as she shoved her books into her sling-on.

She was seriously considering the pros and cons of getting detention if she was caught levitating her schoolbooks instead of using a sling-bag when an obnoxiously loud voice bellowed next to her.

“That’s exactly what I’VE been saying! Thank you for agreeing with me, Jordan!”

Jordan’s head snapped up and collided with the head of the voice.

Prince Chad Charming, the greatest jerk in the land. At least in her opinion. Or in the opinion of half of the female population who had been strung along by him. She hadn’t been one of the many who fallen under his sway, she just disliked him on principle.

“Excuse me?” Jordan hissed, rubbing her head.

“It’s not fair that we get punished because the VKs live here now. We are law-abiding citizens, the VKs should be the ones being under watch. Not us. Father and I have been trying to get FG to get rid of these stupid rules and focus on the Vk problem.” Chad said, holding out his hand for a fist-pump.

Jordan glared at his offending hand that sparkled with not one-but two golden rings that had the Charming Family crest etched into a sapphire jewel.

“There isn’t a VK problem. There’s a common sense problem among-” Jordan began to say when Chad interrupted with a derisive snort.

“No VK problem? Dude, ever since Ben invited those delinquents we’ve had attack after attack. Maleficent at Coronation. Ursula’s spawn at Cotillion. We never had problems before they came around. And now Ben’s dating Maleficent’s daughter. This whole country is going into ruins.” Chad gesticulated widely, spreading his arms in a grand show that reminded Jordan of videos she had seen of Judge Frollo preaching.

“Cotillion happened six months ago, no one died. You weren’t even there. You were with Audrey at the spa or-”

“I saw the pictures.” Chad put a finger on her lips to silence her, “No one got hurt, but a lot of expensive clothes were ruined because of all the splashing. And that’s another thing about the Vks. Everyone has gotten dirtier, and less respectful of ermine.” Jordan slapped Chad’s finger away from her mouth.

Though she was aware of Chad’s deep VK prejudice, she had thought he would have toned it down since his step-cousin had come over from the Isle. Then again, he probably thought the Dizzy coming to Auradon was a huge inconvenience on his life. Like his laundry WAS taking twice as long or something because of her mere presence.

Jordan finished shoving her books into her bag and looked up to see that Chad was still looking at her expectantly. As if she had any opinion to add on people’s respect towards ermine.

She might as well annoy him, it gave her pleasure to think of the offended face Chad always made whenever she, or anyone, disagreed with him.

“I don’t know about people getting dirtier, but their hairstyles sure have gotten better since Dizzy came. You really should go visit her. Maybe get rid of your perm.” Chad’s boyish grin dropped completely and his eyes went into little slits as he tried to think up of a witty comeback.

“I’ll have you know my perm was done by-”

Jordan rolled her eyes. Getting in trouble be damned, she was out of there, “I’m done. Bye!”

She snapped her fingers and immediately transported herself and her bags to outside the gym and startled Lonnie who was just exiting the doorway of the locker room.

The Asian girl immediately went into a defensive stance then relaxed when she saw it was her.

“Is Aziz here?” Jordan asked.

“Yeah, I think he’s just washing up. How are you?” Lonnie questioned, casually leaning against the wall.

Jordan bit her lip. Ah small talk, her arch-nemesis.

She was horrible at small talk with people that she barely interacted with. It either devolved into polite questions about the other person’s day or awkward silences.

There was no solid topic that they had in common to talk about. Sure, there was school but that was school. Bore-ing! And while she can go the fashion route she knew Lonnie and hers taste were nothing alike. Lonnie preferred comfy athletic clothes and she went for glamor and form-fitting.

This is why she preferred to talk to people within the confines of her show. Straight into an interview, question and answer. Boom. Boom. She liked things to the point and small talk was so...meandering.

“Um I- I’m fine?” Jordan replied, looking down to rifle through the books in her bags. Hoping that Lonnie would get the hint that she clearly was too busy to talk.

“Really? You don’t seem so sure about that.” Lonnie said playfully, clearly not going to let the conversation stall.

“Uh huh.” Jordan mumbled, looking very very slowly at the items in her bag which was not a easy task since she had only three books in there and a bunch of gossip magazines.

“You know I really liked your latest show. You know, the one where you interviewed Jay about the events at Cotillion. It was too bad Ben and Mal couldn’t comment because of “public relations” but Jay’s was very interesting. Especially those little stories he told about when he knew Uma on the Isle. Mal and hers’ rivalry was so dramatic. I had no idea that-”

“Did I hear my name?” Jay came out from the doorway followed by Carlos and Aziz and Jordan almost sighed in relief that the former thief saved her from continuing this dreaded small talk.

“Yes. Jordan and I were just talking about your interview and the stories you told about Uma.” Lonnie replied and Jordan felt a tiny bit guilty that Lonnie gave her credit for talking rather than monosyllabic answers.

“Ugh Uma.” Carlos shuddered.

Jay laughed, punching him in the arm,“Dude, she’s not that terrifying. She’s Shrimpy, remember?”

“Yeah, but that was before we found out she could turn into a sea monster.” Carlos crossed his arms.

Aziz sauntered over to Jordan’s right side, and jokingly nudged her shoulder. He smiled brightly with the white teeth that was so similar to Aladdin, Jordan was surprised not more people mistakenly call him Prince Ali.

“This is what we get for skipping big events. We miss Maleficent’s attack, we miss Uma’s attack-”

“I think I prefer seeing babies than villains invading Auradon.” Jordan smiled, grateful that Aziz finally came.

Now Aziz was someone she could talk to. He was her brother, her best friend and she swore that if she was going to have to love one boy in the whole world for the rest of her life, it would be Aziz. No matter how annoying he could be with his pranks, and gross humor, and plain getting on her nerves. He had her back just as she had his.

It was not a fairytale romance, far from it. Like with Aladdin and Jasmine’s sex life... getting on with Aziz? Ewww!

The joke people tell about how she and Aziz were the modern day Aladdin and Genie and she had to admit, they were right. She’d totally spend the entireity of his life by his side as his sidekick and voice of reason.

“Babies being born?” Carlos cocked his head. “My eldest sister gave birth just the day before Cotillion. And before that, we had to go home for the baby shower and miss Ben’s Coronation.” Carlos still looked confused since he wasn’t fully debriefed on the Agrabah royal family tree as Jay had been after coming to Auradon.

Aladdin and Jasmine had two daughters born before the Great Uniting, Zahrat Alquemar was the eldest at 23 and Cassima was the second oldest at 20. Jordan had been born a year after Cassima, during the Great Uniting.

Following Cassima 4 years later had been Aziz who was born after the Great Uniting and thus used to all the luxuries of olive groves next to Agrabah via the Wall of China divided the two countries and being educated at Auradon Prep for most of his life.

So there they were, Zahrat, Cassima, Aziz, the heirs to Agrabah and the shining jewels of the kingdom.

Surprise, surprise 9 years later, there were too more jewels to the royal crown. Jasmine had twins, Amal and Noor.

The twins were obviously an accidental pregnancy considering the large gap, though no one would say that out loud in conservative Auradon. Besides Aziz, and his sisters didn’t particularly like to muse on the implication that Aladdin and Jasmine still had an active sex life. It was just gross.

Now Zahrat had given birth to her first son, Fahran. The birth would would have been on the Auradon World Wide News, but since Uma’s thwarted invasion of Cotillion happened, it was a mere footnote that no one knew about.

Unlike the rest of the Auradon population, Jay had gotten the news a day later even though he had never met the family face to face. Aladdin had told her and Aziz to get Jay to come since it would have been a good opportunity for Jay to meet the whole royal family, but they hadn’t found him in time since he had apparently been on the Isle of the Lost. So they sent this news via email.

Aladdin and Jasmine had been trying very hard to include Jay into the family. They had never been for the Isle and since Ben’s proclamation, they had been doing their best to contact Jay. Aladdin, especially. He had a deep urge to talk to Jay about his life on the Isle and the conditions there that were so similar to his life as a street rat. He always said that if it weren’t for Jasmine, he would be as bad as Jay so he didn’t judge the boy as harshly as so many royals did think of Vks.

So far they had not met, and Aladdin was starting to suspect that Jay didn’t want to meet him or be in Agrabah. Jordan was suspicious about that too. Though Jay always seemed interested when she and Aziz talked about it there and made non commital agreements that he should really visit. It never seemed to pan out...

“I have two older sisters, and a younger brother and sister.” Aziz explained to the white haired teen, “That’s why I don’t take any royal classes since my sisters are going to have the throne before I do.”

Jordan nodded her head sagely, carefully watching Aziz’s face for any signs of overt nonchalantness or sounding too casual about the information. She knew that even though Aziz had no desire to become Sultan, he still agonized over the fact that he had no idea what to do with his life and that he had no real career paths like other royal students who had their lives planned out to the last detail.

Right now, he didn’t seem too bothered as he stated the fact but Jordan could swear that his smile was a bit too forced around the edges.

“Anyway..” Jordan decided to step in with the little small talk ability she had before the conversation veered into uncomfortable territory, “What are you guys going to do this afternoon?”

“We’re just going to the field and practice some tourney.” Jay answered, slapping Lonnie on the shoulder, “We’re going to bulk her up so she can be the first girl on the tourney team and Captain of the R.O.A.R. team.” Aziz gave Jordan a look with one sardonically raised eyebrow that telepathically conveyed his thought. “You see what I’m seeing?” Jordan observed at the couple. Ahem..the two friends.

Jay had his arm casually slung across Lonnie’s shoulder in a way that totally could have been a platonic friend move, but the fact that the two had been spending a lot of time together doing one on one training sessions followed by eating out made the general public suspect there was something more underneath. And seeing Lonnie’s ear to ear smile and Jay’s playful winks as she brushed his long hair off her shoulder- Jordan suspected all the rumors were true. Or the rumors were going to become true if neither had made a move yet.

Jordan made a small half-smile in response, “Oh yes! They are so into each other.”

“I have a date with Jane at the courtyard a 3:30.” Carlos said, oblivious to the silent conversations around him.

“Uh Carlos? It’s 3:40 now. Training went a little overtime.” Lonnie said showing him her watch. The younger teen turned so pale that his freckles disappeared. It reminded Jordan of the starving dogs she had seen on the streets of Agrabah. Small, panicky with waves of fear radiating off of him.

Almost tipping over himself with his torso moving faster than his body, Carlos turned and ran off, crashing into strolling students in is desperation to not be late to his very important date.

“Wow. I didn’t expect him to get so..” Aziz trailed off, unsure of how to describe the skittishness that the boy possessed and the fear that radiated off of him when he realized he made a simple mistake.

Jay’s face was sober as he stared at the walkway Carlos had run off on. “Yeah, he gets like that. living with his mom makes him...sensitive to getting people mad.”

The Auradonians nodded their heads knowledgeably, as if they knew what Jay was talking about yet aware that there was so much that they didn’t know about Carlos and Jay’s former life on the Isle and the pain that occurred there.

After a moment of silence Lonnie tried to change the subject. “What are you two going to do before curfew?”

“I was thinking we could go out clubbing?” Jordan answered looking at Aziz for confirmation.

“Sure! I wanna have dinner at Little Agrabah before heading out though.” Aziz said enthusiastically.

“Clubbing? But-but all the clubs are for adults only.” Lonnie stammered.

“I am 22, a legal adult. In human years at least. And since I’m going to a human club, I give them that age.” Jordan said proudly.

“They can’t actually believe you, right? You look 17.” Jay scoffed.

“They do. It’s easy for me to change make my facial features look more mature, you know, having phenomenal cosmic powers and all. But then some adult would rat me out for the underagedness and the magic use. So I just go as my mom, and then security lets Aziz in too because I’m the “parental supervision.”

Jay and Lonnie stared at her disbelievingly in silence.

Well silence and a small not very quiet whisper from Jay to Lonnie, “She has a mom?”

“You don’t get to see it often because of the Magic Ban, but she can change into anyone she wants.” Aziz smirked and Jordan smugly flipped her ponytail.

“Not anyone.” Jordan clarified, “All the men I turn into look too feminine to be convincing. But females, no problem. One time Audrey bailed on a presentation Doug and Aziz were doing about-what minerals? I went as Audrey, no one knew the difference. FG didn’t even know the difference and she’s a magic user.”

“To be fair, you did a great show of freaking out when Doug got dirt on your dress just like the real Audrey would have done,” Aziz pointed out.  

Jay closed his mouth abruptly and challenged her, “Prove it.”

“Fine, I’ll do someone you know.” Jordan waved her hands over herself and a puff of pink sparkles sprang from her fingertips. She felt her face and bones shift, and ripple as she became more petite, more muscular and her pink streaks fade away to pure black.

Lonnie gasped at Jordan’s new look as her identical twin. She had even changed her flashy clothes to a R.O.A.R. uniform.

“Believe me now?” Jordan/Lonnie crossed her arms.

Jay did a slow-clap and wolf-whistled, further confirming Jordan’s suspicions that the former VK had a crush on the warrior’s daughter.

Satisfied by their reaction Jordan transformed into her mother. A simple task since she had done it so many times over the years and the fact that she and her mother looked very alike. Just a few facial tweaks like a button nose, and higher cheekbones, voila, she was a new woman.

To make the transformation complete she changed into her mother’s full genie form. Wispy bottom half, pointed ears, green skin and infamous golden wrist cuffs.

Technically her parents were no longer allowed to appear that way because of the Magic Ban; they had to adjust to looking and living like a human like all the other immortal creatures and fae. But her parents tended to take things like rules more as “suggestions.”

Assessing her new form as a perfect replica as well as perfectly sexy in her gauzy white high-low skirt and matching crop top, she hooked arms with Aziz, “Ready to go?”  

“Have fun, clubbing then.” Lonnie waved.

“Oh we will!” Jordan chirped using an overly-enthusiastic tone which was her parents’ default mode.

Just as Jordan, Aziz, Lonnie and Jay were about to turn away from each other, they heard a voice filled with sarcastic amusement, “I know people say we look like sisters, but this is a bit too on the nose.”

The four turned around and Jordan almost did a double-take.

She didn’t know what shocked her more. The fact that her mom was here at Auradon Prep!

Or the fact that her mom was in her human form.

Her mom NEVER came to AP since her parents’ presence at the Academy tended to put FG in a tizzy due to their constant disregard for her rules.

To add to the shock was that her mother’s choice of mortal clothes was exactly the same as Jordan’s clubbing outfit.

A gauzy pink high-low skirt, and matching pink lace crop top that would have been perfect for the hot weather of Agrabah yet in Auradon Prep, it only served as a chance for the entire student body to see her mom’s chest in danger of popping out if she happened to bounce.

Not that it would ever come to fruition. One of the great magical perks was that clothes never fell off of you or flew up at embarrassing moments. Much to the disappointment of most male populations when her mom was concerned.

Jordan managed to close her mouth and inhale deeply. It was weird to see her as a mortal. Discounting the impossible hourglass figure, her mom looked pretty normal. Olive skin tone, amber eyes. Even the green streaks in her hair, the only hint to her true skin color, seemed more like she was following the latest trend of “edgy Vk-like” style that  had come over the teen population.

Before Jordan could get any words out her mom swept her up into a big hug, then stepped back to look at her, “It’s like looking in a mirror! Oh, Desiree, you’ve been holding out on me. I didn’t know you could do this. Wait till I tell your dad, he’ll be so happy!”

Jordan bit back the instinctive snarky response she thought of in her head as she listened to her mother’s squeals of delight. “I’ve been shapeshifting into you for years. Maybe if our parent-child bonding time lasted more than a few days at a club, you would have seen me use my powers much sooner.”

All she managed to get out was, “Please don’t call me Desiree in public. I’ve told you a thousand times, call me Jordan.”

“Sorry, I forgot. Jordan? If you had to choose a human name, that one is kinda boring but that’s just me. Anyway, this is just wonderful!” Her mom said before moving on to hug Aziz, “It’s been forever, little man!”

“It’s been six months,” Aziz mumbled with his face pressed firmly into her shoulder.

“Six months only? That’s can’t be right. Then again my sense of time has never been that good. One time I was released by that Frenchman I told you about, the whole time I had thought it was the year 700 B.C. The next time I got released, I got my hands on a calendar and it turned out that was 700 B.C. I was with the Frenchmen during 500 B.C.” Once her little monologue finished, her mom seemed to have caught onto the presence of the two other teens. Who currently did not seem to know what to make of the talkative locomotion that had arrived.

Her mother gasped, and her jaw literally dropped to touch the ground before snapping back up like a window shade and enthusiastically shook his hand.

“Is this Jay iban Jafar!? Are you sure? I mean...I never met the guy, I’ve just seen his pictures but how did this cutie come from that man? I mean, Jay’s hot! Is he Mozonroth’s son? It seems more likely he’s Mozonroth’s son. Yes, I hate the man and he’s pure evil but I have to admit his hotness. I know the guy covered his whole body with robes, but I imagined he had a Adonis physique underneath. Just something about him screamed “sexy” in a I-don’t-know- whether- to-kill-you-or- ravish-you sort of way. I told you, he sounded like he flirted with everyone. But maybe that’s because of his low voi-”

“MOM!” Jordan groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose while Jay rubbed his arm from the vigorous up-and-down motions.

Yet another reason why FG didn’t like her parents to come to Auradon Prep. They had zero filter or tact of any kind. If it popped into their heads, they said it. Like this embarrassing aside about the hotness levels of Jay, Jafar and Mozenrath.

“Hey, I’ve been around for 2,000 years,  I know when a guy is hot when I see one.” Her mom shot back with an eye-roll at Jordan’s mouthed “Please shut up now.”

With the attention briefly not directed at him, Jay regained his standard confident smirk, “Thank you, Mrs-”

“Eden.” Her mom answered with a wink that Jay instinctively returned.

“Eden,” Jay purred and Aziz choked back a laugh at the older boy’s obvious posturing, “I’ve been called hot by many people but not so many as gorgeous as yourself.”

Her mom smirked back at him, “That was a cute line. But you have long ways to go if you think only that will have girls melting at your feet. I’ve heard better.”

Jay took her brush-off in stride, probably because he was concerned with using his willpower to not let his eyes linger too long on Eden’s breasts. Well, long enough for anyone to notice.

Eden finally turned to Lonnie, “And I don’t think we have met?” Lonnie seemed to be surprised by Eden’s change of attention towards her, but recovered quickly, “I’m Lonnie, daughter of Fa Mulan and-” “General Shang.” Eden finished, “Nice to meet you too. I’ve seen you do those R.O.A.R. competitions on tv, you’re so fierce.”

“Thanks.” Lonnie blushed modestly.

“So Eden,  is Genie with you? Why are you here?” Aziz asked and Jordan nodded mutely next to him. “Genie’s here. He’s giving the security guard our ID as if someone else can pretend they’re genies with phenomenal cosmic power. I was supposed to go the FG’s office, but I got lost. This no magic thing is so hard.” Eden complained.

“How do you not know how to get around without magic?” Lonnie asked disbelievingly. Sure, Auradon Prep had extensive grounds, but it was tiny compared to other castles like the Charmings. “I usually just transport myself to where I want to go.” Eden admitted, “I don’t walk or use maps. That’s for mortals. I’m genie, made out of magic, and they want me NOT to use it? It’s ridiculous.”

“I know! Is that why you’re here to complain to FG again? Because she’s not going to change her mind and change the rules. Just like she wasn’t going to use dad’s idea to implement a water park for Ariel’s birthday.” Jordan pointed out.

“I know that, sweetheart. As for why your father and I are here. . . Uh don’t worry. It doesn’t have anything to do with you.” Eden looked to Jordan and Jordan immediately thought of another comment she wished to say.

“Wouldn’t imagine it. Nothing you ever do has concern for me.”

“Then what is it about?” Aziz asked.

Like a lightbulb, Eden’s enthusiasm immediately dimmed and shifted uneasily, “It’s a..meeting about things. Private magical things. Nothing to do with the school. It was nice seeing you. Can you direct me to FG’s office?” Eden answered vaguely.

At the word “magical” and “nothing to do with school,” Jordan’s attention was riveted and her mind swirled with all the possibilities of what her mom could mean.

“Is it about the Magic Ban? Are you trying to get it overturned again? Please let me come! I want to help. It will be like parent-child bonding time only we’re not partying. It’ll be better than partying, we will have our freedom back.”

Eden stared at her like a deer in the headlights at Jordan’s request. “This is an adult matter. For creatures who have experience and complete mastery of their powers. It would be much too dangerous if you get involved. Again, it has nothing to do with you.” Jordan snorted, letting some of the snark that she swallowed back come out in full force.

“Don’t be a hypocrite and start acting like a concerned mom for my well-being. Besides, I do have mastery of my powers. You said so, yourself, you knew everything you needed to know after you granted your first three wishes. I’ve granted at least more than 50. Take me along.” Eden’s deer in the headlights look faded into one of confusion and anger at Jordan’s statement. “How dare you call me a hypocrite! I care about your well-being. . . And will you change to your regular form? I feel ridiculous scolding myself.” Eden retorted.

Jordan easily obliged, continuing her argument all the while, “No, you don’t! You said, “I grew up without parents and I turned out great. We’re genies, we don’t die, we don’t get injured. You don’t need me around.” Remember? That’s why you and dad gave the parenting rights to Aladdin and Jasmine.”

Eden looked helplessly at her, “Please don’t tell me you took that personally! We still hang out, I love you-”

“Of course I took it personally! You had me, you got bored parenting and then dumped me.” Jordan cut her off.

Eden cringed at her daughter’s harsh interpretation of the facts, “. . .Genies are meant to grant wishes, we’re not meant to be parents. Besides-” “Exactly!” Jordan hissed, “So you don’t get to use the parent excuse that you are concerned for my well-being. Just tell me what this magical meeting is about. I’m magical, it concerns me.”

Eden refused to look at her and snapped her fingers, “I don’t need to listen to this. We’ll chat later when you’re in a better mood.”

One green poof and she was gone.

The space where her mother had been was replaced by Aziz’s, Lonnie’s, and Jay’s, respectively concerned, pitying and curious gazes.

Jordan gulped back the lump of fury and resentment that had built up in her throat and forced a smile, “Fine, she doesn’t want tell me. Doesn’t matter. Who wants to sneak into that magical, private meeting with me?”

Lonnie ignored her question, “Are you okay? I didn’t know that your parents-”

“It’s fine. We’ve been arguing over this since I was seven. There’s really no solution besides the arrangement we have.” Jordan shrugged, taking a deep inhale to keep down the inappropriate sarcastic laughter inside.

It was not a big deal.

Yes, she loved Jasmine and Aladdin and how she had become ingrained into their family dynamics. Her childhood had been filled with so many adventures and vacations with them. 

They treated her as if she was as mortal as them. Zahrat and Cassima acted as her wise, older sisters who were always there for a makeover or advice. Aziz was her partner in crime. And she personally adored Amal and Noor and would kill anyone who tried to harm them.

She loved them as her family. Yet she still wished, that if she could transplant Aladdin and Jasmine’s parenting skills, their dependability, their actual interest in her academic and social life, their ability to talk about the deep subjects, to her parents... well she would be willing to have only consider them to be her cousins.

Instead she had her imperfect, flighty, oblivious parents.

Her imperfect parents who got bored when parenting was no longer about baby clothes and homemade videos.

She resented how whenever she brought up their choice  they would either ignore the uncomfortable conversation or tried to distract her with fun day activities.

And yes, she did resent the explanation that they did give. They preferred absolute freedom before family responsibility.

It was not something she liked to think about often, Nor did she particularly like the current situation of two non-family strangers witnessing her family affairs.

But that was done now. She supposed she might as well follow her bio parent’s steps and pretend it was no big deal.

“It’s fine.” Jordan repeated before clapping her hands together, “Now it’s clear that we’ll have to sneak into this meeting through the old-fashioned way. The air ducts.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Aziz sidled up to her and whispered in her ear, “If you want to talk later, my door’s open.”

“I know, but that’s not the point now.” Jordan whispered back, and turned her attention towards Lonnie and Jay and raised an eyebrow, “Are you going to join or not?”

#jordan #aziz #jay #lonnie #eden #disney descendants #winner’s curse #chapter one #my fanfic #my fanfiction

[daedriclorde]

Krent Mon Do Akatosh

Homecoming; Chapter 1, “Forged By Fire and Steel”

Read it here on Ao3!

Riften.

The old woman’s raspy whisper echoed in Aerisif’s ears. The word had been rebounding in her mind since she had spoken with the contact two days ago. It made the pit in her stomach, that Aerisif could normally ignore, burn and twist.

Riften.

Aerisif sighed, and shifted in her saddle. Shadowmere continued to trek along through the snow, her red eyes igniting the clouds billowing from her nostrils. When the Night Mother told Aerisif to meet the bitter crone in Dawnstar, Aerisif thought she had landed an easy contract. She didn’t even need to travel to meet the contact and learn the specifics of her target. Could anyone a frail old woman wanted dead be a worthy adversary? Aerisif would be back within a few days, at most.

A bandit had killed this woman’s only daughter, and she wanted revenge. It was a story Aerisif heard often enough. But when she asked where to find the bandit, her heart nearly stopped.

Although that had been two days past, Aerisif had delayed in embarking on this journey. She had made claims to Nazir and Babette that she needed to rest, to heal, even to test the new recruits, before she could take on the next contract. They both accepted her excuses, but Aerisif expected that the shrewd pair saw them for what they were. Excuses. But her family would not confront her with their suspicions. They trusted Aerisif, as she had proven herself to them time and time again.

The real reason Aerisif dreaded this contract was not one she would share with her newfound family, although she felt that perhaps she ought to have. After all, Nazir and Babette were all the family she had left.

For however long they, or I, last, Aerisif thought.

They would not be the first family torn from Aerisif. Her birth family was stolen from her long, long ago, as a child in the Reach. Forsworn had raided her family’s farm while she had been out foraging in the mountains. Young Aerisif returned to find her home razed, the crops torched, and her family as desiccated corpses. Fire and steel had taken away all the child had ever known.

Soft snowflakes landed on Aerisif’s hood, and she pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders as she shivered. In this line of work, losing her Dark Brotherhood family was more likely than not. They had already lost most of the family when the Penitus Oculatus routed their Falkreath Sanctuary. Left as head of the family when Astrid burned, Aerisif moved the survivors to the newly discovered Dawnstar Sanctuary to rebuild. Fire and steel took most of this family, too.

The Brotherhood had been thriving in the recent months. Nazir’s first batch of recruits turned out to have a natural talent for assassination, and were able to be trusted with small contracts rather quickly. With all the unrest in Skyrim, tensions were at an all time high. Tension made for good business for the Dark Brotherhood.

They were so overwhelmed with contracts that it fell to Aerisif to see this one out. The new recruits were both out on assignment, and Nazir had his hands full training two new ones. Babette had to meet a contact in Morthal, and left the same day Aerisif met the woman in Dawnstar. So, Aerisif must travel to Riften to eliminate some damned outlaw.

Riften.

This time, a pair of piercing emerald eyes accompanied the thought. Aerisif felt her breath leave her with the image. She pulled her cloak closer around her again, but the cold she felt now was inside her.

Loss seemed to follow Aerisif everywhere she went. She had lost so many loved ones over the course of her life, that joining the Dark Brotherhood seemed natural. Aerisif felt no more.

The Dark Brotherhood was not Aerisif’s first adopted family. She remembered arriving to that world weary city of the Rift so many years ago. She had been a young woman, eager to start anew, and, as crossing Skyrim does to a traveller, low on coin. Aerisif had no real plan once she left the Reach, just to get as far away from it as she could. She had heard the trading caravans talk of the beauty of the Rift, and it was a whole hold away from her. It seemed like a fine goal.

Aerisif arrived at the Riften gates midday. Cautious, she took refuge in a grove of trees within hearing distance but out of sight of the gates. It sounded like the guards were collecting a fee from those who tried to enter the city.

Aerisif pulled out her coin purse. It had maybe, just maybe, enough for a room at the tavern, but no meal. There was no extra gold for greedy guards. Aerisif pocketed the coins and considered her options. She was too small in stature to look intimidating enough to get the guards to lay off her. But she had learned to use her size to her advantage on the cold, stoney streets of Markarth.

An orphan lived a rough life. Aerisif took refuge in a damp corner of the Warrens. She quickly learned to use her youth and innocence to guilt coin from passersby as a beggar, and this kept Aerisif fed for a number of years. Not well fed, but she had not starved to death. But time is cruel, and soon Aerisif look too grown to illicit sympathy for a child, and she found other means of collecting her coin.

Pockets are so much easier to pick as a slight, nimble figure. Aerisif could slip in and out of crowds unnoticed. She found her fingers to be quick with locks, too, and that the shadows cloaked her easily.

Aerisif discovered that she made a fair thief.

She was not without her blunders, though Aerisif often found that a sweet smile and remorseful eyes could often tempt a guard to forget what they had seen. In this too, this new stage of life, Aerisif found she could keep herself fed. And just a little better than she had as a beggar.

Behind the grove of birch trees, Aerisif sat and waited. She doubted she could smile her way out of that “visitor’s tax”. Luck must have been smiling upon her, because a trading caravan soon rumbled up the road to the city. One, two, three wagons rolled over the crest of the hill. Aerisif slipped out of sight and waited for her chance. As the third wagon rolled away from her hiding spot, she nimbly lifted herself into the back of the wagon and looked for something to cover herself with. As her hand found soft folds, she smiled again.

This wagon was full of furs. Aerisif quickly buried herself under the layers of furs, and hoped the guards would be lazy about searching the contents.

A moment later, the wagon rocked to a halt. Through the layers of furs, Aerisif heard the exchange.

“Halt, traveller. Before I left you in, you must pay the visitor’s tax.”

The Nord driving the lead wagon scoffed. “Visitor’s tax? I think not, my friend.”

The guard stiffened his tone. “Listen here, either you pay the visitor’s tax, or you can take your business elsewhere.” Aerisif held her breath. If this caravan left, her plan was in trouble.

The Nord sighed, clearly annoyed. “Then you can tell Jarl Laila Law-Giver that she can pick up her shipment in Shor’s Stone. See how pleased she is with that!”

The guard sputtered. “Right this way,” he muttered, and Aerisif heard the gates grind open.

Aerisif released her breath. Luck really was smiling on her today.

Once the last wagon crept through the city gates and she watched the guards pull them shut behind her, Aerisif slipped out of the wagon, and with a flick of her wrist, pulled the topmost fur off the pile and into her sack. She wanted to eat tonight.

“That’s a smooth move, lass,” The honeyed brogue made Aerisif jump out of her skin.

She spun around to find the source. A man with red hair, dressed in fine blue robes chuckled from the shadows. Aerisif put a hand on the hilt of her dagger.

“Now now, there’s no need for that lass. You don’t need to fear me calling the guards. But it looks to me like you could use some refinement.” He was leaning casually on a post, arms crossed, gazing lazily from the shade.

Aerisif squinted at the man and calculated. Could she trust him not to out her to the guards? She relaxed her hand from the hilt of her dagger. While on the road she had had to slit some throats to protect herself, but killing this man in the middle of the hold capitol was folly. Sighing, she approached him hesitantly.

“Refinement, you say?” Aerisif glanced around, but it seemed that there was no one nearby, and the people drifting around the market were too far away to hear or even see anything.

“Aye. It seems that you and I share a trade. Not that I would put that little stint on the same level as what I do, mind you.” Aerisif felt her blood boil and looked at the man’s face. She found a confident smirk on his face. And green eyes, clear like flawless emeralds, shining with playfulness. Aerisif quickly shook her gaze from his.

“And what is it exactly that you do?” Aerisif tried to hold herself in a way that was a confident and casual as this mans, but felt that she was not being successful.

“You could say that wealth is my business. Maybe you’d like a taste?”

Aerisif felt her stomach grumble. Yes, a taste of mead and a hot meal. She eyed the man again. She found intrigue on the man’s face and, what else? Was there more to that glint in his eye than gold?

“What did you have in mind?”

“I’ve got a bit of an errand to perform, and need an extra pair of hands. And in my line of work, extra hands are well paid.”

She eyed him calculatingly. “What do I have to do?”

“Simple. I’m going to cause a distraction and you’re going to steal Madesi’s silver ring from a strong box under his stand. Once you have it, I want you to place it in Brand-Shei’s pocket without him noticing.”Aerisif followed his gaze to the Argonian and Dark Elf in turn.

“Now, you tell me when you’re ready, and we’ll get started.”

Aerisif took a breath. Was this all happening? She hadn’t really had a plan for her new life in Riften, but starting out by thieving seemed…well, it seemed natural, really. It was what Aerisif had done most of her life now.

She turned back to the man. “I’m ready.”

The next few minutes were fuzzy in Aerisif’s memory. She remembered finding the strongbox easy to pick, but she hardly remembered how she crossed the bright, sunny market and found herself wedged between Brand-Shei’s stand and the stone half wall that encircled the market. Suddenly the silver ring was slipping into the elf’s pocket, and Aerisif stood. She realized where she was standing, and hoisted herself on the half wall, trying to look like she had casually perched there while listening to this stranger talk about…Falmerblood Elixir?

As the crowd dispersed, Aerisif slid off the wall and over to the smirking man. She found him expecting her. Aerisif told herself that her racing heart was due to the rush of committing a crime, nothing more.

“Looks like I chose the right person for the job. And here you go, your payment, just as I promised.” He slid a heavy handful of gold to Aerisif, who pocketed it quickly. The man looked away, and for the first time, Aerisif saw a more serious tint to his gaze as he looked off at a corner of the town. “And the way things have been going around here, it’s a relief our plan went off without a hitch.”

Aerisif frowned. “What’s been going on?”

The man spat, “Bah. My organization’s been having a run of bad luck, but I suppose that’s just how it goes. But never mind that, you did the job and you did it well. Best of all, there’s more where that came form…if you think you can handle it.” The playful, cocky spark had returned to the man’s green eyes.

Aerisif drew herself up tall. “I can handle it.” she smirked.

The man eyed her carefully. “Brynjolf,” he extended his hand.

She shook it. “Aerisif.”

“Aerisif…” Brynjolf seemed to roll her name around in his mouth, like he was tasting a fine mead. He turned to her. “If you can make it to the Ragged Flagon in the Ratway, we can discuss your employment with my other associates.”

And so Aerisif’s career as a member of the Thieves’ Guild began. She trained hard, working feverishly to improve her skills. She found that many in the Guild were like her, no family to speak of, came to Riften, some directly to the Theives’ Guild, to start a new life. Many of her new brethren were willing to help Aerisif build her skillset. Others, like Vex and Delvin, were willing to give her chances to prove herself.

And Aerisif thrived. She had been a fair thief in Markarth, and she became a master thief in Riften. She trusted the guild members, and they trusted her. Trusted her to handle special tasks that required a skilled hand, tasks that brought gold to their coffers and merchants to the Flagon. And when the Guild was so cruelly deceived by Mercer Frey, they trusted her to take him down, along with Brynjolf and Karliah.

And it was with Brynjolf that Aerisif became a Nightingale, and swore herself to Nocturnal. It seemed that luck truly had been smiling on her the day she arrived in Riften, albeit in the form of the Daedric Prince of Shadows.

It was with Brynjolf that she took jobs, watching each other’s backs. It was with Brynjolf that Aerisif found she could confide and trust.

And it was with Brynjolf that she fell in love. Aerisif could still remember the first time he cupped her face in his hands and their lips met. How his eyes, his sparkling emerald eyes, looked when they were filled with warmth and affection.

Those bright, emerald eyes. They undid her. And it was Brynjolf’s deft fingers, nimble with more than just locks, that undid her laces, away from nosy guild members.

They kept their affections a secret from the others. In a guild where the gold, the beds, the meals, the victories, and the losses were all shared, it was delicious to keep one thing for themselves.

Aerisif was elected to Guild Master once Mercer had been extinguished. She refused it over and over, declaring Brynjolf was better suited to it. But he and Delvin and Vex would hear none of it. It had to be her. And so Aerisif took the mantle of leading the Guild. Her new family.

One crisp autumn, she and Brynjolf were sent to pull a job in Falkreath. They were hiding in the Jerall Mountains on their escape, to avoid any of the Jarl’s men searching for the thieves that dared strike their precious town. Drunk on victory and some Black-Briar mead, they stumbled into an Imperial trap.

Surrounded by so many, they had no chance of escape. She and Brynjolf exchanged slow looks, their hands in the air and their weapons on the ground. Why were there so many Imperials here? They had not been there on their voyage west. The Imperials clamped them both in irons and pulled them separate ways. But to Aerisif’s confusion, they were not interested in their stolen goods. They just seemed to want to keep them silent, and apart.

Two days of silence later, Aerisif learned why.

Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak was dragged into camp, heralded by shouts and jeers from the Imperial soldiers.

They didn’t want us to ruin their trap, Aerisif realized. But then, why were they still being held? They had to get out. If the Imperials had caught Ulfric, the situation was dire.

Aerisif made a desperate attempt at escape that night. She had freed herself from her fetters, incapacitated the guard keeping watching over her cluster of prisoners, and made it all the way to where they were keeping Brynjolf before the guards caught and beat her. She could have bore the blunt of their blows, but when Brynjolf raised his head to the commotion and saw what they were doing to her, his pained gaze broke her.

Brynjolf cried out, begging, pleading, for them to stop, but all that did was earn him punishment of his own. Aerisif had never heard Brynjolf sound this way, like a wounded animal. It made her gut twist.

Aerisif had opened her mouth to shout to them to stop but never had the chance. Her breath released in a rushed sigh as a warhammer knocked her out.

When Aerisif next awoke, she was in the back of a wagon rumbling down some forested road.

“Hey, you’re awake,” one prisoner across from her spoke.

Aerisif straightened as she became aware. She glanced at her fellow prisoners. Two across from her, similarly bound as she, and one to her right. Her eyes widened when she recognized the Jarl.

If I’m in the same wagon as Ulfric Stormcloak… She left that thought unfinished, shuddering at the implications.

“Where are we? Or, where are they taking us? Where is Brynjolf?”

“I think we must be near Helgen, but I know nothing of this Brynjolf you speak of.”

“Red hair? Green eyes, wide frame? From the Rift?”

The other prisoner looked up. “Aye, I saw the man.”

Aerisif whipped in his direction. “Where is he? Where did they take him? Is he in another wagon?” She began to search around to see where there wagon was within the caravan, but found that they appeared to be the only cart of prisoners. She felt her stomach knot and her heart race.

No, no, no.

“I’m sorry…he…he did not make it. The Imperials killed him before we even left camp.”

Aerisif felt all the breath leave her body. The world was spinning. She thought she would vomit for a moment, before a solid rock replaced the knot in her gut. “Are… are you sure?” She asked in a small voice. Her eyes welled with tears, and she felt like a child again.

“I saw the Imperials do the deed with mine own eyes. I’m sorry, kinsman.”

Aerisif did not speak again for the rest of the journey. She faintly heard the other prisoners converse, something about a horse thief, Rorikstead, and the war, but she heard them as if she was far away, catching their conversation echoing through the mountains. Guilt rushed into the void inside her, venomous and sharp. It had been her idea to travel through the mountains. It had been her that opened the mead to drink while they walked. It had been Aerisif that chose to bring Brynjolf with her on the job, and her that got him killed when she tried to break them out.

If it hadn’t been for Aerisif, Brynjolf would still be alive.

Imperial shouts woke Aerisif from her blank state. They were ordered to move. She did as she was told. There was no more fight in her blood. She felt as if her life force had been drained since she had heard of her love’s death, forced by her hand. Aerisif was ready to die too.

She watched the horse thief make a break for it, and watched his body crumple from the rain of arrows that pierced him a heartbeat later. Aerisif considered following him; she was doomed for the headsman anyway, what did it matter how she died? But she found she had not the energy to run. Best to just let death come to her.

The sweet release of death was in the air, and Aerisif could just nearly taste it.

Emotionlessly, she watched the first head roll. The wind roared and the leaves on the trees shuffled. It was her turn.

Aerisif lay down on the block obediently. She closed her eyes. There was no need to watch the axe swing to her.

The earth shook and Aerisif’s eyes were jolted open. She thought she must have died already, for there was no other explanation to what she saw.

A dragon, black as midnight, was perched atop the tower above, staring down at her.

In that moment when his molten eyes met hers, Aerisif felt something she had never felt before. She felt her blood surge and rage. She felt a beast rear up and roar in her chest that had never before awoken.

Unbidden, Aerisif’s legs pushed her up from the ground and led her away from the inferno that blazed where she had lay a moment before. A tempest of fire and steel erupted around her.

She did not remember how she did it, but Aerisif survived Helgen. She recalled the other prisoner she travelled with calling her, leading her away, and blindly, she followed.

For all the hopelessness that had been festering inside her, new life sprung like green shoots in the spring. She wanted to live. Why? How dare she? When Brynjolf died she had been ready to join him. She longed to be beside him again. But instead of the resignation that dwelled complacently inside her before, the new beast demanded she continue on.

Skyrim needs you. Tamriel needs you.

In Whiterun, that beast was given a name: Dragonborn. It had a voice too, that shouted out all the rage and pain inside Aerisif: Her thu’um.

And so, Aerisif continued. She did as the Greybeards asked, she followed Delphine’s guidance. She travelled Skyrim to Sovngard in her quest to save it all. To give all others a chance at the peace she would not know. She slew dragons and draugr and dragon priests and anything else that stood in her way. Once a woman of daggers, she found the weight of a greatsword to be a natural extension of her being.

Shadowmere halted to graze on the green, tough grass, and the sudden stop jolted Aerisif back to the present.

Grass? She looked around. She had reached the plains of Whiterun Hold.

She sighed. Helgen was a lifetime ago. Sovngard was a lifetime ago. When she had returned from the after life, she felt the dragon inside her settle and tuck its head under its wings.

Rest now, it had said. You have done all that I asked.

It was not rest that Aerisif sought. Instead, she unleashed her pain through the Night Mother’s bidding. It did not satisfy her, but it kept her busy. And busy kept her alive.

Aerisif breathed in the warmer, kinder air of the plains. She pulled Shadowmere from her grazing and urged her onward.

To Riften.

#Skyrim FanFic #OC Dragonborn #tes v #oc: aerisif/kjolti #KMDA

[makinjakenpancakes]

Pleeeaaase write a fic were Jason and Kim just spend the day together and make out and they are both cute.

(I got you.)

NOW LEAVING ANGELGROVE

Kim drove; Jason was half asleep as the soft music playedfrom her radio. His head turned; the sun was cresting the horizon. He smiled ashe looked at her; she looked to see him and it was hard to not pull over andcover him in kisses. But they had a whole day of smooching ahead of them. Thetwo needed to get away because after a few weeks of close calls they pooledsome extra money for a hotel.

Kim reached over and her fingers ran through his hair, hesmiled again but his eyes were half open. “We need some coffee.” Kim said andhe nodded with enthusiasm. He adjusted in his seat and leaned over to kiss herneck; she giggled and pushed him away.

“You evil shit,” she said, she sighed happily.

He knew what he was doing and his smirk showed it, she keptpushing him as she laughed. Their hands slapped together in a playful fight. Hewas chuckling as they exchanged slaps and he went in for the kill and tickledher side. She gave him a quick death glare that melted away.

“You’re supposed to be in dream land until we get there,”she said.

“Maybe I was playing possum, waiting for this moment toattack,” he said and kissed her neck again.

Dust was kicked up by her tires as she pulled over. Shegrabbed him by the collar and pulled him in for a kiss. His fingers ran throughher hair as she tugged on his blonde locks. They took quick breaths betweenkisses. She slowly pulled away and looked into his eyes.

“Now let me drive, only like a mile left,” she said andadded a playful slap to his cheek.

“Only if coffee,” he said and she nodded.

He returned to his seat, she returned to the road. Today wasalready a great day and they hadn’t even eaten breakfast. She only drove for afew minutes before she took an off ramp that lead into a town called StoneCanyon. She looked around and a few streets away there was the Sone CanyonDiner. She pulled in, parked and they both got out. A motocycle revved pastthem and Jason turned.

“Do you think I should get a motorcycle some day?” he asked.

“God no, you have bad enough luck with four wheels.” Kimsaid as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

He rubbed her shoulder feeling her face bury in his chest.He would drive after this so she could get a nap. They were both tired but whenthey had met up in the morning she was more awake than him. But the drive haddrained her. The bell ran as they entered, a hostess handed them menus andbrought them to a booth.

“Coffee?” she asked and they nodded. “Your waitress Junewill be over with the coffee.”

“Thanks,” they said in unison.

They both looked through their menus, Jason rubbed sleepiesfrom his eyes. June came over with the coffee, poured and knew they neededtime. Once Jason knew what he wanted he closed the menu and turned it sideways.Kim was in an eternal civil war does she pick waffles or French toast? Shescrunched her face and Jason watched with heart eyes. He almost didn’t noticeJune with her notepad.

“Lumberjack breakfast, bacon, rye and can I get some hotsauce for the home fries? Thanks,” Jason said and Kim wished she knew what topick.

“French toast, turkey sausages and sour dough,” she blurted,Jason stifled a laugh.

June jotted everything down as the couple sipped theircoffee. Jason had only added three sugars; Kim had two sugars two creams. Thewait for the food didn’t feel long when you had a friend to talk with and hewas glad they had been friends first before becoming more. Their hands met onthe table, she tool hold of his hand while her thumb slowly rubbed the back ofhis hand.

Their food was brought to the table it smelled good. Theirhands pulled apart so they could eat and drink coffee. Their talking sloweddown as they ate. The food didn’t last long as the teenage super heroes nearlylicked the plates clean. Jason paid, tipped and they were back on the road butthis time the former football star was driving. Luckily all of Angel Grove’sfinest wasn’t after him.

Kim pulled out her phone for directions, he made sure tolisten to her phone and not to any shortcuts. He turned the music up so hecould stay alert. He glanced over to her, she had a devilish grin. She kissedhis neck after leaning over and he had to stay strong and focus.

“I know what you’re doing,” he said and bit his lip. “But I’mreal strong.”

He said, his knuckles were white as he held the steering wheel.She took this as a challenge; her hand touched his thigh as her lips pressedagainst his neck. He felt sweat beading on his forehead. He stayed calm as shekissed down his neck; his left leg started bouncing. He focused on the road anddrove.

“You evil shit,” he whispered.

Kim pulled away and laughed; she looked at him and heglanced over. She had won and he wasn’t mad about it. He sighed and calmeddown. He chuckled as he glanced over to her she was still smirking and it soonbecame a satisfied smile. A smile of a champion, the smile he saw when shewalked into detention with her short hair.

He pulled into the hotel’s parking lot; they got out and gottheir suitcases from her trunk. Their hands entwined as they walked into thehotel’s reception area. He handed over a credit card and got their keys. Theywent to the elevator and as it closed the two young lovers embraced. Theirhands moved franticly as they kissed. They heard a ding and broke apart, tryingto look like they almost got caught with the cookie jar.

The elevator stopped, opened and they walked to their room.He slid the card key and opened the door. He dropped his bag by the bed andturned the a/c on. He took his jean jacket off and tossed it on a chair. Hejumped onto the bed and bounced. Kim climbed on the bed and Jason. She held hiswrists down as she kissed him. He felt her slowly gyrating as they kissed.

She sighed happily as she rolled off and cuddled up to him.He wrapped his arm around her and he felt her hand on his chest. She traced afinger over his chest as he took the remote to put on a movie. They couldfinally be left alone to do anything. Right now with full bellies they justwanted to relax. He felt her warm breath on his neck before she kissed hisneck.

He rolled her over and kissed her neck. She moaned softly ashis hands explored her body. He rolled off and they returned to cuddling. Theteasing was driving them both wild. He noticed a menu on the bed stand. He reachedover and glanced it. The menu was for room service and he knew exactly what todo.

“We’re getting ice cream,” he said.

“You bring a whole new meaning to Netflix and Chill,” shesaid and laughed.

#power rangers 2017 #reboot mmpr #jason x kimberly #jimberly #fan fic

[barkley-col-blog]

Earthstar fanfic chap 1 cont.

cont...  I’ll post a possible start to Earthstar Book One, Passage, in a few pieces. I only know of books three and four, but this starts with Ariat before he starts traveling and shows up in Soucy’s Book One. Hope you like it - let me know if you know the Earthstar series or remember other characters.

-

When Ari got home his father was sitting at breakfast, eyes still puffy and hair still sticking out at odd angles from bed. He could hear his mother working in the family plot behind the house where she tended the smallest possible amount of vegetable and an award-winning flower garden. Riad’s roses were especially prized. They were the size of dinner plates brilliant purple, and blood-orange, a pure green that faded to lagoon blue in the center that she called dragon’s eye. She had roses so white that they lit the garden at night and hurt the eyes in direct sunlight. And she grew roses of every color that were no larger than chicken’s eggs; Backwater girls would pay two half pence just to put one in their hair, or on their dresses for special occasions. Also, they would get to talk to Ariat, awkwardly, when they came by. Artas saw him looking out the back window.

“I always tell her, you can’t eat flowers, woman! But you know, it makes her happy so we allow it, right my friend?” He looked to Ari as if his mother’s eccentricities were a burden they both shared.

“No father, you just want the oranges.”

Artas’ face darkened even as he bit into an orange, his favorite food that he finished every meal with. Riad kept a small grove of fruit trees so rare for Backwater they could not win awards, there was nothing with which to compare them. Long ago, she had convinced Artas that the roses were needed for good fruit. “Something about bees and pollination,” he would say dismissively for the rest of his life in order to explain his odd wife to company.

Artas returned comfortably to his politician-and-father voice. “You’re to go to Tom Smithson’s. He has work for you today. No time to wash-up and not much water besides. Best be on your way.” Tom Smithson was not particularly popular. When taxes went unpaid, Tom made housecalls on behalf of the government.

“You’ll have me act the public servant with the farmer’s in the morning and chase down debtors in the afternoon? Are you trying to win or lose this election?” He regretted his last words. Brough and Kemp would have laughed at such a comment, not Artas. He stood.

“Listen to me, boy. You don’t want to do the work of a man but you speak to me like one. I can still tan your hide and you are no one to be scoffing at a day’s work. Your mother… Tom’s work is necessary, important. Tom collects taxes, taxes go to our king, the king keeps us safe. Who cares if some piss-ant Backwater dirt farmer doesn’t like it? Too bad. Understand?”

Safe from what? He wanted to tell his father about Brough’s hilt-for-a-sword but thought better of it. He never should have provoked Artas in the first place.

“Yes, father,” was all he said.

“Good. Now go. I’m plenty busy without managing you.” As Ari slipped out the door, his father called after him, “And watch your damn mouth!”

 Ariat took his time walking from his house to downtown, which meant that he walked to the end of the street and took a left. Backwater was a single square of four long streets. One corner was occupied by the homes of those wealthy enough to live in town: merchants, politicians, smithies, millers, clothiers, and tax collectors; the other two streets held the few shops, government buildings and Backwater’s two alehouses, and third alehouse that was more than an alehouse. The house was often full but no one was ever seen entering or exiting from the street. The rear of the house had a high fence that blocked it from view of the town square. Everyone in town used the fountain for drinking and washing. Everyone in town pretended not to notice to looking fence in the northeast corner. Boys who punched holes in the fence to peer through one night would find their efforts patched and filled by the next day. Ariat was more interested in the square. There was nothing to see but some chickens, sheep, and a tall plain fountain with water running out four spigots in each of the cardinal directions. Ariat had been told that a knight’s tournament was once held on the square when King Adira II had passed through, or Adira III, or possibly King Onwe. The story changed, no one living had seen the tournament. It didn’t matter to Ariat, he could only imagine what armor looked like much less two knights in armor on plated horses charging at one another across this field occupied by calmly grazing sheep.

Ariat knocked softly on Tom’s door thinking that if Tom didn’t answer he could leave. Tom answered without delay, however, calling Ariat into the small, clean office. He had always been perfectly pleasant when Ariat reported for duty, likely because he was staying in to send letters of notice while Ariat did his legwork. And no one lived farther out of town than the man Ariat was sent to.

“The Star-Geezer?” Ariat exclaimed despite himself when Tom handed him the slip.

“Yes,” Tom said as if it was wholly uninteresting, “and his name is Lord Hubbard. He may be delinquent on the king’s tax but still wealthy. Close your mouth, you look like a fish and it’s making me hungry.”

“You expect me to collect his taxes?”

“The king’s taxes, son.” Tom always said ‘king’s taxes’. He said that people see his face when they think of losing money, the least they could do is not connect his name. It did not work. “I’m told the Star-G…Lord Hubbard is very genteel and perfectly hospitable. It’s just so far-” he trailed off and busied himself to end the conversation. Only as Ariat was walking out did Tom call, “Don’t come back without all of it!” and then start whistling to make it clear he was not expecting dialogue.

The day was hot and Ariat was soon sweating in his leather pants. Once out of sight of town, he took his boots off and walked in the sharp, dry grass grasses alongside the path. He had never wanted to leave Backwater, but he often dreamed of interesting people or things coming to him. For his whole, though, there was only one interesting person in the whole village and Ariat was now going to ask him to please pay up. As he slid his feet through the grass he remembered good reason to be even more embarrassed. He had heard a dozen stories about the night Star-Geezer appeared in town and saved Artas’ life. Artas never spoke of it, but nearly everyone else in town did. Ariat’s family came to Backwater before he could remember for a ‘political appointment’ as Artas called it. Last year, Ariat had finally thought to ask why Artas had to run elections for an appointment. He didn’t get an answer but he get told to start gardening for town council members, running errands for Tom Hill, carrying water to the town elderly, and helping farmers in the field. Appointed or elected made little difference. Artas’ affable nature, and willingness to change nothing in town life, had gained him fast friends in Backwater. One night at the Balehouse, or perhaps the Plowman depending on the telling, a stranger had gotten rough with Artas about his king-granted home and his “sweet wife.” By all accounts, Riad, was at home. After words were exchanged, a blade was drawn. The blade was between four inches and four feet long, the man was a dwarf or a giant and weighed between two and six stone. Everyone agrees though, Artas was a moment from death, the two men squared, Artas with no weapon but pleading words when a voice said blithely, “You should have come prepared assassin.” All eyes turned to the strangest of strangers at the door. A few say that he was wearing pants, and a robe, and leather armor, and a cloak, and a rain cover on the cloudless night; they say he had one gauntleted hand and had hooves for feet. Only Ariat believed such things, because he desperately wanted to think something so strange could have occurred in his own town. Most people say simply that he was wearing all the right things but still looked wrong. As Brough had put it, “He looked like a farmer who had never dirtied a hand.” From the doorframe the man who would become known as Star-Geezer spoke again, “It’s time to go.”

The assassin began, “I came prepared - ” but when he lifted his hand he wasn’t holding the blade. Star-Geezer was turning it over in his hands, studying it.

“Interesting markings…Well,” he said, looking up, “it appears you’ve brought a beer to a knife fight! Good sirs, I believe you all can handle this situation. I’ll be just beyond the hill if needed. Goodnight.” He passed back out the door and the crowd turned its angry attention to the now unarmed man who had just threatened their beloved councilman.

Thinking on these events for the hundredth time brought Ariat right to Star-Geezer’s squat cube home, all alone on the infertile side of Root Hill. Water never crested over the hill.

He put his boots back on quietly, took a moment to survey his surroundings and knocked on the door. Star-Geezer answered. He was taller than Ariat remembered from the few times he had seen him at a distance. He had also thought of him as being a gaunt old man but the Star-Geezer who answered the door was far more robust. His dark black hair was only touched by grey and he had trimmed it recently as well as his beard. He wore a loose tunic and riding breeches, though Ariat had neither seen nor smelled a horse. Despite his strong, youthful appearance there was no doubt he was Lord Hubbard, the Star-Geezer. His black eyes locked onto Ariat with bold shining white centers as if they reflected the lenses of his seeing glass. Ariat had to remind himself that he existed.

“I’m here for the…king’s taxes,” he heard himself say.

“The what? Come on, get inside now.” Ari stepped into the cool dark home. Most of it sat in shadow except for the reading table directly below the East facing window. “The what?” he repeated, now behind Ari.

“The king’s taxes!” Ari said louder, in case it was a hearing problem.

“The king? Is that what Tom is calling himself these days? Better not word of that get about, eh?” He chuckled to himself and turned a slow circle. “Well, it’s here anyway, the money. Come in to the table. I don’t live so close to town, I know. Would like something to drink?”

Ari meant to say ‘No’ but instead he said, “Yes please, tea would be nice,” then he remembered himself and added, “Ah, and where might the payment be?”

“Tea, splendid idea,” he disappeared around the corner into a kitchen. Ariat was getting ready to shout the question when Star-Geezer called, “It might be under the hill with your potatoes! It might be that I turn my coins into stars and every night I’m simply keeping an eye on my vast fortunes! Or, it might be behind the toilet.” He went silent after that, apparently listening for some reaction from Ariat. Then he stuck his head out from the kitchen, “Guess which.”

“It’s behind the toilet.”

“Clever, boy. It’s behind the toilet!”

“Will you-”

“No, I won’t. Go fetch Tom’s gold.”

Back outside and around the side of the house stood Lord Hubbard’s toilet shed. Ari pushed the door open with his toe and stepped into the space. Sure enough, one of the short panels in the wall, just below the toilet seat was a disguised wooden box set into the wall. Ari never would have noticed it if he hadn’t been looking for it.

Stopping outside of the outhouse for a quick minute, he opened the box. It was so heavy. He found it as full as possible with gold. One of the pieces would pay three year’s taxes. He thought about taking a small piece for himself but the cunning of Star-Geezer was not to be trusted. When he re-entered, Lord Hubbard was setting the tea down on the reading table.

“Did you find it?”

“Yes, I have it.”

“Good, good!” He sounded both relieved and proud of Ari for fetching something from his toilet. “Bring it here. Ah, this – no this one. Here’s is more than sufficient coin for Tom. So, did you take one for yourself?” his tone was purely curious without any accusation.

“No, of course not.”

“Why not? I have plenty. You could have taken one outside. I’d never know.”

“I didn’t. I swear.”

“Alright. So why not? Because stealing is wrong and these don’t belong to you?” He hefted the box so the coins chunked heavily inside.

Ari looked at him for a long time, sipping his tea, which had the right amount of leaves, hadn’t been over-boiled, and had some other pleasant taste Ari couldn’t quite place. “No,” he said finally. “Because I thought you’d know and you scare me a little.”

“Good. It’s good to be honest. A boy your age doesn’t know right from wrong, only fears getting in trouble. Stealing is wrong unless you want to impress your friends or a girl. Then, it’s just a prank, right?”

“Right.”

“Right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m a lord, actually.”

“Yes, m’lord.” They sipped their tea. Ari didn’t know what Lord Hubbard thought of him. At least he knew when his father was angry. As he was casting about for something to say, the tea bloomed in his mind and he thought aloud, “With all that money, why have you delayed paying the king’s taxes? Do you disapprove of the king?”

“No, not particularly. I just wanted to see you.”

“But it’s Tom who collects delinq- late payments. How did you know I would be sent here?

“You call me Star-Geezer in town, do you not?”

After their talk of theft, Ariat did not consider lying. “Yes, you are called by that name in town.”

“I like it. Well, I look at very far away objects with my seeing glasses. Some people who do what I do forget how to see what’s right in front of them but I see close-up things with great clarity and detail”

“Yes, m’lord.” Ari did not understand. “Why would you want to see me? You know me not. Is it about the election?”

“Politics don’t concern me. I want you to ask me a question, any question.”

“I’ve asked several, I hope I’ve not gone over my limit.”

“No,” he smiled. “We have talked and you have asked for clarification. But now I want you to ask a question.”            It seemed important. Ariat thought hard on a single question worthy of the time of astronomer Lord Hubbard but all he could think of was the question he’d always wanted to ask since the day he first heard of Star-Geezer.

“Is it true that you have mirrors on top of mountains that allow you to watch the galaxy of the Mezostar?”

“Do you think that I can look at suns?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come outside,” he said springing up. He snatched a seeing-glass from beside the door and hustled outside. By the time Ari had sipped his tea once more and walked outside, Star-Geezer had the tripod fixed to accommodate Ari and the seeing glass pointing directly at the sun.

“Come, look.”

“At the sun?”

“Yes, you wanted to see galaxies.” He hadn’t said that. He had simply been asking if Lord Hubbard had seen them. But he had never looked through a seeing glass before. Stepping up, he put his eye to the glass and felt it immediately start to burn. Vision went from red to black with all white stars searing his eyes.

“Gods!” he cried, reeling back.

“Do you see it? Do you see the galaxies? Ha!” Star-Geezer was beside himself laughing. He’s no sage, just a crazy old man. He and Ari calmed down from their respective hysterias.

Star-Geezer looked controlled when Ari asked, “Why did you do that?”

“You did that.”

“You told me to.”

“And, do you do everything you’re told?”

“I trusted you.”

“You can trust me. But you can’t trust any man, including myself, when he’s telling you to stare at the sun, juggle swords, or tie a rock to your belt for swimming. Besides, you asked me a question but I answered a better one.” ----- rubbed his eyes and couldn’t remember what his question had been. Star-Geezer continued, “Suns and stars are the same things except that you can look at stars. Men are lovers of light and we like to believe it brings truth, but you can learn much more by gazing into the darkness.” He watched Ariat for a quiet moment before clapping his hands and adding, “And there’s no such thing as star-gazing at mid-day! Ha!”

“I understand, m’lord.” He understood – this is what happens to unsuspecting tax collectors.

“No, you don’t but that takes time. Unfortunately, I must be off. I’d like to give you something for your troubles.”

“No thank you, m’ lord. I have what I came for.”

“Not yet,” and in his hand was a coin. It was gold on the outside, platinum in a middle ring and a clear stone was set in the center. He pressed it into Ari’s hand. It almost filled Ari’s palm, the largest coin he’d ever seen.

“This is too much. I mean it, I can’t have this”

“It’s yours.”

“It can’t be mine.”

“See?” Star-Geezer smiled broadly. “You are wiser than you know. It is not yours, but you will keep it, for now. You cannot spend it, and your possession of the coin will be our little secret. Yes? You will keep it and tell no one?”

“I will.” Ariat knew he spoke the truth.

“Excellent, young sir. Now hurry back to Tom, I have much to do.”

He disappeared through the front door, leaving the seeing-glass on the lawn. Ari stood for a moment gazing at the coin. As his eyes roamed over the inscribed gold he realized, lemon. The tea was flavored with lemon; his mother kept the only lemon tree in Backwater, probably in all of the Powder River Valley. He kept his hand on the coin in his pocket as he hurried back to town.

#earthstar ariat bookone lordhubbard